the rustlers of pecos county by zane grey chapter vaughn steele and russ sittell in the morning, after breakfasting early, i took a turn up and down the main street of sanderson, made observations and got information likely to serve me at some future day, and then i returned to the hotel ready for what might happen. the stage-coach was there and already full of passengers. this stage did not go to linrock, but i had found that another one left for that point three days a week. several cowboy broncos stood hitched to a railing and a little farther down were two buckboards, with horses that took my eye. these probably were the teams colonel sampson had spoken of to george wright. as i strolled up, both men came out of the hotel. wright saw me, and making an almost imperceptible sign to sampson, he walked toward me. "you're the cowboy russ?" he asked. i nodded and looked him over. by day he made as striking a figure as i had noted by night, but the light was not generous to his dark face. "here's your pay," he said, handing me some bills. "miss sampson won't need you out at the ranch any more." "what do you mean? this is the first i've heard about that." "sorry, kid. that's it," he said abruptly. "she just gave me the money--told me to pay you off. you needn't bother to speak with her about it." he might as well have said, just as politely, that my seeing her, even to say good-by, was undesirable. as my luck would have it, the girls appeared at the moment, and i went directly up to them, to be greeted in a manner i was glad george wright could not help but see. in miss sampson's smile and "good morning, russ," there was not the slightest discoverable sign that i was not to serve her indefinitely. it was as i had expected--she knew nothing of wright's discharging me in her name. "miss sampson," i said, in dismay, "what have i done? why did you let me go?" she looked astonished. "russ, i don't understand you." "why did you discharge me?" i went on, trying to look heart-broken. "i haven't had a chance yet. i wanted so much to work for you--miss sally, what have i done? why did she discharge me?" "i did not," declared miss sampson, her dark eyes lighting. "but look here--here's my pay," i went on, exhibiting the money. "mr. wright just came to me--said you sent this money--that you wouldn't need me out at the ranch." it was miss sally then who uttered a little exclamation. miss sampson seemed scarcely to have believed what she had heard. "my cousin mr. wright said that?" i nodded vehemently. at this juncture wright strode before me, practically thrusting me aside. "come girls, let's walk a little before we start," he said gaily. "i'll show you sanderson." "wait, please," miss sampson replied, looking directly at him. "cousin george, i think there's a mistake--perhaps a misunderstanding. here's the cowboy i've engaged--mr. russ. he declares you gave him money--told him i discharged him." "yes, cousin, i did," he replied, his voice rising a little. there was a tinge of red in his cheek. "we--you don't need him out at the ranch. we've any numbers of boys. i just told him that--let him down easy--didn't want to bother you." certain it was that george wright had made a poor reckoning. first she showed utter amaze, then distinct disappointment, and then she lifted her head with a kind of haughty grace. she would have addressed him then, had not colonel sampson come up. "papa, did you instruct cousin george to discharge russ?" she asked. "i sure didn't," declared the colonel, with a laugh. "george took that upon his own hands." "indeed! i'd like my cousin to understand that i'm my own mistress. i've been accustomed to attending to my own affairs and shall continue doing so. russ, i'm sorry you've been treated this way. please, in future, take your orders from me." "then i'm to go to linrock with you?" i asked. "assuredly. ride with sally and me to-day, please." she turned away with sally, and they walked toward the first buckboard. colonel sampson found a grim enjoyment in wright's discomfiture. "diane's like her mother was, george," he said. "you've made a bad start with her." here wright showed manifestation of the sampson temper, and i took him to be a dangerous man, with unbridled passions. "russ, here's my own talk to you," he said, hard and dark, leaning toward me. "don't go to linrock." "say, mr. wright," i blustered for all the world like a young and frightened cowboy, "if you threaten me i'll have you put in jail!" both men seemed to have received a slight shock. wright hardly knew what to make of my boyish speech. "are you going to linrock?" he asked thickly. i eyed him with an entirely different glance from my other fearful one. "i should smile," was my reply, as caustic as the most reckless cowboy's, and i saw him shake. colonel sampson laid a restraining hand upon wright. then they both regarded me with undisguised interest. i sauntered away. "george, your temper'll do for you some day," i heard the colonel say. "you'll get in bad with the wrong man some time. hello, here are joe and brick!" mention of these fellows engaged my attention once more. i saw two cowboys, one evidently getting his name from his brick-red hair. they were the roistering type, hard drinkers, devil-may-care fellows, packing guns and wearing bold fronts--a kind that the rangers always called four-flushes. however, as the rangers' standard of nerve was high, there was room left for cowboys like these to be dangerous to ordinary men. the little one was joe, and directly wright spoke to him he turned to look at me, and his thin mouth slanted down as he looked. brick eyed me, too, and i saw that he was heavy, not a hard-riding cowboy. here right at the start were three enemies for me--wright and his cowboys. but it did not matter; under any circumstances there would have been friction between such men and me. i believed there might have been friction right then had not miss sampson called for me. "get our baggage, russ," she said. i hurried to comply, and when i had fetched it out wright and the cowboys had mounted their horses, colonel sampson was in the one buckboard with two men i had not before observed, and the girls were in the other. the driver of this one was a tall, lanky, tow-headed youth, growing like a texas weed. we had not any too much room in the buckboard, but that fact was not going to spoil the ride for me. we followed the leaders through the main street, out into the open, on to a wide, hard-packed road, showing years of travel. it headed northwest. to our left rose the range of low, bleak mountains i had noted yesterday, and to our right sloped the mesquite-patched sweep of ridge and flat. the driver pushed his team to a fast trot, which gait surely covered ground rapidly. we were close behind colonel sampson, who, from his vehement gestures, must have been engaged in very earnest colloquy with his companions. the girls behind me, now that they were nearing the end of the journey, manifested less interest in the ride, and were speculating upon linrock, and what it would be like. occasionally i asked the driver a question, and sometimes the girls did likewise; but, to my disappointment, the ride seemed not to be the same as that of yesterday. every half mile or so we passed a ranch house, and as we traveled on these ranches grew further apart, until, twelve or fifteen miles out of sanderson, they were so widely separated that each appeared alone on the wild range. we came to a stream that ran north and i was surprised to see a goodly volume of water. it evidently flowed down from the mountain far to the west. tufts of grass were well scattered over the sandy ground, but it was high and thick, and considering the immense area in sight, there was grazing for a million head of stock. we made three stops in the forenoon, one at a likely place to water the horses, the second at a chuckwagon belonging to cowboys who were riding after stock, and the third at a small cluster of adobe and stone houses, constituting a hamlet the driver called sampson, named after the colonel. from that point on to linrock there were only a few ranches, each one controlling great acreage. early in the afternoon from a ridgetop we sighted linrock, a green path in the mass of gray. for the barrens of texas it was indeed a fair sight. but i was more concerned with its remoteness from civilization than its beauty. at that time in the early 'seventies, when the vast western third of texas was a wilderness, the pioneer had done wonders to settle there and establish places like linrock. as we rolled swiftly along, the whole sweeping range was dotted with cattle, and farther on, within a few miles of town, there were droves of horses that brought enthusiastic praise from miss sampson and her cousin. "plenty of room here for the long rides," i said, waving a hand at the gray-green expanse. "your horses won't suffer on this range." she was delighted, and her cousin for once seemed speechless. "that's the ranch," said the driver, pointing with his whip. it needed only a glance for me to see that colonel sampson's ranch was on a scale fitting the country. the house was situated on the only elevation around linrock, and it was not high, nor more than a few minutes' walk from the edge of town. it was a low, flat-roofed structure, made of red adobe bricks and covered what appeared to be fully an acre of ground. all was green about it except where the fenced corrals and numerous barns or sheds showed gray and red. wright and the cowboys disappeared ahead of us in the cottonwood trees. colonel sampson got out of the buckboard and waited for us. his face wore the best expression i had seen upon it yet. there was warmth and love, and something that approached sorrow or regret. his daughter was agitated, too. i got out and offered my seat, which colonel sampson took. it was scarcely a time for me to be required, or even noticed at all, and i took advantage of it and turned toward the town. ten minutes of leisurely walking brought me to the shady outskirts of linrock and i entered the town with mingled feelings of curiosity, eagerness, and expectation. the street i walked down was not a main one. there were small, red houses among oaks and cottonwoods. i went clear through to the other side, probably more than half a mile. i crossed a number of intersecting streets, met children, nice-looking women, and more than one dusty-booted man. half-way back this street i turned at right angles and walked up several blocks till i came to a tree-bordered plaza. on the far side opened a broad street which for all its horses and people had a sleepy look. i walked on, alert, trying to take in everything, wondering if i would meet steele, wondering how i would know him if we did meet. but i believed i could have picked that ranger out of a thousand strangers, though i had never seen him. presently the residences gave place to buildings fronting right upon the stone sidewalk. i passed a grain store, a hardware store, a grocery store, then several unoccupied buildings and a vacant corner. the next block, aside from the rough fronts of the crude structures, would have done credit to a small town even in eastern texas. here was evidence of business consistent with any prosperous community of two thousand inhabitants. the next block, on both sides of the street, was a solid row of saloons, resorts, hotels. saddled horses stood hitched all along the sidewalk in two long lines, with a buckboard and team here and there breaking the continuity. this block was busy and noisy. from all outside appearances, linrock was no different from other frontier towns, and my expectations were scarcely realized. as the afternoon was waning i retraced my steps and returned to the ranch. the driver boy, whom i had heard called dick, was looking for me, evidently at miss sampson's order, and he led me up to the house. it was even bigger than i had conceived from a distance, and so old that the adobe bricks were worn smooth by rain and wind. i had a glimpse in at several doors as we passed by. there was comfort here that spoke eloquently of many a freighter's trip from del rio. for the sake of the young ladies, i was glad to see things little short of luxurious for that part of the country. at the far end of the house dick conducted me to a little room, very satisfactory indeed to me. i asked about bunk-houses for the cowboys, and he said they were full to overflowing. "colonel sampson has a big outfit, eh?" "reckon he has," replied dick. "don' know how many cowboys. they're always comin' an' goin'. i ain't acquainted with half of them." "much movement of stock these days?" "stock's always movin'," he replied with a queer look. "rustlers?" but he did not follow up that look with the affirmative i expected. "lively place, i hear--linrock is?" "ain't so lively as sanderson, but it's bigger." "yes, i heard it was. fellow down there was talking about two cowboys who were arrested." "sure. i heerd all about thet. joe bean an' brick higgins--they belong heah, but they ain't heah much." i did not want dick to think me overinquisitive, so i turned the talk into other channels. it appeared that miss sampson had not left any instructions for me, so i was glad to go with dick to supper, which we had in the kitchen. dick informed me that the cowboys prepared their own meals down at the bunks; and as i had been given a room at the ranch-house he supposed i would get my meals there, too. after supper i walked all over the grounds, had a look at the horses in the corrals, and came to the conclusion that it would be strange if miss sampson did not love her new home, and if her cousin did not enjoy her sojourn there. from a distance i saw the girls approaching with wright, and not wishing to meet them i sheered off. when the sun had set i went down to the town with the intention of finding steele. this task, considering i dared not make inquiries and must approach him secretly, might turn out to be anything but easy. while it was still light, i strolled up and down the main street. when darkness set in i went into a hotel, bought cigars, sat around and watched, without any clue. then i went into the next place. this was of a rough crude exterior, but the inside was comparatively pretentious, and ablaze with lights. it was full of men, coming and going--a dusty-booted crowd that smelled of horses and smoke. i sat down for a while, with wide eyes and open ears. then i hunted up a saloon, where most of the guests had been or were going. i found a great square room lighted by six huge lamps, a bar at one side, and all the floor space taken up by tables and chairs. this must have been the gambling resort mentioned in the ranger's letter to captain neal and the one rumored to be owned by the mayor of linrock. this was the only gambling place of any size in southern texas in which i had noted the absence of mexicans. there was some card playing going on at this moment. i stayed in there for a while, and knew that strangers were too common in linrock to be conspicuous. but i saw no man whom i could have taken for steele. then i went out. it had often been a boast of mine that i could not spend an hour in a strange town, or walk a block along a dark street, without having something happen out of the ordinary. mine was an experiencing nature. some people called this luck. but it was my private opinion that things gravitated my way because i looked and listened for them. however, upon the occasion of my first day and evening in linrock it appeared, despite my vigilance and inquisitiveness, that here was to be an exception. this thought came to me just before i reached the last lighted place in the block, a little dingy restaurant, out of which at the moment, a tall, dark form passed. it disappeared in the gloom. i saw a man sitting on the low steps, and another standing in the door. "that was the fellow the whole town's talkin' about--the ranger," said one man. like a shot i halted in the shadow, where i had not been seen. "sho! ain't boardin' heah, is he?" said the other. "yes." "reckon he'll hurt your business, jim." the fellow called jim emitted a mirthless laugh. "wal, he's been _all_ my business these days. an' he's offered to rent that old 'dobe of mine just out of town. you know, where i lived before movin' in heah. he's goin' to look at it to-morrow." "lord! does he expect to _stay_?" "say so. an' if he ain't a stayer i never seen none. nice, quiet, easy chap, but he just looks deep." "aw, jim, he can't hang out heah. he's after some feller, that's all." "i don't know his game. but he says he was heah for a while. an' he impressed me some. just now he says: 'where does sampson live?' i asked him if he was goin' to make a call on our mayor, an' he says yes. then i told him how to go out to the ranch. he went out, headed that way." "the hell he did!" i gathered from this fellow's exclamation that he was divided between amaze and mirth. then he got up from the steps and went into the restaurant and was followed by the man called jim. before the door was closed he made another remark, but it was unintelligible to me. as i passed on i decided i would scrape acquaintance with this restaurant keeper. the thing of most moment was that i had gotten track of steele. i hurried ahead. while i had been listening back there moments had elapsed and evidently he had walked swiftly. i came to the plaza, crossed it, and then did not know which direction to take. concluding that it did not matter i hurried on in an endeavor to reach the ranch before steele. although i was not sure, i believed i had succeeded. the moon shone brightly. i heard a banjo in the distance and a cowboy sing. there was not a person in sight in the wide courts or on the porch. i did not have a well-defined idea about the inside of the house. peeping in at the first lighted window i saw a large room. miss sampson and sally were there alone. evidently this was a parlor or a sitting room, and it had clean white walls, a blanketed floor, an open fireplace with a cheery blazing log, and a large table upon which were lamp, books, papers. backing away i saw that this corner room had a door opening on the porch and two other windows. i listened, hoping to hear steele's footsteps coming up the road. but i heard only sally's laugh and her cousin's mellow voice. then i saw lighted windows down at the other end of the front part of the house. i walked down. a door stood open and through it i saw a room identical with that at the other corner; and here were colonel sampson, wright, and several other men, all smoking and talking. it might have been interesting to tarry there within ear-shot, but i wanted to get back to the road to intercept steele. scarcely had i retraced my steps and seated myself on the porch steps when a very tall dark figure loomed up in the moonlit road. steele! i wanted to yell like a boy. he came on slowly, looking all around, halted some twenty paces distant, surveyed the house, then evidently espying me, came on again. my first feeling was, what a giant! but his face was hidden in the shadow of a sombrero. i had intended, of course, upon first sight to blurt out my identity. yet i did not. he affected me strangely, or perhaps it was my emotion at the thought that we rangers, with so much in common and at stake, had come together. "is sampson at home?" he asked abruptly. i said, "yes." "ask him if he'll see vaughn steele, ranger." "wait here," i replied. i did not want to take up any time then explaining my presence there. deliberately and noisily i strode down the porch and entered the room with the smoking men. i went in farther than was necessary for me to state my errand. but i wanted to see sampson's face, to see into his eyes. as i entered, the talking ceased. i saw no face except his and that seemed blank. "vaughn steele, ranger--come to see you, sir." i announced. did sampson start--did his eyes show a fleeting glint--did his face almost imperceptibly blanch? i could not have sworn to either. but there was a change, maybe from surprise. the first sure effect of my announcement came in a quick exclamation from wright, a sibilant intake of breath, that did not seem to denote surprise so much as certainty. wright might have emitted a curse with less force. sampson moved his hand significantly and the action was a voiceless command for silence as well as an assertion that he would attend to this matter. i read him clearly so far. he had authority, and again i felt his power. "steele to see me. did he state his business?" "no, sir." i replied. "russ, say i'm not at home," said sampson presently, bending over to relight his pipe. i went out. someone slammed the door behind me. as i strode back across the porch my mind worked swiftly; the machinery had been idle for a while and was now started. "mr. steele," i said, "colonel sampson says he's not at home. tell your business to his daughter." without waiting to see the effect of my taking so much upon myself, i knocked upon the parlor door. miss sampson opened it. she wore white. looking at her, i thought it would be strange if steele's well-known indifference to women did not suffer an eclipse. "miss sampson, here is vaughn steele to see you," i said. "won't you come in?" she said graciously. steele had to bend his head to enter the door. i went in with him, an intrusion, perhaps, that in the interest of the moment she appeared not to notice. steele seemed to fill the room with his giant form. his face was fine, stern, clear cut, with blue or gray eyes, strangely penetrating. he was coatless, vestless. he wore a gray flannel shirt, corduroys, a big gun swinging low, and top boots reaching to his knees. he was the most stalwart son of texas i had seen in many a day, but neither his great stature nor his striking face accounted for something i felt--a something spiritual, vital, compelling, that drew me. "mr. steele, i'm pleased to meet you," said miss sampson. "this is my cousin, sally langdon. we just arrived--i to make this my home, she to visit me." steele smiled as he bowed to sally. he was easy, with a kind of rude grace, and showed no sign of embarrassment or that beautiful girls were unusual to him. "mr. steele, we've heard of you in austin," said sally with her eyes misbehaving. i hoped i would not have to be jealous of steele. but this girl was a little minx if not altogether a flirt. "i did not expect to be received by ladies," replied steele. "i called upon mr. sampson. he would not see me. i was to tell my business to his daughter. i'm glad to know you, miss sampson and your cousin, but sorry you've come to linrock now." "why?" queried both girls in unison. "because it's--oh, pretty rough--no place for girls to walk and ride." "ah! i see. and your business has to do with rough places," said miss sampson. "strange that papa would not see you. stranger that he should want me to hear your business. either he's joking or wants to impress me. "papa tried to persuade me not to come. he tried to frighten me with tales of this--this roughness out here. he knows i'm in earnest, how i'd like to help somehow, do some little good. pray tell me this business." "i wished to get your father's cooperation in my work." "your work? you mean your ranger duty--the arresting of rough characters?" "that, yes. but that's only a detail. linrock is bad internally. my job is to make it good." "a splendid and worthy task," replied miss sampson warmly. "i wish you success. but, mr. steele, aren't you exaggerating linrock's wickedness?" "no," he answered forcibly. "indeed! and papa refused to see you--presumably refused to cooperate with you?" she asked thoughtfully. "i take it that way." "mr. steele, pray tell me what is the matter with linrock and just what the work is you're called upon to do?" she asked seriously. "i heard papa say that he was the law in linrock. perhaps he resents interference. i know he'll not tolerate any opposition to his will. please tell me. i may be able to influence him." i listened to steele's deep voice as he talked about linrock. what he said was old to me, and i gave heed only to its effect. miss sampson's expression, which at first had been earnest and grave, turned into one of incredulous amaze. she, and sally too, watched steele's face in fascinated attention. when it came to telling what he wanted to do, the ranger warmed to his subject; he talked beautifully, convincingly, with a certain strange, persuasive power that betrayed how he worked his way; and his fine face, losing its stern, hard lines, seemed to glow and give forth a spirit austere, yet noble, almost gentle, assuredly something vastly different from what might have been expected in the expression of a gun-fighting ranger. i sensed that miss sampson felt this just as i did. "papa said you were a hounder of outlaws--a man who'd rather kill than save!" she exclaimed. the old stern cast returned to steele's face. it was as if he had suddenly remembered himself. "my name is infamous, i am sorry to say," he replied. "you have killed men?" she asked, her dark eyes dilating. had any one ever dared ask steele that before? his face became a mask. it told truth to me, but she could not see, and he did not answer. "oh, you are above that. don't--don't kill any one here!" "miss sampson, i hope i won't." his voice seemed to check her. i had been right in my estimate of her character--young, untried, but all pride, fire, passion. she was white then, and certainly beautiful. steele watched her, could scarcely have failed to see the white gleam of her beauty, and all that evidence of a quick and noble heart. "pardon me, please, mr. steele," she said, recovering her composure. "i am--just a little overexcited. i didn't mean to be inquisitive. thank you for your confidence. i've enjoyed your call, though your news did distress me. you may rely upon me to talk to papa." that appeared to be a dismissal, and, bowing to her and sally, the ranger went out. i followed, not having spoken. at the end of the porch i caught up with steele and walked out into the moonlight beside him. just why i did not now reveal my identity i could not say, for certainly i was bursting with the desire to surprise him, to earn his approval. he loomed dark above me, appearing not to be aware of my presence. what a cold, strange proposition this ranger was! still, remembering the earnestness of his talk to miss sampson, i could not think him cold. but i must have thought him so to any attraction of those charming girls. suddenly, as we passed under the shade of cottonwoods, he clamped a big hand down on my shoulder. "my god, russ, isn't she lovely!" he ejaculated. in spite of my being dumbfounded i had to hug him. he knew me! "thought you didn't swear!" i gasped. ridiculously those were my first words to vaughn steele. "my boy, i saw you parading up and down the street looking for me," he said. "i intended to help you find me to-morrow." we gripped hands, and that strong feel and clasp meant much. "yes, she's lovely, steele," i said. "but did you look at the cousin, the little girl with the eyes?" then we laughed and loosed hands. "come on, let's get out somewhere. i've a million things to tell you." we went away out into the open where some stones gleamed white in the moonlight, and there, sitting in the sand, our backs against a rest, and with all quiet about us, we settled down for a long conference. i began with neal's urgent message to me, then told of my going to the capitol--what i had overheard when governor smith was in the adjutant's office; of my interview with them; of the spying on colonel sampson; neal's directions, advice, and command; the ride toward san antonio; my being engaged as cowboy by miss sampson; of the further ride on to sanderson and the incident there; and finally how i had approached sampson and then had thought it well to get his daughter into the scheme of things. it was a long talk, even for me, and my voice sounded husky. "i told neal i'd be lucky to get you," said steele, after a silence. that was the only comment on my actions, the only praise, but the quiet way he spoke it made me feel like a boy undeserving of so much. "here, i forgot the money neal sent," i went on, glad to be rid of the huge roll of bills. the ranger showed surprise. besides, he was very glad. "the captain loves the service," said steele. "he alone knows the worth of the rangers. and the work he's given his life to--the _good_ that _service_ really does--all depends on you and me, russ!" i assented, gloomily enough. then i waited while he pondered. the moon soared clear; there was a cool wind rustling the greasewood; a dog bayed a barking coyote; lights twinkled down in the town. i looked back up at the dark hill and thought of sally langdon. getting here to linrock, meeting steele had not changed my feelings toward her, only somehow they had removed me far off in thought, out of possible touch, it seemed. "well, son, listen," began steele. his calling me that was a joke, yet i did not feel it. "you've made a better start than i could have figured. neal said you were lucky. perhaps. but you've got brains. "now, here's your cue for the present. work for miss sampson. do your best for her as long as you last. i don't suppose you'll last long. you have got to get in with this gang in town. be a flash cowboy. you don't need to get drunk, but you're to pretend it. "gamble. be a good fellow. hang round the barrooms. i don't care how you play the part, so long as you make friends, learn the ropes. we can meet out here at nights to talk and plan. "you're to take sides with those who're against me. i'll furnish you with the money. you'd better appear to be a winning gambler, even if you're not. how's this plan strike you?" "great--except for one thing," i replied. "i hate to lie to miss sampson. she's true blue, steele." "son, you haven't got soft on her?" "not a bit. maybe i'm soft on the little cousin. but i just like miss sampson--think she's fine--could look up to her. and i hate to be different from what she thinks." "i understand, russ," he replied in his deep voice that had such quality to influence a man. "it's no decent job. you'll be ashamed before her. so would i. but here's our work, the hardest ever cut out for rangers. think what depends upon it. and--" "there's something wrong with miss sampson's father," i interrupted. "something strange if not wrong. no man in this community is beyond us, russ, or above suspicion. you've a great opportunity. i needn't say use your eyes and ears as never before." "i hope sampson turns out to be on the square," i replied. "he might be a lax mayor, too good-natured to uphold law in a wild country. and his southern pride would fire at interference. i don't like him, but for his daughter's sake i hope we're wrong." steele's eyes, deep and gleaming in the moonlight, searched my face. "son, sure you're not in love with her--you'll not fall in love with her?" "no. i am positive. why?" "because in either case i'd likely have need of a new man in your place," he said. "steele, you know something about sampson--something more!" i exclaimed swiftly. "no more than you. when i meet him face to face i may know more. russ, when a fellow has been years at this game he has a sixth sense. mine seldom fails me. i never yet faced the criminal who didn't somehow betray fear--not so much fear of me, but fear of himself--his life, his deeds. that's conscience, or if not, just realization of fate." had that been the thing i imagined i had seen in sampson's face? "i'm sorry diane sampson came out here," i said impulsively. steele did not say he shared that feeling. he was looking out upon the moon-blanched level. some subtle thing in his face made me divine that he was thinking of the beautiful girl to whom he might bring disgrace and unhappiness. chapter a kiss and an arrest a month had passed, a swift-flying time full of new life. wonderful it was for me to think i was still in diane sampson's employ. it was the early morning hour of a day in may. the sun had not yet grown hot. dew like diamond drops sparkled on the leaves and grass. the gentle breeze was clear, sweet, with the song of larks upon it. and the range, a sea of gray-green growing greener, swept away westward in rolling ridges and hollows, like waves to meet the dark, low hills that notched the horizon line of blue. i was sitting on the top bar of the corral fence and before me stood three saddled horses that would have gladdened any eye. i was waiting to take the young ladies on their usual morning ride. once upon a time, in what seemed the distant past to this eventful month, i had flattered myself there had been occasions for thought, but scornfully i soliloquized that in those days i had no cue for thought such as i had now. this was one of the moments when my real self seemed to stand off and skeptically regard the fictitious cowboy. this gentleman of the range wore a huge sombrero with an ornamented silver band, a silken scarf of red, a black velvet shirt, much affected by the indians, an embroidered buckskin vest, corduroys, and fringed chaps with silver buttons, a big blue gun swinging low, high heeled boots, and long spurs with silver rowels. a flash cowboy! steele vowed i was a born actor. but i never divulged the fact that had it not been for my infatuation for sally, i never could have carried on that part, not to save the ranger service, or the whole state of texas. the hardest part had not been the establishing of a reputation. the scorn of cowboys, the ridicule of gamblers, the badinage of the young bucks of the settlement--these i had soon made dangerous procedures for any one. i was quick with tongue and fist and gun. there had been fights and respect was quickly earned, though the constant advent of strangers in linrock always had me in hot water. moreover, instead of being difficult, it was fun to spend all the time i could in the hotels and resorts, shamming a weakness for drink, gambling, lounging, making friends among the rough set, when all the time i was a cool, keen registering machine. the hard thing was the lie i lived in the eyes of diane sampson and sally langdon. i had indeed won the sincere regard of my employer. her father, her cousin george, and new-made friends in town had come to her with tales of my reckless doings, and had urged my dismissal. but she kept me and all the time pleaded like a sister to have me mend my vicious ways. she believed what she was told about me, but had faith in me despite that. as for sally, i had fallen hopelessly in love with her. by turns sally was indifferent to me, cold, friendly like a comrade, and dangerously sweet. somehow she saw through me, knew i was not just what i pretended to be. but she never breathed her conviction. she championed me. i wanted to tell her the truth about myself because i believed the doubt of me alone stood in the way of my winning her. still that might have been my vanity. she had never said she cared for me although she had looked it. this tangle of my personal life, however, had not in the least affected my loyalty and duty to vaughn steele. day by day i had grown more attached to him, keener in the interest of our work. it had been a busy month--a month of foundation building. my vigilance and my stealthy efforts had not been rewarded by anything calculated to strengthen our suspicions of sampson. but then he had been absent from the home very often, and was difficult to watch when he was there. george wright came and went, too, presumably upon stock business. i could not yet see that he was anything but an honest rancher, deeply involved with sampson and other men in stock deals; nevertheless, as a man he had earned my contempt. he was a hard drinker, cruel to horses, a gambler not above stacking the cards, a quick-tempered, passionate southerner. he had fallen in love with diane sampson, was like her shadow when at home. he hated me; he treated me as if i were the scum of the earth; if he had to address me for something, which was seldom, he did it harshly, like ordering a dog. whenever i saw his sinister, handsome face, with its dark eyes always half shut, my hand itched for my gun, and i would go my way with something thick and hot inside my breast. in my talks with steele we spent time studying george wright's character and actions. he was sampson's partner, and at the head of a small group of linrock ranchers who were rich in cattle and property, if not in money. steele and i had seen fit to wait before we made any thorough investigation into their business methods. ours was a waiting game, anyway. right at the start linrock had apparently arisen in resentment at the presence of vaughn steele. but it was my opinion that there were men in linrock secretly glad of the ranger's presence. what he intended to do was food for great speculation. his fame, of course, had preceded him. a company of militia could not have had the effect upon the wild element of linrock that steele's presence had. a thousand stories went from lip to lip, most of which were false. he was lightning swift on the draw. it was death to face him. he had killed thirty men--wildest rumor of all. he had the gun skill of buck duane, the craft of cheseldine, the deviltry of king fisher, the most notorious of texas desperadoes. his nerve, his lack of fear--those made him stand out alone even among a horde of bold men. at first there had not only been great conjecture among the vicious element, with which i had begun to affiliate myself, but also a very decided checking of all kinds of action calculated to be conspicuous to a keen eyed ranger. steele did not hide, but during these opening days of his stay in linrock he was not often seen in town. at the tables, at the bars and lounging places remarks went the rounds: "who's thet ranger after? what'll he do fust off? is he waitin' fer somebody? who's goin' to draw on him fust--an' go to hell? jest about how soon will he be found somewhere full of lead?" those whom it was my interest to cultivate grew more curious, more speculative and impatient as time went by. when it leaked out somewhere that steele was openly cultivating the honest stay-at-home citizens, to array them in time against the other element, then linrock showed its wolf teeth hinted of in the letters to captain neal. several times steele was shot at in the dark and once slightly injured. rumor had it that jack blome, the gunman of those parts, was coming in to meet steele. part of linrock awakened and another part, much smaller, became quieter, more secluded. strangers upon whom we could get no line mysteriously came and went. the drinking, gambling, fighting in the resorts seemed to gather renewed life. abundance of money floated in circulation. and rumors, vague and unfounded, crept in from sanderson and other points, rumors of a gang of rustlers off here, a hold-up of the stage off here, robbery of a rancher at this distant point, and murder done at another. this was texas and new mexico life in these frontier days but, strangely neither steele nor i had yet been able to associate any rumor or act with a possible gang of rustlers in linrock. nevertheless we had not been discouraged. after three weeks of waiting we had become alive to activity around us, and though it was unseen, we believed we would soon be on its track. my task was the busier and the easier. steele had to have a care for his life. i never failed to caution him of this. my long reflection on the month's happenings and possibilities was brought to an end by the appearance of miss sampson and sally. my employer looked worried. sally was in a regular cowgirl riding costume, in which her trim, shapely figure showed at its best, and her face was saucy, sparkling, daring. "good morning, russ," said miss sampson and she gazed searchingly at me. i had dropped off the fence, sombrero in hand. i knew i was in for a lecture, and i put on a brazen, innocent air. "did you break your promise to me?" she asked reproachfully. "which one?" i asked. it was sally's bright eyes upon me, rather than miss sampson's reproach, that bothered me. "about getting drunk again," she said. "i didn't break _that_ one." "my cousin george saw you in the hope so gambling place last night, drunk, staggering, mixing with that riffraff, on the verge of a brawl." "miss sampson, with all due respect to mr. wright, i want to say that he has a strange wish to lower me in the eyes of you ladies," i protested with a fine show of spirit. "russ, _were_ you drunk?" she demanded. "no. i should think you needn't ask me that. didn't you ever see a man the morning after a carouse?" evidently she had. and there i knew i stood, fresh, clean-shaven, clear-eyed as the morning. sally's saucy face grew thoughtful, too. the only thing she had ever asked of me was not to drink. the habit had gone hard with the sampson family. "russ, you look just as--as nice as i'd want you to," miss sampson replied. "i don't know what to think. they tell me things. you deny. whom shall i believe? george swore he saw you." "miss sampson, did i ever lie to you?" "not to my knowledge." then i looked at her, and she understood what i meant. "george has lied to me. that day at sanderson. and since, too, i fear. do you say he lies?" "miss sampson, i would not call your cousin a liar." here sally edged closer, with the bridle rein of her horse over her arm. "russ, cousin george isn't the only one who saw you. burt waters told me the same," said sally nervously. i believed she hoped i was telling the truth. "waters! so he runs me down behind my back. all right, i won't say a word about him. but do you believe i was drunk when i say no?" "i'm afraid i do, russ," she replied in reluctance. was she testing me? "see here, miss sampson," i burst out. "why don't you discharge me? please let me go. i'm not claiming much for myself, but you don't believe even that. i'm pretty bad. i never denied the scraps, the gambling--all that. but i did do as miss sally asked me--i did keep my promise to you. now, discharge me. then i'll be free to call on mr. burt waters." miss sampson looked alarmed and sally turned pale, to my extreme joy. those girls believed i was a desperate devil of a cowboy, who had been held back from spilling blood solely through their kind relation to me. "oh, no!" exclaimed sally. "diane, don't let him go!" "russ, pray don't get angry," replied miss sampson and she put a soft hand on me that thrilled me, while it made me feel like a villain. "i won't discharge you. i need you. sally needs you. after all, it's none of my business what you do away from here. but i hoped i would be so happy to--to reclaim you from--didn't you ever have a sister, russ?" i kept silent for fear that i would perjure myself anew. yet the situation was delicious, and suddenly i conceived a wild idea. "miss sampson," i began haltingly, but with brave front, "i've been wild in the past. but i've been tolerably straight here, trying to please you. lately i have been going to the bad again. not drunk, but leaning that way. lord knows what i'll do soon if--if my trouble isn't cured." "russ! what trouble?" "you know what's the matter with me," i went on hurriedly. "anybody could see that." sally turned a flaming scarlet. miss sampson made it easier for me by reason of her quick glance of divination. "i've fallen in love with miss sally. i'm crazy about her. here i've got to see these fellows flirting with her. and it's killing me. i've--" "if you are crazy about me, you don't have to tell!" cried sally, red and white by turns. "i want to stop your flirting one way or another. i've been in earnest. i wasn't flirting. i begged you to--to..." "you never did," interrupted sally furiously. that hint had been a spark. "i couldn't have dreamed it," i protested, in a passion to be earnest, yet tingling with the fun of it. "that day when i--didn't i ask..." "if my memory serves me correctly, you didn't ask anything," she replied, with anger and scorn now struggling with mirth. "but, sally, i meant to. you understood me? say you didn't believe i could take that liberty without honorable intentions." that was too much for sally. she jumped at her horse, made the quickest kind of a mount, and was off like a flash. "stop me if you can," she called back over her shoulder, her face alight and saucy. "russ, go after her," said miss sampson. "in that mood she'll ride to sanderson. my dear fellow, don't stare so. i understand many things now. sally is a flirt. she would drive any man mad. russ, i've grown in a short time to like you. if you'll be a man--give up drinking and gambling--maybe you'll have a chance with her. hurry now--go after her." i mounted and spurred my horse after sally's. she was down on the level now, out in the open, and giving her mount his head. even had i wanted to overhaul her at once the matter would have been difficult, well nigh impossible under five miles. sally had as fast a horse as there was on the range; she made no weight in the saddle, and she could ride. from time to time she looked back over her shoulder. i gained enough to make her think i was trying to catch her. sally loved a horse; she loved a race; she loved to win. my good fortune had given me more than one ride alone with sally. miss sampson enjoyed riding, too; but she was not a madcap, and when she accompanied us there was never any race. when sally got out alone with me she made me ride to keep her from disappearing somewhere on the horizon. this morning i wanted her to enjoy to the fullest her utter freedom and to feel that for once i could not catch her. perhaps my declaration to miss sampson had liberated my strongest emotions. however that might be, the fact was that no ride before had ever been like this one--no sky so blue, no scene so open, free, and enchanting as that beautiful gray-green range, no wind so sweet. the breeze that rushed at me might have been laden with the perfume of sally langdon's hair. i sailed along on what seemed a strange ride. grazing horses pranced and whistled as i went by; jack-rabbits bounded away to hide in the longer clumps of grass; a prowling wolf trotted from his covert near a herd of cattle. far to the west rose the low, dark lines of bleak mountains. they were always mysterious to me, as if holding a secret i needed to know. it was a strange ride because in the back of my head worked a haunting consciousness of the deadly nature of my business there on the frontier, a business in such contrast with this dreaming and dallying, this longing for what surely was futile. any moment i might be stripped of my disguise. any moment i might have to be the ranger. sally kept the lead across the wide plain, and mounted to the top of a ridge, where tired out, and satisfied with her victory, she awaited me. i was in no hurry to reach the summit of the long, slow-sloping ridge, and i let my horse walk. just how would sally langdon meet me now, after my regretted exhibition before her cousin? there was no use to conjecture, but i was not hopeful. when i got there to find her in her sweetest mood, with some little difference never before noted--a touch of shyness--i concealed my surprise. "russ, i gave you a run that time," she said. "ten miles and you never caught me!" "but look at the start you had. i've had my troubles beating you with an even break." sally was susceptible to flattery in regard to her riding, a fact that i made subtle use of. "but in a long race i was afraid you'd beat me. russ, i've learned to ride out here. back home i never had room to ride a horse. just look. miles and miles of level, of green. little hills with black bunches of trees. not a soul in sight. even the town hidden in the green. all wild and lonely. isn't it glorious, russ?" "lately it's been getting to me," i replied soberly. we both gazed out over the sea of gray-green, at the undulating waves of ground in the distance. on these rides with her i had learned to appreciate the beauty of the lonely reaches of plain. but when i could look at her i seldom wasted time on scenery. looking at her now i tried to get again that impression of a difference in her. it eluded me. just now with the rose in her brown cheeks, her hair flying, her eyes with grave instead of mocking light, she seemed only prettier than usual. i got down ostensibly to tighten the saddle girths on her horse. but i lingered over the task. presently, when she looked down at me, i received that subtle impression of change, and read it as her soft mood of dangerous sweetness that came so seldom, mingled with something deeper, more of character and womanliness than i had ever sensed in her. "russ, it wasn't nice to tell diane that," she said. "nice! it was--oh, i'd like to swear!" i ejaculated. "but now i understand my miserable feeling. i was jealous, sally, i'm sorry. i apologize." she had drawn off her gloves, and one little hand, brown, shapely, rested upon her knee very near to me. i took it in mine. she let it stay, though she looked away from me, the color rich in her cheeks. "i can forgive that," she murmured. "but the lie. jealousy doesn't excuse a lie." "you mean--what i intimated to your cousin," i said, trying to make her look at me. "that was the devil in me. only it's true." "how can it be true when you never asked--said a word--you hinted of?" she queried. "diane believed what you said. i know she thinks me horrid." "no she doesn't. as for what i said, or meant to say, which is the same thing, how'd you take my actions? i hope not the same as you take wright's or the other fellow's." sally was silent, a little pale now, and i saw that i did not need to say any more about the other fellows. the change, the difference was now marked. it drove me to give in wholly to this earnest and passionate side of myself. "sally, i do love you. i don't know how you took my actions. anyway, now i'll make them plain. i was beside myself with love and jealousy. will you marry me?" she did not answer. but the old willful sally was not in evidence. watching her face i gave her a slow and gentle pull, one she could easily resist if she cared to, and she slipped from her saddle into my arms. then there was one wildly sweet moment in which i had the blissful certainty that she kissed me of her own accord. she was abashed, yet yielding; she let herself go, yet seemed not utterly unstrung. perhaps i was rough, held her too hard, for she cried out a little. "russ! let me go. help me--back." i righted her in the saddle, although not entirely releasing her. "but, sally, you haven't told me anything," i remonstrated tenderly. "do you love me?" "i think so," she whispered. "sally, will you marry me?" she disengaged herself then, sat erect and faced away from me, with her breast heaving. "no, russ," she presently said, once more calm. "but sally--if you love me--" i burst out, and then stopped, stilled by something in her face. "i can't help--loving you, russ," she said. "but to promise to marry you, that's different. why, russ, i know nothing about you, not even your last name. you're not a--a steady fellow. you drink, gamble, fight. you'll kill somebody yet. then i'll _not_ love you. besides, i've always felt you're not just what you seemed. i can't trust you. there's something wrong about you." i knew my face darkened, and perhaps hope and happiness died in it. swiftly she placed a kind hand on my shoulder. "now, i've hurt you. oh, i'm sorry. your asking me makes such a difference. _they_ are not in earnest. but, russ, i had to tell you why i couldn't be engaged to you." "i'm not good enough for you. i'd no right to ask you to marry me," i replied abjectly. "russ, don't think me proud," she faltered. "i wouldn't care who you were if i could only--only respect you. some things about you are splendid, you're such a man, that's why i cared. but you gamble. you drink--and i _hate_ that. you're dangerous they say, and i'd be, i _am_ in constant dread you'll kill somebody. remember, russ, i'm no texan." this regret of sally's, this faltering distress at giving me pain, was such sweet assurance that she did love me, better than she knew, that i was divided between extremes of emotion. "will you wait? will you trust me a little? will you give me a chance? after all, maybe i'm not so bad as i seem." "oh, if you weren't! russ, are you asking me to trust you?" "i beg you to--dearest. trust me and wait." "wait? what for? are you really on the square, russ? or are you what george calls you--a drunken cowboy, a gambler, sharp with the cards, a gun-fighter?" my face grew cold as i felt the blood leave it. at that moment mention of george wright fixed once for all my hate of him. bitter indeed was it that i dared not give him the lie. but what could i do? the character wright gave me was scarcely worse than what i had chosen to represent. i had to acknowledge the justice of his claim, but nevertheless i hated him. "sally, i ask you to trust me in spite of my reputation." "you ask me a great deal," she replied. "yes, it's too much. let it be then only this--you'll wait. and while you wait, promise not to flirt with wright and waters." "russ, i'll not let george or any of them so much as dare touch me," she declared in girlish earnestness, her voice rising. "i'll promise if you'll promise me not to go into those saloons any more." one word would have brought her into my arms for good and all. the better side of sally langdon showed then in her appeal. that appeal was as strong as the drawing power of her little face, all eloquent with its light, and eyes dark with tears, and lips wanting to smile. my response should have been instant. how i yearned to give it and win the reward i imagined i saw on her tremulous lips! but i was bound. the grim, dark nature of my enterprise there in linrock returned to stultify my eagerness, dispel my illusion, shatter my dream. for one instant it flashed through my mind to tell sally who i was, what my errand was, after the truth. but the secret was not mine to tell. and i kept my pledges. the hopeful glow left sally's face. her disappointment seemed keen. then a little scorn of certainty was the bitterest of all for me to bear. "that's too much to promise all at once," i protested lamely, and i knew i would have done better to keep silence. "russ, a promise like that is nothing--if a man loves a girl," she retorted. "don't make any more love to me, please, unless you want me to laugh at you. and don't feel such terrible trouble if you happen to see me flirting occasionally." she ended with a little mocking laugh. that was the perverse side of her, the cat using her claws. i tried not to be angry, but failed. "all right. i'll take my medicine," i replied bitterly. "i'll certainly never make love to you again. and i'll stand it if i happen to see waters kiss you, or any other decent fellow. but look out how you let that damned backbiter wright fool around you!" i spoke to her as i had never spoken before, in quick, fierce meaning, with eyes holding hers. she paled. but even my scarce-veiled hint did not chill her anger. tossing her head she wheeled and rode away. i followed at a little distance, and thus we traveled the ten miles back to the ranch. when we reached the corrals she dismounted and, turning her horse over to dick, she went off toward the house without so much as a nod or good-by to me. i went down to town for once in a mood to live up to what had been heretofore only a sham character. but turning a corner into the main street i instantly forgot myself at the sight of a crowd congregated before the town hall. there was a babel of voices and an air of excitement that i immediately associated with sampson, who as mayor of linrock, once in a month of moons held court in this hall. it took slipping and elbowing to get through the crowd. once inside the door i saw that the crowd was mostly outside, and evidently not so desirous as i was to enter. the first man i saw was steele looming up; the next was sampson chewing his mustache--the third, wright, whose dark and sinister face told much. something was up in linrock. steele had opened the hall. there were other men in the hall, a dozen or more, and all seemed shouting excitedly in unison with the crowd outside. i did not try to hear what was said. i edged closer in, among the men to the front. sampson sat at a table up on a platform. near him sat a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes; and this was hanford owens, county judge. to the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fellow with a drooping, sandy mustache. conspicuous on his vest was a huge silver shield. this was gorsech, one of sampson's sheriffs. there were four other men whom i knew, several whose faces were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen. steele stood apart from them, a little to one side, so that he faced them all. his hair was disheveled, and his shirt open at the neck. he looked cool and hard. when i caught his eye i realized in an instant that the long deferred action, the beginning of our real fight was at hand. sampson pounded hard on the table to be heard. mayor or not, he was unable at once to quell the excitement. gradually, however, it subsided and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored i gathered that steele had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall. "steele, what'd you break in here for?" demanded sampson. "isn't this court? aren't you the mayor of linrock?" interrogated steele. his voice was so clear and loud, almost piercing, that i saw at once that he wanted all those outside to hear. "yes," replied sampson. like flint he seemed, yet i felt his intense interest. i had no doubt then that steele intended to make him stand out before this crowd as the real mayor of linrock or as a man whose office was a sham. "i've arrested a criminal," said steele. "bud snell. i charge him with assault on jim hoden and attempted robbery--if not murder. snell had a shady past here, as the court will know if it keeps a record." then i saw snell hunching down on a bench, a nerveless and shaken man if there ever was one. he had been a hanger-on round the gambling dens, the kind of sneak i never turned my back to. jim hoden, the restaurant keeper, was present also, and on second glance i saw that he was pale. there was blood on his face. i knew jim, liked him, had tried to make a friend of him. i was not dead to the stinging interrogation in the concluding sentence of steele's speech. then i felt sure i had correctly judged steele's motive. i began to warm to the situation. "what's this i hear about you, bud? get up and speak for yourself," said sampson, gruffly. snell got up, not without a furtive glance at steele, and he had shuffled forward a few steps toward the mayor. he had an evil front, but not the boldness even of a rustler. "it ain't so, sampson," he began loudly. "i went in hoden's place fer grub. some feller i never seen before come in from the hall an' hit him an' wrastled him on the floor. then this big ranger grabbed me an' fetched me here. i didn't do nothin'. this ranger's hankerin' to arrest somebody. thet's my hunch, sampson." "what have you to say about this, hoden?" sharply queried sampson. "i call to your mind the fact that you once testified falsely in court, and got punished for it." why did my sharpened and experienced wits interpret a hint of threat or menace in sampson's reminder? hoden rose from the bench and with an unsteady hand reached down to support himself. he was no longer young, and he seemed broken in health and spirit. he had been hurt somewhat about the head. "i haven't much to say," he replied. "the ranger dragged me here. i told him i didn't take my troubles to court. besides, i can't swear it was snell who hit me." sampson said something in an undertone to judge owens, and that worthy nodded his great, bushy head. "bud, you're discharged," said sampson bluntly. "now, the rest of you clear out of here." he absolutely ignored the ranger. that was his rebuff to steele's advances, his slap in the face to an interfering ranger service. if sampson was crooked he certainly had magnificent nerve. i almost decided he was above suspicion. but his nonchalance, his air of finality, his authoritative assurance--these to my keen and practiced eyes were in significant contrast to a certain tenseness of line about his mouth and a slow paling of his olive skin. he had crossed the path of vaughn steele; he had blocked the way of this texas ranger. if he had intelligence and remembered steele's fame, which surely he had, then he had some appreciation of what he had undertaken. in that momentary lull my scrutiny of sampson gathered an impression of the man's intense curiosity. then bud snell, with a cough that broke the silence, shuffled a couple of steps toward the door. "hold on!" called steele. it was a bugle-call. it halted snell as if it had been a bullet. he seemed to shrink. "sampson, i _saw_ snell attack hoden," said steele, his voice still ringing. "what has the court to say to that?" the moment for open rupture between ranger service and sampson's idea of law was at hand. sampson showed not the slightest hesitation. "the court has to say this: west of the pecos we'll not aid or abet or accept any ranger service. steele, we don't want you out here. linrock doesn't need you." "that's a lie, sampson," retorted steele. "i've a pocket full of letters from linrock citizens, all begging for ranger service." sampson turned white. the veins corded at his temples. he appeared about to burst into rage. he was at a loss for a quick reply. steele shook a long arm at the mayor. "i need your help. you refuse. now, i'll work alone. this man snell goes to del rio in irons." george wright rushed up to the table. the blood showed black and thick in his face; his utterance was incoherent, his uncontrollable outbreak of temper seemed out of all proportion to any cause he should reasonably have had for anger. sampson shoved him back with a curse and warning glare. "where's your warrant to arrest snell?" shouted sampson. "i won't give you one. you can't take him without a warrant." "i don't need warrants to make arrests. sampson, you're ignorant of the power of texas rangers." "you'll take snell without papers?" bellowed sampson. "he goes to del rio to jail," answered steele. "he won't. you'll pull none of your damned ranger stunts out here. i'll block you, steele." that passionate reply of sampson's appeared to be the signal steele had been waiting for. he had helped on the crisis. i believed i saw how he wanted to force sampson's hand and show the town his stand. steele backed clear of everybody and like two swift flashes of light his guns leaped forth. he was transformed. my wish was fulfilled. here was steele, the ranger, in one of his lone lion stands. not exactly alone either, for my hands itched for my guns! "men! i call on you all!" cried steele, piercingly. "i call on you to witness the arrest of a criminal opposed by sampson, mayor of linrock. it will be recorded in the report sent to the adjutant general at austin. sampson, i warn you--don't follow up your threat." sampson sat white with working jaw. "snell, come here," ordered steele. the man went as if drawn and appeared to slink out of line with the guns. steele's cold gray glance held every eye in the hall. "take the handcuffs out of my pocket. this side. go over to gorsech with them. gorsech, snap those irons on snell's wrists. now, snell, back here to the right of me." it was no wonder to me to see how instantly steele was obeyed. he might have seen more danger in that moment than was manifest to me; on the other hand he might have wanted to drive home hard what he meant. it was a critical moment for those who opposed him. there was death in the balance. this ranger, whose last resort was gun-play, had instantly taken the initiative, and his nerve chilled even me. perhaps though, he read this crowd differently from me and saw that intimidation was his cue. i forgot i was not a spectator, but an ally. "sampson, you've shown your hand," said steele, in the deep voice that carried so far and held those who heard. "any honest citizen of linrock can now see what's plain--yours is a damn poor hand! "you're going to hear me call a spade a spade. your office is a farce. in the two years you've been mayor you've never arrested one rustler. strange, when linrock's a nest for rustlers! you've never sent a prisoner to del rio, let alone to austin. you have no jail. "there have been nine murders since you took office, innumerable street fights and hold-ups. _not one arrest!_ but you have ordered arrests for trivial offenses, and have punished these out of all proportion. "there have been law-suits in your court--suits over water rights, cattle deals, property lines. strange how in these law-suits, you or wright or other men close to you were always involved! stranger how it seems the law was stretched to favor your interests!" steele paused in his cold, ringing speech. in the silence, both outside and inside the hall, could be heard the deep breathing of agitated men. i would have liked to search for possible satisfaction on the faces of any present, but i was concerned only with sampson. i did not need to fear that any man might draw on steele. never had i seen a crowd so sold, so stiff, so held! sampson was indeed a study. yet did he betray anything but rage at this interloper? "sampson, here's plain talk for you and linrock to digest," went on steele. "i don't accuse you and your court of dishonesty. i say--_strange_! law here has been a farce. the motive behind all this laxity isn't plain to me--yet. but i call your hand!" chapter sounding the timber when steele left the hall, pushing snell before him, making a lane through the crowd, it was not any longer possible to watch everybody. yet now he seemed to ignore the men behind him. any friend of snell's among the vicious element might have pulled a gun. i wondered if steele knew how i watched those men at his back--how fatal it would have been for any of them to make a significant move. no--i decided that steele trusted to the effect his boldness had created. it was this power to cow ordinary men that explained so many of his feats; just the same it was his keenness to read desperate men, his nerve to confront them, that made him great. the crowd followed steele and his captive down the middle of the main street and watched him secure a team and buckboard and drive off on the road to sanderson. only then did that crowd appear to realize what had happened. then my long-looked-for opportunity arrived. in the expression of silent men i found something which i had sought; from the hurried departure of others homeward i gathered import; on the husky, whispering lips of yet others i read words i needed to hear. the other part of that crowd--to my surprise, the smaller part--was the roaring, threatening, complaining one. thus i segregated linrock that was lawless from linrock that wanted law, but for some reason not yet clear the latter did not dare to voice their choice. how could steele and i win them openly to our cause? if that could be done long before the year was up linrock would be free of violence and captain neal's ranger service saved to the state. i went from place to place, corner to corner, bar to bar, watching, listening, recording; and not until long after sunset did i go out to the ranch. the excitement had preceded me and speculation was rife. hurrying through my supper, to get away from questions and to go on with my spying, i went out to the front of the house. the evening was warm; the doors were open; and in the twilight the only lamps that had been lit were in sampson's big sitting room at the far end of the house. neither sampson nor wright had come home to supper. i would have given much to hear their talk right then, and certainly intended to try to hear it when they did come home. when the buckboard drove up and they alighted i was well hidden in the bushes, so well screened that i could get but a fleeting glimpse of sampson as he went in. for all i could see, he appeared to be a calm and quiet man, intense beneath the surface, with an air of dignity under insult. my chance to observe wright was lost. they went into the house without speaking, and closed the door. at the other end of the porch, close under a window, was an offset between step and wall, and there in the shadow i hid. if sampson or wright visited the girls that evening i wanted to hear what was said about steele. it seemed to me that it might be a good clue for me--the circumstance whether or not diane sampson was told the truth. so i waited there in the darkness with patience born of many hours of like duty. presently the small lamp was lit--i could tell the difference in light when the big one was burning--and i heard the swish of skirts. "something's happened, surely, sally," i heard miss sampson say anxiously. "papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. he seemed pale, worried." "cousin george looked like a thundercloud," said sally. "for once, he didn't try to kiss me. something's happened. well, diane, this has been a bad day for me, too." plainly i heard sally's sigh, and the little pathetic sound brought me vividly out of my sordid business of suspicion and speculation. so she was sorry. "bad for you, too?" replied diane in amused surprise. "oh, i see--i forgot. you and russ had it out." "out? we fought like the very old deuce. i'll never speak to him again." "so your little--affair with russ is all over?" "yes." here she sighed again. "well, sally, it began swiftly and it's just as well short," said diane earnestly. "we know nothing at all of russ." "diane, after to-day i respect him in--in spite of things--even though he seems no good. i--i cared a lot, too." "my dear, your loves are like the summer flowers. i thought maybe your flirting with russ might amount to something. yet he seems so different now from what he was at first. it's only occasionally i get the impression i had of him after that night he saved me from violence. he's strange. perhaps it all comes of his infatuation for you. he is in love with you. i'm afraid of what may come of it." "diane, he'll do something dreadful to george, mark my words," whispered sally. "he swore he would if george fooled around me any more." "oh, dear. sally, what can we do? these are wild men. george makes life miserable for me. and he teases you unmer..." "i don't call it teasing. george wants to spoon," declared sally emphatically. "he'd run after any woman." "a fine compliment to me, cousin sally," laughed diane. "i don't agree," replied sally stubbornly. "it's so. he's spoony. and when he's been drinking and tries to kiss me, i hate him." "sally, you look as if you'd rather like russ to do something dreadful to george," said diane with a laugh that this time was only half mirth. "half of me would and half of me would not," returned sally. "but all of me would if i weren't afraid of russ. i've got a feeling--i don't know what--something will happen between george and russ some day." there were quick steps on the hall floor, steps i thought i recognized. "hello, girls!" sounded out wright's voice, minus its usual gaiety. then ensued a pause that made me bring to mind a picture of wright's glum face. "george, what's the matter?" asked diane presently. "i never saw papa as he is to-night, nor you so--so worried. tell me, what has happened?" "well, diane, we had a jar to-day," replied wright, with a blunt, expressive laugh. "jar?" echoed both the girls curiously. "jar? we had to submit to a damnable outrage," added wright passionately, as if the sound of his voice augmented his feeling. "listen, girls. i'll tell you all about it." he coughed, clearing his throat in a way that betrayed he had been drinking. i sunk deeper in the shadow of my covert, and stiffening my muscles for a protracted spell of rigidity, prepared to listen with all acuteness and intensity. just one word from this wright, inadvertently uttered in a moment of passion, might be the word steele needed for his clue. "it happened at the town hall," began wright rapidly. "your father and judge owens and i were there in consultation with three ranchers from out of town. first we were disturbed by gunshots from somewhere, but not close at hand. then we heard the loud voices outside. "a crowd was coming down street. it stopped before the hall. men came running in, yelling. we thought there was a fire. then that ranger, steele, stalked in, dragging a fellow by the name of snell. we couldn't tell what was wanted because of the uproar. finally your father restored order. "steele had arrested snell for alleged assault on a restaurant keeper named hoden. it developed that hoden didn't accuse anybody, didn't know who attacked him. snell, being obviously innocent, was discharged. then this--this gun fighting ranger pulled his guns on the court and halted the proceedings." when wright paused i plainly heard his intake of breath. far indeed was he from calm. "steele held everybody in that hall in fear of death, and he began shouting his insults. law was a farce in linrock. the court was a farce. there was no law. your father's office as mayor should be impeached. he made arrests only for petty offenses. he was afraid of the rustlers, highwaymen, murderers. he was afraid or--he just let them alone. he used his office to cheat ranchers and cattlemen in law-suits. "all of this steele yelled for everyone to hear. a damnable outrage! your father, diane, insulted in his own court by a rowdy ranger! not only insulted, but threatened with death--two big guns thrust almost in his face!" "oh! how horrible!" cried diane, in mingled distress and anger. "steele's a ranger. the ranger service wants to rule western texas," went on wright. "these rangers are all a low set, many of them worse than the outlaws they hunt. some of them were outlaws and gun fighters before they became rangers. "this steele is one of the worst of the lot. he's keen, intelligent, smooth, and that makes him more to be feared. for he is to be feared. he wanted to kill. he meant to kill. if your father had made the least move steele would have shot him. he's a cold-nerved devil--the born gunman. my god, any instant i expected to see your father fall dead at my feet!" "oh, george! the--the unspeakable ruffian!" cried diane, passionately. "you see, diane, this fellow steele has failed here in linrock. he's been here weeks and done nothing. he must have got desperate. he's infamous and he loves his name. he seeks notoriety. he made that play with snell just for a chance to rant against your father. he tried to inflame all linrock against him. that about law-suits was the worst! damn him! he'll make us enemies." "what do you care for the insinuations of such a man?" said diane sampson, her voice now deep and rich with feeling. "after a moment's thought no one will be influenced by them. do not worry, george, tell papa not to worry. surely after all these years he can't be injured in reputation by--by an adventurer." "yes, he can be injured," replied george quickly. "the frontier is a queer place. there are many bitter men here, men who have failed at ranching. and your father has been wonderfully successful. steele has dropped some poison, and it'll spread." then followed a silence, during which, evidently, the worried wright bestrode the floor. "cousin george, what became of steele and his prisoner?" suddenly asked sally. how like her it was, with her inquisitive bent of mind and shifting points of view, to ask a question the answering of which would be gall and wormwood to wright! it amused while it thrilled me. sally might be a flirt, but she was no fool. "what became of them? ha! steele bluffed the whole town--at least all of it who had heard the mayor's order to discharge snell," growled wright. "he took snell--rode off for del rio to jail him." "george!" exclaimed diane. "then, after all, this ranger was able to arrest snell, the innocent man father discharged, and take him to jail?" "exactly. that's the toughest part...." wright ended abruptly, and then broke out fiercely: "but, by god, he'll never come back!" wright's slow pacing quickened and he strode from the parlor, leaving behind him a silence eloquent of the effect of his sinister prediction. "sally, what did he mean?" asked diane in a low voice. "steele will be killed," replied sally, just as low-voiced. "killed! that magnificent fellow! ah, i forgot. sally, my wits are sadly mixed. i ought to be glad if somebody kills my father's defamer. but, oh, i can't be! "this bloody frontier makes me sick. papa doesn't want me to stay for good. and no wonder. shall i go back? i hate to show a white feather. "do you know, sally, i was--a little taken with this texas ranger. miserably, i confess. he seemed so like in spirit to the grand stature of him. how can so splendid a man be so bloody, base at heart? it's hideous. how little we know of men! i had my dream about vaughn steele. i confess because it shames me--because i hate myself!" next morning i awakened with a feeling that i was more like my old self. in the experience of activity of body and mind, with a prospect that this was merely the forerunner of great events, i came round to my own again. sally was not forgotten; she had just become a sorrow. so perhaps my downfall as a lover was a precursor of better results as an officer. i held in abeyance my last conclusion regarding sampson and wright, and only awaited steele's return to have fixed in mind what these men were. wright's remark about steele not returning did not worry me. i had heard many such dark sayings in reference to rangers. rangers had a trick of coming back. i did not see any man or men on the present horizon of linrock equal to the killing of steele. as miss sampson and sally had no inclination to ride, i had even more freedom. i went down to the town and burst, cheerily whistling, into jim hoden's place. jim always made me welcome there, as much for my society as for the money i spent, and i never neglected being free with both. i bought a handful of cigars and shoved some of them in his pocket. "how's tricks, jim?" i asked cheerily. "reckon i'm feelin' as well as could be expected," replied jim. his head was circled by a bandage that did not conceal the lump where he had been struck. jim looked a little pale, but he was bright enough. "that was a hell of a biff snell gave you, the skunk," i remarked with the same cheery assurance. "russ, i ain't accusin' snell," remonstrated jim with eyes that made me thoughtful. "sure, i know you're too good a sport to send a fellow up. but snell deserved what he got. i saw his face when he made his talk to sampson's court. snell lied. and i'll tell you what, jim, if it'd been me instead of that ranger, bud snell would have got settled." jim appeared to be agitated by my forcible intimation of friendship. "jim, that's between ourselves," i went on. "i'm no fool. and much as i blab when i'm hunky, it's all air. maybe you've noticed that about me. in some parts of texas it's policy to be close-mouthed. policy and healthy. between ourselves, as friends, i want you to know i lean some on steele's side of the fence." as i lighted a cigar i saw, out of the corner of my eye, how hoden gave a quick start. i expected some kind of a startling idea to flash into his mind. presently i turned and frankly met his gaze. i had startled him out of his habitual set taciturnity, but even as i looked the light that might have been amaze and joy faded out of his face, leaving it the same old mask. still i had seen enough. like a bloodhound, i had a scent. "thet's funny, russ, seein' as you drift with the gang steele's bound to fight," remarked hoden. "sure. i'm a sport. if i can't gamble with gentlemen i'll gamble with rustlers." again he gave a slight start, and this time he hid his eyes. "wal, russ, i've heard you was slick," he said. "you tumble, jim. i'm a little better on the draw." "on the draw? with cards, an' gun, too, eh?" "now, jim, that last follows natural. i haven't had much chance to show how good i am on the draw with a gun. but that'll come soon." "reckon thet talk's a little air," said hoden with his dry laugh. "same as you leanin' a little on the ranger's side of the fence." "but, jim, wasn't he game? what'd you think of that stand? bluffed the whole gang! the way he called sampson--why, it was great! the justice of that call doesn't bother me. it was steele's nerve that got me. that'd warm any man's blood." there was a little red in hoden's pale cheeks and i saw him swallow hard. i had struck deep again. "say, don't you work for sampson?" he queried. "me? i _guess_ not. i'm miss sampson's man. he and wright have tried to fire me many a time." "thet so?" he said curiously. "what for?" "too many silver trimmings on me, jim. and i pack my gun low down." "wal, them two don't go much together out here," replied hoden. "but i ain't seen thet anyone has shot off the trimmin's." "maybe it'll commence, jim, as soon as i stop buying drinks. talking about work--who'd you say snell worked for?" "i didn't say." "well, say so now, can't you? jim, you're powerful peevish to-day. it's the bump on your head. who does snell work for?" "when he works at all, which sure ain't often, he rides for sampson." "humph! seems to me, jim, that sampson's the whole circus round linrock. i was some sore the other day to find i was losing good money at sampson's faro game. sure if i'd won i wouldn't have been sorry, eh? but i was surprised to hear some scully say sampson owned the hope so dive." "i've heard he owned considerable property hereabouts," replied jim constrainedly. "humph again! why, jim, you _know_ it, only like every other scully you meet in this town, you're afraid to open your mug about sampson. get me straight, jim hoden. i don't care a damn for colonel mayor sampson. and for cause i'd throw a gun on him just as quick as on any rustler in pecos." "talk's cheap, my boy," replied hoden, making light of my bluster, but the red was deep in his face. "sure, i know that," i said, calming down. "my temper gets up, jim. then it's not well known that sampson owns the hope so?" "reckon it's known in pecos, all right. but sampson's name isn't connected with the hope so. blandy runs the place." "that blandy--i've got no use for him. his faro game's crooked, or i'm locoed bronc. not that we don't have lots of crooked faro dealers. a fellow can stand for them. but blandy's mean, back handed, never looks you in the eyes. that hope so place ought to be run by a good fellow like you, hoden." "thanks, russ," replied he, and i imagined his voice a little husky. "didn't you ever hear _i_ used to run it?" "no. did you?" i said quickly. "i reckon. i built the place, made additions twice, owned it for eleven years." "well, i'll be doggoned!" it was indeed my turn to be surprised, and with the surprise came glimmering. "i'm sorry you're not there now, jim. did you sell out?" "no. just lost the place." hoden was bursting for relief now--to talk--to tell. sympathy had made him soft. i did not need to ask another question. "it was two years ago--two years last march," he went on. "i was in a big cattle deal with sampson. we got the stock, an' my share, eighteen hundred head, was rustled off. i owed sampson. he pressed me. it come to a lawsuit, an' i--was ruined." it hurt me to look at hoden. he was white, and tears rolled down his cheeks. i saw the bitterness, the defeat, the agony of the man. he had failed to meet his obligation; nevertheless he had been swindled. all that he suppressed, all that would have been passion had the man's spirit not been broken, lay bare for me to see. i had now the secret of his bitterness. but the reason he did not openly accuse sampson, the secret of his reticence and fear--these i thought best to try to learn at some later time, after i had consulted with steele. "hard luck! jim, it certainly was tough," i said. "but you're a good loser. and the wheel turns! "now, jim, here's what i come particular to see you for. i need your advice. i've got a little money. between you and me, as friends, i've been adding some to that roll all the time. but before i lose it i want to invest some. buy some stock or buy an interest in some rancher's herd. "what i want you to steer me on is a good, square rancher. or maybe a couple of ranchers if there happen to be two honest ones in pecos. eh? no deals with ranchers who ride in the dark with rustlers! i've a hunch linrock's full of them. "now, jim, you've been here for years. so you must know a couple of men above suspicion." "thank god i do, russ," he replied feelingly. "frank morton an' si zimmer, my friends an' neighbors all my prosperous days. an' friends still. you can gamble on frank and si. but russ, if you want advice from me, don't invest money in stock now." "why?" "because any new feller buyin' stock in pecos these days will be rustled quicker'n he can say jack robinson. the pioneers, the new cattlemen--these are easy pickin'. but the new fellers have to learn the ropes. they don't know anythin' or anybody. an' the old ranchers are wise an' sore. they'd fight if they...." "what?" i put in as he paused. "if they knew who was rustling the stock?" "nope." "if they had the nerve?" "not thet so much." "what then? what'd make them fight?" "a leader!" i went out of hoden's with that word ringing in my ears. a leader! in my mind's eye i saw a horde of dark faced, dusty-booted cattlemen riding grim and armed behind vaughn steele. more thoughtful than usual, i walked on, passing some of my old haunts, and was about to turn in front of a feed and grain store when a hearty slap on my back disturbed my reflection. "howdy thar, cowboy," boomed a big voice. it was morton, the rancher whom jim had mentioned, and whose acquaintance i had made. he was a man of great bulk, with a ruddy, merry face. "hello, morton. let's have a drink," i replied. "gotta rustle home," he said. "young feller, i've a ranch to work." "sell it to me, morton." he laughed and said he wished he could. his buckboard stood at the rail, the horses stamping impatiently. "cards must be runnin' lucky," he went on, with another hearty laugh. "can't kick on the luck. but i'm afraid it will change. morton, my friend hoden gave me a hunch you'd be a good man to tie to. now, i've a little money, and before i lose it i'd like to invest it in stock." he smiled broadly, but for all his doubt of me he took definite interest. "i'm not drunk, and i'm on the square," i said bluntly. "you've taken me for a no-good cow puncher without any brains. wake up, morton. if you never size up your neighbors any better than you have me--well, you won't get any richer." it was sheer enjoyment for me to make my remarks to these men, pregnant with meaning. morton showed his pleasure, his interest, but his faith held aloof. "i've got some money. i had some. then the cards have run lucky. will you let me in on some kind of deal? will you start me up as a stockman, with a little herd all my own?" "russ, this's durn strange, comin' from sampson's cowboy," he said. "i'm not in his outfit. my job's with miss sampson. she's fine, but the old man? nit! he's been after me for weeks. i won't last long. that's one reason why i want to start up for myself." "hoden sent you to me, did he? poor ol' jim. wal, russ, to come out flat-footed, you'd be foolish to buy cattle now. i don't want to take your money an' see you lose out. better go back across the pecos where the rustlers ain't so strong. i haven't had more'n twenty-five-hundred head of stock for ten years. the rustlers let me hang on to a breedin' herd. kind of them, ain't it?" "sort of kind. all i hear is rustlers." i replied with impatience. "you see, i haven't ever lived long in a rustler-run county. who heads the gang anyway?" frank morton looked at me with a curiously-amused smile. "i hear lots about jack blome and snecker. everybody calls them out and out bad. do they head this mysterious gang?" "russ, i opine blome an' snecker parade themselves off boss rustlers same as gun throwers. but thet's the love such men have for bein' thought hell. that's brains headin' the rustler gang hereabouts." "maybe blome and snecker are blinds. savvy what i mean, morton? maybe there's more in the parade than just the fame of it." morton snapped his big jaw as if to shut in impulsive words. "look here, morton. i'm not so young in years even if i am young west of the pecos. i can figure ahead. it stands to reason, no matter how damn strong these rustlers are, how hidden their work, however involved with supposedly honest men--they can't last." "they come with the pioneers an' they'll last as long as thar's a single steer left," he declared. "well, if you take that view of circumstances i just figure you as one of the rustlers!" morton looked as if he were about to brain me with the butt of his whip. his anger flashed by then as unworthy of him, and, something striking him as funny, he boomed out a laugh. "it's not so funny," i went on. "if you're going to pretend a yellow streak, what else will i think?" "pretend?" he repeated. "sure. you can't fool me, morton. i know men of nerve. and here in pecos they're not any different from those in other places. i say if you show anything like a lack of sand it's all bluff. "by nature you've got nerve. there are a lot of men round linrock who're afraid of their shadows, afraid to be out after dark, afraid to open their mouths. but you're not one. "so, i say, if you claim these rustlers will last, you're pretending lack of nerve just to help the popular idea along. for they can't last. "morton, i don't want to be a hard-riding cowboy all my days. do you think i'd let fear of a gang of rustlers stop me from going in business with a rancher? nit! what you need out here in pecos is some new blood--a few youngsters like me to get you old guys started. savvy what i mean?" "wal, i reckon i do," he replied, looking as if a storm had blown over him. i gauged the hold the rustler gang had on linrock by the difficult job it was to stir this really courageous old cattleman. he had grown up with the evil. to him it must have been a necessary one, the same as dry seasons and cyclones. "russ, i'll look you up the next time i come to town," he said soberly. we parted, and i, more than content with the meeting, retraced my steps down street to the hope so saloon. here i entered, bent on tasks as sincere as the ones just finished, but displeasing, because i had to mix with a low, profane set, to cultivate them, to drink occasionally despite my deftness at emptying glasses on the floor, to gamble with them and strangers, always playing the part of a flush and flashy cowboy, half drunk, ready to laugh or fight. on the night of the fifth day after steele's departure, i went, as was my habit, to the rendezvous we maintained at the pile of rocks out in the open. the night was clear, bright starlight, without any moon, and for this latter fact safer to be abroad. often from my covert i had seen dark figures skulking in and out of linrock. it would have been interesting to hold up these mysterious travelers; so far, however, this had not been our game. i had enough to keep my own tracks hidden, and my own comings and goings. i liked to be out in the night, with the darkness close down to the earth, and the feeling of a limitless open all around. not only did i listen for steele's soft step, but for any sound--the yelp of coyote or mourn of wolf, the creak of wind in the dead brush, the distant clatter of hoofs, a woman's singing voice faint from the town. this time, just when i was about to give up for that evening, steele came looming like a black giant long before i heard his soft step. it was good to feel his grip, even if it hurt, because after five days i had begun to worry. "well, old boy, how's tricks?" he asked easily. "well, old man, did you land that son of a gun in jail?" "you bet i did. and he'll stay there for a while. del rio rather liked the idea, russ. all right there. i side-stepped sanderson on the way back. but over here at the little village--sampson they call it--i was held up. couldn't help it, because there wasn't any road around." "held up?" i queried. "that's it, the buckboard was held up. i got into the brush in time to save my bacon. they began to shoot too soon." "did you get any of them?" "didn't stay to see," he chuckled. "had to hoof it to linrock, and it's a good long walk." "been to your 'dobe yet to-night?" "i slipped in at the back. russ, it bothered me some to make sure no one was laying for me in the dark." "you'll have to get a safer place. why not take to the open every night?" "russ, that's well enough on a trail. but i need grub, and i've got to have a few comforts. i'll risk the 'dobe yet a little." then i narrated all that i had seen and done and heard during his absence, holding back one thing. what i did tell him sobered him at once, brought the quiet, somber mood, the thoughtful air. "so that's all. well, it's enough." "all pertaining to our job, vaughn," i replied. "the rest is sentiment, perhaps. i had a pretty bad case of moons over the little langdon girl. but we quarreled. and it's ended now. just as well, too, because if she'd...." "russ, did you honestly care for her? the real thing, i mean?" "i--i'm afraid so. i'm sort of hurt inside. but, hell! there's one thing sure, a love affair might have hindered me, made me soft. i'm glad it's over." he said no more, but his big hand pressing on my knee told me of his sympathy, another indication that there was nothing wanting in this ranger. "the other thing concerns you," i went on, somehow reluctant now to tell this. "you remember how i heard wright making you out vile to miss sampson? swore you'd never come back? well, after he had gone, when sally said he'd meant you'd be killed, miss sampson felt bad about it. she said she ought to be glad if someone killed you, but she couldn't be. she called you a bloody ruffian, yet she didn't want you shot. "she said some things about the difference between your hideous character and your splendid stature. called you a magnificent fellow--that was it. well, then she choked up and confessed something to sally in shame and disgrace." "shame--disgrace?" echoed steele, greatly interested. "what?" "she confessed she had been taken with you--had her little dream about you. and she hated herself for it." never, i thought, would i forget vaughn steele's eyes. it did not matter that it was dark; i saw the fixed gleam, then the leaping, shadowy light. "did she say that?" his voice was not quite steady. "wonderful! even if it only lasted a minute! she might--we might--if it wasn't for this hellish job! russ, has it dawned on you yet, what i've got to do to diane sampson?" "yes," i replied. "vaughn, you haven't gone sweet on her?" what else could i make of that terrible thing in his eyes? he did not reply to that at all. i thought my arm would break in his clutch. "you said you knew what i've got to do to diane sampson," he repeated hoarsely. "yes, you've got to ruin her happiness, if not her life." "why? speak out, russ. all this comes like a blow. there for a little i hoped you had worked out things differently from me. no hope. ruin her life! why?" i could explain this strange agitation in steele in no other way except that realization had brought keen suffering as incomprehensible as it was painful. i could not tell if it came from suddenly divined love for diane sampson equally with a poignant conviction that his fate was to wreck her. but i did see that he needed to speak out the brutal truth. "steele, old man, you'll ruin diane sampson, because, as arrest looks improbable to me, you'll have to kill her father." "my god! why, why? say it!" "because sampson is the leader of the linrock gang of rustlers." that night before we parted we had gone rather deeply into the plan of action for the immediate future. first i gave steele my earnest counsel and then as stiff an argument as i knew how to put up, all anent the absolute necessity of his eternal vigilance. if he got shot in a fair encounter with his enemies--well, that was a ranger's risk and no disgrace. but to be massacred in bed, knifed, in the dark, shot in the back, ambushed in any manner--not one of these miserable ends must be the last record of vaughn steele. he promised me in a way that made me wonder if he would ever sleep again or turn his back on anyone--made me wonder too, at the menace in his voice. steele seemed likely to be torn two ways, and already there was a hint of future desperation. it was agreed that i make cautious advances to hoden and morton, and when i could satisfy myself of their trustworthiness reveal my identity to them. through this i was to cultivate zimmer, and then other ranchers whom we should decide could be let into the secret. it was not only imperative that we learn through them clues by which we might eventually fix guilt on the rustler gang, but also just as imperative that we develop a band of deputies to help us when the fight began. steele, now that he was back in linrock, would have the center of the stage, with all eyes upon him. we agreed, moreover, that the bolder the front now the better the chance of ultimate success. the more nerve he showed the less danger of being ambushed, the less peril in facing vicious men. but we needed a jail. prisoners had to be corraled after arrest, or the work would be useless, almost a farce, and there was no possibility of repeating trips to del rio. we could not use an adobe house for a jail, because that could be easily cut out of or torn down. finally i remembered an old stone house near the end of the main street; it had one window and one door, and had been long in disuse. steele would rent it, hire men to guard and feed his prisoners; and if these prisoners bribed or fought their way to freedom, that would not injure the great principle for which he stood. both steele and i simultaneously, from different angles of reasoning, had arrived at a conviction of sampson's guilt. it was not so strong as realization; rather a divination. long experience in detecting, in feeling the hidden guilt of men, had sharpened our senses for that particular thing. steele acknowledged a few mistakes in his day; but i, allowing for the same strength of conviction, had never made a single mistake. but conviction was one thing and proof vastly another. furthermore, when proof was secured, then came the crowning task--that of taking desperate men in a wild country they dominated. verily, steele and i had our work cut out for us. however, we were prepared to go at it with infinite patience and implacable resolve. steele and i differed only in the driving incentive; of course, outside of that one binding vow to save the ranger service. he had a strange passion, almost an obsession, to represent the law of texas, and by so doing render something of safety and happiness to the honest pioneers. beside steele i knew i shrunk to a shadow. i was not exactly a heathen, and certainly i wanted to help harassed people, especially women and children; but mainly with me it was the zest, the thrill, the hazard, the matching of wits--in a word, the adventure of the game. next morning i rode with the young ladies. in the light of sally's persistently flagrant advances, to which i was apparently blind, i saw that my hard-won victory over self was likely to be short-lived. that possibility made me outwardly like ice. i was an attentive, careful, reliable, and respectful attendant, seeing to the safety of my charges; but the one-time gay and debonair cowboy was a thing of the past. sally, womanlike, had been a little--a very little--repentant; she had showed it, my indifference had piqued her; she had made advances and then my coldness had roused her spirit. she was the kind of girl to value most what she had lost, and to throw consequences to the winds in winning it back. when i divined this i saw my revenge. to be sure, when i thought of it i had no reason to want revenge. she had been most gracious to me. but there was the catty thing she had said about being kissed again by her admirers. then, in all seriousness, sentiment aside, i dared not make up with her. so the cold and indifferent part i played was imperative. we halted out on the ridge and dismounted for the usual little rest. mine i took in the shade of a scrubby mesquite. the girls strolled away out of sight. it was a drowsy day, and i nearly fell asleep. something aroused me--a patter of footsteps or a rustle of skirts. then a soft thud behind me gave me at once a start and a thrill. first i saw sally's little brown hands on my shoulders. then her head, with hair all shiny and flying and fragrant, came round over my shoulder, softly smoothing my cheek, until her sweet, saucy, heated face was right under my eyes. "russ, don't you love me any more?" she whispered. chapter steele breaks up the party that night, i saw steele at our meeting place, and we compared notes and pondered details of our problem. steele had rented the stone house to be used as a jail. while the blacksmith was putting up a door and window calculated to withstand many onslaughts, all the idlers and strangers in town went to see the sight. manifestly it was an occasion for linrock. when steele let it be known that he wanted to hire a jailer and a guard this caustically humorous element offered itself _en masse_. the men made a joke out of it. when steele and i were about to separate i remembered a party that was to be given by miss sampson, and i told him about it. he shook his head sadly, almost doubtfully. was it possible that sampson could be a deep eyed, cunning scoundrel, the true leader of the cattle rustlers, yet keep that beautiful and innocent girl out on the frontier and let her give parties to sons and daughters of a community he had robbed? to any but remorseless rangers the idea was incredible. thursday evening came in spite of what the girls must have regarded as an interminably dragging day. it was easy to differentiate their attitudes toward this party. sally wanted to look beautiful, to excell all the young ladies who were to attend, to attach to her train all the young men, and have them fighting to dance with her. miss sampson had an earnest desire to open her father's house to the people of linrock, to show that a daughter had come into his long cheerless home, to make the evening one of pleasure and entertainment. i happened to be present in the parlor, was carrying in some flowers for final decoration, when miss sampson learned that her father had just ridden off with three horsemen whom dick, who brought the news, had not recognized. in her keen disappointment she scarcely heard dick's concluding remark about the hurry of the colonel. my sharp ears, however, took this in and it was thought-provoking. sampson was known to ride off at all hours, yet this incident seemed unusual. at eight o'clock the house and porch and patio were ablaze with lights. every lantern and lamp on the place, together with all that could be bought and borrowed, had been brought into requisition. the cowboys arrived first, all dressed in their best, clean shaven, red faced, bright eyed, eager for the fun to commence. then the young people from town, and a good sprinkling of older people, came in a steady stream. miss sampson received them graciously, excused her father's absence, and bade them be at home. the music, or the discordance that went by that name, was furnished by two cowboys with banjos and an antediluvian gentleman with a fiddle. nevertheless, it was music that could be danced to, and there was no lack of enthusiasm. i went from porch to parlor and thence to patio, watching and amused. the lights and the decorations of flowers, the bright dresses and the flashy scarfs of the cowboys furnished a gay enough scene to a man of lonesome and stern life like mine. during the dance there was a steady, continuous shuffling tramp of boots, and during the interval following a steady, low hum of merry talk and laughter. my wandering from place to place, apart from my usual careful observation, was an unobtrusive but, to me, a sneaking pursuit of sally langdon. she had on a white dress i had never seen with a low neck and short sleeves, and she looked so sweet, so dainty, so altogether desirable, that i groaned a hundred times in my jealousy. because, manifestly, sally did not intend to run any risk of my not seeing her in her glory, no matter where my eyes looked. a couple of times in promenading i passed her on the arm of some proud cowboy or gallant young buck from town, and on these occasions she favored her escort with a languishing glance that probably did as much damage to him as to me. presently she caught me red-handed in my careless, sauntering pursuit of her, and then, whether by intent or from indifference, she apparently deigned me no more notice. but, quick to feel a difference in her, i marked that from that moment her gaiety gradually merged into coquettishness, and soon into flirtation. then, just to see how far she would go, perhaps desperately hoping she would make me hate her, i followed her shamelessly from patio to parlor, porch to court, even to the waltz. to her credit, she always weakened when some young fellow got her in a corner and tried to push the flirting to extremes. young waters was the only one lucky enough to kiss her, and there was more of strength in his conquest of her than any decent fellow could be proud of. when george wright sought sally out there was added to my jealousy a real anxiety. i had brushed against wright more than once that evening. he was not drunk, yet under the influence of liquor. sally, however, evidently did not discover that, because, knowing her abhorrence of drink, i believed she would not have walked out with him had she known. anyway, i followed them, close in the shadow. wright was unusually gay. i saw him put his arm around her without remonstrance. when the music recommenced they went back to the house. wright danced with sally, not ungracefully for a man who rode a horse as much as he. after the dance he waved aside sally's many partners, not so gaily as would have been consistent with good feeling, and led her away. i followed. they ended up that walk at the extreme corner of the patio, where, under gaily colored lights, a little arbor had been made among the flowers and vines. sally seemed to have lost something of her vivacity. they had not been out of my sight for a moment before sally cried out. it was a cry of impatience or remonstrance, rather than alarm, but i decided that it would serve me an excuse. i dashed back, leaped to the door of the arbor, my hand on my gun. wright was holding sally. when he heard me he let her go. then she uttered a cry that was one of alarm. her face blanched; her eyes grew strained. one hand went to her breast. she thought i meant to kill wright. "excuse me," i burst out frankly, turning to wright. i never saw a hyena, but he looked like one. "i heard a squeal. thought a girl was hurt, or something. miss sampson gave me orders to watch out for accidents, fire, anything. so excuse me, wright." as i stepped back, to my amazement, sally, excusing herself to the scowling wright, hurriedly joined me. "oh, it's our dance, russ!" she took my arm and we walked through the patio. "i'm afraid of him, russ," she whispered. "you frightened me worse though. you didn't mean to--to--" "i made a bluff. saw he'd been drinking, so i kept near you." "you return good for evil," she replied, squeezing my arm. "russ, let me tell you--whenever anything frightens me since we got here i think of you. if you're only near i feel safe." we paused at the door leading into the big parlor. couples were passing. here i could scarcely distinguish the last words she said. she stood before me, eyes downcast, face flushed, as sweet and pretty a lass as man could want to see, and with her hand she twisted round and round a silver button on my buckskin vest. "dance with me, the rest of this," she said. "george shooed away my partner. i'm glad for the chance. dance with me, russ--not gallantly or dutifully because i ask you, but because you _want_ to. else not at all." there was a limit to my endurance. there would hardly be another evening like this, at least, for me, in that country. i capitulated with what grace i could express. we went into the parlor, and as we joined the dancers, despite all that confusion i heard her whisper: "i've been a little beast to you." that dance seemingly lasted only a moment--a moment while she was all airy grace, radiant, and alluring, floating close to me, with our hands clasped. then it appeared the music had ceased, the couples were finding seats, and sally and i were accosted by miss sampson. she said we made a graceful couple in the dance. and sally said she did not have to reach up a mile to me--i was not so awfully tall. and i, tongue-tied for once, said nothing. wright had returned and was now standing, cigarette between lips, in the door leading out to the patio. at the same moment that i heard a heavy tramp of boots, from the porch side i saw wright's face change remarkably, expressing amaze, consternation, then fear. i wheeled in time to see vaughn steele bend his head to enter the door on that side. the dancers fell back. at sight of him i was again the ranger, his ally. steele was pale, yet heated. he panted. he wore no hat. he had his coat turned up and with left hand he held the lapels together. in a quick ensuing silence miss sampson rose, white as her dress. the young women present stared in astonishment and their partners showed excitement. "miss sampson, i came to search your house!" panted steele, courteously, yet with authority. i disengaged myself from sally, who was clinging to my hands, and i stepped forward out of the corner. steele had been running. why did he hold his coat like that? i sensed action, and the cold thrill animated me. miss sampson's astonishment was succeeded by anger difficult to control. "in the absence of my father i am mistress here. i will not permit you to search my house." "then i regret to say i must do so without your permission," he said sternly. "do not dare!" she flashed. she stood erect, her bosom swelling, her eyes magnificently black with passion. "how dare you intrude here? have you not insulted us enough? to search my house to-night--to break up my party--oh, it's worse than outrage! why on earth do you want to search here? ah, for the same reason you dragged a poor innocent man into my father's court! sir, i forbid you to take another step into this house." steele's face was bloodless now, and i wondered if it had to do with her scathing scorn or something that he hid with his hand closing his coat that way. "miss sampson, i don't need warrants to search houses," he said. "but this time i'll respect your command. it would be too bad to spoil your party. let me add, perhaps you do me a little wrong. god knows i hope so. i was shot by a rustler. he fled. i chased him here. he has taken refuge here--in your father's house. he's hidden somewhere." steele spread wide his coat lapels. he wore a light shirt, the color of which in places was white. the rest was all a bloody mass from which dark red drops fell to the floor. "oh!" cried miss sampson. scorn and passion vanished in the horror, the pity, of a woman who imagined she saw a man mortally wounded. it was a hard sight for a woman's eyes, that crimson, heaving breast. "surely i didn't see that," went on steele, closing his coat. "you used unforgettable words, miss sampson. from you they hurt. for i stand alone. my fight is to make linrock safer, cleaner, a better home for women and children. some day you will remember what you said." how splendid he looked, how strong against odds. how simple a dignity fitted his words. why, a woman far blinder than diane sampson could have seen that here stood a man. steele bowed, turned on his heel, and strode out to vanish in the dark. then while she stood bewildered, still shocked, i elected to do some rapid thinking. how seriously was steele injured? an instant's thought was enough to tell me that if he had sustained any more than a flesh wound he would not have chased his assailant, not with so much at stake in the future. then i concerned myself with a cold grip of desire to get near the rustler who had wounded steele. as i started forward, however, miss sampson defeated me. sally once more clung to my hands, and directly we were surrounded by an excited circle. it took a moment or two to calm them. "then there's a rustler--here--hiding?" repeated miss sampson. "miss sampson, i'll find him. i'll rout him out," i said. "yes, yes, find him, russ, but don't use violence," she replied. "send him away--no, give him over to--" "nothing of the kind," interrupted george wright, loud-voiced. "cousin, go on with your dance. i'll take a couple of cowboys. i'll find this--this rustler, if there's one here. but i think it's only another bluff of steele's." this from wright angered me deeply, and i strode right for the door. "where are you going?" he demanded. "i've miss sampson's orders. she wants me to find this hidden man. she trusts me not to allow any violence." "didn't i say i'd see to that?" he snarled. "wright, i don't care what you say," i retorted. "but i'm thinking you might not want me to find this rustler." wright turned black in the face. verily, if he had worn a gun he would have pulled it on me. as it was, miss sampson's interference probably prevented more words, if no worse. "don't quarrel," she said. "george, you go with russ. please hurry. i'll be nervous till the rustler's found or you're sure there's not one." we started with several cowboys to ransack the house. we went through the rooms, searching, calling out, flashing our lanterns in dark places. it struck me forcibly that wright did all the calling. he hurried, too, tried to keep in the lead. i wondered if he knew his voice would be recognized by the hiding man. be that as it might, it was i who peered into a dark corner, and then with a cocked gun leveled i said: "come out!" he came forth into the flare of lanterns, a tall, slim, dark-faced youth, wearing dark sombrero, blouse and trousers. i collared him before any of the others could move, and i held the gun close enough to make him shrink. but he did not impress me as being frightened just then; nevertheless, he had a clammy face, the pallid look of a man who had just gotten over a shock. he peered into my face, then into that of the cowboy next to me, then into wright's and if ever in my life i beheld relief i saw it then. that was all i needed to know, but i meant to find out more if i could. "who're you?" i asked quietly. he gazed rather arrogantly down at me. it always irritated me to be looked down at that way. "say, don't be gay with me or you'll get it good," i yelled, prodding him in the side with the cocked gun. "who are you? quick!" "bo snecker," he said. "any relation to bill snecker?" "his son." "what'd you hide here for?" he appeared to grow sullen. "reckoned i'd be as safe in sampson's as anywheres." "ahuh! you're taking a long chance," i replied, and he never knew, or any of the others, just how long a chance that was. sight of steele's bloody breast remained with me, and i had something sinister to combat. this was no time for me to reveal myself or to show unusual feeling or interest for steele. as steele had abandoned his search, i had nothing to do now but let the others decide what disposition was to be made of snecker. "wright, what'll you do with him?" i queried, as if uncertain, now the capture was made. i let snecker go and sheathed my weapon. that seemed a signal for him to come to life. i guessed he had not much fancied the wide and somewhat variable sweep of that cocked gun. "i'll see to that," replied wright gruffly, and he pushed snecker in front of him into the hall. i followed them out into the court at the back of the house. as i had very little further curiosity i did not wait to see where they went, but hurried back to relieve miss sampson and sally. i found them as i had left them--sally quiet, pale, miss sampson nervous and distressed. i soon calmed their fears of any further trouble or possible disturbance. miss sampson then became curious and wanted to know who the rustler was. "how strange he should come here," she said several times. "probably he'd run this way or thought he had a better chance to hide where there was dancing and confusion," i replied glibly. i wondered how much longer i would find myself keen to shunt her mind from any channel leading to suspicion. "would papa have arrested him?" she asked. "colonel sampson might have made it hot for him," i replied frankly, feeling that if what i said had a double meaning it still was no lie. "oh, i forgot--the ranger!" she exclaimed suddenly. "that awful sight--the whole front of him bloody! russ, how could he stand up under such a wound? do you think it'll kill him?" "that's hard to say. a man like steele can stand a lot." "russ, please go find him! see how it is with him!" she said, almost pleadingly. i started, glad of the chance and hurried down toward the town. there was a light in the little adobe house where he lived, and proceeding cautiously, so as to be sure no one saw me, i went close and whistled low in a way he would recognize. then he opened the door and i went in. "hello, son!" he said. "you needn't have worried. sling a blanket over that window so no one can see in." he had his shirt off and had been in the act of bandaging a wound that the bullet had cut in his shoulder. "let me tie that up," i said, taking the strips of linen. "ahuh! shot you from behind, didn't he?" "how else, you locoed lady-charmer? it's a wonder i didn't have to tell you that." "tell me about it." steele related a circumstance differing little from other attempts at his life, and concluded by saying that snecker was a good runner if he was not a good shot. i finished the bandaging and stood off, admiring steele's magnificent shoulders. i noted, too, on the fine white skin more than one scar made by bullets. i got an impression that his strength and vitality were like his spirit--unconquerable! "so you knew it was bill snecker's son?" i asked when i had told him about finding the rustler. "sure. jim hoden pointed him out to me yesterday. both the sneckers are in town. from now on we're going to be busy, russ." "it can't come too soon for me," i replied. "shall i chuck my job? come out from behind these cowboy togs?" "not yet. we need proof, russ. we've got to be able to prove things. hang on at the ranch yet awhile." "this bo snecker was scared stiff till he recognized wright. isn't that proof?" "no, that's nothing. we've got to catch sampson and wright red-handed." "i don't like the idea of you trailing along alone," i protested. "remember what neal told me. i'm to kick. it's time for me to hang round with a couple of guns. you'll never use one." "the hell i won't," he retorted, with a dark glance of passion. i was surprised that my remark had angered him. "you fellows are all wrong. i know _when_ to throw a gun. you ought to remember that rangers have a bad name for wanting to shoot. and i'm afraid it's deserved." "did you shoot at snecker?" i queried. "i could have got him in the back. but that wouldn't do. i shot three times at his legs--tried to let him down. i'd have made him tell everything he knew, but he ran. he was too fast for me." "shooting at his legs! no wonder he ran. he savvied your game all right. it's funny, vaughn, how these rustlers and gunmen don't mind being killed. but to cripple them, rope them, jail them--that's hell to them! well, i'm to go on, up at the ranch, falling further in love with that sweet kid instead of coming out straight to face things with you?" steele had to laugh, yet he was more thoughtful of my insistence. "russ, you think you have patience, but you don't know what patience is. i won't be hurried on this job. but i'll tell you what: i'll hang under cover most of the time when you're not close to me. see? that can be managed. i'll watch for you when you come in town. we'll go in the same places. and in case i get busy you can stand by and trail along after me. that satisfy you?" "fine!" i said, both delighted and relieved. "well, i'll have to rustle back now to tell miss sampson you're all right." steele had about finished pulling on a clean shirt, exercising care not to disarrange the bandages; and he stopped short to turn squarely and look at me with hungry eyes. "russ, did she--show sympathy?" "she was all broken up about it. thought you were going to die." "did she send you?" "sure. and she said hurry," i replied. i was not a little gleeful over the apparent possibility of steele being in the same boat with me. "do you think she would have cared if--if i had been shot up bad?" the great giant of a ranger asked this like a boy, hesitatingly, with color in his face. "care! vaughn, you're as thickheaded as you say i'm locoed. diane sampson has fallen in love with you! that's all. love at first sight! she doesn't realize it. but i know." there he stood as if another bullet had struck him, this time straight through the heart. perhaps one had--and i repented a little of my overconfident declaration. still, i would not go back on it. i believed it. "russ, for god's sake! what a terrible thing to say!" he ejaculated hoarsely. "no. it's not terrible to _say_ it--only the fact is terrible," i went on. i may be wrong. but i swear i'm right. when you opened your coat, showed that bloody breast--well, i'll never forget her eyes. "she had been furious. she showed passion--hate. then all in a second something wonderful, beautiful broke through. pity, fear, agonized thought of your death! if that's not love, if--if she did not betray love, then i never saw it. she thinks she hates you. but she loves you." "get out of here," he ordered thickly. i went, not forgetting to peep out at the door and to listen a moment, then i hurried into the open, up toward the ranch. the stars were very big and bright, so calm, so cold, that it somehow hurt me to look at them. not like men's lives, surely! what had fate done to vaughn steele and to me? i had a moment of bitterness, an emotion rare with me. most rangers put love behind them when they entered the service and seldom found it after that. but love had certainly met me on the way, and i now had confirmation of my fear that vaughn was hard hit. then the wildness, the adventurer in me stirred to the wonder of it all. it was in me to exult even in the face of fate. steele and i, while balancing our lives on the hair-trigger of a gun, had certainly fallen into a tangled web of circumstances not calculated in the role of rangers. i went back to the ranch with regret, remorse, sorrow knocking at my heart, but notwithstanding that, tingling alive to the devilish excitement of the game. i knew not what it was that prompted me to sow the same seed in diane sampson's breast that i had sown in steele's; probably it was just a propensity for sheer mischief, probably a certainty of the truth and a strange foreshadowing of a coming event. if diane sampson loved, through her this event might be less tragic. somehow love might save us all. that was the shadowy portent flitting in the dark maze of my mind. at the ranch dancing had been resumed. there might never have been any interruption of the gaiety. i found miss sampson on the lookout for me and she searched my face with eyes that silenced my one last qualm of conscience. "let's go out in the patio," i suggested. "i don't want any one to hear what i say." outside in the starlight she looked white and very beautiful. i felt her tremble. perhaps my gravity presaged the worst. so it did in one way--poor vaughn! "i went down to steele's 'dobe, the little place where he lives." i began, weighing my words. "he let me in--was surprised. he had been shot high in the shoulder, not a dangerous wound. i bandaged it for him. he was grateful--said he had no friends." "poor fellow! oh, i'm glad it--it isn't bad," said miss sampson. something glistened in her eyes. "he looked strange, sort of forlorn. i think your words--what you said hurt him more than the bullet. i'm sure of that, miss sampson." "oh, i saw that myself! i was furious. but i--i meant what i said." "you wronged steele. i happen to know. i know his record along the rio grande. it's scarcely my place, miss sampson, to tell you what you'll find out for yourself, sooner or later." "what shall i find out?" she demanded. "i've said enough." "no. you mean my father and cousin george are misinformed or wrong about steele? i've feared it this last hour. it was his look. that pierced me. oh, i'd hate to be unjust. you say i wronged him, russ? then you take sides with him against my father?" "yes," i replied very low. she was keenly hurt and seemed, despite an effort, to shrink from me. "it's only natural you should fight for your father," i went on. "perhaps you don't understand. he has ruled here for long. he's been--well, let's say, easy with the evil-doers. but times are changing. he opposed the ranger idea, which is also natural, i suppose. still, he's wrong about steele, terribly wrong, and it means trouble." "oh, i don't know what to believe!" "it might be well for you to think things out for yourself." "russ, i feel as though i couldn't. i can't make head or tail of life out here. my father seems so strange. though, of course, i've only seen him twice a year since i was a little girl. he has two sides to him. when i come upon that strange side, the one i never knew, he's like a man i never saw. "i want to be a good and loving daughter. i want to help him fight his battles. but he doesn't--he doesn't _satisfy_ me. he's grown impatient and wants me to go back to louisiana. that gives me a feeling of mystery. oh, it's _all_ mystery!" "true, you're right," i replied, my heart aching for her. "it's all mystery--and trouble for you, too. perhaps you'd do well to go home." "russ, you suggest i leave here--leave my father?" she asked. "i advise it. you struck a--a rather troublesome time. later you might return if--" "never. i came to stay, and i'll stay," she declared, and there her temper spoke. "miss sampson," i began again, after taking a long, deep breath, "i ought to tell you one thing more about steele." "well, go on." "doesn't he strike you now as being the farthest removed from a ranting, brutal ranger?" "i confess he was at least a gentleman." "rangers don't allow anything to interfere with the discharge of their duty. he was courteous after you defamed him. he respected your wish. he did not break up the dance. "this may not strike you particularly. but let me explain that steele was chasing an outlaw who had shot him. under ordinary circumstances he would have searched your house. he would have been like a lion. he would have torn the place down around our ears to get that rustler. "but his action was so different from what i had expected, it amazed me. just now, when i was with him, i learned, i guessed, what stayed his hand. i believe you ought to know." "know what?" she asked. how starry and magnetic her eyes! a woman's divining intuition made them wonderful with swift-varying emotion. they drew me on to the fatal plunge. what was i doing to her--to vaughn? something bound my throat, making speech difficult. "he's fallen in love with you," i hurried on in a husky voice. "love at first sight! terrible! hopeless! i saw it--felt it. i can't explain how i know, but i do know. "that's what stayed his hand here. and that's why i'm on his side. he's alone. he has a terrible task here without any handicaps. every man is against him. if he fails, you might be the force that weakened him. so you ought to be kinder in your thought of him. wait before you judge him further. "if he isn't killed, time will prove him noble instead of vile. if he is killed, which is more than likely, you'll feel the happier for a generous doubt in favor of the man who loved you." like one stricken blind, she stood an instant; then, with her hands at her breast, she walked straight across the patio into the dark, open door of her room. chapter cleaning out linrock not much sleep visited me that night. in the morning, the young ladies not stirring and no prospects of duty for me, i rode down to town. sight of the wide street, lined by its hitching posts and saddled horses, the square buildings with their ugly signs, unfinished yet old, the lounging, dust-gray men at every corner--these awoke in me a significance that had gone into oblivion overnight. that last talk with miss sampson had unnerved me, wrought strangely upon me. and afterward, waking and dozing, i had dreamed, lived in a warm, golden place where there were music and flowers and sally's spritelike form leading me on after two tall, beautiful lovers, diane and vaughn, walking hand in hand. fine employment of mind for a ranger whose single glance down a quiet street pictured it with darkgarbed men in grim action, guns spouting red, horses plunging! in front of hoden's restaurant i dismounted and threw my bridle. jim was unmistakably glad to see me. "where've you been? morton was in an' powerful set on seein' you. i steered him from goin' up to sampson's. what kind of a game was you givin' frank?" "jim, i just wanted to see if he was a safe rancher to make a stock deal for me." "he says you told him he didn't have no yellow streak an' that he was a rustler. frank can't git over them two hunches. when he sees you he's goin' to swear he's no rustler, but he _has_ got a yellow streak, unless..." this little, broken-down texan had eyes like flint striking fire. "unless?" i queried sharply. jim breathed a deep breath and looked around the room before his gaze fixed again on mine. "wal," he replied, speaking low, "me and frank allows you've picked the right men. it was me that sent them letters to the ranger captain at austin. now who in hell are you?" it was my turn to draw a deep breath. i had taken six weeks to strike fire from a texan whom i instinctively felt had been prey to the power that shadowed linrock. there was no one in the room except us, no one passing, nor near. reaching into the inside pocket of my buckskin vest, i turned the lining out. a star-shaped, bright, silver object flashed as i shoved it, pocket and all, under jim's hard eyes. he could not help but read; united states deputy marshall. "by golly," he whispered, cracking the table with his fist. "russ, you sure rung true to me. but never as a cowboy!" "jim, the woods is full of us!" heavy footsteps sounded on the walk. presently steele's bulk darkened the door. "hello," i greeted. "steele, shake hands with jim hoden." "hello," replied steele slowly. "say, i reckon i know hoden." "nit. not this one. he's the old hoden. he used to own the hope so saloon. it was on the square when he ran it. maybe he'll get it back pretty soon. hope so!" i laughed at my execrable pun. steele leaned against the counter, his gray glance studying the man i had so oddly introduced. hoden in one flash associated the ranger with me--a relation he had not dreamed of. then, whether from shock or hope or fear i know not, he appeared about to faint. "hoden, do you know who's boss of this secret gang of rustlers hereabouts?" asked steele bluntly. it was characteristic of him to come sharp to the point. his voice, something deep, easy, cool about him, seemed to steady hoden. "no," replied hoden. "does anybody know?" went on steele. "wal, i reckon there's not one honest native of pecos who _knows_." "but you have your suspicions?" "we have." "you can keep your suspicions to yourself. but you can give me your idea about this crowd that hangs round the saloons, the regulars." "jest a bad lot," replied hoden, with the quick assurance of knowledge. "most of them have been here years. others have drifted in. some of them work odd times. they rustle a few steer, steal, rob, anythin' for a little money to drink an' gamble. jest a bad lot! "but the strangers as are always comin' an' goin'--strangers that never git acquainted--some of them are likely to be _the_ rustlers. bill an' bo snecker are in town now. bill's a known cattle-thief. bo's no good, the makin' of a gun-fighter. he heads thet way. "they might be rustlers. but the boy, he's hardly careful enough for this gang. then there's jack blome. he comes to town often. he lives up in the hills. he always has three or four strangers with him. blome's the fancy gun fighter. he shot a gambler here last fall. then he was in a fight in sanderson lately. got two cowboys then. "blome's killed a dozen pecos men. he's a rustler, too, but i reckon he's not the brains of thet secret outfit, if he's in it at all." steele appeared pleased with hoden's idea. probably it coincided with the one he had arrived at himself. "now, i'm puzzled over this," said steele. "why do men, apparently honest men, seem to be so close-mouthed here? is that a fact or only my impression?" "it's sure a fact," replied hoden darkly. "men have lost cattle an' property in linrock--lost them honestly or otherwise, as hasn't been proved. an' in some cases when they talked--hinted a little--they was found dead. apparently held up an' robbed. but dead. dead men don't talk. thet's why we're close-mouthed." steele's face wore a dark, somber sternness. rustling cattle was not intolerable. western texas had gone on prospering, growing in spite of the horde of rustlers ranging its vast stretches; but this cold, secret, murderous hold on a little struggling community was something too strange, too terrible for men to stand long. it had waited for a leader like steele, and now it could not last. hoden's revived spirit showed that. the ranger was about to speak again when the clatter of hoofs interrupted him. horses halted out in front. a motion of steele's hand caused me to dive through a curtained door back of hoden's counter. i turned to peep out and was in time to see george wright enter with the red-headed cowboy called brick. that was the first time i had ever seen wright come into hoden's. he called for tobacco. if his visit surprised jim he did not show any evidence. but wright showed astonishment as he saw the ranger, and then a dark glint flitted from the eyes that shifted from steele to hoden and back again. steele leaned easily against the counter, and he said good morning pleasantly. wright deigned no reply, although he bent a curious and hard scrutiny upon steele. in fact, wright evinced nothing that would lead one to think he had any respect for steele as a man or as a ranger. "steele, that was the second break of yours last night," he said finally. "if you come fooling round the ranch again there'll be hell!" it seemed strange that a man who had lived west of the pecos for ten years could not see in steele something which forbade that kind of talk. it certainly was not nerve wright showed; men of courage were seldom intolerant; and with the matchless nerve that characterized steele or the great gunmen of the day there went a cool, unobtrusive manner, a speech brief, almost gentle, certainly courteous. wright was a hot-headed louisianian of french extraction; a man evidently who had never been crossed in anything, and who was strong, brutal, passionate, which qualities, in the face of a situation like this, made him simply a fool! the way steele looked at wright was joy to me. i hated this smooth, dark-skinned southerner. but, of course, an ordinary affront like wright's only earned silence from steele. "i'm thinking you used your ranger bluff just to get near diane sampson," wright sneered. "mind you, if you come up there again there'll be hell!" "you're damn right there'll be hell!" retorted steele, a kind of high ring in his voice. i saw thick, dark red creep into his face. had wright's incomprehensible mention of diane sampson been an instinct of love--of jealousy? verily, it had pierced into the depths of the ranger, probably as no other thrust could have. "diane sampson wouldn't stoop to know a dirty blood-tracker like you," said wright hotly. his was not a deliberate intention to rouse steele; the man was simply rancorous. "i'll call you right, you cheap bluffer! you four-flush! you damned interfering conceited ranger!" long before wright ended his tirade steele's face had lost the tinge of color, so foreign to it in moments like this; and the cool shade, the steady eyes like ice on fire, the ruthless lips had warned me, if they had not wright. "wright, i'll not take offense, because you seem to be championing your beautiful cousin," replied steele in slow speech, biting. "but let me return your compliment. you're a fine southerner! why, you're only a cheap four-flush--damned bull-headed--_rustler_" steele hissed the last word. then for him--for me--for hoden--there was the truth in wright's working passion-blackened face. wright jerked, moved, meant to draw. but how slow! steele lunged forward. his long arm swept up. and wright staggered backward, knocking table and chairs, to fall hard, in a half-sitting posture, against the wall. "don't draw!" warned steele. "wright, get away from your gun!" yelled the cowboy brick. but wright was crazed by fury. he tugged at his hip, his face corded with purple welts, malignant, murderous, while he got to his feet. i was about to leap through the door when steele shot. wright's gun went ringing to the floor. like a beast in pain wright screamed. frantically he waved a limp arm, flinging blood over the white table-cloths. steele had crippled him. "here, you cowboy," ordered steele; "take him out, quick!" brick saw the need of expediency, if wright did not realize it, and he pulled the raving man out of the place. he hurried wright down the street, leaving the horses behind. steele calmly sheathed his gun. "well, i guess that opens the ball," he said as i came out. hoden seemed fascinated by the spots of blood on the table-cloths. it was horrible to see him rubbing his hands there like a ghoul! "i tell you what, fellows," said steele, "we've just had a few pleasant moments with the man who has made it healthy to keep close-mouthed in linrock." hoden lifted his shaking hands. "what'd you wing him for?" he wailed. "he was drawin' on you. shootin' arms off men like him won't do out here." i was inclined to agree with hoden. "that bull-headed fool will roar and butt himself with all his gang right into our hands. he's just the man i've needed to meet. besides, shooting him would have been murder for me!" "murder!" exclaimed hoden. "he was a fool, and slow at that. under such circumstances could i kill him when i didn't have to?" "sure it'd been the trick." declared jim positively. "i'm not allowin' for whether he's really a rustler or not. it just won't do, because these fellers out here ain't goin' to be afraid of you." "see here, hoden. if a man's going to be afraid of me at all, that trick will make him more afraid of me. i know it. it works out. when wright cools down he'll remember, he'll begin to think, he'll realize that i could more easily have killed him than risk a snapshot at his arm. i'll bet you he goes pale to the gills next time he even sees me." "that may be true, steele. but if wright's the man you think he is he'll begin that secret underground bizness. it's been tolerable healthy these last six months. you can gamble on this. if thet secret work does commence you'll have more reason to suspect wright. i won't feel very safe from now on. "i heard you call him rustler. he knows thet. why, wright won't sleep at night now. he an' sampson have always been after me." "hoden, what are your eyes for?" demanded steele. "watch out. and now here. see your friend morton. tell him this game grows hot. together you approach four or five men you know well and can absolutely trust. "hello, there's somebody coming. you meet russ and me to-night, out in the open a quarter of a mile, straight from the end of this street. you'll find a pile of stones. meet us there to-night at ten o'clock." the next few days, for the several hours each day that i was in town, i had steele in sight all the time or knew that he was safe under cover. nothing happened. his presence in the saloons or any place where men congregated was marked by a certain uneasy watchfulness on the part of almost everybody, and some amusement on the part of a few. it was natural to suppose that the lawless element would rise up in a mass and slay steele on sight. but this sort of thing never happened. it was not so much that these enemies of the law awaited his next move, but just a slowness peculiar to the frontier. the ranger was in their midst. he was interesting, if formidable. he would have been welcomed at card tables, at the bars, to play and drink with the men who knew they were under suspicion. there was a rude kind of good humor even in their open hostility. besides, one ranger, or a company of rangers could not have held the undivided attention of these men from their games and drinks and quarrels except by some decided move. excitement, greed, appetite were rife in them. i marked, however, a striking exception to the usual run of strangers i had been in the habit of seeing. the sneckers had gone or were under cover. again i caught a vague rumor of the coming of jack blome, yet he never seemed to arrive. moreover, the goings-on among the habitues of the resorts and the cowboys who came in to drink and gamble were unusually mild in comparison with former conduct. this lull, however, did not deceive steele and me. it could not last. the wonder was that it had lasted so long. there was, of course, no post office in linrock. a stage arrived twice a week from sanderson, if it did not get held up on the way, and the driver usually had letters, which he turned over to the elderly keeper of a little store. this man's name was jones, and everybody liked him. on the evenings the stage arrived there was always a crowd at his store, which fact was a source of no little revenue to him. one night, so we ascertained, after the crowd had dispersed, two thugs entered his store, beat the old man and robbed him. he made no complaint; however, when steele called him he rather reluctantly gave not only descriptions of his assailants, but their names. steele straightaway went in search of the men and came across them in lerett's place. i was around when it happened. steele strode up to a table which was surrounded by seven or eight men and he tapped sim bass on the shoulder. "get up, i want you," he said. bass looked up only to see who had accosted him. "the hell you say!" he replied impudently. steele's big hand shifted to the fellow's collar. one jerk, seemingly no effort at all, sent bass sliding, chair and all, to crash into the bar and fall in a heap. he lay there, wondering what had struck him. "miller, i want you. get up," said steele. miller complied with alacrity. a sharp kick put more life and understanding into bass. then steele searched these men right before the eyes of their comrades, took what money and weapons they had, and marched them out, followed by a crowd that gathered more and more to it as they went down the street. steele took his prisoners into jones' store, had them identified; returned the money they had stolen, and then, pushing the two through the gaping crowd, he marched them down to his stone jail and locked them up. obviously the serious side of this incident was entirely lost upon the highly entertained audience. many and loud were the coarse jokes cracked at the expense of bass and miller and after the rude door had closed upon them similar remarks were addressed to steele's jailer and guard, who in truth, were just as disreputable looking as their prisoners. then the crowd returned to their pastimes, leaving their erstwhile comrades to taste the sweets of prison life. when i got a chance i asked steele if he could rely on his hired hands, and with a twinkle in his eye which surprised me as much as his reply, he said miller and bass would have flown the coop before morning. he was right. when i reached the lower end of town next morning, the same old crowd, enlarged by other curious men and youths, had come to pay their respects to the new institution. jailer and guard were on hand, loud in their proclamations and explanations. naturally they had fallen asleep, as all other hard working citizens had, and while they slept the prisoners made a hole somewhere and escaped. steele examined the hole, and then engaged a stripling of a youth to see if he could crawl through. the youngster essayed the job, stuck in the middle, and was with difficulty extricated. whereupon the crowd evinced its delight. steele, without more ado, shoved his jailer and guard inside his jail, deliberately closed, barred and chained the iron bolted door, and put the key in his pocket. then he remained there all day without giving heed to his prisoners' threats. toward evening, having gone without drink infinitely longer than was customary, they made appeals, to which steele was deaf. he left the jail, however, just before dark, and when we met he told me to be on hand to help him watch that night. we went around the outskirts of town, carrying two heavy double-barreled shotguns steele had gotten somewhere and taking up a position behind bushes in the lot adjoining the jail; we awaited developments. steele was not above paying back these fellows. all the early part of the evening, gangs of half a dozen men or more came down the street and had their last treat at the expense of the jail guard and jailer. these prisoners yelled for drink--not water but drink, and the more they yelled the more merriment was loosed upon the night air. about ten o'clock the last gang left, to the despair of the hungry and thirsty prisoners. steele and i had hugely enjoyed the fun, and thought the best part of the joke for us was yet to come. the moon had arisen, and though somewhat hazed by clouds, had lightened the night. we were hidden about sixty paces from the jail, a little above it, and we had a fine command of the door. about eleven o'clock, when all was still, we heard soft steps back of the jail, and soon two dark forms stole round in front. they laid down something that gave forth a metallic clink, like a crowbar. we heard whisperings and then, low, coarse laughs. then the rescuers, who undoubtedly were miller and bass, set to work to open the door. softly they worked at first, but as that door had been put there to stay, and they were not fond of hard work, they began to swear and make noises. steele whispered to me to wait until the door had been opened, and then when all four presented a good target, to fire both barrels. we could easily have slipped down and captured the rescuers, but that was not steele's game. a trick met by a trick; cunning matching craft would be the surest of all ways to command respect. four times the workers had to rest, and once they were so enraged at the insistence of the prisoners, who wanted to delay proceedings to send one of them after a bottle, that they swore they would go away and cut the job altogether. but they were prevailed upon to stay and attack the stout door once more. finally it yielded, with enough noise to have awakened sleepers a block distant, and forth into the moonlight came rescuers and rescued with low, satisfied grunts of laughter. just then steele and i each discharged both barrels, and the reports blended as one in a tremendous boom. that little compact bunch disintegrated like quicksilver. two stumbled over; the others leaped out, and all yelled in pain and terror. then the fallen ones scrambled up and began to hobble and limp and jerk along after their comrades. before the four of them got out of sight they had ceased their yells, but were moving slowly, hanging on to one another in a way that satisfied us they would be lame for many a day. next morning at breakfast dick regaled me with an elaborate story about how the ranger had turned the tables on the jokers. evidently in a night the whole town knew it. probably a desperate stand of steele's even to the extreme of killing men, could not have educated these crude natives so quickly into the realization that the ranger was not to be fooled with. that morning i went for a ride with the girls, and both had heard something and wanted to know everything. i had become a news-carrier, and miss sampson never thought of questioning me in regard to my fund of information. she showed more than curiosity. the account i gave of the jail affair amused her and made sally laugh heartily. diane questioned me also about a rumor that had come to her concerning george wright. he had wounded himself with a gun, it seemed, and though not seriously injured, was not able to go about. he had not been up to the ranch for days. "i asked papa about him," said, diane, "and papa laughed like--well, like a regular hyena. i was dumbfounded. papa's so queer. he looked thunder-clouds at me. "when i insisted, for i wanted to know, he ripped out: 'yes, the damn fool got himself shot, and i'm sorry it's not worse.' "now, russ, what do you make of my dad? cheerful and kind, isn't he?" i laughed with sally, but i disclaimed any knowledge of george's accident. i hated the thought of wright, let alone anything concerning the fatal certainty that sooner or later these cousins of his were to suffer through him. sally did not make these rides easy for me, for she was sweeter than anything that has a name. since the evening of the dance i had tried to avoid her. either she was sincerely sorry for her tantrum or she was bent upon utterly destroying my peace. i took good care we were never alone, for in that case, if she ever got into my arms again i would find the ground slipping from under me. despite, however, the wear and constant strain of resisting sally, i enjoyed the ride. there was a charm about being with these girls. then perhaps miss sampson's growing unconscious curiosity in regard to steele was no little satisfaction to me. i pretended a reluctance to speak of the ranger, but when i did it was to drop a subtle word or briefly tell of an action that suggested such. i never again hinted the thing that had been such a shock to her. what was in her mind i could not guess; her curiosity, perhaps the greater part, was due to a generous nature not entirely satisfied with itself. she probably had not abandoned her father's estimate of the ranger but absolute assurance that this was just did not abide with her. for the rest she was like any other girl, a worshipper of the lion in a man, a weaver of romance, ignorant of her own heart. not the least talked of and speculated upon of all the details of the jail incident was the part played by storekeeper jones, who had informed upon his assailants. steele and i both awaited results of this significant fact. when would the town wake up, not only to a little nerve, but to the usefulness of a ranger? three days afterward steele told me a woman accosted him on the street. she seemed a poor, hardworking person, plain spoken and honest. her husband did not drink enough to complain of, but he liked to gamble and he had been fleeced by a crooked game in jack martin's saloon. other wives could make the same complaints. it was god's blessing for such women that ranger steele had come to linrock. of course, he could not get back the lost money, but would it be possible to close martin's place, or at least break up the crooked game? steele had asked this woman, whose name was price, how much her husband had lost, and, being told, he assured her that if he found evidence of cheating, not only would he get back the money, but also he would shut up martin's place. steele instructed me to go that night to the saloon in question and get in the game. i complied, and, in order not to be overcarefully sized up by the dealer, i pretended to be well under the influence of liquor. by nine o'clock, when steele strolled in, i had the game well studied, and a more flagrantly crooked one i had never sat in. it was barefaced robbery. steele and i had agreed upon a sign from me, because he was not so adept in the intricacies of gambling as i was. i was not in a hurry, however, for there was a little frecklefaced cattleman in the game, and he had been losing, too. he had sold a bunch of stock that day and had considerable money, which evidently he was to be deprived of before he got started for del rio. steele stood at our backs, and i could feel his presence. he thrilled me. he had some kind of effect on the others, especially the dealer, who was honest enough while the ranger looked on. when, however, steele shifted his attention to other tables and players our dealer reverted to his crooked work. i was about to make a disturbance, when the little cattleman, leaning over, fire in his eye and gun in hand, made it for me. evidently he was a keener and nervier gambler than he had been taken for. there might have been gun-play right then if steele had not interfered. "hold on!" he yelled, leaping for our table. "put up your gun!" "who are you?" demanded the cattleman, never moving. "better keep out of this." "i'm steele. put up your gun." "you're thet ranger, hey?" replied the other. "all right! but just a minute. i want this dealer to sit quiet. i've been robbed. and i want my money back." certainly the dealer and everyone else round the table sat quiet while the cattleman coolly held his gun leveled. "crooked game?" asked steele, bending over the table. "show me." it did not take the aggrieved gambler more than a moment to prove his assertion. steele, however, desired corroboration from others beside the cattleman, and one by one he questioned them. to my surprise, one of the players admitted his conviction that the game was not straight. "what do you say?" demanded steele of me. "worse'n a hold-up, mr. ranger," i burst out. "let me show you." deftly i made the dealer's guilt plain to all, and then i seconded the cattleman's angry claim for lost money. the players from other tables gathered round, curious, muttering. and just then martin strolled in. his appearance was not prepossessing. "what's this holler?" he asked, and halted as he saw the cattleman's gun still in line with the dealer. "martin, you know what it's for," replied steele. "take your dealer and dig--unless you want to see me clean out your place." sullen and fierce, martin stood looking from steele to the cattleman and then the dealer. some men in the crowd muttered, and that was a signal for steele to shove the circle apart and get out, back to the wall. the cattleman rose slowly in the center, pulling another gun, and he certainly looked business to me. "wal, ranger, i reckon i'll hang round an' see you ain't bothered none," he said. "friend," he went on, indicating me with a slight wave of one extended gun, "jest rustle the money in sight. we'll square up after the show." i reached out and swept the considerable sum toward me, and, pocketing it, i too rose, ready for what might come. "you-all give me elbow room!" yelled steele at martin and his cowed contingent. steele looked around, evidently for some kind of implement, and, espying a heavy ax in a corner, he grasped it, and, sweeping it to and fro as if it had been a buggy-whip, he advanced on the faro layout. the crowd fell back, edging toward the door. one crashing blow wrecked the dealer's box and table, sending them splintering among the tumbled chairs. then the giant ranger began to spread further ruin about him. martin's place was rough and bare, of the most primitive order, and like a thousand other dens of its kind, consisted of a large room with adobe walls, a rude bar of boards, piles of kegs in a corner, a stove, and a few tables with chairs. steele required only one blow for each article he struck, and he demolished it. he stove in the head of each keg. when the dark liquor gurgled out, martin cursed, and the crowd followed suit. that was a loss! the little cattleman, holding the men covered, backed them out of the room, martin needing a plain, stern word to put him out entirely. i went out, too, for i did not want to miss any moves on the part of that gang. close behind me came the cattleman, the kind of cool, nervy texan i liked. he had martin well judged, too, for there was no evidence of any bold resistance. but there were shouts and loud acclamations; and these, with the crashing blows of steele's ax, brought a curious and growing addition to the crowd. soon sodden thuds from inside the saloon and red dust pouring out the door told that steele was attacking the walls of martin's place. those adobe bricks when old and crumbly were easily demolished. steele made short work of the back wall, and then he smashed out half of the front of the building. that seemed to satisfy him. when he stepped out of the dust he was wet with sweat, dirty, and disheveled, hot with his exertion--a man whose great stature and muscular development expressed a wonderful physical strength and energy. and his somber face, with the big gray eyes, like open furnaces, expressed a passion equal to his strength. perhaps only then did wild and lawless linrock grasp the real significance of this ranger. steele threw the ax at martin's feet. "martin, don't reopen here," he said curtly. "don't start another place in linrock. if you do--jail at austin for years." martin, livid and scowling, yet seemingly dazed with what had occurred, slunk away, accompanied by his cronies. steele took the money i had appropriated, returned to me what i had lost, did likewise with the cattleman, and then, taking out the sum named by mrs. price, he divided the balance with the other players who had been in the game. then he stalked off through the crowd as if he knew that men who slunk from facing him would not have nerve enough to attack him even from behind. "wal, damn me!" ejaculated the little cattleman in mingled admiration and satisfaction. "so thet's that texas ranger, steele, hey? never seen him before. all texas, thet ranger!" i lingered downtown as much to enjoy the sensation as to gain the different points of view. no doubt about the sensation! in one hour every male resident of linrock and almost every female had viewed the wreck of martin's place. a fire could not have created half the excitement. and in that excitement both men and women gave vent to speech they might not have voiced at a calmer moment. the women, at least, were not afraid to talk, and i made mental note of the things they said. "did he do it all alone?" "thank god a _man's_ come to linrock." "good for molly price!" "oh, it'll make bad times for linrock." it almost seemed that all the women were glad, and this was in itself a vindication of the ranger's idea of law. the men, however--blandy, proprietor of the hope so, and others of his ilk, together with the whole brood of idle gaming loungers, and in fact even storekeepers, ranchers, cowboys--all shook their heads sullenly or doubtfully. striking indeed now was the absence of any joking. steele had showed his hand, and, as one gambler said: "it's a hard hand to call." the truth was, this ranger service was hateful to the free-and-easy texan who lived by anything except hard and honest work, and it was damnably hateful to the lawless class. steele's authority, now obvious to all, was unlimited; it could go as far as he had power to carry it. from present indications that power might be considerable. the work of native sheriffs and constables in western texas had been a farce, an utter failure. if an honest native of a community undertook to be a sheriff he became immediately a target for rowdy cowboys and other vicious elements. many a town south and west of san antonio owed its peace and prosperity to rangers, and only to them. they had killed or driven out the criminals. they interpreted the law for themselves, and it was only such an attitude toward law--the stern, uncompromising, implacable extermination of the lawless--that was going to do for all texas what it had done for part. steele was the driving wedge that had begun to split linrock--split the honest from dominance by the dishonest. to be sure, steele might be killed at any moment, and that contingency was voiced in the growl of one sullen man who said: "wot the hell are we up against? ain't somebody goin' to plug this ranger?" it was then that the thing for which steele stood, the ranger service--to help, to save, to defend, to punish, with such somber menace of death as seemed embodied in his cold attitude toward resistance--took hold of linrock and sunk deep into both black and honest hearts. it was what was behind steele that seemed to make him more than an officer--a man. i could feel how he began to loom up, the embodiment of a powerful force--the ranger service--the fame of which, long known to this lawless pecos gang, but scouted as a vague and distant thing, now became an actuality, a ranger in the flesh, whose surprising attributes included both the law and the enforcement of it. when i reached the ranch the excitement had preceded me. miss sampson and sally, both talking at once, acquainted me with the fact that they had been in a store on the main street a block or more from martin's place. they had seen the crowd, heard the uproar; and, as they had been hurriedly started toward home by their attendant dick, they had encountered steele stalking by. "he looked grand!" exclaimed sally. then i told the girls the whole story in detail. "russ, is it true, just as you tell it?" inquired diane earnestly. "absolutely. i know mrs. price went to steele with her trouble. i was in martin's place when he entered. also i was playing in the crooked game. and i saw him wreck martin's place. also, i heard him forbid martin to start another place in linrock." "then he does do splendid things," she said softly, as if affirming to herself. i walked on then, having gotten a glimpse of colonel sampson in the background. before i reached the corrals sally came running after me, quite flushed and excited. "russ, my uncle wants to see you," she said. "he's in a bad temper. don't lose yours, please." she actually took my hand. what a child she was, in all ways except that fatal propensity to flirt. her statement startled me out of any further thought of her. why did sampson want to see me? he never noticed me. i dreaded facing him--not from fear, but because i must see more and more of the signs of guilt in diane's father. he awaited me on the porch. as usual, he wore riding garb, but evidently he had not been out so far this day. he looked worn. there was a furtive shadow in his eyes. the haughty, imperious temper, despite sally's conviction, seemed to be in abeyance. "russ, what's this i hear about martin's saloon being cleaned out?" he asked. "dick can't give particulars." briefly and concisely i told the colonel exactly what had happened. he chewed his cigar, then spat it out with an unintelligible exclamation. "martin's no worse than others," he said. "blandy leans to crooked faro. i've tried to stop that, anyway. if steele can, more power to him!" sampson turned on his heel then and left me with a queer feeling of surprise and pity. he had surprised me before, but he had never roused the least sympathy. it was probably that sampson was indeed powerless, no matter what his position. i had known men before who had become involved in crime, yet were too manly to sanction a crookedness they could not help. miss sampson had been standing in her door. i could tell she had heard; she looked agitated. i knew she had been talking to her father. "russ, he hates the ranger," she said. "that's what i fear. it'll bring trouble on us. besides, like everybody here, he's biased. he can't see anything good in steele. yet he says: 'more power to him!' i'm mystified, and, oh, i'm between two fires!" * * * * * steele's next noteworthy achievement was as new to me as it was strange to linrock. i heard a good deal about it from my acquaintances, some little from steele, and the concluding incident i saw and heard myself. andy vey was a broken-down rustler whose activity had ceased and who spent his time hanging on at the places frequented by younger and better men of his kind. as he was a parasite, he was often thrown out of the dens. moreover, it was an open secret that he had been a rustler, and the men with whom he associated had not yet, to most of linrock, become known as such. one night vey had been badly beaten in some back room of a saloon and carried out into a vacant lot and left there. he lay there all that night and all the next day. probably he would have died there had not steele happened along. the ranger gathered up the crippled rustler, took him home, attended to his wounds, nursed him, and in fact spent days in the little adobe house with him. during this time i saw steele twice, at night out in our rendezvous. he had little to communicate, but was eager to hear when i had seen jim hoden, morton, wright, sampson, and all i could tell about them, and the significance of things in town. andy vey recovered, and it was my good fortune to be in the hope so when he came in and addressed a crowd of gamesters there. "fellers," he said, "i'm biddin' good-by to them as was once my friends. i'm leavin' linrock. an' i'm askin' some of you to take thet good-by an' a partin' word to them as did me dirt. "i ain't a-goin' to say if i'd crossed the trail of this ranger years ago thet i'd of turned round an' gone straight. but mebbe i would--mebbe. there's a hell of a lot a man doesn't know till too late. i'm old now, ready fer the bone pile, an' it doesn't matter. but i've got a head on me yet, an' i want to give a hunch to thet gang who done me. an' that hunch wants to go around an' up to the big guns of pecos. "this texas star ranger was the feller who took me in. i'd of died like a poisoned coyote but fer him. an' he talked to me. he gave me money to git out of pecos. mebbe everybody'll think he helped me because he wanted me to squeal. to squeal who's who round these rustler diggin's. wal, he never asked me. mebbe he seen i wasn't a squealer. but i'm thinkin' he wouldn't ask a feller thet nohow. "an' here's my hunch. steele has spotted the outfit. thet ain't so much, mebbe. but i've been with him, an' i'm old figgerin' men. jest as sure as god made little apples he's a goin' to put thet outfit through--or he's a-goin' to kill them!" chapter enter jack blome strange that the narrating of this incident made diane sampson unhappy. when i told her she exhibited one flash of gladness, such as any woman might have shown for a noble deed and then she became thoughtful, almost gloomy, sad. i could not understand her complex emotions. perhaps she contrasted steele with her father; perhaps she wanted to believe in steele and dared not; perhaps she had all at once seen the ranger in his true light, and to her undoing. she bade me take sally for a ride and sought her room. i had my misgivings when i saw sally come out in that trim cowgirl suit and look at me as if to say this day would be my waterloo. but she rode hard and long ahead of me before she put any machinations into effect. the first one found me with a respectful demeanor but an internal conflict. "russ, tighten my cinch," she said when i caught up with her. dismounting, i drew the cinch up another hole and fastened it. "my boot's unlaced, too," she added, slipping a shapely foot out of the stirrup. to be sure, it was very much unlaced. i had to take off my gloves to lace it up, and i did it heroically, with bent head and outward calm, when all the time i was mad to snatch the girl out of the saddle and hold her tight or run off with her or do some other fool thing. "russ, i believe diane's in love with steele," she said soberly, with the sweet confidence she sometimes manifested in me. "small wonder. it's in the air," i replied. she regarded me doubtfully. "it was," she retorted demurely. "the fickleness of women is no new thing to me. i didn't expect waters to last long." "certainly not when there are nicer fellows around. one, anyway, when he cares." a little brown hand slid out of its glove and dropped to my shoulder. "make up. you've been hateful lately. make up with me." it was not so much what she said as the sweet tone of her voice and the nearness of her that made a tumult within me. i felt the blood tingle to my face. "why should i make up with you?" i queried in self defense. "you are only flirting. you won't--you can't ever be anything to me, really." sally bent over me and i had not the nerve to look up. "never mind things--really," she replied. "the future's far off. let it alone. we're together. i--i like you, russ. and i've got to be--to be loved. there. i never confessed that to any other man. you've been hateful when we might have had such fun. the rides in the sun, in the open with the wind in our faces. the walks at night in the moonlight. russ, haven't you missed something?" the sweetness and seductiveness of her, the little luring devil of her, irresistible as they were, were no more irresistible than the naturalness, the truth of her. i trembled even before i looked up into her flushed face and arch eyes; and after that i knew if i could not frighten her out of this daring mood i would have to yield despite my conviction that she only trifled. as my manhood, as well as duty to steele, forced me to be unyielding, all that was left seemed to be to frighten her. the instant this was decided a wave of emotion--love, regret, bitterness, anger--surged over me, making me shake. i felt the skin on my face tighten and chill. i grasped her with strength that might have need to hold a plunging, unruly horse. i hurt her. i held her as in a vise. and the action, the feel of her, her suddenly uttered cry wrought against all pretense, hurt me as my brutality hurt her, and then i spoke what was hard, passionate truth. "girl, you're playing with fire!" i cried out hoarsely. "i love you--love you as i'd want my sister loved. i asked you to marry me. that was proof, if it was foolish. even if you were on the square, which you're not, we couldn't ever be anything to each other. understand? there's a reason, besides your being above me. i can't stand it. stop playing with me or i'll--i'll..." whatever i meant to say was not spoken, for sally turned deathly white, probably from my grasp and my looks as well as my threat. i let go of her, and stepping back to my horse choked down my emotion. "russ!" she faltered, and there was womanliness and regret trembling with the fear in her voice. "i--i am on the square." that had touched the real heart of the girl. "if you are, then play the game square," i replied darkly. "i will, russ, i promise. i'll never tease or coax you again. if i do, then i'll deserve what you--what i get. but, russ, don't think me a--a four-flush." all the long ride home we did not exchange another word. the traveling gait of sally's horse was a lope, that of mine a trot; and therefore, to my relief, she was always out in front. as we neared the ranch, however, sally slowed down until i caught up with her; and side by side we rode the remainder of the way. at the corrals, while i unsaddled, she lingered. "russ, you didn't tell me if you agreed with me about diane," she said finally. "maybe you're right. i hope she's fallen in love with steele. lord knows i hope so," i blurted out. i bit my tongue. there was no use in trying to be as shrewd with women as i was with men. i made no reply. "misery loves company. maybe that's why," she added. "you told me steele lost his head over diane at first sight. well, we all have company. good night, russ." that night i told steele about the singular effect the story of his treatment of vey had upon miss sampson. he could not conceal his feelings. i read him like an open book. if she was unhappy because he did something really good, then she was unhappy because she was realizing she had wronged him. steele never asked questions, but the hungry look in his eyes was enough to make even a truthful fellow exaggerate things. i told him how diane was dressed, how her face changed with each emotion, how her eyes burned and softened and shadowed, how her voice had been deep and full when she admitted her father hated him, how much she must have meant when she said she was between two fires. i divined how he felt and i tried to satisfy in some little measure his craving for news of her. when i had exhausted my fund and stretched my imagination i was rewarded by being told that i was a regular old woman for gossip. much taken back by this remarkable statement i could but gape at my comrade. irritation had followed shortly upon his curiosity and pleasure, and then the old sane mind reasserted itself, the old stern look, a little sad now, replaced the glow, the strange eagerness of youth on his face. "son, i beg your pardon," he said, with his hand on my shoulder. "we're rangers, but we can't help being human. to speak right out, it seems two sweet and lovable girls have come, unfortunately for us all, across the dark trail we're on. let us find what solace we can in the hope that somehow, god only knows how, in doing our duty as rangers we may yet be doing right by these two innocent girls. i ask you, as my friend, please do not speak again to me of--miss sampson." i left him and went up the quiet trail with the thick shadows all around me and the cold stars overhead; and i was sober in thought, sick at heart for him as much as for myself, and i tortured my mind in fruitless conjecture as to what the end of this strange and fateful adventure would be. i discovered that less and less the old wild spirit abided with me and i become conscious of a dull, deep-seated ache in my breast, a pang in the bone. from that day there was a change in diane sampson. she became feverishly active. she wanted to ride, to see for herself what was going on in linrock, to learn of that wild pecos county life at first hand. she made such demands on my time now that i scarcely ever found an hour to be with or near steele until after dark. however, as he was playing a waiting game on the rustlers, keeping out of the resorts for the present, i had not great cause for worry. hoden was slowly gathering men together, a band of trustworthy ones, and until this organization was complete and ready, steele thought better to go slow. it was of little use for me to remonstrate with miss sampson when she refused to obey a distracted and angry father. i began to feel sorry for sampson. he was an unscrupulous man, but he loved this daughter who belonged to another and better and past side of his life. i heard him appeal to her to go back to louisiana; to let him take her home, giving as urgent reason the probability of trouble for him. she could not help, could only handicap him. she agreed to go, provided he sold his property, took the best of his horses and went with her back to the old home to live there the rest of their lives. he replied with considerable feeling that he wished he could go, but it was impossible. then that settled the matter for her, she averred. failing to persuade her to leave linrock, he told her to keep to the ranch. naturally, in spite of his anger, miss sampson refused to obey; and she frankly told him that it was the free, unfettered life of the country, the riding here and there that appealed so much to her. sampson came to me a little later and his worn face showed traces of internal storm. "russ, for a while there i wanted to get rid of you," he said. "i've changed. diane always was a spoiled kid. now she's a woman. something's fired her blood. maybe it's this damned wild country. anyway, she's got the bit between her teeth. she'll run till she's run herself out. "now, it seems the safety of diane, and sally, too, has fallen into your hands. the girls won't have one of my cowboys near them. lately they've got shy of george, too. between you and me i want to tell you that conditions here in pecos are worse than they've seemed since you-all reached the ranch. but bad work will break out again--it's coming soon. "i can't stop it. the town will be full of the hardest gang in western texas. my daughter and sally would not be safe if left alone to go anywhere. with you, perhaps, they'll be safe. can i rely on you?" "yes, sampson, you sure can," i replied. "i'm on pretty good terms with most everybody in town. i think i can say none of the tough set who hang out down there would ever made any move while i'm with the girls. but i'll be pretty careful to avoid them, and particularly strange fellows who may come riding in. "and if any of them do meet us and start trouble, i'm going for my gun, that's all. there won't be any talk." "good! i'll back you," sampson replied. "understand, russ, i didn't want you here, but i always had you sized up as a pretty hard nut, a man not to be trifled with. you've got a bad name. diane insists the name's not deserved. she'd trust you with herself under any circumstances. and the kid, sally, she'd be fond of you if it wasn't for the drink. have you been drunk a good deal? straight now, between you and me." "not once," i replied. "george's a liar then. he's had it in for you since that day at sanderson. look out you two don't clash. he's got a temper, and when he's drinking he's a devil. keep out of his way." "i've stood a good deal from wright, and guess i can stand more." "all right, russ," he continued, as if relieved. "chuck the drink and cards for a while and keep an eye on the girls. when my affairs straighten out maybe i'll make you a proposition." sampson left me material for thought. perhaps it was not only the presence of a ranger in town that gave him concern, nor the wilfulness of his daughter. there must be internal strife in the rustler gang with which we had associated him. perhaps a menace of publicity, rather than risk, was the cause of the wearing strain on him. i began to get a closer insight into sampson, and in the absence of any conclusive evidence of his personal baseness i felt pity for him. in the beginning he had opposed me just because i did not happen to be a cowboy he had selected. this latest interview with me, amounting in some instances to confidence, proved absolutely that he had not the slightest suspicion that i was otherwise than the cowboy i pretended to be. another interesting deduction was that he appeared to be out of patience with wright. in fact, i imagined i sensed something of fear and distrust in this spoken attitude toward his relative. not improbably here was the internal strife between sampson and wright, and there flashed into my mind, absolutely without reason, an idea that the clash was over diane sampson. i scouted this intuitive idea as absurd; but, just the same, it refused to be dismissed. as i turned my back on the coarse and exciting life in the saloons and gambling hells, and spent all my time except when sleeping, out in the windy open under blue sky and starry heaven, my spirit had an uplift. i was glad to be free of that job. it was bad enough to have to go into these dens to arrest men, let alone living with them, almost being one. diane sampson noted a change in me, attributed it to the absence of the influence of drink, and she was glad. sally made no attempt to conceal her happiness; and to my dismay, she utterly failed to keep her promise not to tease or tempt me further. she was adorable, distracting. we rode every day and almost all day. we took our dinner and went clear to the foothills to return as the sun set. we visited outlying ranches, water-holes, old adobe houses famous in one way or another as scenes of past fights of rustlers and ranchers. we rode to the little village of sampson, and half-way to sanderson, and all over the country. there was no satisfying miss sampson with rides, new places, new faces, new adventures. and every time we rode out she insisted on first riding through linrock; and every time we rode home she insisted on going back that way. we visited all the stores, the blacksmith, the wagon shop, the feed and grain houses--everywhere that she could find excuse for visiting. i had to point out to her all the infamous dens in town, and all the lawless and lounging men we met. she insisted upon being shown the inside of the hope so, to the extreme confusion of that bewildered resort. i pretended to be blind to this restless curiosity. sally understood the cause, too, and it divided her between a sweet gravity and a naughty humor. the last, however, she never evinced in sight or hearing of diane. it seemed that we were indeed fated to cross the path of vaughn steele. we saw him working round his adobe house; then we saw him on horseback. once we met him face to face in a store. he gazed steadily into diane sampson's eyes and went his way without any sign of recognition. there was red in her face when he passed and white when he had gone. that day she rode as i had never seen her, risking her life, unmindful of her horse. another day we met steele down in the valley, where, inquiry discovered to us, he had gone to the home of an old cattleman who lived alone and was ill. last and perhaps most significant of all these meetings was the one when we were walking tired horses home through the main street of linrock and came upon steele just in time to see him in action. it happened at a corner where the usual slouchy, shirt-sleeved loungers were congregated. they were in high glee over the predicament of one ruffian who had purchased or been given a poor, emaciated little burro that was on his last legs. the burro evidently did not want to go with its new owner, who pulled on a halter and then viciously swung the end of the rope to make welts on the worn and scarred back. if there was one thing that diane sampson could not bear it was to see an animal in pain. she passionately loved horses, and hated the sight of a spur or whip. when we saw the man beating the little burro she cried out to me: "make the brute stop!" i might have made a move had i not on the instant seen steele heaving into sight round the corner. just then the fellow, whom i now recognized to be a despicable character named andrews, began to bestow heavy and brutal kicks upon the body of the little burro. these kicks sounded deep, hollow, almost like the boom of a drum. the burro uttered the strangest sound i ever heard issue from any beast and it dropped in its tracks with jerking legs that told any horseman what had happened. steele saw the last swings of andrews' heavy boot. he yelled. it was a sharp yell that would have made anyone start. but it came too late, for the burro had dropped. steele knocked over several of the jeering men to get to andrews. he kicked the fellow's feet from under him, sending him hard to the ground. then steele picked up the end of the halter and began to swing it powerfully. resounding smacks mingled with hoarse bellows of fury and pain. andrews flopped here and there, trying to arise, but every time the heavy knotted halter beat him down. presently steele stopped. andrews rose right in front of the ranger, and there, like the madman he was, he went for his gun. but it scarcely leaped from its holster when steele's swift hand intercepted it. steele clutched andrews' arm. then came a wrench, a cracking of bones, a scream of agony. the gun dropped into the dust; and in a moment of wrestling fury andrews, broken, beaten down, just able to moan, lay beside it. steele, so cool and dark for a man who had acted with such passionate swiftness, faced the others as if to dare them to move. they neither moved nor spoke, and then he strode away. miss sampson did not speak a word while we were riding the rest of the way home, but she was strangely white of face and dark of eye. sally could not speak fast enough to say all she felt. and i, of course, had my measure of feelings. one of them was that as sure as the sun rose and set it was written that diane sampson was to love vaughn steele. i could not read her mind, but i had a mind of my own. how could any woman, seeing this maligned and menaced ranger, whose life was in danger every moment he spent on the streets, in the light of his action on behalf of a poor little beast, help but wonder and brood over the magnificent height he might reach if he had love--passion--a woman for his inspiration? it was the day after this incident that, as sally, diane, and i were riding homeward on the road from sampson, i caught sight of a group of dark horses and riders swiftly catching up with us. we were on the main road, in plain sight of town and passing by ranches; nevertheless, i did not like the looks of the horsemen and grew uneasy. still, i scarcely thought it needful to race our horses just to reach town a little ahead of these strangers. accordingly, they soon caught up with us. they were five in number, all dark-faced except one, dark-clad and superbly mounted on dark bays and blacks. they had no pack animals and, for that matter, carried no packs at all. four of them, at a swinging canter, passed us, and the fifth pulled his horse to suit our pace and fell in between sally and me. "good day," he said pleasantly to me. "don't mind my ridin' in with you-all, i hope?" considering his pleasant approach, i could not but be civil. he was a singularly handsome fellow, at a quick glance, under forty years, with curly, blond hair, almost gold, a skin very fair for that country, and the keenest, clearest, boldest blue eyes i had ever seen in a man. "you're russ, i reckon," he said. "some of my men have seen you ridin' round with sampson's girls. i'm jack blome." he did not speak that name with any flaunt or flourish. he merely stated it. blome, the rustler! i grew tight all over. still, manifestly there was nothing for me to do but return his pleasantry. i really felt less uneasiness after he had made himself known to me. and without any awkwardness, i introduced him to the girls. he took off his sombrero and made gallant bows to both. miss sampson had heard of him and his record, and she could not help a paleness, a shrinking, which, however, he did not appear to notice. sally had been dying to meet a real rustler, and here he was, a very prince of rascals. but i gathered that she would require a little time before she could be natural. blome seemed to have more of an eye for sally than for diane. "do you like pecos?" he asked sally. "out here? oh, yes, indeed!" she replied. "like ridin'?" "i love horses." like almost every man who made sally's acquaintance, he hit upon the subject best calculated to make her interesting to free-riding, outdoor western men. that he loved a thoroughbred horse himself was plain. he spoke naturally to sally with interest, just as i had upon first meeting her, and he might not have been jack blome, for all the indication he gave of the fact in his talk. but the look of the man was different. he was a desperado, one of the dashing, reckless kind--more famous along the pecos and rio grande than more really desperate men. his attire proclaimed a vanity seldom seen in any westerner except of that unusual brand, yet it was neither gaudy or showy. one had to be close to blome to see the silk, the velvet, the gold, the fine leather. when i envied a man's spurs then they were indeed worth coveting. blome had a short rifle and a gun in saddle-sheaths. my sharp eye, running over him, caught a row of notches on the bone handle of the big colt he packed. it was then that the marshal, the ranger in me, went hot under the collar. the custom that desperadoes and gun-fighters had of cutting a notch on their guns for every man killed was one of which the mere mention made my gorge rise. at the edge of town blome doffed his sombrero again, said "_adios_," and rode on ahead of us. and it was then i was hard put to it to keep track of the queries, exclamations, and other wild talk of two very much excited young ladies. i wanted to think; i _needed_ to think. "wasn't he lovely? oh, i could adore him!" rapturously uttered miss sally langdon several times, to my ultimate disgust. also, after blome had ridden out of sight, miss sampson lost the evident effect of his sinister presence, and she joined miss langdon in paying the rustler compliments, too. perhaps my irritation was an indication of the quick and subtle shifting of my mind to harsher thought. "jack blome!" i broke in upon their adulations. "rustler and gunman. did you see the notches on his gun? every notch for a man he's killed! for weeks reports have come to linrock that soon as he could get round to it he'd ride down and rid the community of that bothersome fellow, that texas ranger! he's come to kill vaughn steele!" chapter diane and vaughn then as gloom descended on me with my uttered thought, my heart smote me at sally's broken: "oh, russ! no! no!" diane sampson bent dark, shocked eyes upon the hill and ranch in front of her; but they were sightless, they looked into space and eternity, and in them i read the truth suddenly and cruelly revealed to her--she loved steele! i found it impossible to leave miss sampson with the impression i had given. my own mood fitted a kind of ruthless pleasure in seeing her suffer through love as i had intimation i was to suffer. but now, when my strange desire that she should love steele had its fulfilment, and my fiendish subtleties to that end had been crowned with success, i was confounded in pity and the enormity of my crime. for it had been a crime to make, or help to make, this noble and beautiful woman love a ranger, the enemy of her father, and surely the author of her coming misery. i felt shocked at my work. i tried to hang an excuse on my old motive that through her love we might all be saved. when it was too late, however, i found that this motive was wrong and perhaps without warrant. we rode home in silence. miss sampson, contrary to her usual custom of riding to the corrals or the porch, dismounted at a path leading in among the trees and flowers. "i want to rest, to think before i go in," she said. sally accompanied me to the corrals. as our horses stopped at the gate i turned to find confirmation of my fears in sally's wet eyes. "russ," she said, "it's worse than we thought." "worse? i should say so," i replied. "it'll about kill her. she never cared that way for any man. when the sampson women love, they love." "well, you're lucky to be a langdon," i retorted bitterly. "i'm sampson enough to be unhappy," she flashed back at me, "and i'm langdon enough to have some sense. you haven't any sense or kindness, either. why'd you want to blurt out that jack blome was here to kill steele?" "i'm ashamed, sally," i returned, with hanging head. "i've been a brute. i've wanted her to love steele. i thought i had a reason, but now it seems silly. just now i wanted to see how much she did care. "sally, the other day you said misery loved company. that's the trouble. i'm sore--bitter. i'm like a sick coyote that snaps at everything. i've wanted you to go into the very depths of despair. but i couldn't send you. so i took out my spite on poor miss sampson. it was a damn unmanly thing for me to do." "oh, it's not so bad as all that. but you might have been less abrupt. russ, you seem to take an--an awful tragic view of your--your own case." "tragic? hah!" i cried like the villain in the play. "what other way could i look at it? i tell you i love you so i can't sleep or do anything." "that's not tragic. when you've no chance, _then_ that's tragic." sally, as swiftly as she had blushed, could change into that deadly sweet mood. she did both now. she seemed warm, softened, agitated. how could this be anything but sincere? i felt myself slipping; so i laughed harshly. "chance! i've no chance on earth." "try!" she whispered. but i caught myself in time. then the shock of bitter renunciation made it easy for me to simulate anger. "you promised not to--not to--" i began, choking. my voice was hoarse and it broke, matters surely far removed from pretense. i had seen sally langdon in varying degrees of emotion, but never as she appeared now. she was pale and she trembled a little. if it was not fright, then i could not tell what it was. but there were contrition and earnestness about her, too. "russ, i know. i promised not to--to tease--to tempt you anymore," she faltered. "i've broken it. i'm ashamed. i haven't played the game square. but i couldn't--i can't help myself. i've got sense enough not to engage myself to you, but i can't keep from loving you. i can't let you alone. there--if you want it on the square! what's more, i'll go on as i have done unless you keep away from me. i don't care what i deserve--what you do--i will--i will!" she had begun falteringly and she ended passionately. somehow i kept my head, even though my heart pounded like a hammer and the blood drummed in my ears. it was the thought of steele that saved me. but i felt cold at the narrow margin. i had reached a point, i feared, where a kiss, one touch from this bewildering creature of fire and change and sweetness would make me put her before steele and my duty. "sally, if you dare break your promise again, you'll wish you never had been born," i said with all the fierceness at my command. "i wish that now. and you can't bluff me, mr. gambler. i may have no hand to play, but you can't make me lay it down," she replied. something told me sally langdon was finding herself; that presently i could not frighten her, and then--then i would be doomed. "why, if i got drunk, i might do anything," i said cool and hard now. "cut off your beautiful chestnut hair for bracelets for my arms." sally laughed, but she was still white. she was indeed finding herself. "if you ever get drunk again you can't kiss me any more. and if you don't--you can." i felt myself shake and, with all of the iron will i could assert, i hid from her the sweetness of this thing that was my weakness and her strength. "i might lasso you from my horse, drag you through the cactus," i added with the implacability of an apache. "russ!" she cried. something in this last ridiculous threat had found a vital mark. "after all, maybe those awful stories joe harper told about you were true." "they sure were," i declared with great relief. "and now to forget ourselves. i'm more than sorry i distressed miss sampson; more than sorry because what i said wasn't on the square. blome, no doubt, has come to linrock after steele. his intention is to kill him. i said that--let miss sampson think it all meant fatality to the ranger. but, sally, i don't believe that blome can kill steele any more than--than you can." "why?" she asked; and she seemed eager, glad. "because he's not man enough. that's all, without details. you need not worry; and i wish you'd go tell miss sampson--" "go yourself," interrupted sally. "i think she's afraid of my eyes. but she won't fear you'd guess her secret. "go to her, russ. find some excuse to tell her. say you thought it over, believed she'd be distressed about what might never happen. go--and afterward pray for your sins, you queer, good-natured, love-meddling cowboy-devil, you!" for once i had no retort ready for sally. i hurried off as quickly as i could walk in chaps and spurs. i found miss sampson sitting on a bench in the shade of a tree. her pallor and quiet composure told of the conquering and passing of the storm. always she had a smile for me, and now it smote me, for i in a sense, had betrayed her. "miss sampson," i began, awkwardly yet swiftly, "i--i got to thinking it over, and the idea struck me, maybe you felt bad about this gun-fighter blome coming down here to kill steele. at first i imagined you felt sick just because there might be blood spilled. then i thought you've showed interest in steele--naturally his kind of ranger work is bound to appeal to women--you might be sorry it couldn't go on, you might care." "russ, don't beat about the bush," she said interrupting my floundering. "you know i care." how wonderful her eyes were then--great dark, sad gulfs with the soul of a woman at the bottom! almost i loved her myself; i did love her truth, the woman in her that scorned any subterfuge. instantly she inspired me to command over myself. "listen," i said. "jack blome has come here to meet steele. there will be a fight. but blome can't kill steele." "how is that? why can't he? you said this blome was a killer of men. you spoke of notches on his gun. i've heard my father and my cousin, too, speak of blome's record. he must be a terrible ruffian. if his intent is evil, why will he fail in it?" "because, miss sampson, when it comes to the last word, steele will be on the lookout and blome won't be quick enough on the draw to kill him. that's all." "quick enough on the draw? i understand, but i want to know more." "i doubt if there's a man on the frontier to-day quick enough to kill steele in an even break. that means a fair fight. this blome is conceited. he'll make the meeting fair enough. it'll come off about like this, miss sampson. "blome will send out his bluff--he'll begin to blow--to look for steele. but steele will avoid him as long as possible--perhaps altogether, though that's improbable. if they do meet, then blome must force the issue. it's interesting to figure on that. steele affects men strangely. it's all very well for this blome to rant about himself and to hunt steele up. but the test'll come when he faces the ranger. he never saw steele. he doesn't know what he's up against. he knows steele's reputation, but i don't mean that. i mean steele in the flesh, his nerve, the something that's in his eyes. "now, when it comes to handling a gun the man doesn't breathe who has anything on steele. there was an outlaw, duane, who might have killed steele, had they ever met. i'll tell you duane's story some day. a girl saved him, made a ranger of him, then got him to go far away from texas." "that was wise. indeed, i'd like to hear the story," she replied. "then, after all, russ, in this dreadful part of texas life, when man faces man, it's all in the quickness of hand?" "absolutely. it's the draw. and steele's a wonder. see here. look at this." i stepped back and drew my gun. "i didn't see how you did that," she said curiously. "try it again." i complied, and still she was not quick enough of eye to see my draw. then i did it slowly, explaining to her the action of hand and then of finger. she seemed fascinated, as a woman might have been by the striking power of a rattlesnake. "so men's lives depend on that! how horrible for me to be interested--to ask about it--to watch you! but i'm out here on the frontier now, caught somehow in its wildness, and i feel a relief, a gladness to know vaughn steele has the skill you claim. thank you, russ." she seemed about to dismiss me then, for she rose and half turned away. then she hesitated. she had one hand at her breast, the other on the bench. "have you been with him--talked to him lately?" she asked, and a faint rose tint came into her cheeks. but her eyes were steady, dark, and deep, and peered through and far beyond me. "yes, i've met him a few times, around places." "did he ever speak of--of me?" "once or twice, and then as if he couldn't help it." "what did he say?" "well, the last time he seemed hungry to hear something about you. he didn't exactly ask, but, all the same, he was begging. so i told him." "what?" "oh, how you were dressed, how you looked, what you said, what you did--all about you. don't be offended with me, miss sampson. it was real charity. i talk too much. it's my weakness. please don't be offended." she never heard my apology or my entreaty. there was a kind of glory in her eyes. looking at her, i found a dimness hazing my sight, and when i rubbed it away it came back. "then--what did he say?" this was whispered, almost shyly, and i could scarcely believe the proud miss sampson stood before me. "why, he flew into a fury, called me an--" hastily i caught myself. "well, he said if i wanted to talk to him any more not to speak of you. he was sure unreasonable." "russ--you think--you told me once--he--you think he still--" she was not facing me at all now. she had her head bent. both hands were at her breast, and i saw it heave. her cheek was white as a flower, her neck darkly, richly red with mounting blood. i understood. and i pitied her and hated myself and marveled at this thing, love. it made another woman out of diane sampson. i could scarcely comprehend that she was asking me, almost beseechingly, for further assurance of steele's love. i knew nothing of women, but this seemed strange. then a thought sent the blood chilling back to my heart. had diane sampson guessed the guilt of her father? was it more for his sake than for her own that she hoped--for surely she hoped--that steele loved her? here was more mystery, more food for reflection. only a powerful motive or a self-leveling love could have made a woman of diane sampson's pride ask such a question. whatever her reason, i determined to assure her, once and forever, what i knew to be true. accordingly, i told her in unforgettable words, with my own regard for her and love for sally filling my voice with emotion, how i could see that steele loved her, how madly he was destined to love her, how terribly hard that was going to make his work in linrock. there was a stillness about her then, a light on her face, which brought to my mind thought of sally when i had asked her to marry me. "russ, i beg you--bring us together," said miss sampson. "bring about a meeting. you are my friend." then she went swiftly away through the flowers, leaving me there, thrilled to my soul at her betrayal of herself, ready to die in her service, yet cursing the fatal day vaughn steele had chosen me for his comrade in this tragic game. that evening in the girls' sitting-room, where they invited me, i was led into a discourse upon the gun-fighters, outlaws, desperadoes, and bad men of the frontier. miss sampson and sally had been, before their arrival in texas, as ignorant of such characters as any girls in the north or east. they were now peculiarly interested, fascinated, and at the same time repelled. miss sampson must have placed the rangers in one of those classes, somewhat as governor smith had, and her father, too. sally thought she was in love with a cowboy whom she had been led to believe had as bad a record as any. they were certainly a most persuasive and appreciative audience. so as it was in regard to horses, if i knew any subject well, it was this one of dangerous and bad men. texas, and the whole developing southwest, was full of such characters. it was a very difficult thing to distinguish between fighters who were bad men and fighters who were good men. however, it was no difficult thing for one of my calling to tell the difference between a real bad man and the imitation "four-flush." then i told the girls the story of buck duane, famous outlaw and ranger. and i narrated the histories of murrell, most terrible of blood-spillers ever known to texas; of hardin, whose long career of crime ended in the main street in huntsville when he faced buck duane; of sandobal, the mexican terror; of cheseldine, bland, alloway, and other outlaws of the rio grande; of king fisher and thompson and sterrett, all still living and still busy adding notches to their guns. i ended my little talk by telling the story of amos clark, a criminal of a higher type than most bad men, yet infinitely more dangerous because of that. he was a southerner of good family. after the war he went to dimmick county and there developed and prospered with the country. he became the most influential citizen of his town and the richest in that section. he held offices. he was energetic in his opposition to rustlers and outlaws. he was held in high esteem by his countrymen. but this amos clark was the leader of a band of rustlers, highwaymen, and murderers. captain neal and some of his rangers ferreted out clark's relation to this lawless gang, and in the end caught him red-handed. he was arrested and eventually hanged. his case was unusual, and it furnished an example of what was possible in that wild country. clark had a son who was honest and a wife whom he dearly loved, both of whom had been utterly ignorant of the other and wicked side of life. i told this last story deliberately, yet with some misgivings. i wanted to see--i convinced myself it was needful for me to see--if miss sampson had any suspicion of her father. to look into her face then was no easy task. but when i did i experienced a shock, though not exactly the kind i had prepared myself for. she knew something; maybe she knew actually more than steele or i; still, if it were a crime, she had a marvelous control over her true feelings. * * * * * jack blome and his men had been in linrock for several days; old snecker and his son bo had reappeared, and other hard-looking customers, new to me if not to linrock. these helped to create a charged and waiting atmosphere. the saloons did unusual business and were never closed. respectable citizens of the town were awakened in the early dawn by rowdies carousing in the streets. steele kept pretty closely under cover. he did not entertain the opinion, nor did i, that the first time he walked down the street he would be a target for blome and his gang. things seldom happened that way, and when they did happen so it was more accident than design. blome was setting the stage for his little drama. meanwhile steele was not idle. he told me he had met jim hoden, morton and zimmer, and that these men had approached others of like character; a secret club had been formed and all the members were ready for action. steele also told me that he had spent hours at night watching the house where george wright stayed when he was not up at sampson's. wright had almost recovered from the injury to his arm, but he still remained most of the time indoors. at night he was visited, or at least his house was, by strange men who were swift, stealthy, mysterious--all men who formerly would not have been friends or neighbors. steele had not been able to recognize any of these night visitors, and he did not think the time was ripe for a bold holding up of one of them. jim hoden had forcibly declared and stated that some deviltry was afoot, something vastly different from blome's open intention of meeting the ranger. hoden was right. not twenty-four hours after his last talk with steele, in which he advised quick action, he was found behind the little room of his restaurant, with a bullet hole in his breast, dead. no one could be found who had heard a shot. it had been deliberate murder, for behind the bar had been left a piece of paper rudely scrawled with a pencil: "all friends of ranger steele look for the same." later that day i met steele at hoden's and was with him when he looked at the body and the written message which spoke so tersely of the enmity toward him. we left there together, and i hoped steele would let me stay with him from that moment. "russ, it's all in the dark," he said. "i feel wright's hand in this." i agreed. "i remember his face at hoden's that day you winged him. because jim swore you were wrong not to kill instead of wing him. you were wrong." "no, russ, i never let feeling run wild with my head. we can't prove a thing on wright." "come on; let's hunt him up. i'll bet i can accuse him and make him show his hand. come on!" that steele found me hard to resist was all the satisfaction i got for the anger and desire to avenge jim hoden that consumed me. "son, you'll have your belly full of trouble soon enough," replied steele. "hold yourself in. wait. try to keep your eye on sampson at night. see if anyone visits him. spy on him. i'll watch wright." "don't you think you'd do well to keep out of town, especially when you sleep?" "sure. i've got blankets out in the brush, and i go there every night late and leave before daylight. but i keep a light burning in the 'dobe house and make it look as if i were there." "good. that worried me. now, what's this murder of jim hoden going to do to morton, zimmer, and their crowd?" "russ, they've all got blood in their eyes. this'll make them see red. i've only to say the word and we'll have all the backing we need." "have you run into blome?" "once. i was across the street. he came out of the hope so with some of his gang. they lined up and watched me. but i went right on." "he's here looking for trouble, steele." "yes; and he'd have found it before this if i just knew his relation to sampson and wright." "do you think blome a dangerous man to meet?" "hardly. he's a genuine bad man, but for all that he's not much to be feared. if he were quietly keeping away from trouble, then that'd be different. blome will probably die in his boots, thinking he's the worst man and the quickest one on the draw in the west." that was conclusive enough for me. the little shadow of worry that had haunted me in spite of my confidence vanished entirely. "russ, for the present help me do something for jim hoden's family," went on steele. "his wife's in bad shape. she's not a strong woman. there are a lot of kids, and you know jim hoden was poor. she told me her neighbors would keep shy of her now. they'd be afraid. oh, it's tough! but we can put jim away decently and help his family." several days after this talk with steele i took miss sampson and sally out to see jim hoden's wife and children. i knew steele would be there that afternoon, but i did not mention this fact to miss sampson. we rode down to the little adobe house which belonged to mrs. hoden's people, and where steele and i had moved her and the children after jim hoden's funeral. the house was small, but comfortable, and the yard green and shady. if this poor wife and mother had not been utterly forsaken by neighbors and friends it certainly appeared so, for to my knowledge no one besides steele and me visited her. miss sampson had packed a big basket full of good things to eat, and i carried this in front of me on the pommel as we rode. we hitched our horses to the fence and went round to the back of the house. there was a little porch with a stone flooring, and here several children were playing. the door stood open. at my knock mrs. hoden bade me come in. evidently steele was not there, so i went in with the girls. "mrs. hoden, i've brought miss sampson and her cousin to see you," i said cheerfully. the little room was not very light, there being only one window and the door; but mrs. hoden could be seen plainly enough as she lay, hollow-cheeked and haggard, on a bed. once she had evidently been a woman of some comeliness. the ravages of trouble and grief were there to read in her worn face; it had not, however, any of the hard and bitter lines that had characterized her husband's. i wondered, considering that sampson had ruined hoden, how mrs. hoden was going to regard the daughter of an enemy. "so you're roger sampson's girl?" queried the woman, with her bright black eyes fixed on her visitor. "yes," replied miss sampson, simply. "this is my cousin, sally langdon. we've come to nurse you, take care of the children, help you in any way you'll let us." there was a long silence. "well, you look a little like sampson," finally said mrs. hoden, "but you're not at all like him. you must take after your mother. miss sampson, i don't know if i can--if i _ought_ to accept anything from you. your father ruined my husband." "yes, i know," replied the girl sadly. "that's all the more reason you should let me help you. pray don't refuse. it will--mean so much to me." if this poor, stricken woman had any resentment it speedily melted in the warmth and sweetness of miss sampson's manner. my idea was that the impression of diane sampson's beauty was always swiftly succeeded by that of her generosity and nobility. at any rate, she had started well with mrs. hoden, and no sooner had she begun to talk to the children than both they and the mother were won. the opening of that big basket was an event. poor, starved little beggars! i went out on the porch to get away from them. my feelings seemed too easily aroused. hard indeed would it have gone with jim hoden's slayer if i could have laid my eyes on him then. however, miss sampson and sally, after the nature of tender and practical girls, did not appear to take the sad situation to heart. the havoc had already been wrought in that household. the needs now were cheerfulness, kindness, help, action, and these the girls furnished with a spirit that did me good. "mrs. hoden, who dressed this baby?" presently asked miss sampson. i peeped in to see a dilapidated youngster on her knees. that sight, if any other was needed, completed my full and splendid estimate of diane sampson. "mr. steele," replied mrs. hoden. "mr. steele!" exclaimed miss sampson. "yes; he's taken care of us all since--since--" mrs. hoden choked. "oh, so you've had no help but his," replied miss sampson hastily. "no women? too bad! i'll send someone, mrs. hoden, and i'll come myself." "it'll be good of you," went on the older woman. "you see, jim had few friends--that is, right in town. and they've been afraid to help us--afraid they'd get what poor jim--" "that's awful!" burst out miss sampson passionately. "a brave lot of friends! mrs. hoden, don't you worry any more. we'll take care of you. here, sally help me. whatever is the matter with baby's dress?" manifestly miss sampson had some difficulty in subduing her emotion. "why, it's on hind side before," declared sally. "i guess mr. steele hasn't dressed many babies." "he did the best he could," said mrs. hoden. "lord only knows what would have become of us! he brought your cowboy, russ, who's been very good too." "mr. steele, then is--is something more than a ranger?" queried miss sampson, with a little break in her voice. "he's more than i can tell," replied mrs. hoden. "he buried jim. he paid our debts. he fetched us here. he bought food for us. he cooked for us and fed us. he washed and dressed the baby. he sat with me the first two nights after jim's death, when i thought i'd die myself. "he's so kind, so gentle, so patient. he has kept me up just by being near. sometimes i'd wake from a doze an', seeing him there, i'd know how false were all these tales jim heard about him and believed at first. why, he plays with the children just--just like any good man might. when he has the baby up i just can't believe he's a bloody gunman, as they say. "he's good, but he isn't happy. he has such sad eyes. he looks far off sometimes when the children climb round him. they love him. i think he must have loved some woman. his life is sad. nobody need tell me--he sees the good in things. once he said somebody had to be a ranger. well, i say, thank god for a ranger like him!" after that there was a long silence in the little room, broken only by the cooing of the baby. i did not dare to peep in at miss sampson then. somehow i expected steele to arrive at that moment, and his step did not surprise me. he came round the corner as he always turned any corner, quick, alert, with his hand down. if i had been an enemy waiting there with a gun i would have needed to hurry. steele was instinctively and habitually on the defense. "hello, son! how are mrs. hoden and the youngster to-day?" he asked. "hello yourself! why, they're doing fine! i brought the girls down--" then in the semishadow of the room, across mrs. hoden's bed, diane sampson and steele faced each other. that was a moment! having seen her face then i would not have missed sight of it for anything i could name; never so long as memory remained with me would i forget. she did not speak. sally, however, bowed and spoke to the ranger. steele, after the first start, showed no unusual feeling. he greeted both girls pleasantly. "russ, that was thoughtful of you," he said. "it was womankind needed here. i could do so little--mrs. hoden, you look better to-day. i'm glad. and here's baby, all clean and white. baby, what a time i had trying to puzzle out the way your clothes went on! well, mrs. hoden, didn't i tell you friends would come? so will the brighter side." "yes; i've more faith than i had," replied mrs. hoden. "roger sampson's daughter has come to me. there for a while after jim's death i thought i'd sink. we have nothing. how could i ever take care of my little ones? but i'm gaining courage." "mrs. hoden, do not distress yourself any more," said miss sampson. "i shall see you are well cared for. i promise you." "miss sampson, that's fine!" exclaimed steele, with a ring in his voice. "it's what i'd have hoped--expected of you..." it must have been sweet praise to her, for the whiteness of her face burned in a beautiful blush. "and it's good of you, too, miss langdon, to come," added steele. "let me thank you both. i'm glad i have you girls as allies in part of my lonely task here. more than glad, for the sake of this good woman and the little ones. but both of you be careful. don't stir without russ. there's risk. and now i'll be going. good-by. mrs. hoden, i'll drop in again to-night. good-by!" steele backed to the door, and i slipped out before him. "mr. steele--wait!" called miss sampson as he stepped out. he uttered a little sound like a hiss or a gasp or an intake of breath, i did not know what; and then the incomprehensible fellow bestowed a kick upon me that i thought about broke my leg. but i understood and gamely endured the pain. then we were looking at diane sampson. she was white and wonderful. she stepped out of the door, close to steele. she did not see me; she cared nothing for my presence. all the world would not have mattered to her then. "i have wronged you!" she said impulsively. looking on, i seemed to see or feel some slow, mighty force gathering in steele to meet this ordeal. then he appeared as always--yet, to me, how different! "miss sampson, how can you say that?" he returned. "i believed what my father and george wright said about you--that bloody, despicable record! now i do _not_ believe. i see--i wronged you." "you make me very glad when you tell me this. it was hard to have you think so ill of me. but, miss sampson, please don't speak of wronging me. i am a ranger, and much said of me is true. my duty is hard on others--sometimes on those who are innocent, alas! but god knows that duty is hard, too, on me." "i did wrong you. in thought--in word. i ordered you from my home as if you were indeed what they called you. but i was deceived. i see my error. if you entered my home again i would think it an honor. i--" "please--please don't, miss sampson," interrupted poor steele. i could see the gray beneath his bronze and something that was like gold deep in his eyes. "but, sir, my conscience flays me," she went on. there was no other sound like her voice. if i was all distraught with emotion, what must steele have been? "i make amends. will you take my hand? will you forgive me?" she gave it royally, while the other was there pressing at her breast. steele took the proffered hand and held it, and did not release it. what else could he have done? but he could not speak. then it seemed to dawn upon steele there was more behind this white, sweet, noble intensity of her than just making amends for a fancied or real wrong. for myself, i thought the man did not live on earth who could have resisted her then. and there was resistance; i felt it; she must have felt it. it was poor steele's hard fate to fight the charm and eloquence and sweetness of this woman when, for some reason unknown to him, and only guessed at by me, she was burning with all the fire and passion of her soul. "mr. steele, i honor you for your goodness to this unfortunate woman," she said, and now her speech came swiftly. "when she was all alone and helpless you were her friend. it was the deed of a man. but mrs. hoden isn't the only unfortunate woman in the world. i, too, am unfortunate. ah, how i may soon need a friend! "vaughn steele, the man whom i need most to be my friend--want most to lean upon--is the one whose duty is to stab me to the heart, to ruin me. you! will you be my friend? if you knew diane sampson you would know she would never ask you to be false to your duty. be true to us both! i'm so alone--no one but sally loves me. i'll need a friend soon--soon. "oh, i know--i know what you'll find out sooner or later. i know _now_! i want to help you. let us save life, if not honor. must i stand alone--all alone? will you--will you be--" her voice failed. she was swaying toward steele. i expected to see his arms spread wide and enfold her in their embrace. "diane sampson, i love you!" whispered steele hoarsely, white now to his lips. "i must be true to my duty. but if i can't be true to you, then by god, i want no more of life!" he kissed her hand and rushed away. she stood a moment as if blindly watching the place where he had vanished, and then as a sister might have turned to a brother, she reached for me. chapter the eavesdropper we silently rode home in the gathering dusk. miss sampson dismounted at the porch, but sally went on with me to the corrals. i felt heavy and somber, as if a catastrophe was near at hand. "help me down," said sally. her voice was low and tremulous. "sally, did you hear what miss sampson said to steele?" i asked. "a little, here and there. i heard steele tell her he loved her. isn't this a terrible mix?" "it sure is. did you hear--do you understand why she appealed to steele, asked him to be her friend?" "did she? no, i didn't hear that. i heard her say she had wronged him. then i tried not to hear any more. tell me." "no sally; it's not my secret. i wish i could do something--help them somehow. yes, it's sure a terrible mix. i don't care so much about myself." "nor me," sally retorted. "you! oh, you're only a shallow spoiled child! you'd cease to love anything the moment you won it. and i--well, i'm no good, you say. but their love! my god, what a tragedy! you've no idea, sally. they've hardly spoken to each other, yet are ready to be overwhelmed." sally sat so still and silent that i thought i had angered or offended her. but i did not care much, one way or another. her coquettish fancy for me and my own trouble had sunk into insignificance. i did not look up at her, though she was so close i could feel her little, restless foot touching me. the horses in the corrals were trooping up to the bars. dusk had about given place to night, although in the west a broad flare of golden sky showed bright behind dark mountains. "so i say you're no good?" asked sally after a long silence. then her voice and the way her hand stole to my shoulder should have been warning for me. but it was not, or i did not care. "yes, you said that, didn't you?" i replied absently. "i can change my mind, can't i? maybe you're only wild and reckless when you drink. mrs. hoden said such nice things about you. they made me feel so good." i had no reply for that and still did not look up at her. i heard her swing herself around in the saddle. "lift me down," she said. perhaps at any other time i would have remarked that this request was rather unusual, considering the fact that she was very light and sure of action, extremely proud of it, and likely to be insulted by an offer of assistance. but my spirit was dead. i reached for her hands, but they eluded mine, slipped up my arms as she came sliding out of the saddle, and then her face was very close to mine. "russ!" she whispered. it was torment, wistfulness, uncertainty, and yet tenderness all in one little whisper. it caught me off guard or indifferent to consequences. so i kissed her, without passion, with all regret and sadness. she uttered a little cry that might have been mingled exultation and remorse for her victory and her broken faith. certainly the instant i kissed her she remembered the latter. she trembled against me, and leaving unsaid something she had meant to say, she slipped out of my arms and ran. she assuredly was frightened, and i thought it just as well that she was. presently she disappeared in the darkness and then the swift little clinks of her spurs ceased. i laughed somewhat ruefully and hoped she would be satisfied. then i put away the horses and went in for my supper. after supper i noisily bustled around my room, and soon stole out for my usual evening's spying. the night was dark, without starlight, and the stiff wind rustled the leaves and tore through the vines on the old house. the fact that i had seen and heard so little during my constant vigilance did not make me careless or the task monotonous. i had so much to think about that sometimes i sat in one place for hours and never knew where the time went. this night, the very first thing, i heard wright's well-known footsteps, and i saw sampson's door open, flashing a broad bar of light into the darkness. wright crossed the threshold, the door closed, and all was dark again outside. not a ray of light escaped from the window. this was the first visit of wright for a considerable stretch of time. little doubt there was that his talk with sampson would be interesting to me. i tiptoed to the door and listened, but i could hear only a murmur of voices. besides, that position was too risky. i went round the corner of the house. some time before i had made a discovery that i imagined would be valuable to me. this side of the big adobe house was of much older construction than the back and larger part. there was a narrow passage about a foot wide between the old and new walls, and this ran from the outside through to the patio. i had discovered the entrance by accident, as it was concealed by vines and shrubbery. i crawled in there, upon an opportune occasion, with the intention of boring a small hole through the adobe bricks. but it was not necessary to do that, for the wall was cracked; and in one place i could see into sampson's room. this passage now afforded me my opportunity, and i decided to avail myself of it in spite of the very great danger. crawling on my hands and knees very stealthily, i got under the shrubbery to the entrance of the passage. in the blackness a faint streak of light showed the location of the crack in the wall. i had to slip in sidewise. it was a tight squeeze, but i entered without the slightest sound. if my position were to be betrayed it would not be from noise. as i progressed the passage grew a very little wider in that direction, and this fact gave rise to the thought that in case of a necessary and hurried exit i would do best by working toward the patio. it seemed a good deal of time was consumed in reaching my vantage-point. when i did get there the crack was a foot over my head. if i had only been tall like steele! there was nothing to do but find toe-holes in the crumbling walls, and by bracing knees on one side, back against the other, hold myself up to the crack. once with my eye there i did not care what risk i ran. sampson appeared disturbed; he sat stroking his mustache; his brow was clouded. wright's face seemed darker, more sullen, yet lighted by some indomitable resolve. "we'll settle both deals to-night," wright was saying. "that's what i came for. that's why i've asked snecker and blome to be here." "but suppose i don't choose to talk here?" protested sampson impatiently. "i never before made my house a place to--" "we've waited long enough. this place's as good as any. you've lost your nerve since that ranger hit the town. first, now, will you give diane to me?" "george, you talk like a spoiled boy. give diane to you! why, she's a woman and i'm finding out that she's got a mind of her own. i told you i was willing for her to marry you. i tried to persuade her. but diane hasn't any use for you now. she liked you at first; but now she doesn't. so what can i do?" "you can make her marry me," replied wright. "make that girl do what she doesn't want to? it couldn't be done, even if i tried. and i don't believe i'll try. i haven't the highest opinion of you as a prospective son-in-law, george. but if diane loved you i would consent. we'd all go away together before this damned miserable business is out. then she'd never know. and maybe you might be more like you used to be before the west ruined you. but as matters stand you fight your own game with her; and i'll tell you now, you'll lose." "what'd you want to let her come out here for?" demanded wright hotly. "it was a dead mistake. i've lost my head over her. i'll have her or die. don't you think if she was my wife i'd soon pull myself together? since she came we've none of us been right. and the gang has put up a holler. no, sampson, we've got to settle things to-night." "well, we can settle what diane's concerned in right now," replied sampson, rising. "come on; we'll go ask her. see where you stand." they went out, leaving the door open. i dropped down to rest myself and to wait. i would have liked to hear miss sampson's answer to him. but i could guess what it would be. wright appeared to be all i had thought of him, and i believed i was going to find out presently that he was worse. just then i wanted steele as never before. still, he was too big to worm his way into this place. the men seemed to be absent a good while, though that feeling might have been occasioned by my interest and anxiety. finally i heard heavy steps. wright came in alone. he was leaden-faced, humiliated. then something abject in him gave place to rage. he strode the room; he cursed. sampson returned, now appreciably calmer. i could not but decide that he felt relief at the evident rejection of wright's proposal. "don't fume about it, george," he said. "you see i can't help it. we're pretty wild out here, but i can't rope my daughter and give her to you as i would an unruly steer." "sampson, i can _make_ her marry me," declared wright thickly. "how?" "you know the hold i got on you--the deal that made you boss of this rustler gang?" "it isn't likely i'd forget," replied sampson grimly. "i can go to diane--tell her that--make her believe i'd tell it broadcast, tell this ranger steele, unless she'd marry me!" wright spoke breathlessly, with haggard face and shadowed eyes. he had no shame. he was simply in the grip of passion. sampson gazed with dark, controlled fury at his relative. in that look i saw a strong, unscrupulous man fallen into evil ways, but still a man. it betrayed wright to be the wild and passionate weakling. i seemed to see also how, during all the years of association, this strong man had upheld the weak one. but that time had gone forever, both in intent on sampson's part and in possibility. wright, like the great majority of evil and unrestrained men on the border, had reached a point where influence was futile. reason had degenerated. he saw only himself. "but, george, diane's the one person on earth who must never know i'm a rustler, a thief, a red-handed ruler of the worst gang on the border," replied sampson impressively. george bowed his head at that, as if the significance had just occurred to him. but he was not long at a loss. "she's going to find it out sooner or later. i tell you she knows now there's something wrong out here. she's got eyes. and that meddling cowboy of hers is smarter than you give him credit for. they're always together. you'll regret the day russ ever straddled a horse on this ranch. mark what i say." "diane's changed, i know; but she hasn't any idea yet that her daddy's a boss rustler. diane's concerned about what she calls my duty as mayor. also i think she's not satisfied with my explanations in regard to certain property." wright halted in his restless walk and leaned against the stone mantelpiece. he squared himself as if this was his last stand. he looked desperate, but on the moment showed an absence of his usual nervous excitement. "sampson, that may well be true," he said. "no doubt all you say is true. but it doesn't help me. i want the girl. if i don't get her i reckon we'll all go to hell!" he might have meant anything, probably meant the worst. he certainly had something more in mind. sampson gave a slight start, barely perceptible like the twitch of an awakening tiger. he sat there, head down, stroking his mustache. almost i saw his thought. i had long experience in reading men under stress of such emotion. i had no means to vindicate my judgment, but my conviction was that sampson right then and there decided that the thing to do was to kill wright. for my part, i wondered that he had not come to such a conclusion before. not improbably the advent of his daughter had put sampson in conflict with himself. suddenly he threw off a somber cast of countenance and began to talk. he talked swiftly, persuasively, yet i imagined he was talking to smooth wright's passion for the moment. wright no more caught the fateful significance of a line crossed, a limit reached, a decree decided, than if he had not been present. he was obsessed with himself. how, i wondered, had a man of his mind ever lived so long and gone so far among the exacting conditions of pecos county? the answer was perhaps, that sampson had guided him, upheld him, protected him. the coming of diane sampson had been the entering wedge of dissension. "you're too impatient," concluded sampson. "you'll ruin any chance of happiness if you rush diane. she might be won. if you told her who i am she'd hate you forever. she might marry you to save me, but she'd hate you. "that isn't the way. wait. play for time. be different with her. cut out your drinking. she despises that. let's plan to sell out here, stock, ranch, property, and leave the country. then you'd have a show with her." "i told you we've got to stick," growled wright. "the gang won't stand for our going. it can't be done unless you want to sacrifice everything." "you mean double-cross the men? go without their knowing? leave them here to face whatever comes?" "i mean just that." "i'm bad enough, but not that bad," returned sampson. "if i can't get the gang to let me off i'll stay and face the music. all the same, wright, did it ever strike you that most of our deals the last few years have been yours?" "yes. if i hadn't rung them in, there wouldn't have been any. you've had cold feet, owens says, especially since this ranger steele has been here." "well, call it cold feet if you like. but i call it sense. we reached our limit long ago. we began by rustling a few cattle at a time when rustling was laughed at. but as our greed grew so did our boldness. then came the gang, the regular trips, and one thing and another till, before we knew it--before _i_ knew it, we had shady deals, hold-ups, and murders on our record. then we had to go on. too late to turn back!" "i reckon we've all said that. none of the gang wants to quit. they all think, and i think, we can't be touched. we may be blamed, but nothing can be proved. we're too strong." "there's where you're dead wrong," rejoined sampson, emphatically. "i imagined that once, not long ago. i was bull-headed. who would ever connect roger sampson with a rustler gang? i've changed my mind. i've begun to think. i've reasoned out things. we're crooked and we can't last. it's the nature of life, even in wild pecos, for conditions to grow better. the wise deal for us would be to divide equally and leave the country, all of us." "but you and i have all the stock--all the gain," protested wright. "i'll split mine." "i won't--that settles that," added wright instantly. sampson spread wide his hands as if it was useless to try to convince this man. talking had not increased his calmness, and he now showed more than impatience. a dull glint gleamed deep in his eyes. "your stock and property will last a long time--do you lots of good when steele--" "bah!" hoarsely croaked wright. the ranger's name was a match applied to powder. "haven't i told you he'd be dead soon same as hoden is?" "yes, you mentioned the supposition," replied sampson sarcastically. "i inquired, too just how that very desired event was to be brought about." "blome's here to kill steele." "bah!" retorted sampson in turn. "blome can't kill this ranger. he can't face him with a ghost of a show--he'll never get a chance at steele's back. the man don't live on this border who's quick and smart enough to kill steele." "i'd like to know why?" demanded wright sullenly. "you ought to know. you've seen the ranger pull a gun." "who told you?" queried wright, his face working. "oh, i guessed it, if that'll do you." "if jack doesn't kill this damned ranger i will," replied wright, pounding the table. sampson laughed contemptuously. "george, don't make so much noise. and don't be a fool. you've been on the border for ten years. you've packed a gun and you've used it. you've been with blome and snecker when they killed their men. you've been present at many fights. but you never saw a man like steele. you haven't got sense enough to see him right if you had a chance. neither has blome. the only way to get rid of steele is for the gang to draw on him, all at once. and even then he's going to drop some of them." "sampson, you say that like a man who wouldn't care much if steele did drop some of them," declared wright, and now he was sarcastic. "to tell you the truth i wouldn't," returned the other bluntly. "i'm pretty sick of this mess." wright cursed in amaze. his emotions were out of all proportion to his intelligence. he was not at all quick-witted. i had never seen a vainer or more arrogant man. "sampson, i don't like your talk," he said. "if you don't like the way i talk you know what you can do," replied sampson quickly. he stood up then, cool and quiet, with flash of eyes and set of lips that told me he was dangerous. "well, after all, that's neither here nor there," went on wright, unconsciously cowed by the other. "the thing is, do i get the girl?" "not by any means, except her consent." "you'll not make her marry me?" "no. no," replied sampson, his voice still cold, low-pitched. "all right. then i'll make her." evidently sampson understood the man before him so well that he wasted no more words. i knew what wright never dreamed of, and that was that sampson had a gun somewhere within reach and meant to use it. then heavy footsteps sounded outside, tramping upon the porch. i might have been mistaken, but i believed those footsteps saved wright's life. "there they are," said wright, and he opened the door. five masked men entered. about two of them i could not recognize anything familiar. i thought one had old snecker's burly shoulders and another bo snecker's stripling shape. i did recognize blome in spite of his mask, because his fair skin and hair, his garb and air of distinction made plain his identity. they all wore coats, hiding any weapons. the big man with burly shoulders shook hands with sampson and the others stood back. the atmosphere of that room had changed. wright might have been a nonentity for all he counted. sampson was another man--a stranger to me. if he had entertained a hope of freeing himself from his band, of getting away to a safer country, he abandoned it at the very sight of these men. there was power here and he was bound. the big man spoke in low, hoarse whispers, and at this all the others gathered round him, close to the table. there were evidently some signs of membership not plain to me. then all the heads were bent over the table. low voices spoke, queried, answered, argued. by straining my ears i caught a word here and there. they were planning. i did not attempt to get at the meaning of the few words and phrases i distinguished, but held them in mind so to piece all together afterward. before the plotters finished conferring i had an involuntary flashed knowledge of much and my whirling, excited mind made reception difficult. when these rustlers finished whispering i was in a cold sweat. steele was to be killed as soon as possible by blome, or by the gang going to steele's house at night. morton had been seen with the ranger. he was to meet the same fate as hoden, dealt by bo snecker, who evidently worked in the dark like a ferret. any other person known to be communing with steele, or interested in him, or suspected of either, was to be silenced. then the town was to suffer a short deadly spell of violence, directed anywhere, for the purpose of intimidating those people who had begun to be restless under the influence of the ranger. after that, big herds of stock were to be rustled off the ranches to the north and driven to el paso. then the big man, who evidently was the leader of the present convention, got up to depart. he went as swiftly as he had come, and was followed by the slender fellow. as far as it was possible for me to be sure, i identified these two as snecker and his son. the others, however, remained. blome removed his mask, which action was duplicated by the two rustlers who had stayed with him. they were both young, bronzed, hard of countenance, not unlike cowboys. evidently this was now a social call on sampson. he set out cigars and liquors for his guests, and a general conversation ensued, differing little from what might have been indulged in by neighborly ranchers. there was not a word spoken that would have caused suspicion. blome was genial, gay, and he talked the most. wright alone seemed uncommunicative and unsociable. he smoked fiercely and drank continually. all at once he straightened up as if listening. "what's that?" he called suddenly. the talking and laughter ceased. my own strained ears were pervaded by a slight rustling sound. "must be a rat," replied sampson in relief. strange how any sudden or unknown thing weighed upon him. the rustling became a rattle. "sounds like a rattlesnake to me," said blome. sampson got up from the table and peered round the room. just at that instant i felt an almost inappreciable movement of the adobe wall which supported me. i could scarcely credit my senses. but the rattle inside sampson's room was mingling with little dull thuds of falling dirt. the adobe wall, merely dried mud was crumbling. i distinctly felt a tremor pass through it. then the blood gushed with sickening coldness back to my heart and seemingly clogged it. "what in the hell!" exclaimed sampson. "i smell dust," said blome sharply. that was the signal for me to drop down from my perch, yet despite my care i made a noise. "did you hear a step?" queried sampson. then a section of the wall fell inward with a crash. i began to squeeze my body through the narrow passage toward the patio. "hear him!" yelled wright. "this side." "no, he's going that way," yelled someone else. the tramp of heavy boots lent me the strength and speed of desperation. i was not shirking a fight, but to be cornered like a trapped coyote was another matter. i almost tore my clothes off in that passage. the dust nearly stifled me. when i burst into the patio it was not one single instant too soon. but one deep gash of breath revived me, and i was up, gun in hand, running for the outlet into the court. thumping footsteps turned me back. while there was a chance to get away i did not want to meet odds in a fight. i thought i heard some one running into the patio from the other end. i stole along, and coming to a door, without any idea of where it might lead, i softly pushed it open a little way and slipped in. chapter in flagrante delicto a low cry greeted me. the room was light. i saw sally langdon sitting on her bed in her dressing gown. shaking my gun at her with a fierce warning gesture to be silent, i turned to close the door. it was a heavy door, without bolt or bar, and when i had shut it i felt safe only for the moment. then i gazed around the room. there was one window with blind closely drawn. i listened and seemed to hear footsteps retreating, dying away. then i turned to sally. she had slipped off the bed to her knees and was holding out trembling hands as if both to supplicate mercy and to ward me off. she was as white as the pillow on her bed. she was terribly frightened. again with warning hand commanding silence i stepped softly forward, meaning to reassure her. "russ! russ!" she whispered wildly, and i thought she was going to faint. when i got close and looked into her eyes i understood the strange dark expression in them. she was terrified because she believed i meant to kill her, or do worse, probably worse. she had believed many a hard story about me and had cared for me in spite of them. i remembered, then, that she had broken her promise, she had tempted me, led me to kiss her, made a fool out of me. i remembered, also how i had threatened her. this intrusion of mine was the wild cowboy's vengeance. i verily believed she thought i was drunk. i must have looked pretty hard and fierce, bursting into her room with that big gun in hand. my first action then was to lay the gun on her bureau. "you poor kid!" i whispered, taking her hands and trying to raise her. but she stayed on her knees and clung to me. "russ! it was vile of me," she whispered. "i know it. i deserve anything--anything! but i am only a kid. russ, i didn't break my word--i didn't make you kiss me just for, vanity's sake. i swear i didn't. i wanted you to. for i care, russ, i can't help it. please forgive me. please let me off this time. don't--don't--" "will you shut up!" i interrupted, half beside myself. and i used force in another way than speech. i shook her and sat her on the bed. "you little fool, i didn't come in here to kill you or do some other awful thing, as you think. for god's sake, sally, what do you take me for?" "russ, you swore you'd do something terrible if i tempted you anymore," she faltered. the way she searched my face with doubtful, fearful eyes hurt me. "listen," and with the word i seemed to be pervaded by peace. "i didn't know this was your room. i came in here to get away--to save my life. i was pursued. i was spying on sampson and his men. they heard me, but did not see me. they don't know who was listening. they're after me now. i'm special united states deputy marshal sittell--russell archibald sittell. i'm a ranger. i'm here as secret aid to steele." sally's eyes changed from blank gulfs to dilating, shadowing, quickening windows of thought. "russ-ell archi-bald sittell," she echoed. "ranger! secret aid to steele!" "yes." "then you're no cowboy?" "no." "only a make-believe one?" "yes." "and the drinking, the gambling, the association with those low men--that was all put on?" "part of the game, sally. i'm not a drinking man. and i sure hate those places i had to go in, and all that pertains to them." "oh, so _that's_ it! i knew there was something. how glad--how glad i am!" then sally threw her arms around my neck, and without reserve or restraint began to kiss me and love me. it must have been a moment of sheer gladness to feel that i was not disreputable, a moment when something deep and womanly in her was vindicated. assuredly she was entirely different from what she had ever been before. there was a little space of time, a sweet confusion of senses, when i could not but meet her half-way in tenderness. quite as suddenly, then she began to cry. i whispered in her ear, cautioning her to be careful, that my life was at stake; and after that she cried silently, with one of her arms round my neck, her head on my breast, and her hand clasping mine. so i held her for what seemed a long time. indistinct voices came to me and footsteps seemingly a long way off. i heard the wind in the rose-bush outside. some one walked down the stony court. then a shrill neigh of a horse pierced the silence. a rider was mounting out there for some reason. with my life at stake i grasped all the sweetness of that situation. sally stirred in my arms, raised a red, tear-stained yet happy face, and tried to smile. "it isn't any time to cry," she whispered. "but i had to. you can't understand what it made me feel to learn you're no drunkard, no desperado, but a _man_--a man like that ranger!" very sweetly and seriously she kissed me again. "russ, if i didn't honestly and truly love you before, i do now." then she stood up and faced me with the fire and intelligence of a woman in her eyes. "tell me now. you were spying on my uncle?" briefly i told her what had happened before i entered her room, not omitting a terse word as to the character of the men i had watched. "my god! so it's uncle roger! i knew something was very wrong here--with him, with the place, the people. and right off i hated george wright. russ, does diane know?" "she knows something. i haven't any idea how much." "this explains her appeal to steele. oh, it'll kill her! you don't know how proud, how good diane is. oh, it'll kill her!" "sally, she's no baby. she's got sand, that girl--" the sound of soft steps somewhere near distracted my attention, reminded me of my peril, and now, what counted more with me, made clear the probability of being discovered in sally's room. "i'll have to get out of here," i whispered. "wait," she replied, detaining me. "didn't you say they were hunting for you?" "they sure are," i returned grimly. "oh! then you mustn't go. they might shoot you before you got away. stay. if we hear them you can hide under my bed. i'll turn out the light. i'll meet them at the door. you can trust me. stay, russ. wait till all quiets down, if we have to wait till morning. then you can slip out." "sally, i oughtn't to stay. i don't want to--i won't," i replied perplexed and stubborn. "but you must. it's the only safe way. they won't come here." "suppose they should? it's an even chance sampson'll search every room and corner in this old house. if they found me here i couldn't start a fight. you might be hurt. then--the fact of my being here--" i did not finish what i meant, but instead made a step toward the door. sally was on me like a little whirlwind, white of face and dark of eye, with a resoluteness i could not have deemed her capable of. she was as strong and supple as a panther, too. but she need not have been either resolute or strong, for the clasp of her arms, the feel of her warm breast as she pressed me back were enough to make me weak as water. my knees buckled as i touched the chair, and i was glad to sit down. my face was wet with perspiration and a kind of cold ripple shot over me. i imagined i was losing my nerve then. proof beyond doubt that sally loved me was so sweet, so overwhelming a thing, that i could not resist, even to save her disgrace. "russ, the fact of your being here is the very thing to save you--if they come," sally whispered softly. "what do i care what they think?" she put her arms round my neck. i gave up then and held her as if she indeed were my only hope. a noise, a stealthy sound, a step, froze that embrace into stone. "up yet, sally?" came sampson's clear voice, too strained, too eager to be natural. "no. i'm in bed, reading. good night, uncle," instantly replied sally, so calmly and naturally that i marveled at the difference between man and woman. perhaps that was the difference between love and hate. "are you alone?" went on sampson's penetrating voice, colder now. "yes," replied sally. the door swung inward with a swift scrape and jar. sampson half entered, haggard, flaming-eyed. his leveled gun did not have to move an inch to cover me. behind him i saw wright and indistinctly, another man. "well!" gasped sampson. he showed amazement. "hands up, russ!" i put up my hands quickly, but all the time i was calculating what chance i had to leap for my gun or dash out the light. i was trapped. and fury, like the hot teeth of a wolf, bit into me. that leveled gun, the menace in sampson's puzzled eyes, wright's dark and hateful face, these loosened the spirit of fight in me. if sally had not been there i would have made some desperate move. sampson barred wright from entering, which action showed control as well as distrust. "you lied!" said sampson to sally. he was hard as flint, yet doubtful and curious, too. "certainly i lied," snapped sally in reply. she was cool, almost flippant. i awakened to the knowledge that she was to be reckoned with in this situation. suddenly she stepped squarely between sampson and me. "move aside," ordered sampson sternly. "i won't! what do i care for your old gun? you shan't shoot russ or do anything else to him. it's my fault he's here in my room. i coaxed him to come." "you little hussy!" exclaimed sampson, and he lowered the gun. if i ever before had occasion to glory in sally i had it then. she betrayed not the slightest fear. she looked as if she could fight like a little tigress. she was white, composed, defiant. "how long has russ been in here?" demanded sampson. "all evening. i left diane at eight o'clock. russ came right after that." "but you'd undressed for bed!" ejaculated the angry and perplexed uncle. "yes." that simple answer was so noncommittal, so above subterfuge, so innocent, and yet so confounding in its provocation of thought that sampson just stared his astonishment. but i started as if i had been struck. "see here sampson--" i began, passionately. like a flash sally whirled into my arms and one hand crossed my lips. "it's my fault. i will take the blame," she cried, and now the agony of fear in her voice quieted me. i realized i would be wise to be silent. "uncle," began sally, turning her head, yet still clinging to me, "i've tormented russ into loving me. i've flirted with him--teased him--tempted him. we love each other now. we're engaged. please--please don't--" she began to falter and i felt her weight sag a little against me. "well, let go of him," said sampson. "i won't hurt him. sally, how long has this affair been going on?" "for weeks--i don't know how long." "does diane know?" "she knows we love each other, but not that we met--did this--" light swift steps, the rustle of silk interrupted sampson, and made my heart sink like lead. "is that you, george?" came miss sampson's deep voice, nervous, hurried. "what's all this commotion? i hear--" "diane, go on back," ordered sampson. just then miss sampson's beautiful agitated face appeared beside wright. he failed to prevent her from seeing all of us. "papa! sally!" she exclaimed, in consternation. then she swept into the room. "what has happened?" sampson, like the devil he was, laughed when it was too late. he had good impulses, but they never interfered with his sardonic humor. he paced the little room, shrugging his shoulders, offering no explanation. sally appeared about ready to collapse and i could not have told sally's lie to miss sampson to save my life. "diane, your father and i broke in on a little romeo and juliet scene," said george wright with a leer. then miss sampson's dark gaze swept from george to her father, then to sally's attire and her shamed face, and finally to me. what effect the magnificent wrath and outraged trust in her eyes had upon me! "russ, do they dare insinuate you came to sally's room?" for myself i could keep silent, but for sally i began to feel a hot clamoring outburst swelling in my throat. "sally confessed it, diane," replied wright. "sally!" a shrinking, shuddering disbelief filled miss sampson's voice. "diane, i told you i loved him--didn't i?" replied sally. she managed to hold up her head with a ghost of her former defiant spirit. "miss sampson, it's a--" i burst out. then sally fainted. it was i who caught her. miss sampson hurried to her side with a little cry of distress. "russ, your hand's called," said sampson. "of course you'll swear the moon's green cheese. and i like you the better for it. but we know now, and you can save your breath. if sally hadn't stuck up so gamely for you i'd have shot you. but at that i wasn't looking for you. now clear out of here." i picked up my gun from the bureau and dropped it in its sheath. for the life of me i could not leave without another look at miss sampson. the scorn in her eyes did not wholly hide the sadness. she who needed friends was experiencing the bitterness of misplaced trust. that came out in the scorn, but the sadness--i knew what hurt her most was her sorrow. i dropped my head and stalked out. chapter a slap in the face when i got out into the dark, where my hot face cooled in the wind, my relief equaled my other feelings. sampson had told me to clear out, and although i did not take that as a dismissal i considered i would be wise to leave the ranch at once. daylight might disclose my footprints between the walls, but even if it did not, my work there was finished. so i went to my room and packed my few belongings. the night was dark, windy, stormy, yet there was no rain. i hoped as soon as i got clear of the ranch to lose something of the pain i felt. but long after i had tramped out into the open there was a lump in my throat and an ache in my breast. and all my thought centered round sally. what a game and loyal little girl she had turned out to be! i was absolutely at a loss concerning what the future held in store for us. i seemed to have a vague but clinging hope that, after the trouble was over, there might be--there _must_ be--something more between us. steele was not at our rendezvous among the rocks. the hour was too late. among the few dim lights flickering on the outskirts of town i picked out the one of his little adobe house but i knew almost to a certainty that he was not there. so i turned my way into the darkness, not with any great hope of finding steele out there, but with the intention of seeking a covert for myself until morning. there was no trail and the night was so black that i could see only the lighter sandy patches of ground. i stumbled over the little clumps of brush, fell into washes, and pricked myself on cactus. by and by mesquites and rocks began to make progress still harder for me. i wandered around, at last getting on higher ground and here in spite of the darkness, felt some sense of familiarity with things. i was probably near steele's hiding place. i went on till rocks and brush barred further progress, and then i ventured to whistle. but no answer came. whereupon i spread my blanket in as sheltered a place as i could find and lay down. the coyotes were on noisy duty, the wind moaned and rushed through the mesquites. but despite these sounds and worry about steele, and the never-absent haunting thought of sally, i went to sleep. a little rain had fallen during the night, as i discovered upon waking; still it was not enough to cause me any discomfort. the morning was bright and beautiful, yet somehow i hated it. i had work to do that did not go well with that golden wave of grass and brush on the windy open. i climbed to the highest rock of that ridge and looked about. it was a wild spot, some three miles from town. presently i recognized landmarks given to me by steele and knew i was near his place. i whistled, then halloed, but got no reply. then by working back and forth across the ridge i found what appeared to be a faint trail. this i followed, lost and found again, and eventually, still higher up on another ridge, with a commanding outlook, i found steele's hiding place. he had not been there for perhaps forty-eight hours. i wondered where he had slept. under a shelving rock i found a pack of food, carefully protected by a heavy slab. there was also a canteen full of water. i lost no time getting myself some breakfast, and then, hiding my own pack, i set off at a rapid walk for town. but i had scarcely gone a quarter of a mile, had, in fact, just reached a level, when sight of two horsemen halted me and made me take to cover. they appeared to be cowboys hunting for a horse or a steer. under the circumstances, however, i was suspicious, and i watched them closely, and followed them a mile or so round the base of the ridges, until i had thoroughly satisfied myself they were not tracking steele. they were a long time working out of sight, which further retarded my venturing forth into the open. finally i did get started. then about half-way to town more horsemen in the flat caused me to lie low for a while, and make a wide detour to avoid being seen. somewhat to my anxiety it was afternoon before i arrived in town. for my life i could not have told why i knew something had happened since my last visit, but i certainly felt it; and was proportionately curious and anxious. the first person i saw whom i recognized was dick, and he handed me a note from sally. she seemed to take it for granted that i had been wise to leave the ranch. miss sampson had softened somewhat when she learned sally and i were engaged, and she had forgiven my deceit. sally asked me to come that night after eight, down among the trees and shrubbery, to a secluded spot we knew. it was a brief note and all to the point. but there was something in it that affected me strangely. i had imagined the engagement an invention for the moment. but after danger to me was past sally would not have carried on a pretense, not even to win back miss sampson's respect. the fact was, sally meant that engagement. if i did the right thing now i would not lose her. but what was the right thing? i was sorely perplexed and deeply touched. never had i a harder task than that of the hour--to put her out of my mind. i went boldly to steele's house. he was not there. there was nothing by which i could tell when he had been there. the lamp might have been turned out or might have burned out. the oil was low. i saw a good many tracks round in the sandy walks. i did not recognize steele's. as i hurried away i detected more than one of steele's nearest neighbors peering at me from windows and doors. then i went to mrs. hoden's. she was up and about and cheerful. the children were playing, manifestly well cared for and content. mrs. hoden had not seen steele since i had. miss samson had sent her servant. there was a very decided change in the atmosphere of mrs. hoden's home, and i saw that for her the worst was past, and she was bravely, hopefully facing the future. from there, i hurried to the main street of linrock and to that section where violence brooded, ready at any chance moment to lift its hydra head. for that time of day the street seemed unusually quiet. few pedestrians were abroad and few loungers. there was a row of saddled horses on each side of the street, the full extent of the block. i went into the big barroom of the hope so. i had never seen the place so full, nor had it ever seemed so quiet. the whole long bar was lined by shirt-sleeved men, with hats slouched back and vests flapping wide. those who were not drinking were talking low. half a dozen tables held as many groups of dusty, motley men, some silent, others speaking and gesticulating, all earnest. at first glance i did not see any one in whom i had especial interest. the principal actors of my drama did not appear to be present. however, there were rough characters more in evidence than at any other time i had visited the saloon. voices were too low for me to catch, but i followed the direction of some of the significant gestures. then i saw that these half dozen tables were rather closely grouped and drawn back from the center of the big room. next my quick sight took in a smashed table and chairs, some broken bottles on the floor, and then a dark sinister splotch of blood. i had no time to make inquiries, for my roving eye caught frank morton in the doorway, and evidently he wanted to attract my attention. he turned away and i followed. when i got outside, he was leaning against the hitching-rail. one look at this big rancher was enough for me to see that he had been told my part in steele's game, and that he himself had roused to the texas fighting temper. he had a clouded brow. he looked somber and thick. he seemed slow, heavy, guarded. "howdy, russ," he said. "we've been wantin' you." "there's ten of us in town, all scattered round, ready. it's goin' to start to-day." "where's steele?" was my first query. "saw him less'n hour ago. he's somewhere close. he may show up any time." "is he all right?" "wal, he was pretty fit a little while back," replied morton significantly. "what's come off? tell me all." "wal, the ball opened last night, i reckon. jack blome came swaggerin' in here askin' for steele. we all knew what he was in town for. but last night he came out with it. every man in the saloons, every man on the streets heard blome's loud an' longin' call for the ranger. blome's pals took it up and they all enjoyed themselves some." "drinking hard?" i queried. "nope--they didn't hit it up very hard. but they laid foundations." of course, steele was not to be seen last night. this morning blome and his gang were out pretty early. but they traveled alone. blome just strolled up and down by himself. i watched him walk up this street on one side and then down the other, just a matter of thirty-one times. i counted them. for all i could see maybe blome did not take a drink. but his gang, especially bo snecker, sure looked on the red liquor. "by eleven o'clock everybody in town knew what was coming off. there was no work or business, except in the saloons. zimmer and i were together, and the rest of our crowd in pairs at different places. i reckon it was about noon when blome got tired parading up and down. he went in the hope so, and the crowd followed. zimmer stayed outside so to give steele a hunch in case he came along. i went in to see the show. "wal, it was some curious to me, and i've lived all my life in texas. but i never before saw a gunman on the job, so to say. blome's a handsome fellow, an' he seemed different from what i expected. sure, i thought he'd yell an' prance round like a drunken fool. but he was cool an' quiet enough. the blowin' an' drinkin' was done by his pals. but after a little while it got to me that blome gloried in this situation. i've seen a man dead-set to kill another, all dark, sullen, restless. but blome wasn't that way. he didn't seem at all like a bloody devil. he was vain, cocksure. he was revelin' in the effect he made. i had him figured all right. "blome sat on the edge of a table an' he faced the door. of course, there was a pard outside, ready to pop in an' tell him if steele was comin'. but steele didn't come in that way. he wasn't on the street just before that time, because zimmer told me afterward. steele must have been in the hope so somewhere. any way, just like he dropped from the clouds he came through the door near the bar. blome didn't see him come. but most of the gang did, an' i want to tell you that big room went pretty quiet. "'hello blome, i hear you're lookin' for me,' called out steele. "i don't know if he spoke ordinary or not, but his voice drew me up same as it did the rest, an' damn me! blome seemed to turn to stone. he didn't start or jump. he turned gray. an' i could see that he was tryin' to think in a moment when thinkin' was hard. then blome turned his head. sure he expected to look into a six-shooter. but steele was standin' back there in his shirt sleeves, his hands on his hips, and he looked more man than any one i ever saw. it's easy to remember the look of him, but how he made me feel, that isn't easy. "blome was at a disadvantage. he was half sittin' on a table, an' steele was behind an' to the left of him. for blome to make a move then would have been a fool trick. he saw that. so did everybody. the crowd slid back without noise, but bo snecker an' a rustler named march stuck near blome. i figured this bo snecker as dangerous as blome, an' results proved i was right. "steele didn't choose to keep his advantage, so far as position in regard to blome went. he just walked round in front of the rustler. but this put all the crowd in front of steele, an' perhaps he had an eye for that. "'i hear you've been looking for me,' repeated the ranger. "blome never moved a muscle but he seemed to come to life. it struck me that steele's presence had made an impression on blome which was new to the rustler. "'yes, i have,' replied blome. "'well, here i am. what do you want?' "when everybody knew what blome wanted and had intended, this question of steele's seemed strange on one hand. an' yet on the other, now that the ranger stood there, it struck me as natural enough. "'if you heard i was lookin' for you, you sure heard what for,' replied blome. "'blome, my experience with such men as you is that you all brag one thing behind my back an' you mean different when i show up. i've called you now. what do you mean?' "'i reckon you know what jack blome means.' "'jack blome! that name means nothin' to me. blome, you've been braggin' around that you'd meet me--kill me! you thought you meant it, didn't you?' "'yes--i did mean it.' "'all right. go ahead!' "the barroom became perfectly still, except for the slow breaths i heard. there wasn't any movement anywhere. that queer gray came to blome's face again. he might again have been stone. i thought, an' i'll gamble every one else watchin' thought, blome would draw an' get killed in the act. but he never moved. steele had cowed him. if blome had been heated by drink, or mad, or anythin' but what he was just then, maybe he might have throwed a gun. but he didn't. i've heard of really brave men gettin' panicked like that, an' after seein' steele i didn't wonder at blome. "'you see, blome, you don't want to meet me, for all your talk,' went on the ranger. 'you thought you did, but that was before you faced the man you intended to kill. blome, you're one of these dandy, cock-of-the-walk four-flushers. i'll tell you how i know. because i've met the real gun-fighters, an' there never was one of them yet who bragged or talked. now don't you go round blowin' any more.' "then steele deliberately stepped forward an' slapped blome on one side of his face an' again on the other. "'keep out of my way after this or i'm liable to spoil some of your dandy looks.' "blome got up an' walked straight out of the place. i had my eyes on him, kept me from seein' steele. but on hearin' somethin', i don't know what, i turned back an' there steele had got a long arm on bo snecker, who was tryin' to throw a gun. "but he wasn't quick enough. the gun banged in the air an' then it went spinnin' away, while snecker dropped in a heap on the floor. the table was overturned, an' march, the other rustler, who was on that side, got up, pullin' his gun. but somebody in the crowd killed him before he could get goin'. i didn't see who fired that shot, an' neither did anybody else. but the crowd broke an' run. steele dragged bo snecker down to jail an' locked him up." morton concluded his narrative, and then evidently somewhat dry of tongue, he produced knife and tobacco and cut himself a huge quid. "that's all, so far, to-day, russ, but i reckon you'll agree with me on the main issue--steele's game's opened." i had felt the rush of excitement, the old exultation at the prospect of danger, but this time there was something lacking in them. the wildness of the boy that had persisted in me was gone. "yes, steele has opened it and i'm ready to boost the game along. wait till i see him! but morton, you say someone you don't know played a hand in here and killed march." "i sure do. it wasn't any of our men. zimmer was outside. the others were at different places." "the fact is, then, steele has more friends than we know, perhaps more than he knows himself." "right. an' it's got the gang in the air. there'll be hell to-night." "steele hardly expects to keep snecker in jail, does he?" "i can't say. probably not. i wish steele had put both blome and snecker out of the way. we'd have less to fight." "maybe. i'm for the elimination method myself. but steele doesn't follow out the gun method. he will use one only when he's driven. it's hard to make him draw. you know, after all, these desperate men aren't afraid of guns or fights. yet they are afraid of steele. perhaps it's his nerve, the way he faces them, the things he says, the fact that he has mysterious allies." "russ, we're all with him, an' i'll gamble that the honest citizens of linrock will flock to him in another day. i can see signs of that. there were twenty or more men on hoden's list, but steele didn't want so many." "we don't need any more. morton, can you give me any idea where steele is?" "not the slightest." "all right. i'll hunt for him. if you see him tell him to hole up, and then you come after me. tell him i've got our men spotted." "russ, if you ranger fellows ain't wonders!" exclaimed morton, with shining eyes. steele did not show himself in town again that day. here his cunning was manifest. by four o'clock that afternoon blome was drunk and he and his rustlers went roaring up and down the street. there was some shooting, but i did not see or hear that any one got hurt. the lawless element, both native to linrock and the visitors, followed in blome's tracks from saloon to saloon. how often had i seen this sort of procession, though not on so large a scale, in many towns of wild texas! the two great and dangerous things in linrock at the hour were whisky and guns. under such conditions the rustlers were capable of any mad act of folly. morton and his men sent word flying around town that a fight was imminent and all citizens should be prepared to defend their homes against possible violence. but despite his warning i saw many respectable citizens abroad whose quiet, unobtrusive manner and watchful eyes and hard faces told me that when trouble began they wanted to be there. verily ranger steele had built his house of service upon a rock. it did not seem too much to say that the next few days, perhaps hours, would see a great change in the character and a proportionate decrease in number of the inhabitants of this corner of pecos county. morton and i were in the crowd that watched blome, snecker, and a dozen other rustlers march down to steele's jail. they had crowbars and they had cans of giant powder, which they had appropriated from a hardware store. if steele had a jailer he was not in evidence. the door was wrenched off and bo snecker, evidently not wholly recovered, brought forth to his cheering comrades. then some of the rustlers began to urge back the pressing circle, and the word given out acted as a spur to haste. the jail was to be blown up. the crowd split and some men ran one way, some another. morton and i were among those who hurried over the vacant ground to a little ridge that marked the edge of the open country. from this vantage point we heard several rustlers yell in warning, then they fled for their lives. it developed that they might have spared themselves such headlong flight. the explosion appeared to be long in coming. at length we saw the lifting of the roof in a cloud of red dust, and then heard an exceedingly heavy but low detonation. when the pall of dust drifted away all that was left of steele's jail was a part of the stone walls. the building that stood nearest, being constructed of adobe, had been badly damaged. however, this wreck of the jail did not seem to satisfy blome and his followers, for amid wild yells and huzzahs they set to work with crowbars and soon laid low every stone. then with young snecker in the fore they set off up town; and if this was not a gang in fit mood for any evil or any ridiculous celebration i greatly missed my guess. it was a remarkable fact, however, and one that convinced me of deviltry afoot, that the crowd broke up, dispersed, and actually disappeared off the streets of linrock. the impression given was that they were satisfied. but this impression did not remain with me. morton was scarcely deceived either. i told him that i would almost certainly see steele early in the evening and that we would be out of harm's way. he told me that we could trust him and his men to keep sharp watch on the night doings of blome's gang. then we parted. it was almost dark. by the time i had gotten something to eat and drink at the hope so, the hour for my meeting with sally was about due. on the way out i did not pass a lighted house until i got to the end of the street; and then strange to say, that one was steele's. i walked down past the place, and though i was positive he would not be there i whistled low. i halted and waited. he had two lights lit, one in the kitchen, and one in the big room. the blinds were drawn. i saw a long, dark shadow cross one window and then, a little later, cross the other. this would have deceived me had i not remembered steele's device for casting the shadow. he had expected to have his house attacked at night, presumably while he was at home; but he had felt that it was not necessary for him to stay there to make sure. lawless men of this class were sometimes exceedingly simple and gullible. then i bent my steps across the open, avoiding road and path, to the foot of the hill upon which sampson's house stood. it was dark enough under the trees. i could hardly find my way to the secluded nook and bench where i had been directed to come. i wondered if sally would be able to find it. trust that girl! she might have a few qualms and come shaking a little, but she would be there on the minute. i had hardly seated myself to wait when my keen ears detected something, then slight rustlings, then soft steps, and a dark form emerged from the blackness into the little starlit glade. sally came swiftly towards me and right into my arms. that was sure a sweet moment. through the excitement and dark boding thoughts of the day, i had forgotten that she would do just this thing. and now i anticipated tears, clingings, fears. but i was agreeably surprised. "russ, are you all right?" she whispered. "just at this moment i am," i replied. sally gave me another little hug, and then, disengaging herself from my arms, she sat down beside me. "i can only stay a minute. oh, it's safe enough. but i told diane i was to meet you and she's waiting to hear if steele is--is--" "steele's safe so far," i interrupted. "there were men coming and going all day. uncle roger never appeared at meals. he didn't eat, diane said. george tramped up and down, smoking, biting his nails, listening for these messengers. when they'd leave he'd go in for another drink. we heard him roar some one had been shot and we feared it might be steele." "no," i replied, steadily. "did steele shoot anybody?" "no. a rustler named march tried to draw on steele, and someone in the crowd killed march." "someone? russ, was it you?" "it sure wasn't. i didn't happen to be there." "ah! then steele has other men like you around him. i might have guessed that." "sally, steele makes men his friends. it's because he's on the side of justice." "diane will be glad to hear that. she doesn't think only of steele's life. i believe she has a secret pride in his work. and i've an idea what she fears most is some kind of a clash between steele and her father." "i shouldn't wonder. sally, what does diane know about her father?" "oh, she's in the dark. she got hold of papers that made her ask him questions. and his answers made her suspicious. she realizes he's not what he has pretended to be all these years. but she never dreams her father is a rustler chief. when she finds that out--" sally broke off and i finished the sentence in thought. "listen, sally," i said, suddenly. "i've an idea that steele's house will be attacked by the gang to-night, and destroyed, same as the jail was this afternoon. these rustlers are crazy. they'll expect to kill him while he's there. but he won't be there. if you and diane hear shooting and yelling to-night don't be frightened. steele and i will be safe." "oh, i hope so. russ, i must hurry back. but, first, can't you arrange a meeting between diane and steele? it's her wish. she begged me to. she must see him." "i'll try," i promised, knowing that promise would be hard to keep. "we could ride out from the ranch somewhere. you remember we used to rest on the high ridge where there was a shady place--such a beautiful outlook? it was there i--i--" "my dear, you needn't bring up painful memories. i remember where." sally laughed softly. she could laugh in the face of the gloomiest prospects. "well, to-morrow morning, or the next, or any morning soon, you tie your red scarf on the dead branch of that high mesquite. i'll look every morning with the glass. if i see the scarf, diane and i will ride out." "that's fine. sally, you have ideas in your pretty little head. and once i thought it held nothing but--" she put a hand on my mouth. "i must go now," she said and rose. she stood close to me and put her arms around my neck. "one thing more, russ. it--it was dif--difficult telling diane we--we were engaged. i lied to uncle. but what else could i have told diane? i--i--oh--was it--" she faltered. "sally, you lied to sampson to save me. but you must have accepted me before you could have told diane the truth." "oh, russ, i had--in my heart! but it has been some time since you asked me--and--and--" "you imagined my offer might have been withdrawn. well, it stands." she slipped closer to me then, with that soft sinuousness of a woman, and i believed she might have kissed me had i not held back, toying with my happiness. "sally, do you love me?" "ever so much. since the very first." "i'm a marshal, a ranger like steele, a hunter of criminals. it's a hard life. there's spilling of blood. and any time i--i might--all the same, sally--will you be my wife?" "oh, russ! yes. but let me tell you when your duty's done here that i will have a word to say about your future. it'll be news to you to learn i'm an orphan. and i'm not a poor one. i own a plantation in louisiana. i'll make a planter out of you. there!" "sally! you're rich?" i exclaimed. "i'm afraid i am. but nobody can ever say you married me for my money." "well, no, not if you tell of my abject courtship when i thought you a poor relation on a visit. my god! sally, if i only could see this ranger job through safely and to success!" "you will," she said softly. then i took a ring from my little finger and slipped it on hers. "that was my sister's. she's dead now. no other girl ever wore it. let it be your engagement ring. sally, i pray i may somehow get through this awful ranger deal to make you happy, to become worthy of you!" "russ, i fear only one thing," she whispered. "and what's that?" "there will be fighting. and you--oh, i saw into your eyes the other night when you stood with your hands up. you would kill anybody, russ. it's awful! but don't think me a baby. i can conceive what your work is, what a man you must be. i can love you and stick to you, too. but if you killed a blood relative of mine i would have to give you up. i'm a southerner, russ, and blood is thick. i scorn my uncle and i hate my cousin george. and i love you. but don't you kill one of my family, i--oh, i beg of you go as far as you dare to avoid that!" i could find no voice to answer her, and for a long moment we were locked in an embrace, breast to breast and lips to lips, an embrace of sweet pain. then she broke away, called a low, hurried good-by, and stole like a shadow into the darkness. an hour later i lay in the open starlight among the stones and brush, out where steele and i always met. he lay there with me, but while i looked up at the stars he had his face covered with his hands. for i had given him my proofs of the guilt of diane sampson's father. steele had made one comment: "i wish to god i'd sent for some fool who'd have bungled the job!" this was a compliment to me, but it showed what a sad pass steele had come to. my regret was that i had no sympathy to offer him. i failed him there. i had trouble of my own. the feel of sally's clinging arms around my neck, the warm, sweet touch of her lips remained on mine. what steele was enduring i did not know, but i felt that it was agony. meanwhile time passed. the blue, velvety sky darkened as the stars grew brighter. the wind grew stronger and colder. i heard sand blowing against the stones like the rustle of silk. otherwise it was a singularly quiet night. i wondered where the coyotes were and longed for their chorus. by and by a prairie wolf sent in his lonely lament from the distant ridges. that mourn was worse than the silence. it made the cold shudders creep up and down my back. it was just the cry that seemed to be the one to express my own trouble. no one hearing that long-drawn, quivering wail could ever disassociate it from tragedy. by and by it ceased, and then i wished it would come again. steele lay like the stone beside him. was he ever going to speak? among the vagaries of my mood was a petulant desire to have him sympathize with me. i had just looked at my watch, making out in the starlight that the hour was eleven, when the report of a gun broke the silence. i jumped up to peer over the stone. steele lumbered up beside me, and i heard him draw his breath hard. chapter the fight in the hope so i could plainly see the lights of his adobe house, but of course, nothing else was visible. there were no other lighted houses near. several flashes gleamed, faded swiftly, to be followed by reports, and then the unmistakable jingle of glass. "i guess the fools have opened up, steele," i said. his response was an angry grunt. it was just as well, i concluded, that things had begun to stir. steele needed to be roused. suddenly a single sharp yell pealed out. following it came a huge flare of light, a sheet of flame in which a great cloud of smoke or dust shot up. then, with accompanying darkness, burst a low, deep, thunderous boom. the lights of the house went out, then came a crash. points of light flashed in a half-circle and the reports of guns blended with the yells of furious men, and all these were swallowed up in the roar of a mob. another and a heavier explosion momentarily lightened the darkness and then rent the air. it was succeeded by a continuous volley and a steady sound that, though composed of yells, screams, cheers, was not anything but a hideous roar of hate. it kept up long after there could have been any possibility of life under the ruins of that house. it was more than hate of steele. all that was wild and lawless and violent hurled this deed at the ranger service. such events had happened before in texas and other states; but, strangely, they never happened more than once in one locality. they were expressions, perhaps, that could never come but once. i watched steele through all that hideous din, that manifestation of insane rage at his life and joy at his death, and when silence once more reigned and he turned his white face to mine, i had a sensation of dread. and dread was something particularly foreign to my nature. "so blome and the sneckers think they've done for me," he muttered. "pleasant surprise for them to-morrow, eh, old man?" i queried. "to-morrow? look, russ, what's left of my old 'dobe house is on fire. the ruins can't be searched soon. and i was particular to fix things so it'd look like i was home. i just wanted to give them a chance. it's incomprehensible how easy men like them can be duped. whisky-soaked! yes, they'll be surprised!" he lingered a while, watching the smoldering fire and the dim columns of smoke curling up against the dark blue. "russ, do you suppose they heard up at the ranch and think i'm--" "they heard, of course," i replied. "but the girls know you're safe with me." "safe? i--i almost wish to god i was there under that heap of ruins, where the rustlers think they've left me." "well, steele, old fellow, come on. we need some sleep." with steele in the lead, we stalked away into the open. two days later, about the middle of the forenoon, i sat upon a great flat rock in the shade of a bushy mesquite, and, besides enjoying the vast, clear sweep of gold and gray plain below, i was otherwise pleasantly engaged. sally sat as close to me as she could get, holding to my arm as if she never intended to let go. on the other side miss sampson leaned against me, and she was white and breathless, partly from the quick ride out from the ranch, partly from agitation. she had grown thinner, and there were dark shadows under her eyes, yet she seemed only more beautiful. the red scarf with which i had signaled the girls waved from a branch of the mesquite. at the foot of the ridge their horses were halted in a shady spot. "take off your sombrero," i said to sally. "you look hot. besides, you're prettier with your hair flying." as she made no move, i took it off for her. then i made bold to perform the same office for miss sampson. she faintly smiled her thanks. assuredly she had forgotten all her resentment. there were little beads of perspiration upon her white brow. what a beautiful mass of black-brown hair, with strands of red or gold! pretty soon she would be bending that exquisite head and face over poor steele, and i, who had schemed this meeting, did not care what he might do to me. pretty soon, also, there was likely to be an interview that would shake us all to our depths, and naturally, i was somber at heart. but though my outward mood of good humor may have been pretense, it certainly was a pleasure to be with the girls again way out in the open. both girls were quiet, and this made my task harder, and perhaps in my anxiety to ward off questions and appear happy for their own sakes i made an ass of myself with my silly talk and familiarity. had ever a ranger such a job as mine? "diane, did sally show you her engagement ring?" i went on, bound to talk. miss sampson either did not notice my use of her first name or she did not object. she seemed so friendly, so helplessly wistful. "yes. it's very pretty. an antique. i've seen a few of them," she replied. "i hope you'll let sally marry me soon." "_let_ her? sally langdon? you haven't become acquainted with your fiancee. but when--" "oh, next week, just as soon--" "russ!" cried sally, blushing furiously. "what's the matter?" i queried innocently. "you're a little previous." "well, sally, i don't presume to split hairs over dates. but, you see, you've become extremely more desirable--in the light of certain revelations. diane, wasn't sally the deceitful thing? an heiress all the time! and i'm to be a planter and smoke fine cigars and drink mint juleps! no, there won't be any juleps." "russ, you're talking nonsense," reproved sally. "surely it's no time to be funny." "all right," i replied with resignation. it was no task to discard that hollow mask of humor. a silence ensued, and i waited for it to be broken. "is steele badly hurt?" asked miss sampson presently. "no. not what he or i'd call hurt at all. he's got a scalp wound, where a bullet bounced off his skull. it's only a scratch. then he's got another in the shoulder; but it's not bad, either." "where is he now?" "look across on the other ridge. see the big white stone? there, down under the trees, is our camp. he's there." "when may--i see him?" there was a catch in her low voice. "he's asleep now. after what happened yesterday he was exhausted, and the pain in his head kept him awake till late. let him sleep a while yet. then you can see him." "did he know we were coming?" "he hadn't the slightest idea. he'll be overjoyed to see you. he can't help that. but he'll about fall upon me with harmful intent." "why?" "well, i know he's afraid to see you." "why?" "because it only makes his duty harder." "ah!" she breathed. it seemed to me that my intelligence confirmed a hope of hers and gave her relief. i felt something terrible in the balance for steele. and i was glad to be able to throw them together. the catastrophe must fall, and now the sooner it fell the better. but i experienced a tightening of my lips and a tugging at my heart-strings. "sally, what do you and diane know about the goings-on in town yesterday?" i asked. "not much. george was like an insane man. i was afraid to go near him. uncle wore a sardonic smile. i heard him curse george--oh, terribly! i believe he hates george. same as day before yesterday, there were men riding in and out. but diane and i heard only a little, and conflicting statements at that. we knew there was fighting. dick and the servants, the cowboys, all brought rumors. steele was killed at least ten times and came to life just as many. "i can't recall, don't want to recall, all we heard. but this morning when i saw the red scarf flying in the wind--well, russ, i was so glad i could not see through the glass any more. we knew then steele was all right or you wouldn't have put up the signal." "reckon few people in linrock realize just what _did_ come off," i replied with a grim chuckle. "russ, i want you to tell me," said miss sampson earnestly. "what?" i queried sharply. "about yesterday--what steele did--what happened." "miss sampson, i could tell you in a few short statements of fact or i could take two hours in the telling. which do you prefer?" "i prefer the long telling. i want to know all about him." "but why, miss sampson? consider. this is hardly a story for a sensitive woman's ears." "i am no coward," she replied, turning eyes to me that flashed like dark fire. "but why?" i persisted. i wanted a good reason for calling up all the details of the most strenuous and terrible day in my border experience. she was silent a moment. i saw her gaze turn to the spot where steele lay asleep, and it was a pity he could not see her eyes then. "frankly, i don't want to tell you," i added, and i surely would have been glad to get out of the job. "i want to hear--because i glory in his work," she replied deliberately. i gathered as much from the expression of her face as from the deep ring of her voice, the clear content of her statement. she loved the ranger, but that was not all of her reason. "his work?" i echoed. "do you want him to succeed in it?" "with all my heart," she said, with a white glow on her face. "my god!" i ejaculated. i just could not help it. i felt sally's small fingers clutching my arm like sharp pincers. i bit my lips to keep them shut. what if steele had heard her say that? poor, noble, justice-loving, blind girl! she knew even less than i hoped. i forced my thought to the question immediately at hand. she gloried in the ranger's work. she wanted with all her heart to see him succeed in it. she had a woman's pride in his manliness. perhaps, with a woman's complex, incomprehensible motive, she wanted steele to be shown to her in all the power that made him hated and feared by lawless men. she had finally accepted the wild life of this border as something terrible and inevitable, but passing. steele was one of the strange and great and misunderstood men who were making that wild life pass. for the first time i realized that miss sampson, through sharpened eyes of love, saw steele as he really was--a wonderful and necessary violence. her intelligence and sympathy had enabled her to see through defamation and the false records following a ranger; she had had no choice but to love him; and then a woman's glory in a work that freed men, saved women, and made children happy effaced forever the horror of a few dark deeds of blood. "miss sampson, i must tell you first," i began, and hesitated--"that i'm not a cowboy. my wild stunts, my drinking and gaming--these were all pretense." "indeed! i am very glad to hear it. and was sally in your confidence?" "only lately. i am a united states deputy marshal in the service of steele." she gave a slight start, but did not raise her head. "i have deceived you. but, all the same, i've been your friend. i ask you to respect my secret a little while. i'm telling you because otherwise my relation to steele yesterday would not be plain. now, if you and sally will use this blanket, make yourselves more comfortable seats, i'll begin my story." miss sampson allowed me to arrange a place for her where she could rest at ease, but sally returned to my side and stayed there. she was an enigma to-day--pale, brooding, silent--and she never looked at me except when my face was half averted. "well," i began, "night before last steele and i lay hidden among the rocks near the edge of town, and we listened to and watched the destruction of steele's house. it had served his purpose to leave lights burning, to have shadows blow across the window-blinds, and to have a dummy in his bed. also, he arranged guns to go off inside the house at the least jar. steele wanted evidence against his enemies. it was not the pleasantest kind of thing to wait there listening to that drunken mob. there must have been a hundred men. the disturbance and the intent worked strangely upon steele. it made him different. in the dark i couldn't tell how he looked, but i felt a mood coming in him that fairly made me dread the next day. "about midnight we started for our camp here. steele got in some sleep, but i couldn't. i was cold and hot by turns, eager and backward, furious and thoughtful. you see, the deal was such a complicated one, and to-morrow certainly was nearing the climax. by morning i was sick, distraught, gloomy, and uncertain. i had breakfast ready when steele awoke. i hated to look at him, but when i did it was like being revived. "he said: 'russ, you'll trail alongside me to-day and through the rest of this mess.' "that gave me another shock. i want to explain to you girls that this was the first time in my life i was backward at the prospects of a fight. the shock was the jump of my pulse. my nerve came back. to line up with steele against blome and his gang--that would be great! "'all right, old man,' i replied. 'we're going after them, then?' "he only nodded. "after breakfast i watched him clean and oil and reload his guns. i didn't need to ask him if he expected to use them. i didn't need to urge upon him captain neal's command. "'russ,' said steele, 'we'll go in together. but before we get to town i'll leave you and circle and come in at the back of the hope so. you hurry on ahead, post morton and his men, get the lay of the gang, if possible, and then be at the hope so when i come in.' "i didn't ask him if i had a free hand with my gun. i intended to have that. we left camp and hurried toward town. it was near noon when we separated. "i came down the road, apparently from sampson's ranch. there was a crowd around the ruins of steele's house. it was one heap of crumbled 'dobe bricks and burned logs, still hot and smoking. no attempt had been made to dig into the ruins. the curious crowd was certain that steele lay buried under all that stuff. one feature of that night assault made me ponder. daylight discovered the bodies of three dead men, rustlers, who had been killed, the report went out, by random shots. other participants in the affair had been wounded. i believed morton and his men, under cover of the darkness and in the melee, had sent in some shots not calculated upon the program. "from there i hurried to town. just as i had expected, morton and zimmer were lounging in front of the hope so. they had company, disreputable and otherwise. as yet morton's crowd had not come under suspicion. he was wild for news of steele, and when i gave it, and outlined the plan, he became as cool and dark and grim as any man of my kind could have wished. he sent zimmer to get the others of their clique. then he acquainted me with a few facts, although he was noncommittal in regard to my suspicion as to the strange killing of the three rustlers. "blome, bo snecker, hilliard, and pickens, the ringleaders, had painted the town in celebration of steele's death. they all got gloriously drunk except old man snecker. he had cold feet, they said. they were too happy to do any more shooting or mind what the old rustler cautioned. it was two o'clock before they went to bed. "this morning, after eleven, one by one they appeared with their followers. the excitement had died down. ranger steele was out of the way and linrock was once more wide open, free and easy. blome alone seemed sullen and spiritless, unresponsive to his comrades and their admirers. and now, at the time of my arrival, the whole gang, with the exception of old snecker, were assembled in the hope so. "'zimmer will be clever enough to drift his outfit along one or two at a time?' i asked morton, and he reassured me. then we went into the saloon. "there were perhaps sixty or seventy men in the place, more than half of whom were in open accord with blome's gang. of the rest there were many of doubtful repute, and a few that might have been neutral, yet all the time were secretly burning to help any cause against these rustlers. at all events, i gathered that impression from the shadowed faces, the tense bodies, the too-evident indication of anything but careless presence there. the windows were open. the light was clear. few men smoked, but all had a drink before them. there was the ordinary subdued hum of conversation. i surveyed the scene, picked out my position so as to be close to steele when he entered, and sauntered round to it. morton aimlessly leaned against a post. "presently zimmer came in with a man and they advanced to the bar. other men entered as others went out. blome, bo snecker, hilliard, and pickens had a table full in the light of the open windows. i recognized the faces of the two last-named, but i had not, until morton informed me, known who they were. pickens was little, scrubby, dusty, sandy, mottled, and he resembled a rattlesnake. hilliard was big, gaunt, bronzed, with huge mustache and hollow, fierce eyes. i never had seen a grave-robber, but i imagined one would be like hilliard. bo snecker was a sleek, slim, slender, hard-looking boy, marked dangerous, because he was too young and too wild to have caution or fear. blome, the last of the bunch, showed the effects of a bad night. "you girls remember how handsome he was, but he didn't look it now. his face was swollen, dark, red, and as it had been bright, now it was dull. indeed, he looked sullen, shamed, sore. he was sober now. thought was written on his clouded brow. he was awakening now to the truth that the day before had branded him a coward and sent him out to bolster up courage with drink. his vanity had begun to bleed. he knew, if his faithful comrades had not awakened to it yet, that his prestige had been ruined. for a gunman, he had suffered the last degradation. he had been bidden to draw and he had failed of the nerve. "he breathed heavily; his eyes were not clear; his hands were shaky. almost i pitied this rustler who very soon must face an incredibly swift and mercilessly fatal ranger. face him, too, suddenly, as if the grave had opened to give up its dead. "friends and comrades of this center group passed to and fro, and there was much lazy, merry, though not loud, talk. the whole crowd was still half-asleep. it certainly was an auspicious hour for steele to confront them, since that duty was imperative. no man knew the stunning paralyzing effect of surprise better than steele. i, of course, must take my cue from him, or the sudden development of events. "but jack blome did not enter into my calculations. i gave him, at most, about a minute to live after steele entered the place. i meant to keep sharp eyes all around. i knew, once with a gun out, steele could kill blome's comrades at the table as quick as lightning, if he chose. i rather thought my game was to watch his outside partners. this was right, and as it turned out, enabled me to save steele's life. "moments passed and still the ranger did not come. i began to get nervous. had he been stopped? i scouted the idea. who could have stopped him, then? probably the time seemed longer than it really was. morton showed the strain, also. other men looked drawn, haggard, waiting as if expecting a thunderbolt. once in my roving gaze i caught blandy's glinty eye on me. i didn't like the gleam. i said to myself i'd watch him if i had to do it out of the back of my head. blandy, by the way, is--was--i should say, the hope so bartender." i stopped to clear my throat and get my breath. "was," whispered sally. she quivered with excitement. miss sampson bent eyes upon me that would have stirred a stone man. "yes, he was once," i replied ambiguously, but mayhap my grimness betrayed the truth. "don't hurry me, sally. i guarantee you'll be sick enough presently. "well, i kept my eyes shifty. and i reckon i'll never forget that room. likely i saw what wasn't really there. in the excitement, the suspense, i must have made shadows into real substance. anyway, there was the half-circle of bearded, swarthy men around blome's table. there were the four rustlers--blome brooding, perhaps vaguely, spiritually, listening to a knock; there was bo snecker, reckless youth, fondling a flower he had, putting the stem in his glass, then to his lips, and lastly into the buttonhole of blome's vest; there was hilliard, big, gloomy, maybe with his cavernous eyes seeing the hell where i expected he'd soon be; and last, the little dusty, scaly pickens, who looked about to leap and sting some one. "in the lull of the general conversation i heard pickens say: 'jack, drink up an' come out of it. every man has an off day. you've gambled long enough to know every feller gits called. an' as steele has cashed, what the hell do you care? "hilliard nodded his ghoul's head and blinked his dead eyes. bo snecker laughed. it wasn't any different laugh from any other boy's. i remembered then that he killed hoden. i began to sweat fire. would steele ever come? "'jim, the ole man hed cold feet an' he's give 'em to jack,' said bo. 'it ain't nothin' to lose your nerve once. didn't i run like a scared jack-rabbit from steele? watch me if he comes to life, as the ole man hinted!' "'about mebbe steele wasn't in the 'dobe at all. aw, thet's a joke! i seen him in bed. i seen his shadder. i heard his shots comin' from the room. jack, you seen an' heerd same as me.' "'sure. i know the ranger's cashed,' replied blome. 'it's not that. i'm sore, boys.' "'deader 'n a door-nail in hell!' replied pickens, louder, as he lifted his glass. 'here's to lone star steele's ghost! an' if i seen it this minnit i'd ask it to waltz with me!' "the back door swung violently, and steele, huge as a giant, plunged through and leaped square in front of that table. "some one of them let out a strange, harsh cry. it wasn't blome or snecker--probably pickens. he dropped the glass he had lifted. the cry had stilled the room, so the breaking of the glass was plainly heard. for a space that must have been short, yet seemed long, everybody stood tight. steele with both hands out and down, leaned a little, in a way i had never seen him do. it was the position of a greyhound, but that was merely the body of him. steele's nerve, his spirit, his meaning was there, like lightning about to strike. blome maintained a ghastly, stricken silence. "then the instant was plain when he realized this was no ghost of steele, but the ranger in the flesh. blome's whole frame rippled as thought jerked him out of his trance. his comrades sat stone-still. then hilliard and pickens dived without rising from the table. their haste broke the spell. "i wish i could tell it as quick as it happened. but bo snecker, turning white as a sheet, stuck to blome. all the others failed him, as he had guessed they would fail. low curses and exclamations were uttered by men sliding and pressing back, but the principals were mute. i was thinking hard, yet i had no time to get to steele's side. i, like the rest, was held fast. but i kept my eyes sweeping around, then back again to that center pair. "blome slowly rose. i think he did it instinctively. because if he had expected his first movement to start the action he never would have moved. snecker sat partly on the rail of his chair, with both feet square on the floor, and he never twitched a muscle. there was a striking difference in the looks of these two rustlers. snecker had burning holes for eyes in his white face. at the last he was staunch, defiant, game to the core. he didn't think. but blome faced death and knew it. it was infinitely more than the facing of foes, the taking of stock, preliminary to the even break. blome's attitude was that of a trapped wolf about to start into savage action; nevertheless, equally it was the pitifully weak stand of a ruffian against ruthless and powerful law. "the border of pecos county could have had no greater lesson than this--blome face-to-face with the ranger. that part of the border present saw its most noted exponent of lawlessness a coward, almost powerless to go for his gun, fatally sure of his own doom. "but that moment, seeming so long, really so short, had to end. blome made a spasmodic upheaval of shoulder and arm. snecker a second later flashed into movement. "steele blurred in my sight. his action couldn't be followed. but i saw his gun, waving up, flame red once--twice--and the reports almost boomed together. "blome bent forward, arm down, doubled up, and fell over the table and slid to the floor. "but snecker's gun cracked with steele's last shot. i heard the bullet strike steele. it made me sick as if it had hit me. but steele never budged. snecker leaped up, screaming, his gun sputtering to the floor. his left hand swept to his right arm, which had been shattered by steele's bullet. "blood streamed everywhere. his screams were curses, and then ended, testifying to a rage hardly human. then, leaping, he went down on his knees after the gun. "don't pick it up," called steele; his command would have checked anyone save an insane man. for an instant it even held snecker. on his knees, right arm hanging limp, left extended, and face ghastly with agony and fiendish fury, he was certainly an appalling sight. "'bo, you're courtin' death,' called a hard voice from the crowd. "'snecker, wait. don't make me kill you!' cried steele swiftly. 'you're still a boy. surrender! you'll outlive your sentence many years. i promise clemency. hold, you fool!' "but snecker was not to be denied the last game move. he scrabbled for his gun. just then something, a breathtaking intuition--i'll never know what--made me turn my head. i saw the bartender deliberately aim a huge gun at steele. if he had not been so slow, i would have been too late. i whirled and shot. talk about nick of time! blandy pulled trigger just as my bullet smashed into his head. "he dropped dead behind the bar and his gun dropped in front. but he had hit steele. "the ranger staggered, almost fell. i thought he was done, and, yelling, i sped to him. "but he righted himself. then i wheeled again. someone in the crowd killed bo snecker as he wobbled up with his gun. that was the signal for a wild run for outdoors, for cover. i heard the crack of guns and whistle of lead. i shoved steele back of the bar, falling over blandy as i did so. "when i got up steele was leaning over the bar with a gun in each hand. there was a hot fight then for a minute or so, but i didn't fire a shot. morton and his crowd were busy. men ran everywhere, shooting, ducking, cursing. the room got blue with smoke till you couldn't see, and then the fight changed to the street. "steele and i ran out. there was shooting everywhere. morton's crowd appeared to be in pursuit of rustlers in all directions. i ran with steele, and did not observe his condition until suddenly he fell right down in the street. then he looked so white and so bloody i thought he'd stopped another bullet and--" here miss sampson's agitation made it necessary for me to halt my story, and i hoped she had heard enough. but she was not sick, as sally appeared to me; she simply had been overcome by emotion. and presently, with a blaze in her eyes that showed how her soul was aflame with righteous wrath at these rustlers and ruffians, and how, whether she knew it or not, the woman in her loved a fight, she bade me go on. so i persevered, and, with poor little sally sagging against me, i went on with the details of that fight. i told how steele rebounded from his weakness and could no more have been stopped than an avalanche. for all i saw, he did not use his guns again. here, there, everywhere, as morton and his squad cornered a rustler, steele would go in, ordering surrender, promising protection. he seemed to have no thoughts of bullets. i could not hold him back, and it was hard to keep pace with him. how many times he was shot at i had no idea, but it was many. he dragged forth this and that rustler, and turned them all over to morton to be guarded. more than once he protected a craven rustler from the summary dealing morton wanted to see in order. i told miss sampson particularly how steele appeared to me, what his effect was on these men, how toward the end of the fight rustlers were appealing to him to save them from these new-born vigilantes. i believed i drew a picture of the ranger that would live forever in her heart of hearts. if she were a hero-worshiper she would have her fill. one thing that was strange to me--leaving fight, action, blood, peril out of the story--the singular exultation, for want of some better term, that i experienced in recalling steele's look, his wonderful cold, resistless, inexplicable presence, his unquenchable spirit which was at once deadly and merciful. other men would have killed where he saved. i recalled this magnificent spiritual something about him, remembered it strongest in the ring of his voice as he appealed to bo snecker not to force him to kill. then i told how we left a dozen prisoners under guard and went back to the hope so to find blome where he had fallen. steele's bullet had cut one of the petals of the rose snecker had playfully put in the rustler's buttonhole. bright and fatal target for an eye like steele's! bo snecker lay clutching his gun, his face set rigidly in that last fierce expression of his savage nature. there were five other dead men on the floor, and, significant of the work of steele's unknown allies, hilliard and pickens were among them. "steele and i made for camp then," i concluded. "we didn't speak a word on the way out. when we reached camp all steele said was for me to go off and leave him alone. he looked sick. i went off, only not very far. i knew what was wrong with him, and it wasn't bullet-wounds. i was near when he had his spell and fought it out. "strange how spilling blood affects some men! it never bothered me much. i hope i'm human, too. i certainly felt an awful joy when i sent that bullet into blandy's bloated head in time. and i'll always feel that way about it. but steele's different." chapter torn two ways steele lay in a shady little glade, partly walled by the masses of upreared rocks that we used as a lookout point. he was asleep, yet far from comfortable. the bandage i had put around his head had been made from strips of soiled towel, and, having collected sundry bloody spots, it was an unsightly affair. there was a blotch of dried blood down one side of steele's face. his shirt bore more dark stains, and in one place was pasted fast to his shoulder where a bandage marked the location of his other wound. a number of green flies were crawling over him and buzzing around his head. he looked helpless, despite his giant size; and certainly a great deal worse off than i had intimated, and, in fact, than he really was. miss sampson gasped when she saw him and both her hands flew to her breast. "girls, don't make any noise," i whispered. "i'd rather he didn't wake suddenly to find you here. go round behind the rocks there. i'll wake him, and call you presently." they complied with my wish, and i stepped down to steele and gave him a little shake. he awoke instantly. "hello!" i said, "want a drink?" "water or champagne?" he inquired. i stared at him. "i've some champagne behind the rocks," i added. "water, you locoed son of a gun!" he looked about as thirsty as a desert coyote; also, he looked flighty. i was reaching for the canteen when i happened to think what pleasure it would be to miss sampson to minister to him, and i drew back. "wait a little." then with an effort i plunged. "vaughn, listen. miss sampson and sally are here." i thought he was going to jump up, he started so violently, and i pressed him back. "she--why, she's been here all the time--russ, you haven't double-crossed me?" "steele!" i exclaimed. he was certainly out of his head. "pure accident, old man." he appeared to be half stunned, yet an eager, strange, haunting look shone in his eyes. "fool!" he exclaimed. "can't you make the ordeal easier for her?" i asked. "this'll be hard on diane. she's got to be told things!" "ah!" breathed steele, sinking back. "make it easier for her--russ, you're a damned schemer. you have given me the double-cross. you have and she's going to." "we're in bad, both of us," i replied thickly. "i've ideas, crazy enough maybe. i'm between the devil and the deep sea, i tell you. i'm about ready to show yellow. all the same, i say, see miss sampson and talk to her, even if you can't talk straight." "all right, russ," he replied hurriedly. "but, god, man, don't i look a sight! all this dirt and blood!" "well, old man, if she takes that bungled mug of yours in her lap, you can be sure you're loved. you needn't jump out of your boots! brace up now, for i'm going to bring the girls." as i got up to go i heard him groan. i went round behind the stones and found the girls. "come on," i said. "he's awake now, but a little queer. feverish. he gets that way sometimes. it won't last long." i led miss sampson and sally back into the shade of our little camp glade. steele had gotten worse all in a moment. also, the fool had pulled the bandage off his head; his wound had begun to bleed anew, and the flies were paying no attention to his weak efforts to brush them away. his head rolled as we reached his side, and his eyes were certainly wild and wonderful and devouring enough. "who's that?" he demanded. "easy there, old man," i replied. "i've brought the girls." miss sampson shook like a leaf in the wind. "so you've come to see me die?" asked steele in a deep and hollow voice. miss sampson gave me a lightning glance of terror. "he's only off his head," i said. "soon as we wash and bathe his head, cool his temperature, he'll be all right." "oh!" cried miss sampson, and dropped to her knees, flinging her gloves aside. she lifted steele's head into her lap. when i saw her tears falling upon his face i felt worse than a villain. she bent over him for a moment, and one of the tender hands at his cheeks met the flow of fresh blood and did not shrink. "sally," she said, "bring the scarf out of my coat. there's a veil too. bring that. russ, you get me some water--pour some in the pan there." "water!" whispered steele. she gave him a drink. sally came with the scarf and veil, and then she backed away to the stone, and sat there. the sight of blood had made her a little pale and weak. miss sampson's hands trembled and her tears still fell, but neither interfered with her tender and skillful dressing of that bullet wound. steele certainly said a lot of crazy things. "but why'd you come--why're you so good--when you don't love me?" "oh, but--i do--love you," whispered miss sampson brokenly. "how do i know?" "i am here. i tell you." there was a silence, during which she kept on bathing his head, and he kept on watching her. "diane!" he broke out suddenly. "yes--yes." "that won't stop the pain in my head." "oh, i hope so." "kiss me--that will," he whispered. she obeyed as a child might have, and kissed his damp forehead close to the red furrow where the bullet cut. "not there," steele whispered. then blindly, as if drawn by a magnet, she bent to his lips. i could not turn away my head, though my instincts were delicate enough. i believe that kiss was the first kiss of love for both diane sampson and vaughn steele. it was so strange and so long, and somehow beautiful. steele looked rapt. i could only see the side of diane's face, and that was white, like snow. after she raised her head she seemed unable, for a moment, to take up her task where it had been broken off, and steele lay as if he really were dead. here i got up, and seating myself beside sally, i put an arm around her. "sally dear, there are others," i said. "oh, russ--what's to come of it all?" she faltered, and then she broke down and began to cry softly. i would have been only too glad to tell her what hung in the balance, one way or another, had i known. but surely, catastrophe! then i heard steele's voice again and its huskiness, its different tone, made me fearful, made me strain my ears when i tried, or thought i tried, not to listen. "diane, you know how hard my duty is, don't you?" "yes, i know--i think i know." "you've guessed--about your father?" "i've seen all along you must clash. but it needn't be so bad. if i can only bring you two together--ah! please don't speak any more. you're excited now, just not yourself." "no, listen. we must clash, your father and i. diane, he's not--" "not what he seems! oh, i know, to my sorrow." "what do you know?" she seemed drawn by a will stronger than her own. "to my shame i know. he has been greedy, crafty, unscrupulous--dishonest." "diane, if he were only that! that wouldn't make my duty torture. that wouldn't ruin your life. dear, sweet girl, forgive me--your father's--" "hush, vaughn. you're growing excited. it will not do. please--please--" "diane, your father's--chief of this--gang that i came to break up." "my god, hear him! how dare you--oh, vaughn, poor, poor boy, you're out of your mind! sally, russ, what shall we do? he's worse. he's saying the most dreadful things! i--i can't bear to hear him!" steele heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. i walked away with sally, led her to and fro in a shady aisle beyond the rocks, and tried to comfort her as best i could. after a while, when we returned to the glade, miss sampson had considerable color in her cheeks, and steele was leaning against the rock, grave and sad. i saw that he had recovered and he had reached the critical point. "hello, russ," he said. "sprung a surprise on me, didn't you? miss sampson says i've been a little flighty while she bandaged me up. i hope i wasn't bad. i certainly feel better now. i seem to--to have dreamed." miss sampson flushed at his concluding words. then silence ensued. i could not think of anything to say and sally was dumb. "you all seem very strange," said miss sampson. when steele's face turned gray to his lips i knew the moment had come. "no doubt. we all feel so deeply for you," he said. "me? why?" "because the truth must no longer be concealed." it was her turn to blanch, and her eyes, strained, dark as night, flashed from one of us to the other. "the truth! tell it then." she had more courage than any of us. "miss sampson, your father is the leader of this gang of rustlers i have been tracing. your cousin george wright, is his right-hand man." miss sampson heard, but she did not believe. "tell her, russ," steele added huskily, turning away. wildly she whirled to me. i would have given anything to have been able to lie to her. as it was i could not speak. but she read the truth in my face. and she collapsed as if she had been shot. i caught her and laid her on the grass. sally, murmuring and crying, worked over her. i helped. but steele stood aloof, dark and silent, as if he hoped she would never return to consciousness. when she did come to, and began to cry, to moan, to talk frantically, steele staggered away, while sally and i made futile efforts to calm her. all we could do was to prevent her doing herself violence. presently, when her fury of emotion subsided, and she began to show a hopeless stricken shame, i left sally with her and went off a little way myself. how long i remained absent i had no idea, but it was no inconsiderable length of time. upon my return, to my surprise and relief, miss sampson had recovered her composure, or at least, self-control. she stood leaning against the rock where steele had been, and at this moment, beyond any doubt, she was supremely more beautiful than i had ever seen her. she was white, tragic, wonderful. "where is mr. steele?" she asked. her tone and her look did not seem at all suggestive of the mood i expected to find her in--one of beseeching agony, of passionate appeal to steele not to ruin her father. "i'll find him," i replied turning away. steele was readily found and came back with me. he was as unlike himself as she was strange. but when they again faced each other, then they were indeed new to me. "i want to know--what you must do," she said. steele told her briefly, and his voice was stern. "those--those criminals outside of my own family don't concern me now. but can my father and cousin be taken without bloodshed? i want to know the absolute truth." steele knew that they could not be, but he could not tell her so. again she appealed to me. thus my part in the situation grew harder. it hurt me so that it made me angry, and my anger made me cruelly frank. "no. it can't be done. sampson and wright will be desperately hard to approach, which'll make the chances even. so, if you must know the truth, it'll be your father and cousin to go under, or it'll be steele or me, or any combination luck breaks--or all of us!" her self-control seemed to fly to the four winds. swift as light she flung herself down before steele, against his knees, clasped her arms round him. "good god! miss sampson, you mustn't do that!" implored steele. he tried to break her hold with shaking hands, but he could not. "listen! listen!" she cried, and her voice made steele, and sally and me also, still as the rock behind us. "hear me! do you think i beg you to let my father go, for his sake? no! no! i have gloried in your ranger duty. i have loved you because of it. but some awful tragedy threatens here. listen, vaughn steele. do not you deny me, as i kneel here. i love you. i never loved any other man. but not for my love do i beseech you. "there is no help here unless you forswear your duty. forswear it! do not kill my father--the father of the woman who loves you. worse and more horrible it would be to let my father kill you! it's i who make this situation unnatural, impossible. you must forswear your duty. i can live no longer if you don't. i pray you--" her voice had sunk to a whisper, and now it failed. then she seemed to get into his arms, to wind herself around him, her hair loosened, her face upturned, white and spent, her arms blindly circling his neck. she was all love, all surrender, all supreme appeal, and these, without her beauty, would have made her wonderful. but her beauty! would not steele have been less than a man or more than a man had he been impervious to it? she was like some snow-white exquisite flower, broken, and suddenly blighted. she was a woman then in all that made a woman helpless--in all that made her mysterious, sacred, absolutely and unutterably more than any other thing in life. all this time my gaze had been riveted on her only. but when she lifted her white face, tried to lift it, rather, and he drew her up, and then when both white faces met and seemed to blend in something rapt, awesome, tragic as life--then i saw steele. i saw a god, a man as beautiful as she was. they might have stood, indeed, they did stand alone in the heart of a desert--alone in the world--alone with their love and their agony. it was a solemn and profound moment for me. i faintly realized how great it must have been for them, yet all the while there hammered at my mind the vital thing at stake. had they forgotten, while i remembered? it might have been only a moment that he held her. it might have been my own agitation that conjured up such swift and whirling thoughts. but if my mind sometimes played me false my eyes never had. i thought i saw diane sampson die in steele's arms; i could have sworn his heart was breaking; and mine was on the point of breaking, too. how beautiful they were! how strong, how mercifully strong, yet shaken, he seemed! how tenderly, hopelessly, fatally appealing she was in that hour of her broken life! if i had been steele i would have forsworn my duty, honor, name, service for her sake. had i mind enough to divine his torture, his temptation, his narrow escape? i seemed to feel them, at any rate, and while i saw him with a beautiful light on his face, i saw him also ghastly, ashen, with hands that shook as they groped around her, loosing her, only to draw her convulsively back again. it was the saddest sight i had ever seen. death was nothing to it. here was the death of happiness. he must wreck the life of the woman who loved him and whom he loved. i was becoming half frantic, almost ready to cry out the uselessness of this scene, almost on the point of pulling them apart, when sally dragged me away. her clinging hold then made me feel perhaps a little of what miss sampson's must have been to steele. how different the feeling when it was mine! i could have thrust them apart, after all my schemes and tricks, to throw them together, in vague, undefined fear of their embrace. still, when love beat at my own pulses, when sally's soft hand held me tight and she leaned to me--that was different. i was glad to be led away--glad to have a chance to pull myself together. but was i to have that chance? sally, who in the stife of emotion had been forgotten, might have to be reckoned with. deep within me, some motive, some purpose, was being born in travail. i did not know what, but instinctively i feared sally. i feared her because i loved her. my wits came back to combat my passion. this hazel-eyed girl, soft, fragile creature, might be harder to move than the ranger. but could she divine a motive scarcely yet formed in my brain? suddenly i became cool, with craft to conceal. "oh, russ! what's the matter with you?" she queried quickly. "can't diane and steele, you and i ride away from this bloody, bad country? our own lives, our happiness, come first, do they not?" "they ought to, i suppose," i muttered, fighting against the insidious sweetness of her. i knew then i must keep my lips shut or betray myself. "you look so strange. russ, i wouldn't want you to kiss me with that mouth. thin, shut lips--smile! soften and kiss me! oh, you're so cold, strange! you chill me!" "dear child, i'm badly shaken," i said. "don't expect me to be natural yet. there are things you can't guess. so much depended upon--oh, never mind! i'll go now. i want to be alone, to think things out. let me go, sally." she held me only the tighter, tried to pull my face around. how intuitively keen women were. she felt my distress, and that growing, stern, and powerful thing i scarcely dared to acknowledge to myself. strangely, then, i relaxed and faced her. there was no use trying to foil these feminine creatures. every second i seemed to grow farther from her. the swiftness of this mood of mine was my only hope. i realized i had to get away quickly, and make up my mind after that what i intended to do. it was an earnest, soulful, and loving pair of eyes that i met. what did she read in mine? her hands left mine to slide to my shoulders, to slip behind my neck, to lock there like steel bands. here was my ordeal. was it to be as terrible as steele's had been? i thought it would be, and i swore by all that was rising grim and cold in me that i would be strong. sally gave a little cry that cut like a blade in my heart, and then she was close-pressed upon me, her quivering breast beating against mine, her eyes, dark as night now, searching my soul. she saw more than i knew, and with her convulsive clasp of me confirmed my half-formed fears. then she kissed me, kisses that had no more of girlhood or coquetry or joy or anything but woman's passion to blind and hold and tame. by their very intensity i sensed the tiger in me. and it was the tiger that made her new and alluring sweetness fail of its intent. i did not return one of her kisses. just one kiss given back--and i would be lost. "oh, russ, i'm your promised wife!" she whispered at my lips. "soon, you said! i want it to be soon! to-morrow!" all the subtlety, the intelligence, the cunning, the charm, the love that made up the whole of woman's power, breathed in her pleading. what speech known to the tongue could have given me more torture? she chose the strongest weapon nature afforded her. and had the calamity to consider been mine alone, i would have laughed at it and taken sally at her word. then i told her in short, husky sentences what had depended on steele: that i loved the ranger service, but loved him more; that his character, his life, embodied this service i loved; that i had ruined him; and now i would forestall him, do his work, force the issue myself or die in the attempt. "dearest, it's great of you!" she cried. "but the cost! if you kill one of my kin i'll--i'll shrink from you! if you're killed--oh, the thought is dreadful! you've done your share. let steele--some other ranger finish it. i swear i don't plead for my uncle or my cousin, for their sakes. if they are vile, let them suffer. russ, it's you i think of! oh, my pitiful little dreams! i wanted so to surprise you with my beautiful home--the oranges, the mossy trees, the mocking-birds. now you'll never, never come!" "but, sally, there's a chance--a mere chance i can do the job without--" then she let go of me. she had given up. i thought she was going to drop, and drew her toward the stone. i cursed the day i ever saw neal and the service. where, now, was the arch prettiness, the gay, sweet charm of sally langdon? she looked as if she were suffering from a desperate physical injury. and her final breakdown showed how, one way or another, i was lost to her. as she sank on the stone i had my supreme wrench, and it left me numb, hard, in a cold sweat. "don't betray me! i'll forestall him! he's planned nothing for to-day," i whispered hoarsely. "sally--you dearest, gamest little girl in the world! remember i loved you, even if i couldn't prove it your way. it's for his sake. i'm to blame for their love. some day my act will look different to you. good-by!" chapter russ sittell in action i ran like one possessed of devils down that rough slope, hurdling the stones and crashing through the brush, with a sound in my ears that was not all the rush of the wind. when i reached a level i kept running; but something dragged at me. i slowed down to a walk. never in my life had i been victim of such sensation. i must flee from something that was drawing me back. apparently one side of my mind was unalterably fixed, while the other was a hurrying conglomeration of flashes of thought, reception of sensations. i could not get calm. by and by, almost involuntarily, with a fleeting look backward as if in expectation of pursuit, i hurried faster on. action seemed to make my state less oppressive; it eased the weight upon me. but the farther i went on, the harder it was to continue. i was turning my back upon love, happiness, success in life, perhaps on life itself. i was doing that, but my decision had not been absolute. there seemed no use to go on farther until i was absolutely sure of myself. i received a clear warning thought that such work as seemed haunting and driving me could never be carried out in the mood under which i labored. i hung on to that thought. several times i slowed up, then stopped, only to tramp on again. at length, as i mounted a low ridge, linrock lay bright and green before me, not faraway, and the sight was a conclusive check. there were mesquites on the ridge, and i sought the shade beneath them. it was the noon hour, with hot, glary sun and no wind. here i had to have out my fight. if ever in my varied life of exciting adventure i strove to think, to understand myself, to see through difficulties, i assuredly strove then. i was utterly unlike myself; i could not bring the old self back; i was not the same man i once had been. but i could understand why. it was because of sally langdon, the gay and roguish girl who had bewitched me, the girl whom love had made a woman--the kind of woman meant to make life beautiful for me. i saw her changing through all those weeks, holding many of the old traits and graces, acquiring new character of mind and body, to become what i had just fled from--a woman sweet, fair, loyal, loving, passionate. temptation assailed me. to have her to-morrow--my wife! she had said it. just twenty-four little hours, and she would be mine--the only woman i had ever really coveted, the only one who had ever found the good in me. the thought was alluring. i followed it out, a long, happy stage-ride back to austin, and then by train to her home where, as she had said, the oranges grew and the trees waved with streamers of gray moss and the mocking-birds made melody. i pictured that home. i wondered that long before i had not associated wealth and luxury with her family. always i had owned a weakness for plantations, for the agricultural life with its open air and freedom from towns. i saw myself riding through the cotton and rice and cane, home to the stately old mansion, where long-eared hounds bayed me welcome and a woman looked for me and met me with happy and beautiful smiles. there might--there _would_ be children. and something new, strange, confounding with its emotion, came to life deep in my heart. there would be children! sally their mother; i their father! the kind of life a lonely ranger always yearned for and never had! i saw it all, felt it keenly, lived its sweetness in an hour of temptation that made me weak physically and my spirit faint and low. for what had i turned my back on this beautiful, all-satisfying prospect? was it to arrest and jail a few rustlers? was it to meet that mocking sampson face to face and show him my shield and reach for my gun? was it to kill that hated wright? was it to save the people of linrock from further greed, raids, murder? was it to please and aid my old captain, neal of the rangers? was it to save the service to the state? no--a thousand times no. it was for the sake of steele. because he was a wonderful man! because i had been his undoing! because i had thrown diane sampson into his arms! that had been my great error. this ranger had always been the wonder and despair of his fellow officers, so magnificent a machine, so sober, temperate, chaste, so unremittingly loyal to the service, so strangely stern and faithful to his conception of the law, so perfect in his fidelity to duty. he was the model, the inspiration, the pride of all of us. to me, indeed, he represented the ranger service. he was the incarnation of that spirit which fighting texas had developed to oppose wildness and disorder and crime. he would carry through this linrock case; but even so, if he were not killed, his career would be ruined. he might save the service, yet at the cost of his happiness. he was not a machine; he was a man. he might be a perfect ranger; still he was a human being. the loveliness, the passion, the tragedy of a woman, great as they were, had not power to shake him from his duty. futile, hopeless, vain her love had been to influence him. but there had flashed over me with subtle, overwhelming suggestion that not futile, not vain was _my_ love to save him! therefore, beyond and above all other claims, and by reason of my wrong to him, his claim came first. it was then there was something cold and deathlike in my soul; it was then i bade farewell to sally langdon. for i knew, whatever happened, of one thing i was sure--i would have to kill either sampson or wright. snecker could be managed; sampson might be trapped into arrest; but wright had no sense, no control, no fear. he would snarl like a panther and go for his gun, and he would have to be killed. this, of all consummations, was the one to be calculated upon. and, of course, by sally's own words, that contingency would put me forever outside the pale for her. i did not deceive myself; i did not accept the slightest intimation of hope; i gave her up. and then for a time regret, remorse, pain, darkness worked their will with me. i came out of it all bitter and callous and sore, in the most fitting of moods to undertake a difficult and deadly enterprise. miss sampson completely slipped my mind; sally became a wraith as of some one dead; steele began to fade. in their places came the bushy-bearded snecker, the olive-skinned sampson with his sharp eyes, and dark, evil faced wright. their possibilities began to loom up, and with my speculation returned tenfold more thrilling and sinister the old strange zest of the man-hunt. it was about one o'clock when i strode into linrock. the streets for the most part were deserted. i went directly to the hall where morton and zimmer, with their men, had been left by steele to guard the prisoners. i found them camping out in the place, restless, somber, anxious. the fact that only about half the original number of prisoners were left struck me as further indication of morton's summary dealing. but when i questioned him as to the decrease in number, he said bluntly that they had escaped. i did not know whether or not to believe him. but that didn't matter. i tried to get in some more questions, only i found that morton and zimmer meant to be heard first. "where's steele?" they demanded. "he's out of town, in a safe place," i replied. "too bad hurt for action. i'm to rush through with the rest of the deal." "that's good. we've waited long enough. this gang has been split, an' if we hurry they'll never get together again. old man snecker showed up to-day. he's drawin' the outfit in again. reckon he's waitin' for orders. sure he's ragin' since bo was killed. this old fox will be dangerous if he gets goin'." "where is he now?" i queried. "over at the hope so. must be a dozen of the gang there. but he's the only leader left we know of. if we get him, the rustler gang will be broken for good. he's sent word down here for us to let our prisoners go or there'd be a damn bloody fight. we haven't sent our answer yet. was hopin' steele would show up. an' now we're sure glad you're back." "morton, i'll take the answer," i replied quickly. "now there're two things. do you know if sampson and wright are at the ranch?" "they were an hour ago. we had word. zimmer saw dick." "all right. have you any horses handy?" "sure. those hitched outside belong to us." "i want you to take a man with you, in a few moments, and ride round the back roads and up to sampson's house. get off and wait under the trees till you hear me shoot or yell, then come fast." morton's breast heaved; he whistled as he breathed; his neck churned. "god almighty! so _there_ the scent leads! we always wondered--half believed. but no one spoke--no one had any nerve." morton moistened his lips; his face was livid; his big hands shook. "russ, you can gamble on me." "good. well, that's all. come out and get me a horse." when i had mounted and was half-way to the hope so, my plan, as far as snecker was concerned, had been formed. it was to go boldy into the saloon, ask for the rustler, first pretend i had a reply from morton and then, when i had snecker's ear, whisper a message supposedly from sampson. if snecker was too keen to be decoyed i could at least surprise him off his guard and kill him, then run for my horse. the plan seemed clever to me. i had only one thing to fear, and that was a possibility of the rustlers having seen my part in steele's defense the other day. that had to be risked. there were always some kind of risks to be faced. it was scarcely a block and a half to the hope so. before i arrived i knew i had been seen. when i dismounted before the door i felt cold, yet there was an exhilaration in the moment. i never stepped more naturally and carelessly into the saloon. it was full of men. there were men behind the bar helping themselves. evidently blandy's place had not been filled. every face near the door was turned toward me; dark, intent, scowling, malignant they were, and made me need my nerve. "say, boys, i've a word for snecker," i called, quite loud. nobody stirred. i swept my glance over the crowd, but did not see snecker. "i'm in some hurry," i added. "bill ain't here," said a man at the table nearest me. "air you comin' from morton?" "nit. but i'm not yellin' this message." the rustler rose, and in a few long strides confronted me. "word from sampson!" i whispered, and the rustler stared. "i'm in his confidence. he's got to see bill at once. sampson sends word he's quit--he's done--he's through. the jig is up, and he means to hit the road out of linrock." "bill'll kill him surer 'n hell," muttered the rustler. "but we all said it'd come to thet. an' what'd wright say?" "wright! why, he's cashed in. didn't you-all hear? reckon sampson shot him." the rustler cursed his amaze and swung his rigid arm with fist clenched tight. "when did wright get it?" "a little while ago. i don't know how long. anyway, i saw him lyin' dead on the porch. an' say, pard, i've got to rustle. send bill up quick as he comes. tell him sampson wants to turn over all his stock an' then light out." i backed to the door, and the last i saw of the rustler he was standing there in a scowling amaze. i had fooled him all right. if only i had the luck to have snecker come along soon. mounting, i trotted the horse leisurely up the street. business and everything else was at a standstill in linrock these days. the doors of the stores were barricaded. down side streets, however, i saw a few people, a buckboard, and stray cattle. when i reached the edge of town i turned aside a little and took a look at the ruins of steele's adobe house. the walls and debris had all been flattened, scattered about, and if anything of, value had escaped destruction it had disappeared. steele, however, had left very little that would have been of further use to him. turning again, i continued on my way up to the ranch. it seemed that, though i was eager rather than backward, my mind seized avidly upon suggestion or attraction, as if to escape the burden of grim pondering. when about half-way across the flat, and perhaps just out of gun-shot sound of sampson's house, i heard the rapid clatter of hoofs on the hard road. i wheeled, expecting to see morton and his man, and was ready to be chagrined at their coming openly instead of by the back way. but this was only one man, and it was not morton. he seemed of big build, and he bestrode a fine bay horse. there evidently was reason for hurry, too. at about one hundred yards, when i recognized snecker, complete astonishment possessed me. well it was i had ample time to get on my guard! in wheeling my horse i booted him so hard that he reared. as i had been warm i had my sombrero over the pommel of the saddle. and when the head of my horse blocked any possible sight of movement of my hand, i pulled my gun and held it concealed under my sombrero. this rustler had bothered me in my calculations. and here he came galloping, alone. exultation would have been involuntary then but for the sudden shock, and then the cold settling of temper, the breathless suspense. snecker pulled his huge bay and pounded to halt abreast of me. luck favored me. had i ever had anything but luck in these dangerous deals? snecker seemed to fume; internally there was a volcano. his wide sombrero and bushy beard hid all of his face except his eyes, which were deepset furnaces. he, too, like his lieutenant, had been carried completely off balance by the strange message apparently from sampson. it was sampson's name that had fooled and decoyed these men. "hey! you're the feller who jest left word fer some one at the hope so?" he asked. "yes," i replied, while with my left hand i patted the neck of my horse, holding him still. "sampson wants me bad, eh?" "reckon there's only one man who wants you more." steadily, i met his piercing gaze. this was a rustler not to be long victim to any ruse. i waited in cold surety. "you thet cowboy, russ?" he asked. "i was--and i'm not!" i replied significantly. the violent start of this violent outlaw was a rippling jerk of passion. "what'n hell!" he ejaculated. "bill, you're easy." "who're you?" he uttered hoarsely. i watched snecker with hawk-like keenness. "united states deputy marshal. bill, you're under arrest!" he roared a mad curse as his hand clapped down to his gun. then i fired through my sombrero. snecker's big horse plunged. the rustler fell back, and one of his legs pitched high as he slid off the lunging steed. his other foot caught in the stirrup. this fact terribly frightened the horse. he bolted, dragging the rustler for a dozen jumps. then snecker's foot slipped loose. he lay limp and still and shapeless in the road. i did not need to go back to look him over. but to make assurance doubly sure, i dismounted, and went back to where he lay. my bullet had gone where it had been aimed. as i rode up into sampson's court-yard and turned in to the porch i heard loud and angry voices. sampson and wright were quarrelling again. how my lucky star guided me! i had no plan of action, but my brain was equal to a hundred lightning-swift evolutions. the voices ceased. the men had heard the horse. both of them came out on the porch. in an instant i was again the lolling impudent cowboy, half under the influence of liquor. "it's only russ and he's drunk," said george wright contemptuously. "i heard horses trotting off there," replied sampson. "maybe the girls are coming. i bet i teach them not to run off again--hello, russ." he looked haggard and thin, but seemed amiable enough. he was in his shirt-sleeves and he had come out with a gun in his hand. this he laid on a table near the wall. he wore no belt. i rode right up to the porch and, greeting them laconically, made a show of a somewhat tangle-footed cowboy dismounting. the moment i got off and straightened up, i asked no more. the game was mine. it was the great hour of my life and i met it as i had never met another. i looked and acted what i pretended to be, though a deep and intense passion, an almost ungovernable suspense, an icy sickening nausea abided with me. all i needed, all i wanted was to get sampson and wright together, or failing that, to maneuver into such position that i had any kind of a chance. sampson's gun on the table made three distinct objects for me to watch and two of them could change position. "what do you want here?" demanded wright. he was red, bloated, thick-lipped, all fiery and sweaty from drink, though sober on the moment, and he had the expression of a desperate man in his last stand. it _was_ his last stand, though he was ignorant of that. "me--say, wright, i ain't fired yet," i replied, in slow-rising resentment. "well, you're fired now," he replied insolently. "who fires me, i'd like to know?" i walked up on the porch and i had a cigarette in one hand, a match in the other. i struck the match. "i do," said wright. i studied him with apparent amusement. it had taken only one glance around for me to divine that sampson would enjoy any kind of a clash between wright and me. "huh! you fired me once before an' it didn't go, wright. i reckon you don't stack up here as strong as you think." he was facing the porch, moody, preoccupied, somber, all the time. only a little of his mind was concerned with me. manifestly there were strong forces at work. both men were strained to a last degree, and wright could be made to break at almost a word. sampson laughed mockingly at this sally of mine, and that stung wright. he stopped his pacing and turned his handsome, fiery eyes on me. "sampson, i won't stand this man's impudence." "aw, wright, cut that talk. i'm not impudent. sampson knows i'm a good fellow, on the square, and i have you sized up about o.k." "all the same, russ, you'd better dig out," said sampson. "don't kick up any fuss. we're busy with deals to-day. and i expect visitors." "sure. i won't stay around where i ain't wanted," i replied. then i lit my cigarette and did not move an inch out of my tracks. sampson sat in a chair near the door; the table upon which lay his gun stood between him and wright. this position did not invite me to start anything. but the tension had begun to be felt. sampson had his sharp gaze on me. "what'd you come for, anyway?" he asked suddenly. "well, i had some news i was asked to fetch in." "get it out of you then." "see here now, mr. sampson, the fact is i'm a tender-hearted fellow. i hate to hurt people's feelin's. and if i was to spring this news in mr. wright's hearin', why, such a sensitive, high-tempered gentleman as he would go plumb off his nut." unconcealed sarcasm was the dominant note in that speech. wright flared up, yet he was eagerly curious. sampson, probably, thought i was only a little worse for drink, and but for the way i rubbed wright he would not have tolerated me at all. "what's this news? you needn't be afraid of my feelings," said wright. "ain't so sure of that," i drawled. "it concerns the lady you're sweet on, an' the ranger you ain't sweet on." sampson jumped up. "russ, had diane gone out to meet steele?" he asked angrily. "sure she had," i replied. i thought wright would choke. he was thick-necked anyway, and the gush of blood made him tear at the soft collar of his shirt. both men were excited now, moving about, beginning to rouse. i awaited my chance, patient, cold, all my feelings shut in the vise of my will. "how do you know she met steele?" demanded sampson. "i was there. i met sally at the same time." "but why should my daughter meet this ranger?" "she's in love with him and he's in love with her." the simple statement might have had the force of a juggernaut. i reveled in wright's state, but i felt sorry for sampson. he had not outlived his pride. then i saw the leaping thought--would this daughter side against him? would she help to betray him? he seemed to shrivel up, to grow old while i watched him. wright, finding his voice, cursed diane, cursed the ranger, then sampson, then me. "you damned, selfish fool!" cried sampson, in deep, bitter scorn. "all you think of is yourself. your loss of the girl! think once of me--my home--my life!" then the connection subtly put out by sampson apparently dawned upon the other. somehow, through this girl, her father and cousin were to be betrayed. i got that impression, though i could not tell how true it was. certainly, wright's jealousy was his paramount emotion. sampson thrust me sidewise off the porch. "go away," he ordered. he did not look around to see if i came back. quickly i leaped to my former position. he confronted wright. he was beyond the table where the gun lay. they were close together. my moment had come. the game was mine--and a ball of fire burst in my brain to race all over me. "to hell with you!" burst out wright incoherently. he was frenzied. "i'll have her or nobody else will!" "you never will," returned sampson stridently. "so help me god, i'd rather see her ranger steele's wife than yours!" while wright absorbed that shock sampson leaned toward him, all of hate and menace in his mien. they had forgotten the half-drunken cowboy. "wright, you made me what i am," continued sampson. "i backed you, protected you, finally i went in with you. now it's ended. i quit you. i'm done!" their gray, passion-corded faces were still as stones. "gentlemen," i called in clear, high, far-reaching voice, the intonation of authority, "you're both done!" they wheeled to confront me, to see my leveled gun. "don't move! not a muscle! not a finger!" i warned. sampson read what wright had not the mind to read. his face turned paler gray, to ashen. "what d'ye mean?" yelled wright fiercely, shrilly. it was not in him to obey my command, to see impending death. all quivering and strung, yet with perfect control, i raised my left hand to turn back a lapel of my open vest. the silver shield flashed brightly. "united states deputy marshal in service of ranger steele!" wright howled like a dog. with barbarous and insane fury, with sheer, impotent folly, he swept a clawing hand for his gun. my shot broke his action as it cut short his life. before wright even tottered, before he loosed the gun, sampson leaped behind him, clasped him with his left arm, quick as lightning jerked the gun from both clutching fingers and sheath. i shot at sampson, then again, then a third time. all my bullets sped into the upheld nodding wright. sampson had protected himself with the body of the dead man. i had seen red flashes, puffs of smoke, had heard quick reports. something stung my left arm. then a blow like wind, light of sound yet shocking in impact, struck me, knocked me flat. the hot rend of lead followed the blow. my heart seemed to explode, yet my mind kept extraordinarily clear and rapid. i raised myself, felt a post at my shoulder, leaned on it. i heard sampson work the action of wright's gun. i heard the hammer click, fall upon empty shells. he had used up all the loads in wright's gun. i heard him curse as a man cursed at defeat. i waited, cool and sure now, for him to show his head or other vital part from behind his bolster. he tried to lift the dead man, to edge him closer toward the table where the gun lay. but, considering the peril of exposing himself, he found the task beyond him. he bent, peering at me under wright's arm. sampson's eyes were the eyes of a man who meant to kill me. there was never any mistaking the strange and terrible light of eyes like those. more than once i had a chance to aim at them, at the top of sampson's head, at a strip of his side. but i had only two shells left. i wanted to make sure. suddenly i remembered morton and his man. then i pealed out a cry--hoarse, strange, yet far-reaching. it was answered by a shout. sampson heard it. it called forth all that was in the man. he flung wright's body off. but even as it dropped, before sampson could recover to leap as he surely intended for the gun, i covered him, called piercingly to him. i could kill him there or as he moved. but one chance i gave him. "don't jump for the gun! don't! i'll kill you! i've got two shells left! sure as god, i'll kill you!" he stood perhaps ten feet from the table where his gun lay. i saw him calculating chances. he was game. he had the courage that forced me to respect him. i just saw him measure the distance to that gun. he was magnificent. he meant to do it. i would have to kill him. "sampson, listen!" i cried, very swiftly. "the game's up! you're done! but think of your daughter! i'll spare your life, i'll give you freedom on one condition. for her sake! i've got you nailed--all the proofs. it was i behind the wall the other night. blome, hilliard, pickens, bo snecker, are dead. i killed bo snecker on the way up here. there lies wright. you're alone. and here comes morton and his men to my aid. "give up! surrender! consent to demands and i'll spare you. you can go free back to your old country. it's for diane's sake! her life, perhaps her happiness, can be saved! hurry, man! your answer!" "suppose i refuse?" he queried, with a dark and terrible earnestness. "then i'll kill you in your tracks! you can't move a hand! your word or death! hurry, sampson! i can't last much longer. but i can kill you before i drop. be a man! for her sake! quick! another second now--by god, i'll kill you!" "all right, russ! i give my word," he said, and deliberately walked to the chair and fell into it, just as morton came running up with his man. "put away your gun," i ordered them. "the game's up. snecker and wright are dead. sampson is my prisoner. he has my word he'll be protected. it's for you to draw up papers with him. he'll divide all his property, every last acre, every head of stock as you and zimmer dictate. he gives up all. then he's free to leave the country, and he's never to return." chapter through the valley sampson looked strangely at the great bloody blot on my breast and his look made me conscious of a dark hurrying of my mind. morton came stamping up the steps with blunt queries, with anxious mien. when he saw the front of me he halted, threw wide his arms. "there come the girls!" suddenly exclaimed sampson. "morton, help me drag wright inside. they mustn't see him." i was facing down the porch toward the court and corrals. miss sampson and sally had come in sight, were swiftly approaching, evidently alarmed. steele, no doubt, had remained out at the camp. i was watching them, wondering what they would do and say presently, and then sampson and johnson came to carry me indoors. they laid me on the couch in the parlor where the girls used to be so often. "russ, you're pretty hard hit," said sampson, bending over me, with his hands at my breast. the room was bright with sunshine, yet the light seemed to be fading. "reckon i am," i replied. "i'm sorry. if only you could have told me sooner! wright, damn him! always i've split over him!" "but the last time, sampson." "yes, and i came near driving you to kill me, too. russ, you talked me out of it. for diane's sake! she'll be in here in a minute. this'll be harder than facing a gun." "hard now. but it'll--turn out--o.k." "russ, will you do me a favor?" he asked, and he seemed shamefaced. "sure." "let diane and sally think wright shot you. he's dead. it can't matter. and you're hard hit. the girls are fond of you. if--if you go under--russ, the old side of my life is coming back. it's _been_ coming. it'll be here just about when she enters this room. and by god, i'd change places with you if i could." "glad you--said that, sampson," i replied. "and sure--wright plugged me. it's our secret. i've a reason, too, not--that--it--matters--much--now." the light was fading. i could not talk very well. i felt dumb, strange, locked in ice, with dull little prickings of my flesh, with dim rushing sounds in my ears. but my mind was clear. evidently there was little to be done. morton came in, looked at me, and went out. i heard the quick, light steps of the girls on the porch, and murmuring voices. "where'm i hit?" i whispered. "three places. arm, shoulder, and a bad one in the breast. it got your lung, i'm afraid. but if you don't go quick, you've a chance." "sure i've a chance." "russ, i'll tell the girls, do what i can for you, then settle with morton and clear out." just then diane and sally entered the room. i heard two low cries, so different in tone, and i saw two dim white faces. sally flew to my side and dropped to her knees. both hands went to my face, then to my breast. she lifted them, shaking. they were red. white and mute she gazed from them to me. but some woman's intuition kept her from fainting. "papa!" cried diane, wringing her hands. "don't give way," he replied. "both you girls will need your nerve. russ is badly hurt. there's little hope for him." sally moaned and dropped her face against me, clasping me convulsively. i tried to reach a hand out to touch her, but i could not move. i felt her hair against my face. diane uttered a low heart-rending cry, which both sampson and i understood. "listen, let me tell it quick," he said huskily. "there's been a fight. russ killed snecker and wright. they resisted arrest. it--it was wright--it was wright's gun that put russ down. russ let me off. in fact, diane, he saved me. i'm to divide my property--return so far as possible what i've stolen--leave texas at once and forever. you'll find me back in old louisiana--if--if you ever want to come home." as she stood there, realizing her deliverance, with the dark and tragic glory of her eyes passing from her father to me, my own sight shadowed, and i thought if i were dying then, it was not in vain. "send--for--steele," i whispered. silently, swiftly, breathlessly they worked over me. i was exquisitely sensitive to touch, to sound, but i could not see anything. by and by all was quiet, and i slipped into a black void. familiar heavy swift footsteps, the thump of heels of a powerful and striding man, jarred into the blackness that held me, seemed to split it to let me out; and i opened my eyes in a sunlit room to see sally's face all lined and haggard, to see miss sampson fly to the door, and the stalwart ranger bow his lofty head to enter. however far life had ebbed from me, then it came rushing back, keen-sighted, memorable, with agonizing pain in every nerve. i saw him start, i heard him cry, but i could not speak. he bent over me and i tried to smile. he stood silent, his hand on me, while diane sampson told swiftly, brokenly, what had happened. how she told it! i tried to whisper a protest. to any one on earth except steele i might have wished to appear a hero. still, at that moment i had more dread of him than any other feeling. she finished the story with her head on his shoulder, with tears that certainly were in part for me. once in my life, then, i saw him stunned. but when he recovered it was not diane that he thought of first, nor of the end of sampson's power. he turned to me. "little hope?" he cried out, with the deep ring in his voice. "no! there's every hope. no bullet hole like that could ever kill this ranger. russ!" i could not answer him. but this time i did achieve a smile. there was no shadow, no pain in his face such as had haunted me in sally's and diane's. he could fight death the same as he could fight evil. he vitalized the girls. diane began to hope; sally lost her woe. he changed the atmosphere of that room. something filled it, something like himself, big, virile, strong. the very look of him made me suddenly want to live; and all at once it seemed i felt alive. and that was like taking the deadened ends of nerves to cut them raw and quicken them with fiery current. from stupor i had leaped to pain, and that tossed me into fever. there were spaces darkened, mercifully shutting me in; there were others of light, where i burned and burned in my heated blood. sally, like the wraith she had become in my mind, passed in and out; diane watched and helped in those hours when sight was clear. but always the ranger was with me. sometimes i seemed to feel his spirit grappling with mine, drawing me back from the verge. sometimes, in strange dreams, i saw him there between me and a dark, cold, sinister shape. the fever passed, and with the first nourishing drink given me i seemed to find my tongue, to gain something. "hello, old man," i whispered to steele. "oh, lord, russ, to think you would double-cross me the way you did!" that was his first speech to me after i had appeared to face round from the grave. his good-humored reproach told me more than any other thing how far from his mind was thought of death for me. then he talked a little to me, cheerfully, with that directness and force characteristic of him always, showing me that the danger was past, and that i would now be rapidly on the mend. i discovered that i cared little whether i was on the mend or not. when i had passed the state of somber unrealities and then the hours of pain and then that first inspiring flush of renewed desire to live, an entirely different mood came over me. but i kept it to myself. i never even asked why, for three days, sally never entered the room where i lay. i associated this fact, however, with what i had imagined her shrinking from me, her intent and pale face, her singular manner when occasion made it necessary or unavoidable for her to be near me. no difficulty was there in associating my change of mood with her absence. i brooded. steele's keen insight betrayed me to him, but all his power and his spirit availed nothing to cheer me. i pretended to be cheerful; i drank and ate anything given me; i was patient and quiet. but i ceased to mend. then, one day she came back, and steele, who was watching me as she entered, quietly got up and without a word took diane out of the room and left me alone with sally. "russ, i've been sick myself--in bed for three days," she said. "i'm better now. i hope you are. you look so pale. do you still think, brood about that fight?" "yes, i can't forget. i'm afraid it cost me more than life." sally was somber, bloomy, thoughtful. "you weren't driven to kill george?" she asked. "how do you mean?" "by that awful instinct, that hankering to kill, you once told me these gunmen had." "no, i can swear it wasn't that. i didn't want to kill him. but he forced me. as i had to go after these two men it was a foregone conclusion about wright. it was premeditated. i have no excuse." "hush--tell me, if you confronted them, drew on them, then you had a chance to kill my uncle?" "yes. i could have done it easily." "why, then, didn't you?" "it was for diane's sake. i'm afraid i didn't think of you. i had put you out of my mind." "well, if a man can be noble at the same time he's terrible, you've been, russ--i don't know how i feel. i'm sick and i can't think. i see, though, what you saved diane and steele. why, she's touching happiness again, fearfully, yet really. think of that! god only knows what you did for steele. if i judged it by his suffering as you lay there about to die it would be beyond words to tell. but, russ, you're pale and shaky now. hush! no more talk!" with all my eyes and mind and heart and soul i watched to see if she shrank from me. she was passive, yet tender as she smoothed my pillow and moved my head. a dark abstraction hung over her, and it was so strange, so foreign to her nature. no sensitiveness on earth could have equaled mine at that moment. and i saw and felt and knew that she did not shrink from me. thought and feeling escaped me for a while. i dozed. the old shadows floated to and fro. when i awoke steele and diane had just come in. as he bent over me i looked up into his keen gray eyes and there was no mask on my own as i looked up to him. "son, the thing that was needed was a change of nurses," he said gently. "i intend to make up some sleep now and leave you in better care." from that hour i improved. i slept, i lay quietly awake, i partook of nourishing food. i listened and watched, and all the time i gained. but i spoke very little, and though i tried to brighten when steele was in the room i made only indifferent success of it. days passed. sally was almost always with me, yet seldom alone. she was grave where once she had been gay. how i watched her face, praying for that shade to lift! how i listened for a note of the old music in her voice! sally langdon had sustained a shock to her soul almost as dangerous as had been the blow at my life. still i hoped. i had seen other women's deadened and darkened spirits rebound and glow once more. it began to dawn upon me, however, that more than time was imperative if she were ever to become her old self again. studying her closer, with less thought of myself and her reaction to my presence, i discovered that she trembled at shadows, seemed like a frightened deer with a step always on its trail, was afraid of the dark. then i wondered why i had not long before divined one cause of her strangeness. the house where i had killed one of her kin would ever be haunted for her. she had said she was a southerner and that blood was thick. when i had thought out the matter a little further, i deliberately sat up in bed, scaring the wits out of all my kind nurses. "steele, i'll never get well in this house. i want to go home. when can you take me?" they remonstrated with me and pleaded and scolded, all to little avail. then they were persuaded to take me seriously, to plan, providing i improved, to start in a few days. we were to ride out of pecos county together, back along the stage trail to civilization. the look in sally's eyes decided my measure of improvement. i could have started that very day and have borne up under any pain or distress. strange to see, too, how steele and diane responded to the stimulus of my idea, to the promise of what lay beyond the wild and barren hills! he told me that day about the headlong flight of every lawless character out of linrock, the very hour that snecker and wright and sampson were known to have fallen. steele expressed deep feeling, almost mortification, that the credit of that final coup had gone to him, instead of me. his denial and explanation had been only a few soundless words in the face of a grateful and clamorous populace that tried to reward him, to make him mayor of linrock. sampson had made restitution in every case where he had personally gained at the loss of farmer or rancher; and the accumulation of years went far toward returning to linrock what it had lost in a material way. he had been a poor man when he boarded the stage for sanderson, on his way out of texas forever. not long afterward i heard steele talking to miss sampson, in a deep and agitated voice. "you must rise above this. when i come upon you alone i see the shadow, the pain in your face. how wonderfully this thing has turned out when it might have ruined you! i expected it to ruin you. who, but that wild boy in there could have saved us all? diane, you have had cause for sorrow. but your father is alive and will live it down. perhaps, back there in louisiana, the dishonor will never be known. pecos county is far from your old home. and even in san antonio and austin, a man's evil repute means little. "then the line between a rustler and a rancher is hard to draw in these wild border days. rustling is stealing cattle, and i once heard a well-known rancher say that all rich cattlemen had done a little stealing. your father drifted out here, and like a good many others, he succeeded. it's perhaps just as well not to split hairs, to judge him by the law and morality of a civilized country. some way or other he drifted in with bad men. maybe a deal that was honest somehow tied his hands and started him in wrong. "this matter of land, water, a few stray head of stock had to be decided out of court. i'm sure in his case he never realized where he was drifting. then one thing led to another, until he was face to face with dealing that took on crooked form. to protect himself he bound men to him. and so the gang developed. many powerful gangs have developed that way out here. he could not control them. he became involved with them. "and eventually their dealings became deliberately and boldly dishonest. that meant the inevitable spilling of blood sooner or later, and so he grew into the leader because he was the strongest. whatever he is to be judged for i think he could have been infinitely worse." when he ceased speaking i had the same impulse that must have governed steele--somehow to show sampson not so black as he was painted, to give him the benefit of a doubt, to arraign him justly in the eyes of rangers who knew what wild border life was. "steele, bring diane in!" i called. "i've something to tell her." they came quickly, concerned probably at my tone. "i've been hoping for a chance to tell you something, miss sampson. that day i came here your father was quarreling with wright. i had heard them do that before. he hated wright. the reason came out just before we had the fight. it was my plan to surprise them. i did. i told them you went out to meet steele--that you two were in love with each other. wright grew wild. he swore no one would ever have you. then sampson said he'd rather have you steele's wife than wright's. "i'll not forget that scene. there was a great deal back of it, long before you ever came out to linrock. your father said that he had backed wright, that the deal had ruined him, made him a rustler. he said he quit; he was done. now, this is all clear to me, and i want to explain, miss sampson. it was wright who ruined your father. it was wright who was the rustler. it was wright who made the gang necessary. but wright had not the brains or the power to lead men. because blood is thick, your father became the leader of that gang. at heart he was never a criminal. "the reason i respected him was because he showed himself a man at the last. he faced me to be shot, and i couldn't do it. as steele said, you've reason for sorrow. but you must get over it. you mustn't brood. i do not see that you'll be disgraced or dishonored. of course, that's not the point. the vital thing is whether or not a woman of your high-mindedness had real and lasting cause for shame. steele says no. i say no." then, as miss sampson dropped down beside me, her eyes shining and wet, sally entered the room in time to see her cousin bend to kiss me gratefully with sisterly fervor. yet it was a woman's kiss, given for its own sake. sally could not comprehend; it was too sudden, too unheard-of, that diane sampson should kiss me, the man she did not love. sally's white, sad face changed, and in the flaming wave of scarlet that dyed neck and cheek and brow i read with mighty pound of heart that, despite the dark stain between us, she loved me still. chapter convalescence four mornings later we were aboard the stage, riding down the main street, on the way out of linrock. the whole town turned out to bid us farewell. the cheering, the clamor, the almost passionate fervor of the populace irritated me, and i could not see the incident from their point of view. never in my life had i been so eager to get out of a place. but then i was morbid, and the whole world hinged on one thing. morton insisted on giving us an escort as far as del rio. it consisted of six cowboys, mounted, with light packs, and they rode ahead of the stage. we had the huge vehicle to ourselves. a comfortable bed had been rigged up for me by placing boards across from seat to seat, and furnishing it with blankets and pillows. by some squeezing there was still room enough inside for my three companions; but steele expressed an intention of riding mostly outside, and miss sampson's expression betrayed her. i was to be alone with sally. the prospect thrilled while it saddened me. how different this ride from that first one, with all its promise of adventure and charm! "it's over!" said steele thickly. "it's done! i'm glad, for their sakes--glad for ours. we're out of town." i had been quick to miss the shouts and cheers. and i had been just as quick to see, or to imagine, a subtle change in sally langdon's face. we had not traveled a mile before the tension relaxed about her lips, the downcast eyelids lifted, and i saw, beyond any peradventure of doubt, a lighter spirit. then i relaxed myself, for i had keyed up every nerve to make myself strong for this undertaking. i lay back with closed eyes, weary, aching, in more pain than i wanted them to discover. and i thought and thought. miss sampson had said to me: "russ, it'll all come right. i can tell you now what you never guessed. for years sally had been fond of our cousin, george wright. she hadn't seen him since she was a child. but she remembered. she had an only brother who was the image of george. sally devotedly loved arthur. he was killed in the rebellion. she never got over it. that left her without any family. george and i were her nearest kin. "how she looked forward to meeting george out here! but he disappointed her right at the start. she hates a drinking man. i think she came to hate george, too. but he always reminded her of arthur, and she could never get over that. so, naturally, when you killed george she was terribly shocked. there were nights when she was haunted, when i had to stay with her. vaughn and i have studied her, talked about her, and we think she's gradually recovering. she loved you, too; and sally doesn't change. once with her is for always. so let me say to you what you said to me--do not brood. all will yet be well, thank god!" those had been words to remember, to make me patient, to lessen my insistent fear. yet, what did i know of women? had not diane sampson and sally langdon amazed and nonplused me many a time, at the very moment when i had calculated to a nicety my conviction of their action, their feeling? it was possible that i had killed sally's love for me, though i could not believe so; but it was very possible that, still loving me, she might never break down the barrier between us. the beginning of that journey distressed me physically; yet, gradually, as i grew accustomed to the roll of the stage and to occasional jars, i found myself easier in body. fortunately there had been rain, which settled the dust; and a favorable breeze made riding pleasant, where ordinarily it would have been hot and disagreeable. we tarried long enough in the little hamlet of sampson for steele to get letters from reliable ranchers. he wanted a number of references to verify the ranger report he had to turn in to captain neal. this precaution he took so as to place in neal's hands all the evidence needed to convince governor smith. and now, as steele returned to us and entered the stage, he spoke of this report. "it's the longest and the best i ever turned in," he said, with a gray flame in his eyes. "i shan't let russ read it. he's peevish because i want his part put on record. and listen, diane. there's to be a blank line in this report. your father's name will never be recorded. neither the governor, nor the adjutant-general, nor captain neal, nor any one back austin way will ever know who this mysterious leader of the pecos gang might have been. "even out here very few know. many supposed, but few knew. i've shut the mouths of those few. that blank line in the report is for a supposed and mysterious leader who vanished. jack blome, the reputed leader, and all his lawless associates are dead. linrock is free and safe now, its future in the hands of roused, determined, and capable men." we were all silent after steele ceased talking. i did not believe diane could have spoken just then. if sorrow and joy could be perfectly blended in one beautiful expression, they were in her face. by and by i dared to say: "and vaughn steele, lone star ranger, has seen his last service!" "yes," he replied with emotion. sally stirred and turned a strange look upon us all. "in that case, then, if i am not mistaken, there were two lone star rangers--and both have seen their last service!" sally's lips were trembling, the way they trembled when it was impossible to tell whether she was about to laugh or cry. the first hint of her old combative spirit or her old archness! a wave of feeling rushed over me, too much for me in my weakened condition. dizzy, racked with sudden shooting pains, i closed my eyes; and the happiness i embraced was all the sweeter for the suffering it entailed. something beat into my ears, into my brain, with the regularity and rapid beat of pulsing blood--not too late! not too late! from that moment the ride grew different, even as i improved with leaps and bounds. sanderson behind us, the long gray barren between sanderson and the rio grande behind us, del rio for two days, where i was able to sit up, all behind us--and the eastward trail to uvalde before us! we were the only passengers on the stage from del rio to uvalde. perhaps steele had so managed the journey. assuredly he had become an individual with whom traveling under the curious gaze of strangers would have been embarrassing. he was most desperately in love. and diane, all in a few days, while riding these long, tedious miles, ordinarily so fatiguing, had renewed her bloom, had gained what she had lost. she, too, was desperately in love, though she remembered her identity occasionally, and that she was in the company of a badly shot-up young man and a broken-hearted cousin. most of the time diane and steele rode on top of the stage. when they did ride inside their conduct was not unbecoming; indeed, it was sweet to watch; yet it loosed the fires of jealous rage and longing in me; and certainly had some remarkable effect upon sally. gradually she had been losing that strange and somber mood she had acquired, to brighten and change more and more. perhaps she divined something about diane and steele that escaped me. anyway, all of a sudden she was transformed. "look here, if you people want to spoon, please get out on top," she said. if that was not the old sally langdon i did not know who it was. miss sampson tried to appear offended, and steele tried to look insulted, but they both failed. they could not have looked anything but happy. youth and love were too strong for this couple, whom circumstances might well have made grave and thoughtful. they were magnet and steel, powder and spark. any moment, right before my eyes, i expected them to rush right into each other's arms. and when they refrained, merely substituting clasped hands for a dearer embrace, i closed my eyes and remembered them, as they would live in my memory forever, standing crushed together on the ridge that day, white lips to white lips, embodying all that was beautiful, passionate and tragic. and i, who had been their undoing, in the end was their salvation. how i hugged that truth to my heart! it seemed, following sally's pert remark, that after an interval of decent dignity, diane and steele did go out upon the top of the stage. "russ," whispered sally, "they're up to something. i heard a few words. i bet you they're going to get married in san antonio." "well, it's about time," i replied. "but oughtn't they take us into their confidence?" "sally, they have forgotten we are upon the earth." "oh, i'm so glad they're happy!" then there was a long silence. it was better for me to ride lying down, in which position i was at this time. after a mile sally took my hand and held it without speaking. my heart leaped, but i did not open my eyes or break that spell even with a whisper. "russ, i must say--tell you--" she faltered, and still i kept my eyes closed. i did not want to wake up from that dream. "have i been very--very sad?" she went on. "sad and strange, sally. that was worse than my bullet-holes." she gripped my hand. i felt her hair on my brow, felt her breath on my cheek. "russ, i swore--i'd hate you if you--if you--" "i know. don't speak of it," i interposed hurriedly. "but i don't hate you. i--i love you. and i can't give you up!" "darling! but, sally, can you get over it--can you forget?" "yes. that horrid black spell had gone with the miles. little by little, mile after mile, and now it's gone! but i had to come to the point. to go back on my word! to tell you. russ, you never, _never_ had any sense!" then i opened my eyes and my arms, too, and we were reunited. it must have been a happy moment, so happy that it numbed me beyond appreciation. "yes, sally," i agreed; "but no man ever had such a wonderful girl." "russ, i never--took off your ring," she whispered. "but you hid your hand from my sight," i replied quickly. "oh dear russ, we're crazy--as crazy as those lunatics outside. let's think a little." i was very content to have no thought at all, just to see and feel her close to me. "russ, will you give up the ranger service for me?" she asked. "indeed i will." "and leave this fighting texas, never to return till the day of guns and rangers and bad men and even-breaks is past?" "yes." "will you go with me to my old home? it was beautiful once, russ, before it was let run to rack and ruin. a thousand acres. an old stone house. great mossy oaks. a lake and river. there are bear, deer, panther, wild boars in the breaks. you can hunt. and ride! i've horses, russ, such horses! they could run these scrubby broncos off their legs. will you come?" "come! sally, i rather think i will. but, dearest, after i'm well again i must work," i said earnestly. "i've got to have a job." "you're indeed a poor cowboy out of a job! remember your deceit. oh, russ! well, you'll have work, never fear." "sally, is this old home of yours near the one diane speaks of so much?" i asked. "indeed it is. but hers has been kept under cultivation and in repair, while mine has run down. that will be our work, to build it up. so it's settled then?" "almost. there are certain--er--formalities--needful in a compact of this kind." she looked inquiringly at me, with a soft flush. "well, if you are so dense, try to bring back that sally langdon who used to torment me. how you broke your promises! how you leaned from your saddle! kiss me, sally!" later, as we drew close to uvalde, sally and i sat in one seat, after the manner of diane and vaughn, and we looked out over the west where the sun was setting behind dim and distant mountains. we were fast leaving the wild and barren border. already it seemed far beyond that broken rugged horizon with its dark line silhouetted against the rosy and golden sky. already the spell of its wild life and the grim and haunting faces had begun to fade out of my memory. let newer rangers, with less to lose, and with the call in their hearts, go on with our work 'till soon that wild border would be safe! the great lone star state must work out its destiny. some distant day, in the fulness of time, what place the rangers had in that destiny would be history. gunman's reckoning by max brand gunman's reckoning the fifty empty freights danced and rolled and rattled on the rough road bed and filled jericho pass with thunder; the big engine was laboring and grunting at the grade, but five cars back the noise of the locomotive was lost. yet there is a way to talk above the noise of a freight train just as there is a way to whistle into the teeth of a stiff wind. this freight-car talk is pitched just above the ordinary tone--it is an overtone of conversation, one might say--and it is distinctly nasal. the brakie could talk above the racket, and so, of course, could lefty joe. they sat about in the center of the train, on the forward end of one of the cars. no matter how the train lurched and staggered over that fearful road bed, these two swayed in their places as easily and as safely as birds on swinging perches. the brakie had touched lefty joe for two dollars; he had secured fifty cents; and since the vigor of lefty's oaths had convinced him that this was all the money the tramp had, the two now sat elbow to elbow and killed the distance with their talk. "it's like old times to have you here," said the brakie. "you used to play this line when you jumped from coast to coast." "sure," said lefty joe, and he scowled at the mountains on either side of the pass. the train was gathering speed, and the peaks lurched eastward in a confused, ragged procession. "and a durned hard ride it's been many a time." "kind of queer to see you," continued the brakie. "heard you was rising in the world." he caught the face of the other with a rapid side glance, but lefty joe was sufficiently concealed by the dark. "heard you were the main guy with a whole crowd behind you," went on the brakie. "yeh?" "sure. heard you was riding the cushions, and all that." "yeh?" "but i guess it was all bunk; here you are back again, anyway." "yep," agreed lefty. the brakie scratched his head, for the silence of the tramp convinced him that there had been, after all, a good deal of truth in the rumor. he ran back on another tack and slipped about lefty. "i never laid much on what they said," he averred. "i know you, lefty; you can do a lot, but when it comes to leading a whole gang, like they said you was, and all that--well, i knew it was a lie. used to tell 'em that." "you talked foolish, then," burst out lefty suddenly. "it was all straight." the brakie could hear the click of his companion's teeth at the period to this statement, as though he regretted his outburst. "well, i'll be hanged," murmured the brakie innocently. ordinarily, lefty was not easily lured, but this night he apparently was in the mood for talk. "kennebec lou, the clipper, and suds. them and a lot more. they was all with me; they was all under me; i was the main guy!" what a ring in his voice as he said it! the beaten general speaks thus of his past triumphs. the old man remembered his youth in such a voice. the brakie was impressed; he repeated the three names. "even suds?" he said. "was even suds with you?" "even suds!" the brakie stirred a little, wabbling from side to side as he found a more comfortable position; instead of looking straight before him, he kept a side-glance steadily upon his companion, and one could see that he intended to remember what was said on this night. "even suds," echoed the brakie. "good heavens, and ain't he a man for you?" "he was a man," replied lefty joe with an indescribable emphasis. "huh?" "he ain't a man any more." "get bumped off?" "no. busted." the brakie considered this bit of news and rolled it back and forth and tried its flavor against his gossiping palate. "did you fix him after he left you?" "no." "i see. you busted him while he was still with you. then kennebec lou and the clipper get sore at the way you treat suds. so here you are back on the road with your gang all gone bust. hard luck, lefty." but lefty whined with rage at this careless diagnosis of his downfall. "you're all wrong," he said. "you're all wrong. you don't know nothin'." the brakie waited, grinning securely into the night, and preparing his mind for the story. but the story consisted of one word, flung bitterly into the rushing air. "donnegan!" "him?" cried the brakie, starting in his place. "donnegan!" cried lefty, and his voice made the word into a curse. the brakie nodded. "them that get tangled with donnegan don't last long. you ought to know that." at this the grief, hate, and rage in lefty joe were blended and caused an explosion. "confound donnegan. who's donnegan? i ask you, who's donnegan?" "a guy that makes trouble," replied the brakie, evidently hard put to it to find a definition. "oh, don't he make it, though? confound him!" "you ought to of stayed shut of him, lefty." "did i hunt him up, i ask you? am i a nut? no, i ain't. do i go along stepping on the tail of a rattlesnake? no more do i look up donnegan." he groaned as he remembered. "i was going fine. nothing could of been better. i had the boys together. we was doing so well that i was riding the cushions and i went around planning the jobs. nice, clean work. no cans tied to it. but one day i had to meet suds down in the meriton jungle. you know?" "i've heard--plenty," said the brakie. "oh, it ain't so bad--the meriton. i've seen a lot worse. found suds there, and suds was playing black jack with an ol gink. he was trimmin' him close. get suds going good and he could read 'em three down and bury 'em as fast as they came under the bottom card. takes a hand to do that sort of work. and that's the sort of work suds was doing for the old man. pretty soon the game was over and the old man was busted. he took up his pack and beat it, saying nothing and looking sick. i started talking to suds. "and while he was talking, along comes a bo and gives us a once-over. he knew me. 'is this here a friend of yours, lefty? he says. "'sure,' says i. "'then, he's in dutch. he trimmed that old dad, and the dad is one of donnegan's pals. wait till donnegan hears how your friend made the cards talk while he was skinning the old boy! "he passes me the wink and goes on. made me sick. i turned to suds, and the fool hadn't batted an eye. never even heard of donnegan. you know how it is? half the road never heard of it; part of the roads don't know nothin' else. he's like a jumpin tornado; hits every ten miles and don't bend a blade of grass in between. "took me about five minutes to tell suds about donnegan. then suds let out a grunt and started down the trail for the old dad. missed him. dad had got out of the jungle and copped a rattler. suds come back half green and half yeller. "'i've done it; i've spilled the beans,' he says. "'that ain't half sayin' it,' says i. "well, we lit out after that and beat it down the line as fast as we could. we got the rest of the boys together; i had a swell job planned up. everything staked. then, the first news come that donnegan was after suds. "news just dropped on us out of the sky. suds, you know how he is. strong bluff. didn't bat an eye. laughed at this donnegan. got a hold of an old pal of his, named levine, and he is a mighty hot scrapper. from a knife to a toenail, they was nothing that levine couldn't use in a fight. suds sent him out to cross donnegan's trail. "he crossed it, well enough. suds got a telegram a couple days later saying that levine had run into a wild cat and was considerable chawed and would suds send him a stake to pay the doctor? "well, after that suds got sort of nervous. didn't take no interest in his work no more. kept a weather eye out watching for the coming of donnegan. and pretty soon he up and cleaned out of camp. "next day, sure enough, along comes donnegan and asks for suds. we kept still--all but kennebec lou. kennebec is some fighter himself. two hundred pounds of mule muscle with the brain of a devil to tell what to do--yes, you can lay it ten to one that kennebec is some fighter. that day he had a good edge from a bottle of rye he was trying for a friend. "he didn't need to go far to find trouble in donnegan. a wink and a grin was all they needed for a password, and then they went at each other's throats. kennebec made the first pass and hit thin air; and before he got back on his heels, donnegan had hit him four times. then kennebec jumped back and took a fresh start with a knife." here lefty joe paused and sighed. he continued, after a long interval: "five minutes later we was all busy tyin' up what was left of kennebec; donnegan was down the road whistlin' like a bird. and that was the end of my gang. what with kennebec lou and suds both gone, what chance did i have to hold the boys together?" the brakie heard this recital with the keenest interest, nodding from time to time. "what beats me, lefty," he said at the end of the story, "is why you didn't knife into the fight yourself and take a hand with donnegan" at this lefty was silent. it was rather the silence of one which cannot tell whether or not it is worth while to speak than it was the silence of one who needs time for thought. "i'll tell you why, bo. it's because when i take a trail like that it only has one end i'm going to bump off the other bird or he's going to bump off me" the brakie cleared his throat "look here," he said, "looks to me like a queer thing that you're on this train" "does it" queried lefty softly "why?" "because donnegan is two cars back, asleep." "the devil you say!" the brakie broke into laughter "don't kid yourself along," he warned. "don't do it. it ain't wise--with me." "what you mean?" "come on, lefty. come clean. you better do a fade off this train." "why, you fool--" "it don't work, joe. why, the minute i seen you i knew why you was here. i knew you meant to croak donnegan." "me croak him? why should i croak him?" "because you been trailing him two thousand miles. because you ain't got the nerve to meet him face to face and you got to sneak in and take a crack at him while he's lying asleep. that's you, lefty joe!" he saw lefty sway toward him; but, all stories aside, it is a very bold tramp that cares for argument of a serious nature with a brakie. and even lefty joe was deterred from violent action. in the darkness his upper lip twitched, but he carefully smoothed his voice. "you don't know nothing, pal," he declared. "don't i?" "nothing," repeated lefty. he reached into his clothes and produced something which rustled in the rush of wind. he fumbled, and finally passed a scrap of the paper into the hand of the brakie. "my heavens," drawled the latter. "d'you think you can fix me with a buck for a job like this? you can't bribe me to stand around while you bump off donnegan. can't be done, lefty!" "one buck, did you say?" lefty joe expertly lighted a match in spite of the roaring wind, and by this wild light the brakie read the denomination of the bill with a gasp. he rolled up his face and was in time to catch the sneer on the face of lefty before a gust snatched away the light of the match. they had topped the highest point in jericho pass and now the long train dropped into the down grade with terrific speed. the wind became a hurricane. but to the brakie all this was no more than a calm night. his thoughts were raging in him, and if he looked back far enough he remembered the dollar which donnegan had given him; and how he had promised donnegan to give the warning before anything went wrong. he thought of this, but rustling against the palm of his right hand was the bill whose denomination he had read, and that figure ate into his memory, ate into his brain. after all what was donnegan to him? what was donnegan but a worthless tramp? without any answer to that last monosyllabic query, the brakie hunched forward, and began to work his way up the train. the tramp watched him go with laughter. it was silent laughter. in the most quiet room it would not have sounded louder than a continual, light hissing noise. then he, in turn, moved from his place, and worked his way along the train in the opposite direction to that in which the brakie had disappeared. he went expertly, swinging from car to car with apelike clumsiness--and surety. two cars back. it was not so easy to reach the sliding side door of that empty car. considering the fact that it was night, that the train was bucking furiously over the old roadbed, lefty had a not altogether simple task before him. but he managed it with the same apelike adroitness. he could climb with his feet as well as his hands. he would trust a ledge as well as he would trust the rung of a ladder. under his discreet manipulations from above the door loosened and it became possible to work it back. but even this the tramp did with considerable care. he took advantage of the lurching of the train, and every time the car jerked he forced the door to roll a little, so that it might seem for all the world as though the motion of the train alone were operating it. for suppose that donnegan wakened out of his sound sleep and observed the motion of the door; he would be suspicious if the door opened in a single continued motion; but if it worked in these degrees he would be hypersuspicious if he dreamed of danger. so the tramp gave five whole minutes to that work. when it was done he waited for a time, another five minutes, perhaps, to see if the door would be moved back. and when it was not disturbed, but allowed to stand open, he knew that donnegan still slept. it was time then for action, and lefty joe prepared for the descent into the home of the enemy. let it not be thought that he approached this moment with a fallen heart, and with a cringing, snaky feeling as a man might be expected to feel when he approached to murder a sleeping foeman. for that was not lefty's emotion at all. rather he was overcome by a tremendous happiness. he could have sung with joy at the thought that he was about to rid himself of this pest. true, the gang was broken up. but it might rise again. donnegan had fallen upon it like a blight. but with donnegan out of the way would not suds come back to him instantly? and would not kennebec lou himself return in admiration of a man who had done what he, kennebec, could not do? with those two as a nucleus, how greatly might he not build! justice must be done to lefty joe. he approached this murder as a statesman approaches the removal of a foe from the path of public prosperity. there was no more rancor in his attitude. it was rather the blissful largeness of the heart that comes to the politician when he unearths the scandal which will blight the race of his rival. with the peaceful smile of a child, therefore, lefty joe lay stretched at full length along the top of the car and made his choice of weapons. on the whole, his usual preference, day or night, was for a revolver. give him a gat and lefty was at home in any company. but he had reasons for transferring his alliance on this occasion. in the first place, a box car which is reeling and pitching to and fro, from side to side, is not a very good shooting platform--even for a snapshot like lefty joe. also, the pitch darkness in the car would be a further annoyance to good aim. and in the third and most decisive place, if he were to miss his first shot he would not be extremely apt to place his second bullet. for donnegan had a reputation with his own revolver. indeed, it was said that he rarely carried the weapon, because when he did he was always tempted too strongly to use it. so that the chances were large that donnegan would not have the gun now. yet if he did have it--if he, lefty, did miss his first shot--then the story would be brief and bitter indeed. on the other hand, a knife offered advantages almost too numerous to be listed. it gave one the deadly assurance which only comes with the knowledge of an edge of steel in one's hand. and when the knife reaches its mark it ends a battle at a stroke. of course these doubts and considerations pro and con went through the mind of the tramp in about the same space of time that it requires for a dog to waken, snap at a fly, and drowse again. eventually, he took out his knife. it was a sheath knife which he wore from a noose of silk around his throat, and it always lay closest to his heart. the blade of the knife was of the finest spanish steel, in the days when spanish smiths knew how to draw out steel to a streak of light; the handle of the knife was from milan. on the whole, it was a delicate and beautiful weapon--and it had the durable suppleness of--say--hatred itself. lefty joe, like a pirate in a tale, took this weapon between his teeth; allowed his squat, heavy bulk to swing down and dangle at arm's length for an instant, and then he swung himself a little and landed softly on the floor of the car. who has not heard snow drop from the branch upon other snow beneath? that was the way lefty joe dropped to the floor of the car. he remained as he had fallen; crouched, alert, with one hand spread out on the boards to balance him and give him a leverage and a start in case he should wish to spring in any direction. then he began to probe the darkness in every direction; with every glance he allowed his head to dart out a little. the movement was like a chicken pecking at imaginary grains of corn. but eventually he satisfied himself that his quarry lay in the forward end of the car; that he was prone; that he, lefty, had accomplished nine-tenths of his purpose by entering the place of his enemy unobserved. but even though this major step was accomplished successfully, lefty joe was not the man to abandon caution in the midst of an enterprise. the roar of the train would have covered sounds ten times as loud as those of his snaky approach, yet he glided forward with as much care as though he were stepping on old stairs in a silent house. he could see a vague shadow--donnegan; but chiefly he worked by that peculiar sense of direction which some people possess in a dim light. the blind, of course, have that sense in a high degree of sensitiveness, but even those who are not blind may learn to trust the peculiar and inverted sense of direction. with this to aid him, lefty joe went steadily, slowly across the first and most dangerous stage of his journey. that is, he got away from the square of the open door, where the faint starlight might vaguely serve to silhouette his body. after this, it was easier work. of course, when he alighted on the floor of the car, the knife had been transferred from his teeth to his left hand; and all during his progress forward the knife was being balanced delicately, as though he were not yet quite sure of the weight of the weapon. just as a prize fighter keeps his deadly, poised hands in play, moving them as though he fears to lose his intimate touch with them. this stalking had occupied a matter of split seconds. now lefty joe rose slowly. he was leaning very far forward, and he warded against the roll of the car by spreading out his right hand close to the floor; his left hand he poised with the knife, and he began to gather his muscles for the leap. he had already taken the last preliminary movement--he had swung himself to the right side a little and, lightening his left foot, had thrown all his weight upon the right--in fact, his body was literally suspended in the instant of springing, catlike, when the shadow which was donnegan came to life. the shadow convulsed as shadows are apt to swirl in a green pool when a stone is dropped into it; and a bit of board two feet long and some eight inches wide cracked against the shins of lefty joe. it was about the least dramatic weapon that could have been chosen under those circumstances, but certainly no other defense could have frustrated lefty's spring so completely. instead of launching out in a compact mass whose point of contact was the reaching knife, lefty crawled stupidly forward upon his knees, and had to throw out his knife hand to save his balance. it is a singular thing to note how important balance is to men. animals fight, as a rule, just as well on their backs as they do on their feet. they can lie on their sides and bite; they can swing their claws even while they are dropping through the air. but man needs poise and balance before he can act. what is speed in a fighter? it is not so much an affair of the muscles as it is the power of the brain to adapt itself instantly to each new move and put the body in a state of balance. in the prize ring speed does not mean the ability to strike one lightning blow, but rather that, having finished one drive, the fighter is in position to hit again, and then again, so that no matter where the impetus of his last lunge has placed him he is ready and poised to shoot all his weight behind his fist again and drive it accurately at a vulnerable spot. individually the actions may be slow; but the series of efforts seem rapid. that is why a superior boxer seems to hypnotize his antagonist with movements which to the spectator seem perfectly easy, slow, and sure. but if lefty lacked much in agility, he had an animallike sense of balance. sprawling, helpless, he saw the convulsed shadow that was donnegan take form as a straight shooting body that plunged through the air above him. lefty joe dug his left elbow into the floor of the car and whirled back upon his shoulders, bunching his knees high over his stomach. nine chances out of ten, if donnegan had fallen flatwise upon this alert enemy, he would have received those knees in the pit of his own stomach and instantly been paralyzed. but in the jumping, rattling car even donnegan was capable of making mistakes. his mistake in this instance saved his life, for springing too far, he came down not in reaching distance of lefty's throat, but with his chest on the knees of the older tramp. as a result, donnegan was promptly kicked head over heels and tumbled the length of the car. lefty was on his feet and plunging after the tumbling form in the twinkling of an eye, literally speaking, and he was only kept from burying his knife in the flesh of his foe by a sway of the car that staggered him in the act of striking. donnegan, the next instant, was beyond reach. he had struck the end of the car and rebounded like a ball of rubber at a tangent. he slid into the shadows, and lefty, putting his own shoulders to the wall, felt for his revolver and knew that he was lost. he had failed in his first surprise attack, and without surprise to help him now he was gone. he weighed his revolver, decided that it would be madness to use it, for if he missed, donnegan would instantly be guided by the flash to shoot him full of holes. something slipped by the open door--something that glimmered faintly; and lefty joe knew that it was the red head of donnegan. donnegan, soft-footed as a shadow among shadows. donnegan on a blood trail. it lowered the heartbeat of lefty joe to a tremendous, slow pulse. in that moment he gave up hope and, resigning himself to die, determined to fight to the last gasp, as became one of his reputation and national celebrity on "the road." yet lefty joe was no common man and no common fighter. no, let the shade of rusty dick, whom lefty met and beat in his glorious prime--let this shade arise and speak for the prowess of lefty joe. in fact it was because he was such a good fighter himself that he recognized his helplessness in the hands of donnegan. the faint glimmer of color had passed the door. it was dissolved in deeper shadows at once, and soundlessly; lefty knew that donnegan was closer and closer. of one thing he felt more and more confident, that donnegan did not have his revolver with him. otherwise, he would have used it before. for what was darkness to this devil, donnegan. he walked like a cat, and most likely he could see like a cat in the dark. instinctively the older tramp braced himself with his right hand held at a guard before his breast and the knife poised in his left, just as a man would prepare to meet the attack of a panther. he even took to probing the darkness in a strange hope to catch the glimmer of the eyes of donnegan as he moved to the attack. if there were a hair's breadth of light, then donnegan himself must go down. a single blow would do it. but the devil had instructed his favorite donnegan how to fight. he did not come lunging through the shadows to meet the point of that knife. instead, he had worked a snaky way along the floor and now he leaped in and up at lefty, taking him under the arms. a dozen hands, it seemed, laid hold on lefty. he fought like a demon and tore himself away, but the multitude of hands pursued him. they were small hands. where they closed they tore the clothes and bit into his very flesh. once a hand had him by the throat, and when lefty jerked himself away it was with a feeling that his flesh had been seared by five points of red-hot iron. all this time his knife was darting; once it ripped through cloth, but never once did it find the target. and half a second later donnegan got his hold. the flash of the knife as lefty raised it must have guided the other. he shot his right hand up behind the left shoulder of the other and imprisoned the wrist. not only did it make the knife hand helpless, but by bearing down with his own weight donnegan could put his enemy in most exquisite torture. for an instant they whirled; then they went down, and lefty was on top. only for a moment. the impetus which had sent him to the floor was used by donnegan to turn them over, and once fairly on top his left hand was instantly at the throat of lefty. twice lefty made enormous efforts, but then he was done. about his body the limbs of donnegan were twisted, tightening with incredible force; just as hot iron bands sink resistlessly into place. the strangle-hold cut away life at its source. once he strove to bury his teeth in the arm of donnegan. once, as the horror caught at him, he strove to shriek for help. all he succeeded in doing was in raising an awful, sobbing whisper. then, looking death in the face, lefty plunged into the great darkness. when he wakened, he jumped at a stride into the full possession of his faculties. he had been placed near the open door, and the rush of night air had done its work in reviving him. but lefty, drawn back to life, felt only a vague wonder that his life had not been taken. perhaps he was being reserved by the victor for an indian death of torment. he felt cautiously and found that not only were his hands free, but his revolver had not been taken from him. a familiar weight was on his chest--the very knife had been returned to its sheath. had donnegan returned these things to show how perfectly he despised his enemy? "he's gone!" groaned the tramp, sitting up quickly. "he's here," said a voice that cut easily through the roar of the train. "waiting for you, lefty." the tramp was staggered again. but then, who had ever been able to fathom the ways of donnegan? "donnegan!" he cried with a sudden recklessness. "yes?" "you're a fool!" "yes?" "for not finishing the job." donnegan began to laugh. in the uproar of the train it was impossible really to hear the sound, but lefty caught the pulse of it. he fingered his bruised throat; swallowing was a painful effort. and an indescribable feeling came over him as he realized that he sat armed to the teeth within a yard of the man he wanted to kill, and yet he was as effectively rendered helpless as though iron shackles had been locked on his wrists and legs. the night light came through the doorway, and he could make out the slender outline of donnegan and again he caught the faint luster of that red hair; and out of the shadowy form a singular power emanated and sapped his strength at the root. yet he went on viciously: "sooner or later, donnegan, i'll get you!" the red head of donnegan moved, and lefty joe knew that the younger man was laughing again. "why are you after me?" he asked at length. it was another blow in the face of lefty. he sat for a time blinking with owlish stupidity. "why?" he echoed. and he spoke his astonishment from the heart. "why am i after you?" he said again. "why, confound you, ain't you donnegan?" "yes." "don't the whole road know that i'm after you and you after me?" "the whole road is crazy. i'm not after you." lefty choked. "maybe i been dreaming. maybe you didn't bust up the gang? maybe you didn't clean up on suds and kennebec?" "suds? kennebec? i sort of remember meeting them." "you sort of--the devil!" lefty joe sputtered the words. "and after you cleaned up my crowd, ain't it natural and good sense for you to go on and try to clean up on me?" "sounds like it." "but i figured to beat you to it. i cut in on your trail, donnegan, and before i leave it you'll know a lot more about me." "you're warning me ahead of time?" "you've played this game square with me; i'll play square with you. next time there'll be no slips, donnegan. i dunno why you should of picked on me, though. just the natural devil in you." "i haven't picked on you," said donnegan. "what?" "i'll give you my word." a tingle ran through the blood of lefty joe. somewhere he had heard, in rumor, that the word of donnegan was as good as gold. he recalled that rumor now and something of dignity in the manner with which donnegan made his announcement carried a heavy weight. as a rule, the tramps vowed with many oaths; here was one of the nights of the road who made his bare word sufficient. and lefty joe heard with great wonder. "all i ask," he said, "is why you hounded my gang, if you wasn't after me?" "i didn't hound them. i ran into suds by accident. we had trouble. then levine. then kennebec lou tried to take a fall out of me." a note of whimsical protest crept into the voice of donnegan. "somehow there's always a fight wherever i go," he said. "fights just sort of grow up around me." lefty joe snarled. "you didn't mean nothing by just 'happening' to run into three of my boys one after another?" "not a thing." lefty rocked himself back and forth in an ecstasy of impatience. "why don't you stay put?" he complained. "why don't you stake out your own ground and stay put in it? you cut in on every guy's territory. there ain't any privacy any more since you hit the road. what you got? a roving commission?" donnegan waited for a moment before he answered. and when he spoke his voice had altered. indeed, he had remarkable ability to pitch his voice into the roar of the freight train, and above or beneath it, and give it a quality such as he pleased. "i'm following a trail, but not yours," he admitted at length. "i'm following a trail. i've been at it these two years and nothing has come of it." "who you after?" "a man with red hair." "that tells me a lot." donnegan refused to explain. "what you got against him--the color of his hair?" and lefty roared contentedly at his own stale jest. "it's no good," replied donnegan. "i'll never get on the trail." lefty broke in: "you mean to say you've been working two solid years and all on a trail that you ain't even found?" the silence answered him in the affirmative. "ain't nobody been able to tip you off to him?" went on lefty, intensely interested. "nobody. you see, he's a hard sort to describe. red hair, that's all there was about him for a clue. but if any one ever saw him stripped they'd remember him by a big blotchy birthmark on his left shoulder." "eh?" grunted lefty joe. he added: "what was his name?" "don't know. he changed monikers when he took to the road." "what was he to you?" "a man i'm going to find." "no matter where the trail takes you?" "no matter where." at this lefty was seized with unaccountable laughter. he literally strained his lungs with that homeric outburst. when he wiped the tears from his eyes, at length, the shadow on the opposite side of the doorway had disappeared. he found his companion leaning over him, and this time he could catch the dull glint of starlight on both hair and eyes. "what d'you know?" asked donnegan. "how do you stand toward this bird with the birthmark and the red hair?" queried lefty with caution. "what d'you know?" insisted donnegan. all at once passion shook him; he fastened his grip in the shoulder of the larger man, and his fingertips worked toward the bone. "what do you know?" he repeated for the third time, and now there was no hint of laughter in the hard voice of lefty. "you fool, if you follow that trail you'll go to the devil. it was rusty dick; and he's dead!" his triumphant laughter came again, but donnegan cut into it. "rusty dick was the one you--killed!" "sure. what of it? we fought fair and square." "then rusty wasn't the man i want. the man i want would of eaten two like you, lefty." "what about the birthmark? it sure was on his shoulder; donnegan." "heavens!" whispered donnegan. "what's the matter?" "rusty dick," gasped donnegan. "yes, it must have been he." "sure it was. what did you have against him?" "it was a matter of blood--between us," stammered donnegan. his voice rose in a peculiar manner, so that lefty shrank involuntarily. "you killed rusty?" "ask any of the boys. but between you and me, it was the booze that licked rusty dick. i just finished up the job and surprised everybody." the train was out of the mountains and in a country of scattering hills, but here it struck a steep grade and settled down to a grind of slow labor; the rails hummed, and suspense filled the freight car. "hey," cried lefty suddenly. "you fool, you'll do a flop out the door in about a minute!" he even reached out to steady the toppling figure, but donnegan pitched straight out into the night. lefty craned his neck from the door, studying the roadbed, but at that moment the locomotive topped the little rise and the whole train lurched forward. "after all," murmured lefty joe, "it sounds like donnegan. hated a guy so bad that he hadn't any use for livin' when he heard the other guy was dead. but i'm never goin' to cross his path again, i hope." but donnegan had leaped clear of the roadbed, and he struck almost to the knees in a drift of sand. otherwise, he might well have broken his legs with that foolhardy chance. as it was, the fall whirled him over and over, and by the time he had picked himself up the lighted caboose of the train was rocking past him. donnegan watched it grow small in the distance, and then, when it was only a red, uncertain star far down the track, he turned to the vast country around him. the mountains were to his right, not far away, but caught up behind the shadows so that it seemed a great distance. like all huge, half-seen things they seemed in motion toward him. for the rest, he was in bare, rolling country. the sky line everywhere was clean; there was hardly a sign of a tree. he knew, by a little reflection, that this must be cattle country, for the brakie had intimated as much in their talk just before dusk. now it was early night, and a wind began to rise, blowing down the valley with a keen motion and a rapidly lessening temperature, so that donnegan saw he must get to a shelter. he could, if necessary, endure any privation, but his tastes were for luxurious comfort. accordingly he considered the landscape with gloomy disapproval. he was almost inclined to regret his plunge from the lumbering freight train. two things had governed him in making that move. first, when he discovered that the long trail he followed was definitely fruitless, he was filled with a great desire to cut himself away from his past and make a new start. secondly, when he learned that rusty dick had been killed by joe, he wanted desperately to get the throttle of the latter under his thumb. if ever a man risked his life to avoid a sin, it was donnegan jumping from the train to keep from murder. he stooped to sight along the ground, for this is the best way at night and often horizon lights are revealed in this manner. but now donnegan saw nothing to serve as a guide. he therefore drew in his belt until it fitted snug about his gaunt waist, settled his cap firmly, and headed straight into the wind. nothing could have shown his character more distinctly. when in doubt, head into the wind. with a jaunty, swinging step he sauntered along, and this time, at least, his tactics found an early reward. topping the first large rise of ground, he saw in the hollow beneath him the outline of a large building. and as he approached it, the wind clearing a high blowing mist from the stars, he saw a jumble of outlying houses. sheds, barns, corrals--it was the nucleus of a big ranch. it is a maxim that, if you wish to know a man look at his library and if you wish to know a rancher, look at his barn. donnegan made a small detour to the left and headed for the largest of the barns. he entered it by the big, sliding door, which stood open; he looked up, and saw the stars shining through a gap in the roof. and then he stood quietly for a time, listening to the voices of the wind in the ruin. oddly enough, it was pleasant to donnegan. his own troubles and sorrow had poured upon him so thickly in the past hour or so that it was soothing to find evidence of the distress of others. but perhaps this meant that the entire establishment was deserted. he left the barn and went toward the house. not until he was close under its wall did he come to appreciate its size. it was one of those great, rambling, two-storied structures which the cattle kings of the past generation were fond of building. standing close to it, he heard none of the intimate sounds of the storm blowing through cracks and broken walls; no matter into what disrepair the barns had fallen, the house was still solid; only about the edges of the building the storm kept murmuring. yet there was not a light, neither above nor below. he came to the front of the house. still no sign of life. he stood at the door and knocked loudly upon it, and though, when he tried the knob, he found that the door was latched, yet no one came in response. he knocked again, and putting his ear close he heard the echoes walk through the interior of the building. after this, the wind rose in sudden strength and deafened him with rattlings; above him, a shutter was swung open and then crashed to, so that the opening of the door was a shock of surprise to donnegan. a dim light from a source which he could not direct suffused the interior of the hall; the door itself was worked open a matter of inches and donnegan was aware of two keen old eyes glittering out at him. beyond this he could distinguish nothing. "who are you?" asked a woman's voice. "and what do you want?" "i'm a stranger, and i want something to eat and a place to sleep. this house looks as if it might have spare rooms." "where d'you come from?" "yonder," said donnegan, with a sufficiently noncommittal gesture. "what's your name?" "donnegan." "i don't know you. be off with you, mr. donnegan!" he inserted his foot in the closing crack of the door. "tell me where i'm to go?" he persisted. at this her voice rose in pitch, with squeaky rage. "i'll raise the house on you!" "raise 'em. call down the man of the house. i can talk to him better than i can to you; but i won't walk off like this. if you can feed me, i'll pay you for what i eat." a shrill cackling--he could not make out the words. and since patience was not the first of donnegan's virtues, he seized on the knob of the door and deliberately pressed it wide. standing in the hall, now, and closing the door slowly behind him, he saw a woman with old, keen eyes shrinking away toward the staircase. she was evidently in great fear, but there was something infinitely malicious in the manner in which she kept working her lips soundlessly. she was shrinking, and half turned away, yet there was a suggestion that in an instant she might whirl and fly at his face. the door now clicked, and with the windstorm shut away donnegan had a queer feeling of being trapped. "now call the man of the house," he repeated. "see if i can't come to terms with him." "he'd make short work of you if he came," she replied. she broke into a shrill laughter, and donnegan thought he had never seen a face so ugly. "if he came," she said, "you'd rue the day." "well, i'll talk to you, then. i'm not asking charity. i want to pay for what i get." "this ain't a hotel. you go on down the road. inside eight miles you'll come to the town." "eight miles!" "that's nothing for a man to ride." "not at all, if i had something to ride." "you ain't got a horse?" "no." "then how do you come here?" "i walked." if this sharpened her suspicions, it sharpened her fear also. she put one foot on the lowest step of the stairs. "be off with you, mr. donnegally, or whatever your outlandish name is. you'll get nothing here. what brings you--" a door closed and a footstep sounded lightly on the floor above. and donnegan, already alert in the strange atmosphere of this house, gave back a pace so as to get an honest wall behind him. he noted that the step was quick and small, and preparing himself to meet a wisp of manhood--which, for that matter, was the type he was most inclined to fear--donnegan kept a corner glance upon the old woman at the foot of the stairs and steadily surveyed the shadows at the head of the rise. out of that darkness a foot slipped; not even a boy's foot--a very child's. the shock of it made donnegan relax his caution for an instant, and in that instant she came into the reach of the light. it was a wretched light at best, for it came from a lamp with smoky chimney which the old hag carried, and at the raising and lowering of her hand the flame jumped and died in the throat of the chimney and set the hall awash with shadows. falling away to a point of yellow, the lamp allowed the hall to assume a certain indefinite dignity of height and breadth and calm proportions; but when the flame rose donnegan could see the broken balusters of the balustrade, the carpet, faded past any design and worn to rattiness, wall paper which had rotted or dried away and hung in crisp tatters here and there, and on the ceiling an irregular patch from which the plaster had fallen and exposed the lathwork. but at the coming of the girl the old woman had turned, and as she did the flame tossed up in the lamp and donnegan could see the newcomer distinctly. once before his heart had risen as it rose now. it had been the fag end of a long party, and donnegan, rousing from a drunken sleep, staggered to the window. leaning there to get the freshness of the night air against his hot face, he had looked up, and saw the white face of the moon going up the sky; and a sudden sense of the blackness and loathing against the city had come upon donnegan, and the murky color of his own life; and when he turned away from the window he was sober. and so it was that he now stared up at the girl. at her breast she held a cloak together with one hand and the other hand touched the railing of the stairs. he saw one foot suspended for the next step, as though the sight of him kept her back in fear. to the miserable soul of donnegan she seemed all that was lovely, young, and pure; and her hair, old gold in the shadow and pale gold where the lamp struck it, was to donnegan like a miraculous light about her face. indeed, that little pause was a great and awful moment. for considering that donnegan, who had gone through his whole life with his eyes ready either to mock or hate, and who had rarely used his hand except to make a fist of it; donnegan who had never, so far as is known, had a companion; who had asked the world for action, not kindness; this donnegan now stood straight with his back against the wall, and poured out the story of his wayward life to a mere slip of a girl. even the old woman, whose eyes were sharpened by her habit of looking constantly for the weaknesses and vices of men, could not guess what was going on behind the thin, rather ugly face of donnegan; the girl, perhaps, may have seen more. for she caught the glitter of his active eyes even at that distance. the hag began to explain with vicious gestures that set the light flaring up and down. "he ain't come from nowhere, lou," she said. "he ain't going nowhere; he wants to stay here for the night." the foot which had been suspended to take the next step was now withdrawn. donnegan, remembered at last, whipped off his cap, and at once the light flared and burned upon his hair. it was a wonderful red; it shone, and it had a terrible blood tinge so that his face seemed pale beneath it. there were three things that made up the peculiar dominance of donnegan's countenance. the three things were the hair, the uneasy, bright eyes, and the rather thin, compressed lips. when donnegan slept he seemed about to waken from a vigorous dream; when he sat down he seemed about to leap to his feet; and when he was standing he gave that impression of a poise which is ready for anything. it was no wonder that the girl, seeing that face and that alert, aggressive body, shrank a little on the stairs. donnegan, that instant, knew that these two women were really alone in the house as far as fighting men were concerned. and the fact disturbed him more than a leveled gun would have done. he went to the foot of the stairs, even past the old woman, and, raising his head, he spoke to the girl. "my name's donnegan. i came over from the railroad--walked. i don't want to walk that other eight miles unless there's a real need for it. i--" why did he pause? "i'll pay for anything i get here." his voice was not too certain; behind his teeth there was knocking a desire to cry out to her the truth. "i am donnegan. donnegan the tramp. donnegan the shiftless. donnegan the fighter. donnegan the killer. donnegan the penniless, worthless. but for heaven's sake let me stay until morning and let me look at you--from a distance!" but, after all, perhaps he did not need to say all these things. his clothes were rags, upon his face there was a stubble of unshaven red, which made the pallor about his eyes more pronounced. if the girl had been half blind she must have felt that here was a man of fire. he saw her gather the wrap a little closer about her shoulders, and that sign of fear made him sick at heart. "mr. donnegan," said the girl. "i am sorry. we cannot take you into the house. eight miles--" did she expect to turn a sinner from the gates of heaven with a mere phrase? he cast out his hand, and she winced as though he had shaken his fist at her. "are you afraid?" cried donnegan. "i don't control the house." he paused, not that her reply had baffled him, but the mere pleasure of hearing her speak accounted for it. it was one of those low, light voices which are apt to have very little range or volume, and which break and tremble absurdly under any stress of emotion; and often they become shrill in a higher register; but inside conversational limits, if such a term may be used, there is no fiber so delightful, so purely musical. suppose the word "velvet" applied to a sound. that voice came soothingly and delightfully upon the ear of donnegan, from which the roar and rattle of the empty freight train had not quite departed. he smiled at her. "but," he protested, "this is west of the rockies--and i don't see any other way out." the girl, all this time, was studying him intently, a little sadly, he thought. now she shook her head, but there was more warmth in her voice. "i'm sorry. i can't ask you to stay without first consulting my father." "go ahead. ask him." she raised her hand a little; the thought seemed to bring her to the verge of trembling, as though he were asking a sacrilege. "why not?" he urged. she did not answer, but, instead, her eyes sought the old, woman, as if to gain her interposition; she burst instantly into speech. "which there's no good talking any more," declared the ancient vixen. "are you wanting to make trouble for her with the colonel? be off, young man. it ain't the first time i've told you you'd get nowhere in this house!" there was no possible answer left to donnegan, and he did as usual the surprising thing. he broke into laughter of such clear and ringing tone--such infectious laughter--that the old woman blinked in the midst of her wrath as though she were seeing a new man, and he saw the lips of the girl parted in wonder. "my father is an invalid," said the girl. "and he lives by strict rules. i could not break in on him at this time of the evening." "if that's all"--donnegan actually began to mount the steps--"i'll go in and talk to your father myself." she had retired one pace as he began advancing, but as the import of what he said became clear to her she was rooted to one position by astonishment. "colonel macon--my father--" she began. then: "do you really wish to see him?" the hushed voice made donnegan smile--it was such a voice as one boy uses when he asks the other if he really dares enter the pasture of the red bull. he chuckled again, and this time she smiled, and her eyes were widened, partly by fear of his purpose and partly from his nearness. they seemed to be suddenly closer together. as though they were on one side against a common enemy, and that enemy was her father. the old woman was cackling sharply from the bottom of the stairs, and then bobbing in pursuit and calling on donnegan to come back. at length the girl raised her hand and silenced her with a gesture. donnegan was now hardly a pace away; and he saw that she lived up to all the promise of that first glance. yet still she seemed unreal. there is a quality of the unearthly about a girl's beauty; it is, after all, only a gay moment between the formlessness of childhood and the hardness of middle age. this girl was pale, donnegan saw, and yet she had color. she had the luster, say, of a white rose, and the same bloom. lou, the old woman had called her, and macon was her father's name. lou macon--the name fitted her, donnegan thought. for that matter, if her name had been sally smith, donnegan would probably have thought it beautiful. the keener a man's mind is and the more he knows about men and women and the ways of the world, the more apt he is to be intoxicated by a touch of grace and thoughtfulness; and all these age-long seconds the perfume of girlhood had been striking up to donnegan's brain. she brushed her timidity away and with the same gesture accepted donnegan as something more than a dangerous vagrant. she took the lamp from the hands of the crone and sent her about her business, disregarding the mutterings and the warnings which trailed behind the departing form. now she faced donnegan, screening the light from her eyes with a cupped hand and by the same device focusing it upon the face of donnegan. he mutely noted the small maneuver and gave her credit; but for the pleasure of seeing the white of her fingers and the way they tapered to a pink transparency at the tips, he forgot the poor figure he must make with his soiled, ragged shirt, his unshaven face, his gaunt cheeks. indeed, he looked so straight at her that in spite of her advantage with the light she had to avoid his glance. "i am sorry," said lou macon, "and ashamed because we can't take you in. the only house on the range where you wouldn't be welcome, i know. but my father leads a very close life; he has set ways. the ways of an invalid, mr. donnegan." "and you're bothered about speaking to him of me?" "i'm almost afraid of letting you go in yourself." "let me take the risk." she considered him again for a moment, and then turned with a nod and he followed her up the stairs into the upper hall. the moment they stepped into it he heard her clothes flutter and a small gale poured on them. it was criminal to allow such a building to fall into this ruinous condition. and a gloomy picture rose in donnegan's mind of the invalid, thin-faced, sallow-eyed, white-haired, lying in his bed listening to the storm and silently gathering bitterness out of the pain of living. lou macon paused again in the hall, close to a door on the right. "i'm going to send you in to speak to my father," she said gravely. "first i have to tell you that he's different." donnegan replied by looking straight at her, and this time she did not wince from the glance. indeed, she seemed to be probing him, searching with a peculiar hope. what could she expect to find in him? what that was useful to her? not once in all his life had such a sense of impotence descended upon donnegan. her father? bah! invalid or no invalid he would handle that fellow, and if the old man had an acrid temper, donnegan at will could file his own speech to a point. but the girl! in the meager hand which held the lamp there was a power which all the muscles of donnegan could not compass; and in his weakness he looked wistfully at her. "i hope your talk will be pleasant. i hope so." she laid her hand on the knob of the door and withdrew it hastily; then, summoning great resolution, she opened the door and showed donnegan in. "father," she said, "this is mr. donnegan. he wishes to speak to you." the door closed behind donnegan, and hearing that whishing sound which the door of a heavy safe will make, he looked down at this, and saw that it was actually inches thick! once more the sense of being in a trap descended upon him. he found himself in a large room which, before he could examine a single feature of it, was effectively curtained from his sight. straight into his face shot a current of violent white light that made him blink. there was the natural recoil, but in donnegan recoils were generally protected by several strata of willpower and seldom showed in any physical action. on the present occasion his first dismay was swiftly overwhelmed by a cold anger at the insulting trick. this was not the trick of a helpless invalid; donnegan could not see a single thing before him, but he obeyed a very deep instinct and advanced straight into the current of light. he was glad to see the light switched away. the comparative darkness washed across his eyes in a pleasant wave and he was now able to distinguish a few things in the room. it was, as he had first surmised, quite large. the ceiling was high; the proportions comfortably spacious; but what astounded donnegan was the real elegance of the furnishings. there was no mistaking the deep, silken texture of the rug upon which he stepped; the glow of light barely reached the wall, and there showed faintly in streaks along yellowish hangings. beside a table which supported a big reading lamp--gasoline, no doubt, from the intensity of its light--sat colonel macon with a large volume spread across his knees. donnegan saw two highlights--fine silver hair that covered the head of the invalid and a pair of white hands fallen idly upon the surface of the big book, for if the silver hair suggested age the smoothly finished hands suggested perennial youth. they were strong, carefully tended, complacent hands. they suggested to donnegan a man sufficient unto himself. "mr. donnegan, i am sorry that i cannot rise to receive you. now, what pleasant accident has brought me the favor of this call?" donnegan was taken aback again, and this time more strongly than by the flare of light against his eyes. for in the voice he recognized the quality of the girl--the same softness, the same velvety richness, though the pitch was a bass. in the voice of this man there was the same suggestion that the tone would crack if it were forced either up or down. with this great difference, one could hardly conceive of a situation which would push that man's voice beyond its monotone. it flowed with deadly, all-embracing softness. it clung about one; it fascinated and baffled the mind of the listener. but donnegan was not in the habit of being baffled by voices. neither was he a lover of formality. he looked about for a place to sit down, and immediately discovered that while the invalid sat in an enormous easy-chair bordered by shelves and supplied with wheels for raising and lowering the back and for propelling the chair about the room on its rubber tires, it was the only chair in the room which could make any pretensions toward comfort. as a matter of fact, aside from this one immense chair, devoted to the pleasure of the invalid, there was nothing in the room for his visitors to sit upon except two or three miserable backless stools. but donnegan was not long taken aback. he tucked his cap under his arm, bowed profoundly in honor of the colonel's compliments, and brought one of the stools to a place where it was no nearer the rather ominous circle of the lamplight than was the invalid himself. with his eyes accustomed to the new light, donnegan could now take better stock of his host. he saw a rather handsome face, with eyes exceedingly blue, young, and active; but the features of macon as well as his body were blurred and obscured by a great fatness. he was truly a prodigious man, and one could understand the stoutness with which the invalid chair was made. his great wrist dimpled like the wrist of a healthy baby, and his face was so enlarged with superfluous flesh that the lower part of it quite dwarfed the upper. he seemed, at first glance, a man with a low forehead and bright, careless eyes and a body made immobile by flesh and sickness. a man whose spirits despised and defied pain. yet a second glance showed that the forehead was, after all, a nobly proportioned one, and for all the bulk of that figure, for all the cripple-chair, donnegan would not have been surprised to see the bulk spring lightly out of the chair to meet him. for his own part, sitting back on the stool with his cap tucked under his arm and his hands folded about one knee, he met the faint, cold smile of the colonel with a broad grin of his own. "i can put it in a nutshell," said donnegan. "i was tired; dead beat; needed a handout, and rapped at your door. along comes a mystery in the shape of an ugly-looking woman and opens the door to me. tries to shut me out; i decided to come in. she insists on keeping me outside; all at once i see that i have to get into the house. i am brought in; your daughter tries to steer me off, sees that the job is more than she can get away with, and shelves me off upon you. and that, colonel macon, is the pleasant accident which brings you the favor of this call." it would have been a speech both stupid and pert in the mouth of another; but donnegan knew how to flavor words with a touch of mockery of himself as well as another. there were two manners in which this speech could have been received--with a wink or with a smile. but it would have been impossible to hear it and grow frigid. as for the colonel, he smiled. it was a tricky smile, however, as donnegan felt. it spread easily upon that vast face and again went out and left all to the dominion of the cold, bright eyes. "a case of curiosity," commented the colonel. "a case of hunger," said donnegan. "my dear mr. donnegan, put it that way if you wish!" "and a case of blankets needed for one night." "really? have you ventured into such a country as this without any equipment?" "outside of my purse, my equipment is of the invisible kind." "wits," suggested the colonel. "thank you." "not at all. you hinted at it yourself." "however, a hint is harder to take than to make." the colonel raised his faultless right hand--and oddly enough his great corpulence did not extend in the slightest degree to his hand, but stopped short at the wrists--and stroked his immense chin. his skin was like lou macon's, except that in place of the white-flower bloom his was a parchment, dead pallor. he lowered his hand with the same slow precision and folded it with the other, all the time probing donnegan with his difficult eyes. "unfortunately--most unfortunately, it is impossible for me to accommodate you, mr. donnegan." the reply was not flippant, but quick. "not at all. i am the easiest person in the world to accommodate." the big man smiled sadly. "my fortune has fallen upon evil days, sir. it is no longer what it was. there are in this house three habitable rooms; this one; my daughter's apartment; the kitchen where old haggie sleeps. otherwise you are in a rat trap of a place." he shook his head, a slow, decisive motion. "a spare blanket," said donnegan, "will be enough." there was another sigh and another shake of the head. "even a corner of a rug to roll up in will do perfectly." "you see, it is impossible for me to entertain you." "bare boards will do well enough for me, colonel macon. and if i have a piece of bread, a plate of cold beans--anything--i can entertain myself." "i am sorry to see you so compliant, mr. donnegan, because that makes my refusal seem the more unkind. but i cannot have you sleeping on the bare floor. not on such a night. pneumonia comes on one like a cat in the dark in such weather. it is really impossible to keep you here, sir." "h'm-m," said donnegan. he began to feel that he was stumped, and it was a most unusual feeling for him. "besides, for a young fellow like you, with your agility, what is eight miles? walk down the road and you will come to a place where you will be made at home and fed like a king." "eight miles, that's not much! but on such a night as this?" there was a faint glint in the eyes of the colonel; was he not sharpening his wits for his contest of words, and enjoying it? "the wind will be at your back and buoy your steps. it will shorten the eight miles to four." very definitely donnegan felt that the other was reading him. what was it that he saw as he turned the pages? "there is one thing you fail to take into your accounting." "ah?" "i have an irresistible aversion to walking." "ah?" repeated macon. "or exercise in any form." "then you are unfortunate to be in this country without a horse." "unfortunate, perhaps, but the fact is that i'm here. very sorry to trouble you, though, colonel." "i am rarely troubled," said the colonel coldly. "and since i have no means of accommodation, the laws of hospitality rest light on my shoulders." "yet i have an odd thought," replied donnegan. "well? you have expressed a number already, it seems to me." "it's this: that you've already made up your mind to keep me here." the colonel stiffened in his chair, and under his bulk even those ponderous timbers quaked a little. once more donnegan gained an impression of chained activity ready to rise to any emergency. the colonel's jaw set and the last vestige of the smile left his eyes. yet it was not anger that showed in its place. instead, it was rather a hungry searching. he looked keenly into the face and the soul of donnegan as a searchlight sweeps over waters by night. "you are a mind reader, mr. donnegan." "no more of a mind reader than a chinaman is." "ah, they are great readers of mind, my friend." donnegan grinned, and at this the colonel frowned. "a great and mysterious people, sir. i keep evidences of them always about me. look!" he swept the shaft of the reading light up and it fell upon a red vase against the yellow hangings. even donnegan's inexperienced eye read a price into that shimmering vase. "queer color," he said. "dusty claret. ah, they have the only names for their colors. think! peach bloom--liquid dawn--ripe cherry--oil green--green of powdered tea--blue of the sky after rain--what names for color! what other land possesses such a tongue that goes straight to the heart!" the colonel waved his faultless hands and then dropped them back upon the book with the tenderness of a benediction. "and their terms for texture--pear's rind--lime peel--millet seed! do not scoff at china, mr. donnegan. she is the fairy godmother, and we are the poor children." he changed the direction of the light; donnegan watched him, fascinated. "but what convinced you that i wished to keep you here?" "to amuse you, colonel macon." the colonel exposed gleaming white teeth and laughed in that soft, smooth-flowing voice. "amuse me? for fifteen years i have sat in this room and amused myself by taking in what i would and shutting out the rest of the world. i have made the walls thick and padded them to keep out all sound. you observe that there is no evidence here of the storm that is going on tonight. amuse me? indeed!" and donnegan thought of lou macon in her old, drab dress, huddling the poor cloak around her shoulders to keep out the cold, while her father lounged here in luxury. he could gladly have buried his lean fingers in that fat throat. from the first he had had an aversion to this man. "very well, i shall go. it has been a pleasant chat, colonel." "very pleasant. and thank you. but before you go, taste this whisky. it will help you when you enter the wind." he opened a cabinet in the side of the chair and brought out a black bottle and a pair of glasses and put them on the broad arm of the chair. donnegan sauntered back. "you see," he murmured, "you will not let me go." at this the colonel raised his head suddenly and glared into the eyes of his guest, and yet so perfect was his muscular and nerve control that he did not interrupt the thin stream of amber which trickled into one of the glasses. looking down again, he finished pouring the drinks. they pledged each other with a motion, and drank. it was very old, very oily. and donnegan smiled as he put down the empty glass. "sit down," said the colonel in a new voice. donnegan obeyed. "fate," went on the colonel, "rules our lives. we give our honest endeavors, but the deciding touch is the hand of fate." he garnished this absurd truism with a wave of his hand so solemn that donnegan was chilled; as though the fat man were actually conversant with the three sisters. "fate has brought you to me; therefore, i intend to keep you." "here?" "in my service. i am about to place a great mission and a great trust in your hands." "in the hands of a man you know nothing about?" "i know you as if i had raised you." donnegan smiled, and shaking his head, the red hair flashed and shimmered. "as long as there is no work attached to the mission, it may be agreeable to me." "but there is work." "then the contract is broken before it is made." "you are rash. but i had rather begin with a dissent and then work upward." donnegan waited. "to balance against work--" "excuse me. nothing balances against work for me." "to balance against work," continued the colonel, raising a white hand and by that gesture crushing the protest of donnegan, "there is a great reward." "colonel macon, i have never worked for money before and i shall not work for it now." "you trouble me with interruptions. who mentioned money? you shall not have a penny!" "no?" "the reward shall grow out of the work." "and the work?" "is fighting." at this donnegan narrowed his eyes and searched the fat man thoroughly. it sounded like the talk of a charlatan, and yet there was a crispness to these sentences that made him suspect something underneath. for that matter, in certain districts his name and his career were known. he had never dreamed that that reputation could have come within a thousand miles of this part of the mountain desert. "you should have told me in the first place," he said with some anger, "that you knew me." "mr. donnegan, upon my honor, i never heard your name before my daughter uttered it." donnegan waited soberly. "i despise charlatanry as much as the next man. you shall see the steps by which i judged you. when you entered the room i threw a strong light upon you. you did not blanch; you immediately walked straight into the shaft of light although you could not see a foot before you." "and that proved?" "a combative instinct, and coolness; not the sort of brute vindictiveness that fights for a rage, for a cool-minded love of conflict. is that clear?" donnegan shrugged his shoulders. "and above all, i need a fighter. then i watched your eyes and your hands. the first were direct and yet they were alert. and your hands were perfectly steady." "qualifications for a fighter, eh?" "do you wish further proof?" "well?" "what of the fight to the death which you went through this same night?" donnegan started. it was a small movement, that flinching, and he covered it by continuing the upward gesture of his hand to his coat; he drew out tobacco and cigarette papers and commenced to roll his smoke. looking up, he saw that the eyes of colonel macon were smiling, although his face was grave. a glint of understanding passed between the two men, but not a spoken word. "i assure you, there was no death tonight," said donnegan at length. "tush! of course not! but the tear on the shoulder of your coat--ah, that is too smooth edged for a tear, too long for the bite of a scissors. am i right? tush! not a word!" the colonel beamed with an almost tender pride, and donnegan, knowing that the fat man looked upon him as a murderer, newly come from a death, considered the beaming face and thought many things in silence. "so it was easy to see that in coolness, courage, fighting instinct, skill, you were probably what i want. yet something more than all these qualifications is necessary for the task which lies ahead of you." "you pile up the bad features, eh?" "to entice you, donnegan. for one man, paint a rosy beginning, and once under way he will manage the hard parts. for you, show you the hard shell and you will trust it contains the choice flesh. i was saying, that i waited to see other qualities in you; qualities of the judgment. and suddenly you flashed upon me a single glance; i felt it clash against my willpower. i felt your look go past my guard like a rapier slipping around my blade. i, colonel macon, was for the first time outfaced, out-maneuvered. i admit it, for i rejoice in meeting such a man. and the next instant you told me that i should keep you here out of my own wish! admirable!" the admiration of the colonel, indeed, almost overwhelmed donnegan, but he saw that in spite of the genial smile, the face suffused with warmth, the colonel was watching him every instant, flinty-eyed. donnegan did as he had done on the stairs; he burst into laughter. when he had done, the colonel was leaning forward in his chair with his fingers interlacing, examining his guest from beneath somber brows. as he sat lurched forward he gave a terrible impression of that reserved energy which donnegan had sensed before. "donnegan," said the colonel, "i shall talk no more nonsense to you. you are a terrible fellow!" and donnegan knew that, for the first time in the colonel's life, he was meeting another man upon equal ground. in a way, it was an awful tribute, for one great fact grew upon him: that the colonel represented almost perfectly the power of absolute evil. donnegan was not a squeamish sort, but the fat, smiling face of macon filled him with unutterable aversion. a dozen times he would have left the room, but a silken thread held him back, the thought of lou. "i shall be terse and entirely frank," said the colonel, and at once donnegan reared triple guard and balanced himself for attack or defense. "between you and me," went on the fat man, "deceptive words are folly. a waste of energy." he flushed a little. "you are, i believe, the first man who has ever laughed at me." the click of his teeth as he snapped them on this sentence seemed to promise that he should also be the last. "so i tear away the veils which made me ridiculous, i grant you. donnegan, we have met each other just in time." "true," said donnegan, "you have a task for me that promises a lot of fighting; and in return i get lodgings for the night." "wrong, wrong! i offer you much more. i offer you a career of action in which you may forget the great sorrow which has fallen upon you: and in the battles which lie before you, you will find oblivion for the sad past which lies behind you." here donnegan sprang to his feet with his hand caught at his breast; and he stood quivering, in an agony. pain worked him as anger would do, and, his slender frame swelling, his muscles taut, he stood like a panther enduring the torture because knows it is folly to attempt to escape. "you are a human devil!" donnegan said at last, and sank back upon his stool. for a moment he was overcome, his head falling upon his breast, and even when he looked up his face was terribly pale, and his eyes dull. his expression, however, cleared swiftly, and aside from the perspiration which shone on his forehead it would have been impossible ten seconds later to discover that the blow of the colonel had fallen upon him. all of this the colonel had observed and noted with grim satisfaction. not once did he speak until he saw that all was well. "i am sorry," he said at length in a voice almost as delicate as the voice of lou macon. "i am sorry, but you forced me to say more than i wished to say." donnegan brushed the apology aside. his voice became low and hurried. "let us get on in the matter. i am eager to learn from you, colonel." "very well. since it seems that there is a place for both our interests in this matter, i shall run on in my tale and make it, as i promised you before, absolutely frank and curt. i shall not descend into small details. i shall give you a main sketch of the high points; for all men of mind are apt to be confused by the face of a thing, whereas the heart of it is perfectly clear to them." he settled into his narrative. "you have heard of the corner? no? well, that is not strange; but a few weeks ago gold was found in the sands where the valleys of young muddy and christobel rivers join. the corner is a long, wide triangle of sand, and the sand is filled with a gold deposit brought down from the headwaters of both rivers and precipitated here, where one current meets the other and reduces the resultant stream to sluggishness. the sands are rich--very rich!" he had become a trifle flushed as he talked, and now, perhaps to cover his emotion, he carefully selected a cigarette from the humidor beside him and lighted it without haste before he spoke another word. "long ago i prospected over that valley; a few weeks ago it was brought to my attention again. i determined to stake some claims and work them. but i could not go myself. i had to send a trustworthy man. whom should i select? there was only one possible. jack landis is my ward. a dozen years ago his parents died and they sent him to my care, for my fortune was then comfortable. i raised him with as much tenderness as i could have shown my own son; i lavished on him the affection and--" here donnegan coughed lightly; the fat man paused, and observing that this hypocrisy did not draw the veil over the bright eyes of his guest, he continued: "in a word, i made him one of my family. and when the need for a man came i turned to him. he is young, strong, active, able to take care of himself." at this donnegan pricked his ears. "he went, accordingly, to the corner and staked the claims and filed them as i directed. i was right. there was gold. much gold. it panned out in nuggets." he made an indescribable gesture, and through his strong fingers donnegan had a vision of yellow gold pouring. "but there is seldom a discovery of importance claimed by one man alone. this was no exception. a villain named william lester, known as a scoundrel over the length and breadth of the cattle country, claimed that he had made the discovery first. he even went so far as to claim that i had obtained my information from him and he tried to jump the claims staked by jack landis, whereupon jack, very properly, shot lester down. not dead, unfortunately, but slightly wounded. "in the meantime the rush for the corner started. in a week there was a village; in a fortnight there was a town; in a month the corner had become the talk of the ranges. jack landis found in the claims a mint. he sent me back a mere souvenir." the fat man produced from his vest pocket a little chunk of yellow and with a dexterous motion whipped it at donnegan. it was done so suddenly, so unexpectedly that the wanderer was well-nigh taken by surprise. but his hand flashed up and caught the metal before it struck his face. he found in the palm of his hand a nugget weighing perhaps five ounces, and he flicked it back to the colonel. "he sent me the souvenir, but that was all. since that time i have waited. nothing has come. i sent for word, and i learned that jack landis had betrayed his trust, fallen in love with some undesirable woman of the mining camp, denied my claim to any of the gold to which i had sent him. unpleasant news? yes. ungrateful boy? yes. but my mind is hardened against adversity. "yet this blow struck me close to the heart. because landis is engaged to marry my daughter, lou. at first i could hardly believe in his disaffection. but the truth has at length been borne home to me. the scoundrel has abandoned both lou and me!" donnegan repeated slowly: "your daughter loves this chap?" the colonel allowed his glance to narrow, and he could do this the more safely because at this moment donnegan's eyes were wandering into the distance. in that unguarded second donnegan was defenseless and the colonel read something that set him beaming. "she loves him, of course," he said, "and he is breaking her heart with his selfishness." "he is breaking her heart?" echoed donnegan. the colonel raised his hand and stroked his enormous chin. decidedly he believed that things were getting on very well. "this is the position," he declared. "jack landis was threatened by the wretch lester, and shot him down. but lester was not single-handed. he belongs to a wild crew, led by a mysterious fellow of whom no one knows very much, a deadly fighter, it is said, and a keen organizer and handler of men. red-haired, wild, smooth. a bundle of contradictions. they call him lord nick because he has the pride of a nobleman and the cunning of the devil. he has gathered a few chosen spirits and cool fighters--the pedlar, joe rix, harry masters--all celebrated names in the cattle country. "they worship lord nick partly because he is a genius of crime and partly because he understands how to guide them so that they may rob and even kill with impunity. his peculiarity is his ability to keep within the bounds of the law. if he commits a robbery he always first establishes marvelous alibis and throws the blame toward someone else; if it is the case of a killing, it is always the other man who is the aggressor. he has been before a jury half a dozen times, but the devil knows the law and pleads his own case with a tongue that twists the hearts out of the stupid jurors. you see? no common man. and this is the leader of the group of which lester is one of the most debased members. he had no sooner been shot than lord nick himself appeared. he had his followers with him. he saw jack landis, threatened him with death, and made jack swear that he would hand over half of the profits of the mines to the gang--of which, i suppose, lester gets his due proportion. at the same time, lord nick attempted to persuade jack that i, his adopted father, you might say, was really in the wrong, and that i had stolen the claims from this wretched lester!" he waved this disgusting accusation into a mist and laughed with hateful softness. "the result is this: jack landis draws a vast revenue from the mines. half of it he turns over to lord nick, and lord nick in return gives him absolute freedom and backing in the camp, where he is, and probably will continue the dominant factor. as for the other half, landis spends it on this woman with whom he has become infatuated. and not a penny comes through to me!" colonel macon leaned back in his chair and his eyes became fixed upon a great distance. he smiled, and the blood turned cold in the veins of donnegan. "of course this adventuress, this nelly lebrun, plays hand in glove with lord nick and his troupe; unquestionably she shares her spoils, so that nine-tenths of the revenue from the mines is really flowing back through the hands of lord nick and jack landis has become a silly figurehead. he struts about the streets of the corner as a great mine owner, and with the power of lord nick behind him, not one of the people of the gambling houses and dance halls dares cross him. so that jack has come to consider himself a great man. is it clear?" donnegan had not yet drawn his gaze entirely back from the distance. "this is the possible solution," went on the colonel. "jack landis must be drawn away from the influence of this nelly lebrun. he must be brought back to us and shown his folly both as regards the adventuress and lord nick; for so long as nelly has a hold on him, just so long lord nick will have his hand in jack's pocket. you see how beautifully their plans and their work dovetail? how, therefore, am i to draw him from nelly? there is only one way: send my daughter to the camp--send lou to the corner and let one glimpse of her beauty turn the shabby prettiness of this woman to a shadow! lou is my last hope!" at this donnegan wakened. his sneer was not a pleasant thing to see. "send her to a new mining camp. colonel macon, you have the gambling spirit; you are willing to take great chances!" "so! so!" murmured the colonel, a little taken aback. "but i should never send her except with an adequate protector." "an adequate protector even against these celebrated gunmen who run the camp as you have already admitted?" "an adequate protector--you are the man!" donnegan shivered. "i? i take your daughter to the camp and play her against nelly lebrun to win back jack landis? is that the scheme?" "it is." "ah," murmured donnegan. and he got up and began to walk the room, white-faced; the colonel watched him in a silent agony of anxiety. "she truly loves this landis?" asked donnegan, swallowing. "a love that has grown out of their long intimacy together since they were children." "bah! calf love! let the fellow go and she will forget him. hearts are not broken in these days by disappointments in love affairs." the colonel writhed in his chair. "but lou--you do not know her heart!" he suggested. "if you looked closely at her you would have seen that she is pale. she does not suspect the truth, but i think she is wasting away because jack hasn't written for weeks." he saw donnegan wince under the whip. "it is true," murmured the wanderer. "she is not like others, heaven knows!" he turned. "and what if i fail to bring over jack landis with the sight of lou?" the colonel relaxed; the great crisis was past and donnegan would undertake the journey. "in that case, my dear lad, there is an expedient so simple that you astonish me by not perceiving it. if there is no way to wean landis away from the woman, then get him alone and shoot him through the heart. in that way you remove from the life of lou a man unworthy of her and you also make the mines come to the heir of jack landis--namely, myself. and in the latter case, mr. donnegan, be sure--oh, be sure that i should not forget who brought the mines into my hands!" fifty miles over any sort of going is a stiff march. fifty miles uphill and down and mostly over districts where there was only a rough cow path in lieu of a road made a prodigious day's work; and certainly it was an almost incredible feat for one who professed to hate work with a consuming passion and who had looked upon an eight-mile jaunt the night before as an insuperable burden. yet such was the distance which donnegan had covered, and now he drove the pack mule out on the shoulder of the hill in full view of the corner with the triangle of the young muddy and christobel rivers embracing the little town. even the gaunt, leggy mule was tired to the dropping point, and the tough buckskin which trailed up behind went with downward head. when louise macon turned to him, he had reached the point where he swung his head around first and then grudgingly followed the movement with his body. the girl was tired, also, in spite of the fact that she had covered every inch of the distance in the saddle. there was that violet shade of weariness under her eyes and her shoulders slumped forward. only donnegan, the hater of labor, was fresh. they had started in the first dusk of the coming day; it was now the yellow time of the slant afternoon sunlight; between these two points there had been a body of steady plodding. the girl had looked askance at that gaunt form of donnegan's when they began; but before three hours, seeing that the spring never left his step nor the swinging rhythm his stride, she began to wonder. this afternoon, nothing he did could have surprised her. from the moment he entered the house the night before he had been a mystery. till her death day she would not forget the fire with which he had stared up at her from the foot of the stairs. but when he came out of her father's room--not cowed and whipped as most men left it--he had looked at her with a veiled glance, and since that moment there had always been a mist of indifference over his eyes when he looked at her. in the beginning of that day's march all she knew was that her father trusted her to this stranger, donnegan, to take her to the corner, where he was to find jack landis and bring jack back to his old allegiance and find what he was doing with his time and his money. it was a quite natural proceeding, for jack was a wild sort, and he was probably gambling away all the gold that was dug in his mines. it was perfectly natural throughout, except that she should have been trusted so entirely to a stranger. that was a remarkable thing, but, then, her father was a remarkable man, and it was not the first time that his actions had been inscrutable, whether concerning her or the affairs of other people. she had heard men come into their house cursing colonel macon with death in their faces; she had seen them sneak out after a soft-voiced interview and never appear again. in her eyes, her father was invincible, all-powerful. when she thought of superlatives, she thought of him. her conception of mystery was the smile of the colonel, and her conception of tenderness was bounded by the gentle voice of the same man. therefore, it was entirely sufficient to her that the colonel had said: "go, and trust everything to donnegan. he has the power to command you and you must obey--until jack comes back to you." that was odd, for, as far as she knew, jack had never left her. but she had early discarded any will to question her father. curiosity was a thing which the fat man hated above all else. therefore, it was really not strange to her that throughout the journey her guide did not speak half a dozen words to her. once or twice when she attempted to open the conversation he had replied with crushing monosyllables, and there was an end. for the rest, he was always swinging down the trail ahead of her at a steady, unchanging, rapid stride. uphill and down it never varied. and so they came out upon the shoulder of the hill and saw the storm center of the corner. they were in the hills behind the town; two miles would bring them into it. and now donnegan came back to her from the mule. he took off his hat and shook the dust away; he brushed a hand across his face. he was still unshaven. the red stubble made him hideous, and the dust and perspiration covered his face as with a mask. only his eyes were rimmed with white skin. "you'd better get off the horse, here," said donnegan. he held her stirrup, and she obeyed without a word. "sit down." she sat down on the flat-topped boulder which he designated, and, looking up, observed the first sign of emotion in his face. he was frowning, and his face was drawn a little. "you are tired," he stated. "a little." "you are tired," said the wanderer in a tone that implied dislike of any denial. therefore she made no answer. "i'm going down into the town to look things over. i don't want to parade you through the streets until i know where landis is to be found and how he'll receive you. the corner is a wild town; you understand?" "yes," she said blankly, and noted nervously that the reply did not please him. he actually scowled at her. "you'll be all right here. i'll leave the pack mule with you; if anything should happen--but nothing is going to happen, i'll be back in an hour or so. there's a pool of water. you can get a cold drink there and wash up if you want to while i'm gone. but don't go to sleep!" "why not?" "a place like this is sure to have a lot of stragglers hunting around it. bad characters. you understand?" she could not understand why he should make a mystery of it; but then, he was almost as strange as her father. his careful english and his ragged clothes were typical of him inside and out. "you have a gun there in your holster. can you use it?" "yes." "try it." it was a thirty-two, a woman's light weapon. she took it out and balanced it in her hand. "the blue rock down the hillside. let me see you chip it." her hand went up, and without pausing to sight along the barrel, she fired; fire flew from the rock, and there appeared a white, small scar. donnegan sighed with relief. "if you squeezed the butt rather than pulled the trigger," he commented, "you would have made a bull's-eye that time. now, i don't mean that in any likelihood you'll have to defend yourself. i simply want you to be aware that there's plenty of trouble around the corner." "yes," said the girl. "you're not afraid?" "oh, no." donnegan settled his hat a little more firmly upon his head. he had been on the verge of attributing her gentleness to a blank, stupid mind; he began to realize that there was metal under the surface. he felt that some of the qualities of the father were echoed faintly, and at a distance, in the child. in a way, she made him think of an unawakened creature. when she was roused, if the time ever came, it might be that her eye could become a thing alternately of fire and ice, and her voice might carry with a ring. "this business has to be gotten through quickly," he went on. "one meeting with jack landis will be enough." she wondered why he set his jaw when he said this, but he was wondering how deeply the colonel's ward had fallen into the clutches of nelly lebrun. if that first meeting did not bring landis to his senses, what followed? one of two things. either the girl must stay on in the corner and try her hand with her fiancé again, or else the final brutal suggestion of the colonel must be followed; he must kill landis. it was a cold-blooded suggestion, but donnegan was a cold-blooded man. as he looked at the girl, where she sat on the boulder, he knew definitely, first and last, that he loved her, and that he would never again love any other woman. every instinct drew him toward the necessity of destroying landis. there was his stumbling block. but what if she truly loved landis? he would have to wait in order to find that out. and as he stood there with the sun shining on the red stubble on his face he made a resolution the more profound because it was formed in silence: if she truly loved landis he would serve her hand and foot until she had her will. but all he said was simply: "i shall be back before it's dark." "i shall be comfortable here," replied the girl, and smiled farewell at him. and while donnegan went down the slope full of darkness he thought of that smile. the corner spread more clearly before him with every step he made. it was a type of the gold-rush town. of course most of the dwellings were tents--dog tents many of them; but there was a surprising sprinkling of wooden shacks, some of them of considerable size. beginning at the very edge of the town and spread over the sand flats were the mines and the black sprinkling of laborers. and the town itself was roughly jumbled around one street. over to the left the main road into the corner crossed the wide, shallow ford of the young muddy river and up this road he saw half a dozen wagons coming, wagons of all sizes; but nothing went out of the corner. people who came stayed there, it seemed. he dropped over the lower hills, and the voice of the gold town rose to him. it was a murmur like that of an army preparing for battle. now and then a blast exploded, for what purpose he could not imagine in this school of mining. but as a rule the sounds were subdued by the distance. he caught the muttering of many voices, in which laughter and shouts were brought to the level of a whisper at close hand; and through all this there was a persistent clangor of metallic sounds. no doubt from the blacksmith shops where picks and other implements were made or sharpened and all sorts of repairing carried on. but the predominant tone of the voice of the corner was this persistent ringing of metal. it suggested to donnegan that here was a town filled with men of iron and all the gentler parts of their natures forgotten. an odd place to bring such a woman as lou macon, surely! he reached the level, and entered the town. hunting for news, he went naturally to the news emporium which took the place of the daily paper--namely, he went to the saloons. but on the way he ran through a liberal cross-section of the corner's populace. first of all, the tents and the ruder shacks. he saw little sheet-iron stoves with the tin dishes piled, unwashed, upon the tops of them when the miners rushed back to their work; broken handles of picks and shovels; worn-out shirts and overalls lay where they had been tossed; here was a flat strip of canvas supported by four four-foot poles and without shelter at the sides, and the belongings of one careless miner tumbled beneath this miserable shelter; another man had striven for some semblance of a home and he had framed a five-foot walk leading up to the closed flap of his tent with stones of a regular size. but nowhere was there a sign of life, and would not be until semidarkness brought the unwilling workers back to the tents. out of this district he passed quickly onto the main street, and here there was a different atmosphere. the first thing he saw was a man dressed as a cowpuncher from belt to spurs--spurs on a miner--but above the waist he blossomed in a frock coat and a silk hat. around the coat he had fastened his belt, and the shirt beneath the coat was common flannel, open at the throat. he walked, or rather staggered, on the arm of an equally strange companion who was arrayed in a white silk shirt, white flannel trousers, white dancing pumps, and a vast sombrero! but as if this was not sufficient protection for his head, he carried a parasol of the most brilliant green silk and twirled it above his head. the two held a wavering course and went blindly past donnegan. it was sufficiently clear that the storekeeper had followed the gold. he noted a cowboy sitting in his saddle while he rolled a cigarette. obviously he had come in to look things over rather than to share in the mining, and he made the one sane, critical note in the carnival of noise and color. donnegan began to pass stores. there was the jeweler's; the gent's furnishing; a real estate office--what could real estate be doing on the young muddy's desert? here was the pawnshop, the windows of which were already packed. the blacksmith had a great establishment, and the roar of the anvils never died away; feed and grain and a dozen lunch-counter restaurants. all this had come to the corner within six weeks. liquor seemed to be plentiful, too. in the entire length of the street he hardly saw a sober man, except the cowboy. half a dozen in one group pitched silver dollars at a mark. but he was in the saloon district now, and dominant among the rest was the big, unpainted front of a building before which hung an enormous sign: lebrun's joy emporium donnegan turned in under the sign. it was one big room. the bar stretched completely around two sides of it. the floor was dirt, but packed to the hardness of wood. the low roof was supported by a scattering of wooden pillars, and across the floor the gaming tables were spread. at that vast bar not ten men were drinking now; at the crowding tables there were not half a dozen players; yet behind the bar stood a dozen tenders ready to meet the evening rush from the mines. and at the tables waited an equal number of the professional gamblers of the house. from the door donnegan observed these things with one sweeping glance, and then proceeded to transform himself. one jerk at the visor of his cap brought it down over his eyes and covered his face with shadow; a single shrug bunched the ragged coat high around his shoulders, and the shoulders themselves he allowed to drop forward. with his hands in his pockets he glided slowly across the room toward the bar, for all the world a picture of the guttersnipe who had been kicked from pillar to post until self-respect is dead in him. and pausing in his advance, he leaned against one of the pillars and looked hungrily toward the bar. he was immediately hailed from behind the bar with: "hey, you. no tramps in here. pay and stay in lebrun's!" the command brought an immediate protest. a big fellow stepped from the bar, his sombrero pushed to the back of his head, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow away from vast hairy forearms. one of his long arms swept out and brought donnegan to the bar. "i ain't no prophet," declared the giant, "but i can spot a man that's dry. what'll you have, bud?" and to the bartender he added: "leave him be, pardner, unless you're all set for considerable noise in here." "long as his drinks are paid for," muttered the bartender, "here he stays. but these floaters do make me tired!" he jabbed the bottle across the bar at donnegan and spun a glass noisily at him, and the "floater" observed the angry bartender with a frightened side glance, and then poured his drink gingerly. when the glass was half full he hesitated and sought the face of the bartender again, for permission to go on. "fill her up!" commanded the giant. "fill her up, lad, and drink hearty." "i never yet," observed the bartender darkly, "seen a beggar that wasn't a hog." at this donnegan's protector shifted his belt so that the holster came a little more forward on his thigh. "son," he said, "how long you been in these parts?" "long enough," declared the other, and lowered his black brows. "long enough to be sick of it." "maybe, maybe," returned the cowpuncher-miner, "meantime you tie to this. we got queer ways out here. when a gent drinks with us he's our friend. this lad here is my pardner, just now. if i was him i would of knocked your head off before now for what you've said--" "i don't want no trouble," donnegan said whiningly. at this the bartender chuckled, and the miner showed his teeth in his disgust. "every gent has got his own way," he said sourly. "but while you drink with hal stern you drink with your chin up, bud. and don't forget it. and them that tries to run over you got to run over me." saying this, he laid his large left hand on the bar and leaned a little toward the bartender, but his right hand remained hanging loosely at his side. it was near the holster, as donnegan noticed. and the bartender, having met the boring glance of the big man for a moment, turned surlily away. the giant looked to donnegan and observed: "know a good definition of the word, skunk?" "nope," said donnegan, brightening now that the stern eye, of the bartender was turned away. "here's one that might do. a skunk is a critter that bites when your back is turned and runs when you look it in the eye. here's how!" he drained his own glass, and donnegan dexterously followed the example. "and what might you be doing around these parts?" asked the big man, veiling his contempt under a mild geniality. "me? oh, nothing." "looking for a job, eh?" donnegan shrugged. "work ain't my line," he confided. "h'm-m-m," said hal stern. "well, you don't make no bones about it." "but just now," continued donnegan, "i thought maybe i'd pick up some sort of a job for a while." he looked ruefully at the palms of his hands which were as tender as the hands of a woman. "heard a fellow say that jack landis was a good sort to work for--didn't rush his men none. they said i might find him here." the big man grunted. "too early for him. he don't circulate around much till the sun goes down. kind of hard on his skin, the sun, maybe. so you're going to work for him?" "i was figuring on it." "well, tie to this, bud. if you work for him you won't have him over you." "no?" "no, you'll have"--he glanced a little uneasily around him--"lord nick." "who's he?" "who's he?" the big man started in astonishment. "sufferin' catamounts! who is he?" he laughed in a disagreeable manner. "well, son, you'll find out, right enough!" "the way you talk, he don't sound none too good." hal stern grew anxious. "the way i talk? have i said anything agin' him? not a word! he's--he's--well, there ain't ever been trouble between us and there never ain't going to be." he flushed and looked steadily at donnegan. "maybe he sent you to talk to me?" he asked coldly. but donnegan's eyes took on a childish wideness. "why, i never seen him," he declared. hall stern allowed the muscles of his face to relax. "all right," he said, "they's no harm done. but lord nick is a name that ain't handled none too free in these here parts. remember that!" "but how," pondered donnegan, "can i be working for lord nick when i sign up to work under jack landis?" "i'll tell you how. nick and lebrun work together. split profits. and nelly lebrun works landis for his dust. so the stuff goes in a circle--landis to nelly to lebrun to nick. that clear?" "i don't quite see it," murmured donnegan. "i didn't think you would," declared the other, and snorted his disgust. "but that's all i'm going to say. here come the boys--and dead dry!" for the afternoon was verging upon evening, and the first drift of laborers from the mines was pouring into the corner. one thing at least was clear to donnegan: that everyone knew how infatuated landis had become with nelly lebrun and that landis had not built up an extraordinarily good name for himself. by the time absolute darkness had set in, donnegan, in the new role of lady's chaperon, sat before a dying fire with louise macon beside him. he had easily seen from his talk with stern that landis was a public figure, whether from the richness of his claims or his relations with lord nick and lebrun, or because of all these things; but as a public figure it would be impossible to see him alone in his own tent, and unless louise could meet him alone half her power over him--supposing that she still retained any--would be lost. better by far that landis should come to her than that she should come to him, so donnegan had rented two tents by the day at an outrageous figure from the enterprising real estate company of the corner and to this new home he brought the girl. she accepted the arrangement with surprising equanimity. it seemed that her father's training had eliminated from her mind any questioning of the motives of others. she became even cheerful as she set about arranging the pack which donnegan put in her tent. afterward she cooked their supper over the fire which he built for her. never was there such a quick house-settling. and by the time it was absolutely dark they had washed the dishes and sat before lou's tent looking over the night lights of the corner and hearing the voice of its great white way opening. she had not even asked why he did not bring her straight to jack landis. she had looked into donnegan's tent, furnished with a single blanket and his canvas kit, and had offered to share her pack with him. and now they sat side by side before the tent and still she asked no questions about what was to come. her silence was to donnegan the dropping of the water upon the hard rock. he was crumbling under it, and a wild hatred for the colonel rose in him. no doubt that spirit of evil had foreseen all this; and he knew that every moment spent with the girl would drive donnegan on closer to the accomplishment of the colonel's great purpose--the death of jack landis. for the colonel, as jack's next of kin, would take over all his mining interests and free them at a stroke from the silent partnership which apparently existed with lord nick and lester. one bullet would do all this: and with jack dead, who else stood close to the girl? it was only necessary that she should not know who sped the bullet home. a horrible fancy grew up in donnegan, as he sat there, that between him and the girl lay a dead body. he was glad when the time came and he could tell her that he was going down to the corner to find jack landis and bring him to her. she rose to watch him go and he heard her say "come soon!" it shocked donnegan into realization that for all her calm exterior she was perfectly aware of the danger of her position in the wild mining camp. she must know, also, that her reputation would be compromised; yet never once had she winced, and donnegan was filled with wonder as he went down the hill toward the camp which was spread beneath him; for their tents were a little detached from the main body of the town. behind her gentle eyes, he now felt, and under the softness of her voice, there was the same iron nerve that was in her father. her hatred could be a deathless passion, and her love also; and the great question to be answered now was, did she truly love jack landis? the corner at night was like a scene at a circus. there was the same rush of people, the same irregular flush of lights, the same glimmer of lanterns through canvas, the same air of impermanence. once, in one of those hushes which will fall upon every crowd, he heard a coyote wailing sharply and far away, as though the desert had sent out this voice to mock at the corner and all it contained. he had only to ask once to discover where landis was: milligan's dance hall. before milligan's place a bonfire burned from the beginning of dusk to the coming of day; and until the time when that fire was quenched with buckets of water, it was a sign to all that the merriment was under way in the dance hall. if lebrun's was the sun of the amusement world in the corner, milligan's was the moon. everybody who had money to lose went to lebrun's. every one who was out for gayety went to milligan's. milligan was a plunger. he had brought up an orchestra which demanded fifteen dollars a day and he paid them that and more. he not only was able to do this, but he established a bar at the entrance from which all who entered were served with a free drink. the entrance, also, was not subject to charge. the initial drink at the door was spiced to encourage thirst, so milligan made money as fast, and far more easily, than if he had been digging it out of the ground. to the door of this pleasure emporium came donnegan. he had transformed himself into the ragged hobo by the jerking down of his cap again, and the hunching of his shoulders. and shrinking past the bar with a hungry sidewise glance, as one who did not dare present himself for free liquor, he entered milligan's. that is, he had put his foot across the threshold when he was caught roughly by the shoulder and dragged to one side. he found himself looking up into the face of a strapping fellow who served milligan as bouncer. milligan had an eye for color. andy lewis was tolerably well known as a fighting man of parts, who not only wore two guns but could use them both at once, which is much more difficult than is generally understood. but far more than for his fighting parts milligan hired his bouncer for the sake of his face. it was a countenance made to discourage trouble makers. a mule had kicked lewis in the chin, and a great white welt deformed his lower lip. scars of smallpox added to his decorative effect, and he had those extremely bushy brows which for some reason are generally considered to denote ferocity. now, donnegan was not above middle height at best, and in his present shrinking attitude he found himself looking up a full head into the formidable face of the bouncer. "and what are you doing in here?" asked the genial andy. "don't you know this joint is for white folks?" "i ain't colored," murmured donnegan. "you took considerable yaller to me," declared lewis. he straightway chuckled, and his own keen appreciation of his wit softened his expression. "what you want?" donnegan shivered under his rags. "i want to see jack landis," he said. it had a wonderful effect upon the doorkeeper. donnegan found that the very name of landis was a charm of power in the corner. "you want to see him?" he queried in amazement. "you?" he looked donnegan over again, and then grinned broadly, as if in anticipation. "well, go ahead. there he sits--no, he's dancing." the music was in full swing; it was chiefly brass; but now and then, in softer moments, one could hear a violin squeaking uncertainly. at least it went along with a marked, regular rhythm, and the dancers swirled industriously around the floor. a very gay crowd; color was apparently appreciated in the corner. and donnegan, standing modestly out of sight behind a pillar until the dance ended, noted twenty phases of life in twenty faces. and donnegan saw the flushes of liquor, and heard the loud voices of happy fellows who had made their "strikes"; but in all that brilliant crew he had no trouble in picking out jack landis and nelly lebrun. they danced together, and where they passed, the others steered a little off so as to give them room on the dance floor, as if the men feared that they might cross the formidable landis, and as if the women feared to be brought into too close comparison with nelly lebrun. she was, indeed, a brilliant figure. she had eyes of the creole duskiness, a delicate olive skin, with a pastel coloring. the hand on the shoulder of landis was a thing of fairy beauty. and her eyes had that peculiar quality of seeming to see everything, and rest on every face particularly. so that, as she whirled toward donnegan, he winced, feeling that she had found him out among the shadows. she had a glorious partner to set her off. and donnegan saw bitterly why lou macon could love him. height without clumsiness, bulk and a light foot at once, a fine head, well poised, blond hair and a grecian profile--such was jack landis. he wore a vest of fawn skin; his boots were black in the foot and finished with the softest red leather for the leg. and he had yellow buckskin trousers, laced in a mexican fashion with silver at the sides; a narrow belt, a long, red silk handkerchief flying from behind his neck in cowboy fashion. so much flashing splendor, even in that gay assembly, would have been childishly conspicuous on another man. but in big jack landis there was patently a great deal of the unaffected child. he was having a glorious time on this evening, and his eye roved the room challenging admiration in a manner that was amusing rather than offensive. he was so overflowingly proud of having the prettiest girl in the corner upon his arm and so conscious of being himself probably the finest-looking man that he escaped conceit, it might almost be said, by his very excess of it. upon this splendid individual, then, the obscure donnegan bent his gaze. he saw the dancers pause and scatter as the music ended, saw them drift to the tables along the edges of the room, saw the scurry of waiters hurrying drinks up in the interval, saw nelly lebrun sip a lemonade, saw jack landis toss off something stronger. and then donnegan skirted around the room and came to the table of jack landis at the very moment when the latter was tossing a gold piece to the waiter and giving a new order. prodigal sons in the distance of thought are apt to be both silly: and disgusting, but at close hand they usually dazzle the eye. even the cold brain of donnegan was daunted a little as he drew near. he came behind the chair of the tall master of the corner, and while nelly lebrun stopped her glass halfway to her lips and stared at the ragged stranger, donnegan was whispering in the ear of jack landis: "i've got to see you alone." landis turned his head slowly and his eye darkened a little as he met the reddish, unshaven face of the stranger. then, with a careless shrug of distaste, he drew out a few coins and poured them into donnegan's palm; the latter pocketed them. "lou macon," said donnegan. jack landis rose from his chair, and it was not until he stood so close to donnegan that the latter realized the truly herculean proportions of the young fellow. he bowed his excuses to nelly lebrun, not without grace of manner, and then huddled donnegan into a corner with a wave of his vast arm. "now what do you want? who are you? who put that name in your mouth?" "she's in the corner," said donnegan, and he dwelt upon the face of jack landis with feverish suspense. a moment later a great weight had slipped from his heart. if lou macon loved landis it was beyond peradventure that landis was not breaking his heart because of the girl. for at her name he flushed darkly, and then, that rush of color fading, he was left with a white spot in the center of each cheek. first his glance plunged into vacancy; then it flicked over his shoulder at nelly lebrun and he bit his lip. plainly, it was not the most welcome news that jack landis had ever heard. "where is she?" he asked nervously of donnegan, and he looked over the ragged fellow again. "i'll take you to her." the big man swayed back and forth from foot to foot, balancing in his hesitation. "wait a moment." he strode to nelly lebrun and bent over her; donnegan saw her eyes flash up--oh, heart of the south, what eyes of shadow and fire! jack landis trembled under the glance; yes, he was deeply in love with the girl. and donnegan watched her face shade with suspicion, stiffen with cold anger, warm and soften again under the explanations of jack landis. donnegan, looking from the distance, could read everything; it is nearness that bewitches a man when he talks to a woman. when odysseus talked to circe, no doubt he stood on the farther side of the room! when landis came again, he was perspiring from the trial of fire through which he had just passed. "come," he ordered, and set out at a sweeping stride. plainly he was anxious to get this matter done with as soon as possible. as for donnegan, he saw a man whom landis had summoned to take his place sit down at the table with nelly lebrun. she was laughing with the newcomer as though nothing troubled her at all, but over his shoulder her glance probed the distance and followed jack landis. she wanted to see the messenger again, the man who had called her companion away; but in this it was fox challenging fox. donnegan took note and was careful to place between him and the girl every pillar and every group of people. as far as he was concerned, her first glance must do to read and judge and remember him by. outside landis shot several questions at him in swift succession; he wanted to know how the girl had happened to make the trip. above all, what the colonel was thinking and doing and if the colonel himself had come. but donnegan replied with monosyllables, and landis, apparently reconciling himself to the fact that the messenger was a fool, ceased his questions. they kept close to a run all the way out of the camp and up the hillside to the two detached tents where donnegan and the girl slept that night. a lantern burned in both the tents. "she has made things ready for me," thought donnegan, his heart opening. "she has kept house for me!" he pointed out lou's tent to his companion and the big man, with a single low word of warning, threw open the flap of the tent and strode in. there was only the split part of a second between the rising and the fall of the canvas, but in that swift interval, donnegan saw the girl starting up to receive landis. her calm was broken at last. her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were starry with what? expectancy? love? it stopped donnegan like a blow in the face and turned his heart to lead; and then, shamelessly, he glided around the tent and dropped down beside it to eavesdrop. after all, there was some excuse. if she loved the man he, donnegan, would let him live; if she did not love him, he, donnegan, would kill him like a worthless rat under heel. that is, if he could. no wonder that the wanderer listened with heart and soul! he missed the first greeting. it was only a jumble of exclamations, but now he heard: "but, lou, what a wild idea. across the mountains--with whom?" "the man who brought you here." "who's he?" "i don't know." "you don't know? he looks like a shifty little rat to me." "he's big enough, jack." such small praise was enough to set donnegan's heart thumping. "besides, father told me to go with him, to trust him." "ah!" there was an abrupt chilling and lowering of landis' voice. "the colonel knows him? he's one of the colonel's men?" plainly the colonel was to him as the rod to the child. "why didn't you come directly to me?" "we thought it would be better not to." "h'm-m. your guide--well, what was the colonel's idea in sending you here? heavens above, doesn't he know that a mining camp is no place for a young girl? and you haven't a sign of a chaperon, lou! what the devil can i do? what was in his mind?" "you haven't written for a long time." "good lord! written! letters! does he think i have time for letters?" the lie came smoothly enough. "working day and night?" donnegan smoothed his whiskers and grinned into the night. landis might prove better game than he had anticipated. "he worried," said the girl, and her voice was as even as ever. "he worried, and sent me to find out if anything is wrong." then: "nonsense! what is there to worry about? lou, i'm half inclined to think that the colonel doesn't trust me!" she did not answer. was she reading beneath the boisterous assurance of landis? "one thing is clear to me--and to you, too, i hope. the first thing is to send you back in a hurry." still no answer. "lou, do you distrust me?" at length she managed to speak, but it was with some difficulty: "there is another reason for sending me." "tell me." "can't you guess, jack?" "i'm not a mind reader." "the cad," said donnegan through his teeth. "it's the old reason." "money?" "yes." a shadow swept across the side of the tent; it was landis waving his arm carelessly. "if that's all, i can fix you up and send you back with enough to carry the colonel along. look here--why, i have five hundred with me. take it, lou. there's more behind it, but the colonel mustn't think that there's as much money in the mines as people say. no idea how much living costs up here. heavens, no! and the prices for labor! and then they shirk the job from dawn to dark. i have to watch 'em every minute, i tell you!" he sighed noisily. "but the end of it is, dear"--how that small word tore into the heart of donnegan, who crouched outside--"that you must go back tomorrow morning. i'd send you tonight, if i could. as a matter of fact, i don't trust the red-haired rat who--" the girl interrupted while donnegan still had control of his hair-trigger temper. "you forget, jack. father sent me here, but he did not tell me to come back." at this jack landis burst into an enormous laughter. "you don't mean, lou, that you actually intend to stay on?" "what else can i mean?" "of course it makes it awkward if the colonel didn't expressly tell you just what to do. i suppose he left it to my discretion, and i decide definitely that you must go back at once." "i can't do it." "lou, don't you hear me saying that i'll take the responsibility? if your father blames you let him tell me--" he broke down in the middle of his sentence and another of those uncomfortable little pauses ensued. donnegan knew that their eyes were miserably upon each other; the man tongue-tied by his guilt; the girl wretchedly guessing at the things which lay behind her fiancé's words. "i'm sorry you don't want me here." "it isn't that, but--" he apparently expected to be interrupted, but she waited coolly for him to finish the sentence, and, of course, he could not. after all, for a helpless girl she had a devilish effective way of muzzling landis. donnegan chuckled softly in admiration. all at once she broke through the scene; her voice did not rise or harden, but it was filled with finality, as though she were weary of the interview. "i'm tired out; it's been a hard ride, jack. you go home now and look me up again any time tomorrow." "i--lou--i feel mighty bad about having you up here in this infernal tent, when the camp is full, and--": "you can't lie across the entrance to my tent and guard me, jack. besides, i don't need you for that. the man who's with me will protect me." "he doesn't look capable of protecting a cat!" "my father said that in any circumstances he would be able to take care of me." this reply seemed to overwhelm landis. "the colonel trusts him as far as all that?" he muttered. "then i suppose you're safe enough. but what about comfort, lou?" "i've done without comfort all my life. run along, jack. and take this money with you. i can't have it." "but, didn't the colonel send--" "you can express it through to him. to me it's--not pleasant to take it." "why, lou, you don't mean--" "good night, jack. i don't mean anything, except that i'm tired." the shadow swept along the wall of the tent again. donnegan, with a shaking pulse, saw the profile of the girl and the man approach as he strove to take her in his arms and kiss her good night. and then one slender bar of shadow checked landis. "not tonight." "lou, you aren't angry with me?" "no. but you know i have queer ways. just put this down as one of them. i can't explain." there was a muffled exclamation and landis went from the tent and strode down the hill; he was instantly lost in the night. but donnegan, turning to the entrance flap, called softly. he was bidden to come in, and when he raised the flap he saw her sitting with her hands clasped loosely and resting upon her knees. her lips were a little parted, and colorless; her eyes were dull with a mist; and though she rallied herself a little, the wanderer could see that she was only half-aware of him. the face which he saw was a milestone in his life. for he had loved her jealously, fiercely before; but seeing her now, dazed, hurt, and uncomplaining, tenderness came into donnegan. it spread to his heart with a strange pain and made his hands tremble. all that he said was: "is there anything you need?" "nothing," she replied, and he backed out and away. but in that small interval he had turned out of the course of his gay, selfish life. if jack landis had hurt her like this--if she loved him so truly--then jack landis she should have. there was an odd mixture of emotions in donnegan; but he felt most nearly like the poor man from whose hand his daughter tugs back and looks wistfully, hopelessly, into the bright window at all the toys. what pain is there greater than the pain that comes to the poor man in such a time? he huddles his coat about him, for his heart is as cold as a christmas day; and if it would make his child happy, he would pour out his heart's blood on the snow. such was the grief of donnegan as he backed slowly out into the night. though jack landis were fixed as high as the moon he would tear him out of his place and give him to the girl. the lantern went out in the tent; she was asleep; and when he knew that, donnegan went down into the corner. he had been trying to think out a plan of action, and finding nothing better than to thrust a gun stupidly under landis' nose and make him mark time, donnegan went into lebrun's place. as if he hoped the bustle there would supply him with ideas. lebrun's was going full blast. it was not filled with the shrill mirth of milligan's. instead, all voices were subdued to a point here. the pitch was never raised. if a man laughed, he might show his teeth but he took good care that he did not break into the atmosphere of the room. for there was a deadly undercurrent of silence which would not tolerate more than murmurs on the part of others. men sat grim-faced over the cards, the man who was winning, with his cold, eager eye; the chronic loser of the night with his iron smile; the professional, ever debonair, with the dull eye which comes from looking too often and too closely into the terrible face of chance. a very keen observer might have observed a resemblance between those men and donnegan. donnegan roved swiftly here and there. the calm eye and the smooth play of an obvious professional in a linen suit kept him for a moment at one table, looking on; then he went to the games, and after changing the gold which jack landis had given as alms so silver dollars, he lost it with precision upon the wheel. he went on, from table to table, from group to group. in lebrun's his clothes were not noticed. it was no matter whether he played or did not play, whether he won or lost; they were too busy to notice. but he came back, at length, to the man who wore the linen coat and who won so easily. something in his method of dealing appeared to interest donnegan greatly. it was jackpot; the chips were piled high; and the man in the linen coat was dealing again. how deftly he mixed the cards! indeed, all about him was elegant, from the turn of his black cravat to the cut of the coat. an inebriate passed, shouldered and disturbed his chair, and rising to put it straight again, the gambler was seen to be about the height and build of donnegan. donnegan studied him with the interest of an artist. here was a man, harking back to nelly lebrun and her love of brilliance, who would probably win her preference over jack landis for the simple reason that he was different. that is, there was more in his cravat to attract astonished attention in the corner than there was in all the silver lace of landis. and he was a man's man, no doubt of that. on the inebriate he had flashed one glance of fire, and his lean hand had stirred uneasily toward the breast of his coat. donnegan, who missed nothing, saw and understood. interested? he was fascinated by this man because he recognized the kinship which existed between them. they might almost have been blood brothers, except for differences in the face. he knew, for instance, just what each glance of the man in the linen coat meant, and how he was weighing his antagonists. as for the others, they were cool players themselves, but here they had met their master. it was the difference between the amateur and the professional. they played good chancey poker, but the man in the linen coat did more--he stacked the cards! for the first moment donnegan was not sure; it was not until there was a slight faltering in the deal--an infinitely small hesitation which only a practiced eye like that of donnegan's could have noticed--that he was sure. the winner was crooked. yet the hand was interesting for all that. he had done the master trick, not only giving himself the winning hand but also giving each of the others a fine set of cards. and the betting was wild on that historic pot! to begin with the smallest hand was three of a kind; and after the draw the weakest was a straight. and they bet furiously. the stranger had piqued them with his consistent victories. now they were out for blood. chips having been exhausted, solid gold was piled up on the table--a small fortune! the man in the linen coat, in the middle of the hand, called for drinks. they drank. they went on with the betting. and then at last came the call. donnegan could have clapped his hands to applaud the smooth rascal. it was not an affair of breaking the others who sat in. they were all prosperous mine owners, and probably they had been carefully selected according to the size of purse, in preparation for the sacrifice. but the stakes were swept into the arms and then the canvas bag of the winner. if it was not enough to ruin the miners it was at least enough to clean them out of ready cash and discontinue the game on that basis. they rose; they went to the bar for a drink; but while the winner led the way, two of the losers dropped back a trifle and fell into earnest conversation, frowning. donnegan knew perfectly what the trouble was. they had noticed that slight faltering in the deal; they were putting their mental notes on the game together. but the winner, apparently unconscious of suspicion, lined up his victims at the bar. the first drink went hastily down; the second was on the way--it was standing on the bar. and here he excused himself; he broke off in the very middle of a story, and telling them that he would be back any moment, stepped into a crowd of newcomers. the moment he disappeared, donnegan saw the other four put their heads close together, and saw a sudden darkening of faces; but as for the genial winner, he had no sooner passed to the other side of the crowd and out of view, than he turned directly toward the door. his careless saunter was exchanged for a brisk walk; and donnegan, without making himself conspicuous, was hard pressed to follow that pace. at the door he found that the gambler, with his canvas sack under his arm, had turned to the right toward the line of saddle horses which stood in the shadow; and no sooner did he reach the gloom at the side of the building than he broke into a soft, swift run. he darted down the line of horses until he came to one which was already mounted. this donnegan saw as he followed somewhat more leisurely and closer to the horses to avoid observance. he made out that the man already on horseback was a big negro and that he had turned his own mount and a neighboring horse out from the rest of the horses, so that they were both pointing down the street of the corner. donnegan saw the negro throw the lines of his lead horse into the air. in exchange he caught the sack which the runner tossed to him, and then the gambler leaped into his saddle. it was a simple but effective plan. suppose he were caught in the midst of a cheat; his play would be to break away to the outside of the building, shooting out the lights, if possible--trusting to the confusion to help him--and there he would find his horse held ready for him at a time when a second might be priceless. on this occasion no doubt the clever rascal had sensed the suspicion of the others. at any rate, he lost no time. he waited neither to find his stirrups nor grip the reins firmly, but the same athletic leap which carried him into the saddle set the horse in motion, and from a standing start the animal broke into a headlong gallop. he received, however, an additional burden at once. for donnegan, from the second time he saw the man of the linen coat, had been revolving a daring plan, and during the poker game the plan had slowly matured. the moment he made sure that the gambler was heading for a horse, he increased his own speed. ordinarily he would have been noted, but now, no doubt, the gambler feared no pursuit except one accompanied by a hue and cry. he did not hear the shadow-footed donnegan racing over the soft ground behind him; but when he had gained the saddle, donnegan was close behind with the impetus of his run to aid him. it was comparatively simple, therefore, to spring high in the air, and he struck fairly and squarely behind the saddle of the man in the linen coat. when he landed his revolver was in his hand and the muzzle jabbed into the back of the gambler. the other made one frantic effort to twist around, then recognized the pressure of the revolver and was still. the horses, checking their gallops in unison, were softly dog-trotting down the street. "call off your man!" warned donnegan, for the big negro had reined back; the gun already gleamed in his hand. a gesture from the gambler sent the gun into obscurity, yet still the fellow continued to fall back. "tell him to ride ahead." "keep in front, george." "and not too far." "very well. and now?" "we'll talk later. go straight on, george, to the clump of trees beyond the end of the street. and ride straight. no dodging!" "it was a good hand you played," continued donnegan; taking note that of the many people who were now passing them none paid the slightest attention to two men riding on one horse and chatting together as they rode. "it was a good hand, but a bad deal. your thumb slipped on the card, eh?" "you saw, eh?" muttered the other. "and two of the others saw it. but they weren't sure till afterward." "i know. the blockheads! but i spoiled their game for them. are you one of us, pal?" but donnegan smiled to himself. for once at least the appeal of gambler to gambler should fail. "keep straight on," he said. "we'll talk later on." before donnegan gave the signal to halt in a clear space where the starlight was least indistinct, they reached the center of the trees. "now, george," he said, "drop your gun to the ground." there was a flash and faint thud. "now the other gun." "they ain't any more, sir." "your other gun," repeated donnegan. a little pause. "do what he tells you, george," said the gambler at length, and a second weapon fell. "now keep on your horse and keep a little off to the side," went on donnegan, "and remember that if you try to give me the jump i might miss you in this light, but i'd be sure to hit your horse. so don't take chances, george. now, sir, just hold your hands over your head and then dismount." he had already gone through the gambler and taken his weapons; he was now obeyed. the man of the linen coat tossed up his arms, flung his right leg over the horn of the saddle, and slipped to the ground. donnegan joined his captive. "i warn you first," he said gently, "that i am quite expert with a revolver, and that it will be highly dangerous to attempt to trick me. lower your arms if you wish, but please be careful of what you do with your hands. there are such things as knife throwing, i know, but it takes a fast wrist to flip a knife faster than a bullet. we understand each other?" "perfectly," agreed the other. "by the way, my name is godwin. and suppose we become frank. you are in temporary distress. it was impossible for you to make a loan at the moment and you are driven to this forced--touch. now, if half--" "hush," said donnegan. "you are too generous. but the present question is not one of money. i have long since passed over that. the money is now mine. steady!" this to george, who lurched in the saddle; but godwin was calm as stone. "it is not the question of the money that troubles me, but the question of the men. i could easily handle one of you. but i fear to allow both of you to go free. you would return on my trail; there are such things as waylayings by night, eh? and so, mr. godwin, i think my best way out is to shoot you through the head. when your body is found it will be taken for granted that the servant killed the master for the sake of the money which he won by crooked card play. i think that's simple. put your hands up, george, or, by heck, i'll let the starlight shine through you!" the huge arms of george were raised above his head; godwin, in the meantime, had not spoken. "i almost think you mean it," he said after a short pause. "good," said donnegan. "i do not wish to kill you unprepared." there was a strangled sound deep in the throat of godwin; then he was able to speak again, but now his voice was made into a horrible jumble by fear. "pal," he said, "you're dead wrong. george here--he's a devil. if you let him live he'll kill you--as sure as you're standing here. you don't know him. he's george green. he's got a record as long as my arm and as bad as the devil's name. he--he's the man to get rid of. me? why, man, you and i could team it together. but george--not--" donnegan began to laugh, and the gambler stammered to a halt. "i knew you when i laid eyes on you for the first time," said donnegan. "you have the hands of a craftsman, but your eyes are put too close together. a coward's eyes--a cur's face, godwin. but you, george--have you heard what he said?" no answer from george but a snarl. "it sounds logical what he said, eh, george?" dead silence. "but," said donnegan, "there are flaws in the plan. godwin, get out of your clothes." the other fell on his knees. "for heaven's sake," he pleaded. "shut up," commanded donnegan. "i'm not going to shoot you. i never intended to, you fool. but i wanted to see if you were worth splitting the coin with. you're not. now get out of your clothes." he was obeyed in fumbling haste, and while that operation went on, he succeeded in jumping out of his own rags and still kept the two fairly steadily under the nose of his gun. he tossed this bundle to godwin, who accepted it with a faint oath; and donnegan stepped calmly and swiftly into the clothes of his victim. "a perfect fit," he said at length, "and to show that i'm pleased, here's your purse back. must be close to two hundred in that, from the weight." godwin muttered some unintelligible curse. "tush. now, get out! if you show your face in the corner again, some of those miners will spot you, and they'll dress you in tar and feathers." "you fool. if they see you in my clothes?" "they'll never see these after tonight, probably. you have other clothes in your packs, godwin. lots of 'em. you're the sort who knows how to dress, and i'll borrow your outfit. get out!" the other made no reply; a weight seemed to have fallen upon him along with his new outfit, and he slunk into the darkness. george made a move to follow; there was a muffled shriek from godwin, who fled headlong; and then a sharp command from donnegan stopped the big man. "come here," said donnegan. george washington green rode slowly closer. "if i let you go what would you do?" there was a glint of teeth. "i'd find him." "and break him in two, eh? instead, i'm going to take you home, where you'll have a chance of breaking me in two instead. there's something about the cut of your shoulders and your head that i like, green; and if you don't murder me in the first hour or so, i think we'll get on very well together. you hear?" the silence of george washington green was a tremendous thing. "now ride ahead of me. i'll direct you how to go." he went first straight back through the town and up the hill to the two tents. he made george go before him into the tent and take up the roll of bedding; and then, with george and the bedding leading the way, and donnegan leading the two horses behind, they went across the hillside to a shack which he had seen vacated that evening. it certainly could not be rented again before morning, and in the meantime donnegan would be in possession, which was a large part of the law in the corner, as he knew. a little lean-to against the main shack served as a stable; the creek down the hillside was the watering trough. and donnegan stood by while the big negro silently tended to the horses--removing the packs and preparing them for the night. still in silence he produced a small lantern and lighted it. it showed his face for the first time--the skin ebony black and polished over the cheekbones, but the rest of the face almost handsome, except that the slight flare of his nostrils gave him a cast of inhuman ferocity. and the fierceness was given point by a pair of arms of gorilla length; broad shoulders padded with rolling muscles, and the neck of a bull. on the whole, donnegan, a connoisseur of fighting men, had never seen such promise of strength. at his gesture, george led the way into the house. it was more commodious than most of the shacks of the corner. in place of a single room this had two compartments--one for the kitchen and another for the living room. in vacating the hut, the last occupants had left some of the furnishings behind them. there was a mirror, for instance, in the corner; and beneath the mirror a cheap table in whose open drawer appeared a tumble of papers. donnegan dropped the heavy sack of godwin's winnings to the floor, and while george hung the lantern on a nail on the wall, donnegan crossed to the table and appeared to run through the papers. he was humming carelessly while he did it, but all the time he watched with catlike intensity the reflection of george in the mirror above him. he saw--rather dimly, for the cheap glass showed all its images in waves--that george turned abruptly after hanging up the lantern, paused, and then whipped a hand into his coat pocket and out again. donnegan leaped lightly to one side, and the knife, hissing past his head, buried itself in the wall, and its vibrations set up a vicious humming. as for donnegan, the leap that carried him to one side whirled him about also; he faced the big man, who was now crouched in the very act of following the knife cast with the lunge of his powerful body. there was no weapon in donnegan's hand, and yet george hesitated, balanced--and then slowly drew himself erect. he was puzzled. an outburst of oaths, the flash of a gun, and he would have been at home in the brawl, but the silence, the smile of donnegan and the steady glance were too much for him. he moistened his lips, and yet he could not speak. and donnegan knew that what paralyzed george was the manner in which he had received warning. evidently the simple explanation of the mirror did not occur to the fellow; and the whole incident took on supernatural colorings. a phrase of explanation and donnegan would become again an ordinary human being; but while the small link was a mystery the brain and body of george were numb. it was necessary above all to continue inexplicable. donnegan, turning, drew the knife from the wall with a jerk. half the length of the keen blade had sunk into the wood--a mute tribute to the force and speed of george's hand--and now donnegan took the bright little weapon by the point and gave it back to the other. "if you throw for the body instead of the head," said donnegan, "you have a better chance of sending the point home." he turned his back again upon the gaping giant, and drawing up a broken box before the open door he sat down to contemplate the night. not a sound behind him. it might be that the big fellow had regained his nerve and was stealing up for a second attempt; but donnegan would have wagered his soul that george washington green had his first and last lesson and that he would rather play with bare lightning than ever again cross his new master. at length: "when you make down the bunks," said donnegan, "put mine farthest from the kitchen. you had better do that first." "yes--sir," came the deep bass murmur behind him. and the heart of donnegan stirred, for that "sir" meant many things. presently george crossed the floor with a burden; there was the "whish" of the blankets being unrolled--and then a slight pause. it seemed to him that he could hear a heavier breathing. why? and searching swiftly back through his memory he recalled that his other gun, a stub-nosed thirty-eight, was in the center of his blanket roll. and he knew that george had the weapon in his big hand. one pressure of the trigger would put an end to donnegan; one bullet would give george the canvas sack and its small treasure. "when you clean my gun," said donnegan, "take the action to pieces and go over every part." he could actually feel the start of george. then: "yes, sir," in a subdued whisper. if the escape from the knife had startled george, this second incident had convinced him that his new master possessed eyes in the back of his head. and donnegan, paying no further heed to him, looked steadily across the hillside to the white tent of lou macon, fifty yards away. his plan, grown to full stature so swiftly, and springing out of nothing, well nigh, had come out of his first determination to bring jack landis back to lou macon; for he could interpret those blank, misty eyes with which she had sat after the departure of landis in only one way. yet to rule even the hand of big jack landis would be hard enough and to rule his heart was quite another story. remembering nelly lebrun, he saw clearly that the only way in which he could be brought back to lou was first to remove nelly as a possibility in his eyes. but how remove nelly as long as it was her cue from her father to play landis for his money? how remove her, unless it were possible to sweep nelly off her feet with another man? she might, indeed, be taken by storm, and if she once slighted landis for the sake of another, his boyish pride would probably do the rest, and his next step would be to return to lou macon. all this seemed logical, but where find the man to storm the heart of nelly and dazzle her bright, clever eyes? his own rags had made him shrug his shoulders; and it was the thought of clothes which had made him fasten his attention so closely on the man of the linen suit in lebrun's. donnegan with money, with well-fitted clothes, and with a few notorious escapades behind him--yes, donnegan with such a flying start might flutter the heart of nelly lebrun for a moment. but he must have the money, the clothes, and then he must deliberately set out to startle the corner, make himself a public figure, talked of, pointed at, known, feared, respected, and even loved by at least a few. he must accomplish all these things beginning at a literal zero. it was the impossible nature of this that tempted donnegan. but the paradoxical picture of the ragged skulker in milligan's actually sitting at the same table with nelly lebrun and receiving her smiles stayed with him. he intended to rise, literally phoenixlike, out of ashes. and the next morning, in the red time of the dawn, he sat drinking the coffee which george washington green had made for him and considering the details of the problem. clothes, which had been a main obstacle, were now accounted for, since, as he had suspected, the packs of godwin contained a luxurious wardrobe of considerable compass. at that moment, for instance, donnegan was wrapped in a dressing gown of padded silk and his feet were encased in slippers. but clothes were the least part of his worries. to startle the corner, and thereby make himself attractive in the eyes of nelly lebrun, overshadowing jack landis--that was the thing! but to startle the corner, where gold strikes were events of every twenty-four hours, just now--where robberies were common gossip, and where the killings now averaged nearly three a day--to startle the corner was like trying to startle the theatrical world with a sensational play. indeed, this parallel could have been pursued, for donnegan was the nameless actor and the mountain desert was the stage on which he intended to become a headliner. no wonder, then, that his lean face was compressed in thought. yet no one could have guessed it by his conversation. at the moment he was interrupted, his talk ran somewhat as follows. "george, godwin taught you how to make coffee?" "yes, sir," from george. since the night before he had appeared totally subdued. never once did he venture a comment. and ever donnegan was conscious of big, bright eyes watching him in a reverent fear not untinged by superstition. once, in the middle of the night, he had wakened and seen the vast shadow of george's form leaning over the sack of money. murder by stealth in the dark had been in the giant's mind, no doubt. but when, after that, he came and leaned over donnegan's bunk, the master closed his eyes and kept on breathing regularly, and finally george returned to his own place--softly as a gigantic cat. even in the master's sleep he found something to be dreaded, and donnegan knew that he could now trust the fellow through anything. in the morning, at the first touch of light, he had gone to the stores and collected provisions. and a comfortable breakfast followed. "godwin," resumed donnegan, "was talented in many ways." the big man showed his teeth in silence; for since godwin proposed the sacrifice of the servant to preserve himself, george had apparently altered his opinion of the gambler. "a talented man, george, but he knew nothing about coffee. it should never boil. it should only begin to cream through the crust. let that happen; take the pot from the fire; put it back and let the surface cream again. do this three times, and then pour the liquid from the grounds and you have the right strength and the right heating. you understand?" "yes, sir." "and concerning the frying of bacon--" at this point the interruption came in the shape of four men at the open door; and one of these donnegan recognized as the real estate dealer, who had shrewdly set up tents and shacks on every favorable spot in the corner and was now reaping a rich harvest. gloster was his name. it was patent that he did not see in the man in the silk dressing robe the unshaven miscreant of the day before who had rented the two tents. "how'dee," he said, standing on the threshold, with the other three in the background. donnegan looked at him and through him. "my name is gloster. i own this shack and i've come to find out why you're in it." "george," said donnegan, "speak to him. tel! him that i know houses are scarce in the corner; that i found this place by accident vacant; that i intend to stay in it on purpose." george washington green instantly rose to the situation; he swallowed a vast grin and strode to the door. and though mr. gloster's face crimsoned with rage at such treatment he controlled his voice. in the corner manhood was apt to be reckoned by the pound, and george was a giant. "i heard what your boss said, buddie," said gloster. "but i've rented this cabin and the next one to these three gents and their party, and they want a home. nothing to do but vacate. which speed is the thing i want. thirty minutes will--" "thirty minutes don't change nothing," declared george in his deep, soft voice. the real estate man choked. then: "you tell your boss that jumping a cabin is like jumping a claim. they's a law in the corner for gents like him." george made a gesture of helplessness; but gloster turned to the three. "both shacks or none at all," said the spokesman. "one ain't big enough to do us any good. but if this bird won't vamoose--" he was a tolerably rough-appearing sort and he was backed by two of a kind. no doubt dangerous action would have followed had not george shown himself capable of rising to a height. he stepped from the door; he approached gloster and said in a confidential whisper that reached easily to the other three: "they ain't any call for a quick play, mister. watch yo'selves. maybe you don't know who the boss is?" "and what's more, i don't care," said gloster defiantly but with his voice instinctively lowered. he stared past george, and behold, the man in the dressing gown still sat in quiet and sipped his coffee. "it's donnegan," whispered george. "don--who's he?" "you don't know donnegan?" the mingled contempt and astonishment of george would have moved a thing of stone. it certainly troubled gloster. and he turned to the three. "gents," he said, "they's two things we can do. try the law--and law's a lame lady in these parts--or throw him out. say which?" the three looked from gloster to the shack; from the shack to donnegan, absently sipping his coffee; from donnegan to george, who stood exhibiting a broad grin of anticipated delight. the contrast was too much for them. there is one great and deep-seated terror in the mountain desert, and that is for the man who may be other than he seems. the giant with the rough voice and the boisterous ways is generally due for a stormy passage west of the rockies; but the silent man with the gentle manners receives respect. traditions live of desperadoes with exteriors of womanish calm and the action of devils. and donnegan sipping his morning coffee fitted into the picture which rumor had painted. the three looked at one another, declared that they had not come to fight for a house but to rent one, that the real estate agent could go to the devil for all of them, and that they were bound elsewhere. so they departed and left gloster both relieved and gloomy. "now," said donnegan to george, "tell him that we'll take both the shacks, and he can add fifty per cent to his old price." the bargain was concluded on the spot; the money was paid by george. gloster went down the hill to tell the corner that a mystery had hit the town and george brought the canvas bag back to donnegan with the top still untied--as though to let it be seen that he had not pocketed any of the gold. "i don't want to count it," said donnegan. "keep the bag, george. keep money in your pocket. treat both of us well. and when that's gone i'll get more." if the manner in which donnegan had handled the renting of the cabins had charmed george, he was wholly entranced by this last touch of free spending. to serve a man who was his master was one thing; to serve one who trusted him so completely was quite another. to live under the same roof with a man who was a riddle was sufficiently delightful; but to be allowed actually to share in the mystery was a superhappiness. he was singing when he started to wash the dishes, and donnegan went across the hill to the tent of lou macon. she was laying the fire before the tent; and the morning freshness had cleared from her face any vestige of the trouble of the night before; and in the slant light her hair was glorious, all ruffling gold, semitransparent. she did not smile at him; but she could give the effect of smiling while her face remained grave; it was her inward calm content of which people were aware. "you missed me?" "yes." "you were worried?" "no." he felt himself put quietly at a distance. so he took her up the hill to her new home--the shack beside his own; and george cooked her breakfast. when she had been served, donnegan drew the big man to one side. "she's your mistress," said donnegan. "everything you do for her is worth two things you do for me. watch her as if she were in your eye. and if a hair of her head is ever harmed--you see that fire burning yonder--the bed of coals?" "sir?" "i'll catch you and make a fire like that and feed you into it--by inches!" and the pale face of donnegan became for an instant the face of a demon. george washington green saw, and never forgot. afterward, in order that he might think, donnegan got on one of the horses he had taken from godwin and rode over the hills. they were both leggy chestnuts, with surprising signs of blood' and all the earmarks of sprinters; but in godwin's trade sharp getaways were probably often necessary. the pleasure he took in the action of the animal kept him from getting into his problem. how to startle the corner? how follow up the opening gun which he had fired at the expense of gloster and the three miners? he broke off, later in the day, to write a letter to colonel macon, informing him that jack landis was tied hard and fast by nelly lebrun and that for the present nothing could be done except wait, unless the colonel had suggestions to offer. the thought of the colonel, however, stimulated donnegan. and before midafternoon he had thought of a thing to do. the bar in milligan's was not nearly so pretentious an affair as the bar in lebrun's, but it was of a far higher class. milligan had even managed to bring in a few bottles of wine, and he had dispensed cheap claret at two dollars a glass when the miners wished to celebrate a rare occasion. there were complaints, not of the taste, but of the lack of strength. so milligan fortified his liquor with pure alcohol and after that the claret went like a sweet song in the corner. among other things, he sold mint juleps; and it was the memory of the big sign proclaiming this fact that furnished donnegan with his idea. he had george washington green put on his town clothes--a riding suit in which godwin had had him dress for the sake of formal occasions. resplendent in black boots, yellow riding breeches, and blue silk shirt, the big man came before donnegan for instructions. "go down to milligan's," said the master. "they don't allow colored people to enter the door, but you go to the door and start for the bar. they won't let you go very far. when they stop you, tell them you come from donnegan and that you have to get me some mint for a julep. insist. the bouncer will start to throw you out." george showed his teeth. "no fighting back. don't lift your hand. when you find that you can't get in, come back here. now, ride." so george mounted the horse and went. straight to milligan's he rode and dismounted; and half of the corner's scant daytime population came into the street to see the brilliant horseman pass. scar-faced lewis met the big man at the door. and size meant little to andy, except an easier target. "well, confound my soul," said lewis, blocking the way. "a negro in milligan's? get out!" big george did not move. "i been sent, mister," he said mildly. "i been sent for enough mint to make a julep." "you been sent to the wrong place," declared andy, hitching at his cartridge belt. "ain't you seen that sign?" and he pointed to the one which eliminated colored patrons. "signs don't mean nothin' to my boss," said george. "who's he?" "donnegan." "and who's donnegan?" it puzzled george. he scratched his head in bewilderment seeking for an explanation. "donnegan is--donnegan," he explained. "i heard gloster talk about him," offered someone in the rapidly growing group. "he's the gent that rented the two places on the hill." "tell him to come himse'f," said andy lewis. "we don't play no favorites at milligan's." "mister," said big george, "i don't want to bring no trouble on this heah place, but--don't make me go back and bring donnegan." even andy lewis was staggered by this assurance. "rules is rules," he finally decided. "and out you go." big george stepped from the doorway and mounted his horse. "i call on all you gen'lemen," he said to the assembled group, "to say that i done tried my best to do this peaceable. it ain't me that's sent for donnegan; it's him!" he rode away, leaving scar-faced lewis biting his long mustaches in anxiety. he was not exactly afraid, but he waited in the suspense which comes before a battle. moreover, an audience was gathering. the word went about as only a rumor of mischief can travel. new men had gathered. the few day gamblers tumbled out of lebrun's across the street to watch the fun. the storekeepers were in their doors. lebrun himself, withered and dark and yellow of eye, came to watch. and here and there through the crowd there was a spot of color where the women of the town appeared. and among others, nelly lebrun with jack landis beside her. on the whole it was not a large crowd, but what it lacked in size it made up in intense interest. for though the corner had had its share of troubles of fist and gun, most of them were entirely impromptu affairs. here was a fight in the offing for which the stage was set, the actors set in full view of a conveniently posted audience, and all the suspense of a curtain rising. the waiting bore in upon andy lewis. without a doubt he intended to kill his man neatly and with dispatch, but the possibility of missing before such a crowd as this sent a chill up and down his spine. if he failed now his name would be a sign for laughter ever after in the corner. a hum passed down the street; it rose to a chuckle, and then fell away to sudden silence, for donnegan was coming. he came on a prancing chestnut horse which sidled uneasily on a weaving course, as though it wished to show off for the benefit of the rider and the crowd at once. it was a hot afternoon and donnegan's linen riding suit shone an immaculate white. he came straight down the street, as unaware of the audience which awaited him as though he rode in a park where crowds were the common thing. behind him came george green, just a careful length back. rumor went before the two with a whisper on either side. "that's donnegan. there he comes!" "who's donnegan?" "gloster's man. the one who bluffed out gloster and three others." "he pulled his shooting iron and trimmed the whiskers of one of 'em with a chunk of lead." "d'you mean that?" "what's that kind of a gent doing in the corner?" "come to buy, i guess. he looks like money." "looks like a confounded dude." "we'll see his hand in a minute." donnegan was now opposite the dance hall, and andy lewis had his hand touching the butt of his gun, but though donnegan was looking straight at him, he kept his reins in one hand and his heavy riding crop in the other. and without a move toward his own gun, he rode straight up to the door of the dance hall, with andy in front of it. george drew rein behind him and turned upon the crowd one broad, superior grin. as who should say: "i promised you lightning; now watch it strike!" if the crowd had been expectant before, it was now reduced to wire-drawn tenseness. "are you the fellow who turned back my man?" asked donnegan. his quiet voice fell coldly upon the soul of andy. he strove to warm himself by an outbreak of temper. "they ain't any poor fool dude can call me a fellow!" he shouted. the crowd blinked; but when it opened its eyes the gunplay had not occurred. the hand of andy was relaxing from the butt of his gun and an expression of astonishment and contempt was growing upon his face. "i haven't come to curse you," said the rider, still occupying his hands with crop and reins. "i've come to ask you a question and get an answer. are you the fellow who turned back my man?" "i guess you ain't the kind i was expectin' to call on me," drawled andy, his fear gone, and he winked at the crowd. but the others were not yet ready to laugh. something about the calm face of donnegan had impressed them. "sure, i'm the one that kicked him out. he ain't allowed in there." "it's the last of my thoughts to break in upon a convention in your city," replied the grave rider, "but my man was sent on an errand and therefore he had a right to expect courtesy. george, get off your horse and go into milligan's place. i want that mint!" for a moment andy was too stunned to answer. then his voice came harshly and he swayed from side to side, gathering and summoning his wrath. "keep out boy! keep out, or you're buzzard meat. i'm warnin'--" for the first time his glance left the rider to find george, and that instant was fatal. the hand of donnegan licked out as the snake's tongue darts--the loaded quirt slipped over in his hand, and holding it by the lash he brought the butt of it thudding on the head of andy. even then the instinct to fight remained in the stunned man; while he fell, he was drawing the revolver; he lay in a crumpling heap at the feet of donnegan's horse with the revolver shoved muzzle first into the sand. donnegan's voice did not rise. "go in and get that mint, george," he ordered. "and hurry. this rascal has kept me waiting until i'm thirsty." big george hesitated only one instant--it was to sweep the crowd for the second time with his confident grin--and he strode through the door of the dance hall. as for donnegan, his only movement was to swing his horse around and shift riding crop and reins into the grip of his left hand. his other hand was dropped carelessly upon his hip. now, both these things were very simple maneuvers, but the corner noted that his change of face had enabled donnegan to bring the crowd under his eye, and that his right hand was now ready for a more serious bit of work if need be. moreover, he was probing faces with his glance. and every armed man in that group felt that the eye of the rider was directed particularly toward him. there had been one brief murmur; then the silence lay heavily again, for it was seen that andy had been only slightly stunned--knocked out, as a boxer might be. now his sturdy brains were clearing. his body stiffened into a human semblance once more; he fumbled, found the butt of his gun with his first move. he pushed his hat straight: and so doing he raked the welt which the blow had left on his head. the pain finished clearing the mist from his mind; in an instant he was on his feet, maddened with shame. he saw the semicircle of white faces, and the whole episode flashed back on him. he had been knocked down like a dog. for a moment he looked into the blank faces of the crowd; someone noted that there was no gun strapped at the side of donnegan. a voice shouted a warning. "stop, lewis. the dude ain't got a gun. it's murder!" it was now that lewis saw donnegan sitting the saddle directly behind him, and he whirled with a moan of fury. it was a twist of his body--in his eagerness--rather than a turning upon his feet. and he was half around before the rider moved. then he conjured a gun from somewhere in his clothes. there was the flash of the steel, an explosion, and scar-faced lewis was on his knees with a scream of pain holding his right forearm with his left hand. the crowd hesitated still for a second, as though it feared to interfere; but donnegan had already put up his weapon. a wave of the curious spectators rushed across the street and gathered around the injured man. they found that he had been shot through the fleshy part of the thumb, and the bullet, ranging down the arm, had sliced a furrow to the bone all the way to the elbow. it was a grisly wound. big george washington green came running to the door of the dance hall with a sprig of something green in his hand; one glance assured him that all was well; and once more that wide, confident grin spread upon his face. he came to the master and offered the mint; and donnegan, raising it to his face, inhaled the scent deeply. "good," he said. "and now for a julep, george! let's go home!" across the street a dark-eyed girl had clasped the arm of her companion in hysterical excitement. "did you see?" she asked of her tall companion. "i saw a murderer shoot down a man; he ought to be hung for it!" "but the mint! did you see him smile over it? oh, what a devil he is; and what a man!" jack landis flashed a glance of suspicion down at her, but her dancing eyes had quite forgotten him. they were following the progress of donnegan down the street. he rode slowly, and george kept that formal distance, just a length behind. before milligan's the crowd began to buzz like murmuring hornets around a nest that has been tapped, when they pour out and cannot find the disturber. it was a rather helpless milling around the wounded man, and nelly lebrun was the one who worked her way through the crowd and came to andy lewis. she did not like andy. she had been known to refer to him as a cowardly hawk of a man; but now she bullied the crowd in a shrill voice and made them bring water and cloth. then she cleansed and bandaged the wound in andy lewis' arm and had some of them take him away. by this time the outskirts of the crowd had melted away; but those who had really seen all parts of the little drama remained to talk. the subject was a real one. had donnegan aimed at the hand of andy and risked his own life on his ability to disable the other without killing him? or had he fired at lewis' body and struck the hand and arm only by a random lucky chance? if the second were the case, he was only a fair shot with plenty of nerve and a great deal of luck. if the first were true, then this was a nerve of ice-tempered steel, an eye vulture-sharp, and a hand, miraculous, fast, and certain. to strike that swinging hand with a snap shot, when a miss meant a bullet fired at his own body at deadly short range--truly it would take a credulous man to believe that donnegan had coldly planned to disable his man without killing him. "a murderer by intention," exclaimed milligan. he had hunted long and hard before he found a man with a face like that of lewis, capable of maintaining order by a glance; now he wanted revenge. "a murder by intention!" he cried to the crowd, standing beside the place where the imprint of andy's knees was still in the sand. "and like a murderer he ought to be treated. he aimed to kill andy; he had luck and only broke his hand. now, boys, i say it ain't so much what he's done as the way he's done it. he's given us the laugh. he's come in here in his dude clothes and tried to walk over us. but it don't work. not in the corner. if andy was dead, i'd say lynch the dude. but he ain't, and all i say is: run him out of town." here there was a brief outburst of applause, but when it ended, it was observed that there was a low, soft laughter. the crowd gave way between milligan and the mocker. it was seen that he who laughed was old lebrun, rubbing his olive-skinned hands together and showing his teeth in his mirth. there was no love lost between lebrun and milligan, even if nelly was often in the dance hall and the center of its merriment. "it takes a thief to catch a thief," said lebrun enigmatically, when he saw that he had the ear of the crowd, "and it takes a man to catch a man." "what the devil do you mean by that?" a dozen voices asked. "i mean, that if you got men enough to run out this man donnegan, the corner is a better town than i think." it brought a growl, but no answer. lebrun had never been seen to lift his hand, but he was more dreaded than a rattler. "we'll try," said milligan dryly. "i ain't much of a man myself"--there were dark rumors about milligan's past and the crowd chuckled at this modesty--"but i'll try my hand agin' him with a bit of backing. and first i want to tell you boys that they ain't any danger of him having aimed at andy's hand. i tell you, it ain't possible, hardly, for him to have planned to hit a swingin' target like that. maybe some could do it. i dunno." "how about lord nick?" "sure, lord nick might do anything. but donnegan ain't lord nick." "not by twenty pounds and three inches." this brought a laugh. and by comparison with the terrible and familiar name of lord nick, donnegan became a smaller danger. besides, as milligan said, it was undoubtedly luck. and when he called for volunteers, three or four stepped up at once. the others made a general milling, as though each were trying to get forward and each were prevented by the crowd in front. but in the background big jack landis was seriously trying to get to the firing line. he was encumbered with the clinging weight of nelly lebrun. "don't go, jack," she pleaded. "please! please! be sensible. for my sake!" she backed this appeal with a lifting of her eyes and a parting of her lips, and jack landis paused. "you won't go, dear jack?" now, jack knew perfectly well that the girl was only half sincere. it is the peculiar fate of men that they always know when a woman is playing with them, but, from samson down, they always go to the slaughter with open eyes, hoping each moment that the girl has been seriously impressed at last. as for jack landis, his slow mind did not readily get under the surface of the arts of nelly, but he knew that there was at least a tinge of real concern in the girl's desire to keep him from the posse which milligan was raising. "but they's something about him that i don't like, nelly. something sort of familiar that i don't like." for naturally enough he did not recognize the transformed donnegan, and the name he had never heard before. "a gunfighter, that's what he is!" "why, jack, sometimes they call you the same thing; say that you hunt for trouble now and then!" "do they say that?" asked the young chap quickly, flushing with vanity. "oh, i aim to take care of myself. and i'd like to take a hand with this murdering donnegan." "jack, listen! don't go; keep away from him!" "why do you look like that? as if i was a dead one already." "i tell you, jack, he'd kill you!" something in her terrible assurance whitened the cheeks of landis, but he was also angered. when a very young man becomes both afraid and angry he is apt to be dangerous. "what do you know of him?" he asked suspiciously. "you silly! but i saw his face when he lifted that mint. he'd already forgotten about the man he had just shot down. he was thinking of nothing but the scent of the mint. and did you notice his giant servant? he never had a moment's doubt of donnegan's ability to handle the entire crowd. i tell you, it gave me a chill of ghosts to see the big black fellow's eyes. he knew that donnegan would win. and donnegan won! jack, you're a big man and a strong man and a brave man, and we all know it. but don't be foolish. stay away from donnegan!" he wavered just an instant. if she could have sustained her pleading gaze a moment longer she would have won him, but at the critical instant her gaze became distant. she was seeing the calm face of donnegan as he raised the mint. and as though he understood, jack landis hardened. "i'm glad you don't want me shot up, nelly," he said coldly. "mighty good of you to watch out for me. but--i'm going to run this donnegan out of town!" "he's never harmed you; why--" "i don't like his looks. for a man like me that's enough!" and he strode away toward milligan. he was greeted by a cheer just as the girl reached the side of her father. "jack is going," she said. "make him come back!" but the old man was still rubbing his hands; there seemed to be a perpetual chill in the tips of the fingers. "he is a jackass. the moment i first saw his face i knew that he was meant for gun fodder--buzzard food! let him go. bah!" the girl shivered. "and then the mines?" she asked, changing her tactics. "ah, yes. the mines! but leave that to lord nick. he'll handle it well enough!" so jack landis strode up the hill first and foremost of the six stalwart men who wished to correct the stranger's apparent misunderstandings of the status of the corner. they were each armed to the teeth and each provided with enough bullets to disturb a small city. all this in honor of donnegan. they found the shack wrapped in the warm, mellow light of the late afternoon; and on a flat-topped rock outside it big george sat whittling a stick into a grotesque imitation of a snake coiled. he did not rise when the posse approached. he merely rocked back upon the rock, embraced his knees in both of his enormous arms, and, in a word, transformed himself into a round ball of mirth. but having hugged away his laughter he was able to convert his joy into a vast grin. that smile stopped the posse. when a mob starts for a scene of violence the least exhibition of fear incenses it, but mockery is apt to pour water on its flames of anger. decidedly the fury of the posse was chilled by the grin of george. milligan, who had lived south of the mason-dixon line, stepped up to impress george properly. "boy," he said, frowning, "go in and tell your man that we've come for him. tell him to step right out here and get ready to talk. we don't mean him no harm less'n he can't explain one or two things. hop along!" the "boy" did not stir. only he shifted his eyes from face to face and his grin broadened. ripples of mirth waved along his chest and convulsed his face, but still he did not laugh. "go in and tell them things to donnegan," he said. "but don't ask me to wake him up. he's sleepin' soun' an' fas'. like a baby; mostly, he sleeps every day to get rested up for the night. now, can't you-all wait till donnegan wakes up tonight? no? then step right in, gen'lemen; but if you-all is set on wakin' him up now, george will jus' step over the hill, because he don't want to be near the explosion." at this, he allowed his mirth free rein. his laughter shook up to his throat, to his enormous mouth; it rolled and bellowed across the hillside; and the posse stood, each man in his place, and looked frigidly upon one another. but having been laughed at, they felt it necessary to go on, and do or die. so they strode across the hill and were almost to the door when another phenomenon occurred. a girl in a cheap calico dress of blue was seen to run out of a neighboring shack and spring up before the door of donnegan's hut. when she faced the crowd it stopped again. the soft wind was blowing the blue dress into lovely, long, curving lines; about her throat a white collar of some sheer stuff was being lifted into waves, or curling against her cheek; and the golden hair, in disorder, was tousled low upon her forehead. whirling thus upon the crowd, she shocked them to a pause, with her parted lips, her flare of delicate color. "have you come here," she cried, "for--for donnegan?" "lady," began someone, and then looked about for jack landis, who was considered quite a hand with the ladies. but jack landis was discovered fading out of view down the hillside. one glance at that blue dress had quite routed him, for now he remembered the red-haired man who had escorted lou macon to the corner--and the colonel's singular trust in this fellow. it explained much, and he fled before he should be noticed. before the spokesman could continue his speech, the girl had whipped inside the door. and the posse was dumbfounded. milligan saw that the advance was ruined. "boys," he said, "we came to fight a man; not to storm a house with a woman in it. let's go back. we'll tend to donnegan later on." "we'll drill him clean!" muttered the others furiously, and straightway the posse departed down the hill. but inside the girl had found, to her astonishment, that donnegan was stretched upon his bunk wrapped again in the silken dressing gown and with a smile upon his lips. he looked much younger, as he slept, and perhaps it was this that made the girl steal forward upon tiptoe and touch his shoulder so gently. he was up on his feet in an instant. alas, vanity, vanity! donnegan in shoes was one thing, for his shoes were of a particular kind; but donnegan in his slippers was a full two inches shorter. he was hardly taller than the girl; he was, if the bitter truth must be known, almost a small man. and donnegan was furious at having been found by her in such careless attire--and without those dignity-building shoes. first he wanted to cut the throat of big george. "what have you done, what have you done?" cried the girl, in one of those heart-piercing whispers of fear. "they have come for you--a whole crowd--of armed men--they're outside the door! what have you done? it was something done for me, i know!" donnegan suddenly transferred his wrath from big george to the mob. "outside my door?" he asked. and as he spoke he slipped on a belt at which a heavy holster tugged down on one side, and buckled it around him. "oh, no, no, no!" she pleaded, and caught him in her arms. donnegan allowed her to stop him with that soft power for a moment, until his face went white--as if with pain. then he adroitly gathered both her wrists into one of his bony hands; and having rendered her powerless, he slipped by her and cast open the door. it was an empty scene upon which they looked, with big george rocking back and forth upon a rock, convulsed with silent laughter. donnegan looked sternly at the girl and swallowed. he was fearfully susceptible to mockery. "there seems to have been a jest?" he said. but she lifted him a happy, tearful face. "ah, thank heaven!" she cried gently. oddly enough, donnegan at this set his teeth and turned upon his heel, and the girl stole out the door again, and closed it softly behind her. as a matter of fact, not even the terrible colonel inspired in her quite the fear which donnegan instilled. "big landis lost his nerve and sidestepped at the last minute, and then the whole gang faded." that was the way the rumors of the affair always ended at each repetition in lebrun's and milligan's that night. the corner had had many things to talk about during its brief existence, but nothing to compare with a man who entered a shooting scrape with such a fellow as scar-faced lewis all for the sake of a spray of mint. and the main topic of conversation was: did donnegan aim at the body or the hand of the bouncer? on the whole, it was an excellent thing for milligan's. the place was fairly well crowded, with a few vacant tables. for everyone wanted to hear milligan's version of the affair. he had a short and vigorous one, trimmed with neat oaths. it was all the girl in the blue calico dress, according to him. the posse couldn't storm a house with a woman in it or even conduct a proper lynching in her presence. and no one was able to smile when milligan said this. neither was anyone nervy enough to question the courage of landis. it looked strange, that sudden flight of his, but then, he was a proven man. everyone remembered the affair of lester. it had been a clean-cut fight, and jack landis had won cleanly on his merits. nevertheless some of the whispers had not failed to come to the big man, and his brow was black. the most terribly heartless and selfish passion of all is shame in a young man. to repay the sidelong glances which he met on every side, jack landis would have willingly crowded every living soul in the corner into one house and touched a match to it. and chiefly because he felt the injustice of the suspicion. he had no fear of donnegan. he had a theory that little men had little souls. not that he ever formulated the theory in words, but he vaguely felt it and adhered to it. he had more fear of one man of six two than a dozen under five ten. he reserved in his heart of hearts a place of awe for one man whom he had never seen. that was for lord nick, for that celebrated character was said to be as tall and as finely built as jack landis himself. but as for donnegan--landis wished there were three donnegans instead of one. tonight his cue was surly silence. for nelly lebrun had been warned by her father, and she was making desperate efforts to recover any ground she might have lost. besides, to lose jack landis would be to lose the most spectacular fellow in the corner, to say nothing of the one who held the largest and the choicest of the mines. the blond, good looks of landis made a perfect background for her dark beauty. with all these stakes to play for, nelly outdid herself. if she were attractive enough ordinarily, when she exerted herself to fascinate, nelly was intoxicating. what chance had poor jack landis against her? he did not call for her that night but went to play gloomily at lebrun's until nelly walked into lebrun's and drew him away from a table. half an hour later she had him whirling through a dance in milligan's and had danced the gloom out of his mind for the moment. before the evening was well under way, landis was making love to her openly, and nelly was in the position of one who had roused the bear. it was a dangerous flirtation and it was growing clumsy. in any place other than the corner it would have been embarrassing long ago; and when jack landis, after a dance, put his one big hand over both of nelly's and held her moveless while he poured out a passionate declaration, nelly realized that something must be done. just what she could not tell. and it was at this very moment that a wave of silence, beginning at the door, rushed across milligan's dance floor. it stopped the bartenders in the act of mixing drinks; it put the musicians out of key, and in the midst of a waltz phrase they broke down and came to a discordant pause. what was it? the men faced the door, wondering, and then the swift rumor passed from lip to lip--almost from eye to eye, so rapidly it sped--donnegan is coming! donnegan, and big george with him. "someone tell milligan!" but milligan had already heard; he was back of the bar giving directions; guns were actually unlimbering. what would happen? "shall i get you out of this?" landis asked the girl. "leave now?" she laughed fiercely and silently. "i'm just beginning to live! miss donnegan in action? no, sir!" she would have given a good deal to retract that sentence, for it washed the face of landis white with jealousy. surely donnegan had built greater than he knew. and suddenly he was there in the midst of the house. no one had stopped him--at least, no one had interfered with his servant. big george had on a white suit and a dappled green necktie; he stood directly behind his master and made him look like a small boy. for donnegan was in black, and he had a white neckcloth wrapped as high and stiffly as an old-fashioned stock. altogether he was a queer, drab figure compared with the brilliant donnegan of that afternoon. he looked older, more weary. his lean face was pale; and his hair flamed with redoubled ardor on that account. never was hair as red as that, not even the hair of lord nick, said the people in milligan's this night. he was perfectly calm even in the midst of that deadly silence. he stood looking about him. he saw gloster, the real estate man, and bowed to him deliberately. for some reason that drew a gasp. then he observed a table which was apparently to his fancy and crossed the floor with a light, noiseless step, big george padding heavily behind him. at the little round table he waited until george had drawn out the chair for him and then he sat down. he folded his arms lightly upon his breast and once more surveyed the scene, and big george drew himself up behind donnegan. just once his eyes rolled and flashed savagely in delight at the sensation that they were making, then the face of george was once again impassive. if donnegan had not carried it off with a certain air, the whole entrance would have seemed decidedly stagey, but the corner, as it was, found much to wonder at and little to criticize. and in the west grown men are as shrewd judges of affectation as children are in other places. "putting on a lot of style, eh?" said jack landis, and with fierce intensity he watched the face of nelly lebrun. for once she was unguarded. "he's superb!" she exclaimed. "the big fellow is going to bring a drink for him." she looked up, surprised by the silence of landis, and found that his face was actually yellow. "i'll tell you something. do you remember the little red-headed tramp who came in here the other night and spoke to me?" "very well. you seemed to be bothered." "maybe. i dunno. but that's the man--the one who's sitting over there now all dressed up--the man the corner is talking about--donnegan! a tramp!" she caught her breath. "is that the one?" a pause. "well, i believe it. he's capable of anything!" "i think you like him all the better for knowing that." "jack, you're angry." "why should i be? i hate to see you fooled by the bluff of a tramp, though." "tush! do you think i'm fooled by it? but it's an interesting bluff, jack, don't you think?" "nelly, he's interesting enough to make you blush; by heaven, the hound is lookin' right at you now, nelly!" he had pressed her suddenly against the wall and she struck back desperately in self-defense. "by the way, what did he want to see you about?" it spiked the guns of landis for the time being, at least. and the girl followed by striving to prove that her interest in donnegan was purely impersonal. "he's clever," she ran on, not daring to look at the set face of her companion. "see how he fails to notice that he's making a sensation? you'd think he was in a big restaurant in a city. he takes the drink off the tray from that fellow as if it were a common thing to be waited on by a body-servant in the corner. jack, i'll wager that there's something crooked about him. a professional gambler, say!" jack landis thawed a little under this careless chatter. he still did not quite trust her. "do you know what they're whispering? that i was afraid to face him!" she tilted her head back, so that the light gleamed on her young throat, and she broke into laughter. "why, jack, that's foolish. you proved yourself when you first came to the corner. maybe some of the newcomers may have said something, but all the old-timers know you had some different reason for leaving the rest of them. by the way, what was the reason?" she sent a keen little glance at him from the corner of her eyes, but the moment she saw that he was embarrassed and at sea because of the query she instantly slipped into a fresh tide of careless chatter and covered up his confusion for him. "see how the girls are making eyes at him." "i'll tell you why," jack replied. "a girl likes to be with the man who's making the town talk." he added pointedly: "oh, i've found that out!" she shrugged that comment away. "he isn't paying the slightest attention to any of them," she murmured. "he's queer! has he just come here hunting trouble?" it should be understood that before this the men in milligan's had reached a subtly unspoken agreement that red-haired donnegan was not one of them. in a word, they did not like him because he made a mystery of himself. and, also, because he was different. yet there was a growing feeling that the shooting of lewis through the hand had not been an accident, for the whole demeanor of donnegan composed the action of a man who is a professional trouble maker. there was no reason why he should go to milligan's and take his servant with him unless he wished a fight. and why a man should wish to fight the entire corner was something no one could guess. that he should have done all this merely to focus all eyes upon him, and particularly the eyes of a girl, did not occur to anyone. it looked rather like the bravado of a man who lived for the sake of fighting. now, men who hunt trouble in the mountain desert generally find all that they may desire, but for the time being everyone held back, wolfishly, waiting for another to take the first step toward donnegan. indeed, there was an unspoken conviction that the man who took the first step would probably not live to take another. in the meantime both men and women gave donnegan the lion's share of their attention. there was only one who was clever enough to conceal it, and that one was the pair of eyes to which the red-haired man was playing--nelly lebrun. she confined herself strictly to jack landis. so it was that when milligan announced a tag dance and the couples swirled onto the floor gayly, donnegan decided to take matters into his own hands and offer the first overt act. it was clumsy; he did not like it; but he hated this delay. and he knew that every moment he stayed on there with big george behind his chair was another red rag flaunted in the face of the corner. he saw the men who had no girl with them brighten at the announcement of the tag dance. and when the dance began he saw the prettiest girls tagged quickly, one after the other. all except nelly lebrun. she swung securely around the circle in the big arms of jack landis. she seemed to be set apart and protected from the common touch by his size, and by his formidable, challenging eye. donnegan felt as never before the unassailable position of this fellow; not only from his own fighting qualities, but because he had behind him the whole unfathomable power of lord nick and his gang. nelly approached in the arms of landis in making the first circle of the dance floor; her eyes, grown dull as she surrendered herself wholly to the rhythm of the waltz, saw nothing. they were blank as unlighted charcoal. she came opposite donnegan, her back was toward him; she swung in the arms of landis, and then, past the shoulder of her partner, she flashed a glance at donnegan. the spark had fallen on the charcoal, and her eyes were aflame. aflame to donnegan; the next instant the veil had dropped across her face once more. she was carried on, leaving donnegan tingling. a wise man upon whom that look had fallen might have seen, not nelly lebrun in the cheap dance hall, but helen of sparta and all troy's dead. but donnegan was clever, not wise. and he saw only nelly lebrun and the broad shoulders of jack landis. let the critic deal gently with donnegan. he loved lou macon with all his heart and his soul, and yet because another beautiful girl had looked at him, there he sat at his table with his jaw set and the devil in his eye. and while she and landis were whirling through the next circumference of the room, donnegan was seeing all sides of the problem. if he tagged landis it would be casting the glove in the face of the big man--and in the face of old lebrun--and in the face of that mysterious and evil power, lord nick himself. and consider, that besides these he had already insulted all of the corner. why not let things go on as they were? suppose he were to allow landis to plunge deeper into his infatuation? suppose he were to bring lou macon to this place and let her see landis sitting with nelly, making love to her with every tone in his voice, every light in his eye? would not that cure lou? and would not that open the door to donnegan? and remember, in considering how donnegan was tempted, that he was not a conscientious man. he was in fact what he seemed to be--a wanderer, a careless vagrant, living by his wits. for all this, he had been touched by the divine fire--a love that is greater than self. and the more deeply he hated landis, the more profoundly he determined that he should be discarded by nelly and forced back to lou macon. in the meantime, nelly and jack were coming again. they were close; they were passing; and this time her eye had no spark for donnegan. yet he rose from his table, reached the floor with a few steps, and touched landis lightly on the shoulder. the challenge was passed. landis stopped abruptly and turned his head; his face showed merely dull astonishment. the current of dancers split and washed past on either side of the motionless trio, and on every face there was a glittering curiosity. what would landis do? nothing. he was too stupefied to act. he, jack landis, had actually been tagged while he was dancing with the woman which all the corner knew to be his girl! and before his befogged senses cleared the girl was in the arms of the red-haired man and was lost in the crowd. what a buzz went around the room! for a moment landis could no more move than he could think; then he sent a sullen glance toward the girl and retreated to their table. a childish sullenness clouded his face while he sat there; only one decision came clearly to him: he must kill donnegan! in the meantime people noted two things. the first was that donnegan danced very well with nelly lebrun; and his red hair beside the silken black of the girl's was a startling contrast. it was not a common red. it flamed, as though with phosphoric properties of its own. but they danced well; and the eyes of both of them were gleaming. another thing: men did not tag donnegan any more than they had offered to tag landis. one or two slipped out from the outskirts of the floor, but something in the face of donnegan discouraged them and made them turn elsewhere as though they had never started for nelly lebrun in the first place. indeed, to a two-year-old child it would have been apparent that nelly and the red-headed chap were interested in each other. as a matter of fact they did not speak a single syllable until they had gone around the floor one complete turn and the dance was coming toward an end. it was he who spoke first, gloomily: "i shouldn't have done it; i shouldn't have tagged him!" at this she drew back a little so that she could meet his eyes. "why not?" "the whole crew will be on my trail." "what crew?" "beginning with lord nick!" this shook her completely out of the thrall of the dance. "lord nick? what makes you think that?" "i know he's thick with landis. it'll mean trouble." he was so simple about it that she began to laugh. it was not such a voice as lou macon's. it was high and light, and one could suspect that it might become shrill under a stress. "and yet it looks as though you've been hunting trouble," she said. "i couldn't help it," said donnegan naïvely. it was a very subtle flattery, this frankness from a man who had puzzled all the corner. nelly lebrun felt that she was about to look behind the scenes and she tingled with delight. "tell me," she said. "why not?" "well," said donnegan. "i had to make a noise because i wanted to be noticed." she glanced about her; every eye was upon them. "you've made your point," she murmured. "the whole town is talking of nothing else." "i don't care an ounce of lead about the rest of the town." "then--" she stopped abruptly, seeing toward what he was tending. and the heart of nelly lebrun fluttered for the first time in many a month. she believed him implicitly. it was for her sake that he had made all this commotion; to draw her attention. for every lovely girl, no matter how cool-headed, has a foolish belief in the power of her beauty. as a matter of fact donnegan had told her the truth. it had all been to win her attention, from the fight for the mint to the tagging for the dance. how could she dream that it sprang out of anything other than a wild devotion to her? and while donnegan coldly calculated every effect, nelly lebrun began to see in him the man of a dream, a spirit out of a dead age, a soul of knightly, reckless chivalry. in that small confession he cast a halo about himself which no other hand could ever remove entirely so far as nelly lebrun was concerned. "you understand?" he was saying quietly. she countered with a question as direct as his confession. "what are you, mr. donnegan?" "a wanderer," said donnegan instantly, "and an avoider of work." at that they laughed together. the strain was broken and in its place there was a mutual excitement. she saw landis in the distance watching their laughter with a face contorted with anger, but it only increased her unreasoning happiness. "mr. donnegan, let me give you friendly advice. i like you: i know you have courage; and i saw you meet scar-faced lewis. but if i were you i'd leave the corner tonight and never come back. you've set every man against you. you've stepped on the toes of landis and he's a big man here. and even if you were to prove too much for jack you'd come against lord nick, as you say yourself. do you know nick?" "no." "then, mr. donnegan, leave the corner!" the music, ending, left them face to face as he dropped his arm from about her. and she could appreciate now, for the first time, that he was smaller than he had seemed at a distance, or while he was dancing. he seemed a frail figure indeed to face the entire banded corner--and lord nick. "don't you see," said donnegan, "that i can't stop now?" there was a double meaning that sent her color flaring. he added in a low, tense voice, "i've gone too far. besides, i'm beginning to hope!" she paused, then made a little gesture of abandon. "then stay, stay!" she whispered with eyes on fire. "and good luck to you, mr. donnegan!" as they went back, toward nelly's table, where jack landis was trying to appear carelessly at ease, the face of donnegan was pale. one might have thought that excitement and fear caused his pallor; but as a matter of fact it was in him an unfailing sign of happiness and success. landis had manners enough to rise as they approached. he found himself being presented to the smaller man. he heard the cool, precise voice of donnegan acknowledging the introduction; and then the red-headed man went back to his table; and jack landis was alone with nelly lebrun again. he scowled at her, and she tried to look repentant, but since she could not keep the dancing light out of her eyes, she compromised by looking steadfastly down at the table. which convinced landis that she was thinking of her late partner. he made a great effort, swallowed, and was able to speak smoothly enough. "looked as if you were having a pretty good time with that--tramp." the color in her cheeks was anger; landis took it for shame. "he dances beautifully," she replied. "yeh; he's pretty smooth. take a gent like that, it's hard for a girl to see through him." "let's not talk about him, jack." "all right. is he going to dance with you again?" "i promised him the third dance after this." for a time landis could not trust his voice. then: "kind of sorry about that. because i'll be going home before then." at this she raised her eyes for the first time. he was astonished and a little horrified to see that she was not in the least flustered, but very angry. "you'll go home before i have a chance for that dance?" she asked. "you're acting like a two-year-old, jack. you are!" he flushed. burning would be too easy a death for donnegan. "he's making a laughingstock out of me; look around the room!" "nobody's thinking about you at all, jack. you're just self-conscious." of course, it was pouring acid upon an open wound. but she was past the point of caution. "maybe they ain't," said landis, controlling his rage. "i don't figure that i amount to much. but i rate myself as high as a skunk like him!" it may have been a smile that she gave him. at any rate, he caught the glint of teeth, and her eyes were as cold as steel points. if she had actually defended the stranger she would not have infuriated landis so much. "well, what does he say about himself?" "he says frankly that he's a vagrant." "and you don't believe him?" she did not speak. "makin' a play for sympathy. confound a man like that, i say!" still she did not answer; and now landis became alarmed. "d'you really like him, nelly?" "i liked him well enough to introduce him to you, jack." "i'm sorry i talked so plain if you put it that way," he admitted heavily. "i didn't know you picked up friends so fast as all that!" he could not avoid adding this last touch of the poison point. his back was to donnegan, and consequently the girl, facing him, could look straight across the room at the red-headed man. she allowed herself one brief glance, and she saw that he was sitting with his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand, looking fixedly at her. it was the gaze of one who forgets all else and wraps himself in a dream. other people in the room were noting that changeless stare and the whisper buzzed more and more loudly, but donnegan had forgotten the rest of the world, it seemed. it was a very cunning piece of acting, not too much overdone, and once more the heart of nelly lebrun fluttered. she remembered that in spite of his frankness he had not talked with insolent presumption to her. he had merely answered her individual questions with an astonishing, childlike frankness. he had laid his heart before her, it seemed. and now he sat at a distance looking at her with the white, intense face of one who sees a dream. nelly lebrun was recalled by the heavy breathing of jack landis and she discovered that she had allowed her eyes to rest too long on the red-headed stranger. she had forgotten; her eyes had widened; and even jack landis was able to look into her mind and see things that startled him. for the first time he sensed that this was more than a careless flirtation. and he sat stiffly at the table, looking at her and through her with a fixed smile. nelly, horrified, strove to cover her tracks. "you're right, jack," she said. "i--i think there was something brazen in the way he tagged you. and--let's go home together!" too late. the mind of landis was not oversharp, but now jealousy gave it a point. he nodded his assent, and they got up, but there was no increase in his color. she read as plain as day in his face that he intended murder this night and nelly was truly frightened. so she tried different tactics. all the way to the substantial little house which lebrun had built at a little distance from the gambling hall, she kept up a running fire of steady conversation. but when she said good night to him, his face was still set. she had not deceived him. when he turned, she saw him go back into the night with long strides, and within half an hour she knew, as clearly as if she were remembering the picture instead of foreseeing it, that jack and donnegan would face each other gun in hand on the floor of milligan's dance hall. still, she was not foolish enough to run after jack, take his arm, and make a direct appeal. it would be too much like begging for donnegan, and even if jack forgave her for this interest in his rival, she had sense enough to feel that donnegan himself never would. something, however, must be done to prevent the fight, and she took the straightest course. she went as fast as a run would carry her straight behind the intervening houses and came to the back entrance to the gaming hall. there she entered and stepped into the little office of her father. black lebrun was not there. she did not want him. in his place there sat the pedlar and joe rix; they were members of lord nick's chosen crew, and since nick's temporary alliance with lebrun for the sake of plundering jack landis, nick's men were nelly's men. indeed, this was a formidable pair. they were the kind of men about whom many whispers and no facts circulate: and yet the facts are far worse than the whispers. it was said that joe rix, who was a fat little man with a great aversion to a razor and a pair of shallow, pale blue eyes, was in reality a merciless fiend. he was; and he was more than that, if there be a stronger superlative. if lord nick had dirty work to be done, there was the man who did it with a relish. the pedlar, on the other hand, was an exact opposite. he was long, lean, raw-boned, and prodigiously strong in spite of his lack of flesh. he had vast hands, all loose skin and outstanding tendons; he had a fleshless face over which his smile was capable of extending limitlessly. he was the sort of a man from whom one would expect shrewdness, some cunning, stubbornness, a dry humor, and many principles. all of which, except the last, was true of the pedlar. there was this peculiarity about the pedlar. in spite of his broad grins and his wise, bright eyes, none, even of lord nick's gang, extended a friendship or familiarity toward him. when they spoke of the pedlar they never used his name. they referred to him as "him" or they indicated him with gestures. if he had a fondness for any living creature it was for fat joe rix. yet on seeing this ominous pair, nelly lebrun cried out softly in delight. she ran to them, and dropped a hand on the bony shoulder of the pedlar and one on the plump shoulder of joe rix, whose loose flesh rolled under her finger tips. "it's jack landis!" she cried. "he's gone to milligan's to fight the new man. stop him!" "donnegan?" said joe, and did not rise. "him?" said the pedlar, and moistened his broad lips like one on the verge of starvation. "are you going to sit here?" she cried. "what will lord nick say if he finds out you've let jack get into a fight?" "we ain't nursin' mothers," declared the pedlar. "but i'd kind of like to look on!" and he rose. unkinking joint after joint, straightening his legs, his back, his shoulders, his neck, he soared up and up until he stood a prodigious height. the girl controlled a shudder of disgust. "joe!" she appealed. "you want us to clean up donnegan?" he asked, rising, but without interest in his voice. to his surprise, she slipped back to the door and blocked it with her outcast arms. "not a hair of his head!" she said fiercely. "swear that you won't harm him, boys!" "what the devil!" ejaculated joe, who was a blunt man in spite of his fat. "you want us to keep jack from fightin', but you don't want us to hurt the other gent. what you want? hogtie 'em both?" "yes, yes; keep jack out of milligan's; but for heaven's sake don't try to put a hand on donnegan." "why not?" "for your sakes; he'd kill you, joe!" at this they both gaped in unison, and as one man they drawled in vast admiration: "good heavens!" "but go, go, go!" cried the girl. and she shoved them through the door and into the night. to the people in milligan's it had been most incredible that jack landis should withdraw from a competition of any sort. and though the girls were able to understand his motives in taking nelly lebrun away they were not able to explain this fully to their men companions. for one and all they admitted that jack was imperiling his hold on the girl in question if he allowed her to stay near this red-headed fiend. but one and all they swore that jack landis had ruined himself with her by taking her away. and this was a paradox which made masculine heads in the corner spin. the main point was that jack landis had backed down before a rival; and this fact was stunning enough. donnegan, however, was not confused. he sent big george to ask milligan to come to him for a moment. milligan, at this, cursed george, but he was drawn by curiosity to consent. a moment later he was seated at donnegan's table, drinking his own liquor as it was served to him from the hands of big george. if the first emotions of the dance-hall proprietor were anger and intense curiosity, his second emotion was that never-failing surprise which all who came close to the wanderer felt. for he had that rare faculty of seeming larger when in action, even when actually near much bigger men. only when one came close to donnegan one stepped, as it were, through a veil, and saw the almost fragile reality. when milligan had caught his breath and adjusted himself, he began as follows: "now, bud," he said, "you've made a pretty play. not bad at all. but no more bluffs in milligan's." "bluff!" donnegan repeated gently. "about your servant. i let it pass for one night, but not for another." "my dear mr. milligan! however"--changing the subject easily--"what i wish to speak to you about is a bit of trouble which i foresee. i think, sir, that jack landis is coming back." "what makes you think that?" "it's a feeling i have. i have queer premonitions, mr. milligan, i'm sure he's coming and i'm sure he's going to attempt a murder." milligan's thick lips framed his question but he did not speak: fear made his face ludicrous. "right here?" "yes." "a shootin' scrape here! you?" "he has me in mind. that's why i'm speaking to you." "don't wait to speak to me about it. get up and get out!" "mr. milligan, you're wrong. i'm going to stay here and you're going to protect me." "well, confound your soul! they ain't much nerve about you, is there?" "you run a public place. you have to protect your patrons from insult." "and who began it, then? who started walkin' on jack's toes? now you come whinin' to me! by heck, i hope jack gets you!" "you're a genial soul," said donnegan. "here's to you!" but something in his smile as he sipped his liquor made milligan sit straighter in his chair. as for donnegan, he was thinking hard and fast. if there were a shooting affair and he won, he would nevertheless run a close chance of being hung by a mob. he must dispose that mob to look upon him as the defendant and landis as the aggressor. he had not foreseen the crisis until it was fairly upon him. he had thought of nelly playing landis along more gradually and carefully, so that, while he was slowly learning that she was growing cold to him, he would have a chance to grow fond of lou macon once more. but even across the width of the room he had seen the girl fire up, and from that moment he knew the result. landis already suspected him; landis, with the feeling that he had been robbed, would do his best to kill the thief. he might take a chance with landis, if it came to a fight, just as he had taken a chance with lewis. but how different this case would be! landis was no dull-nerved ruffian and drunkard. he was a keen boy with a hair-trigger balance, and in a gunplay he would be apt to beat the best of them all. of all this donnegan was fully aware. either he must place his own life in terrible hazard or else he must shoot to kill; and if he killed, what of lou macon? while he smiled into the face of milligan, perspiration was bursting out under his armpits. "mr. milligan, i implore you to give me your aid." "what's the difference?" milligan asked in a changed tone. "if he don't fight you here he'll fight you later." "you're wrong, mr. milligan. he isn't the sort to hold malice. he'll come here tonight and try to get at me like a bulldog straining on a leash. if he is kept away he'll get over his bad temper." milligan pushed back his chair. "you've tried to force yourself down the throat of the corner," he said, "and now you yell for help when you see the teeth." he had raised his voice. now he got up and strode noisily away. donnegan waited until he was halfway across the dance floor and then rose in turn. "gentlemen," he said. the quiet voice cut into every conversation; the musicians lowered the instruments. "i have just told mr. milligan that i am sure jack landis is coming back here to try to kill me. i have asked for his protection. he has refused it. i intend to stay here and wait for him, jack landis. in the meantime i ask any able-bodied man who will do so, to try to stop landis when he enters." he sat down, raised his glass, and sipped the drink. two hundred pairs of eyes were fastened with hawklike intensity upon him, and they could perceive no quiver of his hand. the sipping of his liquor was not an affectation. for he was drinking, at incredible cost, liquors from milligan's store of rareties. the effect of donnegan's announcement was first a silence, then a hum, then loud voices of protest, curiosity--and finally a scurrying toward the doors. yet really very few left. the rest valued a chance to see the fight beyond the fear of random slugs of lead which might fly their way. besides, where such men as donnegan and big jack landis were concerned, there was not apt to be much wild shooting. the dancing stopped, of course. the music was ordered by milligan to play, in a frantic endeavor to rouse custom again; but the music of its own accord fell away in the middle of the piece. for the musicians could not watch the notes and the door at the same time. as for donnegan, he found that it was one thing to wait and another to be waited for. he, too, wished to turn and watch that door until it should be filled by the bulk of jack landis. yet he fought the desire. and in the midst of this torturing suspense an idea came to him, and at the same instant jack landis entered the doorway. he stood there looking vast against the night. one glance around was sufficient to teach him the meaning of the silence. the stage was set, and the way opened to donnegan. without a word, big george stole to one side. straight to the middle of the dance floor went jack landis, red-faced, with long, heavy steps. he faced donnegan. "you skunk!" shouted landis. "i've come for you!" and he went for his gun. donnegan, too, stirred. but when the revolver leaped into the hand of landis, it was seen that the hands of donnegan rose past the line of his waist, past his shoulders, and presently locked easily behind his head. a terrible chance, for landis had come within a breath of shooting. so great was the impulse that, as he checked the pressure of his forefinger, he stumbled a whole pace forward. he walked on. "you need cause to fight?" he cried, striking donnegan across the face with the back of his left hand, jerking up the muzzle of the gun in his right. now a dark trickle was seen to come from the broken lips of donnegan, yet he was smiling faintly. jack landis muttered a curse and said sneeringly: "are you afraid?" there were sick faces in that room; men turned their heads, for nothing is so ghastly as the sight of a man who is taking water. "hush," said donnegan. "i'm going to kill you, jack. but i want to kill you fairly and squarely. there's no pleasure, you see, in beating a youngster like you to the draw. i want to give you a fighting chance. besides"--he removed one hand from behind his head and waved it carelessly to where the men of the corner crouched in the shadow--"you people have seen me drill one chap already, and i'd like to shoot you in a new way. is that agreeable?" two terrible, known figures detached themselves from the gloom near the door. "hark to this gent sing," said one, and his name was the pedlar. "hark to him sing, jack, and we'll see that you get fair play." "good," said his friend, joe rix. "let him take his try, jack." as a matter of fact, had donnegan reached for a gun, he would have been shot before even landis could bring out a weapon, for the steady eye of joe rix, hidden behind the pedlar, had been looking down a revolver barrel at the forehead of donnegan, waiting for that first move. but something about the coolness of donnegan fascinated them. "don't shoot, joe," the pedlar had said. "that bird is the chief over again. don't plug him!" and that was why donnegan lived. if he had taken the eye of the hardened rix and the still harder pedlar, he had stunned the men of the corner. and breathlessly they waited for his proposal to jack landis. he spoke with his hands behind his head again, after he had slowly taken out a handkerchief and wiped his chin. "i'm a methodical fellow, landis," he said. "i hate to do an untidy piece of work. i have been disgusted with myself since my little falling out with lewis. i intended to shoot him cleanly through the hand, but instead of that i tore up his whole forearm. sloppy work, landis. i don't like it. now, in meeting you, i want to do a clean, neat, precise job. one that i'll be proud of." a moaning voice was heard faintly in the distance. it was the pedlar, who had wrapped himself in his gaunt arms and was crooning softly, with unspeakable joy: "hark to him sing! hark to him sing! a ringer for the chief!" "why should we be in such a hurry?" continued donnegan. "you see that clock in the corner? tut, tut! turn your head and look. do you think i'll drop you while you look around?" landis flung one glance over his shoulder at the big clock, whose pendulum worked solemnly back and forth. "in five minutes," said donnegan, "it will be eleven o'clock. and when it's eleven o'clock the clock will chime. now, landis, you and i shall sit down here like gentlemen and drink our liquor and think our last thoughts. heavens, man, is there anything more disagreeable than being hurried out of life? but when the clock chimes, we draw our guns and shoot each other through the heart--the brain--wherever we have chosen. but, landis, if one of us should inadvertently--or through nervousness--beat the clock's chime by the split part of a second, the good people of the corner will fill that one of us promptly full of lead." he turned to the crowd. "gentlemen, is it a good plan?" as well as a roman crowd if it wanted to see a gladiator die, the frayed nerves of the corner responded to the stimulus of this delightful entertainment. there was a joyous chorus of approval. "when the clock strikes, then," said landis, and flung himself down in a chair, setting his teeth over his rage. donnegan smiled benevolently upon him; then he turned again and beckoned to george. the big man strode closer and leaned. "george," he said. "i'm not going to kill this fellow." "no, sir; certainly, sir," whispered the other. "george can kill him for you, sir." donnegan smiled wanly. "i'm not going to kill him, george, on account of the girl on the hill. you know? and the reason is that she's fond of the lubber. i'll try to break his nerve, george, and drill him through the arm, say. no, i can't take chances like that. but if i have him shaking in time, i'll shoot him through the right shoulder, george. "but if i miss and he gets me instead, mind you, never raise a hand against him. if you so much as touch his skin, i'll rise out of my grave and haunt you. you hear? good-by, george." but big george withdrew without a word, and the reason for his speechlessness was the glistening of his eyes. "if i live," said donnegan, "i'll show that george that i appreciate him." he went on aloud to landis: "so glum, my boy? tush! we have still four minutes left. are you going to spend your last four minutes hating me?" he turned: "another liqueur, george. two of them." the big man brought the drinks, and having put one on the table of donnegan, he was directed to take the other to landis. "it's really good stuff," said donnegan. "i'm not an expert on these matters; but i like the taste. will you try it?" it seemed that landis dared not trust himself to speech. as though a vast and deadly hatred were gathered in him, and he feared lest it should escape in words the first time he parted his teeth. he took the glass of liqueur and slowly poured it upon the floor. from the crowd there was a deep murmur of disapproval. and landis, feeling that he had advanced the wrong foot in the matter, glowered scornfully about him and then stared once more at donnegan. "just as you please," said donnegan, sipping his glass. "but remember this, my young friend, that a fool is a fool, drunk or sober." landis showed his teeth, but made no other answer. and donnegan anxiously flashed a glance at the clock. he still had three minutes. three minutes in which he must reduce this stalwart fellow to a trembling, nervous wreck. otherwise, he must shoot to kill, or else sit there and become a certain sacrifice for the sake of lou macon. yet he controlled the muscles of his face and was still able to smile as he turned again to landis. "three minutes left," he said. "three minutes for you to compose yourself, landis. think of it, man! all the good life behind you. have you nothing to remember? nothing to soften your mind? why die, landis, with a curse in your heart and a scowl on your lips?" once more landis stirred his lips; but there was only the flash of his teeth; he maintained his resolute silence. "ah," murmured donnegan, "i am sorry to see this. and before all your admirers, landis. before all your friends. look at them scattered there under the lights and in the shadows. no farewell word for them? nothing kindly to say? are you going to leave them without a syllable of goodfellowship?" "confound you!" muttered landis. there was another hum from the crowd; it was partly wonder, partly anger. plainly they were not pleased with jack landis on this day. donnegan shook his head sadly. "i hoped," he said, "that i could teach you how to die. but i fail. and yet you should be grateful to me for one thing, jack. i have kept you from being a murderer in cold blood. i kept you from killing a defenseless man as you intended to do when you walked up to me a moment ago." he smiled genially in mockery, and there was a scowl on the face of landis. "two minutes," said donnegan. leaning back in his chair, he yawned. for a whole minute he did not stir. "one minute?" he murmured inquisitively. and there was a convulsive shudder through the limbs of landis. it was the first sign that he was breaking down under the strain. there remained only one minute in which to reduce him to a nervous wreck! the strain was telling in other places. donnegan turned and saw in the shadow and about the edges of the room a host of drawn, tense faces and burning eyes. never while they lived would they forget that scene. "and now that the time is close," said donnegan, "i must look to my gun." he made a gesture; how it was, no one was swift enough of eye to tell, but a gun appeared in his hand. at the flash of it, landis' weapon leaped up to the mark and his face convulsed. but donnegan calmly spun the cylinder of his revolver and held it toward landis, dangling from his forefinger under the guard. "you see?" he said to landis. "clean as a whistle, and easy as a girl's smile. i hate a stiff action, jack." and landis slowly allowed the muzzle of his own gun to sink. for the first time his eyes left the eyes of donnegan, and sinking, inch by inch, stared fascinated at the gun in the hand of the enemy. "thirty seconds," said donnegan by way of conversation. landis jerked up his head and his eyes once more met the eyes of donnegan, but this time they were wide, and the pointed glance of donnegan sank into them. the lips of landis parted. his tongue tremblingly moistened them. "keep your nerve," said donnegan in an undertone. "you hound!" gasped landis. "i knew it," said donnegan sadly. "you'll die with a curse on your lips." he added: "ten seconds, landis!" and then he achieved his third step toward victory, for landis jerked his head around, saw the minute hand almost upon its mark, and swung back with a shudder toward donnegan. from the crowd there was a deep breath. and then landis was seen to raise the muzzle of his gun again, and crouch over it, leveling it straight at donnegan. he, at least, would send his bullet straight to the mark when that first chime went humming through the big room. but donnegan? he made his last play to shatter the nerve of landis. with the minute hand on the very mark, he turned carelessly, the revolver still dangling by the trigger guard, and laughed toward the crowd. and out of the crowd there came a deep, sobbing breath of heartbreaking suspense. it told on landis. out of the corner of his eye donnegan saw the muscles of the man's face sag and tremble; saw him allow his gun to fall, in imitation of donnegan, to his side; and saw the long arm quivering. and then the chime rang, with a metallic, sharp click and then a long and reverberant clanging. with a gasp landis whipped up his gun and fired. once, twice, again, the weapon crashed. and, to the eternal wonder of all who saw it, at a distance of five paces landis three times missed his man. but donnegan, sitting back with a smile, raised his own gun almost with leisure, unhurried, dropped it upon the mark, and sent a forty-five slug through the right shoulder of jack landis. the blow of the slug, like the punch of a strong man's fist, knocked the victim out of his chair to the floor. he lay clutching at his shoulder. "gentlemen," said donnegan, rising, "is there a doctor here?" that was the signal for the rush that swept across the floor and left a flood of marveling men around the fallen landis. on the outskirts of this tide, donnegan stepped up to two men, joe rix and the pedlar. they greeted him with expectant glances. "gentlemen," said donnegan, "will you step aside?" they followed him to a distance from the clamoring group. "i have to thank you," said donnegan. "for what?" "for changing your minds," said donnegan, and left them. and afterward the pedlar murmured with an oddly twisted face: "cat-eye, joe. he can see in the dark! but i told you he was worth savin'." "speakin' in general," said joe, "which you ain't hardly ever wrong when you get stirred up about a thing." "he's something new," the pedlar said wisely. "ay, he's rare." "but talkin' aside, suppose he was to meet up with lord nick?" the smile of joe rix was marvelously evil. "you got a great mind for great things," he declared. "you ought to of been in politics." in the meantime the doctor had been found. the wound had been cleansed. it was a cruel one, for the bullet had torn its way through flesh and sinew, and for many a week the fighting arm of jack landis would be useless. it had, moreover, carried a quantity of cloth into the wound, and it was almost impossible to cleanse the hole satisfactorily. as for the bullet itself, it had whipped cleanly through, at that short distance making nothing of its target. a door was knocked off its hinges. but before the wounded man was placed upon it, lebrun appeared at the door into milligan's. he was never a very cheery fellow in appearance, and now he looked like a demoniac. he went straight to joe rix and the skeleton form of the pedlar. he raised one finger as he looked at them. "i've heard," said lebrun. "lord nick likewise shall hear." joe rix changed color. he bustled about, together with the pedlar, and lent a hand in carrying the wounded man to the house of lebrun, for nelly lebrun was to be the nurse of landis. in the meantime, donnegan went up the hill with big george behind him. already he was a sinisterly marked man. working through the crowd near lebrun's gambling hall, a drunkard in the midst of a song stumbled against him. but the sight of the man with whom he had collided, sobered him as swiftly as the lash of a whip across his face. it was impossible for him, in that condition, to grow pale. but he turned a vivid purple. "sorry, mr. donnegan." donnegan, with a shrug of his shoulders, passed on. the crowd split before him, for they had heard his name. there were brave men, he knew, among them. men who would fight to the last drop of blood rather than be shamed, but they shrank from donnegan without shame, as they would have shrunk from the coming of a rattler had their feet been bare. so he went easily through the crowd with big george in his wake, walking proudly. for george had stood to one side and watched donnegan indomitably beat down the will of jack landis, and the sight would live in his mind forever. indeed, if donnegan had bidden the sun to stand in the heavens, the big man would have looked for obedience. that the forbearance of donnegan should have been based on a desire to serve a girl certainly upset the mind of george, but it taught him an amazing thing--that donnegan was capable of affection. the terrible donnegan went on. in his wake the crowd closed slowly, for many had paused to look after the little man. until they came to the outskirts of the town and climbed the hill toward the two shacks. the one was, of course, dark. but the shack in which lou macon lived burst with light. donnegan paused to consider this miracle. he listened, and he heard voices--the voice of a man, laughing loudly. thinking something was wrong, he hurried forward and called loudly. what he saw when he was admitted made him speechless. colonel macon, ensconced in his invalid chair, faced the door, and near him was lou macon. lou rose, half-frightened by the unexpected interruption, but the liquid laughter of the colonel set all to rights at once. "come in, donnegan. come in, lad," said the colonel. "i heard a man's voice," donnegan said half apologetically. the sick color began to leave his face, and relief swept over it slowly. "i thought something might be wrong. i didn't think of you." and looking down, as all men will in moments of relaxation from a strain, he did not see the eyes of lou macon grow softly luminous as they dwelt upon him. "come in, george," went on the colonel, "and make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. close the door. sit down, donnegan. when your letter came i saw that i was needed here. lou, have you looked into our friend's cabin? no? nothing like a woman's touch to give a man the feeling of homeliness, lou. step over to donnegan's cabin and put it to rights. yes, i know that george takes care of it, but george is one thing, and your care will be another. besides, i must be alone with him for a moment. man talk confuses a girl, lou. you shouldn't listen to it." she withdrew with that faint, dreamy smile with which she so often heard the instructions of her father; as though she were only listening with half of her mind. when she was gone, though the door to the kitchen stood wide open, and big george was in it, the colonel lowered his bass voice so successfully that it was as safe as being alone with donnegan. "and now for facts," he began. "but," said donnegan, "how--that chair--how in the world have you come here?" the colonel shook his head. "my dear boy, you grieve and disappoint me. the manner in which a thing is done is not important. mysteries are usually simply explained. as for my small mystery--a neighbor on the way to the corner with a wagon stopped in, and i asked him to take me along. so here i am. but now for your work here, lad?" "bad," said donnegan. "i gathered you had been unfortunate. and now you have been fighting?" "you have heard?" "i see it in your eye, donnegan. when a man has been looking fear in the face for a time, an image of it remains in his eyes. they are wider, glazed with the other thing." "it was forced on me," said donnegan. "i have shot landis." he was amazed to see the colonel was vitally affected. his lips remained parted over his next word, and one eyelid twitched violently. but the spasm passed over quickly. when he raised his perfect hands and pressed them together just under his chin. he smiled in a most winning manner that made the blood of donnegan run cold. "donnegan," he said softly, "i see that i have misjudged you. i underestimated you. i thought, indeed, that your rare qualities were qualified by painful weaknesses. but now i see that you are a man, and from this moment we shall act together with open minds. so you have done it? tush, then i need not have taken my trip. the work is done; the mines come to me as the heir of jack. and yet, poor boy, i pity him! he misjudged me; he should not have ventured to this deal with lord nick and his compatriots!" "wait," exclaimed donnegan. "you're wrong; landis is not dead." once more the colonel was checked, but this time the alteration in his face was no more than a comma's pause in a long balanced sentence. it was impossible to obtain more than one show of emotion from him in a single conversation. "not dead? well, donnegan, that is unfortunate. and after you had punctured him you had no chance to send home the finishing shot?" donnegan merely watched the colonel and tapped his bony finger against the point of his chin. "ah," murmured the colonel, "i see another possibility. it is almost as good--it may even be better than his death. you have disabled him, and having done this you at once take him to a place where he shall be under your surveillance--this, in fact, is a very comfortable outlook--for me and my interests. but for you, donnegan, how the devil do you benefit by having jack flat on his back, sick, helpless, and in a perfect position to excite all the sympathies of lou?" now, donnegan had known cold-blooded men in his day, but that there existed such a man as the colonel had never come into his mind. he looked upon the colonel, therefore, with neither disgust nor anger, but with a distant and almost admiring wonder. for perfect evil always wins something akin to admiration from more common people. "well," continued the colonel, a little uneasy under this silent scrutiny--silence was almost the only thing in the world that could trouble him--"well, donnegan, my lad, this is your plan, is it not?" "to shoot down landis, then take possession of him and while i nurse him back to health hold a gun--metaphorically speaking--to his head and make him do as i please: sign some lease, say, of the mines to you?" the colonel shifted himself to a more comfortable position in his chair, brought the tips of his fingers together under his vast chin, and smiled benevolently upon donnegan. "it is as i thought," he murmured. "donnegan, you are rare; you are exquisite!" "and you," said donnegan, "are a scoundrel." "exactly. i am very base." the colonel laughed. "you and i alone can speak with intimate knowledge of me." his chuckle shook all his body, and set the folds of his face quivering. his mirth died away when he saw donnegan come to his feet. "eh?" he called. "good-by," said donnegan. "but where--landis--donnegan, what devil is in your eye?" "a foolish devil, colonel macon. i surrender the benefits of all my work for you and go to make sure that you do not lay your hands upon jack landis." the colonel opened and closed his lips foolishly like a fish gasping silently out of water. it was rare indeed for the colonel to appear foolish. "in heaven's name, donnegan!" the little man smiled. he had a marvelously wicked smile, which came from the fact that his lips could curve while his eyes remained bright and straight, and malevolently unwrinkled. he laid his hand on the knob of the door. "donnegan," cried the colonel, gray of face, "give me one minute." donnegan stepped to a chair and sat down. he took out his watch and held it in his hand, studying the dial, and the colonel knew that his time limit was taken literally. "i swear to you," he said, "that if you can help me to the possession of landis while he is ill, i shall not lay a finger upon him or harm him in any way." "you swear?" said donnegan with that ugly smile. "my dear boy, do you think i am reckless enough to break a promise i have given to you?" the cynical glance of donnegan probed the colonel to the heart, but the eyes of the fat man did not wince. neither did he speak again, but the two calmly stared at each other. at the end of the minute, donnegan slipped the watch into his pocket. "i am ready to listen to reason," he said. and the colonel passed one of his strong hands across his forehead. "now," and he sighed, "i feel that the crisis is passed. with a man of your caliber, donnegan, i fear a snap judgment above all things. since you give me a chance to appeal to your reason i feel safe. as from the first, i shall lay my cards upon the table. you are fond of lou. i took it for granted that you would welcome a chance to brush landis out of your path. it appears that i am wrong. i admit my error. only fools cling to convictions; wise men are ready to meet new viewpoints. very well. you wish to spare landis for reasons of your own which i do not pretend to fathom. perhaps, you pity him; i cannot tell. now, you wonder why i wish to have landis in my care if i do not intend to put an end to him and thereby become owner of his mines? i shall tell you frankly. i intend to own the mines, if not through the death of jack, then through a legal act signed by the hand of jack." "a willing signature?" asked donnegan, calmly. a shadow came and went across the face of the colonel, and donnegan caught his breath. there were times when he felt that if the colonel possessed strength of body as well as strength of mind even he, donnegan, would be afraid of the fat man. "willing or unwilling," said the colonel, "he shall do as i direct!" "without force?" "listen to me," said the colonel. "you and i are not children, and therefore we know that ordinary men are commanded rather by fear of what may happen to them than by being confronted with an actual danger. i have told you that i shall not so much as raise the weight of a finger against jack landis. i shall not. but a whisper adroitly put in his ear may accomplish the same ends." he added with a smile. "personally, i dislike physical violence. in that, mr. donnegan, we belong to opposite schools of action." the picture came to donnegan of landis, lying in the cabin of the colonel, his childish mind worked upon by the devilish insinuation of the colonel. truly, if jack did not go mad under the strain he would be very apt to do as the colonel wished. "i have made a mess of this from the beginning," said donnegan, quietly. "in the first place, i intended to play the role of the self-sacrificing. you don't understand? i didn't expect that you would. in short, i intended to send landis back to lou by making a flash that would dazzle the corner, and dazzle nelly lebrun as well--win her away from landis, you see? but the fool, as soon as he saw that i was flirting with the girl, lowered his head and charged at me like a bull. i had to strike him down in self-defense. "but now you ask me to put him wholly in your possession. colonel, you omit one link in your chain of reasoning. the link is important--to me. what am i to gain by placing him within the range of your whispering?" "tush! do i need to tell you? i still presume you are interested in lou, though you attempted to do so much to give landis back to her. well, donnegan, you must know that when she learns it was a bullet from your gun that struck down landis, she'll hate you, my boy, as if you were a snake. but if she knows that after all you were forced into the fight, and that you took the first opportunity to bring jack into my--er--paternal care--her sentiments may change. no, they will change." donnegan left his chair and began to pace the floor. he was no more self-conscious in the presence of the colonel than a man might be in the presence of his own evil instincts. and it was typical of the colonel's insight that he made no attempt to influence the decision of donnegan after this point was reached. he allowed him to work out the matter in his own way. at length, donnegan paused. "what's the next step?" he asked. the colonel sighed, and by that sigh he admitted more than words could tell. "a reasonable man," he said, "is the delight of my heart. the next step, donnegan, is to bring jack landis to this house." "tush!" said donnegan. "bring him away from lebrun? bring him away from the tigers of lord nick's gang? i saw them at milligan's place tonight. a bad set, colonel macon." "a set you can handle," said the colonel, calmly. "ah?" "the danger will in itself be the thing that tempts you," he went on. "to go among those fellows, wild as they are, and bring jack landis away to this house." "bring him here," said donnegan with indescribable bitterness, "so that she may pity his wounds? bring him here where she may think of him and tend him and grow to hate me?" "grow to fear you," said the colonel. "an excellent thing to accomplish," said donnegan coldly. "i have found it so," remarked the colonel, and lighted a cigarette. he drew the smoke so deep that when it issued again from between his lips it was a most transparent, bluish vapor. fear came upon donnegan. not fear, surely, of the fat man, helpless in his invalid's chair, but fear of the mind working ceaselessly behind those hazy eyes. he turned without a word and went to the door. the moment it opened under his hand, he felt a hysterical impulse to leap out of the room swiftly and slam the door behind him--to put a bar between him and the eye of the colonel, just as a child leaps from the dark room into the lighted and closes the door quickly to keep out the following night. he had to compel himself to move with proper dignity. when outside, he sighed; the quiet of the night was like a blessing compared with the ordeal of the colonel's devilish coldness. macon's advice had seemed almost logical the moment before. win lou macon by the power of fear, well enough, for was not fear the thing which she had followed all her life? was it not through fear that the colonel himself had reduced her to such abject, unquestioning obedience? he went thoughtfully to his own cabin, and, down-headed in his musings, he became aware with a start of lou macon in the hut. she had changed the room as her father had bidden her to do. just wherein the difference lay, donnegan could not tell. there was a touch of evergreen in one corner; she had laid a strip of bright cloth over the rickety little table, and in ten minutes she had given the hut a semblance of permanent livableness. donnegan saw her now, with some vestige of the smile of her art upon her face; but she immediately smoothed it to perfect gravity. he had never seen such perfect self-command in a woman. "is there anything more that i can do?" she asked, moving toward the door. "nothing." "good night." "wait." she still seemed to be under the authority which the colonel had delegated to donnegan when they started for the corner. she turned, and without a word came back to him. and a pang struck through donnegan. what would he not have given if she had come at his call not with these dumb eyes, but with a spark of kindliness? instead, she obeyed him as a soldier obeys a commander. "there has been trouble," said donnegan. "yes?" she said, but there was no change in her face. "it was forced upon me." then he added: "it amounted to a shooting affair." there was a change in her face now, indeed. a glint came in her eyes, and the suggestion of the colonel which he had once or twice before sensed in her, now became more vivid than ever before. the same contemptuous heartlessness, which was the colonel's most habitual expression, now looked at donnegan out of the lovely face of the girl. "they were fools to press you to the wall," she said. "i have no pity for them." for a moment donnegan only stared at her; on what did she base her confidence in his prowess as a fighting man? "it was only one man," he said huskily. ah, there he had struck her home! as though the words were a burden, she shrank from him; then she slipped suddenly close to him and caught both his hands. her head was raised far back; she had pressed close to him; she seemed in every line of her body to plead with him against himself, and all the veils which had curtained her mind from him dropped away. he found himself looking down into eyes full of fire and shadow; and eager lips; and the fiber of her voice made her whole body tremble. "it isn't jack?" she pleaded. "it isn't jack that you've fought with?" and he said to himself: "she loves him with all her heart and soul!" "it is he," said donnegan in an agony. pain may be like a fire that tempers some strong men; and now donnegan, because he was in torment, smiled, and his eye was as cold as steel. the girl flung away his hands. "you bought murderer!" she cried at him. "he is not dead." "but you shot him down!" "he attacked me; it was self-defense." she broke into a low-pitched, mirthless laughter. where was the filmy-eyed girl he had known? the laughter broke off short--like a sob. "don't you suppose i've known?" she said. "that i've read my father? that i knew he was sending a bloodhound when he sent you? but, oh, i thought you had a touch of the other thing!" he cringed under her tone. "i'll bring him to you," said donnegan desperately. "i'll bring him here so that you can take care of him." "you'll take him away from lord nick--and lebrun--and the rest?" and it was the cold smile of her father with which she mocked him. "i'll do it." "you play a deep game," said the girl bitterly. "why would you do it?" "because," said donnegan faintly. "i love you." her hand had been on the knob of the door; now she twitched it open and was gone; and the last that donnegan saw was the width of the startled eyes. "as if i were a leper," muttered donnegan. "by heaven, she looked at me as if i were unclean!" but once outside the door, the girl stood with both hands pressed to her face, stunned. when she dropped them, they folded against her breast, and her face tipped up. even by starlight, had donnegan been there to look, he would have seen the divinity which comes in the face of a woman when she loves. had he been there to see, even in the darkness he would have known, and he could have crossed the distance between their lives with a single step, and taken her into his heart. but he did not see. he had thrown himself upon his bunk and lay face down, his arms stretched rigidly out before him, his teeth set, his eyes closed. for what donnegan had wanted in the world, he had taken; by force when he could, by subtlety when he must. and now, what he wanted most of all was gone from him, he felt, forever. there was no power in his arms to take that part of her which he wanted; he had no craft which could encompass her. big george, stealing into the room, wondered at the lithe, slender form of the man in the bed. seeing him thus, it seemed that with the power of one hand, george could crush him. but george would as soon have closed his fingers over a rattler. he slipped away into the kitchen and sat with his arms wrapped around his body, as frightened as though he had seen a ghost. but donnegan lay on the bed without moving for hours and hours, until big george, who sat wakeful and terrified all that time, was sure that he slept. then he stole in and covered donnegan with a blanket, for it was the chill, gray time of the night. but donnegan was not asleep, and when george rose in the morning, he found the master sitting at the table with his arms folded tightly across his breast and his eyes burning into vacancy. he spent the day in that chair. it was the middle of the afternoon when george came with a scared face and a message that a "gen'leman who looks riled, sir," wanted to see him. there was no answer, and george perforce took the silence as acquiescence. so he opened the door and announced: "mr. lester to see you, sir." into the fiery haze of donnegan's vision stepped a raw-boned fellow with sandy hair and a disagreeably strong jaw. "you're the gent that's here with the colonel, ain't you?" said lester. donnegan did not reply. "you're the gent that cleaned up on landis, ain't you?" continued the sandy-haired man. there was still the same silence, and lester burst out: "it don't work, donnegan. you've showed you're man-sized several ways since you been in the corner. now i come to tell you to get out from under colonel macon. why? because he's crooked, because we know he's crooked; because he played crooked with me. you hear me talk?" still donnegan considered him without a word. "we're goin' to run him out, donnegan. we want you on our side if we can get you; if we can't get you, then we'll run you out along with the colonel." he began to talk with difficulty, as though donnegan's stare unnerved him. he even took a step back toward the door. "you can't bluff me out, donnegan. i ain't alone. they's others behind me. i don't need to name no names. here's another thing: you ain't alone yourself. you got a woman and a cripple on your hands. now, donnegan, you're a fast man with a gun and you're a fast man at thinkin', but i ask you personal: have you got a chance runnin' under that weight?" he added fiercely: "i'm through. now, talk turkey, donnegan, or you're done!" for the first time donnegan moved. it was to make to big george a significant signal with his thumb, indicating the visitor. however, lester did not wait to be thrown bodily from the cabin. one enormous oath exploded from his lips, and he backed sullenly through the door and slammed it after him. "it kind of looks," said big george, "like a war, sir." and still donnegan did not speak, until the afternoon was gone, and the evening, and the full black of the night had swallowed up the hills around the corner. then he left the chair, shaved, and dressed carefully, looked to his revolver, stowed it carefully and invisibly away among his clothes, and walked leisurely down the hill. an outbreak of cursing, stamping, hair-tearing, shooting could not have affected big george as this quiet departure did. he followed, unordered, but as he stepped across the threshold of the hut he rolled up his eyes to the stars. "oh, heavens above," muttered george, "have mercy on mr. donnegan. he ain't happy." and he went down the hill, making sure that he was fit for battle with knife and gun. he had sensed donnegan's mental condition accurately enough. the heart of the little man was swelled to the point of breaking. a twenty-hour vigil had whitened his face, drawn in his cheeks, and painted his eyes with shadow; and now he wanted action. he wanted excitement, strife, competition; something to fill his mind. and naturally enough he had two places in mind--lebrun's and milligan's. it is hard to relate the state of donnegan's mind at this time. chiefly, he was conscious of a peculiar and cruel pain that made him hollow; it was like homesickness raised to the nth degree. vaguely he realized that in some way, somehow, he must fulfill his promise to the girl and bring jack landis home. the colonel dared not harm the boy for fear of donnegan; and the girl would be happy. for that very reason donnegan wanted to tear landis to shreds. it is not extremely heroic for a man tormented with sorrow to go to a gambling hall and then to a dance hall to seek relief. but donnegan was not a hero. he was only a man, and, since his heart was empty, he wanted something that might fill it. indeed, like most men, suffering made him a good deal of a boy. so the high heels of donnegan tapped across the floor of lebrun's. a murmur went before him whenever he appeared now, and a way opened for him. at the roulette wheel he stopped, placed fifty on red, and watched it double three times. george, at a signal from the master, raked in the winnings. and donnegan sat at a faro table and won again, and again rose disconsolately and went on. for when men do not care how luck runs it never fails to favor them. the devotees of fortune are the ones she punishes. in the meantime the whisper ran swiftly through the corner. "donnegan is out hunting trouble." about the good that is in men rumor often makes mistakes, but for evil she has an infallible eye and at once sets all of her thousand tongues wagging. indeed, any man with half an eye could not fail to get the meaning of his fixed glance, his hard set jaw, and the straightness of his mouth. if he had been a ghost, men could not have avoided him more sedulously, and the giant servant who stalked at his back. not that the corner was peopled with cowards. the true westerner avoids trouble, but cornered, he will fight like a wildcat. so people watched from the corner of their eyes as donnegan passed. he left lebrun's. there was no competition. luck blindly favored him, and donnegan wanted contest, excitement. he crossed to milligan's. rumor was there before him. a whisper conveyed to a pair of mighty-limbed cow-punchers that they were sitting at the table which donnegan had occupied the night before, and they wisely rose without further hint and sought other chairs. milligan, anxious-eyed, hurried to the orchestra, and with a blast of sound they sought to cover up the entry of the gunman. as a matter of fact that blare of horns only served to announce him. something was about to happen; the eyes of men grew shadowy; the eyes of women brightened. and then donnegan appeared, with george behind him, and crossed the floor straight to his table of the night before. not that he had forethought in going toward it, but he was moving absent-mindedly. indeed, he had half forgotten that he was a public figure in the corner, and sitting sipping the cordial which big george brought him at once, he let his glance rove swiftly around the room. the eye of more than one brave man sank under that glance; the eye of more than one woman smiled back at him; but where the survey of donnegan halted was on the face of nelly lebrun. she was crossing the farther side of the floor alone, unescorted except for the whisper about her, but seeing donnegan she stopped abruptly. donnegan instantly rose. she would have gone on again in a flurry; but that would have been too pointed. a moment later donnegan was threading his way across the dance floor to nelly lebrun, with all eyes turned in his direction. he had his hat under his arm; and in his black clothes, with his white stock, he made an old-fashioned figure as he bowed before the girl and straightened again. "did you send for me?" donnegan inquired. nelly lebrun was frankly afraid; and she was also delighted. she felt that she had been drawn into the circle of intense public interest which surrounded the red-headed stranger; she remembered on the other hand that her father would be furious if she exchanged two words with the man. and for that very reason she was intrigued. donnegan, being forbidden fruit, was irresistible. so she let the smile come to her lips and eyes, and then laughed outright in her excitement. "no," she said with her lips, while her eyes said other things. "i've come to ask a favor: to talk with you one minute." "if i should--what would people say?"; "let's find out." "it would be--daring," said nelly lebrun. "after last night." "it would be delightful," said donnegan. "here's a table ready for us." she went a pace closer to it with him. "i think you've frightened the poor people away from it. i mustn't sit down with you, mr. donnegan." and she immediately slipped into the chair. she qualified her surrender, of course, by sitting on the very edge of the chair. she had on a wine-colored dress, and, with the excitement whipping color into her cheeks and her eyes dancing, nelly lebrun was a lovely picture. "i must go at once," said nelly. "of course, i can't expect you to stay." she dropped one hand on the edge of the table. one would have thought that she was in the very act of rising. "do you know that you frighten me?" "i?" said donnegan, with appropriate inflection. "as if i were a man and you were angry." "but you see?" and he made a gesture with both of his palms turned up. "people have slandered me. i am harmless." "the minute is up, mr. donnegan. what is it you wish?" "another minute." "now you laugh at me." "no, no!" "and in the next minute?" "i hope to persuade you to stay till the third minute." "of course, i can't." "i know; it's impossible." "quite." she settled into the chair. "see how people stare at me! they remember poor jack landis and they think--the whole crowd--" "a crowd is always foolish. in the meantime, i'm happy." "you?" "to be here; to sit close to you; to watch you." her glance was like the tip of a rapier, searching him through for some iota of seriousness under this banter. "ah?" and nelly lebrun laughed. "don't you see that i mean it?" "you can watch me from a distance, mr. donnegan." "may i say a bold thing?" "you have said several." "no one can really watch you from a distance." she canted her head a little to one side; such an encounter of personal quips was a seventh heaven to her. "that's a riddle, mr. donnegan." "a simple one. the answer is, because there's too much to watch." he joined her when she laughed, but the laughter of donnegan made not a sound, and he broke in on her mirth suddenly. "ah, don't you see i'm serious?" her glance flicked on either side, as though she feared someone might have read his lips. "not a soul can hear me," murmured donnegan, "and i'm going to be bolder still, and tell you the truth." "it's the last thing i dare stay to hear." "you are too lovely to watch from a distance, nelly lebrun." he was so direct that even nelly lebrun, expert in flirtations, was given pause, and became sober. she shook her head and raised a cautioning finger. but donnegan was not shaken. "because there is a glamour about a beautiful girl," he said gravely. "one has to step into the halo to see her, to know her. are you contented to look at a flower from a distance? that's an old comparison, isn't it? but there is something like a fragrance about you, nelly lebrun. don't be afraid. no one can hear; no one shall ever dream i've said such bold things to you. in the meantime, we have a truth party. there is a fragrance, i say. it must be breathed. there is a glow which must touch one. as it touches me now, you see?" indeed, there was a faint color in his cheeks. and the girl flushed more deeply; her eyes were still bright, but they no longer sharpened to such a penetrating point. she was believing at least a little part of what he said, and her disbelief only heightened her joy in what was real in this strangest of lovemakings. "i shall stay here to learn one thing," she said. "what deviltry is behind all this talk, mr. donnegan?" "is that fair to me? besides, i only follow a beaten trail in the corner." "and that?" "toward nelly lebrun." "a beaten trail? you?" she cried, with just a touch of anger. "i'm not a child, mr. donnegan!" "you are not; and that's why i am frank." "you have done all these things--following this trail you speak of?" "remember," said donnegan soberly. "what have i done?" "shot down two men; played like an actor on a stage a couple of times at least, if i must be blunt; hunted danger like--like a reckless madman; dared all the corner to cross you; flaunted the red rag in the face of the bull. those are a few things you have done, sir! and all on one trail? that trail you spoke of?" "nelly lebrun--" "i'm listening; and do you know i'm persuading myself to believe you?" "it's because you feel the truth before i speak it. truth speaks for itself, you know." "i have closed my eyes--you see? i have stepped into a masquerade. now you can talk." "masquerades are exciting," murmured donnegan. "and they are sometimes beautiful." "but this sober truth of mine--" "well?" "i came here unknown--and i saw you, nelly lebrun." he paused; she was looking a little past him. "i came in rags; no friends; no following. and i saw that i should have to make you notice me." "and why? no, i shouldn't have asked that." "you shouldn't ask that," agreed donnegan. "but i saw you the queen of the corner, worshiped by all men. what could i do? i am not rich. i am not big. you see?" he drew her attention to his smallness with a flush which never failed to touch the face of donnegan when he thought of his size; and he seemed to swell and grow greater in the very instant she glanced at him. "what could i do? one thing; fight. i have fought. i fought to get the eye of the corner, but most of all to attract your attention. i came closer to you. i saw that one man blocked the way--mostly. i decided to brush him aside. how?" "by fighting?" she had not been carried away by his argument. she was watching him like a lynx every moment. "not by that. by bluffing. you see, i was not fool enough to think that you would--particularly notice a fighting bully." he laid his open hand on the table. it was like exposing both strength and weakness; and into such a trap it would have been a singularly hard-minded woman who might not have stepped. nelly lebrun leaned a little closer. she forgot to criticize. "it was bluff. i saw that landis was big and good-looking. and what was i beside him? nothing. i could only hope that he was hollow; yellow--you see? so i tried the bluff. you know about it. the clock, and all that claptrap. but landis wasn't yellow. he didn't crumble. he lasted long enough to call my bluff, and i had to shoot in self-defense. and then, when he lay on the floor, i saw that i had failed." "failed?" he lowered his eyes for fear that she would catch the glitter of them. "i knew that you would hate me for what i had done because i had only proved that landis was a brave youngster with enough nerve for nine out of ten. and i came tonight--to ask you to forgive me. no, not that--only to ask you to understand. do you?" he raised his glance suddenly at that, and their eyes met with one of these electric shocks which will go tingling through two people. and when the lips of nelly lebrun parted a little, he knew that she was in the trap. he closed his hand that lay on the table--curling the fingers slowly. in that way he expressed all his exultation. "there is something wrong," said the girl, in a tone of one who argues with herself. "it's all too logical to be real." "ah?" "was that your only reason for fighting jack landis?" "do i have to confess even that?" she smiled in the triumph of her penetration, but it was a brief, unhappy smile. one might have thought that she would have been glad to be deceived. "i came to serve a girl who was unhappy," said donnegan. "her fiancé had left her; her fiancé was jack landis. and she's now in a hut up the hill waiting for him. and i thought that if i ruined him in your eyes he'd go back to a girl who wouldn't care so much about bravery. who'd forgive him for having left her. but you see what a fool i was and how clumsily i worked? my bluff failed, and i only wounded him, put him in your house, under your care, where he'll be happiest, and where there'll never be a chance for this girl to get him back." nelly lebrun, with her folded hands under her chin, studied him. "mr. donnegan," she said, "i wish i knew whether you are the most chivalrous, self-sacrificing of men, or simply the most gorgeous liar in the desert." "and it's hardly fair," said donnegan, "to expect me to tell you that." it gave them both a welcome opportunity to laugh, welcome to the girl because it broke into an excitement which was rapidly telling upon her, and welcome to donnegan because the strain of so many distortions of the truth was telling upon him as well. they laughed together. one hasty glance told donnegan that half the couples in the room were whispering about donnegan and nelly lebrun; but when he looked across the table he saw that nelly lebrun had not a thought for what might be going on in the minds of others. she was quite content. "and the girl?" she said. donnegan rested his forehead upon his hand in thought. he dared not let nelly see his face at this moment, for the mention of lou macon had poured the old flood of sorrow back upon him and therefore, when he looked up, he was sneering. "you know these blond, pretty girls?" he said. "oh, they are adorable!" "with dull eyes," said donnegan coldly, and a twinkle came into the responsive eye of nelly lebrun. "the sort of a girl who sees a hero in such a fellow as jack landis." "and jack is brave." "i shouldn't have said that." "never mind. brave, but such a boy." "are you serious?" she looked questioningly at donnegan and they smiled together, slowly. "i--i'm glad it's that way," and donnegan sighed. "and did you really think it could be any other way?" "i didn't know. i'm afraid i was blind." "but the poor girl on the hill; i wish i could see her." she was watching donnegan very sharply again. "a good idea. why don't you?" "you seem to like her?" "yes," said donnegan judiciously. "she has an appealing way; i'm very sorry for her. but i've done my best; i can't help her." "isn't there some way?" "of what?" "of helping her." donnegan laughed. "go to your father and persuade him to send landis back to her." she shook her head. "of course, that wouldn't do. there's business mixed up in all this, you know." "business? well, i guessed at that." "my part in it wasn't very pleasant," she remarked sadly. donnegan was discreetly silent, knowing that silence extracts secrets. "they made me--flirt with poor jack. i really liked him!" how much the past tense may mean! "poor fellow," murmured the sympathetic donnegan. "but why," with gathering heat, "couldn't you help me to do the thing i can't do alone? why couldn't you get him away from the house?" "with joe rix and the pedlar guarding him?" "they'll be asleep in the middle of the night." "but jack would wake up and make a noise." "there are things that would make him sleep through anything." "but how could he be moved?" "on a horse litter kept ready outside." "and how carried to the litter?" "i would carry him." the girl looked at him with a question and then with a faint smile beginning. "easily," said donnegan, stiffening in his chair. "very easily." it pleased her to find this weakness in the pride of the invincible donnegan. it gave her a secure feeling of mastery. so she controlled her smile and looked with a sort of superior kindliness upon the red-headed little man. "it's no good," nelly lebrun said with a sigh. "even if he were taken away--and then it would get you into a bad mess." "would it? worse than i'm in?" "hush! lord nick is coming to the corner; and no matter what you've done so far--i think i could quiet him. but if you were to take landis away--then nothing could stop him." donnegan sneered. "i begin to think lord nick is a bogie," he said. "everyone whispers when they speak of him." he leaned forward. "i should like to meet him, nelly lebrun!" it staggered nelly. "do you mean that?" she cried softly. "i do." she caught her breath and then a spark of deviltry gleamed. "i wonder!" said nelly lebrun, and her glance weighed donnegan. "all i ask is a fair chance," he said. "he is a big man," said the girl maliciously. the never-failing blush burned in the face of donnegan. "a large target is more easily hit," he said through his teeth. her thoughts played back and forth in her eyes. "i can't do it," she said. donnegan played a random card. "i was mistaken," he said darkly. "jack was not the man i should have faced. lord nick!" "no, no, no, mr. donnegan!" "you can't persuade me. well, i was a fool not to guess it!" "i really think," said the girl gloomily, "that as soon as lord nick comes, you'll hunt him out!" he bowed to her with cold politeness. "in spite of his size," said donnegan through his teeth once more. and at this the girl's face softened and grew merry. "i'm going to help you to take jack away," she said, "on one condition." "and that?" "that you won't make a step toward lord nick when he comes." "i shall not avoid him," said donnegan. "you're unreasonable! well, not avoid him, but simply not provoke him. i'll arrange it so that lord nick won't come hunting trouble." "and he'll let jack stay with the girl and her father?" "perhaps he'll persuade them to let him go of their own free will." donnegan thought of the colonel and smiled. "in that case, of course, i shouldn't care at all." he added: "but do you mean all this?" "you shall see." they talked only a moment longer and then donnegan left the hall with the girl on his arm. certainly the thoughts of all in milligan's followed that pair; and it was seen that donnegan took her to the door of her house and then went away through the town and up the hill. and big george followed him like a shadow cast from a lantern behind a man walking in a fog. in the hut on the hill, donnegan put george quickly to work, and with a door and some bedding, a litter was hastily constructed and swung between the two horses. in the meantime, donnegan climbed higher up the hill and watched steadily over the town until, in a house beneath him, two lights were shown. he came back at that and hurried down the hill with george behind and around the houses until they came to the pretentious cabin of the gambler, lebrun. once there, donnegan went straight to an unlighted window, tapped; and it was opened from within, softly. nelly lebrun stood within. "it's done," she said. "joe and the pedlar are sound asleep. they drank too much." "your father." "hasn't come home." "and jack landis?" "no matter what you do, he won't wake up; but be careful of his shoulder. it's badly torn. how can you carry him?" she could not see donnegan's flush, but she heard his teeth grit. and he slipped through the window, gesturing to george to come close. it was still darker inside the room--far darker than the starlit night outside. and the one path of lighter gray was the bed of jack landis. his heavy breathing was the only sound. donnegan kneeled beside him and worked his arms under the limp figure. and while he kneeled there a door in the house was opened and closed softly. donnegan stood up. "is the door locked?" "no," whispered the girl. "quick!" "too late. it's father, and he'd hear the turning of the key." they waited, while the light, quick step came down the hall of the cabin. it came to the door, it went past; and then the steps retraced and the door was opened gently. there was a light in the hall; the form of lebrun was outlined black and distinct.. "jack!" he whispered. no sound; he made as if to enter, and then he heard the heavy breathing of the sleeper, apparently. "asleep, poor fool," murmured the gambler, and closed the door. the door was no sooner closed than donnegan had raised the body of the sleeper. once, as he rose, straining, it nearly slipped from his arms; and when he stood erect he staggered. but once he had gained his equilibrium, he carried the wounded man easily enough to the window through which george reached his long arms and lifted out the burden. "you see?" said donnegan, panting, to the girl. "yes; it was really wonderful!" "you are laughing, now." "i? but hurry. my father has a fox's ear for noises." "he will not hear this, i think." there was a swift scuffle, very soft of movement. "nelly!" called a far-off voice. "hurry, hurry! don't you hear?" "you forgive me?" "no--yes--but hurry!" "you will remember me?" "mr. donnegan!" "adieu!" she caught a picture of him sitting in the window for the split part of a second, with his hat off, bowing to her. then he was gone. and she went into the hall, panting with excitement. "heavens!" nelly lebrun murmured. "i feel as if i had been hunted, and i must look it. what if he--" whatever the thought was she did not complete it. "it may have been for the best," added nelly lebrun. it is your phlegmatic person who can waken easily in the morning, but an active mind readjusts itself slowly to the day. so nelly lebrun roused herself with an effort and scowled toward the door at which the hand was still rapping. "yes?" she called drowsily. "this is nick. may i come in?" "this is who?" the name had brought her instantly into complete wakefulness; she was out of the bed, had slipped her feet into her slippers and whipped a dressing gown around her while she was asking the question. it was a luxurious little boudoir which she had managed to equip. skins of the lynx, cunningly matched, had been sewn together to make her a rug, and the soft fur of the wildcat was the outer covering of her bed. she threw back the tumbled bedclothes, tossed half a dozen pillows into place, transforming it into a day couch, and ran to the mirror. and in the meantime, the deep voice outside the door was saying: "yes, nick. may i come in?" she gave a little ecstatic cry, but while it was still tingling on her lips, she was winding her hair into shape with lightning speed; had dipped the tips of her fingers in cold water and rubbed her eyes awake and brilliant, and with one circular rub had brought the color into her cheeks. scarcely ten seconds from the time when she first answered the knock, nelly was opening the door and peeping out into the hall. the rest was done by the man without; he cast the door open with the pressure of his foot, caught the girl in his arms, and kissed her; and while he closed the door the girl slipped back and stood with one hand pressed against her face, and her face held that delightful expression halfway between laughter and embarrassment. as for lord nick, he did not even smile. he was not, in fact, a man who was prone to gentle expressions, but having been framed by nature for a strong dominance over all around him, his habitual expression was a proud self-containment. it would have been insolence in another man; in lord nick it was rather leonine. he was fully as tall as jack landis, but he carried his height easily, and was so perfectly proportioned that unless he was seen beside another man he did not look large. the breadth of his shoulders was concealed by the depth of his chest; and the girth of his throat was made to appear quite normal by the lordly size of the head it supported. to crown and set off his magnificent body there was a handsome face; and he had the combination of active eyes and red hair, which was noticeable in donnegan, too. in fact, there was a certain resemblance between the two men; in the set of the jaw for instance, in the gleam of the eye, and above all in an indescribable ardor of spirit, which exuded from them both. except, of course, that in donnegan, one was conscious of all spirit and very little body, but in lord nick hand and eye were terribly mated. looking upon so splendid a figure, it was no wonder that the mountain desert had forgiven the crimes of lord nick because of the careless insolence with which he treated the law. it requires an exceptional man to make a legal life attractive and respected; it takes a genius to make law-breaking glorious. no wonder that nelly lebrun stood with her hand against her cheek, looking him over, smiling happily at him, and questioning him about his immediate past all in the same glance. he waved her back to her couch, and she hesitated. then, as though she remembered that she now had to do with lord nick in person, she obediently curled up on the lounge, and waited expectantly. "i hear you've been raising the devil," said this singularly frank admirer. the girl merely looked at him. "well?" he insisted. "i haven't done a thing," protested nelly rather childishly. "no?" one felt that he could have crushed her with evidence to the contrary but that he was restraining himself--it was not worthwhile to bother with such a girl seriously. "things have fallen into a tangle since i left, old satan macon is on the spot and your rat of a father has let landis get away. what have you been doing, nelly, while all this was going on? sitting with your eyes closed?" he took a chair and lounged back in it gracefully. "how could i help it? i'm not a watchdog." he was silent for a time. "well," he said, "if you told me the truth i suppose i shouldn't love you, my girl. but this time i'm in earnest. landis is a mint, silly child. if we let him go we lose the mint." "i suppose you'll get him back?" "first, i want to find out how he got away." "i know how." "ah?" "donnegan." "donnegan, donnegan, donnegan!" burst out lord nick, and though he did not raise the pitch of his voice, he allowed its volume to swell softly so that it filled the room like the humming of a great, angry tiger. "nobody says three words without putting in the name of donnegan as one of them! you, too!" she shrugged her shoulders. "donnegan thrills the corner!" went on the big man in the same terrible voice. "donnegan wears queer clothes; donnegan shoots scar-faced lewis; donnegan pumps the nerve out of poor jack landis and then drills him. why, nelly, it looks as though i'll have to kill this intruding fool!" she blanched at this, but did not appear to notice. "it's a long time since you've killed a man, isn't it?" she asked coldly. "it's an awful business," declared lord nick. "always complications; have to throw the blame on the other fellow. and even these blockheads are beginning to get tired of my self-defense pleas." "well," murmured the girl, "don't cross that bridge until you come to it; and you'll never come to it." "never. because i don't want him killed." "ah," lord nick murmured. "and why?" "because he's in love--with me." "tush!" said lord nick. "i see you, my dear. donnegan seems to be a rare fellow, but he couldn't have gotten landis out of this house without help. rix and the pedlar may have been a bit sleepy, but donnegan had to find out when they fell asleep. he had a confederate. who? not rix; not the pedlar; not lebrun. they all know me. it had to be someone who doesn't fear me. who? only one person in the world. nelly, you're the one!" she hesitated a breathless instant. "yes," she said. "i am." she added, as he stared calmly at her, considering: "there's a girl in the case. she came up here to get landis; seems he was in love with her once. and i pitied her. i sent him back to her. suppose he is a mint; haven't we coined enough money out of him? besides, i couldn't have kept on with it." "no?" "he was getting violent, and he talked marriage all day, every day. i haven't any nerves, you say, but he began to put me on edge. so i got rid of him." "nelly, are you growing a conscience?" she flushed and then set her teeth. "but i'll have to teach you business methods, my dear. i have to bring him back." "you'll have to go through donnegan to do it." "i suppose so." "you don't understand, nick. he's different." "eh?" "he's like you." "what are you driving at?" "nick, i tell you upon my word of honor, no matter what a terrible fighter you may be, donnegan will give you trouble. he has your hair and your eyes and he moves like a cat. i've never seen such a man--except you. i'd rather see you fight the plague than fight donnegan!" for the first time lord nick showed real emotion; he leaned a little forward. "just what does he mean to you?" he asked. "i've stood for a good deal, nelly; i've given you absolute freedom, but if i ever suspect you--" the lion was up in him unmistakably now. and the girl shrank. "if it were serious, do you suppose i'd talk like this?" "i don't know. you're a clever little devil, nell. but i'm clever, too. and i begin to see through you. do you still want to save donnegan?" "for your own sake." he stood up. "i'm going up the hill today. if donnegan's there, i'll go through him; but i'm going to have landis back!" she, also, rose. "there's only one way out and i'll take that way. i'll get donnegan to leave the house." "i don't care what you do about that." "and if he isn't there, will you give me your word that you won't hunt him out afterward?" "i never make promises, nell." "but i'll trust you, nick." "very well. i start up the hill in an hour. you have that long." the air was thin and chilly; snow had fallen in the mountains to the north, and the wind was bringing the cold down to the corner. nelly lebrun noted this as she dressed and made up her mind accordingly. she sent out two messages: one to the cook to send breakfast to her room, which she ate while she finished dressing with care; and the other to the gambling house, summoning one of the waiters. when he came, she gave him a note for donnegan. the fellow flashed a glance at her as he took the envelope. there was no need to give that name and address in the corner, and the girl tingled under the glance. she finished her breakfast and then concentrated in polishing up her appearance. from all of which it may be gathered that nelly lebrun was in love with donnegan, but she really was not. but he had touched in her that cord of romance which runs through every woman; whenever it is touched the vibration is music, and nelly was filled with the sound of it. and except for lord nick, there is no doubt that she would have really lost her head; for she kept seeing the face of donnegan, as he had leaned toward her across the little table in milligan's. and that, as anyone may know, is a dangerous symptom. her glances were alternating between her mirror and her watch, and the hands of the latter pointed to the fact that fifty minutes of her hour had elapsed when a message came up that she was waited for in the street below. so nelly lebrun went down in her riding costume, the corduroy swishing at each step, and tapping her shining boots with the riding crop. her own horse she found at the hitching rack, and beside it donnegan was on his chestnut horse. it was a tall horse, and he looked more diminutive than ever before, pitched so high in the saddle. he was on the ground in a flash with the reins tucked under one arm and his hat under the other; she became aware of gloves and white-linen stock, and pale, narrow face. truly donnegan made a natty appearance. "there's no day like a cool day for riding," she said, "and i thought you might agree with me." he untethered her horse while he murmured an answer. but for his attitude she cared little so long as she had him riding away from that house on the hill where lord nick in all his terror would appear in some few minutes. besides, as they swung up the road--the chestnut at a long-strided canter and nelly's black at a soft and choppy pace--the wind of the gallop struck into her face; nelly was made to enjoy things one by one and not two by two. they hit over the hills, and when the first impulse of the ride was done they were a mile or more away from the corner--and lord nick. the resemblance between the two men was less striking now that she had donnegan beside her. he seemed more wizened, paler, and intense as a violin string screwed to the snapping point; there was none of the lordly tolerance of nick about him; he was like a bull terrier compared with a stag hound. and only the color of his eyes and his hair made her make the comparison at all. "what could be better?" she said when they checked their horses on a hilltop to look over a gradual falling of the ground below. "what could be better?" the wind flattened a loose curl of hair against her cheek, and overhead the wild geese were flying and crying, small and far away. "one thing better," said donnegan, "and that is to sit in a chair and see this." she frowned at such frankness; it was almost blunt discourtesy. "you see, i'm a lazy man." "how long has it been," the girl asked sharply, "since you have slept?" "two days, i think." "what's wrong?" he lifted his eyes slowly from a glittering, distant rock, and brought his glance toward her by degrees. he had a way of exciting people even in the most commonplace conversation, and the girl felt a thrill under his look. "that," said donnegan, "is a dangerous question." and he allowed such hunger to come into his eye that she caught her breath. the imp of perversity made her go on. "and why dangerous?" it was an excellent excuse for an outpouring of the heart from donnegan, but, instead, his eyes twinkled at her. "you are not frank," he remarked. she could not help laughing, and her laughter trailed away musically in her excitement. "having once let down the bars i cannot keep you at arm's length. after last night i suppose i should never have let you see me for--days and days." "that's why i'm curious," said donnegan, "and not flattered. i'm trying to find what purpose you have in taking me riding." "i wonder," she said thoughtfully, "if you will." and since such fencing with the wits delighted her, she let all her delight come with a sparkle in her eyes. "i have one clue." "yes?" "and that is that you may have the old-woman curiosity to find out how many ways a man can tell her that he's fond of her." though she flushed a little she kept her poise admirably. "i suppose that is part of my interest," she admitted. "i can think of a great many ways of saying it," said donnegan. "i am the dry desert, you are the rain, and yet i remain dry and produce no grass." "a very pretty comparison," said the girl with a smile. "a very green one," and donnegan smiled. "i am the wind and you are the wild geese, and yet i keep on blowing after you are gone and do not carry away a feather of you." "pretty again." "and silly. but, really, you are very kind to me, and i shall try not to take too much advantage of it." "will you answer a question?" "i had rather ask one: but go on." "what made you so dry a desert, mr. donnegan?" "there is a very leading question again." "i don't mean it that way. for you had the same sad, hungered look the first time i saw you--when you came into milligan's in that beggarly disguise." "i shall confess one thing. it was not a disguise. it was the fact of me; i am a beggarly person." "nonsense! i'm not witless, mr. donnegan. you talk well. you have an education." "in fact i have an educated taste; i disapprove of myself, you see, and long ago learned not to take myself too seriously." "which leads to--" "the reason why i have wandered so much." "like a hunter on a trail. hunting for what?" "a chance to sit in a saddle--or a chair--and talk as we are talking." "which seems to be idly." "oh, you mistake me. under the surface i am as serious as fire." "or ice." at the random hit he glanced sharply at her, but she was looking a little past him, thinking. "i have tried to get at the reason behind all your reasons," she said. "you came on me in a haphazard fashion, and yet you are not a haphazard sort." "do you see nothing serious about me?" "i see that you are unhappy," said the girl gently. "and i am sorry." once again donnegan was jarred, and he came within an ace of opening his mind to her, of pouring out the truth about lou macon. love is a talking madness in all men and he came within an ace of confessing his troubles. "let's go on," she said, loosening her rein. "why not cut back in a semicircle toward the corner?" "toward the corner? no, no!" there was a brightening of his eye as he noted her shudder of distaste or fear, and she strove to cover her traces. "i'm sick of the place," she said eagerly. "let's get as far from it as we may." "but yonder is a very good trail leading past it." "of course we'll ride that way if you wish, but i'd rather go straight ahead." if she had insisted stubbornly he would have thought nothing, but the moment she became politic he was on his guard. "you dislike something in the corner," he said, thinking carelessly and aloud. "you are afraid of something back there. but what could you be afraid of? then you may be afraid of something for me. ah, i have it! they have decided to 'get' me for taking jack landis away; joe rix and the pedlar are waiting for me to come back!" he looked steadily and she attempted to laugh. "joe rix and the pedlar? i would not stack ten like them against you!" "then it is someone else." "i haven't said so. of course there's no one." she shook her rein again, but donnegan sat still in his saddle and looked fixedly at her. "that's why you brought me out here," he announced. "oh, nelly lebrun, what's behind your mind? who is it? by heaven, it's this lord nick!" "mr. donnegan, you're letting your imagination run wild." "it's gone straight to the point. but i'm not angry. i think i may get back in time." he turned his horse, and the girl swung hers beside him and caught his arm. "don't go!" she pleaded. "you're right; it's nick, and it's suicide to face him!" the face of donnegan set cruelly. "the main obstacle," he said. "come and watch me handle it!" but she dropped her head and buried her face in her hands, and, sitting there for a long time, she heard his careless whistling blow back to her as he galloped toward the corner. if nelly lebrun had consigned him mentally to the worms, that thought made not the slightest impression upon donnegan. a chance for action was opening before him, and above all a chance of action in the eye of lou macon; and he welcomed with open arms the thought that he would have an opportunity to strike for her, and keep landis with her. he went arrowy straight and arrowy fast to the cabin on the hill, and he found ample evidence that it had become a center of attention in the corner. there was a scattering of people in the distance, apparently loitering with no particular purpose, but undoubtedly because they awaited an explosion of some sort. he went by a group at which the chestnut shied, and as donnegan straightened out the horse again he caught a look of both interest and pity on the faces of the men. did they give him up so soon as it was known that lord nick had entered the lists against him? had all his display in the corner gone for nothing as against the repute of this terrible mystery man? his vanity made him set his teeth again. dismounting before the cabin of the colonel, he found that worthy in his invalid chair, enjoying a sun bath in front of his house. but there was no sign of lord nick--no sign of lou. a grim fear came to donnegan that he might have to attack nick in his own stronghold, for jack landis might already have been taken away to the lebrun house. so he went straight to the colonel, and when he came close he saw that the fat man was apparently in the grip of a chill. he had gathered a vast blanket about his shoulders and kept drawing it tighter; beneath his eyes, which looked down to the ground, there were violet shadows. "i've lost," said donnegan through his teeth. "lord nick has been here?" the invalid lifted his eyes, and donnegan saw a terrible thing--that the nerve of the fat man had been crushed. the folds of his face quivered as he answered huskily: "he has been here!" "and landis is gone?" "no." "not gone? then--" "nick has gone to get a horse litter. he came up just to clear the way." "when he comes back he'll find me!" the glance of the colonel cleared long enough to survey donnegan slowly from head to foot, and his amusement sent the familiar hot flush over the face of the little man. he straightened to his full height, which, in his high heels, was not insignificant. but the colonel was apparently so desperate that he was willing to throw caution away. "compared with lord nick, donnegan," he said, "you don't look half a man--even with those heels." and he smiled calmly at donnegan in the manner of one who, having escaped the lightning bolt itself, does not fear mere thunder. "there is no fool like a fat fool," said donnegan with childish viciousness. "what did lord nick, as you call him, do to you? he's brought out the yellow, my friend." the colonel accepted the insult without the quiver of an eyelid. throughout he seemed to be looking expectantly beyond donnegan. "my young friend," he said, "you have been very useful to me. but i must confess that you are no longer a tool equal to the task. i dismiss you. i thank you cordially for your efforts. they are worthless. you see that crowd gathering yonder? they have come to see lord nick prepare you for a hole in the ground. and make no mistake: if you are here when he returns that hole will have to be dug--unless they throw you out for the claws of the buzzards. in the meantime, our efforts have been wasted completely. i hadn't enough time. i had thrown the fear of sudden death into landis, and in another hour he would have signed away his soul to me for fear of poison." the colonel paused to chuckle at some enjoyable memory. "then nick came. you see, i know all about nick." "and nick knows all about you?" for a moment the agate, catlike eyes of the colonel clouded and cleared again in their unfathomable manner. "at moments, donnegan," he said, "you have rare perceptions. that is exactly it--nick knows just about everything concerning me. and so--roll your pack and climb on your horse and get away. i think you may have another five minutes before he comes." donnegan turned on his heel. he went to the door of the hut and threw it open. lou sat beside landis holding his hand, and the murmur of her voice was still pleasant as an echo through the room when she looked and saw donnegan. at that she rose and her face hardened as she looked at him. landis, also, lifted his head, and his face was convulsed with hatred. so donnegan closed the door and went softly away to his own shack. she hated him even as landis hated him, it seemed. he should have known that he would not be thanked for bringing back her lover to her with a bullet through his shoulder. sitting in his cabin, he took his head between his hands and thought of life and death, and made up his mind. he was afraid. if lord nick had been the devil himself donnegan could not have been more afraid. but if the big stranger had been ten devils instead of one donnegan would not have found it in his soul to run away. nothing remained for him in the corner, it seemed, except his position as a man of power--a dangerous fighter. it was a less than worthless position, and yet, once having taken it up, he could not abandon it. more than one gunfighter has been in the same place, forced to act as a public menace long after he has ceased to feel any desire to fight. of selfish motives there remained not a scruple to him, but there was still the happiness of lou macon. if the boy were taken back to lebrun's, it would be fatal to her. for even if nelly wished, she could not teach her eyes new habits, and she would ceaselessly play on the heart of the wounded man. it was the cessation of all talk from the gathering crowd outside that made donnegan lift his head at length, and know that lord nick had come. but before he had time to prepare himself, the door was cast open and into it, filling it from side to side, stepped lord nick. there was no need of an introduction. donnegan knew him by the aptness with which the name fitted that glorious figure of a man and by the calm, confident eye which now was looking him slowly over, from head to foot. lord nick closed the door carefully behind him. "the colonel told me," he said in his deep, smooth voice, "that you were waiting for me here." and donnegan recognized the snakelike malice of the fat man in drawing him into the fight. but he dismissed that quickly from his mind. he was staring, fascinated, into the face of the other. he was a reader of men, was donnegan; he was a reader of mind, too. in his life of battle he had learned to judge the prowess of others at a glance, just as a musician can tell the quality of a violin by the first note he hears played upon it. so donnegan judged the quality of fighting men, and, looking into the face of lord nick, he knew that he had met his equal at last. it was a great and a bitter moment to him. the sense of physical smallness he had banished a thousand times by the recollection of his speed of hand and his surety with weapons. he had looked at men muscularly great and despised them in the knowledge that a gun or a knife would make him their master. but in lord nick he recognized his own nerveless speed of hand, his own hair-trigger balance, his own deadly seriousness and contempt of life. the experience in battle was there, too. and he began to feel that the size of the other crushed him to the floor and made him hopeless. it was unnatural, it was wrong, that this giant in the body should be a giant in adroitness also. already donnegan had died one death before he rose from his chair and stood to the full of his height ready to die again and summoning his nervous force to meet the enemy. he had seen that the big man had followed his own example and had measured him at a glance. indeed the history of some lives of action held less than the concentrated silence of these two men during that second's space. and now donnegan felt the cold eye of the other eating into his own, striving to beat him down, break his nerve. for an instant panic got hold on donnegan. he, himself, had broken the nerve of other men by the weight of his unaided eye. had he not reduced poor jack landis to a trembling wreck by five minutes of silence? and had he not seen other brave men become trembling cowards unable to face the light, and all because of that terrible power which lies in the eye of some? he fought away the panic, though perspiration was pouring out upon his forehead and beneath his armpits. "the colonel is very kind," said donnegan. and that moment he sent up a prayer of thankfulness that his voice was smooth as silk, and that he was able to smile into the face of lord nick. the brow of the other clouded and then smoothed itself deftly. perhaps he, too, recognized the clang of steel upon steel and knew the metal of his enemy. "and therefore," said lord nick, "since most of the corner expects business from us, it seems much as if one of us must kill the other before we part." "as a matter of fact," said donnegan, "i have been keeping that in mind." he added, with that deadly smile of his that never reached his eyes: "i never disappoint the public when it's possible to satisfy them." "no," and lord nick nodded, "you seem to have most of the habits of an actor--including an inclination to make up for your part." donnegan bit his lip until it bled, and then smiled. "i have been playing to fools," he said. "now i shall enjoy a discriminating critic." "yes," remarked lord nick, "actors generally desire an intelligent audience for the death scene." "i applaud your penetration and i shall speak well of you when this disagreeable duty is finished." "come," and lord nick smiled genially, "you are a game little cock!" the telltale flush crimsoned donnegan's face. and if the fight had begun at that moment no power under heaven could have saved lord nick from the frenzy of the little man. "my size keeps me from stooping," said donnegan, "i shall look up to you, sir, until the moment you fall." "well hit again! you are also a wit, i see! donnegan, i am almost sorry for the necessity of this meeting. and if it weren't for the audience--" "say no more," said donnegan, bowing. "i read your heart and appreciate all you intend." he had touched his stock as he bowed, and now he turned to the mirror and carefully adjusted it, for it was a little awry from the ride; but in reality he used that moment to examine his own face, and the set of his jaw and the clearness of his eye reassured him. turning again, he surprised a glint of admiration in the glance of lord nick. "we are at one, sir, it appears," he said. "and there is no other way out of this disagreeable necessity?" "unfortunately not. i have a certain position in these parts. people are apt to expect a good deal of me. and for my part i see no way out except a gunplay--no way out between the devil and the moon!" astonishment swept suddenly across the face of the big man, for donnegan, turning white as death, shrank toward the wall as though he had that moment received cold steel in his body. "say that again!" said donnegan hoarsely. "i said there was no way out," repeated lord nick, and though he kept his right hand in readiness, he passed his left through his red hair and stared at donnegan with a tinge of contempt; he had seen men buckle like this at the last moment when their backs were to the wall. "between--" repeated donnegan. "the devil and the moon. do you see a way yourself?" he was astonished again to see donnegan wince as if from a blow. his lips were trembling and they writhed stiffly over his words. "who taught you that expression?" said donnegan. "a gentleman," said lord nick. "ah?" "my father, sir!" "oh, heaven," moaned donnegan, catching his hands to his breast. "oh, heaven, forgive us!" "what the devil is in you?" asked lord nick. the little man stood erect again and his eyes were now on fire. "you are henry nicholas reardon," he said. lord nick set his teeth. "now," he said, "it is certain that you must die!" but donnegan cast out his arms and broke into a wild laughter. "oh, you fool, you fool!" he cried. "don't you know me? i am the cripple!" the big man crossed the floor with one vast stride, and, seizing donnegan by both shoulders, dragged him under the full light of the window; and still the crazy laughter shook donnegan and made him helpless. "they tied me to a board--like a papoose," said donnegan, "and they straightened my back--but they left me this way--wizened up." he was stammering; hysterical, and the words tumbled from his lips in a jumble. "that was a month after you ran away from home. i was going to find you. got bigger. took the road. kept hunting. then i met a yegg who told about rusty dick--described him like you--i thought--i thought you were dead!" and the tears rolled down his face; he sobbed like a woman. a strange thing happened then. lord nick lifted the little man in his arms as if he were a child and literally carried him in that fashion to the bunk. he put him down tenderly, still with one mighty arm around his back. "you are garry? you!" "garrison donnegan reardon. aye, that's what i am. henry, don't say that you don't know me!" "but--your back--i thought--" "i know--hopeless they said i was. but they brought in a young doctor. now look at me. little. i never grew big--but hard, henry, as leather!" and he sprang to his feet. and knowing that donnegan had begun life as a cripple it was easy to appreciate certain things about his expression--a cold wistfulness, and his manner of reading the minds of men. lord nick was like a man in a dream. he dragged donnegan back to the bunk and forced him to sit down with the weight of his arms. and he could not keep his hands from his younger brother. as though he were blind and had to use the sense of touch to reassure him. "i heard lies. they said everybody was dead. i thought--" "the fever killed them all, except me. uncle toby took me in. he was a devil. helped me along, but i left him when i could. and--" "don't tell me any more. all that matters is that i have you at last, garry. heaven knows it's a horrible thing to be kithless and kinless, but i have you now! ah, lad, but the old pain has left its mark on you. poor garry!" donnegan shuddered. "i've forgotten it. don't bring it back." "i keep feeling that you should be in that chair." "i know. but i'm not. i'm hard as nails, i tell you." he leaped to his feet again. "and not so small as you might think, henry!" "oh, big enough, garry. big enough to paralyze the corner, from what i've heard." "i've been playing a game with 'em, henry. and now--if one of us could clear the road, what will we do together? eh?" the smile of lord nick showed his teeth. "haven't i been hungry all my life for a man like you, lad? somebody to stand and guard my back while i faced the rest of the world?" "and i'll do my share of the facing, too." "you will, garry. but i'm your elder." "man, man! nobody's my elder except one that's spent half his life--as i have done!" "we'll teach you to forget the pain i'll make life roses for you, garry." "and the fools outside thought--" donnegan broke into a soundless laughter, and, running to the door, opened it a fraction of an inch and peeped out. "they're standing about in a circle. i can see 'em gaping. even from here. what will they think, henry?" lord nick ground his teeth. "they'll think i've backed down from you," he said gloomily. "they'll think i've taken water for the first time." "why, confound 'em, the first man that opens his head--" "i know, i know. you'd fill his mouth with lead, and so would i. but if it ever gets about--as it's sure to--that lord, nick, as they call me, has been bluffed down without a fight, i'll have every chinaman that cooks on the range talking back to me. i'll have to start all over again." "don't say that, henry. don't you see that i'll go out and explain that i'm your brother?" "what good will that do? no, do we look alike?" donnegan stopped short. "i'm not very big," he said rather coldly, "but then i'm not so very small, either. i've found myself big enough, speaking in general. besides, we have the same hair and eyes." "why, man, people will laugh when they hear that we call ourselves brothers." donnegan ground his teeth and the old flush burned upon his face. "i'll cut some throats if they do," he said, trembling with his passion. "i can hear them say it. 'lord nick walked in on donnegan prepared to eat him up. he measured him up and down, saw that he was a fighting wildcat in spite of his size, and decided to back out. and donnegan was willing. they couldn't come out without a story of some kind--with the whole world expecting a death in that cabin--so they framed a crazy cock-and-bull story about being brothers.' i can hear them say that, donnegan, and it makes me wild!" "do you call me donnegan?" said donnegan sadly. "no, no. garry, don't be so touchy. you've never got over that, i see. still all pride and fire." "you're not very humble yourself, henry." "maybe not, maybe not. but i've been in a certain position around these parts, don--garry. and it's hard to see it go!" donnegan closed his eyes in deep reverie. and then he forced out the words one by one. "henry, i'll let everybody know that it was i who backed down. that we were about to fight." he was unable to speak; he tore the stock loose at his throat and went on: "we were about to fight; i lost my nerve; you couldn't shoot a helpless man. we began to talk. we found out we are brothers--" "damnation!" broke out lord nick, and he struck himself violently across the forehead with the back of his hand. "i'm a skunk, garry, lad. why, for a minute i was about to let you do it. no. no, no! a thousand times no!" it was plain to be seen that he was arguing himself away from the temptation. "what do i care what they say? we'll cram the words back down their throats and be hanged to 'em. here i am worrying about myself like a selfish dog without letting myself be happy over finding you. but i am happy, garry. heaven knows it. and you don't doubt it, do you, old fellow?" "ah," said donnegan, and he smiled to cover a touch of sadness. "i hope not. no, i don't doubt you, of course. i've spent my life wishing for you since you left us, you see. and then i followed you for three years on the road, hunting everywhere." "you did that?" "yes. three years. i liked the careless life. for to tell you the truth, i'm not worth much, henry. i'm a loafer by instinct, and--" "not another word." there were tears in the eyes of lord nick, and he frowned them away. "confound it, garry, you unman me. i'll be weeping like a woman in a minute. but now, sit down. we still have some things to talk over. and we'll get to a quick conclusion." "ah, yes," said donnegan, and at the emotion which had come in the face of lord nick, his own expression softened wonderfully. a light seemed to stand in his face. "we'll brush over the incidentals. and everything is incidental aside from the fact that we're together again. they can chisel iron chain apart, but we'll never be separated again, god willing!" he looked up as he spoke, and his face was for the moment as pure as the face of a child--donnegan, the thief, the beggar, the liar by gift, and the man-killer by trade and artistry. but lord nick in the meantime was looking down to the floor and mustering his thoughts. "the main thing is entirely simple," he said. "you'll make one concession to my pride, garry, boy?" "can you ask me?" said donnegan softly, and he cast out his hands in a gesture that offered his heart and his soul. "can you ask me? anything i have is yours!" "don't say that," answered lord nick tenderly. "but this small thing--my pride, you know--i despise myself for caring what people think, but i'm weak. i admit it, but i can't help it." "talk out, man. you'll see if there's a bottom to things that i can give!" "well, it's this. everyone knows that i came up here to get young jack landis and bring him back to lebrun's--from which you stole him, you clever young devil! well, i'll simply take him back there, garry; and then i'll never have to ask another favor of you." he was astonished by a sudden silence, and looking up again, he saw that donnegan sat with his hand at his breast. it was a singularly feminine gesture to which he resorted. it was a habit which had come to him in his youth in the invalid chair, when the ceaseless torment of his crippled back became too great for him to bear. and clearly, indeed, those days were brought home to lord nick as he glanced up, for donnegan was staring at him in the same old, familiar agony, mute and helpless. at this lord nick very frankly frowned in turn. and when he frowned his face grew marvelously dark, like some wrathful god, for there was a noble, a grecian purity to the profile of henry nicholas reardon, and when he frowned he seemed to be scorning, from a distance, ignoble, earthly things which troubled him. "i know it isn't exactly easy for you, garry," he admitted. "you have your own pride; you have your own position here in the corner. but i want you to notice that mine is different. you've spent a day for what you have in the corner, here. i've spent ten years. you've played a prank, acted a part, and cast a jest for what you have. but for the place which i hold, brother mine, i've schemed with my wits, played fast and loose, and killed men. do you hear? i've bought it with blood, and things you buy at such a price ought to stick, eh?" he banished his frown; the smile played suddenly across his features. "why, i'm arguing with myself. but that look you gave me a minute ago had me worried for a little while." at this donnegan, who had allowed his head to fall, so that he seemed to be nodding in acquiescence, now raised his face and lord nick perceived the same white pain upon it. the same look which had been on the face of the cripple so often in the other days. "henry," said the younger brother, "i give you my oath that my pride has nothing to do with this. i'd let you drive me barefoot before you through the street yonder. i'd let every soul in the corner know that i have no pride where you're concerned. i'll do whatever you wish--with one exception--and that one is the unlucky thing you ask. pardner, you mustn't ask for jack landis! anything else i'll work like a slave to get for you: i'll fight your battles, i'll serve you in any way you name: but don't take landis back!" he had talked eagerly, the words coming with a rush, and he found at the end that lord nick was looking at him in bewilderment. "when a man is condemned to death," said lord nick slowly, "suppose somebody offers him anything in the world that he wants--palaces, riches, power--everything except his life. what would the condemned man say to a friend who made such an offer? he'd laugh at him and then call him a traitor. eh? but i don't laugh at you, garry. i simply explain to you why i have to have landis back. listen!" he counted off his points upon the tips of his fingers, in the confident manner of a teacher who deals with a stupid child, waiting patiently for the young mind to comprehend. "we've been bleeding jack landis. do you know why? because it was lester who made the strike up here. he started out to file his claim. he stopped at the house of colonel macon. that old devil learned the location, learned everything; detained lester with a trick, and rushed young landis away to file the claims for himself. then when lester came up here he found that his claims had been jumped, and when he went to the law there was no law that could help him. he had nothing but his naked word for what he had discovered. and naturally the word of a ruffian like lester had no weight against the word of landis. and, you see, landis thought that he was entirely in the right. lester tried the other way; tried to jump the claims; and was shot down by landis. so lester sent for me. what was i to do? kill landis? the mine would go to his heirs. i tried a different way--bleeding him of his profits, after i'd explained to him that he was in the wrong. he half admitted that, but he naturally wouldn't give up the mines even after we'd almost proved to him that lester had the first right. so landis has been mining the gold and we've been drawing it away from him. it looks tricky, but really it's only just. and lester and lebrun split with me. "but i tell you, garry, that i'd give up everything without an afterthought. i'll give up the money and i'll make lebrun and lester shut up without a word. i'll make them play square and not try to knife landis in the back. i'll do all that willingly--for you! but, garry, i can't give up taking landis back to lebrun's and keeping him there until he's well. why, man, i saw him in the hut just now. he wants to go. he's afraid of the old colonel as if he were poison--and i think he's wise in being afraid." "the colonel won't touch him," said donnegan. "no?" "no. i've told him what would happen if he does." "tush. garry, colonel macon is the coldest-blooded murderer i've ever known. but come out in the open, lad. you see that i'm ready to listen to reason--except on one point. tell me why you're so set on this keeping of landis here against my will and even against the lad's own will? i'm reasonable, garry. do you doubt that?" explaining his own mildness, the voice of lord nick swelled again and filled the room, and he frowned on his brother. but donnegan looked on him sadly. "there is a girl--" he began. "why didn't i guess it?" exclaimed lord nick. "if ever you find a man unreasonable, stubborn and foolish, you'll always find a woman behind it! all this trouble because of a piece of calico?" he leaned back, laughing thunderously in his relief. "come, come! i was prepared for a tragedy. now tell me about this girl. who and what is she?" "the daughter of the colonel." "you're in love with her? i'm glad to hear it, garry. as a matter of fact i've been afraid that you were hunting in my own preserve, but if it's the colonel's daughter, you're welcome to her. so you love the girl? she's pretty, lad!" "i love her?" said donnegan in an indescribably tender voice. "i love her? who am i to love her? a thief, a man-killer, a miserable play actor, a gambler, a drunkard. i love her? bah!" if there was one quality of the mind with which lord nick was less familiar than with all others, it was humbleness of spirit. he now abased his magnificent head, and resting his chin in the mighty palm of his hand, he stared with astonishment and commiseration into the face of donnegan. he seemed to be learning new things every moment about his brother. "leave me out of the question," said donnegan. "can't be done. if i leave you out, dear boy, there's not one of them that i care a hang about; i'd ride roughshod over the whole lot. i've done it before to better men than these!" "then you'll change, i know. this is the fact of the matter. she loves landis. and if you take landis away where will you put him?" "where he was stolen away. in lebrun's." "and what will be in lebrun's?" "joe rix to guard him and the old negress to nurse him."' "no, no! nelly lebrun will be there!" "eh? are you glancing at her, now?" "henry, you yourself know that landis is mad about that girl." "oh, she's flirted a bit with him. turned the fool's head. he'll come out of it safe. she won't break his heart. i've seen her work on others!" he chuckled at the memory. "what do i care about landis?" said donnegan with unutterable scorn. "it's the girl. you'll break her heart, henry; and if you do i'll never forgive you." "steady, lad. this is a good deal like a threat." "no, no, no! not a threat, heaven knows!" "by heaven!" exclaimed lord nick. "i begin to be irritated to see you stick on a silly point like this. listen to me, lad. do you mean to say that you are making all! this trouble about a slip of a girl?" "the heart of a girl," said donnegan calmly. "let landis go; then take her in your arms and kiss her worries away. i warrant you can do it! i gather from nell that you're not tongue-tied around women!" "i?" echoed donnegan, turning pale. "don't jest at this, henry. i'm as serious as death. she's the type of woman made to love one man, and one man only. landis may be common as dirt; but she doesn't see it. she's fastened her heart on him. i looked in on her a little while ago. she turned white when she saw me. i brought landis to her, but she hates me because i had to shoot him down." "garry," said the big man with a twinkle in his eye, "you're in love!" it shook donnegan to the core, but he replied instantly; "if i were in love, don't you suppose that i would have shot to kill when i met landis?" at this his brother blinked, frowned, and shook his head. the point was apparently plain to him and wiped out his previous convictions. also, it eased his mind. "then you don't love the girl?" "i?" "either way, my hands are cleared of the worry. if you want her, let me take landis. if you don't want her, what difference does it make to you except silly sentiment?" donnegan made no answer. "if she comes to lebrun's house, i'll see that nell doesn't bother him too much." "can you control her? if she wants to see this fool can you keep her away, and if she goes to him can you control her smiling?" "certainly," said lord nick, but he flushed heavily. donnegan smiled. "she's a devil of a girl," admitted henry reardon. "but this is beside the point: which is, that you're sticking on a matter that means everything to me, and which is only a secondhand interest to you--a point of sentiment. you pity the girl. what's pity? bah! i pity a dog in the street, but would i cross you, garry, lad, to save the dog? sentiment, i say, silly sentiment." donnegan rose. "it was a silly sentiment," he said hoarsely, "that put me on the road following you, henry. it was a silly sentiment that turned me into a wastrel, a wanderer, a man without a home and without friends." "it's wrong to throw that in my face," muttered lord nick. "it is. and i'm sorry for it. but i want you to see that matters of sentiment may be matters of life and death with me." "aye, if it were for you it would be different. i might see my way clear--but for a girl you have only a distant interest in--" "it is a matter of whether or not her heart shall be broken." "come, come. let's talk man talk. besides, girls' hearts don't break in this country. you're old-fashioned." "i tell you the question of her happiness is worth more than a dozen lives like yours and mine." there had been a gathering impatience in lord nick. now he, also, leaped to his feet; a giant. "tell me in one word: you stick on this point?" "in one word--yes!" "then you deny me, garry. you set me aside for a silly purpose of your own--a matter that really doesn't mean much to you. it shows me where i stand in your eyes--and nothing between the devil and the moon shall make me sidestep!" they remained silent, staring at each other. lord nick stood with a flush of anger growing; donnegan became whiter than ever, and he stiffened himself to his full height, which, in all who knew him well, was the danger signal. "you take landis?" he said softly. "i do." "not," said donnegan, "while i live!" "you mean--" cried lord nick. "i mean it!" they had been swept back to the point at which that strangest of scenes began, but this time there was an added element--horror. "you'd fight?" "to the death, henry!" "garry, if one of us should kill the other, he'd be cursed forever!" "i know it." "and she's worth even this?" "a thousand times more! what are we? dust in the wind; dust in the wind. but a woman like that is divine, henry!" lord nick swayed a little, setting himself in balance like an animal preparing for the leap. "if it comes to the pinch, it is you who will die," he said. "you've no chance against me, garry. and i swear to you that i won't weaken. you prove that you don't care for me. you put another above me. it's my pride, my life, that you'd sacrifice to the whim of a girl!" his passion choked him. "are you ready?" said donnegan. "yes!" "move first!" "i have never formed the habit." "nor i! you fool, take what little advantage you can, because it won't help you in the end." "you shall see. i have a second sight, henry, and it shows me you dead on the floor there, looking bigger than ever, and i see the gun smoking in my hand and my heart as dead as ashes! oh, henry, if there were only some other way!" they were both pale now. "aye," murmured lord nick, "if we could find a judge. my hand turns to lead when i think of fighting you, garry." perspiration stood on the face of donnegan. "name a judge; i'll abide by the decision." "some man--" "no, no. what man could understand me? a woman, henry!" "nell lebrun." "the girl who loves you? you want me to plead before her?" "put her on her honor and she'll be as straight as a string with both of us." for a moment donnegan considered, and at length: "she loves you, henry. you have that advantage. you have only to let her know that this is a vital matter to you and she'll speak as you wish her to speak." "nonsense. you don't know her. you've seen yourself that no man can control her absolutely." "make a concession." "a thousand, garry, dear boy, if they'll get us clear from this horrible mess." "only this. leave the corner for a few hours. give me until--tonight. let me see nelly during that time. you've had years to work on her. i want only this time to put my own case before her." "thank heaven that we're coming to see light and a way out!" "aye, henry." the big man wiped his forehead and sighed in his relief. "a minute ago i was ready--but we'll forget all this. what will you do? how will you persuade nelly? i almost think that you intend to make love to her, garry!" the little man turned paler still. "it is exactly what i intend," he said quietly. the brow of lord nick darkened solemnly, and then he forced a laugh. "she'll be afraid to turn me down, garry. but try your own way." he bit his lips. "why, if you influence her that way--do it. what's a fickle jade to me? nothing!" "however i do it, you'll stick by her judgment, henry?" the perspiration had started on lord nick's forehead again. doubt swayed him, but pride forced him on. "i'll come again tonight," he said gloomily. "i'll meet you in--milligan's?" "in milligan's, then." lord nick, without a word of farewell, stamped across the hut and out. as for donnegan, he stepped backward, his legs buckled beneath him, and when big george entered, with a scared face, he found the little man half sitting on the bunk, half lying against the wall with the face and the staring eyes of a dead man. it was a long time before donnegan left the hut, and when he came out the crowd which had gathered to watch the fight, or at least to mark the reports of the guns when those two terrible warriors met, was scattered. there remained before donnegan only the colonel in his invalid's chair. even from the distance one could see that his expression was changed, and when the little red-headed man came near the colonel looked up to him with something akin to humility. "donnegan," he said, stopping the other as donnegan headed for the door of the hut, "donnegan, don't go in there just now." donnegan turned and came slowly toward him. "the reason," said the colonel, "is that you probably won't receive a very cheery reception. unfortunate--very unfortunate. lou has turned wrong-headed for the first time in her life and she won't listen to reason." he chuckled softly. "i never dreamed there was so much of my metal in her. blood will tell, my boy; blood will tell. and when you finally get her you'll find that she's worth waiting for." "let me tell you a secret," said donnegan dryly. "i am no longer waiting for her!" "ah?" smiled the colonel. "of course not. this bringing of landis to her--it was all pure self-sacrifice. it was not an attempt to soften her heart. it was not a cunning maneuver. tush! of course not!" "i am about to make a profound remark," said donnegan carelessly. "by all means." "you read the minds of other people through a colored glass, colonel. you see yourself everywhere." "in other words i put my own motives into the actions and behind the actions of people? perhaps. i am full of weaknesses. very full. in the meantime let me tell you one important thing--if you have not made the heart of lou tender toward you, you have at least frightened her." the jaw on donnegan set. "excellent!" he said huskily. "perhaps better than you think; and to keep you abreast with the times, you must know another thing. lou has a silly idea that you are a lost soul, donnegan, but she attributes your fall entirely to my weakness. nothing can convince her that you did not intend to kill landis; nothing can convince her that you did not act on my inspiration. i have tried arguing. bah! she overwhelmed me with her scorn. you are a villain, says lou, and i have made you one. and for the first time in my memory of her, her eyes fill with tears." "tears?" "upon my honor, and when a girl begins to weep about a man i don't need to say he is close to her heart." "you are full of maxims, colonel macon." "as a nut is full of meat. old experience, you know. in the meantime lou is perfectly certain that i intend to make away with landis. ha, ha, ha!" the laughter of the colonel was a cheery thunder, and soft as with distance. "landis is equally convinced. he begs lou not to fall asleep lest i should steal in on him. she hardly dares leave him to cook his food. i actually think she would have been glad to see that fiend, lord nick, take landis away!" donnegan smiled wanly. but could he tell her, poor girl, the story of nelly lebrun? landis, in fear of his life, was no doubt at this moment pouring out protestations of deathless affection. "and they both consider you an archdemon for keeping lord nick away!" again donnegan winced, and coughed behind his hand to cover it. "however," went on the colonel, "when it comes to matters with the hearts of women, i trust to time. time alone will show her that landis is a puppy." "in the meantime, colonel, she keeps you from coming near landis?" "not at all! you fail to understand me and my methods, dear boy. i have only to roll my chair into the room and sit and smile at jack in order to send him into an hysteria of terror. it is amusing to watch. and i can be there while lou is in the room and through a few careful innuendoes convey to landis my undying determination to either remove him from my path and automatically become his heir, or else secure from him a legal transfer of his rights to the mines." "i have learned," said donnegan, "that landis has not the slightest claim to them himself. and that you set him on the trail of the claims by trickery." the colonel did not wince. "of course not," said the fat trickster. "not the slightest right. my claim is a claim of superior wits, you see. and in the end all your labor shall be rewarded, for my share will go to lou and through her it shall come to you. no?" "quite logical." the colonel disregarded the other's smile. "but i have a painful confession to make." "well?" "i misjudged you, donnegan. a moment since, when i was nearly distraught with disappointment, i said some most unpleasant things to you." "i have forgotten them." but the colonel raised his strong forefinger and shook his head, smiling. "no, no, donnegan. if you deny it, i shall know that you are harboring the most undying grudge against me. as a matter of fact, i have just had an interview with lord nick, and the cursed fellow put my nerves on edge." the colonel made a wry face. "and when you came, i saw no manner in which you could possibly thwart him." his eyes grew wistful. "between friends--as a son to his future father," he said softly, "can't you tell me what the charm was that you used on. nick to send him away? i watched him come out of the shack. he was in a fury. i could see that by the way his head thrust out between his big shoulders. and when he went down the hill he was striding like a giant, but every now and then he would stop short, and his head would go up as if he were tempted to turn around and go back, but didn't quite have the nerve. donnegan, tell me the trick of it?" "willingly. i appealed to his gambling instinct." "which leaves me as much in the dark as ever." but donnegan smiled in his own peculiar and mirthless manner and he went on to the hut. not that he expected a cheery greeting from lou macon, but he was drawn by the same perverse instinct which tempts a man to throw himself from a great height. at the door he paused a moment. he could distinguish no words, but he caught the murmur of lou's voice as she talked to jack landis, and it had that infinitely gentle quality which only a woman's voice can have, and only when she nurses the sick. it was a pleasant torture to donnegan to hear it. at length he summoned his resolution and tapped at the door. the voice of lou macon stopped. he heard a hurried and whispered consultation. what did they expect? then swift foot-falls on the floor, and she opened the door. there was a smile of expectancy on her lips; her eyes were bright; but when she saw donnegan her lips pinched in. she stared at him as if he were a ghost. "i knew; i knew!" she said piteously, falling back a step but still keeping her hand upon the knob of the door as if to block the way to donnegan. "oh, jack, he has killed lord nick and now he is here--" to do what? to kill landis in turn? her horrified eyes implied as much. he saw landis in the distance raise himself upon one elbow and his face was gray, not with pain but with dread. "it can't be!" groaned landis. "lord nick is alive," said donnegan. "and i have not come here to torment you; i have only come to ask that you let me speak with you alone for a moment, lou!" he watched her face intently. all the cabin was in deep shadow, but the golden hair of the girl glowed as if with an inherent light of its own, and the same light touched her face. jack landis was stricken with panic: he stammered in a dreadful eagerness of fear. "don't leave me, lou. you know what it means. he wants to get you out of the way so that the colonel can be alone with me. don't go, lou! don't go!" as though she saw how hopeless it was to try to bar donnegan by closing the door against him, she fell back to the bed. she kept her eye on the little man, as if to watch against a surprise attack, and, fumbling behind her, her hand found the hand of landis and closed over it with the reassurance of a mother. "don't be afraid, jack. i won't leave you. not unless they carry me away by force." "i give you my solemn word." said donnegan in torment, "that the colonel shall not come near landis while you're away with me." "your word!" murmured the girl with a sort of horrified wonder. "your word!" and donnegan bowed his head. but all at once she cast out her free hand toward him, while the other still cherished the weakness of jack landis. "oh, give them up!" she cried. "give up my father and all his wicked plans. there is something good in you. give him up; come with us; stand for us: and we shall be grateful all our lives!" the little man had removed his hat, so that the sunshine burned brightly on his red hair. indeed, there was always a flamelike quality about him. in inaction he seemed femininely frail and pale; but when his spirit was roused his eyes blazed as his hair burned in the sunlight. "you shall learn in the end," he said to the girl, "that everything i do, i do for you." she cried out as if he had struck her. "it's not worthy of you," she said bitterly. "you are keeping jack here--in peril--for my sake?" "for your sake," said donnegan. she looked at him with a queer pain in her eyes. "to keep you from needless lying," she said, "let me tell you that jack has told me everything. i am not angry because you come and pretend that you do all these horrible things for my sake. i know my father has tempted you with a promise of a great deal of money. but in the end you will get nothing. no, he will twist everything away from you and leave you nothing! but as for me--i know everything; jack told me." "he has told you what? what?" "about the woman you love." "the woman i love?" echoed donnegan, stupefied. it seemed that lou macon could only name her with an effort that left her trembling. "the lebrun woman," she said. "jack has told me." "did you tell her that?" he asked landis. "the whole town knows it," stammered the wounded man. the cunning hypocrisy spurred donnegan. he put his foot on the threshold of the shack, and at this the girl cried out and shrank from him; but landis was too paralyzed to stir or speak. for a moment donnegan was wildly tempted to pour his torrent of contempt and accusation upon landis. to what end? to prove to the girl that the big fellow had coolly tricked her? that it was to be near nelly lebrun as much as to be away from the colonel that he wished so ardently to leave the shack? after all, lou macon was made happy by an illusion; let her keep it. he looked at her sadly again. she stood defiant over landis; ready to protect the helpless bulk of the man. so donnegan closed the door softly and turned away with ashes in his heart. when nelly lebrun raised her head from her hands, donnegan was a far figure; yet even in the distance she could catch the lilt and easy sway of his body; he rode as he walked, lightly, his feet in the stirrups half taking his weight in a semi-english fashion. for a moment she was on the verge of spurring after him, but she kept the rein taut and merely stared until he dipped away among the hills. for one thing she was quite assured that she could not overtake that hard rider; and, again, she felt that it was useless to interfere. to step between lord nick and one of his purposes would have been like stepping before an avalanche and commanding it to halt with a raised hand. she watched miserably until even the dust cloud dissolved and the bare, brown hills alone remained before her. then she turned away, and hour after hour let her black jog on. to nelly lebrun this day was one of those still times which come over the life of a person, and in which they see themselves in relation to the rest of the world clearly. it would not be true to say that nelly loved donnegan. certainly not as yet, for the familiar figure of lord nick filled her imagination. but the little man was different. lord nick commanded respect, admiration, obedience; but there was about donnegan something which touched her in an intimate and disturbing manner. she had felt the will-o'-the-wisp flame which burned in him in his great moments. it was possible for her to smile at donnegan; it was possible even to pity him for his fragility, his touchy pride about his size; to criticize his fondness for taking the center of the stage even in a cheap little mining camp like this and strutting about, the center of all attention. yet there were qualities in him which escaped her, a possibility of metallic hardness, a pitiless fire of purpose. to lord nick, he was as the bull terrier to the mastiff. but above all she could not dislodge the memory of his strange talk with her at lebrun's. not that she did not season the odd avowals of donnegan with a grain of salt, but even when she had discounted all that he said, she retained a quivering interest. somewhere beneath his words she sensed reality. somewhere beneath his actions she felt a selfless willingness to throw himself away. as she rode she was comparing him steadily with lord nick. and as she made the comparisons she felt more and more assured that she could pick and choose between the two. they loved her, both of them. with nick it was an old story; with donnegan it might be equally true in spite of its newness. and nelly lebrun felt rich. not that she would have been willing to give up lord nick. by no means. but neither was she willing to throw away donnegan. diamonds in one hand and pearls in the other. which handful must she discard? she remained riding an unconscionable length of time, and when she drew rein again before her father's house, the black was flecked with foam from his clamped bit, and there was a thick lather under the stirrup leathers. she threw the reins to the servant who answered her call and went slowly into the house. donnegan, by this time, was dead. she began to feel that it would be hard to look lord nick in the face again. his other killings had often seemed to her glorious. she had rejoiced in the invincibility of her lover. now he suddenly took on the aspect of a murderer. she found the house hushed. perhaps everyone was at the gaming house; for now it was midafternoon. but when she opened the door to the apartment which they used as a living room she found joe rix and the pedlar and lester sitting side by side, silent. there was no whisky in sight; there were no cards to be seen. marvel of marvels, these three men were spending their time in solemn thought. a sudden thought rushed over her, and her cry told where her heart really lay, at least at this time. "lord nick--has he been--" the pedlar lifted his gaunt head and stared at her without expression. it was joe rix who answered. "nick's upstairs." "safe?" "not a scratch." she sank into a chair with a sigh, but was instantly on edge again with the second thought. "donnegan?" she whispered. "safe and sound," said lester coldly. she could not gather the truth of the statement. "then nick got landis back before donnegan returned?" "no." like any other girl, nelly lebrun hated a puzzle above all things in the world, at least a puzzle which affected her new friends. "lester, what's happened?" she demanded. at this lester, who had been brooding upon the floor, raised his eyes and then switched one leg over the other. he was a typical cowman, was lester, from his crimson handkerchief knotted around his throat to his shop-made boots which fitted slenderly about his instep with the care of a gloved hand. "i dunno what happened," said lester. "which looks like what counts is the things that didn't happen. landis is still with that devil, macon. donnegan is loose without a scratch, and lord nick is in his room with a face as black as a cloudy night." and briefly he described how lord nick had gone up the hill, seen the colonel, come back, taken a horse litter, and gone up the hill again, while the populace of the corner waited for a crash. for donnegan had arrived in the meantime. and how nick had gone into the cabin, remained a singularly long time, and then come out, with a face half white and half red and an eye that dared anyone to ask questions. he had strode straight home to lebrun's and gone to his room; and there he remained, never making a sound. "but i'll give you my way of readin' the sign on that trail," said lester. "nick goes up the hill to clean up on donnegan. he sees him; they size each other up in a flash; they figure that if they's a gun it means a double killin'--and they simply haul off and say a perlite fare-thee-well." the girl paid no attention to these remarks. she was sunk in a brown study. "there's something behind it all," she said, more to herself than to the men. "nick is proud as the devil himself. and i can't imagine why he'd let donnegan go. oh, it might have been done if they'd met alone in the desert. but with the whole town looking on and waiting for nick to clean up on donnegan--no, it isn't possible. there must have been a showdown of some kind." there was a grim little silence after this. "maybe there was," said the pedlar dryly. "maybe there was a showdown--and the wind-up of it is that nick comes home meek as a six-year-old broke down in front." she stared at him, first astonished, and then almost frightened. "you mean that nick may have taken water?" the three, as one man, shrugged their shoulders, and met her glance with cold eyes. "you fools!" cried the girl, springing to her feet. "he'd rather die!" joe rix leaned forward, and to emphasize his point he stabbed one dirty forefinger into the fat palm of his other hand. "you just start thinkin' back," he said solemnly, "and you'll remember that donnegan has done some pretty slick things." lester added with a touch of contempt: "like shootin' down landis one day and then sittin' down and havin' a nice long chat with you the next. i dunno how he does it." "that hunch of yours," said the girl fiercely, "ought to be roped and branded--lie! lester, don't look at me like that. and if you think nick has lost his grip on things you're dead wrong. step light, lester--and the rest of you. or nick may hear you walk--and think." she flung out of the room and raced up the stairs to lord nick's room. there was an interval without response after her first knock. but when she rapped again he called out to know who was there. at her answer she heard his heavy stride cross the room, and the door opened slowly. his face, as she looked up to it, was so changed that she hardly knew him. his hair was unkempt, on end, where he had sat with his fingers thrust into it, buried in thought. and the marks of his palms were red upon his forehead. "nick," she whispered, frightened, "what is it?" he looked down half fiercely, half sadly at her. and though his lips parted they closed again before he spoke. fear jumped coldly in nelly lebrun. "did donnegan--" she pleaded, white-faced. "did he--" "did he bluff me out?" finished nick. "no, he didn't. that's what everybody'll say. i know it, don't i? and that's why i'm staying here by myself, because the first fool that looks at me with a question in his face, why--i'll break him in two." she pressed close to him, more frightened than before. that lord nick should have been driven to defend himself with words was almost too much for credence. "you know i don't believe it, nick? you know that i'm not doubting you?" but he brushed her hands roughly away. "you want to know what it's all about? then go over to--well, to milligan's. donnegan will be there. he'll explain things to you, i guess. he wants to see you. and maybe i'll come over later and join you." seeing lord nick before her, so shaken, so gray of face, so dull of eye, she pictured donnegan as a devil in human form, cunning, resistless. "nick, dear--" she pleaded. he closed the door in her face, and she heard his heavy step go back across the room. in some mysterious manner she felt the promethean fire had been stolen from lord nick, and donnegan's was the hand that had robbed him of it. it was fear that nelly lebrun felt first of all. it was fear because the impossible had happened and the immovable object had been at last moved. going back to her own room, the record of lord nick flashed across her mind; one long series of thrilling deeds. he had been a great and widely known figure on the mountain desert while she herself was no more than a girl. when she first met him she had been prepared for the sight of a firebreathing monster; and she had never quite recovered from the first thrill of finding him not devil but man. quite oddly, now that there seemed another man as powerful as lord nick or even more terrible, she felt for the big man more tenderly than ever; for like all women, there was a corner of her heart into which she wished to receive a thing she could cherish and protect. lord nick, the invincible, had seemed without any real need of other human beings. his love for her had seemed unreal because his need of her seemed a superficial thing. now that he was in sorrow and defeat she suddenly visualized a lord nick to whom she could truly be a helpmate. tears came to her eyes at the thought. yet, very contradictorily and very humanly, the moment she was in her room she began preparing her toilet for that evening at lebrun's. let no one think that she was already preparing to cast lord nick away and turn to the new star in the sky of the mountain desert. by no means. no doubt her own heart was not quite clear to nelly. indeed, she put on her most lovely gown with a desire for revenge. if lord nick had been humbled by this singular donnegan, would it not be a perfect revenge to bring donnegan himself to her feet? would it not be a joy to see him turn pale under her smile, and then, when he was well-nigh on his knees, spurn the love which he offered her? she set her teeth and her eyes gleamed with the thought. but nevertheless she went on lavishing care in the preparation for that night. as she visioned the scene, the many curious eyes that watched her with donnegan; the keen envy in the faces of the women; the cold watchfulness of the men, were what she pictured. in a way she almost regretted that she was admired by such fighting men, landis, lord nick, and now donnegan, who frightened away the rank and file of other would-be admirers. but it was a pang which she could readily control and subdue. to tell the truth the rest of the day dragged through a weary length. at the dinner table her father leaned to her and talked in his usual murmuring voice which could reach her own ear and no other by any chance. "nelly, there's going to be the devil to pay around the corner. you know why. now, be a good girl and wise girl and play your cards. donnegan is losing his head; he's losing it over you. so play your cards." "turn down nick and take up donnegan?" she asked coldly. "i've said enough already," said her father, and would not speak again. but it was easy to see that he already felt lord nick's star to be past its full glory. afterward, lebrun himself took his daughter over to milligan's and left her under the care of the dance-hall proprietor. "i'm waiting for someone," said nelly, and milligan sat willingly at her table and made talk. he was like the rest of the corner--full of the subject of the strange encounter between lord nick and donnegan. what had donnegan done to the big man? nelly merely smiled and said they would all know in time: one thing was certain--lord nick had not taken water. but at this milligan smiled behind his hand. ten minutes later there was that stir which announced the arrival of some public figures; and donnegan with big george behind him came into the room. this evening he went straight to the table to nelly lebrun. milligan, a little uneasy, rose. but donnegan was gravely polite and regretted that he had interrupted. "i have only come to ask you for five minutes of your time," he said to the girl. she was about to put him off merely to make sure of her hold over him, but something she saw in his face fascinated her. she could not play her game. milligan had slipped away before she knew it, and donnegan was in his place at the table. he was as much changed as lord nick, she thought. not that his clothes were less carefully arranged than ever, but in the compression of his lips and something behind his eyes she felt the difference. she would have given a great deal indeed to have learned what went on behind the door of donnegan's shack when lord nick was there. "last time you asked for one minute and stayed half an hour," she said. "this time it's five minutes." no matter what was on his mind he was able to answer fully as lightly. "when i talk about myself, i'm always long-winded." "tonight it's someone else?" "yes." she was, being a woman, intensely disappointed, but her smile was as bright as ever. "of course i'm listening." "you remember what i told you of landis and the girl on the hill?" "she seems to stick in your thoughts, mr. donnegan." "yes, she's a lovely child." and by his frankness he very cunningly disarmed her. even if he had hesitated an instant she would have been on the track of the truth, but he had foreseen the question and his reply came back instantly. he added: "also, what i say has to do with lord nick." "ah," said the girl a little coldly. donnegan went on. he had chosen frankness to be his role and he played it to the full. "it is a rather wonderful story," he went on. "you know that lord nick went up the hill for landis? and the corner was standing around waiting for him to bring the youngster down?" "of course." "there was only one obstacle--which you had so kindly removed--myself." "for your own sake, mr. donnegan." "ah, don't you suppose that i know?" and his voice touched her. "he came to kill me. and no doubt he could have done so." such frankness shocked her into a new attention. perhaps donnegan overdid his part a little at this point, for in her heart of hearts she knew that the little man would a thousand times rather die than give way to any living man. "but i threw my case bodily before him--the girl--her love for landis--and the fear which revolved around your own unruly eyes, you know, if he were sent back to your father's house. i placed it all before him. at first he was for fighting at once. but the story appealed to him. he pitied the girl. and in the end he decided to let the matter be judged by a third person. he suggested a man. but i know that a man would see in my attitude nothing but foolishness. no man could have appreciated the position of that girl on the hill. i myself named another referee--yourself." she gasped. "and so i have come to place the question before you, because i know that you will decide honestly." "then i shall be honest," said the girl. she was thinking: why not have landis back? it would keep the three men revolving around her. landis on his feet and well would have been nothing; either of these men would have killed him. but landis sick she might balance in turn against them both. nelly had the instincts of a fencer; she loved balance. but donnegan was heaping up his effects. for by the shadow in her eyes he well knew what was passing through her mind, and he dared not let her speak too quickly. "there is more hanging upon it. in the first place, if landis is left with the girl it gives the colonel a chance to work on him, and like as not the colonel will get the young fool to sign away the mines to him--frighten him, you see, though i've made sure that the colonel will not actually harm him." "how have you made sure? they say the colonel is a devil." "i have spoken with him. the colonel is not altogether without sensibility to fear." she caught the glint in the little man's eye and she believed. "so much for that. landis is safe, but his money may not be. another thing still hangs upon your decision. lord nick wanted to know why i trusted to you? because i felt you were honest. why did i feel that? there was nothing to do. besides, how could i conceal myself from such a man? i spoke frankly and told him that i trusted you because i love you." she closed her hand hard on the edge of the table to steady herself. "and he made no move at you?" "he restrained himself." "lord nick?" gasped the incredulous girl. "he is a gentleman," said donnegan with a singular pride which she could not understand. he went on: "and unfortunately i fear that if you decide in favor of my side of the argument, i fear that lord nick will feel that you--that you--" he was apparently unable to complete his sentence. "he will feel that you no longer care for him," said donnegan at length. the girl pondered him with cloudy eyes. "what is behind all this frankness?" she asked coldly. "i shall tell you. hopelessness is behind it. last night i poured my heart at your feet. and i had hope. today i have seen lord nick and i no longer hope." "ah?" "he is worthy of a lovely woman's affection; and i--" he called her attention to himself with a deprecatory gesture. "do you ask me to hurt him like this?" said the girl. "his pride is the pride of the fiend. love me? he would hate me!" "it might be true. still i know you would risk it, because--" he paused. "well?" asked the girl, whispering in her excitement. "because you are a lady." he bowed to her. "because you are fair; because you are honest, nelly lebrun. personally i think that you can win lord nick back with one minute of smiling. but you might not. you might alienate him forever. it will be clumsy to explain to him that you were influenced not by me, but by justice. he will make it a personal matter, whereas you and i know that it is only the right that you are seeing." she propped her chin on the tips of her fingers, and her arm was a thing of grace. for the last moments that clouded expression had not cleared. "if i only could read your mind," she murmured now. "there is something behind it all." "i shall tell you what it is. it is the restraint that has fallen upon me. it is because i wish to lean closer to you across the table and speak to you of things which are at the other end of the world from landis and the other girl. it is because i have to keep my hands gripped hard to control myself. because, though i have given up hope, i would follow a forlorn chance, a lost cause, and tell you again and again that i love you, nelly lebrun!" he had half lowered his eyes as he spoke; he had called up a vision, and the face of lou macon hovered dimly between him and nelly lebrun. if all that he spoke was a lie, let him be forgiven for it; it was the golden-haired girl whom he addressed, and it was she who gave the tremor and the fiber to his voice. and after all was he not pleading for her happiness as he believed? he covered his eyes with his hand; but when he looked up again she could see the shadow of the pain which was slowly passing. she had never seen such emotion in any man's face, and if it was for another, how could she guess it? her blood was singing in her veins, and the old, old question was flying back and forth through her brain like a shuttle through a loom: which shall it be? she called up the picture of lord nick, half-broken, but still terrible, she well knew. she pitied him, but when did pity wholly rule the heart of a woman? and as for nelly lebrun, she had the ambition of a young caesar; she could not fill a second place. he who loved her must stand first, and she saw donnegan as the invincible man. she had not believed half of his explanation. no, he was shielding lord nick; behind that shield the truth was that the big man had quailed before the small. of course she saw that donnegan, pretending to be constrained by his agreement with lord nick, was in reality cunningly pleading his own cause. but his passion excused him. when has a woman condemned a man for loving her beyond the rules of fair play? "whatever you may decide," donnegan was saying. "i shall be prepared to stand by it without a murmur. send landis back to your father's house and i submit: i leave the corner and say farewell. but now, think quickly. for lord nick is coming to receive your answer." if the meeting between lord nick and donnegan earlier that day had wrought up the nerves of the corner to the point of hysteria; if the singular end of that meeting had piled mystery upon excitement; if the appearance of donnegan, sitting calmly at the table of the girl who was known to be engaged to nick, had further stimulated public curiosity, the appearance of lord nick was now a crowning burden under which the corner staggered. yet not a man or a woman stirred from his chair, for everyone knew that if the long-delayed battle between these two gunfighters was at length to take place, neither bullet was apt to fly astray. but what happened completed the wreck of the corner's nerves, for lord nick walked quietly across the floor and sat down with nelly lebrun and his somber rival. oddly enough, he looked at donnegan, not at the girl, and this token of the beaten man decided her. "well?" said lord nick. "i have decided," said the girl. "landis should stay where he is." neither of the two men stirred hand or eye. but lord nick turned gray. at length he rose and asked donnegan, quietly, to step aside with him. seeing them together, the difference between their sizes was more apparent: donnegan seemed hardly larger than a child beside the splendid bulk of lord nick. but she could not overhear their talk. "you've won," said lord nick, "both landis and nelly. and--" "wait," broke in donnegan eagerly. "henry, i've persuaded nelly to see my side of the case, but that doesn't mean that she has turned from you to--" "stop!" put in lord nick, between his teeth. "i've not come to argue with you or ask advice or opinions. i've come to state facts. you've crawled in between me and nelly like a snake in the grass. very well. you're my brother. that keeps me from handling you. you've broken my reputation just as i said you would do. the bouncer at the door looked me in the eye and smiled when i came in." he had to pause a little, breathing heavily, and avoiding donnegan's eyes. finally he was able to continue. "i'm going to roll my blankets and leave the corner and everything i have in it. you'll get my share of most things, it seems." he smiled after a ghastly, mirthless fashion. "i give you a free road. i surrender everything to you, donnegan. but there are two things i want to warn you about. it may be that my men will not agree with me. it may be that they'll want to put up a fight for the mine. they can't get at it without getting at macon. they can't get at him without removing you. and they'll probably try it. i warn you now. "another thing: from this moment there's no blood tie between us. i've found a brother and lost him in the same day. and if i ever cross you again, donnegan, i'll shoot you on sight. remember, i'm not threatening. i simply warn you in advance. if i were you, i'd get out of the country. avoid me, donnegan, as you'd avoid the devil." and he turned on his heel. he felt the eyes of the people in the room follow him by jerks, dwelling on every one of his steps. near the door, stepping aside to avoid a group of people coming in, he half turned and he could not avoid the sight of donnegan and nelly lebrun at the other end of the room. he was leaning across the table, talking with a smile on his lips--at that distance he could not mark the pallor of the little man's face--and nelly lebrun was laughing. laughing already, and oblivious of the rest of the world. lord nick turned, a blur coming before his eyes, and made blindly for the door. a body collided with him; without a word he drew back his massive right fist and knocked the man down. the stunned body struck against the wall and collapsed along the floor. lord nick felt a great madness swell in his heart. yet he set his teeth, controlled himself, and went on toward the house of lebrun. he had come within an eyelash of running amuck, and the quivering hunger for action was still swelling and ebbing in him when he reached the gambler's house. lebrun was not in the gaming house, no doubt, at this time of night--but the rest of nick's chosen men were there. they stood up as he entered the room--harry masters, newly arrived--the pedlar--joe rix--three names famous in the mountain desert for deeds which were not altogether a pleasant aroma in the nostrils of the law-abiding, but whose sins had been deftly covered from legal proof by the cunning of nick, and whose bravery itself had half redeemed them. they rose now as three wolves rise at the coming of the leader. but this time there was a question behind their eyes, and he read it in gloomy silence. "well?" asked harry masters. in the old days not one of them would have dared to voice the question, but now things were changing, and well lord nick could read the change and its causes. "are you talking to me?" asked nick, and he looked straight between the eyes of masters. the glance of the other did not falter, and it maddened nick. "i'm talking to you," said masters coolly enough. "what happened between you and donnegan?" "what should happen?" asked lord nick. "maybe all this is a joke," said masters bitterly. he was a square-built man, with a square face and a wrinkled, fleshy forehead. in intelligence, nick ranked him first among the men. and if a new leader were to be chosen there was no doubt as to where the choice of the men would fall. no doubt that was why masters put himself forward now, ready to brave the wrath of the chief. "maybe we're fooled," went on masters. "maybe they ain't any call for you to fall out with donnegan?" "maybe there's a call to find out this," answered lord nick. "why did you leave the mines? what are you doing up here?" the other swallowed so hard that he blinked. "i left the mines," he declared through his set teeth, "because i was run off 'em." "ah," said lord nick, for the devil was rising in him, "i always had an idea that you might be yellow, masters." the right hand of masters swayed toward his gun, hesitated, and then poised idly. "you heard me talk?" persisted lord nick brutally. "i call you yellow. why don't you draw on me? i called you yellow, you swine, and i call the rest of you yellow. you think you have me down? why, curse you, if there were thirty of your cut, i'd say the same to you!" there was a quick shift, the three men faced lord nick, but each from a different angle. and opposing them, he stood superbly indifferent, his arms folded, his feet braced. his arms were folded, but each hand, for all they knew, might be grasping the butt of a gun hidden away in his clothes. once they flashed a glance from face to face; but there was no action. they were remembering only too well some of the wild deeds of this giant. "you think i'm through," went on lord nick. "maybe i am--through with you. you hear me talk?" one by one, his eyes dared them, and one by one they took up the challenge, struggled, and lowered their glances. he was still their master and in that mute moment the three admitted it, the pedlar last of all. masters saw fit to fall back on the last remark. "i've swallowed a lot from you, nick," he said gravely. "maybe there'll be an end to what we take one of these days. but now i'll tell you how yellow i was. a couple of gents come to me and tell me i'm through at the mine. i told them they were crazy. they said old colonel macon had sent them down to take charge. i laughed at 'em. they went away and came back. who with? with the sheriff. and he flashed a paper on me. it was all drawn up clean as a whistle. trimmed up with a lot of 'whereases' and 'as hereinbefore mentioned' and such like things. but the sheriff just gimme a look and then he tells me what it's about. jack landis has signed over all the mines to the colonel and the colonel has taken possession." as he stopped, a growl came from the others. "lester is the man that has the complaint," said lord nick. "where do the rest of you figure in it? lester had the mines; he lost 'em because he couldn't drop landis with his gun. he'd never have had a smell of the gold if i hadn't come in. who made landis see light? i did! who worked it so that every nickel that came out of the mines went through the fingers of landis and came back to us? i did! but i'm through with you. you can hunt for yourselves now. i've kept you together to guard one another's backs. i've kept the law off your trail. you, masters, you'd have swung for killing the mckay brothers. who saved you? who was it bribed the jury that tried you for the shooting up of derbyville, pedlar? who took the marshal off your trail after you'd knifed lefty waller, joe rix? i've saved you all a dozen times. now you whine at me. i'm through with you forever!" stopping, he glared about him. his knuckles stung from the impact of the blow he had delivered in milligan's place. he hungered to have one of these three stir a hand and get into action. and they knew it. all at once they crumbled and became clay in his hands. "chief," said joe rix, the smoothest spoken of the lot, and one who was supposed to stand specially well with lord nick on account of his ability to bake beans, spanish. "chief, you've said a whole pile. you're worth more'n the rest of us all rolled together. sure. we know that. there ain't any argument. but here's just one little point that i want to make. "we was doing fine. the gold was running fine and free. along comes this donnegan. he busts up our good time. he forks in on your girl--" a convulsion of the chief's face made rix waver in his speech and then he went on: "he shoots landis, and when he misses killing him--by some accident, he comes down here and grabs him out of lebrun's own house. smooth, eh? then he makes landis sign that deed to the mines. oh, very nice work, i say. too nice. "'now, speakin' man to man, they ain't any doubt that you'd like to get rid of donnegan. why don't you? because everybody has a jinx, and he's yours. i ain't easy scared, maybe, but i knew an albino with white eyes once, and just to look at him made me some sick. well, chief, they ain't nobody can say that you ever took water or ever will. but maybe the fact that this donnegan has hair just as plumb red as yours may sort of get you off your feed. i'm just suggesting. now, what i say is, let the rest of us take a crack at donnegan, and you sit back and come in on the results when we've cleaned up. d'you give us a free road?" how much went through the brain of lord nick? but in the end he gave his brother up to death. for he remembered how nelly lebrun had sat in milligan's laughing. "do what you want," he said suddenly. "but i want to know none of your plans--and the man that tells me donnegan is dead gets paid--in lead!" the smile of joe rix was the smile of a diplomat. it could be maintained upon his face as unwaveringly as if it were wrought out of marble while joe heard insult and lie. as a matter of fact joe had smiled in the face of death more than once, and this is a school through which even diplomats rarely pass. yet it was with an effort that he maintained the characteristic good-natured expression when the door to donnegan's shack opened and he saw big george and, beyond him, donnegan himself. "booze," said joe rix to himself instantly. for donnegan was a wreck. the unshaven beard--it was the middle of morning--was a reddish mist over his face. his eyes were sunken in shadow. his hair was uncombed. he sat with his shoulders hunched up like one who suffers from cold. altogether his appearance was that of one whose energy has been utterly sapped. "the top of the morning, mr. donnegan," said joe rix, and put his foot on the threshold. but since big george did not move it was impossible to enter. "who's there?" asked donnegan. it was a strange question to ask, for by raising his eyes he could have seen. but donnegan was staring down at the floor. even his voice was a weak murmur. "what a party! what a party he's had!" thought joe rix, and after all, there was cause for a celebration. had not the little man in almost one stroke won the heart of the prettiest girl in the corner, and also did he not probably have a working share in the richest of the diggings? "i'm joe rix," he said. "joe rix?" murmured donnegan softly. "then you're one of lord nick's men?" "i was," said joe rix, "sort of attached to him, maybe." perhaps this pointed remark won the interest of donnegan. he raised his eyes, and joe rix beheld the most unhappy face he had ever seen. "a bad hangover," he decided, "and that makes it bad for me!" "come in," said donnegan in the same monotonous, lifeless voice. big george reluctantly, it seemed, withdrew to one side, and rix was instantly in the room and drawing out a chair so that he could face donnegan. "i was," he proceeded "sort of tied up with lord nick. but"--and here he winked broadly--"it ain't much of a secret that nick ain't altogether a lord any more. nope. seems he turned out sort of common, they say." "what fool," murmured donnegan, "has told you that? what ass had told you that lord nick is a common sort?" it shocked joe rix, but being a diplomat he avoided friction by changing his tactics. "between you and me," he said calmly enough, "i took what i heard with a grain of salt. there's something about nick that ain't common, no matter what they say. besides, they's some men that nobody but a fool would stand up to. it ain't hardly a shame for a man to back down from 'em." he pointed this remark with a nod to donnegan. "i'll give you a bit of free information," said the little man, with his weary eyes lighted a little. "there's no man on the face of the earth who could make lord nick back down." once more joe rix was shocked to the verge of gaping, but again he exercised a power of marvelous self control "about that," he remarked as pointedly as before, "i got my doubts. because there's some things that any gent with sense will always clear away from. maybe not one man--but say a bunch of all standin' together." donnegan leaned back in his chair and waited. both of his hands remained drooping from the edge of the table, and the tired eyes drifted slowly across the face of joe rix. it was obviously not the aftereffects of liquor. the astonishing possibility occurred to joe rix that this seemed to be a man with a broken spirit and a great sorrow. he blinked that absurdity away. "coming to cases," he went on, "there's yourself, mr. donnegan. now, you're the sort of a man that don't sidestep nobody. too proud to do it. but even you, i guess, would step careful if there was a whole bunch agin' you." "no doubt," remarked donnegan. "i don't mean any ordinary bunch," explained joe rix, "but a lot of hard fellows. gents that handle their guns like they was born with a holster on the hip." "fellows like nick's crowd," suggested donnegan quietly. at this thrust the eyes of joe narrowed a little. "yes," he admitted, "i see you get my drift." "i think so." "two hard fighters would give the best man that ever pulled a gun a lot of trouble. eh?" "no doubt." "and three men--they ain't any question, mr. donnegan--would get him ready for a hole in the ground." "i suppose so." "and four men would make it no fight--jest a plain butchery." "yes?" "now, i don't mean that nick's crowd has any hard feeling about you, mr. donnegan." "i'm glad to hear that." "i knew you'd be. that's why i've come, all friendly, to talk things over. suppose you look at it this way--" "joe rix," broke in donnegan, sighing, "i'm very tired. won't you cut this short? tell me in ten words just how you stand." joe rix blinked once more, caught his breath, and fired his volley. "short talk is straight talk, mostly," he declared. "this is what lester and the rest of us want--the mines!" "ah?" "macon stole 'em. we got 'em back through landis. now we've got to get 'em back through the colonel himself. but we can't get at the colonel while you're around." "in short, you're going to start out to get me? i expected it, but it's kind of you to warn me." "wait, wait, wait! don't rush along to conclusions. we ain't so much in a hurry. we don't want you out of the way. we just want you on our side." "shoot me up and then bring me back to life, eh?" "mr. donnegan," said the other, spreading out his hands solemnly on the table, "you ain't doin' us justice. we don't hanker none for trouble with you. any way it comes, a fight with you means somebody dead besides you. we'd get you. four to one is too much for any man. but one or two of us might go down. who would it be? maybe the pedlar, maybe harry masters, maybe lester, maybe me! oh, we know all that. no gunplay if we can keep away from it." "you've left out the name of lord nick," said donnegan. joe rix winked. "seems like you tended to him once and for all when you got him alone in this cabin. must have thrown a mighty big scare into him. he won't lift a hand agin' you now." "no?" murmured donnegan hoarsely. "not him! but that leaves four of us, and four is plenty, eh?" "perhaps." "but i'm not here to insist on that point. no, we put a value on keepin' up good feeling between us and you, mr. donnegan. we ain't fools. we know a man when we see him--and the fastest gunman that ever slid a gun out of leather ain't the sort of a man that me and the rest of the boys pass over lightly. not us! we know you, mr. donnegan; we respect you; we want you with us; we're going to have you with us." "you flatter me and i thank you. but i'm glad to see that you are at last coming to the point." "i am, and the point is five thousand dollars that's tied behind the hoss that stands outside your door." he pushed his fat hand a little way across the table, as though the gold even then were resting in it, a yellow tide of fortune. "for which," said donnegan, "i'm to step aside and let you at the colonel?" "right." donnegan smiled. "wait," said joe rix. "i was makin' a first offer to see how you stood, but you're right. five thousand ain't enough and we ain't cheapskates. not us. mr. donnegan, they's ten thousand cold iron men behind that saddle out there and every cent of it belongs to you when you come over on our side." but donnegan merely dropped his chin upon his hand and smiled mirthlessly at joe rix. a wild thought came to the other man. both of donnegan's hands were far from his weapons. why not a quick draw, a snap shot, and then the glory of having killed this manslayer in single battle for joe rix? the thought rushed red across his brain and then faded slowly. something kept him back. perhaps it was the singular calm of donnegan; no matter how quiet he sat he suggested the sleeping cat which can leap out of dead sleep into fighting action at a touch. by the time a second thought had come to joe rix the idea of an attack was like an idea of suicide. "is that final?" he asked, though donnegan had not said a word. "it is." joe rix stood up. "you put it to us kind of hard. but we want you, mr. donnegan. and here's the whole thing in a nutshell. come over to us. we'll stand behind you. lord nick is slipping. we'll put you in his place. you won't even have to face him; we'll get rid of him." "you'll kill him and give his place to me?" asked donnegan. "we will. and when you're with us, you cut in on the whole amount of coin that the mines turn out--and it'll be something tidy. and right now, to show where we stand and how high we put you, i'll let you in on the rock-bottom truth. mr. donnegan. out there tied behind my saddle there's thirty thousand dollars in pure gold. you can take it in here and weigh it out!" he stepped back to watch this blow take effect. to his unutterable astonishment the little man had not moved. his chin still rested upon the back of his hand, and the smile which was on the lips and not in the eyes of donnegan remained there, fixed. "donnegan," muttered joe rix, "if we can't get you, we'll get rid of you. you understand?" but the other continued to smile. it gave joe rix a shuddering feeling that someone was stealing behind him to block his way to the door. he cast one swift glance over his shoulder and then, seeing that the way was clear, he slunk back, always keeping his face to the red-headed man. but when he came to the doorway his nerve collapsed. he whirled, covered the rest of the distance with a leap, and emerged from the cabin in a fashion ludicrously like one who has been kicked through a door. his nerve returned as soon as the sunlight fell warmly upon him again; and he looked around hastily to see if anyone had observed his flight. there was no one on the whole hillside except colonel macon in the invalid chair, and the colonel was smiling broadly, beneficently. he had his perfect hands folded across his breast and seemed to cast a prayer of peace and goodwill upon joe rix. nelly lebrun smelled danger. she sensed it as plainly as the deer when the puma comes between her and the wind. the many tokens that something was wrong came to her by small hints which had to be put together before they assumed any importance. first of all, her father, who should have burst out at her in a tirade for having left lord nick for donnegan said nothing at all, but kept a dark smile on his face when she was near him. he even insinuated that nick's time was done and that another was due to supersede him. in the second place, she had passed into a room where masters, joe rix, and the pedlar sat cheek by jowl in close conference with a hum of deep voice. but at her appearance all talk was broken off. it was not strange that they should not invite her into their confidence if they had some dark work ahead of them; but it was exceedingly suspicious that joe rix attempted to pass off their whispers by immediately breaking off the soft talk and springing into the midst of a full-fledged jest; also, it was strangest of all that when the jest ended even the pedlar, who rarely smiled, now laughed uproariously and smote joe soundingly upon the back. even a child could have strung these incidents into a chain of evidence which pointed toward danger. obviously the danger was not directly hers, but then it must be directed at some one near to her. her father? no, he was more apt to be the mainspring of their action. lord nick? there was nothing to gain by attacking him. who was left? donnegan! as the realization came upon her it took her breath away for a moment. donnegan was the man. at breakfast everyone had been talking about him. lebrun had remarked that he had a face for the cards--emotionless. joe rix had commented upon his speed of hand, and the pedlar had complimented the little man on his dress. but at lunch not a word was spoken about donnegan even after she had dexterously introduced the subject twice. why the sudden silence? between morning and noon donnegan must have grievously offended them. fear for his sake stimulated her; but above and beyond this, indeed, there was a mighty feminine curiosity. she smelled the secret; it reeked through the house, and she was devoured by eagerness to know. she handpicked lord nick's gang in the hope of finding a weakness among them; some weakness upon which she could play in one of them and draw out what they were all concealing. the pedlar was as unapproachable as a crag on a mountaintop. masters was wise as an outlaw broncho. lester was probably not even in the confidence of the others because since the affair with landis his nerve had been shattered to bits and the others secretly despised him for being beaten by the youngster at the draw. there remained, therefore, only joe rix. but joe rix was a fox of the first quality. he lied with the smoothness of silk. he could show a dozen colors in as many moments. come to the windward of joe rix? it was a delicate business! but since there was nothing else to do, she fixed her mind upon it, working out this puzzle. joe rix wished to destroy donnegan for reasons that were evidently connected with the mines. and she must step into his confidence to discover his plans. how should it be done? and there was a vital need for speed, for they might be within a step of executing whatever mischief it was that they were planning. she went down from her room; they were there still, only joe rix was not with them. she went to the apartment where he and the other three of nick's gang slept and rapped at the door. he maintained his smile when he saw her, but there was an uncertain quiver of his eyebrows that told her much. plainly he was ill at ease. suspicious? ay, there were always clouds of suspicion drifting over the red, round face of joe rix. she put a tremor of excitement and trouble in her voice. "come into my room, joe, where we won't be interrupted." he followed her without a word, and since she led the way she was able to relax her expression for a necessary moment. when she closed the door behind him and faced joe again she was once more ready to step into her part. she did not ask him to sit down. she remained for a moment with her hand on the knob and searched the face of joe rix eagerly. "do you think he can hear?" she whispered, gesturing over her shoulder. "who?" "who but lord nick!" she exclaimed softly. the bewilderment of joe clouded his face a second and then he was able to smooth it away. what on earth was the reason of her concern about lord nick he was obviously wondering. "i'll tell you why," she said, answering the unspoken question at once. "he's as jealous as the devil, joe!" the fat little man sighed as he looked at her. "he can't hear. not through that log wall. but we'll talk soft, if you want." "yes, yes. keep your voice down. he's already jealous of you, joe." "of me?" "he knows i like you, that i trust you; and just now he's on edge about everyone i look at." the surprising news which the first part of this sentence contained caused joe to gape, and the girl looked away in concern, enabling him to control his expression. for she knew well enough that men hate to appear foolishly surprised. and particularly a fox like joe rix. "but what's the trouble, nelly?" he added with a touch of venom: "i thought everything was going smoothly with you. and i thought you weren't worrying much about what lord nick had in his mind." she stared at him as though astonished. "do you think just the same as the rest of them?" she asked sadly. "do you mean to say that you're fooled just the same as harry masters and the pedlar and the rest of those fools--including nick himself?" joe rix was by no means willing to declare himself a fool beforehand. he now mustered a look of much reserved wisdom. "i have my own doubts, nell, but i'm not talking about them." he was so utterly at sea that she had to bite her lip hard to keep from breaking into ringing laughter. "oh, i knew that you'd seen through it, joe," she cried softly. "you see what an awful mess i've gotten into?" he passed a hurried hand across his forehead and then looked at her searchingly. but he could not penetrate her pretense of concern. "no matter what i think," said joe rix, "you come out with it frankly. i'll listen." "as a friend, joe?" she managed to throw a plea into her voice that made joe sigh. "sure. you've already said that i'm your friend, and you're right." "i'm in terrible, terrible trouble! you know how it happened. i was a fool. i tried to play with lord nick. and now he thinks i was in earnest." as though the strength of his legs had given way, joe rix slipped down into a chair. "go on," he said huskily. "you were playing with lord nick?" "can't you put yourself in my place, joe? it's always been taken for granted that i'm to marry nick. and the moment he comes around everybody else avoids me as if i were poison. i was sick of it. and when he showed up this time it was the same old story. a man would as soon sign his own death warrant as ask me for a dance. you know how it is?" he nodded, still at sea, but with a light beginning to dawn in his little eyes. "i'm only a girl, joe. i have all the weakness of other girls. i don't want to be locked up in a cage just because i--love one man!" the avowal made joe blink. it was the second time that day that he had been placed in an astonishing scene. but some of his old cunning remained to him. "nell," he said suddenly, rising from his chair and going to her. "what are you trying to do to me? pull the wool over my eyes?" it was too much for nelly lebrun. she knew that she could not face him without betraying her guilt and therefore she did not attempt it. she whirled and flung herself on her bed, face down, and began to sob violently, suppressing the sounds. and so she waited. presently a hand touched her shoulder lightly. "go away," cried nelly in a choked voice. "i hate you, joe rix. you're like all the rest!" his knee struck the floor with a soft thud. "come on, nell. don't be hard on me. i thought you were stringing me a little. but if you're playing straight, tell me what you want?" at that she bounced upright on the bed, and before he could rise she caught him by both shoulders. "i want donnegan," she said fiercely. "what?" "i want him dead!" joe rix gasped. "here's the cause of all my trouble. just because i flirted with him once or twice, nick thought i was in earnest and now he's sulking. and donnegan puts on airs and acts as if i belonged to him. i hate him, joe. and if he's gone nick will come back to me. he'll come back to me, joe; and i want him so!" she found that joe rix was staring straight into her eyes, striving to probe her soul to its depths, and by a great effort she was enabled to meet that gaze. finally the fat little man rose slowly to his feet. her hands trailed from his shoulders as he stood up and fell helplessly upon her lap. "well, i'll be hanged, nell!" exclaimed joe rix. "what do you mean?" "you're not acting a part? no, i can see you mean it. but what a cold-blooded little--" he checked himself. his face was suddenly jubilant. "then we've got him, nell. we've got him if you're with us. we had him anyway, but we'll make sure of him if you're with us. look at this! you saw me put a paper in my pocket when i opened the door of my room? here it is!" he displayed before the astonished eyes of nelly lebrun a paper covered with an exact duplicate of her own swift, dainty script. and she read: nick is terribly angry and is making trouble. i have to get away. it isn't safe for me to stay here. will you help me? will you meet me at the shack by donnell's ford tomorrow morning at ten o'clock? "but i didn't write it," cried nelly lebrun, bewildered. "nelly," joe rix chuckled, flushing with pleasure, "you didn't. it was me. i kind of had an idea that you wanted to get rid of this donnegan, and i was going to do it for you and then surprise you with the good news." "joe, you forged it?" "don't bother sayin' pretty things about me and my pen," said rix modestly. "this is nothin'! but if you want to help me, nelly--" his voice faded partly out of her consciousness as she fought against a tigerish desire to spring at the throat of the little fat man. but gradually it dawned on her that he was asking her to write out that note herself. why? because it was possible that donnegan might have seen her handwriting and in that case, though the imitation had been good enough to deceive nelly herself, it probably would not for a moment fool the keen eyes of donnegan. but if she herself wrote out the note, donnegan was already as good as dead. "that is," concluded joe rix, "if he really loves you, nell." "the fool!" cried nelly. "he worships the ground i walk on, joe. and i hate him for it." even joe rix shivered, for he saw the hate in her eyes and could not dream that he himself was the cause and the object of it. there was a red haze of horror and confusion in front of her eyes, and yet she was able to smile while she copied the note for joe rix. "but how are you going to work it?" she asked. "how are you going to kill him, joe?" "don't bother your pretty head," said the fat man, smiling. "just wait till we bring you the good news." "but are you sure?" she asked eagerly. "see what he's done already. he's taken landis away from us; he's baffled nick himself, in some manner; and he's gathered the mines away from all of us. he's a devil, joe, and if you want to get him you'd better take ten men for the job." "you hate him, nell, don't you?" queried joe rix, and his voice was both hard and curious. "but how has he harmed you?" "hasn't he taken nick away from me? isn't that enough?" the fat man shivered again. "all right. i'll tell you how it works. now, listen!" and he began to check off the details of his plan. the day passed and the night, but how very slowly for nelly lebrun; she went up to her room early for she could no longer bear the meaning glances which joe rix cast at her from time to time. but once in her room it was still harder to bear the suspense as she waited for the noise to die away in the house. midnight, and half an hour more went by, and then, at last, the murmurs and the laughter stopped; she alone was wakeful in lebrun's. and when that time came she caught a scarf around her hair and her shoulders, made of a filmy material which would veil her face but through which she could see, and ventured out of her room and down the hall. there was no particular need for such caution, however, it seemed. nothing stirred. and presently she was outside the house and hurrying behind the houses and up the hill. still she met nothing. if the corner lived tonight, its life was confined to milligan's and the gambling house. she found donnegan's shack and the one next to it, which the terrible colonel occupied, entirely dark, but only a moment after she tapped at the door it was opened. donnegan, fully dressed, stood in the entrance, outlined blackly by the light which came faintly from the hooded lantern hanging on the wall. was he sitting up all the night, unable to sleep because he waited breathlessly for that false tryst on the morrow? a great tenderness came over the heart of nelly lebrun. "it is i," she whispered. there was a soft exclamation, then she was drawn into the room. "is there anyone here?" "only big george. but he's in the kitchen and he won't hear. he never hears anything except what's meant for his ear. take this chair!" he was putting a blanket over the rough wood to make it more comfortable, and she submitted dumbly to his ministrations. it seemed terrible and strange to her that one so gentle should be the object of so much hate--such deadly hate as the members of nick's gang felt for him. and now that he was sitting before her she could see that he had indeed been wakeful for a long time. his face was grimly wasted; the lips were compressed as one who has endured long pain; and his eyes gleamed at her out of a profound shadow. he remained in the gloom; the light from the lantern fell brightly upon his hands alone--meager, fleshless hands which seemed to represent hardly more strength than that of a child. truly this man was all a creature of spirit and nerve. therein lay his strength, as also his weakness, and again the cherishing instinct grew strong and swept over her. "there is no one near," he said, "except the colonel and his daughter. they are up the hillside, somewhere. did you see them?" "no. what in the world are they out for at this time of night?" "because the colonel only wakes up when the sun goes down. and now he's out there humming to himself and never speaking a word to the girl. but they won't be far away. they'll stay close to see that no one comes near the cabin to get at landis." he added: "they must have seen you come into my cabin!" and his lips set even harder than before. was it fear because of her? "they may have seen me enter, but they won't know who it was. you have the note from me?" "yes." "it's a lie! it's a ruse. i was forced to write it to save you! for they're planning to murder you. oh, my dear!" "hush! hush! murder?" "i've been nearly hysterical all day and all the night. but. thank heaven, i'm here to warn you in time! you mustn't go. you mustn't go!" "who is it?" he had drawn his chair closer: he had taken her hands, and she noted that his own were icy cold, but steady as a rock. their pressure soothed her infinitely. "joe rix, the pedlar, harry masters. they'll be at the shack at ten o'clock, but not i!" "murder, but a very clumsy scheme. three men leave town and commit a murder and then expect to go undetected? not even in the mountain desert!" "but you don't understand, you don't understand! they're wise as foxes. they'll take no risk. they don't even leave town together or travel by the same routes. harry masters starts first. he rides out at eight o'clock in the morning and takes the north trail. he rides down the gulch and winds out of it and strikes for the shack at the ford. at half past eight the pedlar starts. he goes past sandy's place and then over the trail through the marsh. you know it?" "yes." "last of all, joe rix starts at nine o'clock. half an hour between them." "how does he go to the shack?" "by the south trail. he takes the ridge of the hills. but they'll all be at the shack long before you and they'll shoot you down from a distance as you come up to it. plain murder, but even for cowardly murder they daren't face you except three to one." he was thoughtful. "suppose they were to be met on the way?" "you're mad to think of it!" "but if they fail this time they'll try again. they must be taught a lesson." "three men? oh, my dear, my dear! promise!" "very well. i shall do nothing rash. and i shall never forget that you've come to tell me this and been in peril, nell, for if they found you had come to me--" "the pedlar would cut my throat. i know him!" "ah! but now you must go. i'll take you down the hill, dear." "no, no! it's much easier to get back alone. my face will be covered. but there's no way you could be disguised. you have a way of walking--good night--and god bless you!" she was in his arms, straining him to her; and then she slipped out the door. and sure enough, there was the colonel in his chair not fifty feet away with a girl pushing him. the moonlight was too dim for nelly lebrun to make out the face of lou macon, but even the light which escaped through the filter of clouds was enough to set her golden hair glowing. the color was not apparent, but its luster was soft silver in the night. there was a murmur of the colonel's voice as nelly came out of the cabin. and then, from the girl, a low cry. it brought the blood to the cheeks of nelly as she hurried down the hill, for she recognized the pain that was in it; and it occurred to her that if the girl was in love with jack landis she was strangely interested in donnegan also. the thought came so sharply home to her that she paused abruptly on the way down the hill. after all, this macon girl would be a very strange sort if she were not impressed by the little red-headed man, with his gentle voice and his fiery ways, and his easy way of making himself a brilliant spectacle whenever he appeared in public. and nelly remembered, also, with the keen suspicion of a woman in love how weakly donnegan had responded to her embrace this night. how absent-mindedly his arms had held her, and how numbly they had fallen away when she turned at the door. but she shook her head and made the suspicion shudder its way out of her. lou macon, she decided, was just the sort of girl who would think jack landis an ideal. besides, she had never had an opportunity to see donnegan in his full glory at milligan's. and as for donnegan? he was wearied out; his nerves relaxed; and for the deeds with which he had startled the corner and won her own heart he was now paying the penalty in the shape of ruined nerves. pity again swelled in her heart, and a consuming hatred for the three murderers who lived in her father's house. and when she reached her room again her heart was filled with a singing happiness and a glorious knowledge that she had saved the man she loved. and donnegan himself? he had seen lou and her father: he had heard that low cry of pain; and now he sat bowed again over his table, his face in his hands and a raging devil in his heart. there was one complication which nelly lebrun might have foreseen after her pretended change of heart and her simulated confession to joe rix that she still loved the lionlike lord nick. but strangely enough she did not think of this phase: and even when her father the next morning approached her in the hall and tapping her arm whispered: "good girl! nick has just heard and he's hunting for you now!" even then the full meaning did not come home to her. it was not until she saw the great form of lord nick stalking swiftly down the hall that she knew. he came with a glory in his face which the last day had graven with unfamiliar lines; and when he saw her he threw up his hand so that it almost brushed the ceiling, and cried out. what could she do? try to push him away; to explain? there was nothing to be done. she had to submit when he swept her into his arms. "rix has told me. rix has told me. ah, nell, you little fox!" "told you what, nick?" was he, too, a party to the murderous plan? but he allowed himself to be pushed away. "i've gone through something in the last few days. why did you do it, girl?" she saw suddenly that she must continue to play her part. "some day i'll tell you why it was that i gave you up so easily, nell. you thought i was afraid of donnegan?" he ground his teeth and turned pale at the thought. "but that wasn't it. some day i can tell you. but after this, the first man who comes between us--donnegan or any other--i'll turn him into powder--under my heel!" he ground it into the floor as he spoke. she decided that she would see how much he knew. "it will never be donnegan, at least," she said. "he's done for today. and i'm almost sorry for him in spite of all that he's done." he became suddenly grave. "what are you saying, nell?" "why, joe told you, didn't he? they've drawn donnegan out of town, and now they're lying in wait for him. yes, they must have him, by this time. it's ten o'clock!" a strangely tense exclamation broke from lord nick. "they've gone for donnegan?" "yes. are you angry?" the big man staggered; one would have said that he had been stunned with a blow. "garry!" he whispered. "what are you saying?" "nell," he muttered hoarsely, "did you know about it?" "but i did it for you, nick. i knew you hated--" "no, no! don't say it!" he added bitterly, after a moment. "this is for my sins." and then, to her: "but you knew about it and didn't warn him? you hated him all the time you were laughing with him and smiling at him? oh, nell! what a merciless witch of a woman you are! for the rest of them--i'll wait till they come back!" "what are you going to do, nick?" "i told them i'd pay the man who killed donnegan--with lead. did the fools think i didn't mean it?" truly, no matter what shadow had passed over the big man, he was the lion again, and nell shrank from him. "we'll wait for them," he said. "we'll wait for them here." and they sat down together in the room. she attempted to speak once in a shaken voice, but he silenced her with a gesture, and after that she sat and watched in quiet the singular play of varying expressions across his face. grief, rage, tenderness, murderous hate--they followed like a puppet play. what was donnegan to him? and then there was a tremor of fear. would the three suspect when they reached the shack by the ford and no donnegan came to them? the moments stole on. then the soft beat of a galloping horse in the sand. the horse stopped. presently they saw joe rix and harry masters pass in front of the window. and they looked as though a cyclone had caught them up, juggled them a dizzy distance in the air, and then flung them down carelessly upon bruising rocks. their hats were gone; and the clothes of burly harry masters were literally torn from his back. joe rix was evidently far more terribly hurt, for he leaned on the arm of masters and they came on together, staggering. "they've done the business!" exclaimed lord nick. "and now, curse them, i'll do theirs!" but the girl could not speak. a black haze crossed before her eyes. had donnegan gone out madly to fight the three men in spite of her warning? the door opened. they stood in the doorway, and if they had seemed a horrible sight passing the window, they were a deadly picture at close range. and opposite them stood lord nick; in spite of their wounds there was murder in his face and his revolver was out. "you've met him? you've met donnegan?" he asked angrily. masters literally carried joe rix to a chair and placed him in it. he had been shot through both shoulders, and though tight bandages had stanched the wound he was still in agony. then masters raised his head. "we've met him," he said. "what happened?" but masters, in spite of the naked gun in the hand of lord nick, was looking straight at nelly lebrun. "we fought him." "then say your prayers, masters." "say prayers for the pedlar, you fool," said masters bitterly. "he's dead, and donnegan's still living!" there was a faint cry from nelly lebrun. she sank into her chair again. "we've been double-crossed," said masters, still looking at the girl. "i was going down the gulch the way we planned. i come to the narrow place where the cliffs almost touch, and right off the wall above me drops a wildcat. i thought it was a cat at first. and then i found it was donnegan. "the way he hit me from above knocked me off the horse. then we hit the ground. i started for my gun; he got it out of my hand; i pulled my knife. he got that away, too. his fingers work with steel springs and act like a cat's claws. then we fought barehanded. he didn't say a word. but kept snarling in his throat. always like a cat. and his face was devilish. made me sick inside. pretty soon he dived under my arms. got me up in the air. i came down on my head. "of course i went out cold. when i came to there was still a mist in front of my eyes and this lump on the back of my head. he'd figured that my head was cracked and that i was dead. that's the only reason he left me. later i climbed on my hoss and fed him the spur. "but i was too late. i took the straight cut for the ford, and when i got there i found that donnegan had been there before me. joe rix was lyin' on the floor. when he got to the shack donnegan was waitin' for him. they went for their guns and donnegan beat him to it. the hound didn't shoot to kill. he plugged him through both shoulders, and left him lyin' helpless. but i got a couple of bandages on him and saved him. "then we cut back for home and crossed the marsh. and there we found the pedlar. "too late to help him. maybe donnegan knew that the pedlar was something of a flash with a gun himself, and he didn't take any chances. he'd met him face to face the same way he met joe rix and killed him. shot him clean between the eyes. think of shooting for the head with a snap shot! that's what he done and joe didn't have time to think twice after that slug hit him. his gun wasn't even fired, he was beat so bad on the draw. "so joe and me come back home. and we come full of questions!" "let me tell you something," muttered lord nick, putting up the weapon which he had kept exposed during all of the recital. "you've got what was coming to you. if donnegan hadn't cleaned up on you, you'd have had to talk turkey with me. understand?" "wait a minute," protested harry masters. and joe rix, almost too far gone for speech, set his teeth over a groan and cast a look of hatred at the girl. "wait a minute, chief. there's one thing we all got to get straight. somebody had tipped off donnegan about our whole plan. was it the pedlar or rix or me? i guess good sense'll tell a man that it wasn't none of us, eh? then who was it? the only other person that knew about the plan--nell--nell, the crooked witch--and it's her that murdered the pedlar--curse her!" he thrust out his bulky arm as he spoke. "her that lied her way into our confidence with a lot of talk about you, nick. then what did she do? she goes runnin' to the gent that she said she hated. don't you see her play? she makes fools of us--she makes a fool out of you!" she dared not meet the glance of lord nick. even now she might have acted out her part and filled in with lies, but she was totally unnerved. "get rix to bed," was all he said, and he did not even glance at nelly lebrun. masters glowered at him, and then silently obeyed, lifting joe as a helpless bulk, for the fat man was nearly fainting with pain. not until they had gone and he had closed the door after them and upon the murmurs of the servants in the hall did lord nick turn to nelly. "is it true?" he asked shortly. between relief and terror her mind was whirling. "is what true?" "you haven't even sense enough to lie, nell, eh? it's all true, then? and last night, after you'd wormed it out of joe, you went to donnegan?" she could only stare miserably at him. "and that was why you pushed me away when i kissed you a little while ago?" once more she was dumb. but she was beginning to be afraid. not for herself, but for donnegan. "nell, i told you i'd never let another man come between us again. i meant it. i know you're treacherous now; but that doesn't keep me from wanting you. it's donnegan again--donnegan still? nell, you've killed him. as sure as if your own finger pulled the trigger when i shoot him. he's a dead one, and you've done it!" if words would only come! but her throat was stiff and cold and aching. she could not speak. "you've done more than kill him," said lord nick. "you've put a curse on me as well. and afterward i'm going to even up with you. you hear me? nell, when i shoot donnegan i'm doing a thing worse than if he was a girl--or a baby. you can't understand that; i don't want you to know. but some time when you're happy again and you're through grieving for donnegan, i'll tell you the truth and make your heart black for the rest of your life." still words would not come. she strove to cling to him and stop him, but he cast her away with a single gesture and strode out the door. there was no crowd to block the hill at this second meeting of donnegan and lord nick. there was a blank stretch of brown hillside with the wind whispering stealthily through the dead grass when lord nick thrust open the door of donnegan's shack and entered. the little man had just finished shaving and was getting back into his coat while george carried out the basin of water. and donnegan, as he buttoned the coat, was nodding slightly to the rhythm of a song which came from the cabin of the colonel near by. it was a clear, high music, and though the voice was light it carried the sound far. donnegan looked up to lord nick; but still he kept the beat of the music. he seemed even more fragile this morning than ever before. yet lord nick was fresh from the sight of the torn bodies of the two fighting men whom this fellow had struck and left for dead, or dying, as he thought. "dismiss your servant," said lord nick. "george, you may go out." "and keep him out." "don't come back until i call for you." big george disappeared into the kitchen and the outside door was closed. yet even with all the doors closed the singing of lou macon kept running through the cabin in a sweet and continuous thread. what made the ball so fine? robin adair! what made the assembly shine? robin adair! and no matter what lord nick could say, it seemed that with half his mind donnegan was listening to the song of the girl. "first," said the big man, "i've broken my word." donnegan waved his hand and dismissed the charge. he pointed to a chair, but lord nick paid no heed. "i've broken my word," he went on. "i promised that i'd give you a clear road to win over nelly lebrun. i gave you the road and you've won her, but now i'm taking her back!" "ah, henry," said donnegan, and a flash of eagerness came in his eyes. "you're a thousand times welcome to her." lord nick quivered. "do you mean it?" "henry, don't you see that i was only playing for a purpose all the time? and if you've opened the eyes of nelly to the fact that you truly love her and i've been only acting out of a heartless sham--why, i'm glad of it--i rejoice, henry, i swear i do!" he came forward, smiling, and held out his hand; lord nick struck it down, and donnegan shrank back, holding his wrist tight in the fingers of his other hand. "is it possible?" murmured henry reardon. "is it possible that she loves a man who despises her?" "not that! if any other man said this to me, i'd call for an explanation of his meaning, henry. no, no! i honor and respect her, i tell you. by heaven, nick, she has a thread of pure, generous gold in her nature!" "ah?" "she has saved my life no longer ago than this morning." "it's perfect," said lord nick. and he writhed under a torment. "i am discarded for the sake of a man who despises her!" donnegan, frowning with thought, watched his older brother. and still the thin singing entered the room, that matchless old melody of "robin adair;" the day shall never come when that song does not go straight from heart to heart. but because donnegan still listened to it, lord nick felt that he was contemptuously received, and a fresh spur was driven into his tender pride. "donnegan!" he said sharply. donnegan raised his hand slowly. "do you call me by that name?" "aye. you've ceased to be a brother. there's no blood tie between us now, as i warned you before." donnegan, very white, moved back toward the wall and rested his shoulders lightly against it, as though he needed the support. he made no answer. "i warned you not to cross me again." exclaimed lord nick. "i have not." "donnegan, you've murdered my men!" "murder? i've met them fairly. not murder, henry." "leave out that name, i say!" "if you wish," said donnegan very faintly. the sight of his resistlessness seemed to madden lord nick. he made one of his huge strides and came to the center of the room and dominated all that was in it, including his brother. "you murdered my men," repeated lord nick. "you turned my girl against me with your lying love-making and turned her into a spy. you made her set the trap and then you saw that it was worked. you showed her how she could wind me around her finger again." "will you let me speak?" "aye, but be short." "i swear to you, henry, that i've never influenced her to act against you; except to win her away for just one little time, and she will return to you again. it is only a fancy that makes her interested in me. look at us! how could any woman in her senses prefer me?" "are you done?" "no, no! i have more to say: i have a thousand things!" "i shall not hear them" "henry, there is a black devil in your face. beware of it." "who put it there?" "it was not i." "what power then?" "something over which i have no control." "are you trying to mystify me?" "listen!" and as donnegan raised his hand, the singing poured clear and small into the room. "that is the power," said donnegan. "you're talking gibberish'" exclaimed the other pettishly. "i suppose i shouldn't expect you to understand." "on the other hand, what i have to say is short and to the point. a child could comprehend it. you've stolen the girl. i tried to let her go. i can't. i have to have her. willing or unwilling she has to belong to me, donnegan." "if you wish, i shall promise that i shall never see her again or speak to her." "you fool' won't she find you out? do you think i could trust you? only in one place--underground." donnegan had clasped his hands upon his breast and his eyes were wide. "what is it you mean, henry?" "i'll trust you--dead!" "henry!" "that name means nothing to me i've forgotten it. the worlds has forgotten it." "henry, i implore you to keep cool--to give me five minutes for talk--" "no, not one. i know your cunning tongue!" "for the sake of the days when you loved me, my brother. for the sake of the days when you used to wheel my chair and be kind to me." "you're wasting your time. you're torturing us both for nothing. donnegan, my will is a rock. it won't change." and drawing closer his right hand gripped his gun and the trembling passion of the gunfighter set him shuddering. "you're armed, garry. go for your gun!" "no, no!" "then i'll give you cause to fight." and as he spoke, he drew back his massive arm and with his open hand smote donnegan heavily across the face. the weight of that blow crushed the little man against the wall. "your gun!" cried lord nick, swaying from side to side as the passion choked him. donnegan fell upon his knees and raised his arms. "god have mercy on me, and on yourself!" at that the blackness cleared slowly on the face of the big man; he thrust his revolver into the holster. "this time," he said, "there's no death. but sooner or later we meet, donnegan, and then, i swear by all that lives, i'll shoot you down--without mercy--like a mad dog. you've robbed me; you've hounded me: you've killed my men: you've taken the heart of the woman i love. and now nothing can save you from the end." he turned on his heel and left the room. and donnegan remained kneeling, holding a stained handkerchief to his face. all at once his strength seemed to desert him like a tree chopped at the root, and he wilted down against the wall with closed eyes. but the music still came out of the throat and the heart of lou, and it entered the room and came into the ears of donnegan. he became aware that there was a strength beyond himself which had sustained him, and then he knew it had been the singing of lou from first to last which had kept the murder out of his own heart and restrained the hand of lord nick. perhaps of all donnegan's life, this was the first moment of true humility. one thing was now clear. he must not remain in the corner unless he was prepared for lord nick again: and in a third meeting guns must be drawn. from that greater sin he shrank, and prepared to leave. his order to george made the big man's eyes widen, but george had long since passed the point where he cared to question the decision of his master. he began to build the packs. as for donnegan, he could see that there was little to be won by remaining. that would save landis to lou macon, to be sure, but after all, he was beginning to wonder if it were not better to let the big fellow go back to his own kind--lebrun and the rest. for if it needed compulsion to keep him with lou now, might it not be the same story hereafter? indeed, donnegan began to feel that all his labor in the corner had been running on a treadmill. it had all been grouped about the main purpose, which was to keep landis with the girl. to do that now he must be prepared to face nick again; and to face nick meant the bringing of the guilt of fratricide upon the head of one of them. there only remained flight. he saw at last that he had been fighting blindly from the first. he had won a girl whom he did not love--though doubtless her liking was only the most fickle fancy. and she for whom he would have died he had taught to hate him. it was a grim summing up. donnegan walked the room whistling softly to himself as he checked up his accounts. one thing at least he had done; he had taken the joy out of his life forever. and here, answering a rap at the door, he opened it upon lou macon. she wore a dress of some very soft material. it was a pale blue--faded, no doubt--but the color blended exquisitely with her hair and with the flush of her face. it came to donnegan that it was an unnecessary cruelty of chance that made him see the girl lovelier than he had ever seen her before at the very moment when he was surrendering the last shadow of a claim upon her. and it hurt him, also, to see the freshness of her face, the clear eyes; and to hear her smooth, untroubled voice. she had lived untouched by anything save the sunshine in the corner. her glance flicked across his face and then fluttered down, and her color increased guiltily. "i have come to ask you a favor," she said. "step in," said donnegan, recovering his poise at length. at this, she looked past him, and her eyes widened a little. there was an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, as though the very thought of entering this cabin horrified her. and donnegan had to bear that look as well. "i'll stay here; i haven't much to say. it's a small thing." "large or small," said donnegan eagerly. "tell me!" "my father has asked me to take a letter for him down to the town and mail it. i--i understand that it would be dangerous for me to go alone. will you walk with me?" and donnegan turned cold. go down into the corner? where by five chances out of ten he must meet his brother in the street? "i can do better still," he said, smiling. "i'll have george take the letter down for you." "thank you. but you see, father would not trust it to anyone save me. i asked him; he was very firm about it." "tush! i would trust george with my life." "yes, yes it is not what i wish--but my father rarely changes his mind." perspiration beaded the forehead of donnegan. was there no way to evade this easy request? "you see," he faltered, "i should be glad to go--" she raised her eyes slowly. "but i am terribly busy this morning." she did not answer, but half of her color left her face. "upon my word of honor there is no danger to a woman in the town." "but some of the ruffians of lord nick--" "if they dared to even raise their voices at you, they would hear from him in a manner that they would never forget." "then you don't wish to go?" she was very pale now; and to donnegan it was more terrible than the gun in the hand of lord nick. even if she thought he was slighting her why should she take it so mortally to heart? for donnegan, who saw all things, was blind to read the face of this girl. "it doesn't really matter," she murmured and turned away. a gentle motion, but it wrenched the heart of donnegan. he was instantly before her. "wait here a moment. i'll be ready to go down immediately." "no. i can't take you from your--work." what work did she assign to him in her imagination? endless planning of deviltry no doubt. "i shall go with you," said donnegan. "at first--i didn't dream it could be so important. let me get my hat." he left her and leaped back into the cabin. "i am going down into the corner for a moment," he said over his shoulder to george, as he took his belt down from the wall. the big man strode to the wall and took his hat from a nail. "i shall not need you, george." but george merely grinned, and his big teeth flashed at the master. and in the second place he took up a gun from the drawer and offered it to donnegan. "the gun in that holster ain't loaded," he said. donnegan considered him soberly. "i know it. there'll be no need for a loaded gun." but once more george grinned. all at once donnegan turned pale. "you dog," he whispered. "did you listen at the door when nick was here?" "me?" murmured george. "no, i just been thinking." and so it was that while donnegan went down the hill with lou macon, carrying an empty-chambered revolver, george followed at a distance of a few paces, and he carried a loaded weapon unknown to donnegan. it was the dull time of the day in the corner. there were very few people in the single street, and though most of them turned to look at the little man and the girl who walked beside him, not one of them either smiled or whispered. "you see?" said donnegan. "you would have been perfectly safe--even from lord nick's ruffians. that was one of his men we passed back there." "yes. i'm safe with you," said the girl. and when she looked up to him, the blood of donnegan turned to fire. out of a shop door before them came a girl with a parcel under her arm. she wore a gay, semi-masculine outfit, bright-colored, jaunty, and she walked with a lilt toward them. it was nelly lebrun. and as she passed them. donnegan lifted his hat ceremoniously high. she nodded to him with a smile, but the smile aimed wan and small in an instant. there was a quick widening and then a narrowing of her eyes, and donnegan knew that she had judged lou macon as only one girl can judge another who is lovelier. he glanced at lou to see if she had noticed, and he saw her raise her head and go on with her glance proudly straight before her; but her face was very pale, and donnegan knew that she had guessed everything that was true and far more than the truth. her tone at the door of the post office was ice. "i think you are right, mr. donnegan. there's no danger. and if you have anything else to do, i can get back home easily enough." "i'll wait for you," murmured donnegan sadly, and he stood as the door of the little building with bowed head. and then a murmur came down the street. how small it was, and how sinister! it consisted of exclamations begun, and then broken sharply off. a swirl of people divided as a cloud of dust divides before a blast of wind, and through them came the gigantic figure of lord nick! on he came, a gorgeous figure, a veritable king of men. he carried his hat in his hand and his red hair flamed, and he walked with great strides. donnegan glanced behind him. the way was clear. if he turned, lord nick would not pursue him, he knew. but to flee even from his brother was more than he could do; for the woman he loved would know of it and could never understand. he touched the holster that held his empty gun--and waited! an eternity between every step of lord nick. others seemed to have sensed the meaning of this silent scene. people seemed to stand frozen in the midst of gestures. or was that because donnegan's own thoughts were traveling at such lightning speed that the rest of the world seemed standing still? what kept lou macon? if she were with him, not even lord nick in his madness would force on a gunplay in the presence of a woman, no doubt. lord nick was suddenly close; he had paused; his voice rang over the street and struck upon donnegan's ear as sounds come under water. "donnegan!" "aye!" called donnegan softly. "it's the time!" "aye," said donnegan. then a huge body leaped before him; it was big george. and as he sprang his gun went up with his hand in a line of light. the two reports came close together as finger taps on a table, and big george, completing his spring, lurched face downward into the sand. dead? not yet. all his faith and selflessness were nerving the big man. and donnegan stood behind him, unarmed! he reared himself upon his knees--an imposing bulk, even then, and fired again. but his hand was trembling, and the bullet shattered a sign above the head of lord nick. he, in his turn, it seemed to donnegan that the motion was slow, twitched up the muzzle of his weapon and fired once more from his hip. and big george lurched back on the sand, with his face upturned to donnegan. he would have spoken, but a burst of blood choked him; yet his eyes fixed and glazed, he mustered his last strength and offered his revolver to donnegan. but donnegan let the hand fall limp to the ground. there were voices about him; steps running; but all that he clearly saw was lord nick with his feet braced, and his head high. "donnegan! your gun!" "aye," said donnegan. "take it then!" but in the crisis, automatically donnegan flipped his useless revolver out of its holster and into his hand. at the same instant the gun from nick's hand seemed to blaze in his eyes. he was struck a crushing blow in his chest. he sank upon his knees: another blow struck his head, and donnegan collapsed on the body of big george. an ancient drunkard in the second story of one of the stores across the street had roused himself at the sound of the shots and now he dragged himself to the window and began to scream: "murder! murder!" over and over, and even the corner shuddered at the sound of his voice. lord nick, his revolver still in his hand, stalked through the film of people who now swirled about him, eager to see the dead. there was no call for the law to make its appearance, and the representatives of the law were wisely dilatory in the corner. he stood over the two motionless figures with a stony face. "you saw it, boys," he said. "you know what i've borne from this fellow. the big man pulled his gun first on me. i shot in self-defense. as for--the other--it was a square fight." "square fight," someone answered. "you both went for your irons at the same time. pretty work, nick." it was a solid phalanx of men which had collected around the moveless bodies as swiftly as mercury sinks through water. yet none of them touched either donnegan or george. and then the solid group dissolved at one side. it was the moan of a woman which had scattered it, and a yellow-haired girl slipped through them. she glanced once, in horror, at the mute faces of the men, and then there was a wail as she threw herself on the body of donnegan. somewhere she found the strength of a man to lift him and place him face upward on the sand, the gun trailing limply in his hand. and then she lay, half crouched over him, her face pressed to his heart--listening--listening for the stir of life. shootings were common in the corner; the daily mortality ran high; but there had never been aftermaths like this one. men looked at one another, and then at lord nick. a bright spot of color had come in his cheeks, but his face was as hard as ever. "get her away from him," someone murmured. and then another man cried out, stooped, wrenched the gun from the limp hand of donnegan and opened the cylinder. he spun it: daylight was glittering through the empty cylinder. at this the man stiffened, and with a low bow which would have done credit to a drawing-room, he presented the weapon butt first to lord nick. "here's something the sheriff will want to see," he said, "but maybe you'll be interested, too." but lord nick, with the gun in his hand, stared at it dumbly, turned the empty cylinder. and the full horror crept slowly on his mind. he had not killed his brother, he had murdered him. as his eyes cleared, he caught the glitter of the eyes which surrounded him. and then lou macon was on her knees with her hands clasped at her breast and her face glorious. "help!" she was crying. "help me. he's not dead, but he's dying unless you help me!" then lord nick cast away his own revolver and the empty gun of donnegan. they heard him shout: "garry!" and saw him stride forward. instantly men pressed between, hard-jawed men who meant business. it was a cordon he would have to fight his way through: but he dissolved it with a word. "you fools! he's my brother!" and then he was on his knees opposite lou macon. "you?" she had stammered in horror. "his brother, girl." and ten minutes later, when the bandages had been wound, there was a strange sight of lord nick striding up the street with his victim in his arms. how lightly he walked; and he was talking to the calm, pale face which rested in the hollow of his shoulder. "he will live? he will live?" lou macon was pleading as she hurried at the side of lord nick. "god willing, he shall live!" it was three hours before donnegan opened his eyes. it was three days before he recovered his senses, and looking aside toward the door he saw a brilliant shaft of sunlight falling into the room. in the midst of it sat lou macon. she had fallen asleep in her great weariness now that the crisis was over. behind her, standing, his great arms folded, stood the indomitable figure of lord nick. donnegan saw and wondered greatly. then he closed his eyes dreamily. "hush," said donnegan to himself, as if afraid that what he saw was all a dream. "i'm in heaven, or if i'm not, it's still mighty good to be alive." [illustration: bookcover] [illustration: spines] rob roy volume one by sir walter scott [illustration: frontispiece] [illustration: titlepage] for why? because the good old rule sufficeth them; the simple plan, that they should take who have the power, and they should keep who can. _rob roy's grave_--wordsworth advertisement to the first edition when the editor of the following volumes published, about two years since, the work called the "antiquary," he announced that he was, for the last time, intruding upon the public in his present capacity. he might shelter himself under the plea that every anonymous writer is, like the celebrated junius, only a phantom, and that therefore, although an apparition, of a more benign, as well as much meaner description, he cannot be bound to plead to a charge of inconsistency. a better apology may be found in the imitating the confession of honest benedict, that, when he said he would die a bachelor, he did not think he should live to be married. the best of all would be, if, as has eminently happened in the case of some distinguished contemporaries, the merit of the work should, in the reader's estimation, form an excuse for the author's breach of promise. without presuming to hope that this may prove the case, it is only further necessary to mention, that his resolution, like that of benedict, fell a sacrifice, to temptation at least, if not to stratagem. it is now about six months since the author, through the medium of his respectable publishers, received a parcel of papers, containing the outlines of this narrative, with a permission, or rather with a request, couched in highly flattering terms, that they might be given to the public, with such alterations as should be found suitable.* * as it maybe necessary, in the present edition( ), to speak upon the square, the author thinks it proper to own, that the communication alluded to is entirely imaginary. these were of course so numerous, that, besides the suppression of names, and of incidents approaching too much to reality, the work may in a great measure be, said to be new written. several anachronisms have probably crept in during the course of these changes; and the mottoes for the chapters have been selected without any reference to the supposed date of the incidents. for these, of course, the editor is responsible. some others occurred in the original materials, but they are of little consequence. in point of minute accuracy, it may be stated, that the bridge over the forth, or rather the avondhu (or black river), near the hamlet of aberfoil, had not an existence thirty years ago. it does not, however, become the editor to be the first to point out these errors; and he takes this public opportunity to thank the unknown and nameless correspondent, to whom the reader will owe the principal share of any amusement which he may derive from the following pages. st december . introduction---( ) when the author projected this further encroachment on the patience of an indulgent public, he was at some loss for a title; a good name being very nearly of as much consequence in literature as in life. the title of _rob roy_ was suggested by the late mr. constable, whose sagacity and experience foresaw the germ of popularity which it included. no introduction can be more appropriate to the work than some account of the singular character whose name is given to the title-page, and who, through good report and bad report, has maintained a wonderful degree of importance in popular recollection. this cannot be ascribed to the distinction of his birth, which, though that of a gentleman, had in it nothing of high destination, and gave him little right to command in his clan. neither, though he lived a busy, restless, and enterprising life, were his feats equal to those of other freebooters, who have been less distinguished. he owed his fame in a great measure to his residing on the very verge of the highlands, and playing such pranks in the beginning of the th century, as are usually ascribed to robin hood in the middle ages,--and that within forty miles of glasgow, a great commercial city, the seat of a learned university. thus a character like his, blending the wild virtues, the subtle policy, and unrestrained license of an american indian, was flourishing in scotland during the augustan age of queen anne and george i. addison, it is probable, or pope, would have been considerably surprised if they had known that there, existed in the same island with them a personage of rob roy's peculiar habits and profession. it is this strong contrast betwixt the civilised and cultivated mode of life on the one side of the highland line, and the wild and lawless adventures which were habitually undertaken and achieved by one who dwelt on the opposite side of that ideal boundary, which creates the interest attached to his name. hence it is that even yet, far and near, through vale and hill, are faces that attest the same, and kindle like a fire new stirr'd, at sound of rob roy's name. there were several advantages which rob roy enjoyed for sustaining to advantage the character which he assumed. the most prominent of these was his descent from, and connection with, the clan macgregor, so famous for their misfortunes, and the indomitable spirit with which they maintained themselves as a clan, linked and banded together in spite of the most severe laws, executed with unheard-of rigour against those who bore this forbidden surname. their history was that of several others of the original highland clans, who were suppressed by more powerful neighbours, and either extirpated, or forced to secure themselves by renouncing their own family appellation, and assuming that of the conquerors. the peculiarity in the story of the macgregors, is their retaining, with such tenacity, their separate existence and union as a clan under circumstances of the utmost urgency. the history of the tribe is briefly as follows--but we must premise that the tale depends in some degree on tradition; therefore, excepting when written documents are, quoted, it must be considered as in some degree dubious. the sept of macgregor claimed a descent from gregor, or gregorius, third son, it is said, of alpin king of scots, who flourished about . hence their original patronymic is macalpine, and they are usually termed the clan alpine. an individual tribe of them retains the same name. they are accounted one of the most ancient clans in the highlands, and it is certain they were a people of original celtic descent, and occupied at one period very extensive possessions in perthshire and argyleshire, which they imprudently continued to hold by the _coir a glaive,_ that is, the right of the sword. their neighbours, the earls of argyle and breadalbane, in the meanwhile, managed to leave the lands occupied by the macgregors engrossed in those charters which they easily obtained from the crown; and thus constituted a legal right in their own favour, without much regard to its justice. as opportunity occurred of annoying or extirpating their neighbours, they gradually extended their own domains, by usurping, under the pretext of such royal grants, those of their more uncivilised neighbours. a sir duncan campbell of lochow, known in the highlands by the name of _donacha dhu nan churraichd,_ that is, black duncan with the cowl, it being his pleasure to wear such a head-gear, is said to have been peculiarly successful in those acts of spoliation upon the clan macgregor. the devoted sept, ever finding themselves iniquitously driven from their possessions, defended themselves by force, and occasionally gained advantages, which they used cruelly enough. this conduct, though natural, considering the country and time, was studiously represented at the capital as arising from an untameable and innate ferocity, which nothing, it was said, could remedy, save cutting off the tribe of macgregor root and branch. in an act of privy council at stirling, d september , in the reign of queen mary, commission is granted to the most powerful nobles, and chiefs of the clans, to pursue the clan gregor with fire and sword. a similar warrant in , not only grants the like powers to sir john campbell of glenorchy, the descendant of duncan with the cowl, but discharges the lieges to receive or assist any of the clan gregor, or afford them, under any colour whatever, meat, drink, or clothes. an atrocity which the clan gregor committed in , by the murder of john drummond of drummond-ernoch, a forester of the royal forest of glenartney, is elsewhere given, with all its horrid circumstances. the clan swore upon the severed head of the murdered man, that they would make common cause in avowing the deed. this led to an act of the privy council, directing another crusade against the "wicked clan gregor, so long continuing in blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery," in which letters of fire and sword are denounced against them for the space of three years. the reader will find this particular fact illustrated in the introduction to the legend of montrose in the present edition of these novels. other occasions frequently occurred, in which the macgregors testified contempt for the laws, from which they had often experienced severity, but never protection. though they were gradually deprived of their possessions, and of all ordinary means of procuring subsistence, they could not, nevertheless, be supposed likely to starve for famine, while they had the means of taking from strangers what they considered as rightfully their own. hence they became versed in predatory forays, and accustomed to bloodshed. their passions were eager, and, with a little management on the part of some of their most powerful neighbours, they could easily be _hounded out,_ to use an expressive scottish phrase, to commit violence, of which the wily instigators took the advantage, and left the ignorant macgregors an undivided portion of blame and punishment. this policy of pushing on the fierce clans of the highlands and borders to break the peace of the country, is accounted by the historian one of the most dangerous practices of his own period, in which the macgregors were considered as ready agents. notwithstanding these severe denunciations,---which were acted upon in the same spirit in which they were conceived, some of the clan still possessed property, and the chief of the name in is designed allaster macgregor of glenstrae. he is said to have been a brave and active man; but, from the tenor of his confession at his death, appears to have been engaged in many and desperate feuds, one of which finally proved fatal to himself and many of his followers. this was the celebrated conflict at glenfruin, near the southwestern extremity of loch lomond, in the vicinity of which the macgregors continued to exercise much authority by the _coir a glaive,_ or right of the strongest, which we have already mentioned. there had been a long and bloody feud betwixt the macgregors and the laird of luss, head of the family of colquhoun, a powerful race on the lower part of loch lomond. the macgregors' tradition affirms that the quarrel began on a very trifling subject. two of the macgregors being benighted, asked shelter in a house belonging to a dependant of the colquhouns, and were refused. they then retreated to an out-house, took a wedder from the fold, killed it, and supped off the carcass, for which (it is said) they offered payment to the proprietor. the laird of luss seized on the offenders, and, by the summary process which feudal barons had at their command, had them both condemned and executed. the macgregors verify this account of the feud by appealing to a proverb current amongst them, execrating the hour _(mult dhu an carbail ghil)_ that the black wedder with the white tail was ever lambed. to avenge this quarrel, the laird of macgregor assembled his clan, to the number of three or four hundred men, and marched towards luss from the banks of loch long, by a pass called _raid na gael,_ or the highlandman's pass. sir humphrey colquhoun received early notice of this incursion, and collected a strong force, more than twice the number of that of the invaders. he had with him the gentlemen of the name of buchanan, with the grahams, and other gentry of the lennox, and a party of the citizens of dumbarton, under command of tobias smollett, a magistrate, or bailie, of that town, and ancestor of the celebrated author. the parties met in the valley of glenfruin, which signifies the glen of sorrow---a name that seemed to anticipate the event of the day, which, fatal to the conquered party, was at least equally so to the victors, the "babe unborn" of clan alpine having reason to repent it. the macgregors, somewhat discouraged by the appearance of a force much superior to their own, were cheered on to the attack by a seer, or second-sighted person, who professed that he saw the shrouds of the dead wrapt around their principal opponents. the clan charged with great fury on the front of the enemy, while john macgregor, with a strong party, made an unexpected attack on the flank. a great part of the colquhouns' force consisted in cavalry, which could not act in the boggy ground. they were said to have disputed the field manfully, but were at length completely routed, and a merciless slaughter was exercised on the fugitives, of whom betwixt two and three hundred fell on the field and in the pursuit. if the macgregors lost, as is averred, only two men slain in the action, they had slight provocation for an indiscriminate massacre. it is said that their fury extended itself to a party of students for clerical orders, who had imprudently come to see the battle. some doubt is thrown on this fact, from the indictment against the chief of the clan gregor being silent on the subject, as is the historian johnston, and a professor ross, who wrote an account of the battle twenty-nine years after it was fought. it is, however, constantly averred by the tradition of the country, and a stone where the deed was done is called _leck-a-mhinisteir,_ the minister or clerk's flagstone. the macgregors, by a tradition which is now found to be inaccurate, impute this cruel action to the ferocity of a single man of their tribe, renowned for size and strength, called dugald, _ciar mhor,_ or the great mouse-coloured man. he was macgregor's foster-brother, and the chief committed the youths to his charge, with directions to keep them safely till the affray was over. whether fearful of their escape, or incensed by some sarcasms which they threw on his tribe, or whether out of mere thirst of blood, this savage, while the other macgregors were engaged in the pursuit, poniarded his helpless and defenceless prisoners. when the chieftain, on his return, demanded where the youths were, the _ciar_ (pronounced kiar) _mhor_ drew out his bloody dirk, saying in gaelic, "ask that, and god save me!" the latter words allude to the exclamation which his victims used when he was murdering them. it would seem, therefore, that this horrible part of the story is founded on fact, though the number of the youths so slain is probably exaggerated in the lowland accounts. the common people say that the blood of the ciar mhor's victims can never be washed off the stone. when macgregor learnt their fate, he expressed the utmost horror at the deed, and upbraided his foster-brother with having done that which would occasion the destruction of him and his clan. this supposed homicide was the ancestor of rob roy, and the tribe from which he was descended. he lies buried at the church of fortingal, where his sepulchre, covered with a large stone,* is still shown, and where his great strength and courage are the theme of many traditions.* * note a. the grey stone of macgregor. ** note b. dugald ciar mhor. macgregor's brother was one of the very few of the tribe who was slain. he was buried near the field of battle, and the place is marked by a rude stone, called the grey stone of macgregor. sir humphrey colquhoun, being well mounted, escaped for the time to the castle of banochar, or benechra. it proved no sure defence, however, for he was shortly after murdered in a vault of the castle,---the family annals say by the macgregors, though other accounts charge the deed upon the macfarlanes. this battle of glenfruin, and the severity which the victors exercised in the pursuit, was reported to king james vi. in a manner the most unfavourable to the clan gregor, whose general character, being that of lawless though brave men, could not much avail them in such a case. that james might fully understand the extent of the slaughter, the widows of the slain, to the number of eleven score, in deep mourning, riding upon white palfreys, and each bearing her husband's bloody shirt on a spear, appeared at stirling, in presence of a monarch peculiarly accessible to such sights of fear and sorrow, to demand vengeance for the death of their husbands, upon those by whom they had been made desolate. the remedy resorted to was at least as severe as the cruelties which it was designed to punish. by an act of the privy council, dated d april , the name of macgregor was expressly abolished, and those who had hitherto borne it were commanded to change it for other surnames, the pain of death being denounced against those who should call themselves gregor or macgregor, the names of their fathers. under the same penalty, all who had been at the conflict of glenfruin, or accessory to other marauding parties charged in the act, were prohibited from carrying weapons, except a pointless knife to eat their victuals. by a subsequent act of council, th june , death was denounced against any persons of the tribe formerly called macgregor, who should presume to assemble in greater numbers than four. again, by an act of parliament, , chap. , these laws were continued, and extended to the rising generation, in respect that great numbers of the children of those against whom the acts of privy council had been directed, were stated to be then approaching to maturity, who, if permitted to resume the name of their parents, would render the clan as strong as it was before. the execution of those severe acts was chiefly intrusted in the west to the earl of argyle and the powerful clan of campbell, and to the earl of athole and his followers in the more eastern highlands of perthshire. the macgregors failed not to resist with the most determined courage; and many a valley in the west and north highlands retains memory of the severe conflicts, in which the proscribed clan sometimes obtained transient advantages, and always sold their lives dearly. at length the pride of allaster macgregor, the chief of the clan, was so much lowered by the sufferings of his people, that he resolved to surrender himself to the earl of argyle, with his principal followers, on condition that they should be sent out of scotland. if the unfortunate chief's own account be true, he had more reasons than one for expecting some favour from the earl, who had in secret advised and encouraged him to many of the desperate actions for which he was now called to so severe a reckoning. but argyle, as old birrell expresses himself, kept a highlandman's promise with them, fulfilling it to the ear, and breaking it to the sense. macgregor was sent under a strong guard to the frontier of england, and being thus, in the literal sense, sent out of scotland, argyle was judged to have kept faith with him, though the same party which took him there brought him back to edinburgh in custody. macgregor of glenstrae was tried before the court of justiciary, th january , and found guilty. he appears to have been instantly conveyed from the bar to the gallows; for birrell, of the same date, reports that he was hanged at the cross, and, for distinction sake, was suspended higher by his own height than two of his kindred and friends. on the th of february following, more men of the macgregors were executed, after a long imprisonment, and several others in the beginning of march. the earl of argyle's service, in conducting to the surrender of the insolent and wicked race and name of macgregor, notorious common malefactors, and in the in-bringing of macgregor, with a great many of the leading men of the clan, worthily executed to death for their offences, is thankfully acknowledged by an act of parliament, , chap. , and rewarded with a grant of twenty chalders of victual out of the lands of kintire. the macgregors, notwithstanding the letters of fire and sword, and orders for military execution repeatedly directed against them by the scottish legislature, who apparently lost all the calmness of conscious dignity and security, and could not even name the outlawed clan without vituperation, showed no inclination to be blotted out of the roll of clanship. they submitted to the law, indeed, so far as to take the names of the neighbouring families amongst whom they happened to live, nominally becoming, as the case might render it most convenient, drummonds, campbells, grahams, buchanans, stewarts, and the like; but to all intents and purposes of combination and mutual attachment, they remained the clan gregor, united together for right or wrong, and menacing with the general vengeance of their race, all who committed aggressions against any individual of their number. they continued to take and give offence with as little hesitation as before the legislative dispersion which had been attempted, as appears from the preamble to statute , chapter , setting forth, that the clan gregor, which had been suppressed and reduced to quietness by the great care of the late king james of eternal memory, had nevertheless broken out again, in the counties of perth, stirling, clackmannan, monteith, lennox, angus, and mearns; for which reason the statute re-establishes the disabilities attached to the clan, and, grants a new commission for enforcing the laws against that wicked and rebellious race. notwithstanding the extreme severities of king james i. and charles i. against this unfortunate people, who were rendered furious by proscription, and then punished for yielding to the passions which had been wilfully irritated, the macgregors to a man attached themselves during the civil war to the cause of the latter monarch. their bards have ascribed this to the native respect of the macgregors for the crown of scotland, which their ancestors once wore, and have appealed to their armorial bearings, which display a pine-tree crossed saltire wise with a naked sword, the point of which supports a royal crown. but, without denying that such motives may have had their weight, we are disposed to think, that a war which opened the low country to the raids of the clan gregor would have more charms for them than any inducement to espouse the cause of the covenanters, which would have brought them into contact with highlanders as fierce as themselves, and having as little to lose. patrick macgregor, their leader, was the son of a distinguished chief, named duncan abbarach, to whom montrose wrote letters as to his trusty and special friend, expressing his reliance on his devoted loyalty, with an assurance, that when once his majesty's affairs were placed upon a permanent footing, the grievances of the clan macgregor should be redressed. at a subsequent period of these melancholy times, we find the clan gregor claiming the immunities of other tribes, when summoned by the scottish parliament to resist the invasion of the commonwealth's army, in . on the last day of march in that year, a supplication to the king and parliament, from calum maccondachie vich euen, and euen maccondachie euen, in their own name, and that of the whole name of macgregor, set forth, that while, in obedience to the orders of parliament, enjoining all clans to come out in the present service under their chieftains, for the defence of religion, king, and kingdoms, the petitioners were drawing their men to guard the passes at the head of the river forth, they were interfered with by the earl of athole and the laird of buchanan, who had required the attendance of many of the clan gregor upon their arrays. this interference was, doubtless, owing to the change of name, which seems to have given rise to the claim of the earl of athole and the laird of buchanan to muster the macgregors under their banners, as murrays or buchanans. it does not appear that the petition of the macgregors, to be permitted to come out in a body, as other clans, received any answer. but upon the restoration, king charles, in the first scottish parliament of his reign (statute , chap. ), annulled the various acts against the clan gregor, and restored them to the full use of their family name, and the other privileges of liege subjects, setting forth, as a reason for this lenity, that those who were formerly designed macgregors had, during the late troubles, conducted themselves with such loyalty and affection to his majesty, as might justly wipe off all memory of former miscarriages, and take away all marks of reproach for the same. it is singular enough, that it seems to have aggravated the feelings of the non-conforming presbyterians, when the penalties which were most unjustly imposed upon themselves were relaxed towards the poor macgregors;--so little are the best men, any more than the worst, able to judge with impartiality of the same measures, as applied to themselves, or to others. upon the restoration, an influence inimical to this unfortunate clan, said to be the same with that which afterwards dictated the massacre of glencoe, occasioned the re-enaction of the penal statutes against the macgregors. there are no reasons given why these highly penal acts should have been renewed; nor is it alleged that the clan had been guilty of late irregularities. indeed, there is some reason to think that the clause was formed of set purpose, in a shape which should elude observation; for, though containing conclusions fatal to the rights of so many scottish subjects, it is neither mentioned in the title nor the rubric of the act of parliament in which it occurs, and is thrown briefly in at the close of the statute , chap. , entitled, an act for the justiciary in the highlands. it does not, however, appear that after the revolution the acts against the clan were severely enforced; and in the latter half of the eighteenth century, they were not enforced at all. commissioners of supply were named in parliament by the proscribed title of macgregor, and decrees of courts of justice were pronounced, and legal deeds entered into, under the same appellative. the macgregors, however, while the laws continued in the statute-book, still suffered under the deprivation of the name which was their birthright, and some attempts were made for the purpose of adopting another, macalpine or grant being proposed as the title of the whole clan in future. no agreement, however, could be entered into; and the evil was submitted to as a matter of necessity, until full redress was obtained from the british parliament, by an act abolishing for ever the penal statutes which had been so long imposed upon this ancient race. this statute, well merited by the services of many a gentleman of the clan in behalf of their king and country, was passed, and the clan proceeded to act upon it with the same spirit of ancient times, which had made them suffer severely under a deprivation that would have been deemed of little consequence by a great part of their fellow-subjects. they entered into a deed recognising john murray of lanrick, esq. (afterwards sir john macgregor, baronet), representative of the family of glencarnock, as lawfully descended from the ancient stock and blood of the lairds and lords of macgregor, and therefore acknowledged him as their chief on all lawful occasions and causes whatsoever. the deed was subscribed by eight hundred and twenty-six persons of the name of macgregor, capable of bearing arms. a great many of the clan during the last war formed themselves into what was called the clan alpine regiment, raised in , under the command of their chief and his brother colonel macgregor. having briefly noticed the history of this clan, which presents a rare and interesting example of the indelible character of the patriarchal system, the author must now offer some notices of the individual who gives name to these volumes. in giving an account of a highlander, his pedigree is first to be considered. that of rob roy was deduced from ciar mhor, the great mouse-coloured man, who is accused by tradition of having slain the young students at the battle of glenfruin. without puzzling ourselves and our readers with the intricacies of highland genealogy, it is enough to say, that after the death of allaster macgregor of glenstrae, the clan, discouraged by the unremitting persecution of their enemies, seem not to have had the means of placing themselves under the command of a single chief. according to their places of residence and immediate descent, the several families were led and directed by _chieftains,_ which, in the highland acceptation, signifies the head of a particular branch of a tribe, in opposition to _chief,_ who is the leader and commander of the whole name. the family and descendants of dugald ciar mhor lived chiefly in the mountains between loch lomond and loch katrine, and occupied a good deal of property there--whether by sufferance, by the right of the sword, which it was never safe to dispute with them, or by legal titles of various kinds, it would be useless to inquire and unnecessary to detail. enough;--there they certainly were--a people whom their most powerful neighbours were desirous to conciliate, their friendship in peace being very necessary to the quiet of the vicinage, and their assistance in war equally prompt and effectual. rob roy macgregor campbell, which last name he bore in consequence of the acts of parliament abolishing his own, was the younger son of donald macgregor of glengyle, said to have been a lieutenant-colonel (probably in the service of james ii.), by his wife, a daughter of campbell of glenfalloch. rob's own designation was of inversnaid; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kind or other to the property or possession of craig royston, a domain of rock and forest, lying on the east side of loch lomond, where that beautiful lake stretches into the dusky mountains of glenfalloch. the time of his birth is uncertain. but he is said to have been active in the scenes of war and plunder which succeeded the revolution; and tradition affirms him to have been the leader in a predatory incursion into the parish of kippen, in the lennox, which took place in the year . it was of almost a bloodless character, only one person losing his life; but from the extent of the depredation, it was long distinguished by the name of the her'-ship, or devastation, of kippen.* the time of his death is also uncertain, but as he is said to have survived the year , and died an aged man, it is probable he may have been twenty-five about the time of the her'-ship of kippen, which would assign his birth to the middle of the th century. * see _statistcal account of scotland,_ st edition, vol. xviii. p. . parish of * kippen. in the more quiet times which succeeded the revolution, rob roy, or red robert, seems to have exerted his active talents, which were of no mean order, as a drover, or trader in cattle, to a great extent. it may well be supposed that in those days no lowland, much less english drovers, ventured to enter the highlands. the cattle, which were the staple commodity of the mountains, were escorted down to fairs, on the borders of the lowlands, by a party of highlanders, with their arms rattling around them; and who dealt, however, in all honour and good faith with their southern customers. a fray, indeed, would sometimes arise, when the lowlandmen, chiefly borderers, who had to supply the english market, used to dip their bonnets in the next brook, and wrapping them round their hands, oppose their cudgels to the naked broadswords, which had not always the superiority. i have heard from aged persons who had been engaged in such affrays, that the highlanders used remarkably fair play, never using the point of the sword, far less their pistols or daggers; so that with many a stiff thwack and many a bang, hard crabtree and cold iron rang. a slash or two, or a broken head, was easily accommodated, and as the trade was of benefit to both parties, trifling skirmishes were not allowed to interrupt its harmony. indeed it was of vital interest to the highlanders, whose income, so far as derived from their estates, depended entirely on the sale of black cattle; and a sagacious and experienced dealer benefited not only himself, but his friends and neighbours, by his speculations. those of rob roy were for several years so successful as to inspire general confidence, and raise him in the estimation of the country in which he resided. his importance was increased by the death of his father, in consequence of which he succeeded to the management of his nephew gregor macgregor of glengyle's property, and, as his tutor, to such influence with the clan and following as was due to the representative of dugald ciar. such influence was the more uncontrolled, that this family of the macgregors seemed to have refused adherence to macgregor of glencarnock, the ancestor of the present sir ewan macgregor, and asserted a kind of independence. it was at this time that rob roy acquired an interest by purchase, wadset, or otherwise, to the property of craig royston already mentioned. he was in particular favour, during this prosperous period of his life, with his nearest and most powerful neighbour, james, first duke of montrose, from whom he received many marks of regard. his grace consented to give his nephew and himself a right of property on the estates of glengyle and inversnaid, which they had till then only held as kindly tenants. the duke also, with a view to the interest of the country and his own estate, supported our adventurer by loans of money to a considerable amount, to enable him to carry on his speculations in the cattle trade. unfortunately that species of commerce was and is liable to sudden fluctuations; and rob roy was, by a sudden depression of markets, and, as a friendly tradition adds, by the bad faith of a partner named macdonald, whom he had imprudently received into his confidence, and intrusted with a considerable sum of money, rendered totally insolvent. he absconded, of course--not empty-handed, if it be true, as stated in an advertisement for his apprehension, that he had in his possession sums to the amount of l sterling, obtained from several noblemen and gentlemen under pretence of purchasing cows for them in the highlands. this advertisement appeared in june , and was several times repeated. it fixes the period when rob roy exchanged his commercial adventures for speculations of a very different complexion.* * see appendix, no. i. he appears at this period first to have removed from his ordinary dwelling at inversnaid, ten or twelve scots miles (which is double the number of english) farther into the highlands, and commenced the lawless sort of life which he afterwards followed. the duke of montrose, who conceived himself deceived and cheated by macgregor's conduct, employed legal means to recover the money lent to him. rob roy's landed property was attached by the regular form of legal procedure, and his stock and furniture made the subject of arrest and sale. it is said that this diligence of the law, as it is called in scotland, which the english more bluntly term distress, was used in this case with uncommon severity, and that the legal satellites, not usually the gentlest persons in the world, had insulted macgregor's wife, in a manner which would have aroused a milder man than he to thoughts of unbounded vengeance. she was a woman of fierce and haughty temper, and is not unlikely to have disturbed the officers in the execution of their duty, and thus to have incurred ill treatment, though, for the sake of humanity, it is to be hoped that the story sometimes told is a popular exaggeration. it is certain that she felt extreme anguish at being expelled from the banks of loch lomond, and gave vent to her feelings in a fine piece of pipe-music, still well known to amateurs by the name of "rob roy's lament." the fugitive is thought to have found his first place of refuge in glen dochart, under the earl of breadalbane's protection; for, though that family had been active agents in the destruction of the macgregors in former times, they had of late years sheltered a great many of the name in their old possessions. the duke of argyle was also one of rob roy's protectors, so far as to afford him, according to the highland phrase, wood and water--the shelter, namely, that is afforded by the forests and lakes of an inaccessible country. the great men of the highlands in that time, besides being anxiously ambitious to keep up what was called their following, or military retainers, were also desirous to have at their disposal men of resolute character, to whom the world and the world's law were no friends, and who might at times ravage the lands or destroy the tenants of a feudal enemy, without bringing responsibility on their patrons. the strife between the names of campbell and graham, during the civil wars of the seventeenth century, had been stamped with mutual loss and inveterate enmity. the death of the great marquis of montrose on the one side, the defeat at inverlochy, and cruel plundering of lorn, on the other, were reciprocal injuries not likely to be forgotten. rob roy was, therefore, sure of refuge in the country of the campbells, both as having assumed their name, as connected by his mother with the family of glenfalloch, and as an enemy to the rival house of montrose. the extent of argyle's possessions, and the power of retreating thither in any emergency, gave great encouragement to the bold schemes of revenge which he had adopted. this was nothing short of the maintenance of a predatory war against the duke of montrose, whom he considered as the author of his exclusion from civil society, and of the outlawry to which he had been sentenced by letters of horning and caption (legal writs so called), as well as the seizure of his goods, and adjudication of his landed property. against his grace, therefore, his tenants, friends, allies, and relatives, he disposed himself to employ every means of annoyance in his power; and though this was a circle sufficiently extensive for active depredation, rob, who professed himself a jacobite, took the liberty of extending his sphere of operations against all whom he chose to consider as friendly to the revolutionary government, or to that most obnoxious of measures--the union of the kingdoms. under one or other of these pretexts, all his neighbours of the lowlands who had anything to lose, or were unwilling to compound for security by paying him an annual sum for protection or forbearance, were exposed to his ravages. the country in which this private warfare, or system of depredation, was to be carried on, was, until opened up by roads, in the highest degree favourable for his purpose. it was broken up into narrow valleys, the habitable part of which bore no proportion to the huge wildernesses of forest, rocks, and precipices by which they were encircled, and which was, moreover, full of inextricable passes, morasses, and natural strengths, unknown to any but the inhabitants themselves, where a few men acquainted with the ground were capable, with ordinary address, of baffling the pursuit of numbers. the opinions and habits of the nearest neighbours to the highland line were also highly favourable to rob roy's purpose. a large proportion of them were of his own clan of macgregor, who claimed the property of balquhidder, and other highland districts, as having been part of the ancient possessions of their tribe; though the harsh laws, under the severity of which they had suffered so deeply, had assigned the ownership to other families. the civil wars of the seventeenth century had accustomed these men to the use of arms, and they were peculiarly brave and fierce from remembrance of their sufferings. the vicinity of a comparatively rich lowland district gave also great temptations to incursion. many belonging to other clans, habituated to contempt of industry, and to the use of arms, drew towards an unprotected frontier which promised facility of plunder; and the state of the country, now so peaceable and quiet, verified at that time the opinion which dr. johnson heard with doubt and suspicion, that the most disorderly and lawless districts of the highlands were those which lay nearest to the lowland line. there was, therefore, no difficulty in rob roy, descended of a tribe which was widely dispersed in the country we have described, collecting any number of followers whom he might be able to keep in action, and to maintain by his proposed operations. he himself appears to have been singularly adapted for the profession which he proposed to exercise. his stature was not of the tallest, but his person was uncommonly strong and compact. the greatest peculiarities of his frame were the breadth of his shoulders, and the great and almost disproportionate length of his arms; so remarkable, indeed, that it was said he could, without stooping, tie the garters of his highland hose, which are placed two inches below the knee. his countenance was open, manly, stern at periods of danger, but frank and cheerful in his hours of festivity. his hair was dark red, thick, and frizzled, and curled short around the face. his fashion of dress showed, of course, the knees and upper part of the leg, which was described to me, as resembling that of a highland bull, hirsute, with red hair, and evincing muscular strength similar to that animal. to these personal qualifications must be added a masterly use of the highland sword, in which his length of arm gave him great advantage--and a perfect and intimate knowledge of all the recesses of the wild country in which he harboured, and the character of the various individuals, whether friendly or hostile, with whom he might come in contact. his mental qualities seem to have been no less adapted to the circumstances in which he was placed. though the descendant of the blood-thirsty ciar mhor, he inherited none of his ancestor's ferocity. on the contrary, rob roy avoided every appearance of cruelty, and it is not averred that he was ever the means of unnecessary bloodshed, or the actor in any deed which could lead the way to it. his schemes of plunder were contrived and executed with equal boldness and sagacity, and were almost universally successful, from the skill with which they were laid, and the secrecy and rapidity with which they were executed. like robin hood of england, he was a kind and gentle robber,--and, while he took from the rich, was liberal in relieving the poor. this might in part be policy; but the universal tradition of the country speaks it to have arisen from a better motive. all whom i have conversed with, and i have in my youth seen some who knew rob roy personally, give him the character of a benevolent and humane man "in his way." his ideas of morality were those of an arab chief, being such as naturally arose out of his wild education. supposing rob roy to have argued on the tendency of the life which he pursued, whether from choice or from necessity, he would doubtless have assumed to himself the character of a brave man, who, deprived of his natural rights by the partiality of laws, endeavoured to assert them by the strong hand of natural power; and he is most felicitously described as reasoning thus, in the high-toned poetry of my gifted friend wordsworth: say, then, that he was wise as brave, as wise in thought as bold in deed; for in the principles of things _he_ sought his moral creed. said generous rob, "what need of books? burn all the statutes and their shelves! they stir us up against our kind, and worse, against ourselves. "we have a passion, make a law, too false to guide us or control; and for the law itself we fight in bitterness of soul. "and puzzled, blinded, then we lose distinctions that are plain and few; these find i graven on my heart, that tells me what to do. "the creatures see of flood and field, and those that travel on the wind with them no strife can last; they live in peace, and peace of mind. "for why? because the good old rule sufficeth them; the simple plan, that they should take who have the power, and they should keep who can. "a lesson which is quickly learn'd, a signal through which all can see; thus, nothing here provokes the strong to wanton cruelty. "and freakishness of mind is check'd, he tamed who foolishly aspires, while to the measure of his might each fashions his desires. "all kinds and creatures stand and fall by strength of prowess or of wit; 'tis god's appointment who must sway, and who is to submit. "since then," said robin, "right is plain, and longest life is but a day, to have my ends, maintain my rights, i'll take the shortest way." and thus among these rocks he lived, through summer's heat and winter's snow the eagle, he was lord above, and rob was lord below. we are not, however, to suppose the character of this distinguished outlaw to be that of an actual hero, acting uniformly and consistently on such moral principles as the illustrious bard who, standing by his grave, has vindicated his fame. on the contrary, as is common with barbarous chiefs, rob roy appears to have mixed his professions of principle with a large alloy of craft and dissimulation, of which his conduct during the civil war is sufficient proof. it is also said, and truly, that although his courtesy was one of his strongest characteristics, yet sometimes he assumed an arrogance of manner which was not easily endured by the high-spirited men to whom it was addressed, and drew the daring outlaw into frequent disputes, from which he did not always come off with credit. from this it has been inferred, that rob roy w as more of a bully than a hero, or at least that he had, according to the common phrase, his fighting days. some aged men who knew him well, have described him also as better at a _taich-tulzie,_ or scuffle within doors, than in mortal combat. the tenor of his life may be quoted to repel this charge; while, at the same time, it must be allowed, that the situation in which he was placed rendered him prudently averse to maintaining quarrels, where nothing was to be had save blows, and where success would have raised up against him new and powerful enemies, in a country where revenge was still considered as a duty rather than a crime. the power of commanding his passions on such occasions, far from being inconsistent with the part which macgregor had to perform, was essentially necessary, at the period when he lived, to prevent his career from being cut short. i may here mention one or two occasions on which rob roy appears to have given way in the manner alluded to. my late venerable friend, john ramsay of ochtertyre, alike eminent as a classical scholar and as an authentic register of the ancient history and manners of scotland, informed me, that on occasion of a public meeting at a bonfire in the town of doune, rob roy gave some offence to james edmondstone of newton, the same gentleman who was unfortunately concerned in the slaughter of lord rollo (see maclaurin's criminal trials, no. ix.), when edmondstone compelled macgregor to quit the town on pain of being thrown by him into the bonfire. "i broke one off your ribs on a former occasion," said he, "and now, rob, if you provoke me farther, i will break your neck." but it must be remembered that edmondstone was a man of consequence in the jacobite party, as he carried the royal standard of james vii. at the battle of sheriffmuir, and also, that he was near the door of his own mansion-house, and probably surrounded by his friends and adherents. rob roy, however, suffered in reputation for retiring under such a threat. another well-vouched case is that of cunningham of boquhan. henry cunningham, esq. of boquhan, was a gentleman of stirlingshire, who, like many _exquisites_ of our own time, united a natural high spirit and daring character with an affectation of delicacy of address and manners amounting to foppery.* * his courage and affectation of foppery were united, which is less frequently the case, with a spirit of innate modesty. he is thus described in lord binning's satirical verses, entitled "argyle's levee:" "six times had harry bowed unseen, before he dared advance; the duke then, turning round well pleased, said, 'sure you've been in france! a more polite and jaunty man i never saw before:' then harry bowed, and blushed, and bowed, and strutted to the door." see a collection of original poems, by scotch gentlemen, vol. ii. p. . he chanced to be in company with rob roy, who, either in contempt of boquhan's supposed effeminacy, or because he thought him a safe person to fix a quarrel on (a point which rob's enemies alleged he was wont to consider), insulted him so grossly that a challenge passed between them. the goodwife of the clachan had hidden cunningham's sword, and while he rummaged the house in quest of his own or some other, rob roy went to the shieling hill, the appointed place of combat, and paraded there with great majesty, waiting for his antagonist. in the meantime, cunningham had rummaged out an old sword, and, entering the ground of contest in all haste, rushed on the outlaw with such unexpected fury that he fairly drove him off the field, nor did he show himself in the village again for some time. mr. macgregor stirling has a softened account of this anecdote in his new edition of nimmo's stirlingshire; still he records rob roy's discomfiture. occasionally rob roy suffered disasters, and incurred great personal danger. on one remarkable occasion he was saved by the coolness of his lieutenant, macanaleister or fletcher, the _little john_ of his band--a fine active fellow, of course, and celebrated as a marksman. it happened that macgregor and his party had been surprised and dispersed by a superior force of horse and foot, and the word was given to "split and squander." each shifted for himself, but a bold dragoon attached himself to pursuit of rob, and overtaking him, struck at him with his broadsword. a plate of iron in his bonnet saved the macgregor from being cut down to the teeth; but the blow was heavy enough to bear him to the ground, crying as he fell, "oh, macanaleister, is there naething in her?" (_i.e._ in the gun). the trooper, at the same time, exclaiming, "d--n ye, your mother never wrought your night-cap!" had his arm raised for a second blow, when macanaleister fired, and the ball pierced the dragoon's heart. such as he was, rob roy's progress in his occupation is thus described by a gentleman of sense and talent, who resided within the circle of his predatory wars, had probably felt their effects, and speaks of them, as might be expected, with little of the forbearance with which, from their peculiar and romantic character, they are now regarded. "this man (rob roy macgregor) was a person of sagacity, and neither wanted stratagem nor address; and having abandoned himself to all licentiousness, set himself at the head of all the loose, vagrant, and desperate people of that clan, in the west end of perth and stirling shires, and infested those whole countries with thefts, robberies, and depredations. very few who lived within his reach (that is, within the distance of a nocturnal expedition) could promise to themselves security, either for their persons or effects, without subjecting themselves to pay him a heavy and shameful tax of _black-mail._ he at last proceeded to such a degree of audaciousness that he committed robberies, raised contributions, and resented quarrels, at the head of a very considerable body of armed men, in open day, and in the face of the government."* * mr. grahame of gartmore's causes of the disturbances in the highlands. see jamieson's edition of burt's letters from the north of scotland, appendix, vol. ii. p. . the extent and success of these depredations cannot be surprising, when we consider that the scene of them was laid in a country where the general law was neither enforced nor respected. having recorded that the general habit of cattle-stealing had blinded even those of the better classes to the infamy of the practice, and that as men's property consisted entirely in herds, it was rendered in the highest degree precarious, mr. grahame adds-- "on these accounts there is no culture of ground, no improvement of pastures, and from the same reasons, no manufactures, no trade; in short, no industry. the people are extremely prolific, and therefore so numerous, that there is not business in that country, according to its present order and economy, for the one-half of them. every place is full of idle people, accustomed to arms, and lazy in everything but rapines and depredations. as _buddel_ or _aquavitae_ houses are to be found everywhere through the country, so in these they saunter away their time, and frequently consume there the returns of their illegal purchases. here the laws have never been executed, nor the authority of the magistrate ever established. here the officer of the law neither dare nor can execute his duty, and several places are about thirty miles from lawful persons. in short, here is no order, no authority, no government." the period of the rebellion, , approached soon after rob roy had attained celebrity. his jacobite partialities were now placed in opposition to his sense of the obligations which he owed to the indirect protection of the duke of argyle. but the desire of "drowning his sounding steps amid the din of general war" induced him to join the forces of the earl of mar, although his patron the duke of argyle was at the head of the army opposed to the highland insurgents. the macgregors, a large sept of them at least, that of ciar mhor, on this occasion were not commanded by rob roy, but by his nephew already mentioned, gregor macgregor, otherwise called james grahame of glengyle, and still better remembered by the gaelic epithet of _ghlune dhu, i.e._ black knee, from a black spot on one of his knees, which his highland garb rendered visible. there can be no question, however, that being then very young, glengyle must have acted on most occasions by the advice and direction of so experienced a leader as his uncle. the macgregors assembled in numbers at that period, and began even to threaten the lowlands towards the lower extremity of loch lomond. they suddenly seized all the boats which were upon the lake, and, probably with a view to some enterprise of their own, drew them overland to inversnaid, in order to intercept the progress of a large body of west-country whigs who were in arms for the government, and moving in that direction. the whigs made an excursion for the recovery of the boats. their forces consisted of volunteers from paisley, kilpatrick, and elsewhere, who, with the assistance of a body of seamen, were towed up the river leven in long-boats belonging to the ships of war then lying in the clyde. at luss they were joined by the forces of sir humphrey colquhoun, and james grant, his son-in-law, with their followers, attired in the highland dress of the period, which is picturesquely described.* the whole party crossed to craig-royston, but the macgregors did not offer combat. * "at night they arrived at luss, where they were joined by sir humphrey colquhoun of luss, and james grant of plascander, his son-in-law, followed by forty or fifty stately fellows in their short hose and belted plaids, armed each of them with a well-fixed gun on his shoulder, a strong handsome target, with a sharp-pointed steel of above half an ell in length screwed into the navel of it, on his left arm, a sturdy claymore by his side, and a pistol or two, with a dirk and knife, in his belt."--_rae's history of the rebellion,_ to, p. . if we are to believe the account of the expedition given by the historian rae, they leapt on shore at craig-royston with the utmost intrepidity, no enemy appearing to oppose them, and by the noise of their drums, which they beat incessantly, and the discharge of their artillery and small arms, terrified the macgregors, whom they appear never to have seen, out of their fastnesses, and caused them to fly in a panic to the general camp of the highlanders at strath-fillan.* the low-country men succeeded in getting possession of the boats at a great expenditure of noise and courage, and little risk of danger. * note c. the loch lomond expedition. after this temporary removal from his old haunts, rob roy was sent by the earl of mar to aberdeen, to raise, it is believed, a part of the clan gregor, which is settled in that country. these men were of his own family (the race of the ciar mhor). they were the descendants of about three hundred macgregors whom the earl of murray, about the year , transported from his estates in menteith to oppose against his enemies the macintoshes, a race as hardy and restless as they were themselves. but while in the city of aberdeen, rob roy met a relation of a very different class and character from those whom he was sent to summon to arms. this was dr. james gregory (by descent a macgregor), the patriarch of a dynasty of professors distinguished for literary and scientific talent, and the grandfather of the late eminent physician and accomplished scholar, professor gregory of edinburgh. this gentleman was at the time professor of medicine in king's college, aberdeen, and son of dr. james gregory, distinguished in science as the inventor of the reflecting telescope. with such a family it may seem our friend rob could have had little communion. but civil war is a species of misery which introduces men to strange bed-fellows. dr. gregory thought it a point of prudence to claim kindred, at so critical a period, with a man so formidable and influential. he invited rob roy to his house, and treated him with so much kindness, that he produced in his generous bosom a degree of gratitude which seemed likely to occasion very inconvenient effects. the professor had a son about eight or nine years old,--a lively, stout boy of his age,--with whose appearance our highland robin hood was much taken. on the day before his departure from the house of his learned relative, rob roy, who had pondered deeply how he might requite his cousin's kindness, took dr. gregory aside, and addressed him to this purport:--"my dear kinsman, i have been thinking what i could do to show my sense of your hospitality. now, here you have a fine spirited boy of a son, whom you are ruining by cramming him with your useless book-learning, and i am determined, by way of manifesting my great good-will to you and yours, to take him with me and make a man of him." the learned professor was utterly overwhelmed when his warlike kinsman announced his kind purpose in language which implied no doubt of its being a proposal which, would be, and ought to be, accepted with the utmost gratitude. the task of apology or explanation was of a most delicate description; and there might have been considerable danger in suffering rob roy to perceive that the promotion with which he threatened the son was, in the father's eyes, the ready road to the gallows. indeed, every excuse which he could at first think of--such as regret for putting his friend to trouble with a youth who had been educated in the lowlands, and so on--only strengthened the chieftain's inclination to patronise his young kinsman, as he supposed they arose entirely from the modesty of the father. he would for a long time take no apology, and even spoke of carrying off the youth by a certain degree of kindly violence, whether his father consented, or not. at length the perplexed professor pleaded that his son was very young, and in an infirm state of health, and not yet able to endure the hardships of a mountain life; but that in another year or two he hoped his health would be firmly established, and he would be in a fitting condition to attend on his brave kinsman, and follow out the splendid destinies to which he opened the way. this agreement being made, the cousins parted,--rob roy pledging his honour to carry his young relation to the hills with him on his next return to aberdeenshire, and dr. gregory, doubtless, praying in his secret soul that he might never see rob's highland face again. james gregory, who thus escaped being his kinsman's recruit, and in all probability his henchman, was afterwards professor of medicine in the college, and, like most of his family, distinguished by his scientific acquirements. he was rather of an irritable and pertinacious disposition; and his friends were wont to remark, when he showed any symptom of these foibles, "ah! this comes of not having been educated by rob roy." the connection between rob roy and his classical kinsman did not end with the period of rob's transient power. at a period considerably subsequent to the year , he was walking in the castle street of aberdeen, arm in arm with his host, dr. james gregory, when the drums in the barracks suddenly beat to arms, and soldiers were seen issuing from the barracks. "if these lads are turning out," said rob, taking leave of his cousin with great composure, "it is time for me to look after my safety." so saying, he dived down a close, and, as john bunyan says, "went upon his way and was seen no more."* * the first of these anecdotes, which brings the highest pitch of civilisation so closely in contact with the half-savage state of society, i have heard told by the late distinguished dr. gregory; and the members of his family have had the kindness to collate the story with their recollections and family documents, and furnish the authentic particulars. the second rests on the recollection of an old man, who was present when rob took french leave of his literary cousin on hearing the drums beat, and communicated the circumstance to mr. alexander forbes, a connection of dr. gregory by marriage, who is still alive. we have already stated that rob roy's conduct during the insurrection of was very equivocal. his person and followers were in the highland army, but his heart seems to have been with the duke of argyle's. yet the insurgents were constrained to trust to him as their only guide, when they marched from perth towards dunblane, with the view of crossing the forth at what are called the fords of frew, and when they themselves said he could not be relied upon. this movement to the westward, on the part of the insurgents, brought on the battle of sheriffmuir--indecisive, indeed, in its immediate results, but of which the duke of argyle reaped the whole advantage. in this action, it will be recollected that the right wing of the highlanders broke and cut to pieces argyle's left wing, while the clans on the left of mar's army, though consisting of stewarts, mackenzies, and camerons, were completely routed. during this medley of flight and pursuit, rob roy retained his station on a hill in the centre of the highland position; and though it is said his attack might have decided the day, he could not be prevailed upon to charge. this was the more unfortunate for the insurgents, as the leading of a party of the macphersons had been committed to macgregor. this, it is said, was owing to the age and infirmity of the chief of that name, who, unable to lead his clan in person, objected to his heir-apparent, macpherson of nord, discharging his duty on that occasion; so that the tribe, or a part of them, were brigaded with their allies the macgregors. while the favourable moment for action was gliding away unemployed, mar's positive orders reached rob roy that he should presently attack. to which he coolly replied, "no, no! if they cannot do it without me, they cannot do it with me." one of the macphersons, named alexander, one of rob's original profession, _videlicet,_ a drover, but a man of great strength and spirit, was so incensed at the inactivity of this temporary leader, that he threw off his plaid, drew his sword, and called out to his clansmen, "let us endure this no longer! if he will not lead you i will." rob roy replied, with great coolness, "were the question about driving highland stots or kyloes, sandie, i would yield to your superior skill; but as it respects the leading of men, i must be allowed to be the better judge."--"did the matter respect driving glen-eigas stots," answered the macpherson, "the question with rob would not be, which was to be last, but which was to be foremost." incensed at this sarcasm, macgregor drew his sword, and they would have fought upon the spot if their friends on both sides had not interfered. but the moment of attack was completely lost. rob did not, however, neglect his own private interest on the occasion. in the confusion of an undecided field of battle, he enriched his followers by plundering the baggage and the dead on both sides. the fine old satirical ballad on the battle of sheriffmuir does not forget to stigmatise our hero's conduct on this memorable occasion-- rob roy he stood watch on a hill for to catch the booty for aught that i saw, man; for he ne'er advanced from the place where he stanced, till nae mair was to do there at a', man. notwithstanding the sort of neutrality which rob roy had continued to observe during the progress of the rebellion, he did not escape some of its penalties. he was included in the act of attainder, and the house in breadalbane, which was his place of retreat, was burned by general lord cadogan, when, after the conclusion of the insurrection, he marched through the highlands to disarm and punish the offending clans. but upon going to inverary with about forty or fifty of his followers, rob obtained favour, by an apparent surrender of their arms to colonel patrick campbell of finnah, who furnished them and their leader with protections under his hand. being thus in a great measure secured from the resentment of government, rob roy established his residence at craig-royston, near loch lomond, in the midst of his own kinsmen, and lost no time in resuming his private quarrel with the duke of montrose. for this purpose he soon got on foot as many men, and well armed too, as he had yet commanded. he never stirred without a body-guard of ten or twelve picked followers, and without much effort could increase them to fifty or sixty. the duke was not wanting in efforts to destroy this troublesome adversary. his grace applied to general carpenter, commanding the forces in scotland, and by his orders three parties of soldiers were directed from the three different points of glasgow, stirling, and finlarig near killin. mr. graham of killearn, the duke of montrose's relation and factor, sheriff-depute also of dumbartonshire, accompanied the troops, that they might act under the civil authority, and have the assistance of a trusty guide well acquainted with the hills. it was the object of these several columns to arrive about the same time in the neighbourhood of rob roy's residence, and surprise him and his followers. but heavy rains, the difficulties of the country, and the good intelligence which the outlaw was always supplied with, disappointed their well-concerted combination. the troops, finding the birds were flown, avenged themselves by destroying the nest. they burned rob roy's house,--though not with impunity; for the macgregors, concealed among the thickets and cliffs, fired on them, and killed a grenadier. rob roy avenged himself for the loss which he sustained on this occasion by an act of singular audacity. about the middle of november , john graham of killearn, already mentioned as factor of the montrose family, went to a place called chapel errock, where the tenants of the duke were summoned to appear with their termly rents. they appeared accordingly, and the factor had received ready money to the amount of about l , when rob roy entered the room at the head of an armed party. the steward endeavoured to protect the duke's property by throwing the books of accounts and money into a garret, trusting they might escape notice. but the experienced freebooter was not to be baffled where such a prize was at stake. he recovered the books and cash, placed himself calmly in the receipt of custom, examined the accounts, pocketed the money, and gave receipts on the duke's part, saying he would hold reckoning with the duke of montrose out of the damages which he had sustained by his grace's means, in which he included the losses he had suffered, as well by the burning of his house by general cadogan, as by the later expedition against craig-royston. he then requested mr. graham to attend him; nor does it appear that he treated him with any personal violence, or even rudeness, although he informed him he regarded him as a hostage, and menaced rough usage in case he should be pursued, or in danger of being overtaken. few more audacious feats have been performed. after some rapid changes of place (the fatigue attending which was the only annoyance that mr. graham seems to have complained of), he carried his prisoner to an island on loch katrine, and caused him to write to the duke, to state that his ransom was fixed at l merks, being the balance which macgregor pretended remained due to him, after deducting all that he owed to the duke of montrose. however, after detaining mr. graham five or six days in custody on the island, which is still called rob roy's prison, and could be no comfortable dwelling for november nights, the outlaw seems to have despaired of attaining further advantage from his bold attempt, and suffered his prisoner to depart uninjured, with the account-books, and bills granted by the tenants, taking especial care to retain the cash.* * the reader will find two original letters of the duke of montrose, with that which mr. graham of killearn despatched from his prison-house by the outlaw's command, in the appendix, no. ii. about , our chieftain had the dangerous adventure of falling into the hands of the duke of athole, almost as much his enemy as the duke of montrose himself; but his cunning and dexterity again freed him from certain death. see a contemporary account of this curious affair in the appendix, no. v. other pranks are told of rob, which argue the same boldness and sagacity as the seizure of killearn. the duke of montrose, weary of his insolence, procured a quantity of arms, and distributed them among his tenantry, in order that they might defend themselves against future violences. but they fell into different hands from those they were intended for. the macgregors made separate attacks on the houses of the tenants, and disarmed them all one after another, not, as was supposed, without the consent of many of the persons so disarmed. as a great part of the duke's rents were payable in kind, there were girnels (granaries) established for storing up the corn at moulin, and elsewhere on the buchanan estate. to these storehouses rob roy used to repair with a sufficient force, and of course when he was least expected, and insist upon the delivery of quantities of grain--sometimes for his own use, and sometimes for the assistance of the country people; always giving regular receipts in his own name, and pretending to reckon with the duke for what sums he received. in the meanwhile a garrison was established by government, the ruins of which may be still seen about half-way betwixt loch lomond and loch katrine, upon rob roy's original property of inversnaid. even this military establishment could not bridle the restless macgregor. he contrived to surprise the little fort, disarm the soldiers, and destroy the fortification. it was afterwards re-established, and again taken by the macgregors under rob roy's nephew ghlune dhu, previous to the insurrection of - . finally, the fort of inversnaid was a third time repaired after the extinction of civil discord; and when we find the celebrated general wolfe commanding in it, the imagination is strongly affected by the variety of time and events which the circumstance brings simultaneously to recollection. it is now totally dismantled.* * about , when the author chanced to pass that way while on a tour through the highlands, a garrison, consisting of a single veteran, was still maintained at inversnaid. the venerable warder was reaping his barley croft in all peace and tranquillity and when we asked admittance to repose ourselves, he told us we would find the key of the fort under the door. it was not, strictly speaking, as a professed depredator that rob roy now conducted his operations, but as a sort of contractor for the police; in scottish phrase, a lifter of black-mail. the nature of this contract has been described in the novel of waverley, and in the notes on that work. mr. grahame of gartmore's description of the character may be here transcribed:-- "the confusion and disorders of the country were so great, and the government go absolutely neglected it, that the sober people were obliged to purchase some security to their effects by shameful and ignominious contracts of _black-mail._ a person who had the greatest correspondence with the thieves was agreed with to preserve the lands contracted for from thefts, for certain sums to be paid yearly. upon this fund he employed one half of the thieves to recover stolen cattle, and the other half of them to steal, in order to make this agreement and black-mail contract necessary. the estates of those gentlemen who refused to contract, or give countenance to that pernicious practice, are plundered by the thieving part of the watch, in order to force them to purchase their protection. their leader calls himself the _captain_ of the _watch,_ and his banditti go by that name. and as this gives them a kind of authority to traverse the country, so it makes them capable of doing any mischief. these corps through the highlands make altogether a very considerable body of men, inured from their infancy to the greatest fatigues, and very capable, to act in a military way when occasion offers. "people who are ignorant and enthusiastic, who are in absolute dependence upon their chief or landlord, who are directed in their consciences by roman catholic priests, or nonjuring clergymen, and who are not masters of any property, may easily be formed into any mould. they fear no dangers, as they have nothing to lose, and so can with ease be induced to attempt anything. nothing can make their condition worse: confusions and troubles do commonly indulge them in such licentiousness, that by these they better it."* * letters from the north of scotland, vol. ii. pp. , . as the practice of contracting for black-mail was an obvious encouragement to rapine, and a great obstacle to the course of justice, it was, by the statute , chap. , declared a capital crime both on the part of him who levied and him who paid this sort of tax. but the necessity of the case prevented the execution of this severe law, i believe, in any one instance; and men went on submitting to a certain unlawful imposition rather than run the risk of utter ruin--just as it is now found difficult or impossible to prevent those who have lost a very large sum of money by robbery, from compounding with the felons for restoration of a part of their booty. at what rate rob roy levied black-mail i never heard stated; but there is a formal contract by which his nephew, in , agreed with various landholders of estates in the counties of perth, stirling, and dumbarton, to recover cattle stolen from them, or to pay the value within six months of the loss being intimated, if such intimation were made to him with sufficient despatch, in consideration of a payment of l on each l of valued rent, which was not a very heavy insurance. petty thefts were not included in the contract; but the theft of one horse, or one head of black cattle, or of sheep exceeding the number of six, fell under the agreement. rob roy's profits upon such contracts brought him in a considerable revenue in money or cattle, of which he made a popular use; for he was publicly liberal as well as privately beneficent. the minister of the parish of balquhidder, whose name was robertson, was at one time threatening to pursue the parish for an augmentation of his stipend. rob roy took an opportunity to assure him that he would do well to abstain from this new exaction--a hint which the minister did not fail to understand. but to make him some indemnification, macgregor presented him every year with a cow and a fat sheep; and no scruples as to the mode in which the donor came by them are said to have affected the reverend gentleman's conscience. the following amount of the proceedings of rob roy, on an application to him from one of his contractors, had in it something very interesting to me, as told by an old countryman in the lennox who was present on the expedition. but as there is no point or marked incident in the story, and as it must necessarily be without the half-frightened, half-bewildered look with which the narrator accompanied his recollections, it may possibly lose, its effect when transferred to paper. my informant stated himself to have been a lad of fifteen, living with his father on the estate of a gentleman in the lennox, whose name i have forgotten, in the capacity of herd. on a fine morning in the end of october, the period when such calamities were almost always to be apprehended, they found the highland thieves had been down upon them, and swept away ten or twelve head of cattle. rob roy was sent for, and came with a party of seven or eight armed men. he heard with great gravity all that could be told him of the circumstances of the _creagh,_ and expressed his confidence that the _herd-widdiefows_* could not have carried their booty far, and that he should be able to recover them. * mad herdsmen--a name given to cattle-stealers [properly one who deserves to fill a _widdie,_ or halter]. he desired that two lowlanders should be sent on the party, as it was not to be expected that any of his gentlemen would take the trouble of driving the cattle when he should recover possession of them. my informant and his father were despatched on the expedition. they had no good will to the journey; nevertheless, provided with a little food, and with a dog to help them to manage the cattle, they set off with macgregor. they travelled a long day's journey in the direction of the mountain benvoirlich, and slept for the night in a ruinous hut or bothy. the next morning they resumed their journey among the hills, rob roy directing their course by signs and marks on the heath which my informant did not understand. about noon rob commanded the armed party to halt, and to lie couched in the heather where it was thickest. "do you and your son," he said to the oldest lowlander, "go boldly over the hill;--you will see beneath you, in a glen on the other side, your master's cattle, feeding, it may be, with others; gather your own together, taking care to disturb no one else, and drive them to this place. if any one speak to or threaten you, tell them that i am here, at the head of twenty men."--"but what if they abuse us, or kill us?" said the lowland, peasant, by no means delighted at finding the embassy imposed on him and his son. "if they do you any wrong," said rob, "i will never forgive them as long as i live." the lowlander was by no means content with this security, but did not think it safe to dispute rob's injunctions. [illustration: cattle lifting-- ] he and his son climbed the hill therefore, found a deep valley, where there grazed, as rob had predicted, a large herd of cattle. they cautiously selected those which their master had lost, and took measures to drive them over the hill. as soon as they began to remove them, they were surprised by hearing cries and screams; and looking around in fear and trembling they saw a woman seeming to have started out of the earth, who _flyted_ at them, that is, scolded them, in gaelic. when they contrived, however, in the best gaelic they could muster, to deliver the message rob roy told them, she became silent, and disappeared without offering them any further annoyance. the chief heard their story on their return, and spoke with great complacency of the art which he possessed of putting such things to rights without any unpleasant bustle. the party were now on their road home, and the danger, though not the fatigue, of the expedition was at an end. they drove on the cattle with little repose until it was nearly dark, when rob proposed to halt for the night upon a wide moor, across which a cold north-east wind, with frost on its wing, was whistling to the tune of the pipers of strath-dearn.* * the winds which sweep a wild glen in badenoch are so called. the highlanders, sheltered by their plaids, lay down on the heath comfortably enough, but the lowlanders had no protection whatever. rob roy observing this, directed one of his followers to afford the old man a portion of his plaid; "for the callant (boy), he may," said the freebooter, "keep himself warm by walking about and watching the cattle." my informant heard this sentence with no small distress; and as the frost wind grew more and more cutting, it seemed to freeze the very blood in his young veins. he had been exposed to weather all his life, he said, but never could forget the cold of that night; insomuch that, in the bitterness of his heart, he cursed the bright moon for giving no heat with so much light. at length the sense of cold and weariness became so intolerable that he resolved to desert his watch to seek some repose and shelter. with that purpose he couched himself down behind one of the most bulky of the highlanders, who acted as lieutenant to the party. not satisfied with having secured the shelter of the man's large person, he coveted a share of his plaid, and by imperceptible degrees drew a corner of it round him. he was now comparatively in paradise, and slept sound till daybreak, when he awoke, and was terribly afraid on observing that his nocturnal operations had altogether uncovered the dhuiniewassell's neck and shoulders, which, lacking the plaid which should have protected them, were covered with _cranreuch_ (_i.e._ hoar frost). the lad rose in great dread of a beating, at least, when it should be found how luxuriously he had been accommodated at the expense of a principal person of the party. good mr. lieutenant, however, got up and shook himself, rubbing off the hoar frost with his plaid, and muttering something of a _cauld neight._ they then drove on the cattle, which were restored to their owner without farther adventure--the above can hardly be termed a tale, but yet it contains materials both for the poet and artist. it was perhaps about the same time that, by a rapid march into the balquhidder hills at the head of a body of his own tenantry, the duke of montrose actually surprised rob roy, and made him prisoner. he was mounted behind one of the duke's followers, named james stewart, and made fast to him by a horse-girth. the person who had him thus in charge was grandfather of the intelligent man of the same name, now deceased, who lately kept the inn in the vicinity of loch katrine, and acted as a guide to visitors through that beautiful scenery. from him i learned the story many years before he was either a publican, or a guide, except to moorfowl shooters.--it was evening (to resume the story), and the duke was pressing on to lodge his prisoner, so long sought after in vain, in some place of security, when, in crossing the teith or forth, i forget which, macgregor took an opportunity to conjure stewart, by all the ties of old acquaintance and good neighbourhood, to give him some chance of an escape from an assured doom. stewart was moved with compassion, perhaps with fear. he slipt the girth-buckle, and rob, dropping down from behind the horse's croupe, dived, swam, and escaped, pretty much as described in the novel. when james stewart came on shore, the duke hastily demanded where his prisoner was; and as no distinct answer was returned, instantly suspected stewart's connivance at the escape of the outlaw; and, drawing a steel pistol from his belt, struck him down with a blow on the head, from the effects of which, his descendant said, he never completely recovered. in the success of his repeated escapes from the pursuit of his powerful enemy, rob roy at length became wanton and facetious. he wrote a mock challenge to the duke, which he circulated among his friends to amuse them over a bottle. the reader will find this document in the appendix.* it is written in a good hand, and not particularly deficient in grammar or spelling. * appendix, no. iii. our southern readers must be given to understand that it was a piece of humour,--a _quiz,_ in short,--on the part of the outlaw, who was too sagacious to propose such a rencontre in reality. this letter was written in the year . in the following year rob roy composed another epistle, very little to his own reputation, as he therein confesses having played booty during the civil war of . it is addressed to general wade, at that time engaged in disarming the highland clans, and making military roads through the country. the letter is a singular composition. it sets out the writer's real and unfeigned desire to have offered his service to king george, but for his liability to be thrown into jail for a civil debt, at the instance of the duke of montrose. being thus debarred from taking the right side, he acknowledged he embraced the wrong one, upon falstaff's principle, that since the king wanted men and the rebels soldiers, it were worse shame to be idle in such a stirring world, than to embrace the worst side, were it as black as rebellion could make it. the impossibility of his being neutral in such a debate, rob seems to lay down as an undeniable proposition. at the same time, while he acknowledges having been forced into an unnatural rebellion against king george, he pleads that he not only avoided acting offensively against his majesty's forces on all occasions, but, on the contrary, sent to them what intelligence he could collect from time to time; for the truth of which he refers to his grace the duke of argyle. what influence this plea had on general wade, we have no means of knowing. rob roy appears to have continued to live very much as usual. his fame, in the meanwhile, passed beyond the narrow limits of the country in which he resided. a pretended history of him appeared in london during his lifetime, under the title of the highland rogue. it is a catch-penny publication, bearing in front the effigy of a species of ogre, with a beard of a foot in length; and his actions are as much exaggerated as his personal appearance. some few of the best known adventures of the hero are told, though with little accuracy; but the greater part of the pamphlet is entirely fictitious. it is great pity so excellent a theme for a narrative of the kind had not fallen into the hands of de foe, who was engaged at the time on subjects somewhat similar, though inferior in dignity and interest. as rob roy advanced in years, he became more peaceable in his habits, and his nephew ghlune dhu, with most of his tribe, renounced those peculiar quarrels with the duke of montrose, by which his uncle had been distinguished. the policy of that great family had latterly been rather to attach this wild tribe by kindness than to follow the mode of violence which had been hitherto ineffectually resorted to. leases at a low rent were granted to many of the macgregors, who had heretofore held possessions in the duke's highland property merely by occupancy; and glengyle (or black-knee), who continued to act as collector of black-mail, managed his police, as a commander of the highland watch arrayed at the charge of government. he is said to have strictly abstained from the open and lawless depredations which his kinsman had practised, it was probably after this state of temporary quiet had been obtained, that rob roy began to think of the concerns of his future state. he had been bred, and long professed himself, a protestant; but in his later years he embraced the roman catholic faith,--perhaps on mrs. cole's principle, that it was a comfortable religion for one of his calling. he is said to have alleged as the cause of his conversion, a desire to gratify the noble family of perth, who were then strict catholics. having, as he observed, assumed the name of the duke of argyle, his first protector, he could pay no compliment worth the earl of perth's acceptance save complying with his mode of religion. rob did not pretend, when pressed closely on the subject, to justify all the tenets of catholicism, and acknowledged that extreme unction always appeared to him a great waste of _ulzie,_ or oil.* * such an admission is ascribed to the robber donald bean lean in waverley, chap. lxii, in the last years of rob roy's life, his clan was involved in a dispute with one more powerful than themselves. stewart of appin, a chief of the tribe so named, was proprietor of a hill-farm in the braes of balquhidder, called invernenty. the macgregors of rob roy's tribe claimed a right to it by ancient occupancy, and declared they would oppose to the uttermost the settlement of any person upon the farm not being of their own name. the stewarts came down with two hundred men, well armed, to do themselves justice by main force. the macgregors took the field, but were unable to muster an equal strength. rob roy, fending himself the weaker party, asked a parley, in which he represented that both clans were friends to the _king,_ and, that he was unwilling they should be weakened by mutual conflict, and thus made a merit of surrendering to appin the disputed territory of invernenty. appin, accordingly, settled as tenants there, at an easy quit-rent, the maclarens, a family dependent on the stewarts, and from whose character for strength and bravery, it was expected that they would make their right good if annoyed by the macgregors. when all this had been amicably adjusted, in presence of the two clans drawn up in arms near the kirk of balquhidder, rob roy, apparently fearing his tribe might be thought to have conceded too much upon the occasion, stepped forward and said, that where so many gallant men were met in arms, it would be shameful to part without it trial of skill, and therefore he took the freedom to invite any gentleman of the stewarts present to exchange a few blows with him for the honour of their respective clans. the brother-in-law of appin, and second chieftain of the clan, alaster stewart of invernahyle, accepted the challenge, and they encountered with broadsword and target before their respective kinsmen.* * some accounts state that appin himself was rob roy's antagonist on this occasion. my recollection, from the account of invernahyle himself, was as stated in the text. but the period when i received the information is now so distant, that it is possible i may be mistaken. invernahyle was rather of low stature, but very well made, athletic, and an excellent swordsman. the combat lasted till rob received a slight wound in the arm, which was the usual termination of such a combat when fought for honour only, and not with a mortal purpose. rob roy dropped his point, and congratulated his adversary on having been the first man who ever drew blood from him. the victor generously acknowledged, that without the advantage of youth, and the agility accompanying it, he probably could not have come off with advantage. this was probably one of rob roy's last exploits in arms. the time of his death is not known with certainty, but he is generally said to have survived , and to have died an aged man. when he found himself approaching his final change, he expressed some contrition for particular parts of his life. his wife laughed at these scruples of conscience, and exhorted him to die like a man, as he had lived. in reply, he rebuked her for her violent passions, and the counsels she had given him. "you have put strife," he said, "betwixt me and the best men of the country, and now you would place enmity between me and my god." there is a tradition, no way inconsistent with the former, if the character of rob roy be justly considered, that while on his deathbed, he learned that a person with whom he was at enmity proposed to visit him. "raise me from my bed," said the invalid; "throw my plaid around me, and bring me my claymore, dirk, and pistols--it shall never be said that a foeman saw rob roy macgregor defenceless and unarmed." his foeman, conjectured to be one of the maclarens before and after mentioned, entered and paid his compliments, inquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour. rob roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short conference, and so soon as he had left the house. "now," he said, "all is over--let the piper play, _ha til mi tulidh_" (we return no more); and he is said to have expired before the dirge was finished. this singular man died in bed in his own house, in the parish of balquhidder. he was buried in the churchyard of the same parish, where his tombstone is only distinguished by a rude attempt at the figure of a broadsword. the character of rob roy is, of course, a mixed one. his sagacity, boldness, and prudence, qualities so highly necessary to success in war, became in some degree vices, from the manner in which they were employed. the circumstances of his education, however, must be admitted as some extenuation of his habitual transgressions against the law; and for his political tergiversations, he might in that distracted period plead the example of men far more powerful, and less excusable in becoming the sport of circumstances, than the poor and desperate outlaw. on the other hand, he was in the constant exercise of virtues, the more meritorious as they seem inconsistent with his general character. pursuing the occupation of a predatory chieftain,--in modern phrase a captain of banditti,--rob roy was moderate in his revenge, and humane in his successes. no charge of cruelty or bloodshed, unless in battle, is brought against his memory. in like manner, the formidable outlaw was the friend of the poor, and, to the utmost of his ability, the support of the widow and the orphan--kept his word when pledged--and died lamented in his own wild country, where there were hearts grateful for his beneficence, though their minds were not sufficiently instructed to appreciate his errors. the author perhaps ought to stop here; but the fate of a part of rob roy's family was so extraordinary, as to call for a continuation of this somewhat prolix account, as affording an interesting chapter, not on highland manners alone, but on every stage of society in which the people of a primitive and half-civilised tribe are brought into close contact with a nation, in which civilisation and polity have attained a complete superiority. rob had five sons,--coll, ronald, james, duncan, and robert. nothing occurs worth notice concerning three of them; but james, who was a very handsome man, seems to have had a good deal of his father's spirit, and the mantle of dougal ciar mhor had apparently descended on the shoulders of robin oig, that is, young robin. shortly after rob roy's death, the ill-will which the macgregors entertained against the maclarens again broke out, at the instigation, it was said, of rob's widow, who seems thus far to have deserved the character given to her by her husband, as an ate' stirring up to blood and strife. robin oig, under her instigation, swore that as soon as he could get back a certain gun which had belonged to his father, and had been lately at doune to be repaired, he would shoot maclaren, for having presumed to settle on his mother's land.* * this fatal piece was taken from robin oig, when he was seized many years afterwards. it remained in possession of the magistrates before whom he was brought for examination, and now makes part of a small collection of arms belonging to the author. it is a spanish-barrelled gun, marked with the letters r. m. c., for robert macgregor campbell. he was as good as his word, and shot maclaren when between the stilts of his plough, wounding him mortally. the aid of a highland leech was procured, who probed the wound with a probe made out of a castock; _i.e._, the stalk of a colewort or cabbage. this learned gentleman declared he would not venture to prescribe, not knowing with what shot the patient had been wounded. maclaren died, and about the same time his cattle were houghed, and his live stock destroyed in a barbarous manner. robin oig, after this feat--which one of his biographers represents as the unhappy discharge of a gun--retired to his mother's house, to boast that he had drawn the first blood in the quarrel aforesaid. on the approach of troops, and a body of the stewarts, who were bound to take up the cause of their tenant, robin oig absconded, and escaped all search. the doctor already mentioned, by name callam macinleister, with james and ronald, brothers to the actual perpetrator of the murder, were brought to trial. but as they contrived to represent the action as a rash deed committed by "the daft callant rob," to which they were not accessory, the jury found their accession to the crime was not proven. the alleged acts of spoil and violence on the maclarens' cattle, were also found to be unsupported by evidence. as it was proved, however, that the two brothers, ronald and james, were held and reputed thieves, they were appointed to find caution to the extent of l , for their good behaviour for seven years.* * note d. author's expedition against the maclarens. the spirit of clanship was at that time, so strong--to which must be added the wish to secure the adherence of stout, able-bodied, and, as the scotch phrase then went, _pretty_ men--that the representative of the noble family of perth condescended to act openly as patron of the macgregors, and appeared as such upon their trial. so at least the author was informed by the late robert macintosh, esq., advocate. the circumstance may, however, have occurred later than --the year in which this first trial took place. robin oig served for a time in the d regiment, and was present at the battle of fontenoy, where he was made prisoner and wounded. he was exchanged, returned to scotland, and obtained his discharge. he afterwards appeared openly in the macgregor's country; and, notwithstanding his outlawry, married a daughter of graham of drunkie, a gentleman of some property. his wife died a few years afterwards. the insurrection of soon afterwards called the macgregors to arms. robert macgregor of glencarnoch, generally regarded as the chief of the whole name, and grandfather of sir john, whom the clan received in that character, raised a macgregor regiment, with which he joined the standard of the chevalier. the race of ciar mhor, however, affecting independence, and commanded by glengyle and his cousin james roy macgregor, did not join this kindred corps, but united themselves to the levies of the titular duke of perth, until william macgregor drummond of bolhaldie, whom they regarded as head of their branch, of clan alpine, should come over from france. to cement the union after the highland fashion, james laid down the name of campbell, and assumed that of drummond, in compliment to lord perth. he was also called james roy, after his father, and james mhor, or big james, from his height. his corps, the relics of his father rob's band, behaved with great activity; with only twelve men he succeeded in surprising and burning, for the second time, the fort at inversnaid, constructed for the express purpose of bridling the country of the macgregors. what rank or command james macgregor had, is uncertain. he calls himself major; and chevalier johnstone calls him captain. he must have held rank under ghlune dhu, his kinsman, but his active and audacious character placed him above the rest of his brethren. many of his followers were unarmed; he supplied the want of guns and swords with scythe-blades set straight upon their handles. at the battle of prestonpans, james roy distinguished himself. "his company," says chevalier johnstone, "did great execution with their scythes." they cut the legs of the horses in two--the riders through the middle of their bodies. macgregor was brave and intrepid, but at the same time, somewhat whimsical and singular. when advancing to the charge with his company, he received five wounds, two of them from balls that pierced his body through and through. stretched on the ground, with his head resting on his hand, he called out loudly to the highlanders of his company, "my lads, i am not dead. by g--, i shall see if any of you does not do his duty." the victory, as is well known, was instantly obtained. in some curious letters of james roy,* it appears that his thigh-bone was broken on this occasion, and that he, nevertheless, rejoined the army with six companies, and was present at the battle of culloden. * published in blackwood's magazine, vol. ii. p. . after that defeat, the clan macgregor kept together in a body, and did not disperse till they had returned into their own country. they brought james roy with them in a litter; and, without being particularly molested, he was permitted to reside in the macgregor's country along with his brothers. james macgregor drummond was attainted for high treason with persons of more importance. but it appears he had entered into some communication with government, as, in the letters quoted, he mentions having obtained a pass from the lord justice-clerk in , which was a sufficient protection to him from the military. the circumstance is obscurely stated in one of the letters already quoted, but may perhaps, joined to subsequent incidents, authorise the suspicion that james, like his father, could look at both sides of the cards. as the confusion of the country subsided, the macgregors, like foxes which had baffled the hounds, drew back to their old haunts, and lived unmolested. but an atrocious outrage, in which the sons of rob roy were concerned, brought at length on the family the full vengeance of the law. james roy was a married man, and had fourteen children. but his brother, robin oig, was now a widower; and it was resolved, if possible, that he should make his fortune by carrying off and marrying, by force if necessary, some woman of fortune from the lowlands. the imagination of the half-civilised highlanders was less shocked at the idea of this particular species of violence, than might be expected from their general kindness to the weaker sex when they make part of their own families. but all their views were tinged with the idea that they lived in a state of war; and in such a state, from the time of the siege of troy to "the moment when previsa fell,"* the female captives are, to uncivilised victors, the most valuable part of the booty-- * childe harold's pilgrimage, canto ii. "the wealthy are slaughtered, the lovely are spared." we need not refer to the rape of the sabines, or to a similar instance in the book of judges, for evidence that such deeds of violence have been committed upon a large scale. indeed, this sort of enterprise was so common along the highland line as to give rise to a variety of songs and ballads.* * see appendix, no. vi. the annals of ireland, as well as those of scotland, prove the crime to have been common in the more lawless parts of both countries; and any woman who happened to please a man of spirit who came of a good house, and possessed a few chosen friends, and a retreat in the mountains, was not permitted the alternative of saying him nay. what is more, it would seem that the women themselves, most interested in the immunities of their sex, were, among the lower classes, accustomed to regard such marriages as that which is presently to be detailed as "pretty fanny's way," or rather, the way of donald with pretty fanny. it is not a great many years since a respectable woman, above the lower rank of life, expressed herself very warmly to the author on his taking the freedom to censure the behaviour of the macgregors on the occasion in question. she said "that there was no use in giving a bride too much choice upon such occasions; that the marriages were the happiest long syne which had been done offhand." finally, she averred that her "own mother had never seen her father till the night he brought her up from the lennox, with ten head of black cattle, and there had not been a happier couple in the country." james drummond and his brethren having similar opinions with the author's old acquaintance, and debating how they might raise the fallen fortunes of their clan, formed a resolution to settle their brother's fortune by striking up an advantageous marriage betwixt robin oig and one jean key, or wright, a young woman scarce twenty years old, and who had been left about two months a widow by the death of her husband. her property was estimated at only from , to , merks, but it seems to have been sufficient temptation to these men to join in the commission of a great crime. this poor young victim lived with her mother in her own house at edinbilly, in the parish of balfron and shire of stirling. at this place, in the night of d december , the sons of rob roy, and particularly james mhor and robin oig, rushed into the house where the object of their attack was resident, presented guns, swords, and pistols to the males of the family, and terrified the women by threatening to break open the doors if jean key was not surrendered, as, said james roy, "his brother was a young fellow determined to make his fortune." having, at length, dragged the object of their lawless purpose from her place of concealment, they tore her from her mother's arms, mounted her on a horse before one of the gang, and carried her off in spite, of her screams and cries, which were long heard after the terrified spectators of the outrage could no longer see the party retreat through the darkness. in her attempts to escape, the poor young woman threw herself from the horse on which they had placed her, and in so doing wrenched her side. they then laid her double over the pummel of the saddle, and transported her through the mosses and moors till the pain of the injury she had suffered in her side, augmented by the uneasiness of her posture, made her consent to sit upright. in the execution of this crime they stopped at more houses than one, but none of the inhabitants dared interrupt their proceedings. amongst others who saw them was that classical and accomplished scholar the late professor william richardson of glasgow, who used to describe as a terrible dream their violent and noisy entrance into the house where he was then residing. the highlanders filled the little kitchen, brandishing their arms, demanding what they pleased, and receiving whatever they demanded. james mhor, he said, was a tall, stern, and soldier-like man. robin oig looked more gentle; dark, but yet ruddy in complexion--a good-looking young savage. their victim was so dishevelled in her dress, and forlorn in her appearance and demeanour, that he could hardly tell whether she was alive or dead. the gang carried the unfortunate woman to rowardennan, where they had a priest unscrupulous enough to read the marriage service, while james mhor forcibly held the bride up before him; and the priest declared the couple man and wife, even while she protested against the infamy of his conduct. under the same threats of violence, which had been all along used to enforce their scheme, the poor victim was compelled to reside with the pretended husband who was thus forced upon her. they even dared to carry her to the public church of balquhidder, where the officiating clergyman (the same who had been rob roy's pensioner) only asked them if they were married persons. robert macgregor answered in the affirmative; the terrified female was silent. the country was now too effectually subjected to the law for this vile outrage to be followed by the advantages proposed by the actors, military parties were sent out in every direction to seize the macgregors, who were for two or three weeks compelled to shift from one place to another in the mountains, bearing the unfortunate jean key along with them. in the meanwhile, the supreme civil court issued a warrant, sequestrating the property of jean key, or wright, which removed out of the reach of the actors in the violence the prize which they expected. they had, however, adopted a belief of the poor woman's spirit being so far broken that she would prefer submitting to her condition, and adhering to robin oig as her husband, rather than incur the disgrace, of appearing in such a cause in an open court. it was, indeed, a delicate experiment; but their kinsman glengyle, chief of their immediate family, was of a temper averse to lawless proceedings;* and the captive's friends having had recourse to his advice, they feared that he would withdraw his protection if they refused to place the prisoner at liberty. * such, at least, was his general character; for when james mhor, while perpetrating the violence at edinbilly, called out, in order to overawe opposition, that glengyle was lying in the moor with a hundred men to patronise his enterprise, jean key told him he lied, since she was confident glengyle would never countenance so scoundrelly a business. the brethren resolved, therefore, to liberate the unhappy woman, but previously had recourse to every measure which should oblige her, either from fear or otherwise, to own her marriage with robin oig. the cailliachs (old highland hags) administered drugs, which were designed to have the effect of philtres, but were probably deleterious. james mhor at one time threatened, that if she did not acquiesce in the match she would find that there were enough of men in the highlands to bring the heads of two of her uncles who were pursuing the civil lawsuit. at another time he fell down on his knees, and confessed he had been accessory to wronging her, but begged she would not ruin his innocent wife and large family. she was made to swear she would not prosecute the brethren for the offence they had committed; and she was obliged by threats to subscribe papers which were tendered to her, intimating that she was carried off in consequence of her own previous request. james mhor drummond accordingly brought his pretended sister-in-law to edinburgh, where, for some little time, she was carried about from one house to another, watched by those with whom she was lodged, and never permitted to go out alone, or even to approach the window. the court of session, considering the peculiarity of the case, and regarding jean key as being still under some forcible restraint, took her person under their own special charge, and appointed her to reside in the family of mr. wightman of mauldsley, a gentleman of respectability, who was married to one of her near relatives. two sentinels kept guard on the house day and night--a precaution not deemed superfluous when the macgregors were in question. she was allowed to go out whenever she chose, and to see whomsoever she had a mind, as well as the men of law employed in the civil suit on either side. when she first came to mr. wightman's house she seemed broken down with affright and suffering, so changed in features that her mother hardly knew her, and so shaken in mind that she scarce could recognise her parent. it was long before she could be assured that she was in perfect safely. but when she at length received confidence in her situation, she made a judicial declaration, or affidavit, telling the full history of her wrongs, imputing to fear her former silence on the subject, and expressing her resolution not to prosecute those who had injured her, in respect of the oath she had been compelled to take. from the possible breach of such an oath, though a compulsory one, she was relieved by the forms of scottish jurisprudence, in that respect more equitable than those of england, prosecutions for crimes being always conducted at the expense and charge of the king, without inconvenience or cost to the private party who has sustained the wrong. but the unhappy sufferer did not live to be either accuser or witness against those who had so deeply injured her. james mhor drummond had left edinburgh so soon as his half-dead prey had been taken from his clutches. mrs. key, or wright, was released from her species of confinement there, and removed to glasgow, under the escort of mr. wightman. as they passed the hill of shotts, her escort chanced to say, "this is a very wild spot; what if the macgregors should come upon us?"--"god forbid!" was her immediate answer, "the very sight of them would kill me." she continued to reside at glasgow, without venturing to return to her own house at edinbilly. her pretended husband made some attempts to obtain an interview with her, which she steadily rejected. she died on the th october . the information for the crown hints that her decease might be the consequence of the usage she received. but there is a general report that she died of the small-pox. in the meantime, james mhor, or drummond, fell into the hands of justice. he was considered as the instigator of the whole affair. nay, the deceased had informed her friends that on the night of her being carried off, robin oig, moved by her cries and tears, had partly consented to let her return, when james came up with a pistol in his hand, and, asking whether he was such a coward as to relinquish an enterprise in which he had risked everything to procure him a fortune, in a manner compelled his brother to persevere. james's trial took place on th july , and was conducted with the utmost fairness and impartiality. several witnesses, all of the macgregor family, swore that the marriage was performed with every appearance of acquiescence on the woman's part; and three or four witnesses, one of them sheriff-substitute of the county, swore she might have made her escape if she wished, and the magistrate stated that he offered her assistance if she felt desirous to do so. but when asked why he, in his official capacity, did not arrest the macgregors, he could only answer, that he had not force sufficient to make the attempt. the judicial declarations of jean key, or wright, stated the violent manner in which she had been carried off, and they were confirmed by many of her friends, from her private communications with them, which the event of her death rendered good evidence. indeed, the fact of her abduction (to use a scottish law term) was completely proved by impartial witnesses. the unhappy woman admitted that she had pretended acquiescence in her fate on several occasions, because she dared not trust such as offered to assist her to escape, not even the sheriff-substitute. the jury brought in a special verdict, finding that jean key, or wright, had been forcibly carried off from her house, as charged in the indictment, and that the accused had failed to show that she was herself privy and consenting to this act of outrage. but they found the forcible marriage, and subsequent violence, was not proved; and also found, in alleviation of the panel's guilt in the premises, that jean key did afterwards acquiesce in her condition. eleven of the jury, using the names of other four who were absent, subscribed a letter to the court, stating it was their purpose and desire, by such special verdict, to take the panel's case out of the class of capital crimes. learned informations (written arguments) on the import of the verdict, which must be allowed a very mild one in the circumstances, were laid before the high court of justiciary. this point is very learnedly debated in these pleadings by mr. grant, solicitor for the crown, and the celebrated mr. lockhart, on the part of the prisoner; but james mhor did not wait the event of the court's decision. he had been committed to the castle of edinburgh on some reports that an escape would be attempted. yet he contrived to achieve his liberty even from that fortress. his daughter had the address to enter the prison, disguised as a cobbler, bringing home work, as she pretended. in this cobbler's dress her father quickly arrayed himself. the wife and daughter of the prisoner were heard by the sentinels scolding the supposed cobbler for having done his work ill, and the man came out with his hat slouched over his eyes, and grumbling, as if at the manner in which they had treated him. in this way the prisoner passed all the guards without suspicion, and made his escape to france. he was afterwards outlawed by the court of justiciary, which proceeded to the trial of duncan macgregor, or drummond, his brother, th january . the accused had unquestionably been with the party which carried off jean key; but no evidence being brought which applied to him individually and directly, the jury found him not guilty--and nothing more is known of his fate. that of james macgregor, who, from talent and activity, if not by seniority, may be considered as head of the family, has been long misrepresented; as it has been generally averred in law reports, as well as elsewhere, that his outlawry was reversed, and that he returned and died in scotland. but the curious letters published in blackwood's magazine for december , show this to be an error. the first of these documents is a petition to charles edward. it is dated th september , and pleads his service to the cause of the stuarts, ascribing his exile to the persecution of the hanoverian government, without any allusion to the affair of jean key, or the court of justiciary. it is stated to be forwarded by macgregor drummond of bohaldie, whom, as before mentioned, james mhor acknowledged as his chief. the effect which this petition produced does not appear. some temporary relief was perhaps obtained. but, soon after, this daring adventurer was engaged in a very dark intrigue against an exile of his own country, and placed pretty nearly in his own circumstances. a remarkable highland story must be here briefly alluded to. mr. campbell of glenure, who had been named factor for government on the forfeited estates of stewart of ardshiel, was shot dead by an assassin as he passed through the wood of lettermore, after crossing the ferry of ballachulish. a gentleman, named james stewart, a natural brother of ardshiel, the forfeited person, was tried as being accessory to the murder, and condemned and executed upon very doubtful evidence; the heaviest part of which only amounted to the accused person having assisted a nephew of his own, called allan breck stewart, with money to escape after the deed was done. not satisfied with this vengeance, which was obtained in a manner little to the honour of the dispensation of justice at the time, the friends of the deceased glenure were equally desirous to obtain possession of the person of allan breck stewart, supposed to be the actual homicide. james mhor drummond was secretly applied to to trepan stewart to the sea-coast, and bring him over to britain, to almost certain death. drummond macgregor had kindred connections with the slain glenure; and, besides, the macgregors and campbells had been friends of late, while the former clan and the stewarts had, as we have seen, been recently at feud; lastly, robert oig was now in custody at edinburgh, and james was desirous to do some service by which his brother might be saved. the joint force of these motives may, in james's estimation of right and wrong, have been some vindication for engaging in such an enterprise, although, as must be necessarily supposed, it could only be executed by treachery of a gross description. macgregor stipulated for a license to return to england, promising to bring allan breck thither along with him. but the intended victim was put upon his guard by two countrymen, who suspected james's intentions towards him. he escaped from his kidnapper, after, as macgregor alleged, robbing his portmanteau of some clothes and four snuff-boxes. such a charge, it may be observed, could scarce have been made unless the parties had been living on a footing of intimacy, and had access to each other's baggage. although james drummond had thus missed his blow in the matter of allan breck stewart, he used his license to make a journey to london, and had an interview, as he avers, with lord holdernesse. his lordship, and the under-secretary, put many puzzling questions to him; and, as he says, offered him a situation, which would bring him bread, in the government's service. this office was advantageous as to emolument; but in the opinion of james drummond, his acceptance of it would have been a disgrace to his birth, and have rendered him a scourge to his country. if such a tempting offer and sturdy rejection had any foundation in fact, it probably relates to some plan of espionage on the jacobites, which the government might hope to carry on by means of a man who, in the matter of allan breck stewart, had shown no great nicety of feeling. drummond macgregor was so far accommodating as to intimate his willingness to act in any station in which other gentlemen of honour served, but not otherwise;--an answer which, compared with some passages of his past life, may remind the reader of ancient pistol standing upon his reputation. having thus proved intractable, as he tells the story, to the proposals of lord holdernesse, james drummond was ordered instantly to quit england. on his return to france, his condition seems to have been utterly disastrous. he was seized with fever and gravel--ill, consequently, in body, and weakened and dispirited in mind. allan breck stewart threatened to put him to death in revenge of the designs he had harboured against him.* * note e. allan breck stewart. the stewart clan were in the highest degree unfriendly to him: and his late expedition to london had been attended with many suspicious circumstances, amongst which it was not the slightest that he had kept his purpose secret from his chief bohaldie. his intercourse with lord holdernesse was suspicious. the jacobites were probably, like don bernard de castel blaze, in gil blas, little disposed to like those who kept company with alguazils. mac-donnell of lochgarry, a man of unquestioned honour, lodged an information against james drummond before the high bailie of dunkirk, accusing him of being a spy, so that he found himself obliged to leave that town and come to paris, with only the sum of thirteen livres for his immediate subsistence, and with absolute beggary staring him in the face. we do not offer the convicted common thief, the accomplice in maclaren's assassination, or the manager of the outrage against jean key, as an object of sympathy; but it is melancholy to look on the dying struggles even of a wolf or a tiger, creatures of a species directly hostile to our own; and, in like manner, the utter distress of this man, whose faults may have sprung from a wild system of education, working on a haughty temper, will not be perused without some pity. in his last letter to bohaldie, dated paris, th september , he describes his state of destitution as absolute, and expresses himself willing to exercise his talents in breaking or breeding horses, or as a hunter or fowler, if he could only procure employment in such an inferior capacity till something better should occur. an englishman may smile, but a scotchman will sigh at the postscript, in which the poor starving exile asks the loan of his patron's bagpipes that he might play over some of the melancholy tunes of his own land. but the effect of music arises, in a great degree, from association; and sounds which might jar the nerves of a londoner or parisian, bring back to the highlander his lofty mountain, wild lake, and the deeds of his fathers of the glen. to prove macgregor's claim to our reader's compassion, we here insert the last part of the letter alluded to. "by all appearance i am born to suffer crosses, and it seems they're not at an end; for such is my wretched case at present, that i do not know earthly where to go or what to do, as i have no subsistence to keep body and soul together. all that i have carried here is about livres, and have taken a room at my old quarters in hotel st. pierre, rue de cordier. i send you the bearer, begging of you to let me know if you are to be in town soon, that i may have the pleasure of seeing you, for i have none to make application to but you alone; and all i want is, if it was possible you could contrive where i could be employed without going to entire beggary. this probably is a difficult point, yet unless it's attended with some difficulty, you might think nothing of it, as your long head can bring about matters of much more difficulty and consequence than this. if you'd disclose this matter to your friend mr. butler, it's possible he might have some employ wherein i could be of use, as i pretend to know as much of breeding and riding of horse as any in france, besides that i am a good hunter either on horseback or by footing. you may judge my reduction, as i propose the meanest things to lend a turn till better cast up. i am sorry that i am obliged to give you so much trouble, but i hope you are very well assured that i am grateful for what you have done for me, and i leave you to judge of my present wretched case. i am, and shall for ever continue, dear chief, your own to command, jas. macgregor. "p. s.--if you'd send your pipes by the bearer, and all the other little trinkims belonging to it, i would put them in order, and play some melancholy tunes, which i may now with safety, and in real truth. forgive my not going directly to you, for if i could have borne the seeing of yourself, i could not choose to be seen by my friends in my wretchedness, nor by any of my acquaintance." while macgregor wrote in this disconsolate manner, death, the sad but sure remedy for mortal evils, and decider of all doubts and uncertainties, was hovering near him. a memorandum on the back of the letter says the writer died about a week after, in october . it now remains to mention the fate of robin oig--for the other sons of rob roy seem to have been no way distinguished. robin was apprehended by a party of military from the fort of inversnaid, at the foot of gartmore, and was conveyed to edinburgh th may . after a delay, which may have been protracted by the negotiations of james for delivering up allan breck stewart upon promise of his brother's life, robin oig, on the th of december , was brought to the bar of the high court of justiciary, and indicted by the name of robert macgregor, alias campbell, alias drummond, alias robert oig; and the evidence led against him resembled exactly that which was brought by the crown on the former trial. robert's case was in some degree more favourable than his brother's;--for, though the principal in the forcible marriage, he had yet to plead that he had shown symptoms of relenting while they were carrying jean key off, which were silenced by the remonstrances and threats of his harder natured brother james. a considerable space of time had also elapsed since the poor woman died, which is always a strong circumstance in favour of the accused; for there is a sort of perspective in guilt, and crimes of an old date seem less odious than those of recent occurrence. but notwithstanding these considerations, the jury, in robert's case, did not express any solicitude to save his life as they had done that of james. they found him guilty of being art and part in the forcible abduction of jean key from her own dwelling.* * the trials of the sons of rob roy, with anecdotes of himself and his family, were published at edinburgh, , in mo. robin oig was condemned to death, and executed on the th february . at the place of execution he behaved with great decency; and professing himself a catholic, imputed all his misfortunes to his swerving from the true church two or three years before. he confessed the violent methods he had used to gain mrs. key, or wright, and hoped his fate would stop further proceedings against his brother james.* * james died near three months before, but his family might easily remain a long time without the news of that event. the newspapers observed that his body, after hanging the usual time, was delivered to his friends to be carried to the highlands. to this the recollection of a venerable friend, recently taken from us in the fulness of years, then a schoolboy at linlithgow, enables the author to add, that a much larger body of macgregors than had cared to advance to edinburgh received the corpse at that place with the coronach and other wild emblems of highland mourning, and so escorted it to balquhidder. thus we may conclude this long account of rob roy and his family with the classic phrase, ite. conclamatum est. i have only to add, that i have selected the above from many anecdotes of rob roy which were, and may still be, current among the mountains where he flourished; but i am far from warranting their exact authenticity. clannish partialities were very apt to guide the tongue and pen, as well as the pistol and claymore, and the features of an anecdote are wonderfully softened or exaggerated as the story is told by a macgregor or a campbell. appendix to introduction. no. i.--advertisement for the apprehension of rob roy. (from the edinburgh evening courant, june to june , a.d. . no. .) "that robert campbell, commonly known by the name of rob roy macgregor, being lately intrusted by several noblemen and gentlemen with considerable sums for buying cows for them in the highlands, has treacherously gone off with the money, to the value of l sterling, which he carries along with him. all magistrates and officers of his majesty's forces are intreated to seize upon the said rob roy, and the money which he carries with him, until the persons concerned in the money be heard against him; and that notice be given, when he is apprehended, to the keepers of the exchange coffee-house at edinburgh, and the keeper of the coffee-house at glasgow, where the parties concerned will be advertised, and the seizers shall be very reasonably rewarded for their pains." it is unfortunate that this hue and cry, which is afterwards repeated in the same paper, contains no description of rob roy's person, which, of course, we must suppose to have been pretty generally known. as it is directed against rob roy personally, it would seem to exclude the idea of the cattle being carried off by his partner, macdonald, who would certainly have been mentioned in the advertisement, if the creditors concerned had supposed him to be in possession of the money. no. ii.--letters from and to the duke of montrose respecting rob roy's arrest of mr. grahame of killearn. _the duke of montrose to--_* * it does not appear to whom this letter was addressed. certainly, from its style and tenor, it was designed for some person high in rank and office--perhaps the king's advocate for the time. "glasgow, the st november, . "my lord,--i was surprised last night with the account of a very remarkable instance of the insolence of that very notorious rogue rob roy, whom your lordship has often heard named. the honour of his majesty's government being concerned in it, i thought it my duty to acquaint your lordship of the particulars by an express. "mr. grahame of killearn (whom i have had occasion to mention frequently to you, for the good service he did last winter during the rebellion) having the charge of my highland estate, went to monteath, which is a part of it, on monday last, to bring in my rents, it being usual for him to be there for two or three nights together at this time of the year, in a country house, for the conveniency of meeting the tenants, upon that account. the same night, about of the clock, rob roy, with a party of those ruffians whom he has still kept about him since the late rebellion, surrounded the house where mr. grahame was with some of my tenants doing his business, ordered his men to present their guns in att the windows of the room where he was sitting, while he himself at the same time with others entered at the door, with cocked pistols, and made mr. grahame prisoner, carrying him away to the hills with the money he had got, his books and papers, and my tenants' bonds for their fines, amounting to above a thousand pounds sterling, whereof the one-half had been paid last year, and the other was to have been paid now; and att the same time had the insolence to cause him to write a letter to me (the copy of which is enclosed) offering me terms of a treaty. "that your lordship may have the better view of this matter, it will be necessary that i should inform you, that this fellow has now, of a long time, put himself at the head of the clan m'gregor, a race of people who in all ages have distinguished themselves beyond others, by robberies, depredations, and murders, and have been the constant harbourers and entertainers of vagabonds and loose people. from the time of the revolution he has taken every opportunity to appear against the government, acting rather as a robber than doing any real service to those whom he pretended to appear for, and has really done more mischief to the countrie than all the other highlanders have done. "some three or four years before the last rebellion broke out, being overburdened with debts, he quitted his ordinary residence, and removed some twelve or sixteen miles farther into the highlands, putting himself under the protection of the earl of bredalbin. when my lord cadogan was in the highlands, he ordered his house att this place to be burnt, which your lordship sees he now places to my account. "this obliges him to return to the same countrie he went from, being a most rugged inaccessible place, where he took up his residence anew amongst his own friends and relations; but well judging that it was possible to surprise him, he, with about forty-five of his followers, went to inverary, and made a sham surrender of their arms to coll. campbell of finab, commander of one of the independent companies, and returned home with his men, each of them having the coll.'s protection. this happened in the beginning of summer last; yet not long after he appeared with his men twice in arms, in opposition to the king's troops: and one of those times attackt them, rescued a prisoner from them, and all this while sent abroad his party through the countrie, plundering the countrie people, and amongst the rest some of my tenants. "being informed of these disorders after i came to scotland, i applied to lieut.-genll. carpenter, who ordered three parties from glasgow, stirling, and finlarig, to march in the night by different routes, in order to surprise him and his men in their houses, which would have its effect certainly, if the great rains that happened to fall that verie night had not retarded the march of the troops, so as some of the parties came too late to the stations that they were ordered for. all that could be done upon the occasion was to burn a countrie house, where rob roy then resided, after some of his clan had, from the rocks, fired upon the king's troops, by which a grenadier was killed. "mr. grahame of killearn, being my deputy-sheriff in that countrie, went along with the party that marched from stirling; and doubtless will now meet with the worse treatment from that barbarous people on that account. besides, that he is my relation, and that they know how active he has been in the service of the government--all which, your lordship may believe, puts me under very great concern for the gentleman, while, at the same time, i can foresee no manner of way how to relieve him, other than to leave him to chance and his own management. "i had my thoughts before of proposing to government the building of some barracks as the only expedient for suppressing these rebels, and securing the peace of the countrie; and in that view i spoke to genll. carpenter, who has now a scheme of it in his hands; and i am persuaded that will be the true method for restraining them effectually; but, in the meantime, it will be necessary to lodge some of the troops in those places, upon which i intend to write to the generall. "i am sensible i have troubled your lordship with a very long letter, which i should be ashamed of, were i myself singly concerned; but where the honour of the king's government is touched, i need make no apologie, and i shall only beg leave to add, that i am, with great respect, and truth, "my lord, "yr. lords. most humble and obedient servant, "montrose" copy of grahame of killearn's letter, enclosed in the preceding. "chappellarroch, nov. th, . "may it please your grace,--i am obliged to give your grace the trouble of this, by robert roy's commands, being so unfortunate at present as to be his prisoner. i refer the way and manner i was apprehended, to the bearer, and shall only, in short, acquaint your grace with the demands, which are, that your grace shall discharge him of all soumes he owes your grace, and give him the soume of merks for his loss and damages sustained by him, both at craigrostown and at his house, auchinchisallen; and that your grace shall give your word not to trouble or prosecute him afterwards; till which time he carries me, all the money i received this day, my books and bonds for entress, not yet paid, along with him, with assurance of hard usage, if any party are sent after him. the soume i received this day, conform to the nearest computation i can make before several of the gentlemen, is l. sh. d. scots, of which i gave them notes. i shall wait your grace's return, and ever am, "your grace's most obedient, faithful, "humble servant, _sic subscribitur,_ "john grahame." the duke of montrose to ---- _th nov._ --_killearn's release._ "glasgow, th nov. . "sir,--having acquainted you by my last, of the st instant, of what had happened to my friend, mr. grahame of killearn, i'm very glad now to tell you, that last night i was very agreeably surprised with mr. grahame's coming here himself, and giving me the first account i had had of him from the time of his being carried away. it seems rob roy, when he came to consider a little better of it, found that, he could not mend his matters by retaining killearn his prisoner, which could only expose him still the more to the justice of the government; and therefore thought fit to dismiss him on sunday evening last, having kept him from the monday night before, under a very uneasy kind of restraint, being obliged to change continually from place to place. he gave him back the books, papers, and bonds, but kept the money. "i am, with great truth, sir, "your most humble servant, "montrose." [some papers connected with rob roy macgregor, signed "ro. campbell," in , were lately presented to the society of antiquaries. one of these is a kind of contract between the duke of montrose and rob roy, by which the latter undertakes to deliver within a given time "sixtie good and sufficient kintaill highland cowes, betwixt the age of five and nine years, at fourtene pounds scotts per peice, with ane bull to the bargane, and that at the head dykes of buchanan upon the twenty-eight day of may next."--dated december .--see _proceedings,_ vol. vii. p. .] no. iii.--challenge by rob roy. "rob roy _to ain hie and mighty prince,_ james duke of montrose. "in charity to your grace's couradge and conduct, please know, the only way to retrive both is to treat rob roy like himself, in appointing tyme, place, and choice of arms, that at once you may extirpate your inveterate enemy, or put a period to your punny (puny?) life in falling gloriously by his hands. that impertinent criticks or flatterers may not brand me for challenging a man that's repute of a poor dastardly soul, let such know that i admit of the two great supporters of his character and the captain of his bands to joyne with him in the combat. then sure your grace wont have the impudence to clamour att court for multitudes to hunt me like a fox, under pretence that i am not to be found above ground. this saves your grace and the troops any further trouble of searching; that is, if your ambition of glory press you to embrace this unequald venture offerd of rob's head. but if your grace's piety, prudence, and cowardice, forbids hazarding this gentlemanly expedient, then let your desire of peace restore what you have robed from me by the tyranny of your present cituation, otherwise your overthrow as a man is determined; and advertise your friends never more to look for the frequent civility payed them, of sending them home without their arms only. even their former cravings wont purchase that favour; so your grace by this has peace in your offer, if the sound of wax be frightful, and chuse you whilk, your good friend or mortal enemy." this singular rhodomontade is enclosed in a letter to a friend of rob roy, probably a retainer of the duke of argyle in isle, which is in these words:-- "sir,--receive the enclosd paper, qn you are takeing yor botle it will divert yorself and comrad's. i gote noe news since i seed you, only qt wee had before about the spainyard's is like to continue. if i'll get any further account about them i'll be sure to let you know of it, and till then i will not write any more till i'll have more sure account, and i am "sir, your most affectionate cn [cousin], "and most humble servant, "ro: roy." "_apryle_ _th,_ . "to mr. patrick anderson, at hay--these.' the seal, _a stag_--no bad emblem of a wild cateran. it appears from the envelope that rob roy still continued to act as intelligencer to the duke of argyle, and his agents. the war he alludes to is probably some vague report of invasion from spain. such rumours were likely enough to be afloat, in consequence of the disembarkation of the troops who were taken at glensheal in the preceding year, . no. iv.--letter from robert campbell, _alias_ m'gregor, commonly called rob roy, to field-marshal wade, then receiving the submission of disaffected chieftains and clans.* * this curious epistle is copied from an authentic narrative of marshal wade's proceedings in the highlands, communicated by the late eminent antiquary, george chalmers, esq., to mr. robert jamieson, of the register house, edinburgh, and published in the appendix to an edition of burt's letters from the north of scotland, vols. vo, edinburgh, . sir,--the great humanity with which you have constantly acted in the discharge of the trust reposed in you, and your ever having made use of the great powers with which you were vested as the means of doing good and charitable offices to such as ye found proper objects of compassion, will, i hope, excuse my importunity in endeavouring to approve myself not absolutely unworthy of that mercy and favour which your excellency has so generously procured from his majesty for others in my unfortunate circumstances. i am very sensible nothing can be alledged sufficient to excuse so great a crime as i have been guilty of it, that of rebellion. but i humbly beg leave to lay before your excellency some particulars in the circumstance of my guilt, which, i hope, will extenuate it in some measure. it was my misfortune, at the time the rebellion broke out, to be liable to legal diligence and caption, at the duke of montrose's instance, for debt alledged due to him. to avoid being flung into prison, as i must certainly have been, had i followed my real inclinations in joining the king's troops at stirling, i was forced to take party with the adherents of the pretender; for the country being all in arms, it was neither safe nor indeed possible for me to stand neuter. i should not, however, plead my being forced into that unnatural rebellion against his majesty, king george, if i could not at the same time assure your excellency, that i not only avoided acting offensively against his majesty's forces upon all occasions, but on the contrary, sent his grace the duke of argyle all the intelligence i could from time to time, of the strength and situation of the rebels; which i hope his grace will do me the justice to acknowledge. as to the debt to the duke of montrose, i have discharged it to the utmost farthing. i beg your excellency would be persuaded that, had it been in my power, as it was in my inclination, i should always have acted for the service of his majesty king george, and that one reason of my begging the favour of your intercession with his majesty for the pardon of my life, is the earnest desire i have to employ it in his service, whose goodness, justice, and humanity, are so conspicuous to all mankind.--i am, with all duty and respect, your excellency's most, &c., "robert campbell." no. iva.--letter. escape of rob roy from the duke of athole. the following copy of a letter which passed from one clergyman of the church of scotland to another, was communicated to me by john gregorson, esq. of ardtornish. the escape of rob roy is mentioned, like other interesting news of the time with which it is intermingled. the disagreement between the dukes of athole and argyle seems to have animated the former against rob roy, as one of argyle's partisans. "rev. and dear brother, yrs of the th jun i had by the bearer. im pleased yo have got back again yr delinquent which may probably safe you of the trouble of her child. i'm sory i've yet very little of certain news to give you from court tho' i've seen all the last weekes prints, only i find in them a pasage which is all the account i can give you of the indemnity yt when the estates of forfaulted rebells comes to be sold all just debts documented are to be preferred to officers of the court of enquiry. the bill in favours of that court against the lords of session in scotland in past the house of commons and come before the lords which is thought to be considerably more ample yn formerly wt respect to the disposeing of estates canvassing and paying of debts. it's said yt the examinations of cadugans accounts is droped but it wants confirmations here as yet. oxford's tryals should be entered upon saturday last. we hear that the duchess of argyle is wt child. i doe not hear yt the divisions at court are any thing abated or of any appearance of the dukes having any thing of his maj: favour. i heartily wish the present humours at court may not prove an encouragmt to watchfull and restles enemies. my accounts of rob roy his escape are yt after severall embassies between his grace (who i hear did correspond wt some at court about it) and rob he at length upon promise of protectione came to waite upon the duke & being presently secured his grace sent post to edr to acquent the court of his being aprehended & call his friends at edr and to desire a party from gen carpinter to receive and bring him to edr which party came the length of kenross in fife, he was to be delivered to them by a party his grace had demanded from the governour at perth, who when upon their march towards dunkell to receive him, were mete wt and returned by his grace having resolved to deliver him by a party of his own men and left rob at logierate under a strong guard till yt party should be ready to receive him. this space of time rob had imployed in taking the other dram heartily wt the guard & qn all were pretty hearty, rob is delivering a letter for his wife to a servant to whom he most needs deliver some private instructions at the door (for his wife) where he's attended wt on the guard. when serious in this privat conversations he is making some few steps carelessly from the door about the house till he comes close by this horse which he soon mounted and made off. this is no small mortifican to the guard because of the delay it give to there hopes of a considerable additionall charge agt john roy.* my wife was upon thursday last delivered of a son after sore travell of which she still continues very weak. * _i.e._ john the red--john duke of argyle, so called from his complexion, more commonly styled "red john the warriour." i give yl lady hearty thanks for the highland plaid. it's good cloath but it does not answer the sett i sent some time agae wt mcarthur & tho it had i told in my last yt my wife was obliged to provid herself to finish her bed before she was lighted but i know yt letr came not timely to yr hand--i'm sory i had not mony to send by the bearer having no thought of it & being exposed to some little expenses last week but i expect some sure occasion when order by a letter to receive it excuse this freedom from &c. "_manse of comrie, july_ _d,_ . "i salute yr lady i wish my ............ her daughter much joy." no. v.--highland wooing. there are many productions of the scottish ballad poets upon the lion-like mode of wooing practised by the ancient highlanders when they had a fancy for the person (or property) of a lowland damsel. one example is found in mr. robert jamieson's popular scottish songs:-- bonny babby livingstone gaed out to see the kye, and she has met with glenlyon, who has stolen her away. he took free her her sattin coat, but an her silken gown, syne roud her in his tartan plaid, and happd her round and roun'. in another ballad we are told how-- four-and-twenty hieland men, came doun by fiddoch bide, and they have sworn a deadly aith, jean muir suld be a bride: and they have sworn a deadly aith, ilke man upon his durke, that she should wed with duncan ger, or they'd make bloody works. this last we have from tradition, but there are many others in the collections of scottish ballads to the same purpose. the achievement of robert oig, or young rob roy, as the lowlanders called him, was celebrated in a ballad, of which there are twenty different and various editions. the tune is lively and wild, and we select the following words from memory:-- rob roy is frae the hielands come, down to the lowland border; and he has stolen that lady away, to haud his house in order. he set her on a milk-white steed, of none he stood in awe; untill they reached the hieland hills, aboon the balmaha'!* * a pass on the eastern margin of loch lomond, and an entrance to the highlands. saying, be content, be content, be content with me, lady; where will ye find in lennox land, sae braw a man as me, lady? rob roy he was my father called, macgregor was his name, lady; a' the country, far and near, have heard macgregor's fame, lady. he was a hedge about his friends, a heckle to his foes, lady; if any man did him gainsay, he felt his deadly blows, lady. i am as bold, i am as bold, i am as bold and more, lady; any man that doubts my word, may try my gude claymore, lady. then be content, be content. be content with me, lady; for now you are my wedded wife, until the day you die, lady. no. vi--ghlune dhu. the following notices concerning this chief fell under the author's eye while the sheets were in the act of going through the press. they occur in manuscript memoirs, written by a person intimately acquainted with the incidents of . this chief had the important task intrusted to him of defending the castle of doune, in which the chevalier placed a garrison to protect his communication with the highlands, and to repel any sallies which might be made from stirling castle--ghlune dhu distinguished himself by his good conduct in this charge. ghlune dhu is thus described:--"glengyle is, in person, a tall handsome man, and has more of the mien of the ancient heroes than our modern fine gentlemen are possessed of. he is honest and disinterested to a proverb--extremely modest--brave and intrepid--and born one of the best partisans in europe. in short, the whole people of that country declared that never did men live under so mild a government as glengyle's, not a man having so much as lost a chicken while he continued there." it would appear from this curious passage, that glengyle--not stewart of balloch, as averred in a note on waverley--commanded the garrison of doune. balloch might, no doubt, succeed macgregor in the situation. editor's introduction to rob roy in the magnum opus, the author's final edition of the waverley novels, "rob roy" appears out of its chronological order, and comes next after "the antiquary." in this, as in other matters, the present edition follows that of . "the antiquary," as we said, contained in its preface the author's farewell to his art. this valediction was meant as prelude to a fresh appearance in a new disguise. constable, who had brought out the earlier works, did not publish the "tales of my landlord" ("the black dwarf" and "old mortality "), which scott had nearly finished by november , . the four volumes appeared from the houses of mr. murray and mr. blackwood, on december , . within less than a month came out "harold the dauntless," by the author of "the bridal of triermain." scott's work on the historical part of the "annual register" had also been unusually arduous. at abbotsford, or at ashiestiel, his mode of life was particularly healthy; in edinburgh, between the claims of the courts, of literature, and of society, he was scarcely ever in the open air. thus hard sedentary work caused, between the publication of "old mortality" and that of "rob roy," the first of those alarming illnesses which overshadowed the last fifteen years of his life. the earliest attack of cramp in the stomach occurred on march , , when he "retired from the room with a scream of agony which electrified his guests." living on "parritch," as he tells miss baillie (for his national spirit rejected arrowroot), scott had yet energy enough to plan a dramatic piece for terry, "the doom of devorgoil." but in april he announced to john ballantyne "a good subject" for a novel, and on may , john, after a visit to abbotsford with constable, proclaimed to james ballantyne the advent of "rob roy." the anecdote about the title is well known. constable suggested it, and scott was at first wisely reluctant to "write up to a title." names like rob roy, queen mary, queen elizabeth, cleopatra, and so forth, tell the reader too much, and, scott imagined, often excite hopes which cannot be fulfilled. however, in the geniality of an after-dinner hour in the gardens of abbotsford, scott allowed constable to be sponsor. many things had lately brought rob into his mind. in scott had acquired rob roy's gun--"a long spanish-barrelled piece, with his initials r. m. c.," c standing for campbell, a name assumed in compliment to the argyll family. rob's spleuchan had also been presented by mr. train to sir walter, in , and may have directed his thoughts to this popular freebooter. though rob flourished in the ' , he was really a character very near scott, whose friend invernahyle had fought rob with broadsword and target--a courteous combat like that between ajax and hector. at tullibody scott had met, in , a gentleman who once visited rob, and arranged to pay him blackmail. mr. william adam had mentioned to scott in the use of the word "curlie-wurlies" for highly decorated architecture, and recognised the phrase, next year, in the mouth of andrew fairservice. in the meeting at abbotsford (may , ) scott was very communicative, sketched bailie nicol jarvie, and improvised a dialogue between rob and the magistrate. a week later he quoted to southey, swift's lines-- too bad for a blessing, too good for a curse,--which probably suggested andrew fairservice's final estimate of scott's hero,--"over bad for blessing, and ower gude for banning." these are the trifles which show the bent of scott's mind at this period. the summer of he spent in working at the "annual register" and at the "border antiquities." when the courts rose, he visited rob's cave at the head of loch lomond; and this visit seems to have been gossiped about, as literary people, hearing of the new novel, expected the cave to be a very prominent feature. he also went to glasgow, and refreshed his memory of the cathedral; nor did he neglect old books, such as "a tour through great britain, by a gentleman" ( th edition, ). this yielded him the bailie's account of glasgow commerce "in musselburgh stuffs and edinburgh shalloons," and the phrase "sortable cargoes." hence, too, scott took the description of the rise of glasgow. thus scott was taking pains with his preparations. the book was not written in post-haste. announced to constable early in may, the last sheet was not corrected till about december , when scott wrote to ballantyne:-- dear james,-- with great joy i send you roy. 't was a tough job, but we're done with rob. "rob roy" was published on the last day of . the toughness of the job was caused by constant pain, and by struggles with "the lassitude of opium." so seldom sentimental, so rarely given to expressing his melancholy moods in verse, scott, while composing "rob roy," wrote the beautiful poem "the sun upon the weirdlaw hill," in which, for this once, "pity of self through all makes broken moan." some stress may be laid on the state of sir walter's health at this moment, because a living critic has tried to show that, in his case, "every pang of the stomach paralyses the brain;" that he "never had a fit of the cramp without spoiling a chapter."--[mr. ruskin's "fiction fair and foul," "nineteenth century," , p. .]--"rob roy" is a sufficient answer to these theories. the mind of scott was no slave to his body. the success of the story is pleasantly proved by a sentence in a review of the day: "it is an event unprecedented in the annals either of literature or of the custom-house that the entire cargo of a packet, or smack, bound from leith to london, should be the impression of a novel, for which the public curiosity was so much upon the alert as to require this immense importation to satisfy." ten thousand copies of a three-volume novel are certainly a ponderous cargo, and constable printed no fewer in his first edition. scott was assured of his own triumph in february , when a dramatised version of his novel was acted in edinburgh by the company of mr. william murray, a descendant of the traitor murray of broughton. mr. charles mackay made a capital bailie, and the piece remains a favourite with scotch audiences. it is plain, from the reviews, that in one respect "rob roy" rather disappointed the world. they had expected rob to be a much more imposing and majestic cateran, and complained that his foot was set too late on his native heather. they found too much of the drover and intriguer, too little of the traditional driver of the spoil. this was what scott foresaw when he objected to "writing up to a title." in fact, he did not write up to, it, and, as the "scots magazine" said, "shaped his story in such a manner as to throw busybodies out in their chase, with a slight degree of malicious finesse." "all the expeditions to the wonderful cave have been thrown away, for the said cave is not once, we think, mentioned from beginning to end." "rob roy" equals "waverley" in its pictures of highland and lowland society and character. scott had clearly set himself to state his opinions about the highlands as they were under the patriarchal system of government. the highlanders were then a people, not lawless, indeed, but all their law was the will of their chief. bailie nicol jarvie makes a statement of their economic and military condition as accurate as it is humorous. the modern "highland question" may be studied as well in the bailie's words as in volumes of history and wildernesses of blue-books. a people patriarchal and military as the arabs of the desert were suddenly dragged into modern commercial and industrial society. all old bonds were snapped in a moment; emigration (at first opposed by some of the chiefs) and the french wars depleted the country of its "lang-leggit callants, gaun wanting the breeks." cattle took the place of men, sheep of cattle, deer of sheep, and, in the long peace, a population grew up again--a population destitute of employment even more than of old, because war and robbery had ceased to be outlets for its energy. some chiefs, as dr. johnson said, treated their lands as an attorney treats his row of cheap houses in a town. hence the highland question,--a question in which scott's sympathies were with the highlanders. "rob roy," naturally, is no mere "novel with a purpose," no economic tract in disguise. among scott's novels it stands alone as regards its pictures of passionate love. the love of diana vernon is no less passionate for its admirable restraint. here scott displays, without affectation, a truly greek reserve in his art. the deep and strong affection of diana vernon would not have been otherwise handled by him who drew the not more immortal picture of antigone. unlike modern novelists, sir walter deals neither in analysis nor in rapturous effusions. we can, unfortunately, imagine but too easily how some writers would peep and pry into the concealed emotions of that maiden heart; how others would revel in tears, kisses, and caresses. in place of all these scott writes:-- she extended her hand, but i clasped her to my bosom. she sighed as she extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted, escaped to the door which led to her own apartment, and i saw her no more. months pass, in a mist of danger and intrigue, before the lovers meet again in the dusk and the solitude. "mr. francis osbaldistone," cries the girl's voice through the moonlight, "should not whistle his favourite airs when he wishes to remain undiscovered." and diana vernon--for she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak, was the last speaker--whistled in playful mimicry the second part of the tune, which was on my lips when they came up. surely there was never, in story or in song, a lady so loving and so light of heart, save rosalind alone. her face touches frank's, as she says goodbye for ever "it was a moment never to be forgotten, inexpressibly bitter, yet mixed with a sensation of pleasure so deeply soothing and affecting as at once to unlock all the floodgates of the heart." she rides into the night, her lover knows the _hysterica passio_ of poor lear, but "i had scarce given vent to my feelings in this paroxysm ere i was ashamed of my weakness." these were men and women who knew how to love, and how to live. all men who read "rob roy" are innocent rivals of frank osbaldistone. di vernon holds her place in our hearts with rosalind, and these airy affections, like the actual emotions which they mimic, are not matters for words. this lady, so gay, so brave, so witty and fearless, so tender and true, who "endured trials which might have dignified the history of a martyr, . . . who spent the day in darkness and the night in vigil, and never breathed a murmur of weakness or complaint," is as immortal in men's memories as the actual heroine of the white rose, flora macdonald. her place is with helen and antigone, with rosalind and imogen, the deathless daughters of dreams. she brightens the world as she passes, and our own hearts tell us all the story when osbaldistone says, "you know how i lamented her." in the central interest, which, for once, is the interest of love, "rob roy" attains the nobility, the reserve, the grave dignity of the highest art. it is not easy to believe that frank osbaldistone is worthy of his lady; but here no man is a fair judge. in the four novels--"waverley," "guy mannering," "the antiquary," and "rob roy"--which we have studied, the hero has always been a young poet. waverley versified; so did mannering; lovel "had attempted a few lyrical pieces;" and, in osbaldistone's rhymes, scott parodied his own blast of that dread horn on fontarabian echoes borne. all the heroes, then, have been poets, and osbaldistone's youth may have been suggested by scott's memories of his own, and of the father who "feared that he would never be better than a gangrel scrapegut." like henry morton, in "old mortality," frank osbaldistone is on the political side taken by scott's judgment, not by his emotions. to make di vernon convert him to jacobitism would have been to repeat the story of waverley. still, he would have been more sympathetic if he had been converted. he certainly does not lack spirit, as a sportsman, or "on an occasion," as sir william hope says in "the scots' fencing master," when he encounters rashleigh in the college gardens. frank, in short, is all that a hero should be, and is glorified by his affection. of the other characters, perhaps rob roy is too sympathetically drawn. the materials for a judgment are afforded by scott's own admirable historical introduction. the rob roy who so calmly "played booty," and kept a foot in either camp, certainly falls below the heroic. his language has been criticised in late years, and it has been insisted that the highlanders never talked lowland scotch. but scott has anticipated these cavils in the eighteenth chapter of the second volume. certainly no lowlander knew the highlanders better than he did, and his ear for dialect was as keen as his musical ear was confessedly obtuse. scott had the best means of knowing whether helen macgregor would be likely to soar into heroics as she is apt to do. in fact, here "we may trust the artist." the novel is as rich as any in subordinate characters full of life and humour. morris is one of the few utter cowards in scott. he has none of the passionate impulses towards courage of the hapless hero in "the fair maid of perth." the various osbaldistones are nicely discriminated by diana vernon, in one of those "beatrix moods" which scott did not always admire, when they were displayed by "lady anne" and other girls of flesh and blood. rashleigh is of a nature unusual in scott. he is, perhaps, sir walter's nearest approach, for malignant egotism, to an iago. of bailie nicol jarvie commendation were impertinent. all scotland arose, called him hers, laughed at and applauded her civic child. concerning andrew fairservice, the first edition tells us what the final edition leaves us to guess--that tresham "may recollect him as gardener at osbaldistone hall." andrew was not a friend who could be shaken off. diana may have ruled the hall, but andrew must have remained absolute in the gardens, with "something to maw that he would like to see mawn, or something to saw that he would like to see sawn, or something to ripe that he would like to see ripen, and sae he e'en daikered on wi' the family frae year's end to year's end," and life's end. his master "needed some carefu' body to look after him." only shakspeare and scott could have given us medicines to make us like this cowardly, conceited "jimp honest" fellow, andrew fairservice, who just escapes being a hypocrite by dint of some sincere old covenanting leaven in his veins. we make bold to say that the creator of parolles and lucie, and many another lax and lovable knave, would, had he been a scot, have drawn andrew fairservice thus, and not otherwise. the critics of the hour censured, as they were certain to censure, the construction, and especially the conclusion, of "rob roy." no doubt the critics were right. in both scott and shakspeare there is often seen a perfect disregard of the denouement. any moderately intelligent person can remark on the huddled-up ends and hasty marriages in many of shakspeare's comedies; moliere has been charged with the same offence; and, if blame there be, scott is almost always to blame. thackeray is little better. there must be some reason that explains why men of genius go wrong where every newspaper critic, every milliner's girl acquainted with circulating libraries, can detect the offence. in the closing remarks of "old mortality" scott expresses himself humorously on this matter of the denouement. his schoolmaster author takes his proofsheets to miss martha buskbody, who was the literary set in gandercleugh, having read through the whole stock of three circulating libraries. miss buskbody criticises the dominic as lady louisa stuart habitually criticised sir walter. "your plan of omitting a formal conclusion will never do!" the dominie replies, "really, madam, you must be aware that every volume of a narrative turns less and less interesting as the author draws to a conclusion,--just like your tea, which, though excellent hyson, is necessarily weaker and more insipid in the last cup." he compares the orthodox happy ending to "the luscious lump of half-dissolved sugar" usually found at the bottom of the cup. this topic might be discussed, and indeed has been discussed, endlessly. in our actual lives it is probable that most of us have found ourselves living for a year, or a month, or a week, in a chapter or half a volume of a novel, and these have been our least happy experiences. but we have also found that the romance vanishes away like a ghost, dwindles out, closes with ragged ends, has no denouement. then the question presents itself, as art is imitation, should not novels, as a rule, close thus? the experiment has frequently been tried, especially by the modern geniuses who do not conceal their belief that their art is altogether finer than scott's, or, perhaps, than shakspeare's. in his practice, and in his dominie's critical remarks, sir walter appears inclined to agree with them. he was just as well aware as his reviewers, or as lady louisa stuart, that the conclusion of "rob roy" is "huddled up," that the sudden demise of all the young baldistones is a high-handed measure. he knew that, in real life, frank and di vernon would never have met again after that farewell on the moonlit road. but he yielded to miss buskbody's demand for "a glimpse of sunshine in the last chapter;" he understood the human liking for the final lump of sugar. after all, fiction is not, any more than any other art, a mere imitation of life: it is an arrangement, a selection. scott was too kind, too humane, to disappoint us, the crowd of human beings who find much of our happiness in dreams. he could not keep up his own interest in his characters after he had developed them; he could take pleasure in giving them life,--he had little pleasure in ushering them into an earthly paradise; so that part of his business he did carelessly, as his only rivals in literature have also done it. the critics censured, not unjustly, the "machinery" of the story,--these mysterious "assets" of osbaldistone and tresham, whose absence was to precipitate the rising of . the "edinburgh review" lost its heart (jeffrey's heart was always being lost) to di vernon. but it pronounces that "a king with legs of marble, or a youth with an ivory shoulder," heroes of the "arabian nights" and of pindar, was probable, compared with the wit and accomplishments of diana. this is hypercriticism. diana's education, under rashleigh, had been elaborate; her acquaintance with shakspeare, her main strength, is unusual in women, but not beyond the limits of belief. here she is in agreeable contrast to rose bradwardine, who had never heard of "romeo and juliet." in any case, diana compels belief as well as wins affection, while we are fortunate enough to be in her delightful company. as long as we believe in her, it is not of moment to consider whether her charms are incompatible with probability. "rob roy" was finished in spite of "a very bad touch of the cramp for about three weeks in november, which, with its natural attendants of dulness and, weakness, made me unable to get our matters forward till last week," says scott to constable. "but," adds the unconquerable author, "i am resting myself here a few days before commencing my new labours, which will be untrodden ground, and, i think, pretty likely to succeed." the "new labours" were "the heart of mid-lothian." andrew lang. rob roy chapter first. how have i sinn'd, that this affliction should light so heavy on me? i have no more sons, and this no more mine own.--my grand curse hang o'er his head that thus transformed thee!-- travel? i'll send my horse to travel next. monsieur thomas. you have requested me, my dear friend, to bestow some of that leisure, with which providence has blessed the decline of my life, in registering the hazards and difficulties which attended its commencement. the recollection of those adventures, as you are pleased to term them, has indeed left upon my mind a chequered and varied feeling of pleasure and of pain, mingled, i trust, with no slight gratitude and veneration to the disposer of human events, who guided my early course through much risk and labour, that the ease with which he has blessed my prolonged life might seem softer from remembrance and contrast. neither is it possible for me to doubt, what you have often affirmed, that the incidents which befell me among a people singularly primitive in their government and manners, have something interesting and attractive for those who love to hear an old man's stories of a past age. still, however, you must remember, that the tale told by one friend, and listened to by another, loses half its charms when committed to paper; and that the narratives to which you have attended with interest, as heard from the voice of him to whom they occurred, will appear less deserving of attention when perused in the seclusion of your study. but your greener age and robust constitution promise longer life than will, in all human probability, be the lot of your friend. throw, then, these sheets into some secret drawer of your escritoire till we are separated from each other's society by an event which may happen at any moment, and which must happen within the course of a few--a very few years. when we are parted in this world, to meet, i hope, in a better, you will, i am well aware, cherish more than it deserves the memory of your departed friend, and will find in those details which i am now to commit to paper, matter for melancholy, but not unpleasing reflection. others bequeath to the confidants of their bosom portraits of their external features--i put into your hands a faithful transcript of my thoughts and feelings, of my virtues and of my failings, with the assured hope, that the follies and headstrong impetuosity of my youth will meet the same kind construction and forgiveness which have so often attended the faults of my matured age. one advantage, among the many, of addressing my memoirs (if i may give these sheets a name so imposing) to a dear and intimate friend, is, that i may spare some of the details, in this case unnecessary, with which i must needs have detained a stranger from what i have to say of greater interest. why should i bestow all my tediousness upon you, because i have you in my power, and have ink, paper, and time before me? at the same time, i dare not promise that i may not abuse the opportunity so temptingly offered me, to treat of myself and my own concerns, even though i speak of circumstances as well known to you as to myself. the seductive love of narrative, when we ourselves are the heroes of the events which we tell, often disregards the attention due to the time and patience of the audience, and the best and wisest have yielded to its fascination. i need only remind you of the singular instance evinced by the form of that rare and original edition of sully's memoirs, which you (with the fond vanity of a book-collector) insist upon preferring to that which is reduced to the useful and ordinary form of memoirs, but which i think curious, solely as illustrating how far so great a man as the author was accessible to the foible of self-importance. if i recollect rightly, that venerable peer and great statesman had appointed no fewer than four gentlemen of his household to draw up the events of his life, under the title of memorials of the sage and royal affairs of state, domestic, political, and military, transacted by henry iv., and so forth. these grave recorders, having made their compilation, reduced the memoirs containing all the remarkable events of their master's life into a narrative, addressed to himself in _propria persona._ and thus, instead of telling his own story, in the third person, like julius caesar, or in the first person, like most who, in the hall, or the study, undertake to be the heroes of their own tale, sully enjoyed the refined, though whimsical pleasure, of having the events of his life told over to him by his secretaries, being himself the auditor, as he was also the hero, and probably the author, of the whole book. it must have been a great sight to have seen the ex-minister, as bolt upright as a starched ruff and laced cassock could make him, seated in state beneath his canopy, and listening to the recitation of his compilers, while, standing bare in his presence, they informed him gravely, "thus said the duke--so did the duke infer--such were your grace's sentiments upon this important point--such were your secret counsels to the king on that other emergency,"--circumstances, all of which must have been much better known to their hearer than to themselves, and most of which could only be derived from his own special communication. my situation is not quite so ludicrous as that of the great sully, and yet there would be something whimsical in frank osbaldistone giving will tresham a formal account of his birth, education, and connections in the world. i will, therefore, wrestle with the tempting spirit of p. p., clerk of our parish, as i best may, and endeavour to tell you nothing that is familiar to you already. some things, however, i must recall to your memory, because, though formerly well known to you, they may have been forgotten through lapse of time, and they afford the ground-work of my destiny. you must remember my father well; for, as your own was a member of the mercantile house, you knew him from infancy. yet you hardly saw him in his best days, before age and infirmity had quenched his ardent spirit of enterprise and speculation. he would have been a poorer man, indeed, but perhaps as happy, had he devoted to the extension of science those active energies, and acute powers of observation, for which commercial pursuits found occupation. yet, in the fluctuations of mercantile speculation, there is something captivating to the adventurer, even independent of the hope of gain. he who embarks on that fickle sea, requires to possess the skill of the pilot and the fortitude of the navigator, and after all may be wrecked and lost, unless the gales of fortune breathe in his favour. this mixture of necessary attention and inevitable hazard,--the frequent and awful uncertainty whether prudence shall overcome fortune, or fortune baffle the schemes of prudence, affords full occupation for the powers, as well as for the feelings of the mind, and trade has all the fascination of gambling without its moral guilt. early in the th century, when i (heaven help me) was a youth of some twenty years old, i was summoned suddenly from bourdeaux to attend my father on business of importance. i shall never forget our first interview. you recollect the brief, abrupt, and somewhat stern mode in which he was wont to communicate his pleasure to those around him. methinks i see him even now in my mind's eye;--the firm and upright figure,--the step, quick and determined,--the eye, which shot so keen and so penetrating a glance,--the features, on which care had already planted wrinkles,--and hear his language, in which he never wasted word in vain, expressed in a voice which had sometimes an occasional harshness, far from the intention of the speaker. when i dismounted from my post-horse, i hastened to my father's apartment. he was traversing it with an air of composed and steady deliberation, which even my arrival, although an only son unseen for four years, was unable to discompose. i threw myself into his arms. he was a kind, though not a fond father, and the tear twinkled in his dark eye, but it was only for a moment. "dubourg writes to me that he is satisfied with you, frank." "i am happy, sir"-- "but i have less reason to be so" he added, sitting down at his bureau. "i am sorry, sir"-- "sorry and happy, frank, are words that, on most occasions, signify little or nothing--here is your last letter." he took it out from a number of others tied up in a parcel of red tape, and curiously labelled and filed. there lay my poor epistle, written on the subject the nearest to my heart at the time, and couched in words which i had thought would work compassion if not conviction,--there, i say, it lay, squeezed up among the letters on miscellaneous business in which my father's daily affairs had engaged him. i cannot help smiling internally when i recollect the mixture of hurt vanity, and wounded feeling, with which i regarded my remonstrance, to the penning of which there had gone, i promise you, some trouble, as i beheld it extracted from amongst letters of advice, of credit, and all the commonplace lumber, as i then thought them, of a merchant's correspondence. surely, thought i, a letter of such importance (i dared not say, even to myself, so well written) deserved a separate place, as well as more anxious consideration, than those on the ordinary business of the counting-house. but my father did not observe my dissatisfaction, and would not have minded it if he had. he proceeded, with the letter in his hand. "this, frank, is yours of the st ultimo, in which you advise me (reading from my letter), that in the most important business of forming a plan, and adopting a profession for life, you trust my paternal goodness will hold you entitled to at least a negative voice; that you have insuperable--ay, insuperable is the word--i wish, by the way, you would write a more distinct current hand--draw a score through the tops of your t's, and open the loops of your l's--insuperable objections to the arrangements which i have proposed to you. there is much more to the same effect, occupying four good pages of paper, which a little attention to perspicuity and distinctness of expression might have comprised within as many lines. for, after all, frank, it amounts but to this, that you will not do as i would have you." "that i cannot, sir, in the present instance, not that i will not." "words avail very little with me, young man," said my father, whose inflexibility always possessed the air of the most perfect calmness of self-possession. "_can not_ may be a more civil phrase than _will not,_ but the expressions are synonymous where there is no moral impossibility. but i am not a friend to doing business hastily; we will talk this matter over after dinner.--owen!" owen appeared, not with the silver locks which you were used to venerate, for he was then little more than fifty; but he had the same, or an exactly similar uniform suit of light-brown clothes,--the same pearl-grey silk stockings,--the same stock, with its silver buckle,--the same plaited cambric ruffles, drawn down over his knuckles in the parlour, but in the counting-house carefully folded back under the sleeves, that they might remain unstained by the ink which he daily consumed;--in a word, the same grave, formal, yet benevolent cast of features, which continued to his death to distinguish the head clerk of the great house of osbaldistone and tresham. "owen," said my father, as the kind old man shook me affectionately by the hand, "you must dine with us to-day, and hear the news frank has brought us from our friends in bourdeaux." owen made one of his stiff bows of respectful gratitude; for, in those days, when the distance between superiors and inferiors was enforced in a manner to which the present times are strangers, such an invitation was a favour of some little consequence. i shall long remember that dinner-party. deeply affected by feelings of anxiety, not unmingled with displeasure, i was unable to take that active share in the conversation which my father seemed to expect from me; and i too frequently gave unsatisfactory answers to the questions with which he assailed me. owen, hovering betwixt his respect for his patron, and his love for the youth he had dandled on his knee in childhood, like the timorous, yet anxious ally of an invaded nation, endeavoured at every blunder i made to explain my no-meaning, and to cover my retreat; manoeuvres which added to my father's pettish displeasure, and brought a share of it upon my kind advocate, instead of protecting me. i had not, while residing in the house of dubourg, absolutely conducted myself like a clerk condemn'd his father's soul to cross, who penn'd a stanza when he should engross;-- but, to say truth, i had frequented the counting-house no more than i had thought absolutely necessary to secure the good report of the frenchman, long a correspondent of our firm, to whom my father had trusted for initiating me into the mysteries of commerce. in fact, my principal attention had been dedicated to literature and manly exercises. my father did not altogether discourage such acquirements, whether mental or personal. he had too much good sense not to perceive, that they sate gracefully upon every man, and he was sensible that they relieved and dignified the character to which he wished me to aspire. but his chief ambition was, that i should succeed not merely to his fortune, but to the views and plans by which he imagined he could extend and perpetuate the wealthy inheritance which he designed for me. love of his profession was the motive which he chose should be most ostensible, when he urged me to tread the same path; but he had others with which i only became acquainted at a later period. impetuous in his schemes, as well as skilful and daring, each new adventure, when successful, became at once the incentive, and furnished the means, for farther speculation. it seemed to be necessary to him, as to an ambitious conqueror, to push on from achievement to achievement, without stopping to secure, far less to enjoy, the acquisitions which he made. accustomed to see his whole fortune trembling in the scales of chance, and dexterous at adopting expedients for casting the balance in his favour, his health and spirits and activity seemed ever to increase with the animating hazards on which he staked his wealth; and he resembled a sailor, accustomed to brave the billows and the foe, whose confidence rises on the eve of tempest or of battle. he was not, however, insensible to the changes which increasing age or supervening malady might make in his own constitution; and was anxious in good time to secure in me an assistant, who might take the helm when his hand grew weary, and keep the vessel's way according to his counsel and instruction. paternal affection, as well as the furtherance of his own plans, determined him to the same conclusion. your father, though his fortune was vested in the house, was only a sleeping partner, as the commercial phrase goes; and owen, whose probity and skill in the details of arithmetic rendered his services invaluable as a head clerk, was not possessed either of information or talents sufficient to conduct the mysteries of the principal management. if my father were suddenly summoned from life, what would become of the world of schemes which he had formed, unless his son were moulded into a commercial hercules, fit to sustain the weight when relinquished by the falling atlas? and what would become of that son himself, if, a stranger to business of this description, he found himself at once involved in the labyrinth of mercantile concerns, without the clew of knowledge necessary for his extraction? for all these reasons, avowed and secret, my father was determined i should embrace his profession; and when he was determined, the resolution of no man was more immovable. i, however, was also a party to be consulted, and, with something of his own pertinacity, i had formed a determination precisely contrary. it may, i hope, be some palliative for the resistance which, on this occasion, i offered to my father's wishes, that i did not fully understand upon what they were founded, or how deeply his happiness was involved in them. imagining myself certain of a large succession in future, and ample maintenance in the meanwhile, it never occurred to me that it might be necessary, in order to secure these blessings, to submit to labour and limitations unpleasant to my taste and temper. i only saw in my father's proposal for my engaging in business, a desire that i should add to those heaps of wealth which he had himself acquired; and imagining myself the best judge of the path to my own happiness, i did not conceive that i should increase that happiness by augmenting a fortune which i believed was already sufficient, and more than sufficient, for every use, comfort, and elegant enjoyment. accordingly, i am compelled to repeat, that my time at bourdeaux had not been spent as my father had proposed to himself. what he considered as the chief end of my residence in that city, i had postponed for every other, and would (had i dared) have neglected altogether. dubourg, a favoured and benefited correspondent of our mercantile house, was too much of a shrewd politician to make such reports to the head of the firm concerning his only child, as would excite the displeasure of both; and he might also, as you will presently hear, have views of selfish advantage in suffering me to neglect the purposes for which i was placed under his charge. my conduct was regulated by the bounds of decency and good order, and thus far he had no evil report to make, supposing him so disposed; but, perhaps, the crafty frenchman would have been equally complaisant, had i been in the habit of indulging worse feelings than those of indolence and aversion to mercantile business. as it was, while i gave a decent portion of my time to the commercial studies he recommended, he was by no means envious of the hours which i dedicated to other and more classical attainments, nor did he ever find fault with me for dwelling upon corneille and boileau, in preference to postlethwayte (supposing his folio to have then existed, and monsieur dubourg able to have pronounced his name), or savary, or any other writer on commercial economy. he had picked up somewhere a convenient expression, with which he rounded off every letter to his correspondent,--"i was all," he said, "that a father could wish." my father never quarrelled with a phrase, however frequently repeated, provided it seemed to him distinct and expressive; and addison himself could not have found expressions so satisfactory to him as, "yours received, and duly honoured the bills enclosed, as per margin." knowing, therefore, very well what he desired me to, be, mr. osbaldistone made no doubt, from the frequent repetition of dubourg's favourite phrase, that i was the very thing he wished to see me; when, in an evil hour, he received my letter, containing my eloquent and detailed apology for declining a place in the firm, and a desk and stool in the corner of the dark counting-house in crane alley, surmounting in height those of owen, and the other clerks, and only inferior to the tripod of my father himself. all was wrong from that moment. dubourg's reports became as suspicious as if his bills had been noted for dishonour. i was summoned home in all haste, and received in the manner i have already communicated to you. chapter second. i begin shrewdly to suspect the young man of a terrible taint--poetry; with which idle disease if he be infected, there's no hope of him in astate course. _actum est_ of him for a commonwealth's man, if he goto't in rhyme once. ben jonson's _bartholomew fair._ my father had, generally speaking, his temper under complete self-command, and his anger rarely indicated itself by words, except in a sort of dry testy manner, to those who had displeased him. he never used threats, or expressions of loud resentment. all was arranged with him on system, and it was his practice to do "the needful" on every occasion, without wasting words about it. it was, therefore, with a bitter smile that he listened to my imperfect answers concerning the state of commerce in france, and unmercifully permitted me to involve myself deeper and deeper in the mysteries of agio, tariffs, tare and tret; nor can i charge my memory with his having looked positively angry, until he found me unable to explain the exact effect which the depreciation of the louis d'or had produced on the negotiation of bills of exchange. "the most remarkable national occurrence in my time," said my father (who nevertheless had seen the revolution)--"and he knows no more of it than a post on the quay!" "mr. francis," suggested owen, in his timid and conciliatory manner, "cannot have forgotten, that by an _arret_ of the king of france, dated st may , it was provided that the _porteur,_ within ten days after due, must make demand"-- "mr. francis," said my father, interrupting him, "will, i dare say, recollect for the moment anything you are so kind as hint to him. but, body o' me! how dubourg could permit him! hark ye, owen, what sort of a youth is clement dubourg, his nephew there, in the office, the black-haired lad?" "one of the cleverest clerks, sir, in the house; a prodigious young man for his time," answered owen; for the gaiety and civility of the young frenchman had won his heart. "ay, ay, i suppose _he_ knows something of the nature of exchange. dubourg was determined i should have one youngster at least about my hand who understood business. but i see his drift, and he shall find that i do so when he looks at the balance-sheet. owen, let clement's salary be paid up to next quarter-day, and let him ship himself back to bourdeaux in his father's ship, which is clearing out yonder." "dismiss clement dubourg, sir?" said owen, with a faltering voice. "yes, sir, dismiss him instantly; it is enough to have a stupid englishman in the counting-house to make blunders, without keeping a sharp frenchman there to profit by them." i had lived long enough in the territories of the _grand monarque_ to contract a hearty aversion to arbitrary exertion of authority, even if it had not been instilled into me with my earliest breeding; and i could not refrain from interposing, to prevent an innocent and meritorious young man from paying the penalty of having acquired that proficiency which my father had desired for me. "i beg pardon, sir," when mr. osbaldistone had done speaking; "but i think it but just, that if i have been negligent of my studies, i should pay the forfeit myself. i have no reason to charge monsieur dubourg with having neglected to give me opportunities of improvement, however little i may have profited by them; and with respect to monsieur clement dubourg"-- "with respect to him, and to you, i shall take the measures which i see needful," replied my father; "but it is fair in you, frank, to take your own blame on your own shoulders--very fair, that cannot be denied.--i cannot acquit old dubourg," he said, looking to owen, "for having merely afforded frank the means of useful knowledge, without either seeing that he took advantage of them or reporting to me if he did not. you see, owen, he has natural notions of equity becoming a british merchant." "mr. francis," said the head-clerk, with his usual formal inclination of the head, and a slight elevation of his right hand, which he had acquired by a habit of sticking his pen behind his ear before he spoke--"mr. francis seems to understand the fundamental principle of all moral accounting, the great ethic rule of three. let a do to b, as he would have b do to him; the product will give the rule of conduct required." my father smiled at this reduction of the golden rule to arithmetical form, but instantly proceeded. "all this signifies nothing, frank; you have been throwing away your time like a boy, and in future you must learn to live like a man. i shall put you under owen's care for a few months, to recover the lost ground." i was about to reply, but owen looked at me with such a supplicatory and warning gesture, that i was involuntarily silent. "we will then," continued my father, "resume the subject of mine of the st ultimo, to which you sent me an answer which was unadvised and unsatisfactory. so now, fill your glass, and push the bottle to owen." want of courage--of audacity if you will--was never my failing. i answered firmly, "i was sorry that my letter was unsatisfactory, unadvised it was not; for i had given the proposal his goodness had made me, my instant and anxious attention, and it was with no small pain that i found myself obliged to decline it." my father bent his keen eye for a moment on me, and instantly withdrew it. as he made no answer, i thought myself obliged to proceed, though with some hesitation, and he only interrupted me by monosyllables.--"it is impossible, sir, for me to have higher respect for any character than i have for the commercial, even were it not yours." "indeed!" "it connects nation with nation, relieves the wants, and contributes to the wealth of all; and is to the general commonwealth of the civilised world what the daily intercourse of ordinary life is to private society, or rather, what air and food are to our bodies." "well, sir?" "and yet, sir, i find myself compelled to persist in declining to adopt a character which i am so ill qualified to support." "i will take care that you acquire the qualifications necessary. you are no longer the guest and pupil of dubourg." "but, my dear sir, it is no defect of teaching which i plead, but my own inability to profit by instruction." "nonsense.--have you kept your journal in the terms i desired?" "yes, sir." "be pleased to bring it here." the volume thus required was a sort of commonplace book, kept by my father's recommendation, in which i had been directed to enter notes of the miscellaneous information which i had acquired in the course of my studies. foreseeing that he would demand inspection of this record, i had been attentive to transcribe such particulars of information as he would most likely be pleased with, but too often the pen had discharged the task without much correspondence with the head. and it had also happened, that, the book being the receptacle nearest to my hand, i had occasionally jotted down memoranda which had little regard to traffic. i now put it into my father's hand, devoutly hoping he might light on nothing that would increase his displeasure against me. owen's face, which had looked something blank when the question was put, cleared up at my ready answer, and wore a smile of hope, when i brought from my apartment, and placed before my father, a commercial-looking volume, rather broader than it was long, having brazen clasps and a binding of rough calf. this looked business-like, and was encouraging to my benevolent well-wisher. but he actually smiled with pleasure as he heard my father run over some part of the contents, muttering his critical remarks as he went on. "_--brandies--barils and barricants, also tonneaux.--at nantz --velles to the barique at cognac and rochelle --at bourdeaux _--very right, frank--_duties on tonnage and custom-house, see saxby's tables_--that's not well; you should have transcribed the passage; it fixes the thing in the memory--_reports outward and inward--corn debentures--over-sea cockets--linens--isingham--gentish--stock-fish--titling--cropling-- lub-fish._ you should have noted that they are all, nevertheless to be entered as titlings.--how many inches long is a titling?" owen, seeing me at fault, hazarded a whisper, of which i fortunately caught the import. "eighteen inches, sir."-- "and a lub-fish is twenty-four--very right. it is important to remember this, on account of the portuguese trade--but what have we here?-- _bourdeaux founded in the year--castle of the trompette--palace of gallienus_--well, well, that's very right too.--this is a kind of waste-book, owen, in which all the transactions of the day,--emptions, orders, payments, receipts, acceptances, draughts, commissions, and advices,--are entered miscellaneously." "that they may be regularly transferred to the day-book and ledger," answered owen: "i am glad mr. francis is so methodical." i perceived myself getting so fast into favour, that i began to fear the consequence would be my father's more obstinate perseverance in his resolution that i must become a merchant; and as i was determined on the contrary, i began to wish i had not, to use my friend mr. owen's phrase, been so methodical. but i had no reason for apprehension on that score; for a blotted piece of paper dropped out of the book, and, being taken up by my father, he interrupted a hint from owen, on the propriety of securing loose memoranda with a little paste, by exclaiming, "to the memory of edward the black prince--what's all this?--verses!--by heaven, frank, you are a greater blockhead than i supposed you!" my father, you must recollect, as a man of business, looked upon the labour of poets with contempt; and as a religious man, and of the dissenting persuasion, he considered all such pursuits as equally trivial and profane. before you condemn him, you must recall to remembrance how too many of the poets in the end of the seventeenth century had led their lives and employed their talents. the sect also to which my father belonged, felt, or perhaps affected, a puritanical aversion to the lighter exertions of literature. so that many causes contributed to augment the unpleasant surprise occasioned by the ill-timed discovery of this unfortunate copy of verses. as for poor owen, could the bob-wig which he then wore have uncurled itself, and stood on end with horror, i am convinced the morning's labour of the friseur would have been undone, merely by the excess of his astonishment at this enormity. an inroad on the strong-box, or an erasure in the ledger, or a mis-summation in a fitted account, could hardly have surprised him more disagreeably. my father read the lines sometimes with an affectation of not being able to understand the sense--sometimes in a mouthing tone of mock heroic--always with an emphasis of the most bitter irony, most irritating to the nerves of an author. "o for the voice of that wild horn, on fontarabian echoes borne, the dying hero's call, that told imperial charlemagne, how paynim sons of swarthy spain had wrought his champion's fall. "_fontarabian echoes!_" continued my father, interrupting himself; "the fontarabian fair would have been more to the purpose--_paynim!_--what's paynim?--could you not say pagan as well, and write english at least, if you must needs write nonsense?-- "sad over earth and ocean sounding. and england's distant cliffs astounding. such are the notes should say how britain's hope, and france's fear, victor of cressy and poitier, in bordeaux dying lay." "poitiers, by the way, is always spelt with an _s,_ and i know no reason why orthography should give place to rhyme.-- "'raise my faint head, my squires,' he said, 'and let the casement be display'd, that i may see once more the splendour of the setting sun gleam on thy mirrored wave, garonne, and blaye's empurpled shore. "_garonne_ and _sun_ is a bad rhyme. why, frank, you do not even understand the beggarly trade you have chosen. "'like me, he sinks to glory's sleep, his fall the dews of evening steep, as if in sorrow shed, so soft shall fall the trickling tear, when england's maids and matrons hear of their black edward dead. "'and though my sun of glory set, nor france, nor england, shall forget the terror of my name; and oft shall britain's heroes rise, new planets in these southern skies, through clouds of blood and flame.' "a cloud of flame is something new--good-morrow, my masters all, and a merry christmas to you!--why, the bellman writes better lines." he then tossed the paper from him with an air of superlative contempt, and concluded--"upon my credit, frank, you are a greater blockhead than i took you for." what could i say, my dear tresham? there i stood, swelling with indignant mortification, while my father regarded me with a calm but stern look of scorn and pity; and poor owen, with uplifted hands and eyes, looked as striking a picture of horror as if he had just read his patron's name in the gazette. at length i took courage to speak, endeavouring that my tone of voice should betray my feelings as little as possible. "i am quite aware, sir, how ill qualified i am to play the conspicuous part in society you have destined for me; and, luckily, i am not ambitious of the wealth i might acquire. mr. owen would be a much more effective assistant." i said this in some malice, for i considered owen as having deserted my cause a little too soon. "owen!" said my father--"the boy is mad--actually insane. and, pray, sir, if i may presume to inquire, having coolly turned me over to mr. owen (although i may expect more attention from any one than from my son), what may your own sage projects be?" "i should wish, sir," i replied, summoning up my courage, "to travel for two or three years, should that consist with your pleasure; otherwise, although late, i would willingly spend the same time at oxford or cambridge." "in the name of common sense! was the like ever heard?--to put yourself to school among pedants and jacobites, when you might be pushing your fortune in the world! why not go to westminster or eton at once, man, and take to lilly's grammar and accidence, and to the birch, too, if you like it?" "then, sir, if you think my plan of improvement too late, i would willingly return to the continent." "you have already spent too much time there to little purpose, mr. francis." "then i would choose the army, sir, in preference to any other active line of life." "choose the d--l!" answered my father, hastily, and then checking himself--"i profess you make me as great a fool as you are yourself. is he not enough to drive one mad, owen?"--poor owen shook his head, and looked down. "hark ye, frank," continued my father, "i will cut all this matter very short. i was at your age when my father turned me out of doors, and settled my legal inheritance on my younger brother. i left osbaldistone hall on the back of a broken-down hunter, with ten guineas in my purse. i have never crossed the threshold again, and i never will. i know not, and i care not, if my fox-hunting brother is alive, or has broken his neck; but he has children, frank, and one of them shall be my son if you cross me farther in this matter." "you will do your pleasure," i answered--rather, i fear, with more sullen indifference than respect, "with what is your own." "yes, frank, what i have _is_ my own, if labour in getting, and care in augmenting, can make a right of property; and no drone shall feed on my honeycomb. think on it well: what i have said is not without reflection, and what i resolve upon i will execute." "honoured sir!--dear sir!" exclaimed owen, tears rushing into his eyes, "you are not wont to be in such a hurry in transacting business of importance. let mr. francis run up the balance before you shut the account; he loves you, i am sure; and when he puts down his filial obedience to the _per contra,_ i am sure his objections will disappear." "do you think i will ask him twice," said my father, sternly, "to be my friend, my assistant, and my confidant?--to be a partner of my cares and of my fortune?--owen, i thought you had known me better." he looked at me as if he meant to add something more, but turned instantly away, and left the room abruptly. i was, i own, affected by this view of the case, which had not occurred to me; and my father would probably have had little reason to complain of me, had he commenced the discussion with this argument. but it was too late. i had much of his own obduracy of resolution, and heaven had decreed that my sin should be my punishment, though not to the extent which my transgression merited. owen, when we were left alone, continued to look at me with eyes which tears from time to time moistened, as if to discover, before attempting the task of intercessor, upon what point my obstinacy was most assailable. at length he began, with broken and disconcerted accents,--"o l--d, mr. francis!--good heavens, sir!--my stars, mr. osbaldistone!--that i should ever have seen this day--and you so young a gentleman, sir!--for the love of heaven! look at both sides of the account--think what you are going to lose--a noble fortune, sir--one of the finest houses in the city, even under the old firm of tresham and trent, and now osbaldistone and tresham--you might roll in gold, mr. francis--and, my dear young mr. frank, if there was any particular thing in the business of the house which you disliked, i would" (sinking his voice to a whisper) "put it in order for you termly, or weekly, or daily, if you will--do, my dear mr. francis, think of the honour due to your father, that your days may be long in the land." "i am much obliged to you, mr. owen," said i--"very much obliged indeed; but my father is best judge how to bestow his money. he talks of one of my cousins: let him dispose of his wealth as he pleases--i will never sell my liberty for gold." "gold, sir?--i wish you saw the balance-sheet of profits at last term--it was in five figures--five figures to each partner's sum total, mr. frank--and all this is to go to a papist, and a north-country booby, and a disaffected person besides--it will break my heart, mr. francis, that have been toiling more like a dog than a man, and all for love of the firm. think how it will sound, osbaldistone, tresham, and osbaldistone--or perhaps, who knows" (again lowering his voice), "osbaldistone, osbaldistone, and tresham, for our mr. osbaldistone can buy them all out." "but, mr. owen, my cousin's name being also osbaldistone, the name of the company will sound every bit as well in your ears." "o fie upon you, mr. francis, when you know how well i love you--your cousin, indeed!--a papist, no doubt, like his father, and a disaffected person to the protestant succession--that's another item, doubtless." "there are many very good men catholics, mr. owen," rejoined i. as owen was about to answer with unusual animation, my father re-entered the apartment. "you were right," he said, "owen, and i was wrong; we will take more time to think over this matter.--young man, you will prepare to give me an answer on this important subject this day month." i bowed in silence, sufficiently glad of a reprieve, and trusting it might indicate some relaxation in my father's determination. the time of probation passed slowly, unmarked by any accident whatever. i went and came, and disposed of my time as i pleased, without question or criticism on the part of my father. indeed, i rarely saw him, save at meal-times, when he studiously avoided a discussion which you may well suppose i was in no hurry to press onward. our conversation was of the news of the day, or on such general topics as strangers discourse upon to each other; nor could any one have guessed, from its tenor, that there remained undecided betwixt us a dispute of such importance. it haunted me, however, more than once, like the nightmare. was it possible he would keep his word, and disinherit his only son in favour of a nephew whose very existence he was not perhaps quite certain of? my grandfather's conduct, in similar circumstances, boded me no good, had i considered the matter rightly. but i had formed an erroneous idea of my father's character, from the importance which i recollected i maintained with him and his whole family before i went to france. i was not aware that there are men who indulge their children at an early age, because to do so interests and amuses them, and who can yet be sufficiently severe when the same children cross their expectations at a more advanced period. on the contrary, i persuaded myself, that all i had to apprehend was some temporary alienation of affection--perhaps a rustication of a few weeks, which i thought would rather please me than otherwise, since it would give me an opportunity of setting about my unfinished version of orlando furioso, a poem which i longed to render into english verse. i suffered this belief to get such absolute possession of my mind, that i had resumed my blotted papers, and was busy in meditation on the oft-recurring rhymes of the spenserian stanza, when i heard a low and cautious tap at the door of my apartment. "come in," i said, and mr. owen entered. so regular were the motions and habits of this worthy man, that in all probability this was the first time he had ever been in the second story of his patron's house, however conversant with the first; and i am still at a loss to know in what manner he discovered my apartment. "mr. francis," he said, interrupting my expression of surprise and pleasure at seeing, him, "i do not know if i am doing well in what i am about to say--it is not right to speak of what passes in the compting-house out of doors--one should not tell, as they say, to the post in the warehouse, how many lines there are in the ledger. but young twineall has been absent from the house for a fortnight and more, until two days since." "very well, my dear sir, and how does that concern us?" "stay, mr. francis;--your father gave him a private commission; and i am sure he did not go down to falmouth about the pilchard affair; and the exeter business with blackwell and company has been settled; and the mining people in cornwall, trevanion and treguilliam, have paid all they are likely to pay; and any other matter of business must have been put through my books:--in short, it's my faithful belief that twineall has been down in the north." "do you really suppose?" so said i, somewhat startled. "he has spoken about nothing, sir, since he returned, but his new boots, and his ripon spurs, and a cockfight at york--it's as true as the multiplication-table. do, heaven bless you, my dear child, make up your mind to please your father, and to be a man and a merchant at once." i felt at that instant a strong inclination to submit, and to make owen happy by requesting him to tell my father that i resigned myself to his disposal. but pride--pride, the source of so much that is good and so much that is evil in our course of life, prevented me. my acquiescence stuck in my throat; and while i was coughing to get it up, my father's voice summoned owen. he hastily left the room, and the opportunity was lost. my father was methodical in everything. at the very same time of the day, in the same apartment, and with the same tone and manner which he had employed an exact month before, he recapitulated the proposal he had made for taking me into partnership, and assigning me a department in the counting-house, and requested to have my final decision. i thought at the time there was something unkind in this; and i still think that my father's conduct was injudicious. a more conciliatory treatment would, in all probability, have gained his purpose. as it was, i stood fast, and, as respectfully as i could, declined the proposal he made to me. perhaps--for who can judge of their own heart?--i felt it unmanly to yield on the first summons, and expected farther solicitation, as at least a pretext for changing my mind. if so, i was disappointed; for my father turned coolly to owen, and only said, "you see it is as i told you.--well, frank" (addressing me), "you are nearly of age, and as well qualified to judge of what will constitute your own happiness as you ever are like to be; therefore, i say no more. but as i am not bound to give in to your plans, any more than you are compelled to submit to mine, may i ask to know if you have formed any which depend on my assistance?" i answered, not a little abashed, "that being bred to no profession, and having no funds of my own, it was obviously impossible for me to subsist without some allowance from my father; that my wishes were very moderate; and that i hoped my aversion for the profession to which he had designed me, would not occasion his altogether withdrawing his paternal support and protection." "that is to say, you wish to lean on my arm, and yet to walk your own way? that can hardly be, frank;--however, i suppose you mean to obey my directions, so far as they do not cross your own humour?" i was about to speak--"silence, if you please," he continued. "supposing this to be the case, you will instantly set out for the north of england, to pay your uncle a visit, and see the state of his family. i have chosen from among his sons (he has six, i believe) one who, i understand, is most worthy to fill the place i intended for you in the counting-house. but some farther arrangements may be necessary, and for these your presence may be requisite. you shall have farther instructions at osbaldistone hall, where you will please to remain until you hear from me. everything will be ready for your departure to-morrow morning." with these words my father left the apartment. "what does all this mean, mr. owen?" said i to my sympathetic friend, whose countenance wore a cast of the deepest dejection. "you have ruined yourself, mr. frank, that's all. when your father talks in that quiet determined manner, there will be no more change in him than in a fitted account." and so it proved; for the next morning, at five o'clock, i found myself on the road to york, mounted on a reasonably good horse, and with fifty guineas in my pocket; travelling, as it would seem, for the purpose of assisting in the adoption of a successor to myself in my father's house and favour, and, for aught i knew, eventually in his fortune also. chapter third. the slack sail shifts from side to side, the boat, untrimm'd, admits the tide, borne down, adrift, at random tost, the oar breaks short, the rudder's lost. gay's _fables._ i have tagged with rhyme and blank verse the subdivisions of this important narrative, in order to seduce your continued attention by powers of composition of stronger attraction than my own. the preceding lines refer to an unfortunate navigator, who daringly unloosed from its moorings a boat, which he was unable to manage, and thrust it off into the full tide of a navigable river. no schoolboy, who, betwixt frolic and defiance, has executed a similar rash attempt, could feel himself, when adrift in a strong current, in a situation more awkward than mine, when i found myself driving, without a compass, on the ocean of human life. there had been such unexpected ease in the manner in which my father slipt a knot, usually esteemed the strongest which binds society together, and suffered me to depart as a sort of outcast from his family, that it strangely lessened the confidence in my own personal accomplishments, which had hitherto sustained me. prince prettyman, now a prince, and now a fisher's son, had not a more awkward sense of his degradation. we are so apt, in our engrossing egotism, to consider all those accessories which are drawn around us by prosperity, as pertaining and belonging to our own persons, that the discovery of our unimportance, when left to our own proper resources, becomes inexpressibly mortifying. as the hum of london died away on my ear, the distant peal of her steeples more than once sounded to my ears the admonitory "turn again," erst heard by her future lord mayor; and when i looked back from highgate on her dusky magnificence, i felt as if i were leaving behind me comfort, opulence, the charms of society, and all the pleasures of cultivated life. but the die was cast. it was, indeed, by no means probable that a late and ungracious compliance with my father's wishes would have reinstated me in the situation which i had lost. on the contrary, firm and strong of purpose as he himself was, he might rather have been disgusted than conciliated by my tardy and compulsory acquiescence in his desire that i should engage in commerce. my constitutional obstinacy came also to my aid, and pride whispered how poor a figure i should make, when an airing of four miles from london had blown away resolutions formed during a month's serious deliberation. hope, too, that never forsakes the young and hardy, lent her lustre to my future prospects. my father could not be serious in the sentence of foris-familiation, which he had so unhesitatingly pronounced. it must be but a trial of my disposition, which, endured with patience and steadiness on my part, would raise me in his estimation, and lead to an amicable accommodation of the point in dispute between us. i even settled in my own mind how far i would concede to him, and on what articles of our supposed treaty i would make a firm stand; and the result was, according to my computation, that i was to be reinstated in my full rights of filiation, paying the easy penalty of some ostensible compliances to atone for my past rebellion. in the meanwhile, i was lord of my person, and experienced that feeling of independence which the youthful bosom receives with a thrilling mixture of pleasure and apprehension. my purse, though by no means amply replenished, was in a situation to supply all the wants and wishes of a traveller. i had been accustomed, while at bourdeaux, to act as my own valet; my horse was fresh, young, and active, and the buoyancy of my spirits soon surmounted the melancholy reflections with which my journey commenced. i should have been glad to have journeyed upon a line of road better calculated to afford reasonable objects of curiosity, or a more interesting country, to the traveller. but the north road was then, and perhaps still is, singularly deficient in these respects; nor do i believe you can travel so far through britain in any other direction without meeting more of what is worthy to engage the attention. my mental ruminations, notwithstanding my assumed confidence, were not always of an unchequered nature. the muse too,--the very coquette who had led me into this wilderness,--like others of her sex, deserted me in my utmost need, and i should have been reduced to rather an uncomfortable state of dulness, had it not been for the occasional conversation of strangers who chanced to pass the same way. but the characters whom i met with were of a uniform and uninteresting description. country parsons, jogging homewards after a visitation; farmers, or graziers, returning from a distant market; clerks of traders, travelling to collect what was due to their masters, in provincial towns; with now and then an officer going down into the country upon the recruiting service, were, at this period, the persons by whom the turnpikes and tapsters were kept in exercise. our speech, therefore, was of tithes and creeds, of beeves and grain, of commodities wet and dry, and the solvency of the retail dealers, occasionally varied by the description of a siege, or battle, in flanders, which, perhaps, the narrator only gave me at second hand. robbers, a fertile and alarming theme, filled up every vacancy; and the names of the golden farmer, the flying highwayman, jack needham, and other beggars' opera heroes, were familiar in our mouths as household words. at such tales, like children closing their circle round the fire when the ghost story draws to its climax, the riders drew near to each other, looked before and behind them, examined the priming of their pistols, and vowed to stand by each other in case of danger; an engagement which, like other offensive and defensive alliances, sometimes glided out of remembrance when there was an appearance of actual peril. of all the fellows whom i ever saw haunted by terrors of this nature, one poor man, with whom i travelled a day and a half, afforded me most amusement. he had upon his pillion a very small, but apparently a very weighty portmanteau, about the safety of which he seemed particularly solicitous; never trusting it out of his own immediate care, and uniformly repressing the officious zeal of the waiters and ostlers, who offered their services to carry it into the house. with the same precaution he laboured to conceal, not only the purpose of his journey, and his ultimate place of destination, but even the direction of each day's route. nothing embarrassed him more than to be asked by any one, whether he was travelling upwards or downwards, or at what stage he intended to bait. his place of rest for the night he scrutinised with the most anxious care, alike avoiding solitude, and what he considered as bad neighbourhood; and at grantham, i believe, he sate up all night to avoid sleeping in the next room to a thick-set squinting fellow, in a black wig, and a tarnished gold-laced waistcoat. with all these cares on his mind, my fellow traveller, to judge by his thews and sinews, was a man who might have set danger at defiance with as much impunity as most men. he was strong and well built; and, judging from his gold-laced hat and cockade, seemed to have served in the army, or, at least, to belong to the military profession in one capacity or other. his conversation also, though always sufficiently vulgar, was that of a man of sense, when the terrible bugbears which haunted his imagination for a moment ceased to occupy his attention. but every accidental association recalled them. an open heath, a close plantation, were alike subjects of apprehension; and the whistle of a shepherd lad was instantly converted into the signal of a depredator. even the sight of a gibbet, if it assured him that one robber was safely disposed of by justice, never failed to remind him how many remained still unhanged. i should have wearied of this fellow's company, had i not been still more tired of my own thoughts. some of the marvellous stories, however, which he related, had in themselves a cast of interest, and another whimsical point of his peculiarities afforded me the occasional opportunity of amusing myself at his expense. among his tales, several of the unfortunate travellers who fell among thieves, incurred that calamity from associating themselves on the road with a well-dressed and entertaining stranger, in whose company they trusted to find protection as well as amusement; who cheered their journey with tale and song, protected them against the evils of over-charges and false reckonings, until at length, under pretext of showing a near path over a desolate common, he seduced his unsuspicious victims from the public road into some dismal glen, where, suddenly blowing his whistle, he assembled his comrades from their lurking-place, and displayed himself in his true colours--the captain, namely, of the band of robbers to whom his unwary fellow-travellers had forfeited their purses, and perhaps their lives. towards the conclusion of such a tale, and when my companion had wrought himself into a fever of apprehension by the progress of his own narrative, i observed that he usually eyed me with a glance of doubt and suspicion, as if the possibility occurred to him, that he might, at that very moment, be in company with a character as dangerous as that which his tale described. and ever and anon, when such suggestions pressed themselves on the mind of this ingenious self-tormentor, he drew off from me to the opposite side of the high-road, looked before, behind, and around him, examined his arms, and seemed to prepare himself for flight or defence, as circumstances might require. the suspicion implied on such occasions seemed to me only momentary, and too ludicrous to be offensive. there was, in fact, no particular reflection on my dress or address, although i was thus mistaken for a robber. a man in those days might have all the external appearance of a gentleman, and yet turn out to be a highwayman. for the division of labour in every department not having then taken place so fully as since that period, the profession of the polite and accomplished adventurer, who nicked you out of your money at white's, or bowled you out of it at marylebone, was often united with that of the professed ruffian, who on bagshot heath, or finchley common, commanded his brother beau to stand and deliver. there was also a touch of coarseness and hardness about the manners of the times, which has since, in a great degree, been softened and shaded away. it seems to me, on recollection, as if desperate men had less reluctance then than now to embrace the most desperate means of retrieving their fortune. the times were indeed past, when anthony-a-wood mourned over the execution of two men, goodly in person, and of undisputed courage and honour, who were hanged without mercy at oxford, merely because their distress had driven them to raise contributions on the highway. we were still farther removed from the days of "the mad prince and poins." and yet, from the number of unenclosed and extensive heaths in the vicinity of the metropolis, and from the less populous state of remote districts, both were frequented by that species of mounted highwaymen, that may possibly become one day unknown, who carried on their trade with something like courtesy; and, like gibbet in the beaux stratagem, piqued themselves on being the best behaved men on the road, and on conducting themselves with all appropriate civility in the exercise of their vocation. a young man, therefore, in my circumstances was not entitled to be highly indignant at the mistake which confounded him with this worshipful class of depredators. neither was i offended. on the contrary, i found amusement in alternately exciting, and lulling to sleep, the suspicions of my timorous companion, and in purposely so acting as still farther to puzzle a brain which nature and apprehension had combined to render none of the clearest. when my free conversation had lulled him into complete security, it required only a passing inquiry concerning the direction of his journey, or the nature of the business which occasioned it, to put his suspicions once more in arms. for example, a conversation on the comparative strength and activity of our horses, took such a turn as follows:-- "o sir," said my companion, "for the gallop i grant you; but allow me to say, your horse (although he is a very handsome gelding--that must be owned,) has too little bone to be a good roadster. the trot, sir" (striking his bucephalus with his spurs),--"the trot is the true pace for a hackney; and, were we near a town, i should like to try that daisy-cutter of yours upon a piece of level road (barring canter) for a quart of claret at the next inn." "content, sir," replied i; "and here is a stretch of ground very favourable." "hem, ahem," answered my friend with hesitation; "i make it a rule of travelling never to blow my horse between stages; one never knows what occasion he may have to put him to his mettle: and besides, sir, when i said i would match you, i meant with even weight; you ride four stone lighter than i." "very well; but i am content to carry weight. pray, what may that portmanteau of yours weigh?" "my p-p-portmanteau?" replied he, hesitating--"o very little--a feather--just a few shirts and stockings." "i should think it heavier, from its appearance. i'll hold you the quart of claret it makes the odds betwixt our weight." "you're mistaken, sir, i assure you--quite mistaken," replied my friend, edging off to the side of the road, as was his wont on these alarming occasions. "well, i am willing to venture the wine; or, i will bet you ten pieces to five, that i carry your portmanteau on my croupe, and out-trot you into the bargain." this proposal raised my friend's alarm to the uttermost. his nose changed from the natural copper hue which it had acquired from many a comfortable cup of claret or sack, into a palish brassy tint, and his teeth chattered with apprehension at the unveiled audacity of my proposal, which seemed to place the barefaced plunderer before him in full atrocity. as he faltered for an answer, i relieved him in some degree by a question concerning a steeple, which now became visible, and an observation that we were now so near the village as to run no risk from interruption on the road. at this his countenance cleared up: but i easily perceived that it was long ere he forgot a proposal which seemed to him so fraught with suspicion as that which i had now hazarded. i trouble you with this detail of the man's disposition, and the manner in which i practised upon it, because, however trivial in themselves, these particulars were attended by an important influence on future incidents which will occur in this narrative. at the time, this person's conduct only inspired me with contempt, and confirmed me in an opinion which i already entertained, that of all the propensities which teach mankind to torment themselves, that of causeless fear is the most irritating, busy, painful, and pitiable. chapter fourth. the scots are poor, cries surly english pride. true is the charge; nor by themselves denied. are they not, then, in strictest reason clear, who wisely come to mend their fortunes here? churchill. there was, in the days of which i write, an old-fashioned custom on the english road, which i suspect is now obsolete, or practised only by the vulgar. journeys of length being made on horseback, and, of course, by brief stages, it was usual always to make a halt on the sunday in some town where the traveller might attend divine service, and his horse have the benefit of the day of rest, the institution of which is as humane to our brute labourers as profitable to ourselves. a counterpart to this decent practice, and a remnant of old english hospitality, was, that the landlord of a principal inn laid aside his character of a publican on the seventh day, and invited the guests who chanced to be within his walls to take a part of his family beef and pudding. this invitation was usually complied with by all whose distinguished rank did not induce them to think compliance a derogation; and the proposal of a bottle of wine after dinner, to drink the landlord's health, was the only recompense ever offered or accepted. i was born a citizen of the world, and my inclination led me into all scenes where my knowledge of mankind could be enlarged; i had, besides, no pretensions to sequester myself on the score of superior dignity, and therefore seldom failed to accept of the sunday's hospitality of mine host, whether of the garter, lion, or bear. the honest publican, dilated into additional consequence by a sense of his own importance, while presiding among the guests on whom it was his ordinary duty to attend, was in himself an entertaining, spectacle; and around his genial orbit, other planets of inferior consequence performed their revolutions. the wits and humorists, the distinguished worthies of the town or village, the apothecary, the attorney, even the curate himself, did not disdain to partake of this hebdomadal festivity. the guests, assembled from different quarters, and following different professions, formed, in language, manners, and sentiments, a curious contrast to each other, not indifferent to those who desired to possess a knowledge of mankind in its varieties. it was on such a day, and such an occasion, that my timorous acquaintance and i were about to grace the board of the ruddy-faced host of the black bear, in the town of darlington, and bishopric of durham, when our landlord informed us, with a sort of apologetic tone, that there was a scotch gentleman to dine with us. "a gentleman!--what sort of a gentleman?" said my companion somewhat hastily--his mind, i suppose, running on gentlemen of the pad, as they were then termed. "why, a scotch sort of a gentleman, as i said before," returned mine host; "they are all gentle, ye mun know, though they ha' narra shirt to back; but this is a decentish hallion--a canny north briton as e'er cross'd berwick bridge--i trow he's a dealer in cattle." "let us have his company, by all means," answered my companion; and then, turning to me, he gave vent to the tenor of his own reflections. "i respect the scotch, sir; i love and honour the nation for their sense of morality. men talk of their filth and their poverty: but commend me to sterling honesty, though clad in rags, as the poet saith. i have been credibly assured, sir, by men on whom i can depend, that there was never known such a thing in scotland as a highway robbery." "that's because they have nothing to lose," said mine host, with the chuckle of a self-applauding wit. "no, no, landlord," answered a strong deep voice behind him, "it's e'en because your english gaugers and supervisors,* that you have sent down benorth the tweed, have taen up the trade of thievery over the heads of the native professors." * the introduction of gaugers, supervisors, and examiners, was one of the great complaints of the scottish nation, though a natural consequence of the union. "well said, mr. campbell," answered the landlord; "i did not think thoud'st been sae near us, mon. but thou kens i'm an outspoken yorkshire tyke. and how go markets in the south?" "even in the ordinar," replied mr. campbell; "wise folks buy and sell, and fools are bought and sold." "but wise men and fools both eat their dinner," answered our jolly entertainer; "and here a comes--as prime a buttock of beef as e'er hungry men stuck fork in." so saying, he eagerly whetted his knife, assumed his seat of empire at the head of the board, and loaded the plates of his sundry guests with his good cheer. this was the first time i had heard the scottish accent, or, indeed, that i had familiarly met with an individual of the ancient nation by whom it was spoken. yet, from an early period, they had occupied and interested my imagination. my father, as is well known to you, was of an ancient family in northumberland, from whose seat i was, while eating the aforesaid dinner, not very many miles distant. the quarrel betwixt him and his relatives was such, that he scarcely ever mentioned the race from which he sprung, and held as the most contemptible species of vanity, the weakness which is commonly termed family pride. his ambition was only to be distinguished as william osbaldistone, the first, at least one of the first, merchants on change; and to have proved him the lineal representative of william the conqueror would have far less flattered his vanity than the hum and bustle which his approach was wont to produce among the bulls, bears, and brokers of stock-alley. he wished, no doubt, that i should remain in such ignorance of my relatives and descent as might insure a correspondence between my feelings and his own on this subject. but his designs, as will happen occasionally to the wisest, were, in some degree at least, counteracted by a being whom his pride would never have supposed of importance adequate to influence them in any way. his nurse, an old northumbrian woman, attached to him from his infancy, was the only person connected with his native province for whom he retained any regard; and when fortune dawned upon him, one of the first uses which he made of her favours, was to give mabel rickets a place of residence within his household. after the death of my mother, the care of nursing me during my childish illnesses, and of rendering all those tender attentions which infancy exacts from female affection, devolved on old mabel. interdicted by her master from speaking to him on the subject of the heaths, glades, and dales of her beloved northumberland, she poured herself forth to my infant ear in descriptions of the scenes of her youth, and long narratives of the events which tradition declared to have passed amongst them. to these i inclined my ear much more seriously than to graver, but less animated instructors. even yet, methinks i see old mabel, her head slightly agitated by the palsy of age, and shaded by a close cap, as white as the driven snow,--her face wrinkled, but still retaining the healthy tinge which it had acquired in rural labour--i think i see her look around on the brick walls and narrow street which presented themselves before our windows, as she concluded with a sigh the favourite old ditty, which i then preferred, and--why should i not tell the truth?--which i still prefer to all the opera airs ever minted by the capricious brain of an italian mus. d.-- oh, the oak, the ash, and the bonny ivy tree, they flourish best at home in the north countrie! now, in the legends of mabel, the scottish nation was ever freshly remembered, with all the embittered declamation of which the narrator was capable. the inhabitants of the opposite frontier served in her narratives to fill up the parts which ogres and giants with seven-leagued boots occupy in the ordinary nursery tales. and how could it be otherwise? was it not the black douglas who slew with his own hand the heir of the osbaldistone family the day after he took possession of his estate, surprising him and his vassals while solemnizing a feast suited to the occasion? was it not wat the devil, who drove all the year-old hogs off the braes of lanthorn-side, in the very recent days of my grandfather's father? and had we not many a trophy, but, according to old mabel's version of history, far more honourably gained, to mark our revenge of these wrongs? did not sir henry osbaldistone, fifth baron of the name, carry off the fair maid of fairnington, as achilles did his chryseis and briseis of old, and detain her in his fortress against all the power of her friends, supported by the most mighty scottish chiefs of warlike fame? and had not our swords shone foremost at most of those fields in which england was victorious over her rival? all our family renown was acquired--all our family misfortunes were occasioned--by the northern wars. warmed by such tales, i looked upon the scottish people during my childhood, as a race hostile by nature to the more southern inhabitants of this realm; and this view of the matter was not much corrected by the language which my father sometimes held with respect to them. he had engaged in some large speculations concerning oak-woods, the property of highland proprietors, and alleged, that he found them much more ready to make bargains, and extort earnest of the purchase-money, than punctual in complying on their side with the terms of the engagements. the scottish mercantile men, whom he was under the necessity of employing as a sort of middle-men on these occasions, were also suspected by my father of having secured, by one means or other, more than their own share of the profit which ought to have accrued. in short, if mabel complained of the scottish arms in ancient times, mr. osbaldistone inveighed no less against the arts of these modern sinons; and between them, though without any fixed purpose of doing so, they impressed my youthful mind with a sincere aversion to the northern inhabitants of britain, as a people bloodthirsty in time of war, treacherous during truce, interested, selfish, avaricious, and tricky in the business of peaceful life, and having few good qualities, unless there should be accounted such, a ferocity which resembled courage in martial affairs, and a sort of wily craft which supplied the place of wisdom in the ordinary commerce of mankind. in justification, or apology, for those who entertained such prejudices, i must remark, that the scotch of that period were guilty of similar injustice to the english, whom they branded universally as a race of purse-proud arrogant epicures. such seeds of national dislike remained between the two countries, the natural consequences of their existence as separate and rival states. we have seen recently the breath of a demagogue blow these sparks into a temporary flame, which i sincerely hope is now extinguished in its own ashes. * * this seems to have been written about the time of wilkes and liberty. it was, then, with an impression of dislike, that i contemplated the first scotchman i chanced to meet in society. there was much about him that coincided with my previous conceptions. he had the hard features and athletic form said to be peculiar to his country, together with the national intonation and slow pedantic mode of expression, arising from a desire to avoid peculiarities of idiom or dialect. i could also observe the caution and shrewdness of his country in many of the observations which he made, and the answers which he returned. but i was not prepared for the air of easy self-possession and superiority with which he seemed to predominate over the company into which he was thrown, as it were by accident. his dress was as coarse as it could be, being still decent; and, at a time when great expense was lavished upon the wardrobe, even of the lowest who pretended to the character of gentleman, this indicated mediocrity of circumstances, if not poverty. his conversation intimated that he was engaged in the cattle trade, no very dignified professional pursuit. and yet, under these disadvantages, he seemed, as a matter of course, to treat the rest of the company with the cool and condescending politeness which implies a real, or imagined, superiority over those towards whom it is used. when he gave his opinion on any point, it was with that easy tone of confidence used by those superior to their society in rank or information, as if what he said could not be doubted, and was not to be questioned. mine host and his sunday guests, after an effort or two to support their consequence by noise and bold averment, sunk gradually under the authority of mr. campbell, who thus fairly possessed himself of the lead in the conversation. i was tempted, from curiosity, to dispute the ground with him myself, confiding in my knowledge of the world, extended as it was by my residence abroad, and in the stores with which a tolerable education had possessed my mind. in the latter respect he offered no competition, and it was easy to see that his natural powers had never been cultivated by education. but i found him much better acquainted than i was myself with the present state of france, the character of the duke of orleans, who had just succeeded to the regency of that kingdom, and that of the statesmen by whom he was surrounded; and his shrewd, caustic, and somewhat satirical remarks, were those of a man who had been a close observer of the affairs of that country. on the subject of politics, campbell observed a silence and moderation which might arise from caution. the divisions of whig and tory then shook england to her very centre, and a powerful party, engaged in the jacobite interest, menaced the dynasty of hanover, which had been just established on the throne. every alehouse resounded with the brawls of contending politicians, and as mine host's politics were of that liberal description which quarrelled with no good customer, his hebdomadal visitants were often divided in their opinion as irreconcilably as if he had feasted the common council. the curate and the apothecary, with a little man, who made no boast of his vocation, but who, from the flourish and snap of his fingers, i believe to have been the barber, strongly espoused the cause of high church and the stuart line. the excise-man, as in duty bound, and the attorney, who looked to some petty office under the crown, together with my fellow-traveller, who seemed to enter keenly into the contest, staunchly supported the cause of king george and the protestant succession. dire was the screaming--deep the oaths! each party appealed to mr. campbell, anxious, it seemed, to elicit his approbation. "you are a scotchman, sir; a gentleman of your country must stand up for hereditary right," cried one party. "you are a presbyterian," assumed the other class of disputants; "you cannot be a friend to arbitrary power." "gentlemen," said our scotch oracle, after having gained, with some difficulty, a moment's pause, "i havena much dubitation that king george weel deserves the predilection of his friends; and if he can haud the grip he has gotten, why, doubtless, he may made the gauger, here, a commissioner of the revenue, and confer on our friend, mr. quitam, the preferment of solicitor-general; and he may also grant some good deed or reward to this honest gentleman who is sitting upon his portmanteau, which he prefers to a chair: and, questionless, king james is also a grateful person, and when he gets his hand in play, he may, if he be so minded, make this reverend gentleman archprelate of canterbury, and dr. mixit chief physician to his household, and commit his royal beard to the care of my friend latherum. but as i doubt mickle whether any of the competing sovereigns would give rob campbell a tass of aquavitae, if he lacked it, i give my vote and interest to jonathan brown, our landlord, to be the king and prince of skinkers, conditionally that he fetches us another bottle as good as the last." this sally was received with general applause, in which the landlord cordially joined; and when he had given orders for fulfilling the condition on which his preferment was to depend, he failed not to acquaint them, "that, for as peaceable a gentleman as mr. campbell was, he was, moreover, as bold as a lion--seven highwaymen had he defeated with his single arm, that beset him as he came from whitson-tryste." "thou art deceived, friend jonathan," said campbell, interrupting him; "they were but barely two, and two cowardly loons as man could wish to meet withal." "and did you, sir, really," said my fellow-traveller, edging his chair (i should have said his portmanteau) nearer to mr. campbell, "really and actually beat two highwaymen yourself alone?" "in troth did i, sir," replied campbell; "and i think it nae great thing to make a sang about." "upon my word, sir," replied my acquaintance, "i should be happy to have the pleasure of your company on my journey--i go northward, sir." this piece of gratuitous information concerning the route he proposed to himself, the first i had heard my companion bestow upon any one, failed to excite the corresponding confidence of the scotchman. "we can scarce travel together," he replied, drily. "you, sir, doubtless, are well mounted, and i for the present travel on foot, or on a highland shelty, that does not help me much faster forward." so saying, he called for a reckoning for the wine, and throwing down the price of the additional bottle which he had himself introduced, rose as if to take leave of us. my companion made up to him, and taking him by the button, drew him aside into one of the windows. i could not help overhearing him pressing something--i supposed his company upon the journey, which mr. campbell seemed to decline. "i will pay your charges, sir," said the traveller, in a tone as if he thought the argument should bear down all opposition. "it is quite impossible," said campbell, somewhat contemptuously; "i have business at rothbury." "but i am in no great hurry; i can ride out of the way, and never miss a day or so for good company." "upon my faith, sir," said campbell, "i cannot render you the service you seem to desiderate. i am," he added, drawing himself up haughtily, "travelling on my own private affairs, and if ye will act by my advisement, sir, ye will neither unite yourself with an absolute stranger on the road, nor communicate your line of journey to those who are asking ye no questions about it." he then extricated his button, not very ceremoniously, from the hold which detained him, and coming up to me as the company were dispersing, observed, "your friend, sir, is too communicative, considering the nature of his trust." "that gentleman," i replied, looking towards the traveller, "is no friend of mine, but an acquaintance whom i picked up on the road. i know neither his name nor business, and you seem to be deeper in his confidence than i am." "i only meant," he replied hastily, "that he seems a thought rash in conferring the honour of his company on those who desire it not." "the gentleman," replied i, "knows his own affairs best, and i should be sorry to constitute myself a judge of them in any respect." mr. campbell made no farther observation, but merely wished me a good journey, and the party dispersed for the evening. next day i parted company with my timid companion, as i left the great northern road to turn more westerly in the direction of osbaldistone manor, my uncle's seat. i cannot tell whether he felt relieved or embarrassed by my departure, considering the dubious light in which he seemed to regard me. for my own part, his tremors ceased to amuse me, and, to say the truth, i was heartily glad to get rid of him. chapter fifth. how melts my beating heart as i behold each lovely nymph, our island's boast and pride, push on the generous steed, that sweeps along o'er rough, o'er smooth, nor heeds the steepy hill, nor falters in the extended vale below! the chase. i approached my native north, for such i esteemed it, with that enthusiasm which romantic and wild scenery inspires in the lovers of nature. no longer interrupted by the babble of my companion, i could now remark the difference which the country exhibited from that through which i had hitherto travelled. the streams now more properly deserved the name, for, instead of slumbering stagnant among reeds and willows, they brawled along beneath the shade of natural copsewood; were now hurried down declivities, and now purled more leisurely, but still in active motion, through little lonely valleys, which, opening on the road from time to time, seemed to invite the traveller to explore their recesses. the cheviots rose before me in frowning majesty; not, indeed, with the sublime variety of rock and cliff which characterizes mountains of the primary class but huge, round-headed, and clothed with a dark robe of russet, gaining, by their extent and desolate appearance, an influence upon the imagination, as a desert district possessing a character of its own. the abode of my fathers, which i was now approaching, was situated in a glen, or narrow valley, which ran up among those hills. extensive estates, which once belonged to the family of osbaldistone, had been long dissipated by the misfortunes or misconduct of my ancestors; but enough was still attached to the old mansion, to give my uncle the title of a man of large property. this he employed (as i was given to understand by some inquiries which i made on the road) in maintaining the prodigal hospitality of a northern squire of the period, which he deemed essential to his family dignity. from the summit of an eminence i had already had a distant view of osbaldistone hall, a large and antiquated edifice, peeping out from a druidical grove of huge oaks; and i was directing my course towards it, as straightly and as speedily as the windings of a very indifferent road would permit, when my horse, tired as he was, pricked up his ears at the enlivening notes of a pack of hounds in full cry, cheered by the occasional bursts of a french horn, which in those days was a constant accompaniment to the chase. i made no doubt that the pack was my uncle's, and drew up my horse with the purpose of suffering the hunters to pass without notice, aware that a hunting-field was not the proper scene to introduce myself to a keen sportsman, and determined when they had passed on, to proceed to the mansion-house at my own pace, and there to await the return of the proprietor from his sport. i paused, therefore, on a rising ground, and, not unmoved by the sense of interest which that species of silvan sport is so much calculated to inspire (although my mind was not at the moment very accessible to impressions of this nature), i expected with some eagerness the appearance of the huntsmen. the fox, hard run, and nearly spent, first made his appearance from the copse which clothed the right-hand side of the valley. his drooping brush, his soiled appearance, and jaded trot, proclaimed his fate impending; and the carrion crow, which hovered over him, already considered poor reynard as soon to be his prey. he crossed the stream which divides the little valley, and was dragging himself up a ravine on the other side of its wild banks, when the headmost hounds, followed by the rest of the pack in full cry, burst from the coppice, followed by the huntsman and three or four riders. the dogs pursued the trace of reynard with unerring instinct; and the hunters followed with reckless haste, regardless of the broken and difficult nature of the ground. they were tall, stout young men, well mounted, and dressed in green and red, the uniform of a sporting association, formed under the auspices of old sir hildebrand osbaldistone.--"my cousins!" thought i, as they swept past me. the next reflection was, what is my reception likely to be among these worthy successors of nimrod? and how improbable is it that i, knowing little or nothing of rural sports, shall find myself at ease, or happy, in my uncle's family. a vision that passed me interrupted these reflections. it was a young lady, the loveliness of whose very striking features was enhanced by the animation of the chase and the glow of the exercise, mounted on a beautiful horse, jet black, unless where he was flecked by spots of the snow-white foam which embossed his bridle. she wore, what was then somewhat unusual, a coat, vest, and hat, resembling those of a man, which fashion has since called a riding habit. the mode had been introduced while i was in france, and was perfectly new to me. her long black hair streamed on the breeze, having in the hurry of the chase escaped from the ribbon which bound it. some very broken ground, through which she guided her horse with the most admirable address and presence of mind, retarded her course, and brought her closer to me than any of the other riders had passed. i had, therefore, a full view of her uncommonly fine face and person, to which an inexpressible charm was added by the wild gaiety of the scene, and the romance of her singular dress and unexpected appearance. as she passed me, her horse made, in his impetuosity, an irregular movement, just while, coming once more upon open ground, she was again putting him to his speed. it served as an apology for me to ride close up to her, as if to her assistance. there was, however, no cause for alarm; it was not a stumble, nor a false step; and, if it had, the fair amazon had too much self-possession to have been deranged by it. she thanked my good intentions, however, by a smile, and i felt encouraged to put my horse to the same pace, and to keep in her immediate neighbourhood. the clamour of "whoop! dead! dead!"--and the corresponding flourish of the french horn, soon announced to us that there was no more occasion for haste, since the chase was at a close. one of the young men whom we had seen approached us, waving the brush of the fox in triumph, as if to upbraid my fair companion, "i see," she replied,--"i see; but make no noise about it: if phoebe," she said, patting the neck of the beautiful animal on which she rode, "had not got among the cliffs, you would have had little cause for boasting." they met as she spoke, and i observed them both look at me, and converse a moment in an under-tone, the young lady apparently pressing the sportsman to do something which he declined shyly, and with a sort of sheepish sullenness. she instantly turned her horse's head towards me, saying,--"well, well, thornie, if you won't, i must, that's all.--sir," she continued, addressing me, "i have been endeavouring to persuade this cultivated young gentleman to make inquiry of you whether, in the course of your travels in these parts, you have heard anything of a friend of ours, one mr. francis osbaldistone, who has been for some days expected at osbaldistone hall?" i was too happy to acknowledge myself to be the party inquired after, and to express my thanks for the obliging inquiries of the young lady. "in that case, sir," she rejoined, "as my kinsman's politeness seems to be still slumbering, you will permit me (though i suppose it is highly improper) to stand mistress of ceremonies, and to present to you young squire thorncliff osbaldistone, your cousin, and die vernon, who has also the honour to be your accomplished cousin's poor kinswoman." there was a mixture of boldness, satire, and simplicity in the manner in which miss vernon pronounced these words. my knowledge of life was sufficient to enable me to take up a corresponding tone as i expressed my gratitude to her for her condescension, and my extreme pleasure at having met with them. to say the truth, the compliment was so expressed, that the lady might easily appropriate the greater share of it, for thorncliff seemed an arrant country bumpkin, awkward, shy, and somewhat sulky withal. he shook hands with me, however, and then intimated his intention of leaving me that he might help the huntsman and his brothers to couple up the hounds,--a purpose which he rather communicated by way of information to miss vernon than as apology to me. "there he goes," said the young lady, following him with eyes in which disdain was admirably painted--"the prince of grooms and cock-fighters, and blackguard horse-coursers. but there is not one of them to mend another.--have you read markham?" said miss vernon. "read whom, ma'am?--i do not even remember the author's name." "o lud! on what a strand are you wrecked!" replied the young lady. "a poor forlorn and ignorant stranger, unacquainted with the very alcoran of the savage tribe whom you are come to reside among--never to have heard of markham, the most celebrated author on farriery! then i fear you are equally a stranger to the more modern names of gibson and bartlett?" "i am, indeed, miss vernon." "and do you not blush to own it?" said miss vernon. "why, we must forswear your alliance. then, i suppose, you can neither give a ball, nor a mash, nor a horn!" "i confess i trust all these matters to an ostler, or to my groom." "incredible carelessness!--and you cannot shoe a horse, or cut his mane and tail; or worm a dog, or crop his ears, or cut his dew-claws; or reclaim a hawk, or give him his casting-stones, or direct his diet when he is sealed; or"-- "to sum up my insignificance in one word," replied i, "i am profoundly ignorant in all these rural accomplishments." "then, in the name of heaven, mr. francis osbaldistone, what _can_ you do?" "very little to the purpose, miss vernon; something, however, i can pretend to--when my groom has dressed my horse i can ride him, and when my hawk is in the field, i can fly him." "can you do this?" said the young lady, putting her horse to a canter. there was a sort of rude overgrown fence crossed the path before us, with a gate composed of pieces of wood rough from the forest; i was about to move forward to open it, when miss vernon cleared the obstruction at a flying leap. i was bound in point of honour to follow, and was in a moment again at her side. "there are hopes of you yet," she said. "i was afraid you had been a very degenerate osbaldistone. but what on earth brings you to cub-castle?--for so the neighbours have christened this hunting-hall of ours. you might have stayed away, i suppose, if you would?" i felt i was by this time on a very intimate footing with my beautiful apparition, and therefore replied, in a confidential under-tone--"indeed, my dear miss vernon, i might have considered it as a sacrifice to be a temporary resident in osbaldistone hall, the inmates being such as you describe them; but i am convinced there is one exception that will make amends for all deficiencies." "o, you mean rashleigh?" said miss vernon. "indeed i do not; i was thinking--forgive me--of some person much nearer me." "i suppose it would be proper not to understand your civility?--but that is not my way--i don't make a courtesy for it because i am sitting on horseback. but, seriously, i deserve your exception, for i am the only conversable being about the hall, except the old priest and rashleigh." "and who is rashleigh, for heaven's sake?" "rashleigh is one who would fain have every one like him for his own sake. he is sir hildebrand's youngest son--about your own age, but not so--not well looking, in short. but nature has given him a mouthful of common sense, and the priest has added a bushelful of learning; he is what we call a very clever man in this country, where clever men are scarce. bred to the church, but in no hurry to take orders." "to the catholic church?" "the catholic church? what church else?" said the young lady. "but i forgot--they told me you are a heretic. is that true, mr. osbaldistone?" "i must not deny the charge." "and yet you have been abroad, and in catholic countries?" "for nearly four years." "you have seen convents?" "often; but i have not seen much in them which recommended the catholic religion." "are not the inhabitants happy?" "some are unquestionably so, whom either a profound sense of devotion, or an experience of the persecutions and misfortunes of the world, or a natural apathy of temper, has led into retirement. those who have adopted a life of seclusion from sudden and overstrained enthusiasm, or in hasty resentment of some disappointment or mortification, are very miserable. the quickness of sensation soon returns, and like the wilder animals in a menagerie, they are restless under confinement, while others muse or fatten in cells of no larger dimensions than theirs." "and what," continued miss vernon, "becomes of those victims who are condemned to a convent by the will of others? what do they resemble? especially, what do they resemble, if they are born to enjoy life, and feel its blessings?" "they are like imprisoned singing-birds," replied i, "condemned to wear out their lives in confinement, which they try to beguile by the exercise of accomplishments which would have adorned society had they been left at large." "i shall be," returned miss vernon--"that is," said she, correcting herself--"i should be rather like the wild hawk, who, barred the free exercise of his soar through heaven, will dash himself to pieces against the bars of his cage. but to return to rashleigh," said she, in a more lively tone, "you will think him the pleasantest man you ever saw in your life, mr. osbaldistone,--that is, for a week at least. if he could find out a blind mistress, never man would be so secure of conquest; but the eye breaks the spell that enchants the ear.--but here we are in the court of the old hall, which looks as wild and old-fashioned as any of its inmates. there is no great toilette kept at osbaldistone hall, you must know; but i must take off these things, they are so unpleasantly warm,--and the hat hurts my forehead, too," continued the lively girl, taking it off, and shaking down a profusion of sable ringlets, which, half laughing, half blushing, she separated with her white slender fingers, in order to clear them away from her beautiful face and piercing hazel eyes. if there was any coquetry in the action, it was well disguised by the careless indifference of her manner. i could not help saying, "that, judging of the family from what i saw, i should suppose the toilette a very unnecessary care." "that's very politely said--though, perhaps, i ought not to understand in what sense it was meant," replied miss vernon; "but you will see a better apology for a little negligence when you meet the orsons you are to live amongst, whose forms no toilette could improve. but, as i said before, the old dinner-bell will clang, or rather clank, in a few minutes--it cracked of its own accord on the day of the landing of king willie, and my uncle, respecting its prophetic talent, would never permit it to be mended. so do you hold my palfrey, like a duteous knight, until i send some more humble squire to relieve you of the charge." she threw me the rein as if we had been acquainted from our childhood, jumped from her saddle, tripped across the courtyard, and entered at a side-door, leaving me in admiration of her beauty, and astonished with the over-frankness of her manners, which seemed the more extraordinary at a time when the dictates of politeness, flowing from the court of the grand monarque louis xiv., prescribed to the fair sex an unusual severity of decorum. i was left awkwardly enough stationed in the centre of the court of the old hall, mounted on one horse, and holding another in my hand. the building afforded little to interest a stranger, had i been disposed to consider it attentively; the sides of the quadrangle were of various architecture, and with their stone-shafted latticed windows, projecting turrets, and massive architraves, resembled the inside of a convent, or of one of the older and less splendid colleges of oxford. i called for a domestic, but was for some time totally unattended to; which was the more provoking, as i could perceive i was the object of curiosity to several servants, both male and female, from different parts of the building, who popped out their heads and withdrew them, like rabbits in a warren, before i could make a direct appeal to the attention of any individual. the return of the huntsmen and hounds relieved me from my embarrassment, and with some difficulty i got one down to relieve me of the charge of the horses, and another stupid boor to guide me to the presence of sir hildebrand. this service he performed with much such grace and good-will, as a peasant who is compelled to act as guide to a hostile patrol; and in the same manner i was obliged to guard against his deserting me in the labyrinth of low vaulted passages which conducted to "stun hall," as he called it, where i was to be introduced to the gracious presence of my uncle. we did, however, at length reach a long vaulted room, floored with stone, where a range of oaken tables, of a weight and size too massive ever to be moved aside, were already covered for dinner. this venerable apartment, which had witnessed the feasts of several generations of the osbaldistone family, bore also evidence of their success in field sports. huge antlers of deer, which might have been trophies of the hunting of chevy chace, were ranged around the walls, interspersed with the stuffed skins of badgers, otters, martins, and other animals of the chase. amidst some remnants of old armour, which had, perhaps, served against the scotch, hung the more valued weapons of silvan war, cross-bows, guns of various device and construction, nets, fishing-rods, otter-spears, hunting-poles, with many other singular devices, and engines for taking or killing game. a few old pictures, dimmed with smoke, and stained with march beer, hung on the walls, representing knights and ladies, honoured, doubtless, and renowned in their day; those frowning fearfully from huge bushes of wig and of beard; and these looking delightfully with all their might at the roses which they brandished in their hands. i had just time to give a glance at these matters, when about twelve blue-coated servants burst into the hall with much tumult and talk, each rather employed in directing his comrades than in discharging his own duty. some brought blocks and billets to the fire, which roared, blazed, and ascended, half in smoke, half in flame, up a huge tunnel, with an opening wide enough to accommodate a stone seat within its ample vault, and which was fronted, by way of chimney-piece, with a huge piece of heavy architecture, where the monsters of heraldry, embodied by the art of some northumbrian chisel, grinned and ramped in red free-stone, now japanned by the smoke of centuries. others of these old-fashioned serving-men bore huge smoking dishes, loaded with substantial fare; others brought in cups, flagons, bottles, yea barrels of liquor. all tramped, kicked, plunged, shouldered, and jostled, doing as little service with as much tumult as could well be imagined. at length, while the dinner was, after various efforts, in the act of being arranged upon the board, "the clamour much of men and dogs," the cracking of whips, calculated for the intimidation of the latter, voices loud and high, steps which, impressed by the heavy-heeled boots of the period, clattered like those in the statue of the _festin de pierre,_* announced the arrival of those for whose benefit the preparations were made. * now called don juan. the hubbub among the servants rather increased than diminished as this crisis approached. some called to make haste,--others to take time,--some exhorted to stand out of the way, and make room for sir hildebrand and the young squires,--some to close round the table and be _in_ the way,--some bawled to open, some to shut, a pair of folding-doors which divided the hall from a sort of gallery, as i afterwards learned, or withdrawing-room, fitted up with black wainscot. opened the doors were at length, and in rushed curs and men,--eight dogs, the domestic chaplain, the village doctor, my six cousins, and my uncle. chapter sixth. the rude hall rocks--they come, they come,-- the din of voices shakes the dome;-- in stalk the various forms, and, drest in varying morion, varying vest, all march with haughty step--all proudly shake the crest. penrose. if sir hildebrand osbaldistone was in no hurry to greet his nephew, of whose arrival he must have been informed for some time, he had important avocations to allege in excuse. "had seen thee sooner, lad," he exclaimed, after a rough shake of the hand, and a hearty welcome to osbaldistone hall, "but had to see the hounds kennelled first. thou art welcome to the hall, lad--here is thy cousin percie, thy cousin thornie, and thy cousin john--your cousin dick, your cousin wilfred, and--stay, where's rashleigh?--ay, here's rashleigh--take thy long body aside thornie, and let's see thy brother a bit--your cousin rashleigh. so, thy father has thought on the old hall, and old sir hildebrand at last--better late than never--thou art welcome, lad, and there's enough. where's my little die?--ay, here she comes--this is my niece die, my wife's brother's daughter--the prettiest girl in our dales, be the other who she may--and so now let's to the sirloin."-- to gain some idea of the person who held this language, you must suppose, my dear tresham, a man aged about sixty, in a hunting suit which had once been richly laced, but whose splendour had been tarnished by many a november and december storm. sir hildebrand, notwithstanding the abruptness of his present manner, had, at one period of his life, known courts and camps; had held a commission in the army which encamped on hounslow heath previous to the revolution--and, recommended perhaps by his religion, had been knighted about the same period by the unfortunate and ill-advised james ii. but the knight's dreams of further preferment, if he ever entertained any, had died away at the crisis which drove his patron from the throne, and since that period he had spent a sequestered life upon his native domains. notwithstanding his rusticity, however, sir hildebrand retained much of the exterior of a gentleman, and appeared among his sons as the remains of a corinthian pillar, defaced and overgrown with moss and lichen, might have looked, if contrasted with the rough unhewn masses of upright stones in stonhenge, or any other druidical temple. the sons were, indeed, heavy unadorned blocks as the eye would desire to look upon. tall, stout, and comely, all and each of the five eldest seemed to want alike the promethean fire of intellect, and the exterior grace and manner, which, in the polished world, sometimes supply mental deficiency. their most valuable moral quality seemed to be the good-humour and content which was expressed in their heavy features, and their only pretence to accomplishment was their dexterity in field sports, for which alone they lived. the strong gyas, and the strong cloanthus, are not less distinguished by the poet, than the strong percival, the strong thorncliff, the strong john, richard, and wilfred osbaldistones, were by outward appearance. but, as if to indemnify herself for a uniformity so uncommon in her productions, dame nature had rendered rashleigh osbaldistone a striking contrast in person and manner, and, as i afterwards learned, in temper and talents, not only to his brothers, but to most men whom i had hitherto met with. when percie, thornie, and co. had respectively nodded, grinned, and presented their shoulder rather than their hand, as their father named them to their new kinsman, rashleigh stepped forward, and welcomed me to osbaldistone hall, with the air and manner of a man of the world. his appearance was not in itself prepossessing. he was of low stature, whereas all his brethren seemed to be descendants of anak; and while they were handsomely formed, rashleigh, though strong in person, was bull-necked and cross-made, and from some early injury in his youth had an imperfection in his gait, so much resembling an absolute halt, that many alleged that it formed the obstacle to his taking orders; the church of rome, as is well known, admitting none to the clerical profession who labours under any personal deformity. others, however, ascribed this unsightly defect to a mere awkward habit, and contended that it did not amount to a personal disqualification from holy orders. the features of rashleigh were such, as, having looked upon, we in vain wish to banish from our memory, to which they recur as objects of painful curiosity, although we dwell upon them with a feeling of dislike, and even of disgust. it was not the actual plainness of his face, taken separately from the meaning, which made this strong impression. his features were, indeed, irregular, but they were by no means vulgar; and his keen dark eyes, and shaggy eyebrows, redeemed his face from the charge of commonplace ugliness. but there was in these eyes an expression of art and design, and, on provocation, a ferocity tempered by caution, which nature had made obvious to the most ordinary physiognomist, perhaps with the same intention that she has given the rattle to the poisonous snake. as if to compensate him for these disadvantages of exterior, rashleigh osbaldistone was possessed of a voice the most soft, mellow, and rich in its tones that i ever heard, and was at no loss for language of every sort suited to so fine an organ. his first sentence of welcome was hardly ended, ere i internally agreed with miss vernon, that my new kinsman would make an instant conquest of a mistress whose ears alone were to judge his cause. he was about to place himself beside me at dinner, but miss vernon, who, as the only female in the family, arranged all such matters according to her own pleasure, contrived that i should sit betwixt thorncliff and herself; and it can scarce be doubted that i favoured this more advantageous arrangement. "i want to speak with you," she said, "and i have placed honest thornie betwixt rashleigh and you on purpose. he will be like-- feather-bed 'twixt castle wall and heavy brunt of cannon ball, while i, your earliest acquaintance in this intellectual family, ask of you how you like us all?" "a very comprehensive question, miss vernon, considering how short while i have been at osbaldistone hall." "oh, the philosophy of our family lies on the surface--there are minute shades distinguishing the individuals, which require the eye of an intelligent observer; but the species, as naturalists i believe call it, may be distinguished and characterized at once." "my five elder cousins, then, are i presume of pretty nearly the same character." "yes, they form a happy compound of sot, gamekeeper, bully, horse-jockey, and fool; but as they say there cannot be found two leaves on the same tree exactly alike, so these happy ingredients, being mingled in somewhat various proportions in each individual, make an agreeable variety for those who like to study character." "give me a sketch, if you please, miss vernon." "you shall have them all in a family-piece, at full length--the favour is too easily granted to be refused. percie, the son and heir, has more of the sot than of the gamekeeper, bully, horse-jockey, or fool--my precious thornie is more of the bully than the sot, gamekeeper, jockey, or fool--john, who sleeps whole weeks amongst the hills, has most of the gamekeeper--the jockey is powerful with dickon, who rides two hundred miles by day and night to be bought and sold at a horse-race--and the fool predominates so much over wilfred's other qualities, that he may be termed a fool positive." "a goodly collection, miss vernon, and the individual varieties belong to a most interesting species. but is there no room on the canvas for sir hildebrand?" "i love my uncle," was her reply: "i owe him some kindness (such it was meant for at least), and i will leave you to draw his picture yourself, when you know him better." "come," thought i to myself, "i am glad there is some forbearance. after all, who would have looked for such bitter satire from a creature so young, and so exquisitely beautiful?" "you are thinking of me," she said, bending her dark eyes on me, as if she meant to pierce through my very soul. "i certainly was," i replied, with some embarrassment at the determined suddenness of the question, and then, endeavouring to give a complimentary turn to my frank avowal--"how is it possible i should think of anything else, seated as i have the happiness to be?" she smiled with such an expression of concentrated haughtiness as she alone could have thrown into her countenance. "i must inform you at once, mr. osbaldistone, that compliments are entirely lost upon me; do not, therefore, throw away your pretty sayings--they serve fine gentlemen who travel in the country, instead of the toys, beads, and bracelets, which navigators carry to propitiate the savage inhabitants of newly-discovered lands. do not exhaust your stock in trade;--you will find natives in northumberland to whom your fine things will recommend you--on me they would be utterly thrown away, for i happen to know their real value." i was silenced and confounded. "you remind me at this moment," said the young lady, resuming her lively and indifferent manner, "of the fairy tale, where the man finds all the money which he had carried to market suddenly changed into pieces of slate. i have cried down and ruined your whole stock of complimentary discourse by one unlucky observation. but come, never mind it--you are belied, mr. osbaldistone, unless you have much better conversation than these _fadeurs,_ which every gentleman with a toupet thinks himself obliged to recite to an unfortunate girl, merely because she is dressed in silk and gauze, while he wears superfine cloth with embroidery. your natural paces, as any of my five cousins might say, are far preferable to your complimentary amble. endeavour to forget my unlucky sex; call me tom vernon, if you have a mind, but speak to me as you would to a friend and companion; you have no idea how much i shall like you." "that would be a bribe indeed," returned i. "again!" replied miss vernon, holding up her finger; "i told you i would not bear the shadow of a compliment. and now, when you have pledged my uncle, who threatens you with what he calls a brimmer, i will tell you what you think of me." the bumper being pledged by me, as a dutiful nephew, and some other general intercourse of the table having taken place, the continued and business-like clang of knives and forks, and the devotion of cousin thorncliff on my right hand, and cousin dickon, who sate on miss vernon's left, to the huge quantities of meat with which they heaped their plates, made them serve as two occasional partitions, separating us from the rest of the company, and leaving us to our _tete-a-tete._ "and now," said i, "give me leave to ask you frankly, miss vernon, what you suppose i am thinking of you!--i could tell you what i really _do_ think, but you have interdicted praise." "i do not want your assistance. i am conjuror enough to tell your thoughts without it. you need not open the casement of your bosom; i see through it. you think me a strange bold girl, half coquette, half romp; desirous of attracting attention by the freedom of her manners and loudness of her conversation, because she is ignorant of what the spectator calls the softer graces of the sex; and perhaps you think i have some particular plan of storming you into admiration. i should be sorry to shock your self-opinion, but you were never more mistaken. all the confidence i have reposed in you, i would have given as readily to your father, if i thought he could have understood me. i am in this happy family as much secluded from intelligent listeners as sancho in the sierra morena, and when opportunity offers, i must speak or die. i assure you i would not have told you a word of all this curious intelligence, had i cared a pin who knew it or knew it not." "it is very cruel in you, miss vernon, to take away all particular marks of favour from your communications, but i must receive them on your own terms.--you have not included mr. rashleigh osbaldistone in your domestic sketches." she shrunk, i thought, at this remark, and hastily answered, in a much lower tone, "not a word of rashleigh! his ears are so acute when his selfishness is interested, that the sounds would reach him even through the mass of thorncliff's person, stuffed as it is with beef, venison-pasty, and pudding." "yes," i replied; "but peeping past the living screen which divides us, before i put the question, i perceived that mr. rashleigh's chair was empty--he has left the table." "i would not have you be too sure of that," miss vernon replied. "take my advice, and when you speak of rashleigh, get up to the top of otterscope-hill, where you can see for twenty miles round you in every direction--stand on the very peak, and speak in whispers; and, after all, don't be too sure that the bird of the air will not carry the matter, rashleigh has been my tutor for four years; we are mutually tired of each other, and we shall heartily rejoice at our approaching separation." "mr. rashleigh leaves osbaldistone hall, then?" "yes, in a few days;--did you not know that?--your father must keep his resolutions much more secret than sir hildebrand. why, when my uncle was informed that you were to be his guest for some time, and that your father desired to have one of his hopeful sons to fill up the lucrative situation in his counting-house which was vacant by your obstinacy, mr. francis, the good knight held a _cour ple'nie're_ of all his family, including the butler, housekeeper, and gamekeeper. this reverend assembly of the peers and household officers of osbaldistone hall was not convoked, as you may suppose, to elect your substitute, because, as rashleigh alone possessed more arithmetic than was necessary to calculate the odds on a fighting cock, none but he could be supposed qualified for the situation. but some solemn sanction was necessary for transforming rashleigh's destination from starving as a catholic priest to thriving as a wealthy banker; and it was not without some reluctance that the acquiescence of the assembly was obtained to such an act of degradation." "i can conceive the scruples--but how were they got over?" "by the general wish, i believe, to get rashleigh out of the house," replied miss vernon. "although youngest of the family, he has somehow or other got the entire management of all the others; and every one is sensible of the subjection, though they cannot shake it off. if any one opposes him, he is sure to rue having done so before the year goes about; and if you do him a very important service, you may rue it still more." "at that rate," answered i, smiling, "i should look about me; for i have been the cause, however unintentionally, of his change of situation." "yes; and whether he regards it as an advantage or disadvantage, he will owe you a grudge for it--but here comes cheese, radishes, and a bumper to church and king, the hint for chaplains and ladies to disappear; and i, the sole representative of womanhood at osbaldistone hall, retreat, as in duty bound." she vanished as she spoke, leaving me in astonishment at the mingled character of shrewdness, audacity, and frankness, which her conversation displayed. i despair conveying to you the least idea of her manner, although i have, as nearly as i can remember, imitated her language. in fact, there was a mixture of untaught simplicity, as well as native shrewdness and haughty boldness, in her manner, and all were modified and recommended by the play of the most beautiful features i had ever beheld. it is not to be thought that, however strange and uncommon i might think her liberal and unreserved communications, a young man of two-and-twenty was likely to be severely critical on a beautiful girl of eighteen, for not observing a proper distance towards him. on the contrary, i was equally diverted and flattered by miss vernon's confidence, and that notwithstanding her declaration of its being conferred on me solely because i was the first auditor who occurred, of intelligence enough to comprehend it. with the presumption of my age, certainly not diminished by my residence in france, i imagined that well-formed features, and a handsome person, both which i conceived myself to possess, were not unsuitable qualifications for the confidant of a young beauty. my vanity thus enlisted in miss vernon's behalf, i was far from judging her with severity, merely for a frankness which i supposed was in some degree justified by my own personal merit; and the feelings of partiality, which her beauty, and the singularity of her situation, were of themselves calculated to excite, were enhanced by my opinion of her penetration and judgment in her choice of a friend. after miss vernon quitted the apartment, the bottle circulated, or rather flew, around the table in unceasing revolution. my foreign education had given me a distaste to intemperance, then and yet too common a vice among my countrymen. the conversation which seasoned such orgies was as little to my taste, and if anything could render it more disgusting, it was the relationship of the company. i therefore seized a lucky opportunity, and made my escape through a side door, leading i knew not whither, rather than endure any longer the sight of father and sons practising the same degrading intemperance, and holding the same coarse and disgusting conversation. i was pursued, of course, as i had expected, to be reclaimed by force, as a deserter from the shrine of bacchus. when i heard the whoop and hollo, and the tramp of the heavy boots of my pursuers on the winding stair which i was descending, i plainly foresaw i should be overtaken unless i could get into the open air. i therefore threw open a casement in the staircase, which looked into an old-fashioned garden, and as the height did not exceed six feet, i jumped out without hesitation, and soon heard far behind the "hey whoop! stole away! stole away!" of my baffled pursuers. i ran down one alley, walked fast up another; and then, conceiving myself out of all danger of pursuit, i slackened my pace into a quiet stroll, enjoying the cool air which the heat of the wine i had been obliged to swallow, as well as that of my rapid retreat, rendered doubly grateful. as i sauntered on, i found the gardener hard at his evening employment, and saluted him, as i paused to look at his work. "good even, my friend." "gude e'en--gude e'en t'ye," answered the man, without looking up, and in a tone which at once indicated his northern extraction. "fine weather for your work, my friend." "it's no that muckle to be compleened o'," answered the man, with that limited degree of praise which gardeners and farmers usually bestow on the very best weather. then raising his head, as if to see who spoke to him, he touched his scotch bonnet with an air of respect, as he observed, "eh, gude safe us!--it's a sight for sair een, to see a gold-laced jeistiecor in the ha'garden sae late at e'en." "a gold-laced what, my good friend?" "ou, a jeistiecor*--that's a jacket like your ain, there. they * perhaps from the french _juste-au-corps._ hae other things to do wi' them up yonder--unbuttoning them to make room for the beef and the bag-puddings, and the claret-wine, nae doubt--that's the ordinary for evening lecture on this side the border." "there's no such plenty of good cheer in your country, my good friend," i replied, "as to tempt you to sit so late at it." "hout, sir, ye ken little about scotland; it's no for want of gude vivers--the best of fish, flesh, and fowl hae we, by sybos, ingans, turneeps, and other garden fruit. but we hae mense and discretion, and are moderate of our mouths;--but here, frae the kitchen to the ha', it's fill and fetch mair, frae the tae end of the four-and-twenty till the tother. even their fast days--they ca' it fasting when they hae the best o' sea-fish frae hartlepool and sunderland by land carriage, forbye trouts, grilses, salmon, and a' the lave o't, and so they make their very fasting a kind of luxury and abomination; and then the awfu' masses and matins of the puir deceived souls--but i shouldna speak about them, for your honour will be a roman, i'se warrant, like the lave." "not i, my friend; i was bred an english presbyterian, or dissenter." "the right hand of fellowship to your honour, then," quoth the gardener, with as much alacrity as his hard features were capable of expressing, and, as if to show that his good-will did not rest on words, he plucked forth a huge horn snuff-box, or mull, as he called it, and proffered a pinch with a most fraternal grin. having accepted his courtesy, i asked him if he had been long a domestic at osbaldistone hall. "i have been fighting with wild beasts at ephesus," said he, looking towards the building, "for the best part of these four-and-twenty years, as sure as my name's andrew fairservice." "but, my excellent friend, andrew fairservice, if your religion and your temperance are so much offended by roman rituals and southern hospitality, it seems to me that you must have been putting yourself to an unnecessary penance all this while, and that you might have found a service where they eat less, and are more orthodox in their worship. i dare say it cannot be want of skill which prevented your being placed more to your satisfaction." "it disna become me to speak to the point of my qualifications," said andrew, looking round him with great complacency; "but nae doubt i should understand my trade of horticulture, seeing i was bred in the parish of dreepdaily, where they raise lang-kale under glass, and force the early nettles for their spring kale. and, to speak truth, i hae been flitting every term these four-and-twenty years; but when the time comes, there's aye something to saw that i would like to see sawn,--or something to maw that i would like to see mawn,--or something to ripe that i would like to see ripen,--and sae i e'en daiker on wi' the family frae year's end to year's end. and i wad say for certain, that i am gaun to quit at cannlemas, only i was just as positive on it twenty years syne, and i find mysell still turning up the mouls here, for a' that. forbye that, to tell your honour the evendown truth, there's nae better place ever offered to andrew. but if your honour wad wush me to ony place where i wad hear pure doctrine, and hae a free cow's grass, and a cot, and a yard, and mair than ten punds of annual fee, and where there's nae leddy about the town to count the apples, i'se hold mysell muckle indebted t'ye." "bravo, andrew! i perceive you'll lose no preferment for want of asking patronage." "i canna see what for i should," replied andrew; "it's no a generation to wait till ane's worth's discovered, i trow." "but you are no friend, i observe, to the ladies." "na, by my troth, i keep up the first gardener's quarrel to them. they're fasheous bargains--aye crying for apricocks, pears, plums, and apples, summer and winter, without distinction o' seasons; but we hae nae slices o' the spare rib here, be praised for't! except auld martha, and she's weel eneugh pleased wi' the freedom o' the berry-bushes to her sister's weans, when they come to drink tea in a holiday in the housekeeper's room, and wi' a wheen codlings now and then for her ain private supper." "you forget your young mistress." "what mistress do i forget?--whae's that?" "your young mistress, miss vernon." "what! the lassie vernon?--she's nae mistress o' mine, man. i wish she was her ain mistress; and i wish she mayna be some other body's mistress or it's lang--she's a wild slip that." "indeed!" said i, more interested than i cared to own to myself, or to show to the fellow--"why, andrew, you know all the secrets of this family." "if i ken them, i can keep them," said andrew; "they winna work in my wame like harm in a barrel, i'se warrant ye. miss die is--but it's neither beef nor brose o' mine." and he began to dig with a great semblance of assiduity. "what is miss vernon, andrew? i am a friend of the family, and should like to know." "other than a gude ane, i'm fearing," said andrew, closing one eye hard, and shaking his head with a grave and mysterious look--"something glee'd--your honour understands me?" "i cannot say i do," said i, "andrew; but i should like to hear you explain yourself;" and therewithal i slipped a crown-piece into andrew's horn-hard hand. the touch of the silver made him grin a ghastly smile, as he nodded slowly, and thrust it into his breeches pocket; and then, like a man who well understood that there was value to be returned, stood up, and rested his arms on his spade, with his features composed into the most important gravity, as for some serious communication. "ye maun ken, then, young gentleman, since it imports you to know, that miss vernon is"-- here breaking off, he sucked in both his cheeks, till his lantern jaws and long chin assumed the appearance of a pair of nut-crackers; winked hard once more, frowned, shook his head, and seemed to think his physiognomy had completed the information which his tongue had not fully told. "good god!" said i--"so young, so beautiful, so early lost!" "troth ye may say sae--she's in a manner lost, body and saul; forby being a papist, i'se uphaud her for"--and his northern caution prevailed, and he was again silent. "for what, sir?" said i sternly. "i insist on knowing the plain meaning of all this." "on, just for the bitterest jacobite in the haill shire." "pshaw! a jacobite?--is that all?" andrew looked at me with some astonishment, at hearing his information treated so lightly; and then muttering, "aweel, it's the warst thing i ken aboot the lassie, howsoe'er," he resumed his spade, like the king of the vandals, in marmontel's late novel. chapter seventh. _bardolph._--the sheriff, with a monstrous watch, is at the door. henry iv. _first part._ i found out with some difficulty the apartment which was destined for my accommodation; and having secured myself the necessary good-will and attention from my uncle's domestics, by using the means they were most capable of comprehending, i secluded myself there for the remainder of the evening, conjecturing, from the fair way in which i had left my new relatives, as well as from the distant noise which continued to echo from the stone-hall (as their banqueting-room was called), that they were not likely to be fitting company for a sober man. "what could my father mean by sending me to be an inmate in this strange family?" was my first and most natural reflection. my uncle, it was plain, received me as one who was to make some stay with him, and his rude hospitality rendered him as indifferent as king hal to the number of those who fed at his cost. but it was plain my presence or absence would be of as little importance in his eyes as that of one of his blue-coated serving-men. my cousins were mere cubs, in whose company i might, if i liked it, unlearn whatever decent manners, or elegant accomplishments, i had acquired, but where i could attain no information beyond what regarded worming dogs, rowelling horses, and following foxes. i could only imagine one reason, which was probably the true one. my father considered the life which was led at osbaldistone hall as the natural and inevitable pursuits of all country gentlemen, and he was desirous, by giving me an opportunity of seeing that with which he knew i should be disgusted, to reconcile me, if possible, to take an active share in his own business. in the meantime, he would take rashleigh osbaldistone into the counting-house. but he had an hundred modes of providing for him, and that advantageously, whenever he chose to get rid of him. so that, although i did feel a certain qualm of conscience at having been the means of introducing rashleigh, being such as he was described by miss vernon, into my father's business--perhaps into his confidence--i subdued it by the reflection that my father was complete master of his own affairs--a man not to be imposed upon, or influenced by any one--and that all i knew to the young gentleman's prejudice was through the medium of a singular and giddy girl, whose communications were made with an injudicious frankness, which might warrant me in supposing her conclusions had been hastily or inaccurately formed. then my mind naturally turned to miss vernon herself; her extreme beauty; her very peculiar situation, relying solely upon her reflections, and her own spirit, for guidance and protection; and her whole character offering that variety and spirit which piques our curiosity, and engages our attention in spite of ourselves. i had sense enough to consider the neighbourhood of this singular young lady, and the chance of our being thrown into very close and frequent intercourse, as adding to the dangers, while it relieved the dulness, of osbaldistone hall; but i could not, with the fullest exertion of my prudence, prevail upon myself to regret excessively this new and particular hazard to which i was to be exposed. this scruple i also settled as young men settle most difficulties of the kind--i would be very cautious, always on my guard, consider miss vernon rather as a companion than an intimate; and all would do well enough. with these reflections i fell asleep, miss vernon, of course, forming the last subject of my contemplation. whether i dreamed of her or not, i cannot satisfy you, for i was tired and slept soundly. but she was the first person i thought of in the morning, when waked at dawn by the cheerful notes of the hunting horn. to start up, and direct my horse to be saddled, was my first movement; and in a few minutes i was in the court-yard, where men, dogs, and horses, were in full preparation. my uncle, who, perhaps, was not entitled to expect a very alert sportsman in his nephew, bred as he had been in foreign parts, seemed rather surprised to see me, and i thought his morning salutation wanted something of the hearty and hospitable tone which distinguished his first welcome. "art there, lad?--ay, youth's aye rathe--but look to thysell--mind the old song, lad-- he that gallops his horse on blackstone edge may chance to catch a fall." i believe there are few young men, and those very sturdy moralists, who would not rather be taxed with some moral peccadillo than with want of knowledge in horsemanship. as i was by no means deficient either in skill or courage, i resented my uncle's insinuation accordingly, and assured him he would find me up with the hounds. "i doubtna, lad," was his reply; "thou'rt a rank rider, i'se warrant thee--but take heed. thy father sent thee here to me to be bitted, and i doubt i must ride thee on the curb, or we'll hae some one to ride thee on the halter, if i takena the better heed." as this speech was totally unintelligible to me--as, besides, it did not seem to be delivered for my use, or benefit, but was spoken as it were aside, and as if expressing aloud something which was passing through the mind of my much-honoured uncle, i concluded it must either refer to my desertion of the bottle on the preceding evening, or that my uncle's morning hours being a little discomposed by the revels of the night before, his temper had suffered in proportion. i only made the passing reflection, that if he played the ungracious landlord, i would remain the shorter while his guest, and then hastened to salute miss vernon, who advanced cordially to meet me. some show of greeting also passed between my cousins and me; but as i saw them maliciously bent upon criticising my dress and accoutrements, from the cap to the stirrup-irons, and sneering at whatever had a new or foreign appearance, i exempted myself from the task of paying them much attention; and assuming, in requital of their grins and whispers, an air of the utmost indifference and contempt, i attached myself to miss vernon, as the only person in the party whom i could regard as a suitable companion. by her side, therefore, we sallied forth to the destined cover, which was a dingle or copse on the side of an extensive common. as we rode thither, i observed to diana, "that i did not see my cousin rashleigh in the field;" to which she replied,--"o no--he's a mighty hunter, but it's after the fashion of nimrod, and his game is man." the dogs now brushed into the cover, with the appropriate encouragement from the hunters--all was business, bustle, and activity. my cousins were soon too much interested in the business of the morning to take any further notice of me, unless that i overheard dickon the horse-jockey whisper to wilfred the fool--"look thou, an our french cousin be nat off a' first burst." to which wilfred answered, "like enow, for he has a queer outlandish binding on's castor." thorncliff, however, who in his rude way seemed not absolutely insensible to the beauty of his kinswoman, appeared determined to keep us company more closely than his brothers,--perhaps to watch what passed betwixt miss vernon and me--perhaps to enjoy my expected mishaps in the chase. in the last particular he was disappointed. after beating in vain for the greater part of the morning, a fox was at length found, who led us a chase of two hours, in the course of which, notwithstanding the ill-omened french binding upon my hat, i sustained my character as a horseman to the admiration of my uncle and miss vernon, and the secret disappointment of those who expected me to disgrace it. reynard, however, proved too wily for his pursuers, and the hounds were at fault. i could at this time observe in miss vernon's manner an impatience of the close attendance which we received from thorncliff osbaldistone; and, as that active-spirited young lady never hesitated at taking the readiest means to gratify any wish of the moment, she said to him, in a tone of reproach--"i wonder, thornie, what keeps you dangling at my horse's crupper all this morning, when you know the earths above woolverton-mill are not stopt." "i know no such an thing then, miss die, for the miller swore himself as black as night, that he stopt them at twelve o'clock midnight that was." "o fie upon you, thornie! would you trust to a miller's word?--and these earths, too, where we lost the fox three times this season! and you on your grey mare, that can gallop there and back in ten minutes!" "well, miss die, i'se go to woolverton then, and if the earths are not stopt, i'se raddle dick the miller's bones for him." "do, my dear thornie; horsewhip the rascal to purpose--via--fly away, and about it;"--thorncliff went off at the gallop--"or get horsewhipt yourself, which will serve my purpose just as well.--i must teach them all discipline and obedience to the word of command. i am raising a regiment, you must know. thornie shall be my sergeant-major, dickon my riding-master, and wilfred, with his deep dub-a-dub tones, that speak but three syllables at a time, my kettle-drummer." "and rashleigh?" "rashleigh shall be my scout-master." "and will you find no employment for me, most lovely colonel?" "you shall have the choice of being pay-master, or plunder-master, to the corps. but see how the dogs puzzle about there. come, mr. frank, the scent's cold; they won't recover it there this while; follow me, i have a view to show you." and in fact, she cantered up to the top of a gentle hill, commanding an extensive prospect. casting her eyes around, to see that no one was near us, she drew up her horse beneath a few birch-trees, which screened us from the rest of the hunting-field--"do you see yon peaked, brown, heathy hill, having something like a whitish speck upon the side?" "terminating that long ridge of broken moorish uplands?--i see it distinctly." "that whitish speck is a rock called hawkesmore-crag, and hawkesmore-crag is in scotland." "indeed! i did not think we had been so near scotland." "it is so, i assure you, and your horse will carry you there in two hours." "i shall hardly give him the trouble; why, the distance must be eighteen miles as the crow flies." "you may have my mare, if you think her less blown--i say, that in two hours you may be in scotland." "and i say, that i have so little desire to be there, that if my horse's head were over the border, i would not give his tail the trouble of following. what should i do in scotland?" "provide for your safety, if i must speak plainly. do you understand me now, mr. frank?" "not a whit; you are more and more oracular." "then, on my word, you either mistrust me most unjustly, and are a better dissembler than rashleigh osbaldistone himself, or you know nothing of what is imputed to you; and then no wonder you stare at me in that grave manner, which i can scarce see without laughing." "upon my word of honour, miss vernon," said i, with an impatient feeling of her childish disposition to mirth, "i have not the most distant conception of what you mean. i am happy to afford you any subject of amusement, but i am quite ignorant in what it consists." "nay, there's no sound jest after all," said the young lady, composing herself; "only one looks so very ridiculous when he is fairly perplexed. but the matter is serious enough. do you know one moray, or morris, or some such name?" "not that i can at present recollect." "think a moment. did you not lately travel with somebody of such a name?" "the only man with whom i travelled for any length of time was a fellow whose soul seemed to lie in his portmanteau." "then it was like the soul of the licentiate pedro garcias, which lay among the ducats in his leathern purse. that man has been robbed, and he has lodged an information against you, as connected with the violence done to him." "you jest, miss vernon!" "i do not, i assure you--the thing is an absolute fact." "and do you," said i, with strong indignation, which i did not attempt to suppress, "do you suppose me capable of meriting such a charge?" "you would call me out for it, i suppose, had i the advantage of being a man--you may do so as it is, if you like it--i can shoot flying, as well as leap a five-barred gate." "and are colonel of a regiment of horse besides," replied i, reflecting how idle it was to be angry with her--"but do explain the present jest to me." "there's no jest whatever," said diana; "you are accused of robbing this man, and my uncle believes it as well as i did." "upon my honour, i am greatly obliged to my friends for their good opinion!" "now do not, if you can help it, snort, and stare, and snuff the wind, and look so exceedingly like a startled horse--there's no such offence as you suppose--you are not charged with any petty larceny or vulgar felony--by no means. this fellow was carrying money from government, both specie and bills, to pay the troops in the north; and it is said he has been also robbed of some despatches of great consequence." "and so it is high treason, then, and not simple robbery, of which i am accused!" "certainly--which, you know, has been in all ages accounted the crime of a gentleman. you will find plenty in this country, and one not far from your elbow, who think it a merit to distress the hanoverian government by every means possible." "neither my politics nor my morals, miss vernon, are of a description so accommodating." "i really begin to believe that you are a presbyterian and hanoverian in good earnest. but what do you propose to do?" "instantly to refute this atrocious calumny.--before whom," i asked, "was this extraordinary accusation laid." "before old squire inglewood, who had sufficient unwillingness to receive it. he sent tidings to my uncle, i suppose, that he might smuggle you away into scotland, out of reach of the warrant. but my uncle is sensible that his religion and old predilections render him obnoxious to government, and that, were he caught playing booty, he would be disarmed, and probably dismounted (which would be the worse evil of the two), as a jacobite, papist, and suspected person."* * on occasions of public alarm, in the beginning of the eighteenth century, the horses of the catholics were often seized upon, as they were always supposed to be on the eve of rising in rebellion. "i can conceive that, sooner than lose his hunters, he would give up his nephew." "his nephew, nieces, sons--daughters, if he had them, and whole generation," said diana;--"therefore trust not to him, even for a single moment, but make the best of your way before they can serve the warrant." "that i shall certainly do; but it shall be to the house of this squire inglewood--which way does it lie?" "about five miles off, in the low ground, behind yonder plantations--you may see the tower of the clock-house." "i will be there in a few minutes," said i, putting my horse in motion. "and i will go with you, and show you the way," said diana, putting her palfrey also to the trot. "do not think of it, miss vernon," i replied. "it is not--permit me the freedom of a friend--it is not proper, scarcely even delicate, in you to go with me on such an errand as i am now upon." "i understand your meaning," said miss vernon, a slight blush crossing her haughty brow;--"it is plainly spoken;" and after a moment's pause she added, "and i believe kindly meant." "it is indeed, miss vernon. can you think me insensible of the interest you show me, or ungrateful for it?" said i, with even more earnestness than i could have wished to express. "yours is meant for true kindness, shown best at the hour of need. but i must not, for your own sake--for the chance of misconstruction--suffer you to pursue the dictates of your generosity; this is so public an occasion--it is almost like venturing into an open court of justice." "and if it were not almost, but altogether entering into an open court of justice, do you think i would not go there if i thought it right, and wished to protect a friend? you have no one to stand by you--you are a stranger; and here, in the outskirts of the kingdom, country justices do odd things. my uncle has no desire to embroil himself in your affair; rashleigh is absent, and were he here, there is no knowing which side he might take; the rest are all more stupid and brutal one than another. i will go with you, and i do not fear being able to serve you. i am no fine lady, to be terrified to death with law-books, hard words, or big wigs." "but my dear miss vernon"-- "but my dear mr. francis, be patient and quiet, and let me take my own way; for when i take the bit between my teeth, there is no bridle will stop me." flattered with the interest so lovely a creature seemed to take in my fate, yet vexed at the ridiculous appearance i should make, by carrying a girl of eighteen along with me as an advocate, and seriously concerned for the misconstruction to which her motives might be exposed, i endeavoured to combat her resolution to accompany me to squire inglewood's. the self-willed girl told me roundly, that my dissuasions were absolutely in vain; that she was a true vernon, whom no consideration, not even that of being able to do but little to assist him, should induce to abandon a friend in distress; and that all i could say on the subject might be very well for pretty, well-educated, well-behaved misses from a town boarding-school, but did not apply to her, who was accustomed to mind nobody's opinion but her own. while she spoke thus, we were advancing hastily towards inglewood place, while, as if to divert me from the task of further remonstrance, she drew a ludicrous picture of the magistrate and his clerk.--inglewood was--according to her description--a white-washed jacobite; that is, one who, having been long a non-juror, like most of the other gentlemen of the country, had lately qualified himself to act as a justice, by taking the oaths to government. "he had done so," she said, "in compliance with the urgent request of most of his brother squires, who saw, with regret, that the palladium of silvan sport, the game-laws, were likely to fall into disuse for want of a magistrate who would enforce them; the nearest acting justice being the mayor of newcastle, and he, as being rather inclined to the consumption of the game when properly dressed, than to its preservation when alive, was more partial, of course, to the cause of the poacher than of the sportsman. resolving, therefore, that it was expedient some one of their number should sacrifice the scruples of jacobitical loyalty to the good of the community, the northumbrian country gentlemen imposed the duty on inglewood, who, being very inert in most of his feelings and sentiments, might, they thought, comply with any political creed without much repugnance. having thus procured the body of justice, they proceeded," continued miss vernon, "to attach to it a clerk, by way of soul, to direct and animate its movements. accordingly they got a sharp newcastle attorney, called jobson, who, to vary my metaphor, finds it a good thing enough to retail justice at the sign of squire inglewood, and, as his own emoluments depend on the quantity of business which he transacts, he hooks in his principal for a great deal more employment in the justice line than the honest squire had ever bargained for; so that no apple-wife within the circuit of ten miles can settle her account with a costermonger without an audience of the reluctant justice and his alert clerk, mr. joseph jobson. but the most ridiculous scenes occur when affairs come before him, like our business of to-day, having any colouring of politics. mr. joseph jobson (for which, no doubt, he has his own very sufficient reasons) is a prodigious zealot for the protestant religion, and a great friend to the present establishment in church and state. now, his principal, retaining a sort of instinctive attachment to the opinions which he professed openly until he relaxed his political creed with the patriotic view of enforcing the law against unauthorized destroyers of black-game, grouse, partridges, and hares, is peculiarly embarrassed when the zeal of his assistant involves him in judicial proceedings connected with his earlier faith; and, instead of seconding his zeal, he seldom fails to oppose to it a double dose of indolence and lack of exertion. and this inactivity does not by any means arise from actual stupidity. on the contrary, for one whose principal delight is in eating and drinking, he is an alert, joyous, and lively old soul, which makes his assumed dulness the more diverting. so you may see jobson on such occasions, like a bit of a broken down blood-tit condemned to drag an overloaded cart, puffing, strutting, and spluttering, to get the justice put in motion, while, though the wheels groan, creak, and revolve slowly, the great and preponderating weight of the vehicle fairly frustrates the efforts of the willing quadruped, and prevents its being brought into a state of actual progression. nay more, the unfortunate pony, i understand, has been heard to complain that this same car of justice, which he finds it so hard to put in motion on some occasions, can on others run fast enough down hill of its own accord, dragging his reluctant self backwards along with it, when anything can be done of service to squire inglewood's quondam friends. and then mr. jobson talks big about reporting his principal to the secretary of state for the home department, if it were not for his particular regard and friendship for mr. inglewood and his family." as miss vernon concluded this whimsical description, we found ourselves in front of inglewood place, a handsome, though old-fashioned building. which showed the consequence of the family. chapter eighth. "sir," quoth the lawyer, "not to flatter ye, you have as good and fair a battery as heart could wish, and need not shame the proudest man alive to claim." butler. our horses were taken by a servant in sir hildebrand's livery, whom we found in the court-yard, and we entered the house. in the entrance-hall i was somewhat surprised, and my fair companion still more so, when we met rashleigh osbaldistone, who could not help showing equal wonder at our rencontre. "rashleigh," said miss vernon, without giving him time to ask any question, "you have heard of mr. francis osbaldistone's affair, and you have been talking to the justice about it?" "certainly," said rashleigh, composedly--"it has been my business here.-- i have been endeavouring," he said, with a bow to me, "to render my cousin what service i can. but i am sorry to meet him here." "as a friend and relation, mr. osbaldistone, you ought to have been sorry to have met me anywhere else, at a time when the charge of my reputation required me to be on this spot as soon as possible." "true; but judging from what my father said, i should have supposed a short retreat into scotland--just till matters should be smoothed over in a quiet way"-- i answered with warmth, "that i had no prudential measures to observe, and desired to have nothing smoothed over;--on the contrary, i was come to inquire into a rascally calumny, which i was determined to probe to the bottom." "mr. francis osbaldistone is an innocent man, rashleigh," said miss vernon, "and he demands an investigation of the charge against him, and i intend to support him in it." "you do, my pretty cousin?--i should think, now, mr. francis osbaldistone was likely to be as effectually, and rather more delicately, supported by my presence than by yours." "oh, certainly; but two heads are better than one, you know." "especially such a head as yours, my pretty die," advancing and taking her hand with a familiar fondness, which made me think him fifty times uglier than nature had made him. she led him, however, a few steps aside; they conversed in an under voice, and she appeared to insist upon some request which he was unwilling or unable to comply with. i never saw so strong a contrast betwixt the expression of two faces. miss vernon's, from being earnest, became angry; her eyes and cheeks became more animated, her colour mounted, she clenched her little hand, and stamping on the ground with her tiny foot, seemed to listen with a mixture of contempt and indignation to the apologies, which, from his look of civil deference, his composed and respectful smile, his body rather drawing back than advanced, and other signs of look and person, i concluded him to be pouring out at her feet. at length she flung away from him, with "i _will_ have it so." "it is not in my power--there is no possibility of it.--would you think it, mr. osbaldistone?" said he, addressing me-- "you are not mad?" said she, interrupting him. "would you think it?" said he, without attending to her hint--"miss vernon insists, not only that i know your innocence (of which, indeed, it is impossible for any one to be more convinced), but that i must also be acquainted with the real perpetrators of the outrage on this fellow--if indeed such an outrage has been committed. is this reasonable, mr. osbaldistone?" "i will not allow any appeal to mr. osbaldistone, rashleigh," said the young lady; "he does not know, as i do, the incredible extent and accuracy of your information on all points." "as i am a gentleman, you do me more honour than i deserve." "justice, rashleigh--only justice:--and it is only justice which i expect at your hands." "you are a tyrant, diana," he answered, with a sort of sigh--"a capricious tyrant, and rule your friends with a rod of iron. still, however, it shall be as you desire. but you ought not to be here--you know you ought not;--you must return with me." then turning from diana, who seemed to stand undecided, he came up to me in the most friendly manner, and said, "do not doubt my interest in what regards you, mr. osbaldistone. if i leave you just at this moment, it is only to act for your advantage. but you must use your influence with your cousin to return; her presence cannot serve you, and must prejudice herself." "i assure you, sir," i replied, "you cannot be more convinced of this than i; i have urged miss vernon's return as anxiously as she would permit me to do." "i have thought on it," said miss vernon after a pause, "and i will not go till i see you safe out of the hands of the philistines. cousin rashleigh, i dare say, means well; but he and i know each other well. rashleigh, i will not go;--i know," she added, in a more soothing tone, "my being here will give you more motive for speed and exertion." "stay then, rash, obstinate girl," said rashleigh; "you know but too well to whom you trust;" and hastening out of the hall, we heard his horse's feet a minute afterwards in rapid motion. "thank heaven he is gone!" said diana. "and now let us seek out the justice." "had we not better call a servant?" "oh, by no means; i know the way to his den--we must burst on him suddenly--follow me." i did follow her accordingly, as she tripped up a few gloomy steps, traversed a twilight passage, and entered a sort of ante-room, hung round with old maps, architectural elevations, and genealogical trees. a pair of folding-doors opened from this into mr. inglewood's sitting apartment, from which was heard the fag-end of an old ditty, chanted by a voice which had been in its day fit for a jolly bottle-song. "o, in skipton-in-craven is never a haven, but many a day foul weather; and he that would say a pretty girl nay, i wish for his cravat a tether." "heyday!" said miss vernon, "the genial justice must have dined already--i did not think it had been so late." it was even so. mr. inglewood's appetite having been sharpened by his official investigations, he had antedated his meridian repast, having dined at twelve instead of one o'clock, then the general dining hour in england. the various occurrences of the morning occasioned our arriving some time after this hour, to the justice the most important of the four-and-twenty, and he had not neglected the interval. "stay you here," said diana. "i know the house, and i will call a servant; your sudden appearance might startle the old gentleman even to choking;" and she escaped from me, leaving me uncertain whether i ought to advance or retreat. it was impossible for me not to hear some part of what passed within the dinner apartment, and particularly several apologies for declining to sing, expressed in a dejected croaking voice, the tones of which, i conceived, were not entirely new to me. "not sing, sir? by our lady! but you must--what! you have cracked my silver-mounted cocoa-nut of sack, and tell me that you cannot sing!--sir, sack will make a cat sing, and speak too; so up with a merry stave, or trundle yourself out of my doors!--do you think you are to take up all my valuable time with your d-d declarations, and then tell me you cannot sing?" "your worship is perfectly in rule," said another voice, which, from its pert conceited accent, might be that of the cleric, "and the party must be conformable; he hath _canet_ written on his face in court hand." "up with it then," said the justice, "or by st. christopher, you shall crack the cocoa-nut full of salt-and-water, according to the statute for such effect made and provided." thus exhorted and threatened, my quondam fellow-traveller, for i could no longer doubt that he was the recusant in question, uplifted, with a voice similar to that of a criminal singing his last psalm on the scaffold, a most doleful stave to the following effect:-- "good people all, i pray give ear, a woeful story you shall hear, 'tis of a robber as stout as ever bade a true man stand and deliver. with his foodle doo fa loodle loo. "this knave, most worthy of a cord, being armed with pistol and with sword, 'twixt kensington and brentford then did boldly stop six honest men. with his foodle doo, etc. "these honest men did at brentford dine, having drank each man his pint of wine, when this bold thief, with many curses, did say, you dogs, your lives or purses. with his foodle doo," etc. i question if the honest men, whose misfortune is commemorated in this pathetic ditty, were more startled at the appearance of the bold thief than the songster was at mine; for, tired of waiting for some one to announce me, and finding my situation as a listener rather awkward, i presented myself to the company just as my friend mr. morris, for such, it seems, was his name, was uplifting the fifth stave of his doleful ballad. the high tone with which the tune started died away in a quaver of consternation on finding himself so near one whose character he supposed to be little less suspicious than that of the hero of his madrigal, and he remained silent, with a mouth gaping as if i had brought the gorgon's head in my hand. the justice, whose eyes had closed under the influence of the somniferous lullaby of the song, started up in his chair as it suddenly ceased, and stared with wonder at the unexpected addition which the company had received while his organs of sight were in abeyance. the clerk, as i conjectured him to be from his appearance, was also commoved; for, sitting opposite to mr. morris, that honest gentleman's terror communicated itself to him, though he wotted not why. [illustration: frank at judge inglewood's-- ] i broke the silence of surprise occasioned by my abrupt entrance.--"my name, mr. inglewood, is francis osbaldistone; i understand that some scoundrel has brought a complaint before you, charging me with being concerned in a loss which he says he has sustained." "sir," said the justice, somewhat peevishly, "these are matters i never enter upon after dinner;--there is a time for everything, and a justice of peace must eat as well as other folks." the goodly person of mr. inglewood, by the way, seemed by no means to have suffered by any fasts, whether in the service of the law or of religion. "i beg pardon for an ill-timed visit, sir; but as my reputation is concerned, and as the dinner appears to be concluded"-- "it is not concluded, sir," replied the magistrate; "man requires digestion as well as food, and i protest i cannot have benefit from my victuals unless i am allowed two hours of quiet leisure, intermixed with harmless mirth, and a moderate circulation of the bottle." "if your honour will forgive me," said mr. jobson, who had produced and arranged his writing implements in the brief space that our conversation afforded; "as this is a case of felony, and the gentleman seems something impatient, the charge is _contra pacem domini regis_"-- "d--n _dominie regis!_" said the impatient justice--"i hope it's no treason to say so; but it's enough to made one mad to be worried in this way. have i a moment of my life quiet for warrants, orders, directions, acts, bails, bonds, and recognisances?--i pronounce to you, mr. jobson, that i shall send you and the justiceship to the devil one of these days." "your honour will consider the dignity of the office one of the quorum and custos rotulorum, an office of which sir edward coke wisely saith, the whole christian world hath not the like of it, so it be duly executed." "well," said the justice, partly reconciled by this eulogium on the dignity of his situation, and gulping down the rest of his dissatisfaction in a huge bumper of claret, "let us to this gear then, and get rid of it as fast as we can.--here you, sir--you, morris--you, knight of the sorrowful countenance--is this mr. francis osbaldistone the gentleman whom you charge with being art and part of felony?" "i, sir?" replied morris, whose scattered wits had hardly yet reassembled themselves; "i charge nothing--i say nothing against the gentleman," "then we dismiss your complaint, sir, that's all, and a good riddance-- push about the bottle--mr. osbaldistone, help yourself." jobson, however, was determined that morris should not back out of the scrape so easily. "what do you mean, mr. morris?--here is your own declaration--the ink scarce dried--and you would retract it in this scandalous manner!" "how do i know," whispered the other in a tremulous tone, "how many rogues are in the house to back him? i have read of such things in johnson's lives of the highwaymen. i protest the door opens"-- and it did open, and diana vernon entered--"you keep fine order here, justice--not a servant to be seen or heard of." "ah!" said the justice, starting up with an alacrity which showed that he was not so engrossed by his devotions to themis or comus, as to forget what was due to beauty--"ah, ha! die vernon, the heath-bell of cheviot, and the blossom of the border, come to see how the old bachelor keeps house? art welcome, girl, as flowers in may." "a fine, open, hospitable house you do keep, justice, that must be allowed--not a soul to answer a visitor." "ah, the knaves! they reckoned themselves secure of me for a couple of hours--but why did you not come earlier?--your cousin rashleigh dined here, and ran away like a poltroon after the first bottle was out--but you have not dined--we'll have something nice and ladylike--sweet and pretty like yourself, tossed up in a trice." "i may eat a crust in the ante-room before i set out," answered miss vernon--"i have had a long ride this morning; but i can't stay long, justice--i came with my cousin, frank osbaldistone, there, and i must show him the way back again to the hall, or he'll lose himself in the wolds." "whew! sits the wind in that quarter?" inquired the justice-- "she showed him the way, she showed him the way, she showed him the way to woo. what! no luck for old fellows, then, my sweet bud of the wilderness?" "none whatever, squire inglewood; but if you will be a good kind justice, and despatch young frank's business, and let us canter home again, i'll bring my uncle to dine with you next week, and we'll expect merry doings." "and you shall find them, my pearl of the tyne--zookers, lass, i never envy these young fellows their rides and scampers, unless when you come across me. but i must not keep you just now, i suppose?--i am quite satisfied with mr. francis osbaldistone's explanation--here has been some mistake, which can be cleared at greater leisure." "pardon me, sir," said i; "but i have not heard the nature of the accusation yet." "yes, sir," said the clerk, who, at the appearance of miss vernon, had given up the matter in despair, but who picked up courage to press farther investigation on finding himself supported from a quarter whence assuredly he expected no backing--"yes, sir, and dalton saith, that he who is apprehended as a felon shall not be discharged upon any man's discretion, but shall be held either to bail or commitment, paying to the clerk of the peace the usual fees for recognisance or commitment." the justice, thus goaded on, gave me at length a few words of explanation. it seems the tricks which i had played to this man morris had made a strong impression on his imagination; for i found they had been arrayed against me in his evidence, with all the exaggerations which a timorous and heated imagination could suggest. it appeared also, that on the day he parted from me, he had been stopped on a solitary spot and eased of his beloved travelling-companion, the portmanteau, by two men, well mounted and armed, having their faces covered with vizards. one of them, he conceived, had much of my shape and air, and in a whispering conversation which took place betwixt the freebooters, he heard the other apply to him the name of osbaldistone. the declaration farther set forth, that upon inquiring into the principles of the family so named, he, the said declarant, was informed that they were of the worst description, the family, in all its members, having been papists and jacobites, as he was given to understand by the dissenting clergyman at whose house he stopped after his rencontre, since the days of william the conqueror. upon all and each of these weighty reasons, he charged me with being accessory to the felony committed upon his person; he, the said declarant, then travelling in the special employment of government, and having charge of certain important papers, and also a large sum in specie, to be paid over, according to his instructions, to certain persons of official trust and importance in scotland. having heard this extraordinary accusation, i replied to it, that the circumstances on which it was founded were such as could warrant no justice, or magistrate, in any attempt on my personal liberty. i admitted that i had practised a little upon the terrors of mr. morris, while we travelled together, but in such trifling particulars as could have excited apprehension in no one who was one whit less timorous and jealous than himself. but i added, that i had never seen him since we parted, and if that which he feared had really come upon him, i was in nowise accessory to an action so unworthy of my character and station in life. that one of the robbers was called osbaldistone, or that such a name was mentioned in the course of the conversation betwixt them, was a trifling circumstance, to which no weight was due. and concerning the disaffection alleged against me, i was willing to prove, to the satisfaction of the justice, the clerk, and even the witness himself, that i was of the same persuasion as his friend the dissenting clergyman; had been educated as a good subject in the principles of the revolution, and as such now demanded the personal protection of the laws which had been assured by that great event. the justice fidgeted, took snuff, and seemed considerably embarrassed, while mr. attorney jobson, with all the volubility of his profession, ran over the statute of the edward iii., by which justices of the peace are allowed to arrest all those whom they find by indictment or suspicion, and to put them into prison. the rogue even turned my own admissions against me, alleging, "that since i had confessedly, upon my own showing, assumed the bearing or deportment of a robber or malefactor, i had voluntarily subjected myself to the suspicions of which i complained, and brought myself within the compass of the act, having wilfully clothed my conduct with all the colour and livery of guilt." i combated both his arguments and his jargon with much indignation and scorn, and observed, "that i should, if necessary, produce the bail of my relations, which i conceived could not be refused, without subjecting the magistrate in a misdemeanour." "pardon me, my good sir--pardon me," said the insatiable clerk; "this is a case in which neither bail nor mainprize can be received, the felon who is liable to be committed on heavy grounds of suspicion, not being replevisable under the statute of the d of king edward, there being in that act an express exception of such as be charged of commandment, or force, and aid of felony done;" and he hinted that his worship would do well to remember that such were no way replevisable by common writ, nor without writ. at this period of the conversation a servant entered, and delivered a letter to mr. jobson. he had no sooner run it hastily over, than he exclaimed, with the air of one who wished to appear much vexed at the interruption, and felt the consequence attached to a man of multifarious avocations--"good god!--why, at this rate, i shall have neither time to attend to the public concerns nor my own--no rest--no quiet--i wish to heaven another gentleman in our line would settle here!" "god forbid!" said the justice in a tone of _sotto-voce_ deprecation; "some of us have enough of one of the tribe." "this is a matter of life and death, if your worship pleases." "in god's name! no more justice business, i hope," said the alarmed magistrate. "no--no," replied mr. jobson, very consequentially; "old gaffer rutledge of grime's-hill is subpoenaed for the next world; he has sent an express for dr. kill-down to put in bail--another for me to arrange his worldly affairs." "away with you, then," said mr. inglewood, hastily; "his may not be a replevisable case under the statute, you know, or mr. justice death may not like the doctor for a _main pernor,_ or bailsman." "and yet," said jobson, lingering as he moved towards the door, "if my presence here be necessary--i could make out the warrant for committal in a moment, and the constable is below--and you have heard," he said, lowering his voice, "mr. rashleigh's opinion"--the rest was lost in a whisper. the justice replied aloud, "i tell thee no, man, no--we'll do nought till thou return, man; 'tis but a four-mile ride--come, push the bottle, mr. morris--don't be cast down, mr. osbaldistone--and you, my rose of the wilderness--one cup of claret to refresh the bloom of your cheeks." diana started, as if from a reverie, in which she appeared to have been plunged while we held this discussion. "no, justice--i should be afraid of transferring the bloom to a part of my face where it would show to little advantage; but i will pledge you in a cooler beverage;" and filling a glass with water, she drank it hastily, while her hurried manner belied her assumed gaiety. i had not much leisure to make remarks upon her demeanour, however, being full of vexation at the interference of fresh obstacles to an instant examination of the disgraceful and impertinent charge which was brought against me. but there was no moving the justice to take the matter up in absence of his clerk, an incident which gave him apparently as much pleasure as a holiday to a schoolboy. he persisted in his endeavours to inspire jollity into a company, the individuals of which, whether considered with reference to each other, or to their respective situations, were by no means inclined to mirth. "come, master morris, you're not the first man that's been robbed, i trow--grieving ne'er brought back loss, man. and you, mr. frank osbaldistone, are not the first bully-boy that has said stand to a true man. there was jack winterfield, in my young days, kept the best company in the land--at horse-races and cock-fights who but he--hand and glove was i with jack. push the bottle, mr. morris, it's dry talking--many quart bumpers have i cracked, and thrown many a merry main with poor jack--good family--ready wit--quick eye--as honest a fellow, barring the deed he died for--we'll drink to his memory, gentlemen--poor jack winterfield--and since we talk of him, and of those sort of things, and since that d--d clerk of mine has taken his gibberish elsewhere, and since we're snug among ourselves, mr. osbaldistone, if you will have my best advice, i would take up this matter--the law's hard--very severe--hanged poor jack winterfield at york, despite family connections and great interest, all for easing a fat west-country grazier of the price of a few beasts--now, here is honest mr. morris, has been frightened, and so forth--d--n it, man, let the poor fellow have back his portmanteau, and end the frolic at once." morris's eyes brightened up at this suggestion, and he began to hesitate forth an assurance that he thirsted for no man's blood, when i cut the proposed accommodation short, by resenting the justice's suggestion as an insult, that went directly to suppose me guilty of the very crime which i had come to his house with the express intention of disavowing. we were in this awkward predicament when a servant, opening the door, announced, "a strange gentleman to wait upon his honour;" and the party whom he thus described entered the room without farther ceremony. [illustration: die vernon at judge inglewood's-- ] chapter ninth. one of the thieves come back again! i'll stand close, he dares not wrong me now, so near the house, and call in vain 'tis, till i see him offer it. the widow. "a stranger!" echoed the justice--"not upon business, i trust, for i'll be"-- his protestation was cut short by the answer of the man himself. "my business is of a nature somewhat onerous and particular," said my acquaintance, mr. campbell--for it was he, the very scotchman whom i had seen at northallerton--"and i must solicit your honour to give instant and heedful consideration to it.--i believe, mr. morris," he added, fixing his eye on that person with a look of peculiar firmness and almost ferocity--"i believe ye ken brawly what i am--i believe ye cannot have forgotten what passed at our last meeting on the road?" morris's jaw dropped--his countenance became the colour of tallow--his teeth chattered, and he gave visible signs of the utmost consternation. "take heart of grace, man," said campbell, "and dinna sit clattering your jaws there like a pair of castanets! i think there can be nae difficulty in your telling mr. justice, that ye have seen me of yore, and ken me to be a cavalier of fortune, and a man of honour. ye ken fu' weel ye will be some time resident in my vicinity, when i may have the power, as i will possess the inclination, to do you as good a turn." "sir--sir--i believe you to be a man of honour, and, as you say, a man of fortune. yes, mr. inglewood," he added, clearing his voice, "i really believe this gentleman to be so." "and what are this gentleman's commands with me?" said the justice, somewhat peevishly. "one man introduces another, like the rhymes in the 'house that jack built,' and i get company without either peace or conversation!" "both shall be yours, sir," answered campbell, "in a brief period of time. i come to release your mind from a piece of troublesome duty, not to make increment to it." "body o' me! then you are welcome as ever scot was to england, and that's not saying much. but get on, man--let's hear what you have got to say at once." "i presume, this gentleman," continued the north briton, "told you there was a person of the name of campbell with him, when he had the mischance to lose his valise?" "he has not mentioned such a name, from beginning to end of the matter," said the justice. "ah! i conceive--i conceive," replied mr. campbell;--"mr. morris was kindly afeared of committing a stranger into collision wi' the judicial forms of the country; but as i understand my evidence is necessary to the compurgation of one honest gentleman here, mr. francis osbaldistone, wha has been most unjustly suspected, i will dispense with the precaution. ye will therefore" (he added addressing morris with the same determined look and accent) "please tell mr. justice inglewood, whether we did not travel several miles together on the road, in consequence of your own anxious request and suggestion, reiterated ance and again, baith on the evening that we were at northallerton, and there declined by me, but afterwards accepted, when i overtook ye on the road near cloberry allers, and was prevailed on by you to resign my ain intentions of proceeding to rothbury; and, for my misfortune, to accompany you on your proposed route." "it's a melancholy truth," answered morris, holding down his head, as he gave this general assent to the long and leading question which campbell put to him, and seemed to acquiesce in the statement it contained with rueful docility. "and i presume you can also asseverate to his worship, that no man is better qualified than i am to bear testimony in this case, seeing that i was by you, and near you, constantly during the whole occurrence." "no man better qualified, certainly," said morris, with a deep and embarrassed sigh. "and why the devil did you not assist him, then," said the justice, "since, by mr. morris's account, there were but two robbers; so you were two to two, and you are both stout likely men?" "sir, if it please your worship," said campbell, "i have been all my life a man of peace and quietness, noways given to broils or batteries. mr. morris, who belongs, as i understand, or hath belonged, to his majesty's army, might have used his pleasure in resistance, he travelling, as i also understand, with a great charge of treasure; but, for me, who had but my own small peculiar to defend, and who am, moreover, a man of a pacific occupation, i was unwilling to commit myself to hazard in the matter." i looked at campbell as he muttered these words, and never recollect to have seen a more singular contrast than that between the strong daring sternness expressed in his harsh features, and the air of composed meekness and simplicity which his language assumed. there was even a slight ironical smile lurking about the corners of his mouth, which seemed, involuntarily as it were, to intimate his disdain of the quiet and peaceful character which he thought proper to assume, and which led me to entertain strange suspicions that his concern in the violence done to morris had been something very different from that of a fellow-sufferer, or even of a mere spectator. perhaps some suspicious crossed the justice's mind at the moment, for he exclaimed, as if by way of ejaculation, "body o' me! but this is a strange story." the north briton seemed to guess at what was passing in his mind; for he went on, with a change of manner and tone, dismissing from his countenance some part of the hypocritical affectation of humility which had made him obnoxious to suspicion, and saying, with a more frank and unconstrained air, "to say the truth, i am just ane o' those canny folks wha care not to fight but when they hae gotten something to fight for, which did not chance to be my predicament when i fell in wi' these loons. but that your worship may know that i am a person of good fame and character, please to cast your eye over that billet." mr. inglewood took the paper from his hand, and read, half aloud, "these are to certify, that the bearer, robert campbell of--of some place which i cannot pronounce," interjected the justice--"is a person of good lineage, and peaceable demeanour, travelling towards england on his own proper affairs, &c. &c. &c. given under our hand, at our castle of inver--invera--rara--argyle." "a slight testimonial, sir, which i thought fit to impetrate from that worthy nobleman" (here he raised his hand to his head, as if to touch his hat), "maccallum more." "maccallum who, sir?" said the justice. "whom the southern call the duke of argyle." "i know the duke of argyle very well to be a nobleman of great worth and distinction, and a true lover of his country. i was one of those that stood by him in , when he unhorsed the duke of marlborough out of his command. i wish we had more noblemen like him. he was an honest tory in those days, and hand and glove with ormond. and he has acceded to the present government, as i have done myself, for the peace and quiet of his country; for i cannot presume that great man to have been actuated, as violent folks pretend, with the fear of losing his places and regiment. his testimonial, as you call it, mr. campbell, is perfectly satisfactory; and now, what have you got to say to this matter of the robbery?" "briefly this, if it please your worship,--that mr. morris might as weel charge it against the babe yet to be born, or against myself even, as against this young gentleman, mr. osbaldistone; for i am not only free to depone that the person whom he took for him was a shorter man, and a thicker man, but also, for i chanced to obtain a glisk of his visage, as his fause-face slipped aside, that he was a man of other features and complexion than those of this young gentleman, mr. osbaldistone. and i believe," he added, turning round with a natural, yet somewhat sterner air, to mr. morris, "that the gentleman will allow i had better opportunity to take cognisance wha were present on that occasion than he, being, i believe, much the cooler o' the twa." "i agree to it, sir--i agree to it perfectly," said morris, shrinking back as campbell moved his chair towards him to fortify his appeal--"and i incline, sir," he added, addressing mr. inglewood, "to retract my information as to mr. osbaldistone; and i request, sir, you will permit him, sir, to go about his business, and me to go about mine also; your worship may have business to settle with mr. campbell, and i am rather in haste to be gone." "then, there go the declarations," said the justice, throwing them into the fire--"and now you are at perfect liberty, mr osbaldistone. and you, mr. morris, are set quite at your ease." "ay," said campbell, eyeing morris as he assented with a rueful grin to the justice's observations, "much like the ease of a tod under a pair of harrows--but fear nothing, mr. morris; you and i maun leave the house thegither. i will see you safe--i hope you will not doubt my honour, when i say sae--to the next highway, and then we part company; and if we do not meet as friends in scotland, it will be your ain fault." with such a lingering look of terror as the condemned criminal throws, when he is informed that the cart awaits him, morris arose; but when on his legs, appeared to hesitate. "i tell thee, man, fear nothing," reiterated campbell; "i will keep my word with you--why, thou sheep's heart, how do ye ken but we may can pick up some speerings of your valise, if ye will be amenable to gude counsel?--our horses are ready. bid the justice fareweel, man, and show your southern breeding." morris, thus exhorted and encouraged, took his leave, under the escort of mr. campbell; but, apparently, new scruples and terrors had struck him before they left the house, for i heard campbell reiterating assurances of safety and protection as they left the ante-room--"by the soul of my body, man, thou'rt as safe as in thy father's kailyard--zounds! that a chield wi' sic a black beard should hae nae mair heart than a hen-partridge!--come on wi' ye, like a frank fallow, anes and for aye." the voices died away, and the subsequent trampling of their horses announced to us that they had left the mansion of justice inglewood. the joy which that worthy magistrate received at this easy conclusion of a matter which threatened him with some trouble in his judicial capacity, was somewhat damped by reflection on what his clerk's views of the transaction might be at his return. "now, i shall have jobson on my shoulders about these d--d papers--i doubt i should not have destroyed them, after all--but hang it! it is only paying his fees, and that will make all smooth--and now, miss die vernon, though i have liberated all the others, i intend to sign a writ for committing you to the custody of mother blakes, my old housekeeper, for the evening, and we will send for my neighbour mrs. musgrave, and the miss dawkins, and your cousins, and have old cobs the fiddler, and be as merry as the maids; and frank osbaldistone and i will have a carouse that will make us fit company for you in half-an-hour." "thanks, most worshipful," returned miss vernon; "but, as matters stand, we must return instantly to osbaldistone hall, where they do not know what has become of us, and relieve my uncle of his anxiety on my cousin's account, which is just the same as if one of his own sons were concerned." "i believe it truly," said the justice; "for when his eldest son, archie, came to a bad end, in that unlucky affair of sir john fenwick's, old hildebrand used to hollo out his name as readily as any of the remaining six, and then complain that he could not recollect which of his sons had been hanged. so, pray hasten home, and relieve his paternal solicitude, since go you must. but hark thee hither, heath-blossom," he said, pulling her towards him by the hand, and in a good-humoured tone of admonition, "another time let the law take its course, without putting your pretty finger into her old musty pie, all full of fragments of law gibberish--french and dog-latin--and, die, my beauty, let young fellows show each other the way through the moors, in case you should lose your own road, while you are pointing out theirs, my pretty will o' the wisp." with this admonition, he saluted and dismissed miss vernon, and took an equally kind farewell of me. "thou seems to be a good tight lad, mr. frank, and i remember thy father too--he was my playfellow at school. hark thee, lad,--ride early at night, and don't swagger with chance passengers on the king's highway. what, man! all the king's liege subjects are not bound to understand joking, and it's ill cracking jests on matters of felony. and here's poor die vernon too--in a manner alone and deserted on the face of this wide earth, and left to ride, and run, and scamper, at her own silly pleasure. thou must be careful of die, or, egad, i will turn a young fellow again on purpose, and fight thee myself, although i must own it would be a great deal of trouble. and now, get ye both gone, and leave me to my pipe of tobacco, and my meditations; for what says the song-- the indian leaf doth briefly burn; so doth man's strength to weakness turn the fire of youth extinguished quite, comes age, like embers, dry and white. think of this as you take tobacco."* * [the lines here quoted belong to or were altered from a set of verses at one time very popular in england, beginning, _tobacco that is withered quite._ in scotland, the celebrated ralph erskine, author of the _gospel sonnets,_ published what he called "_smoking spiritualized,_ in two parts. the first part being an old meditation upon smoking tobacco." it begins--* this indian weed now withered quite, tho' green at noon, cut down at night, shows thy decay; all flesh is hay. thus thank, and smoke tobacco.] i was much pleased with the gleams of sense and feeling which escaped from the justice through the vapours of sloth and self-indulgence, assured him of my respect to his admonitions, and took a friendly farewell of the honest magistrate and his hospitable mansion. we found a repast prepared for us in the ante-room, which we partook of slightly, and rejoined the same servant of sir hildebrand who had taken our horses at our entrance, and who had been directed, as he informed miss vernon, by mr. rashleigh, to wait and attend upon us home. we rode a little way in silence, for, to say truth, my mind was too much bewildered with the events of the morning, to permit me to be the first to break it. at length miss vernon exclaimed, as if giving vent to her own reflections, "well, rashleigh is a man to be feared and wondered at, and all but loved; he does whatever he pleases, and makes all others his puppets--has a player ready to perform every part which he imagines, and an invention and readiness which supply expedients for every emergency." "you think, then," said i, answering rather to her meaning, than to the express words she made use of, "that this mr. campbell, whose appearance was so opportune, and who trussed up and carried off my accuser as a falcon trusses a partridge, was an agent of mr. rashleigh osbaldistone's?" "i do guess as much," replied diana; "and shrewdly suspect, moreover, that he would hardly have appeared so very much in the nick of time, if i had not happened to meet rashleigh in the hall at the justice's." "in that case, my thanks are chiefly due to you, my fair preserver." "to be sure they are," returned diana; "and pray, suppose them paid, and accepted with a gracious smile, for i do not care to be troubled with hearing them in good earnest, and am much more likely to yawn than to behave becoming. in short, mr. frank, i wished to serve you, and i have fortunately been able to do so, and have only one favour to ask in return, and that is, that you will say no more about it.--but who comes here to meet us, 'bloody with spurring, fiery-red with haste?' it is the subordinate man of law, i think--no less than mr. joseph jobson." and mr. joseph jobson it proved to be, in great haste, and, as it speedily appeared, in most extreme bad humour. he came up to us, and stopped his horse, as we were about to pass with a slight salutation. "so, sir--so, miss vernon--ay, i see well enough how it is--bail put in during my absence, i suppose--i should like to know who drew the recognisance, that's all. if his worship uses this form of procedure often, i advise him to get another clerk, that's all, for i shall certainly demit." "or suppose he get this present clerk stitched to his sleeve, mr. jobson," said diana; "would not that do as well? and pray, how does farmer rutledge, mr. jobson? i hope you found him able to sign, seal, and deliver?" this question seemed greatly to increase the wrath of the man of law. he looked at miss vernon with such an air of spite and resentment, as laid me under a strong temptation to knock him off his horse with the butt-end of my whip, which i only suppressed in consideration of his insignificance. "farmer rutledge, ma'am?" said the clerk, as soon as his indignation permitted him to articulate, "farmer rutledge is in as handsome enjoyment of his health as you are--it's all a bam, ma'am--all a bamboozle and a bite, that affair of his illness; and if you did not know as much before, you know it now, ma'am." "la you there now!" replied miss vernon, with an affectation of extreme and simple wonder, "sure you don't say so, mr. jobson?" "but i _do_ say so, ma'am," rejoined the incensed scribe; "and moreover i say, that the old miserly clod-breaker called me pettifogger--pettifogger, ma'am--and said i came to hunt for a job, ma'am--which i have no more right to have said to me than any other gentleman of my profession, ma'am--especially as i am clerk to the peace, having and holding said office under _trigesimo septimo henrici octavi_ and _primo gulielmi,_ the first of king william, ma'am, of glorious and immortal memory--our immortal deliverer from papists and pretenders, and wooden shoes and warming pans, miss vernon." "sad things, these wooden shoes and warming pans," retorted the young lady, who seemed to take pleasure in augmenting his wrath;--"and it is a comfort you don't seem to want a warming pan at present, mr. jobson. i am afraid gaffer rutledge has not confined his incivility to language--are you sure he did not give you a beating?" "beating, ma'am!--no"--(very shortly)--"no man alive shall beat me, i promise you, ma'am." "that is according as you happen to merit, sir," said i: "for your mode of speaking to this young lady is so unbecoming, that, if you do not change your tone, i shall think it worth while to chastise you myself." "chastise, sir? and--me, sir?--do you know whom you speak to, sir?" "yes, sir," i replied; "you say yourself you are clerk of peace to the county; and gaffer rutledge says you are a pettifogger; and in neither capacity are you entitled to be impertinent to a young lady of fashion." miss vernon laid her hand on my arm, and exclaimed, "come, mr. osbaldistone, i will have no assaults and battery on mr. jobson; i am not in sufficient charity with him to permit a single touch of your whip--why, he would live on it for a term at least. besides, you have already hurt his feelings sufficiently--you have called him impertinent." "i don't value his language, miss," said the clerk, somewhat crestfallen: "besides, impertinent is not an actionable word; but pettifogger is slander in the highest degree, and that i will make gaffer rutledge know to his cost, and all who maliciously repeat the same, to the breach of the public peace, and the taking away of my private good name." "never mind that, mr. jobson," said miss vernon; "you know, where there is nothing, your own law allows that the king himself must lose his rights; and for the taking away of your good name, i pity the poor fellow who gets it, and wish you joy of losing it with all my heart." "very well, ma'am--good evening, ma'am--i have no more to say--only there are laws against papists, which it would be well for the land were they better executed. there's third and fourth edward vi., of antiphoners, missals, grailes, professionals, manuals, legends, pies, portuasses, and those that have such trinkets in their possession, miss vernon--and there's summoning of papists to take the oaths--and there are popish recusant convicts under the first of his present majesty--ay, and there are penalties for hearing mass--see twenty-third of queen elizabeth, and third james first, chapter twenty-fifth. and there are estates to be registered, and deeds and wills to be enrolled, and double taxes to be made, according to the acts in that case made and provided"-- "see the new edition of the statutes at large, published under the careful revision of joseph jobson, gent., clerk of the peace," said miss vernon. "also, and above all," continued jobson,--"for i speak to your warning--you, diana vernon, spinstress, not being a _femme couverte,_ and being a convict popish recusant, are bound to repair to your own dwelling, and that by the nearest way, under penalty of being held felon to the king--and diligently to seek for passage at common ferries, and to tarry there but one ebb and flood; and unless you can have it in such places, to walk every day into the water up to the knees, assaying to pass over." "a sort of protestant penance for my catholic errors, i suppose," said miss vernon, laughing.--"well, i thank you for the information, mr. jobson, and will hie me home as fast as i can, and be a better housekeeper in time coming. good-night, my dear mr. jobson, thou mirror of clerical courtesy." "good-night, ma'am, and remember the law is not to be trifled with." and we rode on our separate ways. "there he goes for a troublesome mischief-making tool," said miss vernon, as she gave a glance after him; it is hard that persons of birth and rank and estate should be subjected to the official impertinence of such a paltry pickthank as that, merely for believing as the whole world believed not much above a hundred years ago--for certainly our catholic faith has the advantage of antiquity at least." "i was much tempted to have broken the rascal's head," i replied. "you would have acted very like a hasty young man," said miss vernon; "and yet, had my own hand been an ounce heavier than it is, i think i should have laid its weight upon him. well, it does not signify complaining, but there are three things for which i am much to be pitied, if any one thought it worth while to waste any compassion upon me." "and what are these three things, miss vernon, may i ask?" "will you promise me your deepest sympathy, if i tell you?" "certainly;--can you doubt it?" i replied, closing my horse nearer to hers as i spoke, with an expression of interest which i did not attempt to disguise. "well, it is very seducing to be pitied, after all; so here are my three grievances: in the first place, i am a girl, and not a young fellow, and would be shut up in a mad-house if i did half the things that i have a mind to;--and that, if i had your happy prerogative of acting as you list, would make all the world mad with imitating and applauding me." "i can't quite afford you the sympathy you expect upon this score," i replied; "the misfortune is so general, that it belongs to one half of the species; and the other half"-- "are so much better cared for, that they are jealous of their prerogatives," interrupted miss vernon--"i forgot you were a party interested. nay," she said, as i was going to speak, "that soft smile is intended to be the preface of a very pretty compliment respecting the peculiar advantages which die vernon's friends and kinsmen enjoy, by her being born one of their helots; but spare me the utterance, my good friend, and let us try whether we shall agree better on the second count of my indictment against fortune, as that quill-driving puppy would call it. i belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated religion, and, instead of getting credit for my devotion, as is due to all good girls beside, my kind friend, justice inglewood, may send me to the house of correction, merely for worshipping god in the way of my ancestors, and say, as old pembroke did to the abbess of wilton,* when he usurped her convent and establishment, 'go spin, you jade,--go spin.'" * note f. the abbess of wilton. "this is not a cureless evil," said i gravely. "consult some of our learned divines, or consult your own excellent understanding, miss vernon; and surely the particulars in which our religious creed differs from that in which you have been educated"-- "hush!" said diana, placing her fore-finger on her mouth,--"hush! no more of that. forsake the faith of my gallant fathers! i would as soon, were i a man, forsake their banner when the tide of battle pressed hardest against it, and turn, like a hireling recreant, to join the victorious enemy." "i honour your spirit, miss vernon; and as to the inconveniences to which it exposes you, i can only say, that wounds sustained for the sake of conscience carry their own balsam with the blow." "ay; but they are fretful and irritating, for all that. but i see, hard of heart as you are, my chance of beating hemp, or drawing out flax into marvellous coarse thread, affects you as little as my condemnation to coif and pinners, instead of beaver and cockade; so i will spare myself the fruitless pains of telling my third cause of vexation." "nay, my dear miss vernon, do not withdraw your confidence, and i will promise you, that the threefold sympathy due to your very unusual causes of distress shall be all duly and truly paid to account of the third, providing you assure me, that it is one which you neither share with all womankind, nor even with every catholic in england, who, god bless you, are still a sect more numerous than we protestants, in our zeal for church and state, would desire them to be." "it is indeed," said diana, with a manner greatly altered, and more serious than i had yet seen her assume, "a misfortune that well merits compassion. i am by nature, as you may easily observe, of a frank and unreserved disposition--a plain true-hearted girl, who would willingly act openly and honestly by the whole world, and yet fate has involved me in such a series of nets and toils, and entanglements, that i dare hardly speak a word for fear of consequences--not to myself, but to others." "that is indeed a misfortune, miss vernon, which i do most sincerely compassionate, but which i should hardly have anticipated." "o, mr. osbaldistone, if you but knew--if any one knew, what difficulty i sometimes find in hiding an aching heart with a smooth brow, you would indeed pity me. i do wrong, perhaps, in speaking to you even thus far on my own situation; but you are a young man of sense and penetration--you cannot but long to ask me a hundred questions on the events of this day--on the share which rashleigh has in your deliverance from this petty scrape--upon many other points which cannot but excite your attention; and i cannot bring myself to answer with the necessary falsehood and finesse--i should do it awkwardly, and lose your good opinion, if i have any share of it, as well as my own. it is best to say at once, ask me no questions,--i have it not in my power to reply to them." miss vernon spoke these words with a tone of feeling which could not but make a corresponding impression upon me. i assured her she had neither to fear my urging her with impertinent questions, nor my misconstruing her declining to answer those which might in themselves be reasonable, or at least natural. "i was too much obliged," i said, "by the interest she had taken in my affairs, to misuse the opportunity her goodness had afforded me of prying into hers--i only trusted and entreated, that if my services could at any time be useful, she would command them without doubt or hesitation." "thank you--thank you," she replied; "your voice does not ring the cuckoo chime of compliment, but speaks like that of one who knows to what he pledges himself. if--but it is impossible--but yet, if an opportunity should occur, i will ask you if you remember this promise; and i assure you, i shall not be angry if i find you have forgotten it, for it is enough that you are sincere in your intentions just now--much may occur to alter them ere i call upon you, should that moment ever come, to assist die vernon, as if you were die vernon's brother." "and if i were die vernon's brother," said i, "there could not be less chance that i should refuse my assistance--and now i am afraid i must not ask whether rashleigh was willingly accessory to my deliverance?" "not of me; but you may ask it of himself, and depend upon it, he will say _yes;_ for rather than any good action should walk through the world like an unappropriated adjective in an ill-arranged sentence, he is always willing to stand noun substantive to it himself." "and i must not ask whether this campbell be himself the party who eased mr. morris of his portmanteau,--or whether the letter, which our friend the attorney received, was not a finesse to withdraw him from the scene of action, lest he should have marred the happy event of my deliverance? and i must not ask"-- "you must ask nothing of me," said miss vernon; "so it is quite in vain to go on putting cases. you are to think just as well of me as if i had answered all these queries, and twenty others besides, as glibly as rashleigh could have done; and observe, whenever i touch my chin just so, it is a sign that i cannot speak upon the topic which happens to occupy your attention. i must settle signals of correspondence with you, because you are to be my confidant and my counsellor, only you are to know nothing whatever of my affairs." "nothing can be more reasonable," i replied, laughing; "and the extent of your confidence will, you may rely upon it, only be equalled by the sagacity of my counsels." this sort of conversation brought us, in the highest good-humour with each other, to osbaldistone hall, where we found the family far advanced in the revels of the evening. "get some dinner for mr. osbaldistone and me in the library," said miss vernon to a servant.--"i must have some compassion upon you," she added, turning to me, "and provide against your starving in this mansion of brutal abundance; otherwise i am not sure that i should show you my private haunts. this same library is my den--the only corner of the hall-house where i am safe from the ourang-outangs, my cousins. they never venture there, i suppose for fear the folios should fall down and crack their skulls; for they will never affect their heads in any other way--so follow me." and i followed through hall and bower, vaulted passage and winding stair, until we reached the room where she had ordered our refreshments. chapter tenth. in the wide pile, by others heeded not, hers was one sacred solitary spot, whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves contain for moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain. anonymous. the library at osbaldistone hall was a gloomy room, whose antique oaken shelves bent beneath the weight of the ponderous folios so dear to the seventeenth century, from which, under favour be it spoken, we have distilled matter for our quartos and octavos, and which, once more subjected to the alembic, may, should our sons be yet more frivolous than ourselves, be still farther reduced into duodecimos and pamphlets. the collection was chiefly of the classics, as well foreign as ancient history, and, above all, divinity. it was in wretched order. the priests, who in succession had acted as chaplains at the hall, were, for many years, the only persons who entered its precincts, until rashleigh's thirst for reading had led him to disturb the venerable spiders, who had muffled the fronts of the presses with their tapestry. his destination for the church rendered his conduct less absurd in his father's eyes, than if any of his other descendants had betrayed so strange a propensity, and sir hildebrand acquiesced in the library receiving some repairs, so as to fit it for a sitting-room. still an air of dilapidation, as obvious as it was uncomfortable, pervaded the large apartment, and announced the neglect from which the knowledge which its walls contained had not been able to exempt it. the tattered tapestry, the worm-eaten shelves, the huge and clumsy, yet tottering, tables, desks, and chairs, the rusty grate, seldom gladdened by either sea-coal or faggots, intimated the contempt of the lords of osbaldistone hall for learning, and for the volumes which record its treasures. "you think this place somewhat disconsolate, i suppose?" said diana, as i glanced my eye round the forlorn apartment; "but to me it seems like a little paradise, for i call it my own, and fear no intrusion. rashleigh was joint proprietor with me, while we were friends." "and are you no longer so?" was my natural question. her fore-finger immediately touched her dimpled chin, with an arch look of prohibition. "we are still _allies,_" she continued, "bound, like other confederate powers, by circumstances of mutual interest; but i am afraid, as will happen in other cases, the treaty of alliance has survived the amicable dispositions in which it had its origin. at any rate, we live less together; and when he comes through that door there, i vanish through this door here; and so, having made the discovery that we two were one too many for this apartment, as large as it seems, rashleigh, whose occasions frequently call him elsewhere, has generously made a cession of his rights in my favour; so that i now endeavour to prosecute alone the studies in which he used formerly to be my guide." "and what are those studies, if i may presume to ask?" "indeed you may, without the least fear of seeing my fore-finger raised to my chin. science and history are my principal favourites; but i also study poetry and the classics." "and the classics? do you read them in the original?" "unquestionably. rashleigh, who is no contemptible scholar, taught me greek and latin, as well as most of the languages of modern europe. i assure you there has been some pains taken in my education, although i can neither sew a tucker, nor work cross-stitch, nor make a pudding, nor--as the vicar's fat wife, with as much truth as elegance, good-will, and politeness, was pleased to say in my behalf--do any other useful thing in the varsal world." "and was this selection of studies rashleigh's choice, or your own, miss vernon?" i asked. "um!" said she, as if hesitating to answer my question,--"it's not worth while lifting my finger about, after all. why, partly his and partly mine. as i learned out of doors to ride a horse, and bridle and saddle him in cue of necessity, and to clear a five-barred gate, and fire a gun without winking, and all other of those masculine accomplishments that my brute cousins run mad after, i wanted, like my rational cousin, to read greek and latin within doors, and make my complete approach to the tree of knowledge, which you men-scholars would engross to yourselves, in revenge, i suppose, for our common mother's share in the great original transgression." "and rashleigh indulged your propensity to learning?" "why, he wished to have me for his scholar, and he could but teach me that which he knew himself--he was not likely to instruct me in the mysteries of washing lace-ruffles, or hemming cambric handkerchiefs, i suppose." "i admit the temptation of getting such a scholar, and have no doubt that it made a weighty consideration on the tutor's part." "oh, if you begin to investigate rashleigh's motives, my finger touches my chin once more. i can only be frank where my own are inquired into. but to resume--he has resigned the library in my favour, and never enters without leave had and obtained; and so i have taken the liberty to make it the place of deposit for some of my own goods and chattels, as you may see by looking round you." "i beg pardon, miss vernon, but i really see nothing around these walls which i can distinguish as likely to claim you as mistress." "that is, i suppose, because you neither see a shepherd or shepherdess wrought in worsted, and handsomely framed in black ebony, or a stuffed parrot,--or a breeding-cage, full of canary birds,--or a housewife-case, broidered with tarnished silver,--or a toilet-table with a nest of japanned boxes, with as many angles as christmas minced-pies,--or a broken-backed spinet,--or a lute with three strings,--or rock-work,--or shell-work,--or needle-work, or work of any kind,--or a lap-dog with a litter of blind puppies--none of these treasures do i possess," she continued, after a pause, in order to recover the breath she had lost in enumerating them--"but there stands the sword of my ancestor sir richard vernon, slain at shrewsbury, and sorely slandered by a sad fellow called will shakspeare, whose lancastrian partialities, and a certain knack at embodying them, has turned history upside down, or rather inside out;--and by that redoubted weapon hangs the mail of the still older vernon, squire to the black prince, whose fate is the reverse of his descendant's, since he is more indebted to the bard who took the trouble to celebrate him, for good-will than for talents,-- amiddes the route you may discern one brave knight, with pipes on shield, ycleped vernon like a borne fiend along the plain he thundered, prest to be carving throtes, while others plundered. "then there is a model of a new martingale, which i invented myself--a great improvement on the duke of newcastle's; and there are the hood and bells of my falcon cheviot, who spitted himself on a heron's bill at horsely-moss--poor cheviot, there is not a bird on the perches below, but are kites and riflers compared to him; and there is my own light fowling-piece, with an improved firelock; with twenty other treasures, each more valuable than another--and there, that speaks for itself." she pointed to the carved oak frame of a full-length portrait by vandyke, on which were inscribed, in gothic letters, the words _vernon semper viret._ i looked at her for explanation. "do you not know," said she, with some surprise, "our motto--the vernon motto, where, like the solemn vice iniquity, we moralise two meanings in one word and do you not know our cognisance, the pipes?" pointing to the armorial bearings sculptured on the oaken scutcheon, around which the legend was displayed. "pipes!--they look more like penny-whistles--but, pray, do not be angry with my ignorance," i continued, observing the colour mount to her cheeks, "i can mean no affront to your armorial bearings, for i do not even know my own." "you an osbaldistone, and confess so much!" she exclaimed. "why, percie, thornie, john, dickon--wilfred himself, might be your instructor. even ignorance itself is a plummet over you." "with shame i confess it, my dear miss vernon, the mysteries couched under the grim hieroglyphics of heraldry are to me as unintelligible as those of the pyramids of egypt." "what! is it possible?--why, even my uncle reads gwillym sometimes of a winter night--not know the figures of heraldry!--of what could your father be thinking?" "of the figures of arithmetic," i answered; "the most insignificant unit of which he holds more highly than all the blazonry of chivalry. but, though i am ignorant to this inexpressible degree, i have knowledge and taste enough to admire that splendid picture, in which i think i can discover a family likeness to you. what ease and dignity in the attitude!--what richness of colouring--what breadth and depth of shade!" "is it really a fine painting?" she asked. "i have seen many works of the renowned artist," i replied, "but never beheld one more to my liking!" "well, i know as little of pictures as you do of heraldry," replied miss vernon; "yet i have the advantage of you, because i have always admired the painting without understanding its value." "while i have neglected pipes and tabors, and all the whimsical combinations of chivalry, still i am informed that they floated in the fields of ancient fame. but you will allow their exterior appearance is not so peculiarly interesting to the uninformed spectator as that of a fine painting.--who is the person here represented?" "my grandfather. he shared the misfortunes of charles i., and, i am sorry to add, the excesses of his son. our patrimonial estate was greatly impaired by his prodigality, and was altogether lost by his successor, my unfortunate father. but peace be with them who have got it!--it was lost in the cause of loyalty." "your father, i presume, suffered in the political dissensions of the period?" "he did indeed;--he lost his all. and hence is his child a dependent orphan--eating the bread of others--subjected to their caprices, and compelled to study their inclinations; yet prouder of having had such a father, than if, playing a more prudent but less upright part, he had left me possessor of all the rich and fair baronies which his family once possessed." as she thus spoke, the entrance of the servants with dinner cut off all conversation but that of a general nature. when our hasty meal was concluded, and the wine placed on the table, the domestic informed us, "that mr. rashleigh had desired to be told when our dinner was removed." "tell him," said miss vernon, "we shall be happy to see him if he will step this way--place another wineglass and chair, and leave the room.-- you must retire with him when he goes away," she continued, addressing herself to me; "even _my_ liberality cannot spare a gentleman above eight hours out of the twenty-four; and i think we have been together for at least that length of time." "the old scythe-man has moved so rapidly," i answered, "that i could not count his strides." "hush!" said miss vernon, "here comes rashleigh;" and she drew off her chair, to which i had approached mine rather closely, so as to place a greater distance between us. a modest tap at the door,--a gentle manner of opening when invited to enter,--a studied softness and humility of step and deportment, announced that the education of rashleigh osbaldistone at the college of st. omers accorded well with the ideas i entertained of the manners of an accomplished jesuit. i need not add, that, as a sound protestant, these ideas were not the most favourable. "why should you use the ceremony of knocking," said miss vernon, "when you knew that i was not alone?" this was spoken with a burst of impatience, as if she had felt that rashleigh's air of caution and reserve covered some insinuation of impertinent suspicion. "you have taught me the form of knocking at this door so perfectly, my fair cousin," answered rashleigh, without change of voice or manner, "that habit has become a second nature." "i prize sincerity more than courtesy, sir, and you know i do," was miss vernon's reply. "courtesy is a gallant gay, a courtier by name and by profession," replied rashleigh, "and therefore most fit for a lady's bower." "but sincerity is the true knight," retorted miss vernon, "and therefore much more welcome, cousin. but to end a debate not over amusing to your stranger kinsman, sit down, rashleigh, and give mr. francis osbaldistone your countenance to his glass of wine. i have done the honours of the dinner, for the credit of osbaldistone hall." rashleigh sate down, and filled his glass, glancing his eye from diana to me, with an embarrassment which his utmost efforts could not entirely disguise. i thought he appeared to be uncertain concerning the extent of confidence she might have reposed in me, and hastened to lead the conversation into a channel which should sweep away his suspicion that diana might have betrayed any secrets which rested between them. "miss vernon," i said, "mr. rashleigh, has recommended me to return my thanks to you for my speedy disengagement from the ridiculous accusation of morris; and, unjustly fearing my gratitude might not be warm enough to remind me of this duty, she has put my curiosity on its side, by referring me to you for an account, or rather explanation, of the events of the day." "indeed?" answered rashleigh; "i should have thought" (looking keenly at miss vernon) "that the lady herself might have stood interpreter;" and his eye, reverting from her face, sought mine, as if to search, from the expression of my features, whether diana's communication had been as narrowly limited as my words had intimated. miss vernon retorted his inquisitorial glance with one of decided scorn; while i, uncertain whether to deprecate or resent his obvious suspicion, replied, "if it is your pleasure, mr. rashleigh, as it has been miss vernon's, to leave me in ignorance, i must necessarily submit; but, pray, do not withhold your information from me on the ground of imagining that i have already obtained any on the subject. for i tell you, as a man of honour, i am as ignorant as that picture of anything relating to the events i have witnessed to-day, excepting that i understand from miss vernon, that you have been kindly active in my favour." "miss vernon has overrated my humble efforts," said rashleigh, "though i claim full credit for my zeal. the truth is, that as i galloped back to get some one of our family to join me in becoming your bail, which was the most obvious, or, indeed, i may say, the only way of serving you which occurred to my stupidity, i met the man cawmil--colville--campbell, or whatsoever they call him. i had understood from morris that he was present when the robbery took place, and had the good fortune to prevail on him (with some difficulty, i confess) to tender his evidence in your exculpation--which i presume was the means of your being released from an unpleasant situation." "indeed?--i am much your debtor for procuring such a seasonable evidence in my behalf. but i cannot see why (having been, as he said, a fellow-sufferer with morris) it should have required much trouble to persuade him to step forth and bear evidence, whether to convict the actual robber, or free an innocent person." "you do not know the genius of that man's country, sir," answered rashleigh;--"discretion, prudence, and foresight, are their leading qualities; these are only modified by a narrow-spirited, but yet ardent patriotism, which forms as it were the outmost of the concentric bulwarks with which a scotchman fortifies himself against all the attacks of a generous philanthropical principle. surmount this mound, you find an inner and still dearer barrier--the love of his province, his village, or, most probably, his clan; storm this second obstacle, you have a third--his attachment to his own family--his father, mother, sons, daughters, uncles, aunts, and cousins, to the ninth generation. it is within these limits that a scotchman's social affection expands itself, never reaching those which are outermost, till all means of discharging itself in the interior circles have been exhausted. it is within these circles that his heart throbs, each pulsation being fainter and fainter, till, beyond the widest boundary, it is almost unfelt. and what is worst of all, could you surmount all these concentric outworks, you have an inner citadel, deeper, higher, and more efficient than them all--a scotchman's love for himself." "all this is extremely eloquent and metaphorical, rashleigh," said miss vernon, who listened with unrepressed impatience; "there are only two objections to it: first, it is _not_ true; secondly, if true, it is nothing to the purpose." "it _is_ true, my fairest diana," returned rashleigh; "and moreover, it is most instantly to the purpose. it is true, because you cannot deny that i know the country and people intimately, and the character is drawn from deep and accurate consideration--and it is to the purpose, because it answers mr. francis osbaldistone's question, and shows why this same wary scotchman, considering our kinsman to be neither his countryman, nor a campbell, nor his cousin in any of the inextricable combinations by which they extend their pedigree; and, above all, seeing no prospect of personal advantage, but, on the contrary, much hazard of loss of time and delay of business"-- "with other inconveniences, perhaps, of a nature yet more formidable," interrupted miss vernon. "of which, doubtless, there might be many," said rashleigh, continuing in the same tone--"in short, my theory shows why this man, hoping for no advantage, and afraid of some inconvenience, might require a degree of persuasion ere he could be prevailed on to give his testimony in favour of mr. osbaldistone." "it seems surprising to me," i observed, "that during the glance i cast over the declaration, or whatever it is termed, of mr. morris, he should never have mentioned that campbell was in his company when he met the marauders." "i understood from campbell, that he had taken his solemn promise not to mention that circumstance," replied rashleigh: "his reason for exacting such an engagement you may guess from what i have hinted--he wished to get back to his own country, undelayed and unembarrassed by any of the judicial inquiries which he would have been under the necessity of attending, had the fact of his being present at the robbery taken air while he was on this side of the border. but let him once be as distant as the forth, morris will, i warrant you, come forth with all he knows about him, and, it may be, a good deal more. besides, campbell is a very extensive dealer in cattle, and has often occasion to send great droves into northumberland; and, when driving such a trade, he would be a great fool to embroil himself with our northumbrian thieves, than whom no men who live are more vindictive." "i dare be sworn of that," said miss vernon, with a tone which implied something more than a simple acquiescence in the proposition. "still," said i, resuming the subject, "allowing the force of the reasons which campbell might have for desiring that morris should be silent with regard to his promise when the robbery was committed, i cannot yet see how he could attain such an influence over the man, as to make him suppress his evidence in that particular, at the manifest risk of subjecting his story to discredit." rashleigh agreed with me, that it was very extraordinary, and seemed to regret that he had not questioned the scotchman more closely on that subject, which he allowed looked extremely mysterious. "but," he asked, immediately after this acquiescence, "are you very sure the circumstance of morris's being accompanied by campbell is really not alluded to in his examination?" "i read the paper over hastily," said i; "but it is my strong impression that no such circumstance is mentioned;--at least, it must have been touched on very slightly, since it failed to catch my attention." "true, true," answered rashleigh, forming his own inference while he adopted my words; "i incline to think with you, that the circumstance must in reality have been mentioned, but so slightly that it failed to attract your attention. and then, as to campbell's interest with morris, i incline to suppose that it must have been gained by playing upon his fears. this chicken-hearted fellow, morris, is bound, i understand, for scotland, destined for some little employment under government; and, possessing the courage of the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse, he may have been afraid to encounter the ill-will of such a kill-cow as campbell, whose very appearance would be enough to fright him out of his little wits. you observed that mr. campbell has at times a keen and animated manner--something of a martial cast in his tone and bearing." "i own," i replied, "that his expression struck me as being occasionally fierce and sinister, and little adapted to his peaceable professions. has he served in the army?" "yes--no--not, strictly speaking, _served;_ but he has been, i believe, like most of his countrymen, trained to arms. indeed, among the hills, they carry them from boyhood to the grave. so, if you know anything of your fellow-traveller, you will easily judge, that, going to such a country, he will take cue to avoid a quarrel, if he can help it, with any of the natives. but, come, i see you decline your wine--and i too am a degenerate osbaldistone, so far as respects the circulation of the bottle. if you will go to my room, i will hold you a hand at piquet." we rose to take leave of miss vernon, who had from time to time suppressed, apparently with difficulty, a strong temptation to break in upon rashleigh's details. as we were about to leave the room, the smothered fire broke forth. "mr. osbaldistone," she said, "your own observation will enable you to verify the justice, or injustice, of rashleigh's suggestions concerning such individuals as mr. campbell and mr. morris. but, in slandering scotland, he has borne false witness against a whole country; and i request you will allow no weight to his evidence." "perhaps," i answered, "i may find it somewhat difficult to obey your injunction, miss vernon; for i must own i was bred up with no very favourable idea of our northern neighbours." "distrust that part of your education, sir," she replied, "and let the daughter of a scotchwoman pray you to respect the land which gave her parent birth, until your own observation has proved them to be unworthy of your good opinion. preserve your hatred and contempt for dissimulation, baseness, and falsehood, wheresoever they are to be met with. you will find enough of all without leaving england.--adieu, gentlemen, i wish you good evening." and she signed to the door, with the manner of a princess dismissing her train. we retired to rashleigh's apartment, where a servant brought us coffee and cards. i had formed my resolution to press rashleigh no farther on the events of the day. a mystery, and, as i thought, not of a favourable complexion, appeared to hang over his conduct; but to ascertain if my suspicions were just, it was necessary to throw him off his guard. we cut for the deal, and were soon earnestly engaged in our play. i thought i perceived in this trifling for amusement (for the stake which rashleigh proposed was a mere trifle) something of a fierce and ambitious temper. he seemed perfectly to understand the beautiful game at which he played, but preferred, as it were on principle, the risking bold and precarious strokes to the ordinary rules of play; and neglecting the minor and better-balanced chances of the game, he hazarded everything for the chance of piqueing, repiqueing, or capoting his adversary. so soon as the intervention of a game or two at piquet, like the music between the acts of a drama, had completely interrupted our previous course of conversation, rashleigh appeared to tire of the game, and the cards were superseded by discourse, in which he assumed the lead. more learned than soundly wise--better acquainted with men's minds than with the moral principles that ought to regulate them, he had still powers of conversation which i have rarely seen equalled, never excelled. of this his manner implied some consciousness; at least, it appeared to me that he had studied hard to improve his natural advantages of a melodious voice, fluent and happy expression, apt language, and fervid imagination. he was never loud, never overbearing, never so much occupied with his own thoughts as to outrun either the patience or the comprehension of those he conversed with. his ideas succeeded each other with the gentle but unintermitting flow of a plentiful and bounteous spring; while i have heard those of others, who aimed at distinction in conversation, rush along like the turbid gush from the sluice of a mill-pond, as hurried, and as easily exhausted. it was late at night ere i could part from a companion so fascinating; and, when i gained my own apartment, it cost me no small effort to recall to my mind the character of rashleigh, such as i had pictured him previous to this _tete-a-tete._ so effectual, my dear tresham, does the sense of being pleased and amused blunt our faculties of perception and discrimination of character, that i can only compare it to the taste of certain fruits, at once luscious and poignant, which renders our palate totally unfit for relishing or distinguishing the viands which are subsequently subjected to its criticism. chapter eleventh. what gars ye gaunt, my merrymen a'? what gars ye look sae dreary? what gars ye hing your head sae sair in the castle of balwearie? old scotch ballad. the next morning chanced to be sunday, a day peculiarly hard to be got rid of at osbaldistone hall; for after the formal religious service of the morning had been performed, at which all the family regularly attended, it was hard to say upon which individual, rashleigh and miss vernon excepted, the fiend of ennui descended with the most abundant outpouring of his spirit. to speak of my yesterday's embarrassment amused sir hildebrand for several minutes, and he congratulated me on my deliverance from morpeth or hexham jail, as he would have done if i had fallen in attempting to clear a five-barred gate, and got up without hurting myself. "hast had a lucky turn, lad; but do na be over venturous again. what, man! the king's road is free to all men, be they whigs, be they tories." "on my word, sir, i am innocent of interrupting it; and it is the most provoking thing on earth, that every person will take it for granted that i am accessory to a crime which i despise and detest, and which would, moreover, deservedly forfeit my life to the laws of my country." "well, well, lad; even so be it; i ask no questions--no man bound to tell on himsell--that's fair play, or the devil's in't." rashleigh here came to my assistance; but i could not help thinking that his arguments were calculated rather as hints to his father to put on a show of acquiescence in my declaration of innocence, than fully to establish it. "in your own house, my dear sir--and your own nephew--you will not surely persist in hurting his feelings by seeming to discredit what he is so strongly interested in affirming. no doubt, you are fully deserving of all his confidence, and i am sure, were there anything you could do to assist him in this strange affair, he would have recourse to your goodness. but my cousin frank has been dismissed as an innocent man, and no one is entitled to suppose him otherwise. for my part, i have not the least doubt of his innocence; and our family honour, i conceive, requires that we should maintain it with tongue and sword against the whole country." "rashleigh," said his father, looking fixedly at him, "thou art a sly loon--thou hast ever been too cunning for me, and too cunning for most folks. have a care thou provena too cunning for thysell--two faces under one hood is no true heraldry. and since we talk of heraldry, i'll go and read gwillym." this resolution he intimated with a yawn, resistless as that of the goddess in the dunciad, which was responsively echoed by his giant sons, as they dispersed in quest of the pastimes to which their minds severally inclined them--percie to discuss a pot of march beer with the steward in the buttery,--thorncliff to cut a pair of cudgels, and fix them in their wicker hilts,--john to dress may-flies,--dickon to play at pitch and toss by himself, his right hand against his left,--and wilfred to bite his thumbs and hum himself into a slumber which should last till dinner-time, if possible. miss vernon had retired to the library. rashleigh and i were left alone in the old hall, from which the servants, with their usual bustle and awkwardness, had at length contrived to hurry the remains of our substantial breakfast. i took the opportunity to upbraid him with the manner in which he had spoken of my affair to his father, which i frankly stated was highly offensive to me, as it seemed rather to exhort sir hildebrand to conceal his suspicions, than to root them out. "why, what can i do, my dear friend?" replied rashleigh "my father's disposition is so tenacious of suspicions of all kinds, when once they take root (which, to do him justice, does not easily happen), that i have always found it the best way to silence him upon such subjects, instead of arguing with him. thus i get the better of the weeds which i cannot eradicate, by cutting them over as often as they appear, until at length they die away of themselves. there is neither wisdom nor profit in disputing with such a mind as sir hildebrand's, which hardens itself against conviction, and believes in its own inspirations as firmly as we good catholics do in those of the holy father of rome." "it is very hard, though, that i should live in the house of a man, and he a near relation too, who will persist in believing me guilty of a highway robbery." "my father's foolish opinion, if one may give that epithet to any opinion of a father's, does not affect your real innocence; and as to the disgrace of the fact, depend on it, that, considered in all its bearings, political as well as moral, sir hildebrand regards it as a meritorious action--a weakening of the enemy--a spoiling of the amalekites; and you will stand the higher in his regard for your supposed accession to it." "i desire no man's regard, mr. rashleigh, on such terms as must sink me in my own; and i think these injurious suspicions will afford a very good reason for quitting osbaldistone hall, which i shall do whenever i can communicate on the subject with my father." the dark countenance of rashleigh, though little accustomed to betray its master's feelings, exhibited a suppressed smile, which he instantly chastened by a sigh. "you are a happy man, frank--you go and come, as the wind bloweth where it listeth. with your address, taste, and talents, you will soon find circles where they will be more valued, than amid the dull inmates of this mansion; while i--" he paused. "and what is there in your lot that can make you or any one envy mine,--an outcast, as i may almost term myself, from my father's house and favour?" "ay, but," answered rashleigh, "consider the gratified sense of independence which you must have attained by a very temporary sacrifice,--for such i am sure yours will prove to be; consider the power of acting as a free agent, of cultivating your own talents in the way to which your taste determines you, and in which you are well qualified to distinguish yourself. fame and freedom are cheaply purchased by a few weeks' residence in the north, even though your place of exile be osbaldistone hall. a second ovid in thrace, you have not his reasons for writing tristia." "i do not know," said i, blushing as became a young scribbler, "how you should be so well acquainted with my truant studies." "there was an emissary of your father's here some time since, a young coxcomb, one twineall, who informed me concerning your secret sacrifices to the muses, and added, that some of your verses had been greatly admired by the best judges." tresham, i believe you are guiltless of having ever essayed to build the lofty rhyme; but you must have known in your day many an apprentice and fellow-craft, if not some of the master-masons, in the temple of apollo. vanity is their universal foible, from him who decorated the shades of twickenham, to the veriest scribbler whom he has lashed in his dunciad. i had my own share of this common failing, and without considering how little likely this young fellow twineall was, by taste and habits, either to be acquainted with one or two little pieces of poetry, which i had at times insinuated into button's coffee-house, or to report the opinion of the critics who frequented that resort of wit and literature, i almost instantly gorged the bait; which rashleigh perceiving, improved his opportunity by a diffident, yet apparently very anxious request to be permitted to see some of my manuscript productions. "you shall give me an evening in my own apartment," he continued; "for i must soon lose the charms of literary society for the drudgery of commerce, and the coarse every-day avocations of the world. i repeat it, that my compliance with my father's wishes for the advantage of my family, is indeed a sacrifice, especially considering the calm and peaceful profession to which my education destined me." i was vain, but not a fool, and this hypocrisy was too strong for me to swallow. "you would not persuade me," i replied, "that you really regret to exchange the situation of an obscure catholic priest, with all its privations, for wealth and society, and the pleasures of the world?" rashleigh saw that he had coloured his affectation of moderation too highly, and, after a second's pause, during which, i suppose, he calculated the degree of candour which it was necessary to use with me (that being a quality of which he was never needlessly profuse), he answered, with a smile--"at my age, to be condemned, as you say, to wealth and the world, does not, indeed, sound so alarming as perhaps it ought to do. but, with pardon be it spoken, you have mistaken my destination--a catholic priest, if you will, but not an obscure one. no, sir,--rashleigh osbaldistone will be more obscure, should he rise to be the richest citizen in london, than he might have been as a member of a church, whose ministers, as some one says, 'set their sandall'd feet on princes.' my family interest at a certain exiled court is high, and the weight which that court ought to possess, and does possess, at rome is yet higher--my talents not altogether inferior to the education i have received. in sober judgment, i might have looked forward to high eminence in the church--in the dream of fancy, to the very highest. why might not"--(he added, laughing, for it was part of his manner to keep much of his discourse apparently betwixt jest and earnest)--"why might not cardinal osbaldistone have swayed the fortunes of empires, well-born and well-connected, as well as the low-born mazarin, or alberoni, the son of an italian gardener?" "nay, i can give you no reason to the contrary; but in your place i should not much regret losing the chance of such precarious and invidious elevation." "neither would i," he replied, "were i sure that my present establishment was more certain; but that must depend upon circumstances which i can only learn by experience--the disposition of your father, for example." "confess the truth without finesse, rashleigh; you would willingly know something of him from me?" "since, like die vernon, you make a point of following the banner of the good knight sincerity, i reply--certainly." "well, then, you will find in my father a man who has followed the paths of thriving more for the exercise they afforded to his talents, than for the love of the gold with which they are strewed. his active mind would have been happy in any situation which gave it scope for exertion, though that exertion had been its sole reward. but his wealth has accumulated, because, moderate and frugal in his habits, no new sources of expense have occurred to dispose of his increasing income. he is a man who hates dissimulation in others; never practises it himself; and is peculiarly alert in discovering motives through the colouring of language. himself silent by habit, he is readily disgusted by great talkers; the rather, that the circumstances by which he is most interested, afford no great scope for conversation. he is severely strict in the duties of religion; but you have no reason to fear his interference with yours, for he regards toleration as a sacred principle of political economy. but if you have any jacobitical partialities, as is naturally to be supposed, you will do well to suppress them in his presence, as well as the least tendency to the highflying or tory principles; for he holds both in utter detestation. for the rest, his word is his own bond, and must be the law of all who act under him. he will fail in his duty to no one, and will permit no one to fail towards him; to cultivate his favour, you must execute his commands, instead of echoing his sentiments. his greatest failings arise out of prejudices connected with his own profession, or rather his exclusive devotion to it, which makes him see little worthy of praise or attention, unless it be in some measure connected with commerce." "o rare-painted portrait!" exclaimed rashleigh, when i was silent--"vandyke was a dauber to you, frank. i see thy sire before me in all his strength and weakness; loving and honouring the king as a sort of lord mayor of the empire, or chief of the board of trade--venerating the commons, for the acts regulating the export trade--and respecting the peers, because the lord chancellor sits on a woolsack." "mine was a likeness, rashleigh; yours is a caricature. but in return for the _carte du pays_ which i have unfolded to you, give me some lights on the geography of the unknown lands"-- "on which you are wrecked," said rashleigh. "it is not worth while; it is no isle of calypso, umbrageous with shade and intricate with silvan labyrinth--but a bare ragged northumbrian moor, with as little to interest curiosity as to delight the eye; you may descry it in all its nakedness in half an hour's survey, as well as if i were to lay it down before you by line and compass." "o, but something there is, worthy a more attentive survey--what say you to miss vernon? does not she form an interesting object in the landscape, were all round as rude as iceland's coast?" i could plainly perceive that rashleigh disliked the topic now presented to him; but my frank communication had given me the advantageous title to make inquiries in my turn. rashleigh felt this, and found himself obliged to follow my lead, however difficult he might find it to play his cards successfully. "i have known less of miss vernon," he said, "for some time, than i was wont to do formerly. in early age i was her tutor; but as she advanced towards womanhood, my various avocations,--the gravity of the profession to which i was destined,--the peculiar nature of her engagements,--our mutual situation, in short, rendered a close and constant intimacy dangerous and improper. i believe miss vernon might consider my reserve as unkindness, but it was my duty; i felt as much as she seemed to do, when compelled to give way to prudence. but where was the safety in cultivating an intimacy with a beautiful and susceptible girl, whose heart, you are aware, must be given either to the cloister or to a betrothed husband?" "the cloister or a betrothed husband?" i echoed--"is that the alternative destined for miss vernon?" "it is indeed," said rashleigh, with a sigh. "i need not, i suppose, caution you against the danger of cultivating too closely the friendship of miss vernon;--you are a man of the world, and know how far you can indulge yourself in her society with safety to yourself, and justice to her. but i warn you, that, considering her ardent temper, you must let your experience keep guard over her as well as yourself, for the specimen of yesterday may serve to show her extreme thoughtlessness and neglect of decorum." there was something, i was sensible, of truth, as well as good sense, in all this; it seemed to be given as a friendly warning, and i had no right to take it amiss; yet i felt i could with pleasure have run rashleigh osbaldistone through the body all the time he was speaking. "the deuce take his insolence!" was my internal meditation. "would he wish me to infer that miss vernon had fallen in love with that hatchet-face of his, and become degraded so low as to require his shyness to cure her of an imprudent passion? i will have his meaning from him," was my resolution, "if i should drag it out with cart-ropes." for this purpose, i placed my temper under as accurate a guard as i could, and observed, "that, for a lady of her good sense and acquired accomplishments, it was to be regretted that miss vernon's manners were rather blunt and rustic." "frank and unreserved, at least, to the extreme," replied rashleigh: "yet, trust me, she has an excellent heart. to tell you the truth, should she continue her extreme aversion to the cloister, and to her destined husband, and should my own labours in the mine of plutus promise to secure me a decent independence, i shall think of reviewing our acquaintance and sharing it with miss vernon." "with all his fine voice, and well-turned periods," thought i, "this same rashleigh osbaldistone is the ugliest and most conceited coxcomb i ever met with!" "but," continued rashleigh, as if thinking aloud, "i should not like to supplant thorncliff." "supplant thorncliff!--is your brother thorncliff," i inquired, with great surprise, "the destined husband of diana vernon?" "why, ay, her father's commands, and a certain family-contract, destined her to marry one of sir hildebrand's sons. a dispensation has been obtained from rome to diana vernon to marry _blank_ osbaldistone, esq., son of sir hildebrand osbaldistone, of osbaldistone hall, bart., and so forth; and it only remains to pitch upon the happy man whose name shall fill the gap in the manuscript. now, as percie is seldom sober, my father pitched on thorncliff, as the second prop of the family, and therefore most proper to carry on the line of the osbaldistones." "the young lady," said i, forcing myself to assume an air of pleasantry, which, i believe, became me extremely ill, "would perhaps have been inclined to look a little lower on the family-tree, for the branch to which she was desirous of clinging." "i cannot say," he replied. "there is room for little choice in our family; dick is a gambler, john a boor, and wilfred an ass. i believe my father really made the best selection for poor die, after all." "the present company," said i, "being always excepted." "oh, my destination to the church placed me out of the question; otherwise i will not affect to say, that, qualified by my education both to instruct and guide miss vernon, i might not have been a more creditable choice than any of my elders." "and so thought the young lady, doubtless?" "you are not to suppose so," answered rashleigh, with an affectation of denial which was contrived to convey the strongest affirmation the case admitted of: "friendship--only friendship--formed the tie betwixt us, and the tender affection of an opening mind to its only instructor--love came not near us--i told you i was wise in time." i felt little inclination to pursue this conversation any farther, and shaking myself clear of rashleigh, withdrew to my own apartment, which i recollect i traversed with much vehemence of agitation, repeating aloud the expressions which had most offended me.--"susceptible--ardent--tender affection--love--diana vernon, the most beautiful creature i ever beheld, in love with him, the bandy-legged, bull-necked, limping scoundrel! richard the third in all but his hump-back!--and yet the opportunities he must have had during his cursed course of lectures; and the fellow's flowing and easy strain of sentiment; and her extreme seclusion from every one who spoke and acted with common sense; ay, and her obvious pique at him, mixed with admiration of his talents, which looked as like the result of neglected attachment as anything else--well, and what is it to me, that i should storm and rage at it? is diana vernon the first pretty girl that has loved and married an ugly fellow? and if she were free of every osbaldistone of them, what concern is it of mine?--a catholic--a jacobite--a termagant into the boot--for me to look that way were utter madness." by throwing such reflections on the flame of my displeasure, i subdued it into a sort of smouldering heart-burning, and appeared at the dinner-table in as sulky a humour as could well be imagined. chapter twelfth. drunk?--and speak parrot?--and squabble?--swagger?-- swear?--and discourse fustian with one's own shadow? othello. i have already told you, my dear tresham, what probably was no news to you, that my principal fault was an unconquerable pitch of pride, which exposed me to frequent mortification. i had not even whispered to myself that i loved diana vernon; yet no sooner did i hear rashleigh talk of her as a prize which he might stoop to carry off, or neglect, at his pleasure, than every step which the poor girl had taken, in the innocence and openness of her heart, to form a sort of friendship with me, seemed in my eyes the most insulting coquetry.--"soh! she would secure me as a _pis aller,_ i suppose, in case mr. rashleigh osbaldistone should not take compassion upon her! but i will satisfy her that i am not a person to be trepanned in that manner--i will make her sensible that i see through her arts, and that i scorn them." i did not reflect for a moment, that all this indignation, which i had no right whatever to entertain, proved that i was anything but indifferent to miss vernon's charms; and i sate down to table in high ill-humour with her and all the daughters of eve. miss vernon heard me, with surprise, return ungracious answers to one or two playful strokes of satire which she threw out with her usual freedom of speech; but, having no suspicion that offence was meant, she only replied to my rude repartees with jests somewhat similar, but polished by her good temper, though pointed by her wit. at length she perceived i was really out of humour, and answered one of my rude speeches thus:-- "they say, mr. frank, that one may gather sense from fools--i heard cousin wilfred refuse to play any longer at cudgels the other day with cousin thornie, because cousin thornie got angry, and struck harder than the rules of amicable combat, it seems, permitted. 'were i to break your head in good earnest,' quoth honest wilfred, 'i care not how angry you are, for i should do it so much the more easily but it's hard i should get raps over the costard, and only pay you back in make-believes'--do you understand the moral of this, frank?" "i have never felt myself under the necessity, madam, of studying how to extract the slender portion of sense with which this family season their conversation." "necessity! and madam!--you surprise me, mr. osbaldistone." "i am unfortunate in doing so." "am i to suppose that this capricious tone is serious? or is it only assumed, to make your good-humour more valuable?" "you have a right to the attention of so many gentlemen in this family, miss vernon, that it cannot be worth your while to inquire into the cause of my stupidity and bad spirits." "what!" she said, "am i to understand, then, that you have deserted my faction, and gone over to the enemy?" then, looking across the table, and observing that rashleigh, who was seated opposite, was watching us with a singular expression of interest on his harsh features, she continued-- "horrible thought!--ay, now i see 'tis true, for the grim-visaged rashleigh smiles on me, and points at thee for his!-- well, thank heaven, and the unprotected state which has taught me endurance, i do not take offence easily; and that i may not be forced to quarrel, whether i like it or no, i have the honour, earlier than usual, to wish you a happy digestion of your dinner and your bad humour." and she left the table accordingly. upon miss vernon's departure, i found myself very little satisfied with my own conduct. i had hurled back offered kindness, of which circumstances had but lately pointed out the honest sincerity, and i had but just stopped short of insulting the beautiful, and, as she had said with some emphasis, the unprotected being by whom it was proffered. my conduct seemed brutal in my own eyes. to combat or drown these painful reflections, i applied myself more frequently than usual to the wine which circulated on the table. the agitated state of my feelings combined with my habits of temperance to give rapid effect to the beverage. habitual topers, i believe, acquire the power of soaking themselves with a quantity of liquor that does little more than muddy those intellects which in their sober state are none of the clearest; but men who are strangers to the vice of drunkenness as a habit, are more powerfully acted upon by intoxicating liquors. my spirits, once aroused, became extravagant; i talked a great deal, argued upon what i knew nothing of, told stories of which i forgot the point, then laughed immoderately at my own forgetfulness; i accepted several bets without having the least judgment; i challenged the giant john to wrestle with me, although he had kept the ring at hexham for a year, and i never tried so much as a single fall. my uncle had the goodness to interpose and prevent this consummation of drunken folly, which, i suppose, would have otherwise ended in my neck being broken. it has even been reported by maligners, that i sung a song while under this vinous influence; but, as i remember nothing of it, and never attempted to turn a tune in all my life before or since, i would willingly hope there is no actual foundation for the calumny. i was absurd enough without this exaggeration. without positively losing my senses, i speedily lost all command of my temper, and my impetuous passions whirled me onward at their pleasure. i had sate down sulky and discontented, and disposed to be silent--the wine rendered me loquacious, disputatious, and quarrelsome. i contradicted whatever was asserted, and attacked, without any respect to my uncle's table, both his politics and his religion. the affected moderation of rashleigh, which he well knew how to qualify with irritating ingredients, was even more provoking to me than the noisy and bullying language of his obstreperous brothers. my uncle, to do him justice, endeavoured to bring us to order; but his authority was lost amidst the tumult of wine and passion. at length, frantic at some real or supposed injurious insinuation, i actually struck rashleigh with my fist. no stoic philosopher, superior to his own passion and that of others, could have received an insult with a higher degree of scorn. what he himself did not think it apparently worth while to resent, thorncliff resented for him. swords were drawn, and we exchanged one or two passes, when the other brothers separated us by main force; and i shall never forget the diabolical sneer which writhed rashleigh's wayward features, as i was forced from the apartment by the main strength of two of these youthful titans. they secured me in my apartment by locking the door, and i heard them, to my inexpressible rage, laugh heartily as they descended the stairs. i essayed in my fury to break out; but the window-grates, and the strength of a door clenched with iron, resisted my efforts. at length i threw myself on my bed, and fell asleep amidst vows of dire revenge to be taken in the ensuing day. but with the morning cool repentance came. i felt, in the keenest manner, the violence and absurdity of my conduct, and was obliged to confess that wine and passion had lowered my intellects even below those of wilfred osbaldistone, whom i held in so much contempt. my uncomfortable reflections were by no means soothed by meditating the necessity of an apology for my improper behaviour, and recollecting that miss vernon must be a witness of my submission. the impropriety and unkindness of my conduct to her personally, added not a little to these galling considerations, and for this i could not even plead the miserable excuse of intoxication. under all these aggravating feelings of shame and degradation, i descended to the breakfast hall, like a criminal to receive sentence. it chanced that a hard frost had rendered it impossible to take out the hounds, so that i had the additional mortification to meet the family, excepting only rashleigh and miss vernon, in full divan, surrounding the cold venison pasty and chine of beef. they were in high glee as i entered, and i could easily imagine that the jests were furnished at my expense. in fact, what i was disposed to consider with serious pain, was regarded as an excellent good joke by my uncle, and the greater part of my cousins. sir hildebrand, while he rallied me on the exploits of the preceding evening, swore he thought a young fellow had better be thrice drunk in one day, than sneak sober to bed like a presbyterian, and leave a batch of honest fellows, and a double quart of claret. and to back this consolatory speech, he poured out a large bumper of brandy, exhorting me to swallow "a hair of the dog that had bit me." "never mind these lads laughing, nevoy," he continued; "they would have been all as great milksops as yourself, had i not nursed them, as one may say, on the toast and tankard." ill-nature was not the fault of my cousins in general; they saw i was vexed and hurt at the recollections of the preceding evening, and endeavoured, with clumsy kindness, to remove the painful impression they had made on me. thorncliff alone looked sullen and unreconciled. this young man had never liked me from the beginning; and in the marks of attention occasionally shown me by his brothers, awkward as they were, he alone had never joined. if it was true, of which, however, i began to have my doubts, that he was considered by the family, or regarded himself, as the destined husband of miss vernon, a sentiment of jealousy might have sprung up in his mind from the marked predilection which it was that young lady's pleasure to show for one whom thorncliff might, perhaps, think likely to become a dangerous rival. rashleigh at last entered, his visage as dark as mourning weed--brooding, i could not but doubt, over the unjustifiable and disgraceful insult i had offered to him. i had already settled in my own mind how i was to behave on the occasion, and had schooled myself to believe, that true honour consisted not in defending, but in apologising for, an injury so much disproportioned to any provocation i might have to allege. i therefore hastened to meet rashleigh, and to express myself in the highest degree sorry for the violence with which i had acted on the preceding evening. "no circumstances," i said, "could have wrung from me a single word of apology, save my own consciousness of the impropriety of my behaviour. i hoped my cousin would accept of my regrets so sincerely offered, and consider how much of my misconduct was owing to the excessive hospitality of osbaldistone hall." "he shall be friends with thee, lad," cried the honest knight, in the full effusion of his heart; "or d--n me, if i call him son more!--why, rashie, dost stand there like a log? _sorry for it_ is all a gentleman can say, if he happens to do anything awry, especially over his claret. i served in hounslow, and should know something, i think, of affairs of honour. let me hear no more of this, and we'll go in a body and rummage out the badger in birkenwood-bank." rashleigh's face resembled, as i have already noticed, no other countenance that i ever saw. but this singularity lay not only in the features, but in the mode of changing their expression. other countenances, in altering from grief to joy, or from anger to satisfaction, pass through some brief interval, ere the expression of the predominant passion supersedes entirely that of its predecessor. there is a sort of twilight, like that between the clearing up of the darkness and the rising of the sun, while the swollen muscles subside, the dark eye clears, the forehead relaxes and expands itself, and the whole countenance loses its sterner shades, and becomes serene and placid. rashleigh's face exhibited none of these gradations, but changed almost instantaneously from the expression of one passion to that of the contrary. i can compare it to nothing but the sudden shifting of a scene in the theatre, where, at the whistle of the prompter, a cavern disappears, and a grove arises. my attention was strongly arrested by this peculiarity on the present occasion. at rashleigh's first entrance, "black he stood as night!" with the same inflexible countenance he heard my excuse and his father's exhortation; and it was not until sir hildebrand had done speaking, that the cloud cleared away at once, and he expressed, in the kindest and most civil terms, his perfect satisfaction with the very handsome apology i had offered. "indeed," he said, "i have so poor a brain myself, when i impose on it the least burden beyond my usual three glasses, that i have only, like honest cassio, a very vague recollection of the confusion of last night--remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly--a quarrel, but nothing wherefore--so, my dear cousin," he continued, shaking me kindly by the hand, "conceive how much i am relieved by finding that i have to receive an apology, instead of having to make one--i will not have a word said upon the subject more; i should be very foolish to institute any scrutiny into an account, when the balance, which i expected to be against me, has been so unexpectedly and agreeably struck in my favour. you see, mr. osbaldistone, i am practising the language of lombard street, and qualifying myself for my new calling." as i was about to answer, and raised my eyes for the purpose, they encountered those of miss vernon, who, having entered the room unobserved during the conversation, had given it her close attention. abashed and confounded, i fixed my eyes on the ground, and made my escape to the breakfast-table, where i herded among my busy cousins. my uncle, that the events of the preceding day might not pass out of our memory without a practical moral lesson, took occasion to give rashleigh and me his serious advice to correct our milksop habits, as he termed them, and gradually to inure our brains to bear a gentlemanlike quantity of liquor, without brawls or breaking of heads. he recommended that we should begin piddling with a regular quart of claret per day, which, with the aid of march beer and brandy, made a handsome competence for a beginner in the art of toping. and for our encouragement, he assured us that he had known many a man who had lived to our years without having drunk a pint of wine at a sitting, who yet, by falling into honest company, and following hearty example, had afterwards been numbered among the best good fellows of the time, and could carry off their six bottles under their belt quietly and comfortably, without brawling or babbling, and be neither sick nor sorry the next morning. sage as this advice was, and comfortable as was the prospect it held out to me, i profited but little by the exhortation--partly, perhaps, because, as often as i raised my eyes from the table, i observed miss vernon's looks fixed on me, in which i thought i could read grave compassion blended with regret and displeasure. i began to consider how i should seek a scene of explanation and apology with her also, when she gave me to understand she was determined to save me the trouble of soliciting an interview. "cousin francis," she said, addressing me by the same title she used to give to the other osbaldistones, although i had, properly speaking, no title to be called her kinsman, "i have encountered this morning a difficult passage in the divina comme'dia of dante; will you have the goodness to step to the library and give me your assistance? and when you have unearthed for me the meaning of the obscure florentine, we will join the rest at birkenwood-bank, and see their luck at unearthing the badger." i signified, of course, my readiness to wait upon her. rashleigh made an offer to accompany us. "i am something better skilled," he said, "at tracking the sense of dante through the metaphors and elisions of his wild and gloomy poem, than at hunting the poor inoffensive hermit yonder out of his cave." "pardon me, rashleigh," said miss vernon, "but as you are to occupy mr. francis's place in the counting-house, you must surrender to him the charge of your pupil's education at osbaldistone hall. we shall call you in, however, if there is any occasion; so pray do not look so grave upon it. besides, it is a shame to you not to understand field-sports--what will you do should our uncle in crane-alley ask you the signs by which you track a badger?" "ay, true, die,--true," said sir hildebrand, with a sigh, "i misdoubt rashleigh will be found short at the leap when he is put to the trial. an he would ha' learned useful knowledge like his brothers, he was bred up where it grew, i wuss; but french antics, and book-learning, with the new turnips, and the rats, and the hanoverians, ha' changed the world that i ha' known in old england--but come along with us, rashie, and carry my hunting-staff, man; thy cousin lacks none of thy company as now, and i wonna ha' die crossed--it's ne'er be said there was but one woman in osbaldistone hall, and she died for lack of her will." rashleigh followed his father, as he commanded, not, however, ere he had whispered to diana, "i suppose i must in discretion bring the courtier, ceremony, in my company, and knock when i approach the door of the library?" "no, no, rashleigh," said miss vernon; "dismiss from your company the false archimage dissimulation, and it will better ensure your free access to our classical consultations." so saying, she led the way to the library, and i followed--like a criminal, i was going to say, to execution; but, as i bethink me, i have used the simile once, if not twice before. without any simile at all, then, i followed, with a sense of awkward and conscious embarrassment, which i would have given a great deal to shake off. i thought it a degrading and unworthy feeling to attend one on such an occasion, having breathed the air of the continent long enough to have imbibed the notion that lightness, gallantry, and something approaching to well-bred self-assurance, should distinguish the gentleman whom a fair lady selects for her companion in a _tete-a-tete._ my english feelings, however, were too many for my french education, and i made, i believe, a very pitiful figure, when miss vernon, seating herself majestically in a huge elbow-chair in the library, like a judge about to hear a cause of importance, signed to me to take a chair opposite to her (which i did, much like the poor fellow who is going to be tried), and entered upon conversation in a tone of bitter irony. chapter thirteenth. dire was his thought, who first in poison steeped the weapon formed for slaughter--direr his, and worthier of damnation, who instilled the mortal venom in the social cup, to fill the veins with death instead of life. anonymous. "upon my word, mr. francis osbaldistone," said miss vernon, with the air of one who thought herself fully entitled to assume the privilege of ironical reproach, which she was pleased to exert, "your character improves upon us, sir--i could not have thought that it was in you. yesterday might be considered as your assay-piece, to prove yourself entitled to be free of the corporation of osbaldistone hall. but it was a masterpiece." "i am quite sensible of my ill-breeding, miss vernon, and i can only say for myself that i had received some communications by which my spirits were unusually agitated. i am conscious i was impertinent and absurd." "you do yourself great injustice," said the merciless monitor--"you have contrived, by what i saw and have since heard, to exhibit in the course of one evening a happy display of all the various masterly qualifications which distinguish your several cousins;--the gentle and generous temper of the benevolent rashleigh,--the temperance of percie,--the cool courage of thorncliff,--john's skill in dog-breaking,--dickon's aptitude to betting,--all exhibited by the single individual, mr. francis, and that with a selection of time, place, and circumstance, worthy the taste and sagacity of the sapient wilfred." "have a little mercy, miss vernon," said i; for i confess i thought the schooling as severe as the case merited, especially considering from what quarter it came, "and forgive me if i suggest, as an excuse for follies i am not usually guilty of, the custom of this house and country. i am far from approving of it; but we have shakspeare's authority for saying, that good wine is a good familiar creature, and that any man living may be overtaken at some time." "ay, mr. francis, but he places the panegyric and the apology in the mouth of the greatest villain his pencil has drawn. i will not, however, abuse the advantage your quotation has given me, by overwhelming you with the refutation with which the victim cassio replies to the tempter iago. i only wish you to know, that there is one person at least sorry to see a youth of talents and expectations sink into the slough in which the inhabitants of this house are nightly wallowing." "i have but wet my shoe, i assure you, miss vernon, and am too sensible of the filth of the puddle to step farther in." "if such be your resolution," she replied, "it is a wise one. but i was so much vexed at what i heard, that your concerns have pressed before my own,--you behaved to me yesterday, during dinner, as if something had been told you which lessened or lowered me in your opinion--i beg leave to ask you what it was?" i was stupified. the direct bluntness of the demand was much in the style one gentleman uses to another, when requesting explanation of any part of his conduct in a good-humoured yet determined manner, and was totally devoid of the circumlocutions, shadings, softenings, and periphrasis, which usually accompany explanations betwixt persons of different sexes in the higher orders of society. i remained completely embarrassed; for it pressed on my recollection, that rashleigh's communications, supposing them to be correct, ought to have rendered miss vernon rather an object of my compassion than of my pettish resentment; and had they furnished the best apology possible for my own conduct, still i must have had the utmost difficulty in detailing what inferred such necessary and natural offence to miss vernon's feelings. she observed my hesitation, and proceeded, in a tone somewhat more peremptory, but still temperate and civil--"i hope mr. osbaldistone does not dispute my title to request this explanation. i have no relative who can protect me; it is, therefore, just that i be permitted to protect myself." i endeavoured with hesitation to throw the blame of my rude behaviour upon indisposition--upon disagreeable letters from london. she suffered me to exhaust my apologies, and fairly to run myself aground, listening all the while with a smile of absolute incredulity. "and now, mr. francis, having gone through your prologue of excuses, with the same bad grace with which all prologues are delivered, please to draw the curtain, and show me that which i desire to see. in a word, let me know what rashleigh says of me; for he is the grand engineer and first mover of all the machinery of osbaldistone hall." "but, supposing there was anything to tell, miss vernon, what does he deserve that betrays the secrets of one ally to another?--rashleigh, you yourself told me, remained your ally, though no longer your friend." "i have neither patience for evasion, nor inclination for jesting, on the present subject. rashleigh cannot--ought not--dare not, hold any language respecting me, diana vernon, but what i may demand to hear repeated. that there are subjects of secrecy and confidence between us, is most certain; but to such, his communications to you could have no relation; and with such, i, as an individual, have no concern." i had by this time recovered my presence of mind, and hastily determined to avoid making any disclosure of what rashleigh had told me in a sort of confidence. there was something unworthy in retailing private conversation; it could, i thought, do no good, and must necessarily give miss vernon great pain. i therefore replied, gravely, "that nothing but frivolous talk had passed between mr. rashleigh osbaldistone and me on the state of the family at the hall; and i protested, that nothing had been said which left a serious impression to her disadvantage. as a gentleman," i said, "i could not be more explicit in reporting private conversation." she started up with the animation of a camilla about to advance into battle. "this shall not serve your turn, sir,--i must have another answer from you." her features kindled--her brow became flushed--her eye glanced wild-fire as she proceeded--"i demand such an explanation, as a woman basely slandered has a right to demand from every man who calls himself a gentleman--as a creature, motherless, friendless, alone in the world, left to her own guidance and protection, has a right to require from every being having a happier lot, in the name of that god who sent _them_ into the world to enjoy, and _her_ to suffer. you shall not deny me--or," she added, looking solemnly upwards, "you will rue your denial, if there is justice for wrong either on earth or in heaven." i was utterly astonished at her vehemence, but felt, thus conjured, that it became my duty to lay aside scrupulous delicacy, and gave her briefly, but distinctly, the heads of the information which rashleigh had conveyed to me. she sate down and resumed her composure, as soon as i entered upon the subject, and when i stopped to seek for the most delicate turn of expression, she repeatedly interrupted me with "go on--pray, go on; the first word which occurs to you is the plainest, and must be the best. do not think of my feelings, but speak as you would to an unconcerned third party." thus urged and encouraged, i stammered through all the account which rashleigh had given of her early contract to marry an osbaldistone, and of the uncertainty and difficulty of her choice; and there i would willingly have paused. but her penetration discovered that there was still something behind, and even guessed to what it related. "well, it was ill-natured of rashleigh to tell this tale on me. i am like the poor girl in the fairy tale, who was betrothed in her cradle to the black bear of norway, but complained chiefly of being called bruin's bride by her companions at school. but besides all this, rashleigh said something of himself with relation to me--did he not?" "he certainly hinted, that were it not for the idea of supplanting his brother, he would now, in consequence of his change of profession, be desirous that the word rashleigh should fill up the blank in the dispensation, instead of the word thorncliff." "ay? indeed?" she replied--"was he so very condescending?--too much honour for his humble handmaid, diana vernon--and she, i suppose, was to be enraptured with joy could such a substitute be effected?" "to confess the truth, he intimated as much, and even farther insinuated"-- "what?--let me hear it all!" she exclaimed, hastily. "that he had broken off your mutual intimacy, lest it should have given rise to an affection by which his destination to the church would not permit him to profit." "i am obliged to him for his consideration," replied miss vernon, every feature of her fine countenance taxed to express the most supreme degree of scorn and contempt. she paused a moment, and then said, with her usual composure, "there is but little i have heard from you which i did not expect to hear, and which i ought not to have expected; because, bating one circumstance, it is all very true. but as there are some poisons so active, that a few drops, it is said, will infect a whole fountain, so there is one falsehood in rashleigh's communication, powerful enough to corrupt the whole well in which truth herself is said to have dwelt. it is the leading and foul falsehood, that, knowing rashleigh as i have reason too well to know him, any circumstance on earth could make me think of sharing my lot with him. no," she continued with a sort of inward shuddering that seemed to express involuntary horror, "any lot rather than that--the sot, the gambler, the bully, the jockey, the insensate fool, were a thousand times preferable to rashleigh:--the convent--the jail--the grave, shall be welcome before them all." there was a sad and melancholy cadence in her voice, corresponding with the strange and interesting romance of her situation. so young, so beautiful, so untaught, so much abandoned to herself, and deprived of all the support which her sex derives from the countenance and protection of female friends, and even of that degree of defence which arises from the forms with which the sex are approached in civilised life,--it is scarce metaphorical to say, that my heart bled for her. yet there was an expression of dignity in her contempt of ceremony--of upright feeling in her disdain of falsehood--of firm resolution in the manner in which she contemplated the dangers by which she was surrounded, which blended my pity with the warmest admiration. she seemed a princess deserted by her subjects, and deprived of her power, yet still scorning those formal regulations of society which are created for persons of an inferior rank; and, amid her difficulties, relying boldly and confidently on the justice of heaven, and the unshaken constancy of her own mind. i offered to express the mingled feelings of sympathy and admiration with which her unfortunate situation and her high spirit combined to impress me, but she imposed silence on me at once. "i told you in jest," she said, "that i disliked compliments--i now tell you in earnest, that i do not ask sympathy, and that i despise consolation. what i have borne, i have borne--what i am to bear i will sustain as i may; no word of commiseration can make a burden feel one feather's weight lighter to the slave who must carry it. there is only one human being who could have assisted me, and that is he who has rather chosen to add to my embarrassment--rashleigh osbaldistone.--yes! the time once was that i might have learned to love that man--but, great god! the purpose for which he insinuated himself into the confidence of one already so forlorn--the undeviating and continued assiduity with which he pursued that purpose from year to year, without one single momentary pause of remorse or compassion--the purpose for which he would have converted into poison the food he administered to my mind--gracious providence! what should i have been in this world, and the next, in body and soul, had i fallen under the arts of this accomplished villain!" i was so much struck with the scene of perfidious treachery which these words disclosed, that i rose from my chair hardly knowing what i did, laid my hand on the hilt of my sword, and was about to leave the apartment in search of him on whom i might discharge my just indignation. almost breathless, and with eyes and looks in which scorn and indignation had given way to the most lively alarm, miss vernon threw herself between me and the door of the apartment. "stay!" she said--"stay!--however just your resentment, you do not know half the secrets of this fearful prison-house." she then glanced her eyes anxiously round the room, and sunk her voice almost to a whisper--"he bears a charmed life; you cannot assail him without endangering other lives, and wider destruction. had it been otherwise, in some hour of justice he had hardly been safe, even from this weak hand. i told you," she said, motioning me back to my seat, "that i needed no comforter. i now tell you i need no avenger." i resumed my seat mechanically, musing on what she said, and recollecting also, what had escaped me in my first glow of resentment, that i had no title whatever to constitute myself miss vernon's champion. she paused to let her own emotions and mine subside, and then addressed me with more composure. "i have already said that there is a mystery connected with rashleigh, of a dangerous and fatal nature. villain as he is, and as he knows he stands convicted in my eyes, i cannot--dare not, openly break with or defy him. you also, mr. osbaldistone, must bear with him with patience, foil his artifices by opposing to them prudence, not violence; and, above all, you must avoid such scenes as that of last night, which cannot but give him perilous advantages over you. this caution i designed to give you, and it was the object with which i desired this interview; but i have extended my confidence farther than i proposed." i assured her it was not misplaced. "i do not believe that it is," she replied. "you have that in your face and manners which authorises trust. let us continue to be friends. you need not fear," she said, laughing, while she blushed a little, yet speaking with a free and unembarrassed voice, "that friendship with us should prove only a specious name, as the poet says, for another feeling. i belong, in habits of thinking and acting, rather to your sex, with which i have always been brought up, than to my own. besides, the fatal veil was wrapt round me in my cradle; for you may easily believe i have never thought of the detestable condition under which i may remove it. the time," she added, "for expressing my final determination is not arrived, and i would fain have the freedom of wild heath and open air with the other commoners of nature, as long as i can be permitted to enjoy them. and now that the passage in dante is made so clear, pray go and see what has become of the badger-baiters. my head aches so much that i cannot join the party." i left the library, but not to join the hunters. i felt that a solitary walk was necessary to compose my spirits before i again trusted myself in rashleigh's company, whose depth of calculating villany had been so strikingly exposed to me. in dubourg's family (as he was of the reformed persuasion) i had heard many a tale of romish priests who gratified, at the expense of friendship, hospitality, and the most sacred ties of social life, those passions, the blameless indulgence of which is denied by the rules of their order. but the deliberate system of undertaking the education of a deserted orphan of noble birth, and so intimately allied to his own family, with the perfidious purpose of ultimately seducing her, detailed as it was by the intended victim with all the glow of virtuous resentment, seemed more atrocious to me than the worst of the tales i had heard at bourdeaux, and i felt it would be extremely difficult for me to meet rashleigh, and yet to suppress the abhorrence with which he impressed me. yet this was absolutely necessary, not only on account of the mysterious charge which diana had given me, but because i had, in reality, no ostensible ground for quarrelling with him. i therefore resolved, as far as possible, to meet rashleigh's dissimulation with equal caution on my part during our residence in the same family; and when he should depart for london, i resolved to give owen at least such a hint of his character as might keep him on his guard over my father's interests. avarice or ambition, i thought, might have as great, or greater charms, for a mind constituted like rashleigh's, than unlawful pleasure; the energy of his character, and his power of assuming all seeming good qualities, were likely to procure him a high degree of confidence, and it was not to be hoped that either good faith or gratitude would prevent him from abusing it. the task was somewhat difficult, especially in my circumstances, since the caution which i threw out might be imputed to jealousy of my rival, or rather my successor, in my father's favour. yet i thought it absolutely necessary to frame such a letter, leaving it to owen, who, in his own line, was wary, prudent, and circumspect, to make the necessary use of his knowledge of rashleigh's true character. such a letter, therefore, i indited, and despatched to the post-house by the first opportunity. at my meeting with rashleigh, he, as well as i, appeared to have taken up distant ground, and to be disposed to avoid all pretext for collision. he was probably conscious that miss vernon's communications had been unfavourable to him, though he could not know that they extended to discovering his meditated villany towards her. our intercourse, therefore, was reserved on both sides, and turned on subjects of little interest. indeed, his stay at osbaldistone hall did not exceed a few days after this period, during which i only remarked two circumstances respecting him. the first was the rapid and almost intuitive manner in which his powerful and active mind seized upon and arranged the elementary principles necessary to his new profession, which he now studied hard, and occasionally made parade of his progress, as if to show me how light it was for him to lift the burden which i had flung down from very weariness and inability to carry it. the other remarkable circumstance was, that, notwithstanding the injuries with which miss vernon charged rashleigh, they had several private interviews together of considerable length, although their bearing towards each other in public did not seem more cordial than usual. when the day of rashleigh's departure arrived, his father bade him farewell with indifference; his brothers with the ill-concealed glee of school-boys who see their task-master depart for a season, and feel a joy which they dare not express; and i myself with cold politeness. when he approached miss vernon, and would have saluted her she drew back with a look of haughty disdain; but said, as she extended her hand to him, "farewell, rashleigh; god reward you for the good you have done, and forgive you for the evil you have meditated." "amen, my fair cousin," he replied, with an air of sanctity, which belonged, i thought, to the seminary of saint omers; "happy is he whose good intentions have borne fruit in deeds, and whose evil thoughts have perished in the blossom." these were his parting words. "accomplished hypocrite!" said miss vernon to me, as the door closed behind him--"how nearly can what we most despise and hate, approach in outward manner to that which we most venerate!" i had written to my father by rashleigh, and also a few lines to owen, besides the confidential letter which i have already mentioned, and which i thought it more proper and prudent to despatch by another conveyance. in these epistles, it would have been natural for me to have pointed out to my father and my friend, that i was at present in a situation where i could improve myself in no respect, unless in the mysteries of hunting and hawking; and where i was not unlikely to forget, in the company of rude grooms and horse-boys, any useful knowledge or elegant accomplishments which i had hitherto acquired. it would also have been natural that i should have expressed the disgust and tedium which i was likely to feel among beings whose whole souls were centred in field-sports or more degrading pastimes--that i should have complained of the habitual intemperance of the family in which i was a guest, and the difficulty and almost resentment with which my uncle, sir hildebrand, received any apology for deserting the bottle. this last, indeed, was a topic on which my father, himself a man of severe temperance, was likely to be easily alarmed, and to have touched upon this spring would to a certainty have opened the doors of my prison-house, and would either have been the means of abridging my exile, or at least would have procured me a change of residence during my rustication. i say, my dear tresham, that, considering how very unpleasant a prolonged residence at osbaldistone hall must have been to a young man of my age, and with my habits, it might have seemed very natural that i should have pointed out all these disadvantages to my father, in order to obtain his consent for leaving my uncle's mansion. nothing, however, is more certain, than that i did not say a single word to this purpose in my letters to my father and owen. if osbaldistone hall had been athens in all its pristine glory of learning, and inhabited by sages, heroes, and poets, i could not have expressed less inclination to leave it. if thou hast any of the salt of youth left in thee, tresham, thou wilt be at no loss to account for my silence on a topic seemingly so obvious. miss vernon's extreme beauty, of which she herself seemed so little conscious--her romantic and mysterious situation--the evils to which she was exposed--the courage with which she seemed to face them--her manners, more frank than belonged to her sex, yet, as it seemed to me, exceeding in frankness only from the dauntless consciousness of her innocence,--above all, the obvious and flattering distinction which she made in my favour over all other persons, were at once calculated to interest my best feelings, to excite my curiosity, awaken my imagination, and gratify my vanity. i dared not, indeed, confess to myself the depth of the interest with which miss vernon inspired me, or the large share which she occupied in my thoughts. we read together, walked together, rode together, and sate together. the studies which she had broken off upon her quarrel with rashleigh, she now resumed, under the auspices of a tutor whose views were more sincere, though his capacity was far more limited. in truth, i was by no means qualified to assist her in the prosecution of several profound studies which she had commenced with rashleigh, and which appeared to me more fitted for a churchman than for a beautiful female. neither can i conceive with what view he should have engaged diana in the gloomy maze of casuistry which schoolmen called philosophy, or in the equally abstruse though more certain sciences of mathematics and astronomy; unless it were to break down and confound in her mind the difference and distinction between the sexes, and to habituate her to trains of subtle reasoning, by which he might at his own time invest that which is wrong with the colour of that which is right. it was in the same spirit, though in the latter case the evil purpose was more obvious, that the lessons of rashleigh had encouraged miss vernon in setting at nought and despising the forms and ceremonial limits which are drawn round females in modern society. it is true, she was sequestrated from all female company, and could not learn the usual rules of decorum, either from example or precept; yet such was her innate modesty, and accurate sense of what was right and wrong, that she would not of herself have adopted the bold uncompromising manner which struck me with so much surprise on our first acquaintance, had she not been led to conceive that a contempt of ceremony indicated at once superiority of understanding and the confidence of conscious innocence. her wily instructor had, no doubt, his own views in levelling those outworks which reserve and caution erect around virtue. but for these, and for his other crimes, he has long since answered at a higher tribunal. besides the progress which miss vernon, whose powerful mind readily adopted every means of information offered to it, had made in more abstract science, i found her no contemptible linguist, and well acquainted both with ancient and modern literature. were it not that strong talents will often go farthest when they seem to have least assistance, it would be almost incredible to tell the rapidity of miss vernon's progress in knowledge; and it was still more extraordinary, when her stock of mental acquisitions from books was compared with her total ignorance of actual life. it seemed as if she saw and knew everything, except what passed in the world around her;--and i believe it was this very ignorance and simplicity of thinking upon ordinary subjects, so strikingly contrasted with her fund of general knowledge and information, which rendered her conversation so irresistibly fascinating, and rivetted the attention to whatever she said or did; since it was absolutely impossible to anticipate whether her next word or action was to display the most acute perception, or the most profound simplicity. the degree of danger which necessarily attended a youth of my age and keen feelings from remaining in close and constant intimacy with an object so amiable, and so peculiarly interesting, all who remember their own sentiments at my age may easily estimate. chapter fourteenth. yon lamp its line of quivering light shoots from my lady's bower; but why should beauty's lamp be bright at midnight's lonely hour? old ballad. the mode of life at osbaldistone hall was too uniform to admit of description. diana vernon and i enjoyed much of our time in our mutual studies; the rest of the family killed theirs in such sports and pastimes as suited the seasons, in which we also took a share. my uncle was a man of habits, and by habit became so much accustomed to my presence and mode of life, that, upon the whole, he was rather fond of me than otherwise. i might probably have risen yet higher in his good graces, had i employed the same arts for that purpose which were used by rashleigh, who, availing himself of his father's disinclination to business, had gradually insinuated himself into the management of his property. but although i readily gave my uncle the advantage of my pen and my arithmetic so often as he desired to correspond with a neighbour, or settle with a tenant, and was, in so far, a more useful inmate in his family than any of his sons, yet i was not willing to oblige sir hildebrand by relieving him entirely from the management of his own affairs; so that, while the good knight admitted that nevoy frank was a steady, handy lad, he seldom failed to remark in the same breath, that he did not think he should ha' missed rashleigh so much as he was like to do. as it is particularly unpleasant to reside in a family where we are at variance with any part of it, i made some efforts to overcome the ill-will which my cousins entertained against me. i exchanged my laced hat for a jockey-cap, and made some progress in their opinion; i broke a young colt in a manner which carried me further into their good graces. a bet or two opportunely lost to dickon, and an extra health pledged with percie, placed me on an easy and familiar footing with all the young squires, except thorncliff. i have already noticed the dislike entertained against me by this young fellow, who, as he had rather more sense, had also a much worse temper, than any of his brethren. sullen, dogged, and quarrelsome, he regarded my residence at osbaldistone hall as an intrusion, and viewed with envious and jealous eyes my intimacy with diana vernon, whom the effect proposed to be given to a certain family-compact assigned to him as an intended spouse. that he loved her, could scarcely be said, at least without much misapplication of the word; but he regarded her as something appropriated to himself, and resented internally the interference which he knew not how to prevent or interrupt. i attempted a tone of conciliation towards thorncliff on several occasions; but he rejected my advances with a manner about as gracious as that of a growling mastiff, when the animal shuns and resents a stranger's attempts to caress him. i therefore abandoned him to his ill-humour, and gave myself no further trouble about the matter. such was the footing upon which i stood with the family at osbaldistone hall; but i ought to mention another of its inmates with whom i occasionally held some discourse. this was andrew fairservice, the gardener who (since he had discovered that i was a protestant) rarely suffered me to pass him without proffering his scotch mull for a social pinch. there were several advantages attending this courtesy. in the first place, it was made at no expense, for i never took snuff; and secondly, it afforded an excellent apology to andrew (who was not particularly fond of hard labour) for laying aside his spade for several minutes. but, above all, these brief interviews gave andrew an opportunity of venting the news he had collected, or the satirical remarks which his shrewd northern humour suggested. "i am saying, sir," he said to me one evening, with a face obviously charged with intelligence, "i hae been down at the trinlay-knowe." "well, andrew, and i suppose you heard some news at the alehouse?" "na, sir; i never gang to the yillhouse--that is unless ony neighbour was to gie me a pint, or the like o' that; but to gang there on ane's ain coat-tail, is a waste o' precious time and hard-won siller.--but i was doun at the trinlay-knowe, as i was saying, about a wee bit business o' my ain wi' mattie simpson, that wants a forpit or twa o' peers that will never be missed in the ha'-house--and when we were at the thrangest o' our bargain, wha suld come in but pate macready the travelling merchant?" "pedlar, i suppose you mean?" "e'en as your honour likes to ca' him; but it's a creditable calling and a gainfu', and has been lang in use wi' our folk. pate's a far-awa cousin o' mine, and we were blythe to meet wi' ane anither." "and you went and had a jug of ale together, i suppose, andrew?--for heaven's sake, cut short your story." "bide a wee--bide a wee; you southrons are aye in sic a hurry, and this is something concerns yourself, an ye wad tak patience to hear't--yill?--deil a drap o' yill did pate offer me; but mattie gae us baith a drap skimmed milk, and ane o' her thick ait jannocks, that was as wat and raw as a divot. o for the bonnie girdle cakes o' the north!--and sae we sat doun and took out our clavers." "i wish you would take them out just now. pray, tell me the news, if you have got any worth telling, for i can't stop here all night." "than, if ye maun hae't, the folk in lunnun are a' clean wud about this bit job in the north here." "clean wood! what's that?" "ou, just real daft--neither to haud nor to bind--a' hirdy-girdy--clean through ither--the deil's ower jock wabster." [illustration: frank and andrew fairservice-- ] "but what does all this mean? or what business have i with the devil or jack webster?" "umph!" said andrew, looking extremely knowing, "it's just because--just that the dirdum's a' about yon man's pokmanty." "whose portmanteau? or what do you mean?" "ou, just the man morris's, that he said he lost yonder: but if it's no your honour's affair, as little is it mine; and i mauna lose this gracious evening." and, as if suddenly seized with a violent fit of industry, andrew began to labour most diligently. my attention, as the crafty knave had foreseen, was now arrested, and unwilling, at the same time, to acknowledge any particular interest in that affair, by asking direct questions, i stood waiting till the spirit of voluntary communication should again prompt him to resume his story. andrew dug on manfully, and spoke at intervals, but nothing to the purpose of mr. macready's news; and i stood and listened, cursing him in my heart, and desirous at the same time to see how long his humour of contradiction would prevail over his desire of speaking upon the subject which was obviously uppermost in his mind. "am trenching up the sparry-grass, and am gaun to saw some misegun beans; they winna want them to their swine's flesh, i'se warrant--muckle gude may it do them. and siclike dung as the grieve has gien me!--it should be wheat-strae, or aiten at the warst o't, and it's pease dirt, as fizzenless as chuckie-stanes. but the huntsman guides a' as he likes about the stable-yard, and he's selled the best o' the litter, i'se warrant. but, howsoever, we mauna lose a turn o' this saturday at e'en, for the wather's sair broken, and if there's a fair day in seven, sunday's sure to come and lick it up--howsomever, i'm no denying that it may settle, if it be heaven's will, till monday morning,--and what's the use o' my breaking my back at this rate?--i think, i'll e'en awa' hame, for yon's the curfew, as they ca' their jowing-in bell." accordingly, applying both his hands to his spade, he pitched it upright in the trench which he had been digging and, looking at me with the air of superiority of one who knows himself possessed of important information, which he may communicate or refuse at his pleasure, pulled down the sleeves of his shirt, and walked slowly towards his coat, which lay carefully folded up upon a neighbouring garden-seat. "i must pay the penalty of having interrupted the tiresome rascal," thought i to myself, "and even gratify mr. fairservice by taking his communication on his own terms." then raising my voice, i addressed him,--"and after all, andrew, what are these london news you had from your kinsman, the travelling merchant?" "the pedlar, your honour means?" retorted andrew--"but ca' him what ye wull, they're a great convenience in a country-side that's scant o' borough-towns like this northumberland--that's no the case, now, in scotland;--there's the kingdom of fife, frae culross to the east nuik, it's just like a great combined city--sae mony royal boroughs yoked on end to end, like ropes of ingans, with their hie-streets and their booths, nae doubt, and their kraemes, and houses of stane and lime and fore-stairs--kirkcaldy, the sell o't, is langer than ony town in england." "i daresay it is all very splendid and very fine--but you were talking of the london news a little while ago, andrew." "ay," replied andrew; "but i dinna think your honour cared to hear about them--howsoever" (he continued, grinning a ghastly smile), "pate macready does say, that they are sair mistrysted yonder in their parliament house about this rubbery o' mr. morris, or whatever they ca' the chiel." "in the house of parliament, andrew!--how came they to mention it there?" "ou, that's just what i said to pate; if it like your honour, i'll tell you the very words; it's no worth making a lie for the matter--'pate,' said i, 'what ado had the lords and lairds and gentles at lunnun wi' the carle and his walise?--when we had a scotch parliament, pate,' says i (and deil rax their thrapples that reft us o't!) 'they sate dousely down and made laws for a haill country and kinrick, and never fashed their beards about things that were competent to the judge ordinar o' the bounds; but i think,' said i, 'that if ae kailwife pou'd aff her neighbour's mutch they wad hae the twasome o' them into the parliament house o' lunnun. it's just,' said i, 'amaist as silly as our auld daft laird here and his gomerils o' sons, wi' his huntsmen and his hounds, and his hunting cattle and horns, riding haill days after a bit beast that winna weigh sax punds when they hae catched it.'" "you argued most admirably, andrew," said i, willing to encourage him to get into the marrow of his intelligence; "and what said pate?" "ou," he said, "what better could be expected of a wheen pock-pudding english folk?--but as to the robbery, it's like that when they're a' at the thrang o' their whig and tory wark, and ca'ing ane anither, like unhanged blackguards--up gets ae lang-tongued chield, and he says, that a' the north of england were rank jacobites (and, quietly, he wasna far wrang maybe), and that they had levied amaist open war, and a king's messenger had been stoppit and rubbit on the highway, and that the best bluid o' northumberland had been at the doing o't--and mickle gowd ta'en aff him, and mony valuable papers; and that there was nae redress to be gotten by remeed of law for the first justice o' the peace that the rubbit man gaed to, he had fund the twa loons that did the deed birling and drinking wi' him, wha but they; and the justice took the word o' the tane for the compearance o' the tither; and that they e'en gae him leg-bail, and the honest man that had lost his siller was fain to leave the country for fear that waur had come of it." "can this be really true?" said i. "pate swears it's as true as that his ellwand is a yard lang--(and so it is, just bating an inch, that it may meet the english measure)--and when the chield had said his warst, there was a terrible cry for names, and out comes he wi' this man morris's name, and your uncle's, and squire inglewood's, and other folk's beside" (looking sly at me)--"and then another dragon o' a chield got up on the other side, and said, wad they accuse the best gentleman in the land on the oath of a broken coward?--for it's like that morris had been drummed out o' the army for rinning awa in flanders; and he said, it was like the story had been made up between the minister and him or ever he had left lunnun; and that, if there was to be a search-warrant granted, he thought the siller wad be fund some gate near to st. james's palace. aweel, they trailed up morris to their bar, as they ca't, to see what he could say to the job; but the folk that were again him, gae him sic an awfu' throughgaun about his rinnin' awa, and about a' the ill he had ever dune or said for a' the forepart o' his life, that patie says he looked mair like ane dead than living; and they cou'dna get a word o' sense out o' him, for downright fright at their growling and routing. he maun be a saft sap, wi' a head nae better than a fozy frosted turnip--it wad hae ta'en a hantle o' them to scaur andrew fairservice out o' his tale." "and how did it all end, andrew? did your friend happen to learn?" "ou, ay; for as his walk is in this country, pate put aff his journey for the space of a week or thereby, because it wad be acceptable to his customers to bring down the news. it's just a' gaed aft like moonshine in water. the fallow that began it drew in his horns, and said, that though he believed the man had been rubbit, yet he acknowledged he might hae been mista'en about the particulars. and then the other chield got up, and said, he caredna whether morris was rubbed or no, provided it wasna to become a stain on ony gentleman's honour and reputation, especially in the north of england; for, said he before them, i come frae the north mysell, and i carena a boddle wha kens it. and this is what they ca' explaining--the tane gies up a bit, and the tither gies up a bit, and a' friends again. aweel, after the commons' parliament had tuggit, and rived, and rugged at morris and his rubbery till they were tired o't, the lords' parliament they behoved to hae their spell o't. in puir auld scotland's parliament they a' sate thegither, cheek by choul, and than they didna need to hae the same blethers twice ower again. but till't their lordships went wi' as muckle teeth and gude-will, as if the matter had been a' speck and span new. forbye, there was something said about ane campbell, that suld hae been concerned in the rubbery, mair or less, and that he suld hae had a warrant frae the duke of argyle, as a testimonial o' his character. and this put maccallum more's beard in a bleize, as gude reason there was; and he gat up wi' an unco bang, and garr'd them a' look about them, and wad ram it even doun their throats, there was never ane o' the campbells but was as wight, wise, warlike, and worthy trust, as auld sir john the graeme. now, if your honour's sure ye arena a drap's bluid a-kin to a campbell, as i am nane mysell, sae far as i can count my kin, or hae had it counted to me, i'll gie ye my mind on that matter." "you may be assured i have no connection whatever with any gentleman of the name." "ou, than we may speak it quietly amang oursells. there's baith gude and bad o' the campbells, like other names, but this maccallum more has an unco sway and say baith, amang the grit folk at lunnun even now; for he canna preceesely be said to belang to ony o' the twa sides o' them, sae deil any o' them likes to quarrel wi' him; sae they e'en voted morris's tale a fause calumnious libel, as they ca't, and if he hadna gien them leg-bail, he was likely to hae ta'en the air on the pillory for leasing-making." so speaking, honest andrew collected his dibbles, spades, and hoes, and threw them into a wheel-barrow,--leisurely, however, and allowing me full time to put any further questions which might occur to me before he trundled them off to the tool-house, there to repose during the ensuing day. i thought it best to speak out at once, lest this meddling fellow should suppose there were more weighty reasons for my silence than actually existed. "i should like to see this countryman of yours, andrew and to hear his news from himself directly. you have probably heard that i had some trouble from the impertinent folly of this man morris" (andrew grinned a most significant grin), "and i should wish to see your cousin the merchant, to ask him the particulars of what he heard in london, if it could be done without much trouble." "naething mair easy," andrew observed; "he had but to hint to his cousin that i wanted a pair or twa o' hose, and he wad be wi' me as fast as he could lay leg to the grund." "o yes, assure him i shall be a customer; and as the night is, as you say, settled and fair, i shall walk in the garden until he comes; the moon will soon rise over the fells. you may bring him to the little back-gate; and i shall have pleasure, in the meanwhile, in looking on the bushes and evergreens by the bright frosty moonlight." "vara right, vara right--that's what i hae aften said; a kail-blade, or a colliflour, glances sae glegly by moonlight, it's like a leddy in her diamonds." so saying, off went andrew fairservice with great glee. he had to walk about two miles, a labour he undertook with the greatest pleasure, in order to secure to his kinsman the sale of some articles of his trade, though it is probable he would not have given him sixpence to treat him to a quart of ale. "the good will of an englishman would have displayed itself in a manner exactly the reverse of andrew's," thought i, as i paced along the smooth-cut velvet walks, which, embowered with high, hedges of yew and of holly, intersected the ancient garden of osbaldistone hall. as i turned to retrace my steps, it was natural that i should lift up my eyes to the windows of the old library; which, small in size, but several in number, stretched along the second story of that side of the house which now faced me. light glanced from their casements. i was not surprised at this, for i knew miss vernon often sat there of an evening, though from motives of delicacy i put a strong restraint upon myself, and never sought to join her at a time when i knew, all the rest of the family being engaged for the evening, our interviews must necessarily have been strictly _tete-a'-tete._ in the mornings we usually read together in the same room; but then it often happened that one or other of our cousins entered to seek some parchment duodecimo that could be converted into a fishing-book, despite its gildings and illumination, or to tell us of some "sport toward," or from mere want of knowing where else to dispose of themselves. in short, in the mornings the library was a sort of public room, where man and woman might meet as on neutral ground. in the evening it was very different and bred in a country where much attention is paid, or was at least then paid, to _biense'ance,_ i was desirous to think for miss vernon concerning those points of propriety where her experience did not afford her the means of thinking for herself. i made her therefore comprehend, as delicately as i could, that when we had evening lessons, the presence of a third party was proper. miss vernon first laughed, then blushed, and was disposed to be displeased; and then, suddenly checking herself, said, "i believe you are very right; and when i feel inclined to be a very busy scholar, i will bribe old martha with a cup of tea to sit by me and be my screen." martha, the old housekeeper, partook of the taste of the family at the hall. a toast and tankard would have pleased her better than all the tea in china. however, as the use of this beverage was then confined to the higher ranks, martha felt some vanity in being asked to partake of it; and by dint of a great deal of sugar, many words scarce less sweet, and abundance of toast and butter, she was sometimes prevailed upon to give us her countenance. on other occasions, the servants almost unanimously shunned the library after nightfall, because it was their foolish pleasure to believe that it lay on the haunted side of the house. the more timorous had seen sights and heard sounds there when all the rest of the house was quiet; and even the young squires were far from having any wish to enter these formidable precincts after nightfall without necessity. that the library had at one time been a favourite resource of rashleigh--that a private door out of one side of it communicated with the sequestered and remote apartment which he chose for himself, rather increased than disarmed the terrors which the household had for the dreaded library of osbaldistone hall. his extensive information as to what passed in the world--his profound knowledge of science of every kind--a few physical experiments which he occasionally showed off, were, in a house of so much ignorance and bigotry, esteemed good reasons for supposing him endowed with powers over the spiritual world. he understood greek, latin, and hebrew; and, therefore, according to the apprehension, and in the phrase of his brother wilfred, needed not to care "for ghaist or bar-ghaist, devil or dobbie." yea, the servants persisted that they had heard him hold conversations in the library, when every varsal soul in the family were gone to bed; and that he spent the night in watching for bogles, and the morning in sleeping in his bed, when he should have been heading the hounds like a true osbaldistone. all these absurd rumours i had heard in broken hints and imperfect sentences, from which i was left to draw the inference; and, as easily may be supposed, i laughed them to scorn. but the extreme solitude to which this chamber of evil fame was committed every night after curfew time, was an additional reason why i should not intrude on miss vernon when she chose to sit there in the evening. to resume what i was saying,--i was not surprised to see a glimmering of light from the library windows: but i was a little struck when i distinctly perceived the shadows of two persons pass along and intercept the light from the first of the windows, throwing the casement for a moment into shade. "it must be old martha," thought i, "whom diana has engaged to be her companion for the evening; or i must have been mistaken, and taken diana's shadow for a second person. no, by heaven! it appears on the second window,--two figures distinctly traced; and now it is lost again--it is seen on the third--on the fourth--the darkened forms of two persons distinctly seen in each window as they pass along the room, betwixt the windows and the lights. whom can diana have got for a companion?"--the passage of the shadows between the lights and the casements was twice repeated, as if to satisfy me that my observation served me truly; after which the lights were extinguished, and the shades, of course, were seen no more. trifling as this circumstance was, it occupied my mind for a considerable time. i did not allow myself to suppose that my friendship for miss vernon had any directly selfish view; yet it is incredible the displeasure i felt at the idea of her admitting any one to private interviews, at a time, and in a place, where, for her own sake, i had been at some trouble to show her that it was improper for me to meet with her. "silly, romping, incorrigible girl!" said i to myself, "on whom all good advice and delicacy are thrown away! i have been cheated by the simplicity of her manner, which i suppose she can assume just as she could a straw bonnet, were it the fashion, for the mere sake of celebrity. i suppose, notwithstanding the excellence of her understanding, the society of half a dozen of clowns to play at whisk and swabbers would give her more pleasure than if ariosto himself were to awake from the dead." this reflection came the more powerfully across my mind, because, having mustered up courage to show to diana my version of the first books of ariosto, i had requested her to invite martha to a tea-party in the library that evening, to which arrangement miss vernon had refused her consent, alleging some apology which i thought frivolous at the time. i had not long speculated on this disagreeable subject, when the back garden-door opened, and the figures of andrew and his country-man--bending under his pack--crossed the moonlight alley, and called my attention elsewhere. i found mr. macready, as i expected, a tough, sagacious, long-headed scotchman, and a collector of news both from choice and profession. he was able to give me a distinct account of what had passed in the house of commons and house of lords on the affair of morris, which, it appears, had been made by both parties a touchstone to ascertain the temper of the parliament. it appeared also, that, as i had learned from andrew, by second hand, the ministry had proved too weak to support a story involving the character of men of rank and importance, and resting upon the credit of a person of such indifferent fame as morris, who was, moreover, confused and contradictory in his mode of telling the story. macready was even able to supply me with a copy of a printed journal, or news-letter, seldom extending beyond the capital, in which the substance of the debate was mentioned; and with a copy of the duke of argyle's speech, printed upon a broadside, of which he had purchased several from the hawkers, because, he said, it would be a saleable article on the north of the tweed. the first was a meagre statement, full of blanks and asterisks, and which added little or nothing to the information i had from the scotchman; and the duke's speech, though spirited and eloquent, contained chiefly a panegyric on his country, his family, and his clan, with a few compliments, equally sincere, perhaps, though less glowing, which he took so favourable an opportunity of paying to himself. i could not learn whether my own reputation had been directly implicated, although i perceived that the honour of my uncle's family had been impeached, and that this person campbell, stated by morris to have been the most active robber of the two by whom he was assailed, was said by him to have appeared in the behalf of a mr. osbaldistone, and by the connivance of the justice procured his liberation. in this particular, morris's story jumped with my own suspicions, which had attached to campbell from the moment i saw him appear at justice inglewood's. vexed upon the whole, as well as perplexed, with this extraordinary story, i dismissed the two scotchmen, after making some purchases from macready, and a small compliment to fairservice, and retired to my own apartment to consider what i ought to do in defence of my character thus publicly attacked. chapter fifteenth. whence, and what art you? milton. after exhausting a sleepless night in meditating on the intelligence i had received, i was at first inclined to think that i ought, as speedily as possible, to return to london, and by my open appearance repel the calumny which had been spread against me. but i hesitated to take this course on recollection of my father's disposition, singularly absolute in his decisions as to all that concerned his family. he was most able, certainly, from experience, to direct what i ought to do, and from his acquaintance with the most distinguished whigs then in power, had influence enough to obtain a hearing for my cause. so, upon the whole, i judged it most safe to state my whole story in the shape of a narrative, addressed to my father; and as the ordinary opportunities of intercourse between the hall and the post-town recurred rarely, i determined to ride to the town, which was about ten miles' distance, and deposit my letter in the post-office with my own hands. indeed i began to think it strange that though several weeks had elapsed since my departure from home, i had received no letter, either from my father or owen, although rashleigh had written to sir hildebrand of his safe arrival in london, and of the kind reception he had met with from his uncle. admitting that i might have been to blame, i did not deserve, in my own opinion at least, to be so totally forgotten by my father; and i thought my present excursion might have the effect of bringing a letter from him to hand more early than it would otherwise have reached me. but before concluding my letter concerning the affair of morris, i failed not to express my earnest hope and wish that my father would honour me with a few lines, were it but to express his advice and commands in an affair of some difficulty, and where my knowledge of life could not be supposed adequate to my own guidance. i found it impossible to prevail on myself to urge my actual return to london as a place of residence, and i disguised my unwillingness to do so under apparent submission to my father's will, which, as i imposed it on myself as a sufficient reason for not urging my final departure from osbaldistone hall, would, i doubted not, be received as such by my parent. but i begged permission to come to london, for a short time at least, to meet and refute the infamous calumnies which had been circulated concerning me in so public a manner. having made up my packet, in which my earnest desire to vindicate my character was strangely blended with reluctance to quit my present place of residence, i rode over to the post-town, and deposited my letter in the office. by doing so, i obtained possession, somewhat earlier than i should otherwise have done, of the following letter from my friend mr. owen:-- "dear mr. francis, "yours received per favour of mr. r. osbaldistone, and note the contents. shall do mr. r. o. such civilities as are in my power, and have taken him to see the bank and custom-house. he seems a sober, steady young gentleman, and takes to business; so will be of service to the firm. could have wished another person had turned his mind that way; but god's will be done. as cash may be scarce in those parts, have to trust you will excuse my enclosing a goldsmith's bill at six days' sight, on messrs. hooper and girder of newcastle, for l , which i doubt not will be duly honoured.--i remain, as in duty bound, dear mr. frank, your very respectful and obedient servant, "joseph owen. "_postscriptum._--hope you will advise the above coming safe to hand. am sorry we have so few of yours. your father says he is as usual, but looks poorly." from this epistle, written in old owen's formal style, i was rather surprised to observe that he made no acknowledgment of that private letter which i had written to him, with a view to possess him of rashleigh's real character, although, from the course of post, it seemed certain that he ought to have received it. yet i had sent it by the usual conveyance from the hall, and had no reason to suspect that it could miscarry upon the road. as it comprised matters of great importance both to my father and to myself, i sat down in the post-office and again wrote to owen, recapitulating the heads of my former letter, and requesting to know, in course of post, if it had reached him in safety. i also acknowledged the receipt of the bill, and promised to make use of the contents if i should have any occasion for money. i thought, indeed, it was odd that my father should leave the care of supplying my necessities to his clerk; but i concluded it was a matter arranged between them. at any rate, owen was a bachelor, rich in his way, and passionately attached to me, so that i had no hesitation in being obliged to him for a small sum, which i resolved to consider as a loan, to be returned with my earliest ability, in case it was not previously repaid by my father; and i expressed myself to this purpose to mr. owen. a shopkeeper in a little town, to whom the post-master directed me, readily gave me in gold the amount of my bill on messrs. hooper and girder, so that i returned to osbaldistone hall a good deal richer than i had set forth. this recruit to my finances was not a matter of indifference to me, as i was necessarily involved in some expenses at osbaldistone hall; and i had seen, with some uneasy impatience, that the sum which my travelling expenses had left unexhausted at my arrival there was imperceptibly diminishing. this source of anxiety was for the present removed. on my arrival at the hall i found that sir hildebrand and all his offspring had gone down to the little hamlet, called trinlay-knowes, "to see," as andrew fairservice expressed it, "a wheen midden cocks pike ilk ither's barns out." "it is indeed a brutal amusement, andrew; i suppose you have none such in scotland?" "na, na," answered andrew boldly; then shaded away his negative with, "unless it be on fastern's-e'en, or the like o' that--but indeed it's no muckle matter what the folk do to the midden pootry, for they had siccan a skarting and scraping in the yard, that there's nae getting a bean or pea keepit for them.--but i am wondering what it is that leaves that turret-door open;--now that mr. rashleigh's away, it canna be him, i trow." the turret-door to which he alluded opened to the garden at the bottom of a winding stair, leading down from mr. rashleigh's apartment. this, as i have already mentioned, was situated in a sequestered part of the house, communicating with the library by a private entrance, and by another intricate and dark vaulted passage with the rest of the house. a long narrow turf walk led, between two high holly hedges, from the turret-door to a little postern in the wall of the garden. by means of these communications rashleigh, whose movements were very independent of those of the rest of his family, could leave the hall or return to it at pleasure, without his absence or presence attracting any observation. but during his absence the stair and the turret-door were entirely disused, and this made andrew's observation somewhat remarkable. "have you often observed that door open?" was my question. "no just that often neither; but i hae noticed it ance or twice. i'm thinking it maun hae been the priest, father vaughan, as they ca' him. ye'll no catch ane o' the servants gauging up that stair, puir frightened heathens that they are, for fear of bogles and brownies, and lang-nebbit things frae the neist warld. but father vaughan thinks himself a privileged person--set him up and lay him down!--i'se be caution the warst stibbler that ever stickit a sermon out ower the tweed yonder, wad lay a ghaist twice as fast as him, wi' his holy water and his idolatrous trinkets. i dinna believe he speaks gude latin neither; at least he disna take me up when i tell him the learned names o' the plants." of father vaughan, who divided his time and his ghostly care between osbaldistone hall and about half a dozen mansions of catholic gentlemen in the neighbourhood, i have as yet said nothing, for i had seen but little. he was aged about sixty--of a good family, as i was given to understand, in the north--of a striking and imposing presence, grave in his exterior, and much respected among the catholics of northumberland as a worthy and upright man. yet father vaughan did not altogether lack those peculiarities which distinguish his order. there hung about him an air of mystery, which, in protestant eyes, savoured of priestcraft. the natives (such they might be well termed) of osbaldistone hall looked up to him with much more fear, or at least more awe, than affection. his condemnation of their revels was evident, from their being discontinued in some measure when the priest was a resident at the hall. even sir hildebrand himself put some restraint upon his conduct at such times, which, perhaps, rendered father vaughan's presence rather irksome than otherwise. he had the well-bred, insinuating, and almost flattering address peculiar to the clergy of his persuasion, especially in england, where the lay catholic, hemmed in by penal laws, and by the restrictions of his sect and recommendation of his pastor, often exhibits a reserved, and almost a timid manner in the society of protestants; while the priest, privileged by his order to mingle with persons of all creeds, is open, alert, and liberal in his intercourse with them, desirous of popularity, and usually skilful in the mode of obtaining it. father vaughan was a particular acquaintance of rashleigh's, otherwise, in all probability, he would scarce have been able to maintain his footing at osbaldistone hall. this gave me no desire to cultivate his intimacy, nor did he seem to make any advances towards mine; so our occasional intercourse was confined to the exchange of mere civility. i considered it as extremely probable that mr. vaughan might occupy rashleigh's apartment during his occasional residence at the hall; and his profession rendered it likely that he should occasionally be a tenant of the library. nothing was more probable than that it might have been his candle which had excited my attention on a preceding evening. this led me involuntarily to recollect that the intercourse between miss vernon and the priest was marked with something like the same mystery which characterised her communications with rashleigh. i had never heard her mention vaughan's name, or even allude to him, excepting on the occasion of our first meeting, when she mentioned the old priest and rashleigh as the only conversable beings, besides herself, in osbaldistone hall. yet although silent with respect to father vaughan, his arrival at the hall never failed to impress miss vernon with an anxious and fluttering tremor, which lasted until they had exchanged one or two significant glances. whatever the mystery might be which overclouded the destinies of this beautiful and interesting female, it was clear that father vaughan was implicated in it; unless, indeed, i could suppose that he was the agent employed to procure her settlement in the cloister, in the event of her rejecting a union with either of my cousins,--an office which would sufficiently account for her obvious emotion at his appearance. as to the rest, they did not seem to converse much together, or even to seek each other's society. their league, if any subsisted between them, was of a tacit and understood nature, operating on their actions without any necessity of speech. i recollected, however, on reflection, that i had once or twice discovered signs pass betwixt them, which i had at the time supposed to bear reference to some hint concerning miss vernon's religious observances, knowing how artfully the catholic clergy maintain, at all times and seasons, their influence over the minds of their followers. but now i was disposed to assign to these communications a deeper and more mysterious import. did he hold private meetings with miss vernon in the library? was a question which occupied my thoughts; and if so, for what purpose? and why should she have admitted an intimate of the deceitful rashleigh to such close confidence? these questions and difficulties pressed on my mind with an interest which was greatly increased by the impossibility of resolving them. i had already begun to suspect that my friendship for diana vernon was not altogether so disinterested as in wisdom it ought to have been. i had already felt myself becoming jealous of the contemptible lout thorncliff, and taking more notice, than in prudence or dignity of feeling i ought to have done, of his silly attempts to provoke me. and now i was scrutinising the conduct of miss vernon with the most close and eager observation, which i in vain endeavoured to palm on myself as the offspring of idle curiosity. all these, like benedick's brushing his hat of a morning, were signs that the sweet youth was in love; and while my judgment still denied that i had been guilty of forming an attachment so imprudent, she resembled those ignorant guides, who, when they have led the traveller and themselves into irretrievable error, persist in obstinately affirming it to be impossible that they can have missed the way. chapter sixteenth. it happened one day about noon, going to my boat, i was exceedingly surprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which was very plain to be seen on the sand. robinson crusoe. with the blended feelings of interest and jealousy which were engendered by miss vernon's singular situation, my observations of her looks and actions became acutely sharpened, and that to a degree which, notwithstanding my efforts to conceal it, could not escape her penetration. the sense that she was observed, or, more properly speaking, that she was watched by my looks, seemed to give diana a mixture of embarrassment, pain, and pettishness. at times it seemed that she sought an opportunity of resenting a conduct which she could not but feel as offensive, considering the frankness with which she had mentioned the difficulties that surrounded her. at other times she seemed prepared to expostulate upon the subject. but either her courage failed, or some other sentiment impeded her seeking an _e'claircissement._ her displeasure evaporated in repartee, and her expostulations died on her lips. we stood in a singular relation to each other,--spending, and by mutual choice, much of our time in close society with each other, yet disguising our mutual sentiments, and jealous of, or offended by, each other's actions. there was betwixt us intimacy without confidence;--on one side, love without hope or purpose, and curiosity without any rational or justifiable motive; and on the other, embarrassment and doubt, occasionally mingled with displeasure. yet i believe that this agitation of the passions (such is the nature of the human bosom), as it continued by a thousand irritating and interesting, though petty circumstances, to render miss vernon and me the constant objects of each other's thoughts, tended, upon the whole, to increase the attachment with which we were naturally disposed to regard each other. but although my vanity early discovered that my presence at osbaldistone hall had given diana some additional reason for disliking the cloister, i could by no means confide in an affection which seemed completely subordinate to the mysteries of her singular situation. miss vernon was of a character far too formed and determined, to permit her love for me to overpower either her sense of duty or of prudence, and she gave me a proof of this in a conversation which we had together about this period. we were sitting together in the library. miss vernon, in turning over a copy of the orlando furioso, which belonged to me, shook a piece of writing paper from between the leaves. i hastened to lift it, but she prevented me.--"it is verse," she said, on glancing at the paper; and then unfolding it, but as if to wait my answer before proceeding--"may i take the liberty?--nay, nay, if you blush and stammer, i must do violence to your modesty, and suppose that permission is granted." "it is not worthy your perusal--a scrap of a translation--my dear miss vernon, it would be too severe a trial, that you, who understand the original so well, should sit in judgment." "mine honest friend," replied diana, "do not, if you will be guided by my advice, bait your hook with too much humility; for, ten to one, it will not catch a single compliment. you know i belong to the unpopular family of tell-truths, and would not flatter apollo for his lyre." she proceeded to read the first stanza, which was nearly to the following purpose:-- "ladies, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame, deeds of emprize and courtesy, i sing; what time the moors from sultry africk came, led on by agramant, their youthful king-- he whom revenge and hasty ire did bring o'er the broad wave, in france to waste and war; such ills from old trojano's death did spring, which to avenge he came from realms afar, and menaced christian charles, the roman emperor. of dauntless roland, too, my strain shall sound, in import never known in prose or rhyme, how he, the chief, of judgment deemed profound, for luckless love was crazed upon a time"-- "there is a great deal of it," said she, glancing along the paper, and interrupting the sweetest sounds which mortal ears can drink in,--those of a youthful poet's verses, namely, read by the lips which are dearest to him. "much more than ought to engage your attention, miss vernon," i replied, something mortified; and i took the verses from her unreluctant hand-- "and yet," i continued, "shut up as i am in this retired situation, i have felt sometimes i could not amuse myself better than by carrying on--merely for my own amusement, you will of course understand--the version of this fascinating author, which i began some months since when i was on the banks of the garonne." "the question would only be," said diana, gravely, "whether you could not spend your time to better purpose?" "you mean in original composition?" said i, greatly flattered--"but, to say truth, my genius rather lies in finding words and rhymes than ideas; and therefore i am happy to use those which ariosto has prepared to my hand. however, miss vernon, with the encouragement you give"-- "pardon me, frank--it is encouragement not of my giving, but of your taking. i meant neither original composition nor translation, since i think you might employ your time to far better purpose than in either. you are mortified," she continued, "and i am sorry to be the cause." "not mortified,--certainly not mortified," said i, with the best grace i could muster, and it was but indifferently assumed; "i am too much obliged by the interest you take in me." "nay, but," resumed the relentless diana, "there is both mortification and a little grain of anger in that constrained tone of voice; do not be angry if i probe your feelings to the bottom--perhaps what i am about to say will affect them still more." i felt the childishness of my own conduct, and the superior manliness of miss vernon's, and assured her, that she need not fear my wincing under criticism which i knew to be kindly meant. "that was honestly meant and said," she replied; "i knew full well that the fiend of poetical irritability flew away with the little preluding cough which ushered in the declaration. and now i must be serious--have you heard from your father lately?" "not a word," i replied; "he has not honoured me with a single line during the several months of my residence here." "that is strange!--you are a singular race, you bold osbaldistones. then you are not aware that he has gone to holland, to arrange some pressing affairs which required his own immediate presence?" "i never heard a word of it until this moment." "and farther, it must be news to you, and i presume scarcely the most agreeable, that he has left rashleigh in the almost uncontrolled management of his affairs until his return." i started, and could not suppress my surprise and apprehension. "you have reason for alarm," said miss vernon, very gravely; "and were i you, i would endeavour to meet and obviate the dangers which arise from so undesirable an arrangement." "and how is it possible for me to do so?" "everything is possible for him who possesses courage and activity," she said, with a look resembling one of those heroines of the age of chivalry, whose encouragement was wont to give champions double valour at the hour of need; "and to the timid and hesitating, everything is impossible, because it seems so." "and what would you advise, miss vernon?" i replied, wishing, yet dreading, to hear her answer. she paused a moment, then answered firmly--"that you instantly leave osbaldistone hall, and return to london. you have perhaps already," she continued, in a softer tone, "been here too long; that fault was not yours. every succeeding moment you waste here will be a crime. yes, a crime: for i tell you plainly, that if rashleigh long manages your father's affairs, you may consider his ruin as consummated." "how is this possible?" "ask no questions," she said; "but believe me, rashleigh's views extend far beyond the possession or increase of commercial wealth: he will only make the command of mr. osbaldistone's revenues and property the means of putting in motion his own ambitious and extensive schemes. while your father was in britain this was impossible; during his absence, rashleigh will possess many opportunities, and he will not neglect to use them." "but how can i, in disgrace with my father, and divested of all control over his affairs, prevent this danger by my mere presence in london?" "that presence alone will do much. your claim to interfere is a part of your birthright, and it is inalienable. you will have the countenance, doubtless, of your father's head-clerk, and confidential friends and partners. above all, rashleigh's schemes are of a nature that"--(she stopped abruptly, as if fearful of saying too much)--"are, in short," she resumed, "of the nature of all selfish and unconscientious plans, which are speedily abandoned as soon as those who frame them perceive their arts are discovered and watched. therefore, in the language of your favourite poet-- to horse! to horse! urge doubts to those that fear." a feeling, irresistible in its impulse, induced me to reply--"ah! diana, can _you_ give me advice to leave osbaldistone hall?--then indeed i have already been a resident here too long!" miss vernon coloured, but proceeded with great firmness--"indeed, i do give you this advice--not only to quit osbaldistone hall, but never to return to it more. you have only one friend to regret here," she continued, forcing a smile, "and she has been long accustomed to sacrifice her friendships and her comforts to the welfare of others. in the world you will meet a hundred whose friendship will be as disinterested--more useful--less encumbered by untoward circumstances--less influenced by evil tongues and evil times." "never!" i exclaimed, "never!--the world can afford me nothing to repay what i must leave behind me." here i took her hand, and pressed it to my lips. "this is folly!" she exclaimed--"this is madness!" and she struggled to withdraw her hand from my grasp, but not so stubbornly as actually to succeed until i had held it for nearly a minute. "hear me, sir!" she said, "and curb this unmanly burst of passion. i am, by a solemn contract, the bride of heaven, unless i could prefer being wedded to villany in the person of rashleigh osbaldistone, or brutality in that of his brother. i am, therefore, the bride of heaven,--betrothed to the convent from the cradle. to me, therefore, these raptures are misapplied--they only serve to prove a farther necessity for your departure, and that without delay." at these words she broke suddenly off, and said, but in a suppressed tone of voice, "leave me instantly--we will meet here again, but it must be for the last time." my eyes followed the direction of hers as she spoke, and i thought i saw the tapestry shake, which covered the door of the secret passage from rashleigh's room to the library. i conceived we were observed, and turned an inquiring glance on miss vernon. "it is nothing," said she, faintly; "a rat behind the arras." "dead for a ducat," would have been my reply, had i dared to give way to the feelings which rose indignant at the idea of being subjected to an eaves-dropper on such an occasion. prudence, and the necessity of suppressing my passion, and obeying diana's reiterated command of "leave me! leave me!" came in time to prevent my rash action. i left the apartment in a wild whirl and giddiness of mind, which i in vain attempted to compose when i returned to my own. a chaos of thoughts intruded themselves on me at once, passing hastily through my brain, intercepting and overshadowing each other, and resembling those fogs which in mountainous countries are wont to descend in obscure volumes, and disfigure or obliterate the usual marks by which the traveller steers his course through the wilds. the dark and undefined idea of danger arising to my father from the machinations of such a man as rashleigh osbaldistone--the half declaration of love that i had offered to miss vernon's acceptance--the acknowledged difficulties of her situation, bound by a previous contract to sacrifice herself to a cloister or to an ill-assorted marriage,--all pressed themselves at once upon my recollection, while my judgment was unable deliberately to consider any of them in their just light and bearings. but chiefly and above all the rest, i was perplexed by the manner in which miss vernon had received my tender of affection, and by her manner, which, fluctuating betwixt sympathy and firmness, seemed to intimate that i possessed an interest in her bosom, but not of force sufficient to counterbalance the obstacles to her avowing a mutual affection. the glance of fear, rather than surprise, with which she had watched the motion of the tapestry over the concealed door, implied an apprehension of danger which i could not but suppose well grounded; for diana vernon was little subject to the nervous emotions of her sex, and totally unapt to fear without actual and rational cause. of what nature could those mysteries be, with which she was surrounded as with an enchanter's spell, and which seemed continually to exert an active influence over her thoughts and actions, though their agents were never visible? on this subject of doubt my mind finally rested, as if glad to shake itself free from investigating the propriety or prudence of my own conduct, by transferring the inquiry to what concerned miss vernon. i will be resolved, i concluded, ere i leave osbaldistone hall, concerning the light in which i must in future regard this fascinating being, over whose life frankness and mystery seem to have divided their reign,--the former inspiring her words and sentiments--the latter spreading in misty influence over all her actions. joined to the obvious interests which arose from curiosity and anxious passion, there mingled in my feelings a strong, though unavowed and undefined, infusion of jealousy. this sentiment, which springs up with love as naturally as the tares with the wheat, was excited by the degree of influence which diana appeared to concede to those unseen beings by whom her actions were limited. the more i reflected upon her character, the more i was internally though unwillingly convinced, that she was formed to set at defiance all control, excepting that which arose from affection; and i felt a strong, bitter, and gnawing suspicion, that such was the foundation of that influence by which she was overawed. these tormenting doubts strengthened my desire to penetrate into the secret of miss vernon's conduct, and in the prosecution of this sage adventure, i formed a resolution, of which, if you are not weary of these details, you will find the result in the next chapter. chapter seventeenth. i hear a voice you cannot hear, which says, i must not stay; i see a hand you cannot see, which beckons me awry. tickell. i have already told you, tresham, if you deign to bear it in remembrance, that my evening visits to the library had seldom been made except by appointment, and under the sanction of old dame martha's presence. this, however, was entirely a tacit conventional arrangement of my own instituting. of late, as the embarrassments of our relative situation had increased, miss vernon and i had never met in the evening at all. she had therefore no reason to suppose that i was likely to seek a renewal of these interviews, and especially without some previous notice or appointment betwixt us, that martha might, as usual, be placed upon duty; but, on the other hand, this cautionary provision was a matter of understanding, not of express enactment. the library was open to me, as to the other members of the family, at all hours of the day and night, and i could not be accused of intrusion, however suddenly and unexpectedly i might made my appearance in it. my belief was strong, that in this apartment miss vernon occasionally received vaughan, or some other person, by whose opinion she was accustomed to regulate her conduct, and that at the times when she could do so with least chance of interruption. the lights which gleamed in the library at unusual hours--the passing shadows which i had myself remarked--the footsteps which might be traced in the morning-dew from the turret-door to the postern-gate in the garden--sounds and sights which some of the servants, and andrew fairservice in particular, had observed, and accounted for in their own way,--all tended to show that the place was visited by some one different from the ordinary inmates of the hall. connected as this visitant probably must be with the fates of diana vernon, i did not hesitate to form a plan of discovering who or what he was,--how far his influence was likely to produce good or evil consequences to her on whom he acted;--above all, though i endeavoured to persuade myself that this was a mere subordinate consideration, i desired to know by what means this person had acquired or maintained his influence over diana, and whether he ruled over her by fear or by affection. the proof that this jealous curiosity was uppermost in my mind, arose from my imagination always ascribing miss vernon's conduct to the influence of some one individual agent, although, for aught i knew about the matter, her advisers might be as numerous am legion. i remarked this over and over to myself; but i found that my mind still settled back in my original conviction, that one single individual, of the masculine sex, and in all probability young and handsome, was at the bottom of miss vernon's conduct; and it was with a burning desire of discovering, or rather of detecting, such a rival, that i stationed myself in the garden to watch the moment when the lights should appear in the library windows. so eager, however, was my impatience, that i commenced my watch for a phenomenon, which could not appear until darkness, a full hour before the daylight disappeared, on a july evening. it was sabbath, and all the walks were still and solitary. i walked up and down for some time, enjoying the refreshing coolness of a summer evening, and meditating on the probable consequences of my enterprise. the fresh and balmy air of the garden, impregnated with fragrance, produced its usual sedative effects on my over-heated and feverish blood. as these took place, the turmoil of my mind began proportionally to abate, and i was led to question the right i had to interfere with miss vernon's secrets, or with those of my uncle's family. what was it to me whom my uncle might choose to conceal in his house, where i was myself a guest only by tolerance? and what title had i to pry into the affairs of miss vernon, fraught, as she had avowed them to be, with mystery, into which she desired no scrutiny? passion and self-will were ready with their answers to these questions. in detecting this secret, i was in all probability about to do service to sir hildebrand, who was probably ignorant of the intrigues carried on in his family--and a still more important service to miss vernon, whose frank simplicity of character exposed her to so many risks in maintaining a private correspondence, perhaps with a person of doubtful or dangerous character. if i seemed to intrude myself on her confidence, it was with the generous and disinterested (yes, i even ventured to call it the _disinterested_) intention of guiding, defending, and protecting her against craft--against malice,--above all, against the secret counsellor whom she had chosen for her confidant. such were the arguments which my will boldly preferred to my conscience, as coin which ought to be current, and which conscience, like a grumbling shopkeeper, was contented to accept, rather than come to an open breach with a customer, though more than doubting that the tender was spurious. while i paced the green alleys, debating these things _pro_ and _con,_ i suddenly alighted upon andrew fairservice, perched up like a statue by a range of bee-hives, in an attitude of devout contemplation--one eye, however, watching the motions of the little irritable citizens, who were settling in their straw-thatched mansion for the evening, and the other fixed on a book of devotion, which much attrition had deprived of its corners, and worn into an oval shape; a circumstance which, with the close print and dingy colour of the volume in question, gave it an air of most respectable antiquity. "i was e'en taking a spell o' worthy mess john quackleben's flower of a sweet savour sawn on the middenstead of this world," said andrew, closing his book at my appearance, and putting his horn spectacles, by way of mark, at the place where he had been reading. "and the bees, i observe, were dividing your attention, andrew, with the learned author?" "they are a contumacious generation," replied the gardener; "they hae sax days in the week to hive on, and yet it's a common observe that they will aye swarm on the sabbath-day, and keep folk at hame frae hearing the word--but there's nae preaching at graneagain chapel the e'en--that's aye ae mercy." "you might have gone to the parish church as i did, andrew, and heard an excellent discourse." "clauts o' cauld parritch--clauts o' cauld parritch," replied andrew, with a most supercilious sneer,--"gude aneueh for dogs, begging your honour's pardon--ay! i might nae doubt hae heard the curate linking awa at it in his white sark yonder, and the musicians playing on whistles, mair like a penny-wedding than a sermon--and to the boot of that, i might hae gaen to even-song, and heard daddie docharty mumbling his mass--muckle the better i wad hae been o' that!" "docharty!" said i (this was the name of an old priest, an irishman, i think, who sometimes officiated at osbaldistone hall)--"i thought father vaughan had been at the hall. he was here yesterday." "ay," replied andrew; "but he left it yestreen, to gang to greystock, or some o' thae west-country haulds. there's an unco stir among them a' e'enow. they are as busy as my bees are--god sain them! that i suld even the puir things to the like o' papists. ye see this is the second swarm, and whiles they will swarm off in the afternoon. the first swarm set off sune in the morning.--but i am thinking they are settled in their skeps for the night; sae i wuss your honour good-night, and grace, and muckle o't." so saying, andrew retreated, but often cast a parting glance upon the _skeps,_ as he called the bee-hives. i had indirectly gained from him an important piece of information, that father vaughan, namely, was not supposed to be at the hall. if, therefore, there appeared light in the windows of the library this evening, it either could not be his, or he was observing a very secret and suspicious line of conduct. i waited with impatience the time of sunset and of twilight. it had hardly arrived, ere a gleam from the windows of the library was seen, dimly distinguishable amidst the still enduring light of the evening. i marked its first glimpse, however, as speedily as the benighted sailor descries the first distant twinkle of the lighthouse which marks his course. the feelings of doubt and propriety, which had hitherto contended with my curiosity and jealousy, vanished when an opportunity of gratifying the former was presented to me. i re-entered the house, and avoiding the more frequented apartments with the consciousness of one who wishes to keep his purpose secret, i reached the door of the library--hesitated for a moment as my hand was upon the latch--heard a suppressed step within--opened the door--and found miss vernon alone. diana appeared surprised,--whether at my sudden entrance, or from some other cause, i could not guess; but there was in her appearance a degree of flutter, which i had never before remarked, and which i knew could only be produced by unusual emotion. yet she was calm in a moment; and such is the force of conscience, that i, who studied to surprise her, seemed myself the surprised, and was certainly the embarrassed person. "has anything happened?" said miss vernon--"has any one arrived at the hall?" "no one that i know of," i answered, in some confusion; "i only sought the orlando." "it lies there," said miss vernon, pointing to the table. in removing one or two books to get at that which i pretended to seek, i was, in truth, meditating to make a handsome retreat from an investigation to which i felt my assurance inadequate, when i perceived a man's glove lying upon the table. my eyes encountered those of miss vernon, who blushed deeply. "it is one of my relics," she said with hesitation, replying not to my words but to my looks; "it is one of the gloves of my grandfather, the original of the superb vandyke which you admire." as if she thought something more than her bare assertion was necessary to prove her statement true, she opened a drawer of the large oaken table, and taking out another glove, threw it towards me.--when a temper naturally ingenuous stoops to equivocate, or to dissemble, the anxious pain with which the unwonted task is laboured, often induces the hearer to doubt the authenticity of the tale. i cast a hasty glance on both gloves, and then replied gravely--"the gloves resemble each other, doubtless, in form and embroidery; but they cannot form a pair, since they both belong to the right hand." she bit her lip with anger, and again coloured deeply. "you do right to expose me," she replied, with bitterness: "some friends would have only judged from what i said, that i chose to give no particular explanation of a circumstance which calls for none--at least to a stranger. you have judged better, and have made me feel, not only the meanness of duplicity, but my own inadequacy to sustain the task of a dissembler. i now tell you distinctly, that that glove is not the fellow, as you have acutely discerned, to the one which i just now produced;--it belongs to a friend yet dearer to me than the original of vandyke's picture--a friend by whose counsels i have been, and will be, guided--whom i honour--whom i"--she paused. i was irritated at her manner, and filled up the blank in my own way-- "whom she _loves_, miss vernon would say." "and if i do say so," she replied haughtily, "by whom shall my affection be called to account?" [illustration: die vernon and frank in library-- ] "not by me, miss vernon, assuredly--i entreat you to hold me acquitted of such presumption.--_but,_" i continued, with some emphasis, for i was now piqued in return, "i hope miss vernon will pardon a friend, from whom she seems disposed to withdraw the title, for observing"-- "observe nothing, sir," she interrupted with some vehemence, except that i will neither be doubted nor questioned. there does not exist one by whom i will be either interrogated or judged; and if you sought this unusual time of presenting yourself in order to spy upon my privacy, the friendship or interest with which you pretend to regard me, is a poor excuse for your uncivil curiosity." "i relieve you of my presence," said i, with pride equal to her own; for my temper has ever been a stranger to stooping, even in cases where my feelings were most deeply interested--"i relieve you of my presence. i awake from a pleasant, but a most delusive dream; and--but we understand each other." i had reached the door of the apartment, when miss vernon, whose movements were sometimes so rapid as to seem almost instinctive, overtook me, and, catching hold of my arm, stopped me with that air of authority which she could so whimsically assume, and which, from the _naivete_ and simplicity of her manner, had an effect so peculiarly interesting. "stop, mr. frank," she said, "you are not to leave me in that way neither; i am not so amply provided with friends, that i can afford to throw away even the ungrateful and the selfish. mark what i say, mr. francis osbaldistone. you shall know nothing of this mysterious glove," and she held it up as she spoke--"nothing--no, not a single iota more than you know already; and yet i will not permit it to be a gauntlet of strife and defiance betwixt us. my time here," she said, sinking into a tone somewhat softer, "must necessarily be very short; yours must be still shorter: we are soon to part never to meet again; do not let us quarrel, or make any mysterious miseries the pretext for farther embittering the few hours we shall ever pass together on this side of eternity." i do not know, tresham, by what witchery this fascinating creature obtained such complete management over a temper which i cannot at all times manage myself. i had determined on entering the library, to seek a complete explanation with miss vernon. i had found that she refused it with indignant defiance, and avowed to my face the preference of a rival; for what other construction could i put on her declared preference of her mysterious confidant? and yet, while i was on the point of leaving the apartment, and breaking with her for ever, it cost her but a change of look and tone, from that of real and haughty resentment to that of kind and playful despotism, again shaded off into melancholy and serious feeling, to lead me back to my seat, her willing subject, on her own hard terms. "what does this avail?" said i, as i sate down. "what can this avail, miss vernon? why should i witness embarrassments which i cannot relieve, and mysteries which i offend you even by attempting to penetrate? inexperienced as you are in the world, you must still be aware that a beautiful young woman can have but one male friend. even in a male friend i will be jealous of a confidence shared with a third party unknown and concealed; but with _you,_ miss vernon"-- "you are, of course, jealous, in all the tenses and moods of that amiable passion? but, my good friend, you have all this time spoke nothing but the paltry gossip which simpletons repeat from play-books and romances, till they give mere cant a real and powerful influence over their minds. boys and girls prate themselves into love; and when their love is like to fall asleep, they prate and tease themselves into jealousy. but you and i, frank, are rational beings, and neither silly nor idle enough to talk ourselves into any other relation than that of plain honest disinterested friendship. any other union is as far out of our reach as if i were man, or you woman--to speak truth," she added, after a moment's hesitation, "even though i am so complaisant to the decorum of my sex as to blush a little at my own plain dealing, we cannot marry if we would; and we ought not if we could." and certainly, tresham, she did blush most angelically, as she made this cruel declaration. i was about to attack both her positions, entirely forgetting those very suspicions which had been confirmed in the course of the evening, but she proceeded with a cold firmness which approached to severity--"what i say is sober and indisputable truth, on which i will neither hear question nor explanation. we are therefore friends, mr. osbaldistone--are we not?" she held out her hand, and taking mine, added--"and nothing to each other now, or henceforward, except as friends." she let go my hand. i sunk it and my head at once, fairly _overcrowed,_ as spenser would have termed it, by the mingled kindness and firmness of her manner. she hastened to change the subject. "here is a letter," she said, "directed for you, mr. osbaldistone, very duly and distinctly; but which, notwithstanding the caution of the person who wrote and addressed it, might perhaps never have reached your hands, had it not fallen into the possession of a certain pacolet, or enchanted dwarf of mine, whom, like all distressed damsels of romance, i retain in my secret service." i opened the letter and glanced over the contents. the unfolded sheet of paper dropped from my hands, with the involuntary exclamation of "gracious heaven! my folly and disobedience have ruined my father!" miss vernon rose with looks of real and affectionate alarm--"you grow pale--you are ill--shall i bring you a glass of water? be a man, mr. osbaldistone, and a firm one. is your father--is he no more?" "he lives," said i, "thank god! but to what distress and difficulty"-- "if that be all, despair not, may i read this letter?" she said, taking it up. i assented, hardly knowing what i said. she read it with great attention. "who is this mr. tresham, who signs the letter?" "my father's partner"--(your own good father, will)--"but he is little in the habit of acting personally in the business of the house." "he writes here," said miss vernon, "of various letters sent to you previously." "i have received none of them," i replied. "and it appears," she continued, "that rashleigh, who has taken the full management of affairs during your father's absence in holland, has some time since left london for scotland, with effects and remittances to take up large bills granted by your father to persons in that country, and that he has not since been heard of." "it is but too true." "and here has been," she added, looking at the letter, "a head-clerk, or some such person,--owenson--owen--despatched to glasgow, to find out rashleigh, if possible, and you are entreated to repair to the same place, and assist him in his researches." "it is even so, and i must depart instantly." "stay but one moment," said miss vernon. "it seems to me that the worst which can come of this matter, will be the loss of a certain sum of money;--and can that bring tears into your eyes? for shame, mr. osbaldistone!" "you do me injustice, miss vernon," i answered. "i grieve not for the loss of the money, but for the effect which i know it will produce on the spirits and health of my father, to whom mercantile credit is as honour; and who, if declared insolvent, would sink into the grave, oppressed by a sense of grief, remorse, and despair, like that of a soldier convicted of cowardice or a man of honour who had lost his rank and character in society. all this i might have prevented by a trifling sacrifice of the foolish pride and indolence which recoiled from sharing the labours of his honourable and useful profession. good heaven! how shall i redeem the consequences of my error?" "by instantly repairing to glasgow, as you are conjured to do by the friend who writes this letter." "but if rashleigh," said i, "has really formed this base and unconscientious scheme of plundering his benefactor, what prospect is there that i can find means of frustrating a plan so deeply laid?' "the prospect," she replied, "indeed, may be uncertain; but, on the other hand, there is no possibility of your doing any service to your father by remaining here. remember, had you been on the post destined for you, this disaster could not have happened: hasten to that which is now pointed out, and it may possibly be retrieved.--yet stay--do not leave this room until i return." she left me in confusion and amazement; amid which, however, i could find a lucid interval to admire the firmness, composure, and presence of mind which miss vernon seemed to possess on every crisis, however sudden. in a few minutes she returned with a sheet of paper in her hand, folded and sealed like a letter, but without address. "i trust you," she said, "with this proof of my friendship, because i have the most perfect confidence in your honour. if i understand the nature of your distress rightly, the funds in rashleigh's possession must be recovered by a certain day--the th of september, i think is named--in order that they may be applied to pay the bills in question; and, consequently, that if adequate funds be provided before that period, your father's credit is safe from the apprehended calamity." "certainly--i so understand mr. tresham"--i looked at your father's letter again, and added, "there cannot be a doubt of it." "well," said diana, "in that case my little pacolet may be of use to you. you have heard of a spell contained in a letter. take this packet; do not open it until other and ordinary means have failed. if you succeed by your own exertions, i trust to your honour for destroying it without opening or suffering it to be opened;--but if not, you may break the seal within ten days of the fated day, and you will find directions which may possibly be of service to you. adieu, frank; we never meet more--but sometimes think of your friend die vernon." she extended her hand, but i clasped her to my bosom. she sighed as she extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted--escaped to the door which led to her own apartment--and i saw her no more. the works of robert louis stevenson swanston edition volume viii _of this swanston edition in twenty-five volumes of the works of robert louis stevenson two thousand and sixty copies have been printed, of which only two thousand copies are for sale._ _this is no. ........._ [illustration: facsimile of a drawing by r. l. s. when he was staying at le monastier in ] the works of robert louis stevenson volume eight london : published by chatto and windus : in association with cassell and company limited : william heinemann : and longmans green and company mdccccxi all rights reserved contents the black arrow prologue page john amend-all book i.--the two lads chapter i. at the sign of the "sun" in kettley ii. in the fen iii. the fen ferry iv. a greenwood company v. "bloody as the hunter" vi. to the day's end vii. the hooded face book ii.--the moat house i. dick asks questions ii. the two oaths iii. the room over the chapel iv. the passage v. how dick changed sides book iii.--my lord foxham i. the house by the shore ii. a skirmish in the dark iii. st. bride's cross iv. the "good hope" v. the "good hope" (_continued_) vi. the "good hope" (_concluded_) book iv.--the disguise i. the den ii. "in mine enemies' house" iii. the dead spy iv. in the abbey church v. earl risingham vi. arblaster again book v.--crookback i. the shrill trumpet ii. the battle of shoreby iii. the battle of shoreby (_concluded_) iv. the sack of shoreby v. night in the woods: alicia risingham vi. night in the woods (_concluded_): dick and joan vii. dick's revenge viii. conclusion markheim the black arrow a tale of the two roses _critic on the hearth_ _no one but myself knows what i have suffered, nor what my books have gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and admirable pertinacity. and now here is a volume that goes into the world and lacks your_ imprimatur: _a strange thing in our joint lives; and the reason of it stranger still! i have watched with interest, with pain, and at length with amusement, your unavailing attempts to peruse "the black arrow"; and i think i should lack humour indeed, if i let the occasion slip and did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book of mine that you have never read--and never will read._ _that others may display more constancy is still my hope. the tale was written years ago for a particular audience and (i may say) in rivalry with a particular author; i think i should do well to name him--mr. alfred r. phillips. it was not without its reward at the time. i could not, indeed, displace mr. phillips from his well-won priority; but in the eyes of readers who thought less than nothing of "treasure island," "the black arrow" was supposed to mark a clear advance. those who read volumes and those who read story papers belong to different worlds. the verdict on "treasure island" was reversed in the other court: i wonder, will it be the same with its successor?_ _r. l. s._ _saranac lake, april , ._ prologue john amend-all the black arrow a tale of the two roses prologue john amend-all on a certain afternoon, in the late spring-time, the bell upon tunstall moat house was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. far and near, in the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in tunstall hamlet a group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons. tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old king henry vi., wore much the same appearance as it wears to-day. a score or so of houses, heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascending from the river. at the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on its way to the moat house, and further forth to holywood abbey. half-way up the village, the church stood among yews. on every side the slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening oak-trees of the forest. hard by the bridge there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the group had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet smock--discussing what the bell betided. an express had gone through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from sir daniel brackley to sir oliver oates, the parson, who kept the moat house in the master's absence. but now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young master richard shelton, sir daniel's ward. he, at the least, would know, and they hailed him and begged him to explain. he drew bridle willingly enough--a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of deer's leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head, and a steel crossbow at his back. the express, it appeared, had brought great news. a battle was impending. sir daniel had sent for every man that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to kettley, under pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of where the battle was expected, dick knew nothing. sir oliver would come shortly himself, and bennet hatch was arming at that moment, for he it was who should lead the party. "it is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said. "if the barons live at war, ploughfolk must eat roots." "nay," said dick; "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and archers twelve." "if they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if they die, my master?" "they cannot better die than for their natural lord," said dick. "no natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock. "i followed the walsinghams; so we all did down brierly way, till two years ago come candlemas. and now i must side with brackley! it was the law that did it; call ye that natural? but now, what with sir daniel and what with sir oliver--that knows more of law than honesty--i have no natural lord but poor king harry the sixt, god bless him!--the poor innocent that cannot tell his right hand from his left." "ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered dick, "to miscall your good master and my lord the king in the same libel. but king harry--praised be the saints!--has come again into his right mind, and will have all things peaceably ordained. and as for sir daniel, y' are very brave behind his back. but i will be no tale-bearer; and let that suffice." "i say no harm of you, master richard," returned the peasant. "y' are a lad; but when ye come to a man's inches, ye will find ye have an empty pocket. i say no more: the saints help sir daniel's neighbours, and the blessed maid protect his wards!" "clipsby," said richard, "you speak what i cannot hear with honour. sir daniel is my good master, and my guardian." "come, now, will ye read me a riddle?" returned clipsby. "on whose side is sir daniel?" "i know not," said dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had changed sides continually in the troubles of that period, and every change had brought him some increase of fortune. "ay," returned clipsby, "you, nor no man. for indeed, he is one that goes to bed lancaster and gets up york." just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned and saw bennet hatch come galloping--a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body. he was a great man in these parts; sir daniel's right hand in peace and war, and at that time, by his master's interest, bailiff of the hundred. "clipsby," he shouted, "off to the moat house, and send all other laggards the same gate. bowyer will give you jack and salet. we must ride before curfew. look to it: him that is last at the lych-gate sir daniel shall reward. look to it right well! i know you for a man of naught.--nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old appleyard up town?" "i'll warrant you," replied the woman. "in his field, for sure." so the group dispersed, and while clipsby walked leisurely over the bridge, bennet and young shelton rode up the road together, through the village and past the church. "you will see the old shrew," said bennet. "he will waste more time grumbling and prating of harry the fift than would serve a man to shoe a horse. and all because he has been to the french wars!" the house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing alone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow rising towards the borders of the wood. hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the field, dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was digging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked voice, singing a snatch of song. he was all dressed in leather, only his hood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with scarlet; his face was like a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; but his old grey eye was still clear enough, and his sight unabated. perhaps he was deaf; perhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of agincourt to pay any heed to such disturbances; but neither the surly notes of the alarm-bell, nor the near approach of bennet and the lad, appeared at all to move him; and he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very thin and shaky: "now, dear lady, if thy will be, i pray you that you will rue on me." "nick appleyard," said hatch, "sir oliver commends him to you, and bids that ye shall come within this hour to the moat house, there to take command." the old fellow looked up. "save you, my master!" he said, grinning. "and where goeth master hatch?" "master hatch is off to kettley, with every man that we can horse," returned bennet. "there is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a reinforcement." "ay, verily," returned appleyard. "and what will ye leave me to garrison withal?" "i leave you six good men, and sir oliver to boot," answered hatch. "it'll not hold the place," said appleyard; "the number sufficeth not. it would take two score to make it good." "why, it's for that we came to you, old shrew!" replied the other. "who else is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a garrison?" "ay! when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned nick. "there is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for archery--st. michael! if old harry the fift were back again, he would stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthing a shoot!" "nay, nick, there's some can draw a good bow yet," said bennet. "draw a good bow!" cried appleyard. "yes! but who'll shoot me a good shoot? it's there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders. now, what might you call a long shoot, bennet hatch?" "well," said bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from here into the forest." "ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look over his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood staring. "why, what are you looking at?" asked bennet, with a chuckle. "do you see harry the fift?" the veteran continued looking up the hill in silence. the sun shone broadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing; all was still but the distant jangle of the bell. "what is it, appleyard?" asked dick. "why, the birds," said appleyard. and, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder. "what of the birds?" said bennet. "ay!" returned appleyard, "y' are a wise man to go to war, master bennet. birds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line of battle. look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the wiser!" "why, old shrew," said hatch, "there be no men nearer us than sir daniel's, at kettley; y' are as safe as in london tower; and ye raise scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!" "hear him!" grinned appleyard. "how many a rogue would give his two crop ears to have a shoot at either of us! st. michael, man! they hate us like two pole-cats!" "well, sooth it is, they hate sir daniel," answered hatch, a little sobered. "ay, they hate sir daniel, and they hate every man that serves with him," said appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate bennet hatch and old nicholas the bowman. see ye here: if there was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and i stood fair for him--as, by st. george, we stand!--which, think ye, would he choose?" "you, for a good wager," answered hatch. "my surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old archer. "ye burned grimstone, bennet--they'll ne'er forgive you that, my master. and as for me, i'll soon be in a good place, god grant, and out of bow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their malices. i am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready. but for you, bennet, y' are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my years unhanged, the old true-blue english spirit will be dead." "y' are the shrewishest old dolt in tunstall forest," returned hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats. "get ye to your arms before sir oliver come, and leave prating for one good while. an ye had talked so much with harry the fift, his ears would ha' been richer than his pocket." an arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell forward on his face among the cabbages. hatch, with a broken cry, leapt into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house. and in the meanwhile dick shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had his crossbow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest. not a leaf stirred. the sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had settled. but there lay the old man, with a clothyard arrow standing in his back; and there were hatch holding to the gable, and dick crouching and ready behind the lilac bush. "d'ye see aught?" cried hatch. "not a twig stirs," said dick. "i think shame to leave him lying," said bennet, coming forward once more with hesitating steps and a very pale countenance. "keep a good eye on the wood, master shelton--keep a clear eye on the wood. the saints assoil us! here was a good shoot!" bennet raised the old archer on his knee. he was not yet dead; his face worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most horrible, ugly look of one in pain. "can ye hear, old nick?" asked hatch. "have ye a last wish before ye wend, old brother?" "pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a' mary's name!" gasped appleyard, "i be done with old england. pluck it out!" "master dick," said bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon the arrow. he would fain pass, the poor sinner." dick laid down his crossbow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it forth. a gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his feet, called once upon the name of god, and then fell dead. hatch, upon his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the passing spirit. but even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from which the shot had come. when he had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with terror. "ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next." "who hath done this, bennet?" richard asked, still holding the arrow in his hand. "nay, the saints know," said hatch. "here are a good two score christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and i. he has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere i pay mine. sir daniel driveth over-hard." "this is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his hand. "ay, by my faith!" cried bennet. "black, and black-feathered. here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say, bodes burial. and here be words written. wipe the blood away. what read ye?" "'_appulyaird fro jon amend-all_,'" read shelton. "what should this betoken?" "nay, i like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head. "john amend-all! here is a rogue's name for those that be up in the world! but why stand we here to make a mark? take him by the knees, good master shelton, while i lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his house. this will be a rare shog to poor sir oliver; he will turn paper-colour; he will pray like a windmill." they took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his house, where he had dwelt alone. and there they laid him on the floor, out of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they might, to straighten and compose his limbs. appleyard's house was clean and bare. there was a bed, with a blue cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table in the chimney-corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier's armoury of bows and defensive armour. hatch began to look about him curiously. "nick had money," he said. "he may have had three score pounds put by. i would i could light upon't! when ye lose an old friend, master richard, the best consolation is to heir him. see, now, this chest. i would go a mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein. he had a strong hand to get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had appleyard the archer. now may god rest his spirit! near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever getting; but now he's on the broad of his back, poor shrew, and no more lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier, methinks, in heaven." "come, hatch," said dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes. would ye rob the man before his body? nay, he would walk!" hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural complexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any purpose. it would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate sounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and black robe. "appleyard," the newcomer was saying, as he entered, but he stopped dead. "ave maria!" he cried. "saints be our shield! what cheer is this?" "cold cheer with appleyard, sir parson," answered hatch, with perfect cheerfulness. "shot at his own door, and alighteth even now at purgatory gates. ay! there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor candle." sir oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat down upon it, sick and white. "this is a judgment! o, a great stroke!" he sobbed, and rattled off a leash of prayers. hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and knelt down. "ay, bennet," said the priest, somewhat recovering, "and what may this be? what enemy hath done this?" "here, sir oliver, is the arrow. see, it is written upon with words," said dick. "nay," cried the priest, "this is a foul hearing! john amend-all! a right lollardy word. and black of hue, as for an omen! sirs, this knave arrow likes me not. but it importeth rather to take counsel. who should this be? bethink you, bennet. of so many black ill-willers, which should he be that doth so hardily outface us? simnel? i do much question it. the walsinghams? nay, they are not yet so broken; they still think to have the law over us, when times change. there was simon malmesbury, too. how think ye, bennet?" "what think ye, sir," returned hatch, "of ellis duckworth?" "nay, bennet, never. nay, not he," said the priest. "there cometh never any rising, bennet, from below--so all judicious chroniclers concord in their opinion; but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; and when dick, tom, and harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly to see what lord is profited thereby. now, sir daniel, having once more joined him to the queen's party, is in ill odour with the yorkist lords. thence, bennet, comes the blow--by what procuring, i yet seek; but therein lies the nerve of this discomfiture." "an't please you, sir oliver," said bennet, "the axles are so hot in this country that i have long been smelling fire. so did this poor sinner, appleyard. and, by your leave, men's spirits are so foully inclined to all of us, that it needs neither york nor lancaster to spur them on. hear my plain thoughts: you, that are a clerk, and sir daniel, that sails on any wind, ye have taken many men's goods, and beaten and hanged not a few. y' are called to count for this; in the end, i wot not how, ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched. but give me leave, sir oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards." "nay, bennet, y' are in the wrong. bennet, ye should be glad to be corrected," said sir oliver. "y' are a prater, bennet, a talker, a babbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears. mend it, bennet, mend it." "nay, i say no more. have it as ye list," said the retainer. the priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung about his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel. with these he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with sir daniel's arms, hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded, somewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse. "'tis time we were on the road, sir oliver," said hatch, as he held the priest's stirrup while he mounted. "ay; but, bennet, things are changed," returned the parson. "there is now no appleyard--rest his soul!--to keep the garrison. i shall keep you, bennet. i must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black arrows. 'the arrow that flieth by day,' saith the evangel; i have no mind of the context; nay, i am a sluggard priest, i am too deep in men's affairs. well, let us ride forth, master hatch. the jackmen should be at the church by now." so they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing the tails of the parson's cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. they had passed three of the scattered houses that make up tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn, they saw the church before them. ten or a dozen houses clustered immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the meadows. at the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in the saddle, some standing by their horses' heads. they were variously armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better men and the fair equipments were already with sir daniel in the field. "we have not done amiss, praised be the cross of holywood! sir daniel will be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the troop. "who goes? stand! if ye be true!" shouted bennet. a man was seen slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels for the forest. the men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the stranger's presence, woke and scattered. those who had dismounted began scrambling into the saddle: the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape them. hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in the dust. and though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a lead for any hope of capture. the wisest of all had been dick shelton. instead of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned to bennet, and asked if he should shoot. "shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence. "cover him, master dick," said bennet. "bring me him down like a ripe apple." the fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part of the meadow ran very steeply uphill, and the man ran slower in proportion. what with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. the quarrel sped. the man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from hatch and the pursuers. but they were counting their corn before the harvest. the man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood. "and the plague go with him!" cried bennet. "he has thieves' heels: he can run, by st. banbury! but you touched him, master shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good i grudge him less!" "nay, but what made he by the church?" asked sir oliver. "i am shrewdly afeared there has been mischief here.--clipsby, good fellow, get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews." clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned, carrying a paper. "this writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the parson. "i found-naught else, sir parson." "now, by the power of mother church," cried sir oliver, "but this runs hard on sacrilege! for the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the manor--well! but that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should fasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard; and men have burned for matters of less weight! but what have we here? the light fails apace. good master richard, y' have young eyes. read me, i pray, this libel." dick shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. it contained some lines of a very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a gross character, and most uncouthly spelt. with the spelling somewhat bettered, this is how they ran:-- "i had four blak arrows under my belt, four for the greefs that i have felt, four for the nomber of ill menne that have oppressid me now and then. one is gone; one is wele sped; old apulyaird is ded. one is for maister bennet hatch, that burned grimstone, walls and thatch. one for sir oliver oates, that cut sir harry shelton's throat. sir daniel, ye shull have the fourt; we shall think it fair sport. ye shull each have your own part, a blak arrow in each blak heart. get ye to your knees for to pray: ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay! "jon amend-all of the green wood, and his jolly fellaweship. "item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres of your following." "now, well-a-day for charity and the christian graces!" cried sir oliver lamentably. "sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse. i will swear upon the cross of holywood i am as innocent of that good knight's hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened. neither was his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there still live credible witnesses to show." "it boots not, sir parson," said bennet. "here is unseasonable talk." "nay, master bennet, not so. keep ye in your due place, good bennet," answered the priest. "i shall make mine innocence appear. i will upon no consideration lose my poor life in error. i take all men to witness that i am clear of this matter. i was not even in the moat house. i was sent of an errand before nine upon the clock----" "sir oliver," said hatch, interrupting, "since it please you not to stop this sermon, i will take other means.--goffe, sound to horse." and while the tucket was sounding, bennet moved close to the bewildered parson, and whispered violently in his ear. dick shelton saw the priest's eye turned upon him for an instant in a startled glance. he had some cause for thought; for this sir harry shelton was his own natural father. but he said never a word, and kept his countenance unmoved. hatch and sir oliver discussed together for a while their altered situation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be reserved, not only to garrison the moat house, but to escort the priest across the wood. in the meantime, as bennet was to remain behind, the command of the reinforcement was given to master shelton. indeed, there was no choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age. although his youth had been spent in these rough country places, the lad had been well taught in letters by sir oliver, and hatch himself had shown him the management of arms and the first principles of command. bennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who are cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly faithful and well-willing to their friends; and now, while sir oliver entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, sir daniel brackley, bennet came up to his pupil to wish him god-speed upon his enterprise. "ye must go the long way about, master shelton," he said; "round by the bridge, for your life! keep a sure man, fifty paces afore you, to draw shots; and go softly till y' are past the wood. if the rogues fall upon you, ride for 't; ye will do naught by standing. and keep ever forward, master shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love your life; there is no help in tunstall, mind ye that. and now, since ye go to the great wars about the king, and i continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of my life, and the saints alone can certify if we shall meet again below, i give you my last counsels now at your riding. keep an eye on sir daniel; he is unsure. put not your trust in the jack-priest; he intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is a hand-gun for sir daniel! get you good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it. and think ever a paternoster-while on bennet hatch. there are worse rogues afoot than bennet. so, god-speed!" "and heaven be with you, bennet!" returned dick. "ye were a good friend to me-ward, and so i shall say ever." "and look ye, master," added hatch, with a certain embarrassment, "if this amend-all should get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a gold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff with me in purgatory." "ye shall have your will of it, bennet," answered dick. "but, what cheer, man! we shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale than masses." "the saints so grant it, master dick!" returned the other. "but here comes sir oliver. an he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen, he would be a brave man-at-arms." sir oliver gave dick a sealed packet, with this superscription: "to my ryght worchypful master, sir daniel brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in haste." and dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set forth westward up the village. book i the two lads chapter i at the sign of the "sun" in kettley sir daniel and his men lay in and about kettley that night, warmly quartered and well patrolled. but the knight of tunstall was one who never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after midnight to squeeze poor neighbours. he was one who trafficked greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the king, procure unjust decisions in his favour; or, if that was too round-about, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on his influence and sir oliver's cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched. kettley was one such place; it had come very lately into his clutches; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to overawe discontent that he had led his troops that way. by two in the morning, sir daniel sat in the inn room, close by the fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of kettley. by his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale. he had taken off his visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin dark visage resting on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak. at the lower end of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay asleep on benches; and, somewhat nearer hand, a young lad apparently of twelve or thirteen was stretched in a mantle on the floor. the host of the "sun" stood before the great man. "now, mark me, mine host," sir daniel said, "follow but mine orders, and i shall be your good lord ever. i must have good men for head boroughs, and i will have adam-a-more high constable; see to it narrowly. if other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost. for those that have paid rent to walsingham i shall take good measure--you among the rest, mine host." "good knight," said the host, "i will swear upon the cross of holywood i did but pay to walsingham upon compulsion. nay, bully knight, i love not the rogue walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight. give me a great lord like you. nay; ask me among the neighbours, i am stout for brackley." "it may be," said sir daniel drily. "ye shall then pay twice." the innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily. "bring up yon fellow, selden!" cried the knight. and one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen fever. "sirrah," said sir daniel, "your name?" "an't please your worship," replied the man, "my name is condall--condall of shoreby, at your good worship's pleasure." "i have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight. "ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y' are heavily suspicioned of the death of severals. how, fellow, are ye so bold? but i will bring you down." "right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is some hodge-podge, saving your good presence. i am but a poor private man, and have hurt none." "the under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight. "'seize me,' saith he, 'that tyndal of shoreby.'" "condall, my good lord; condall is my poor name," said the unfortunate. "condall or tyndal, it is all one," replied sir daniel coolly. "for, by my sooth, y' are here, and i do mightily suspect your honesty. if you would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound." "for twenty pound, my good lord!" cried condall. "here is midsummer madness! my whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings." "condall or tyndal," returned sir daniel, grinning, "i will run my peril of that loss. write me down twenty, and when i have recovered all i may, i will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest." "alas! my good lord, it may not be; i have no skill to write," said condall. "well-a-day!" returned the knight. "here, then, is no remedy. yet i would fain have spared you, tyndal, had my conscience suffered.--selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where i may see him at my riding. fare ye well, good master condall, dear master tyndal; y' are post-haste for paradise; fare ye then well!" "nay, my right pleasant lord," replied condall, forcing an obsequious smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, i will even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding." "friend," quoth sir daniel, "ye will now write two score. go to! y' are too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings. selden, see him write me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed." and sir daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in england, took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling. meanwhile the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and looked about him with a scare. "hither," said sir daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright. "by the rood!" he cried, "a sturdy boy!" the lad flashed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his dark eyes. now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his age. his face looked somewhat older in expression, but it was as smooth as a young child's; and in bone and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of gait. "ye have called me, sir daniel," he said. "was it to laugh at my poor plight?" "nay, now, let laugh," said the knight. "good shrew, let laugh, i pray you. an ye could see yourself, i warrant ye would laugh the first." "well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer for the other. laugh while yet ye may!" "nay, now, good cousin," replied sir daniel, with some earnestness, "think not that i mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends. i will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go to! and cherish you exceedingly. i took you, indeed, roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth i shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. ye shall be mrs. shelton--lady shelton, by my troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. tut! ye will not shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy. they are no rogues who laugh, good cousin.--good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, master john.--sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat." "nay," said master john, "i will break no bread. since ye force me to this sin, i will fast for my soul's interest.--but, good mine host, i pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; i shall be much beholden to your courtesy indeed." "ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight. "shalt be well shriven, by my faith! content you, then, and eat." but the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding. in an hour or two there rose a stir in the village of sentries challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn-door, and richard shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon the threshold. "save you, sir daniel," he said. "how! dickie shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of dick's name the other lad looked curiously across. "what maketh bennet hatch?" "please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from sir oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered richard, presenting the priest's letter. "and please you farther, ye were best make all speed to risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my lord of risingham was sore bestead, and lacked exceedingly your presence." "how say you? sore bestead?" returned the knight. "nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good richard. as the world goes in this poor realm of england, he that rides softliest rides surest. delay, they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men; mark it, dick. but let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought.--selden, a link here at the door!" and sir daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops. he was an unpopular neighbour and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well beloved by those who rode behind his pennant. his dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the soldiers' comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack and salet. "nay, by the rood!" he cried, "what poor dogs are these? here be some as crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear. friends, ye shall ride in the front of the battle; i can spare you, friends. mark me this old villain on the piebald! a two-year mutton riding on a hog would look more soldierly! ha! clipsby, are ye there, old rat? y' are a man i could lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull's-eye painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; sirrah, ye shall show me the way." "i will show you any way, sir daniel, but the way to change sides," returned clipsby sturdily. sir daniel laughed a guffaw. "why, well said!" he cried. "hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to! i will forgive you for that merry word.--selden, see them fed, both man and brute." the knight re-entered the inn. "now, friend dick," he said, "fall to. here is good ale and bacon. eat while that i read." sir daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened. when he had done he sat a little, musing. then he looked sharply at his ward. "dick," said he, "y' have seen this penny rhyme?" the lad replied in the affirmative. "it bears your father's name," continued the knight; "and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him." "he did most eagerly deny it," answered dick. "he did?" cried the knight, very sharply. "heed him not. he has a loose tongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow. some day, when i may find the leisure, dick, i will myself more fully inform you of these matters. there was one duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be got." "it befell at the moat house?" dick ventured, with a beating at his heart. "it befell between the moat house and holywood," replied sir daniel calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at dick's face. "and now," added the knight, "speed you with your meal; ye shall return to tunstall with a line from me." dick's face fell sorely. "prithee, sir daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains! i beseech you let me to the battle. i can strike a stroke, i promise you." "i misdoubt it not," replied sir daniel, sitting down to write. "but here, dick, is no honour to be won. i lie in kettley till i have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror. cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king's name and custody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow. toss-pot and shuttle-wit run in, but my lord good-counsel sits o' one side, waiting." with that, sir daniel, turning his back to dick, and quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this business of the black arrow stuck sorely in his throat. meanwhile, young shelton was going on heartily enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear. "make not a sign, i do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your charity teach me the straight way to holywood. beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose." "take the path by the windmill," answered dick, in the same tone; "it will bring you to till ferry; there inquire again." and without turning his head, he fell again to eating. but with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called master john stealthily creeping from the room. "why," thought dick, "he is as young as i. 'good boy' doth he call me? an i had known, i should have seen the varlet hanged ere i had told him. well, if he goes through the fen, i may come up with him and pull his ears." half an hour later, sir daniel gave dick the letter and bade him speed to the moat house. and again, some half an hour after dick's departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my lord of risingham. "sir daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my sooth! the fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and scattered their right wing. only the main battle standeth fast. an we had your fresh men, we should tilt you them all into the river. what, sir knight! will ye be the last? it stands not with your good credit." "nay," cried the knight, "i was but now upon the march.--selden, sound me the tucket.--sir, i am with you on the instant. it is not two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger. what would ye have? spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger.--bustle, boys!" by this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from all sides sir daniel's men poured into the main street and formed before the inn. they had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five score men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. the chief part were in sir daniel's livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their array. the best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before. sir daniel looked with pride along the line. "here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said. "they are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger. "it but augments my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier." "well," said the knight, "what would ye? the beginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir messenger"; and he mounted into his saddle. "why! how now!" he cried. "john! joanna! nay, by the sacred rood! where is she?--host, where is that girl?" "girl, sir daniel?" cried the landlord. "nay, sir, i saw no girl." "boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight. "could ye not see it was a wench? she in the murrey-coloured mantle--she that broke her fast with water, rogue--where is she?" "nay, the saints bless us! master john, ye called him," said the host. "well, i thought none evil. he is gone. i saw him--her--i saw her in the stable a good hour agone; 'a was saddling a grey horse." "now, by the rood!" cried sir daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more." "sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of england is elsewhere being lost and won." "it is well said," replied sir daniel.--"selden, fall me out with six crossbowmen; hunt me her down. i care not what it cost; but, at my returning, let me find her at the moat house. be it upon your head.--and now, sir messenger, we march." and the troops broke into a good trot, and selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of kettley, with the staring villagers. chapter ii in the fen it was near six in the may morning when dick began to ride down into the fen upon his homeward way. the sky was all blue; the jolly wind blew loud and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the willows over all the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn. he had been all night in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he rode right merrily. the path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks, but kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and the extreme top of tunstall forest far before. on either hand there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray the traveller. the path lay almost straight through the morass. it was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant waters of the fen. about a mile from kettley, dick came to one such break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and confused the eye. the gap, besides, was more than usually long; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief; and dick bethought him, with something like a pang, of the lad whom he had so imperfectly directed. as for himself, one look backward to where the windmill-sails were turning black against the blue of heaven--one look forward to the high ground of tunstall forest, and he was sufficiently directed, and held straight on, the water washing to his horse's knees, as safe as on a highway. half-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still spasmodically struggling. instantly, as though it had divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly. it rolled, meanwhile, a bloodshot eye, insane with terror; and as it sprawled wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and buzzed about it in the air. "alack!" thought dick, "can the poor lad have perished? there is his horse, for certain--a brave grey! nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, i will do all man can to help thee. shalt not lie there to drown by inches!" and he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel through the creature's head. dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor in the way. "i would i had dared to tell him further," he thought; "for i fear he has miscarried in the slough." and just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the causeway side, and looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad's face peering from a clump of reeds. "are ye there?" he said, reining in. "ye lay so close among the reeds that i had passed you by. i saw your horse bemired, and put him from his agony! which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had done yourself. but come forth out of your hiding. here be none to trouble you." "nay, good boy, i have no arms, nor skill to use them if i had," replied the other, stepping forth upon the pathway. "why call me 'boy'?" cried dick. "y' are not, i trow, the elder of us twain." "good master shelton," said the other, "prithee forgive me. i have none the least intention to offend. rather i would in every way beseech your gentleness and favour, for i am now worse bestead than ever, having lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. to have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit upon! and before all," he added, looking ruefully upon his clothes--"before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!" "tut!" cried dick. "would ye mind a ducking? blood of wound or dust of travel--that's a man's adornment." "nay, then, i like him better plain," observed the lad. "but, prithee, how shall i do? prithee, good master richard, help me with your good counsel. if i come not safe to holywood, i am undone." "nay," said dick, dismounting, "i will give more than counsel. take my horse, and i will run awhile, and when i am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier." so the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, dick with his hand upon the other's knee. "how call ye your name?" asked dick. "call me john matcham," replied the lad. "and what make ye to holywood?" dick continued. "i seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer. "the good abbot of holywood is a strong pillar to the weak." "and how came ye with sir daniel, master matcham?" pursued dick. "nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force! he hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed me till i could 'a' wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot! i was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely. nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!" "would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?" said dick. "'tis a valiant knight, and hath a hand of iron. an he guessed i had made or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with me." "ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y' are his ward, i know it. by the same token, so am i, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage--i wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by." "boy again!" said dick. "nay, then, shall i call you girl, good richard?" asked matcham. "never a girl for me," returned dick. "i do abjure the crew of them!" "ye speak boyishly," said the other. "ye think more of them than ye pretend." "not i," said dick stoutly. "they come not in my mind. a plague of them, say i! give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. i never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men's clothes in spite of nature." master matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray. "what make ye?" dick inquired. "i pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled voice. "for a witch's spirit?" dick cried. "but pray for her and ye list; she was the best wench in europe, was this joan of arc. old appleyard the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been mahoun. nay, she was a brave wench." "well, but, good master richard," resumed matcham, "an ye like maids so little, y' are no true natural man; for god made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man's hope and woman's comfort." "faugh!" said dick. "y' are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women. an ye think i be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, backsword, or bow and arrow, i will prove my manhood on your body." "nay, i am no fighter," replied matcham eagerly. "i mean no tittle of offence. i meant but pleasantry. and if i talk of women, it is because i heard ye were to marry." "i to marry!" dick exclaimed. "well, it is the first i hear of it. and with whom was i to marry?" "one joan sedley," replied matcham, colouring. "it was sir daniel's doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, i have heard the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. it seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom." "well! marriage is like death, it comes to all," said dick, with resignation. "and she bemoaned herself? i pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me! do i bemoan myself? not i. an i be to marry, i will marry dry-eyed! but if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or foul? and is she shrewish or pleasant?" "nay, what matters it?" said matcham. "an y' are to marry, ye can but marry. what matters foul or fair? these be but toys. y' are no milksop, master richard; ye will wed with dry eyes anyhow." "it is well said," replied shelton. "little i reck." "your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said matcham. "she shall have the lord heaven made for her," returned dick. "i trow there be worse as well as better." "ah, the poor wench!" cried the other. "and why so poor?" asked dick. "to wed a man of wood," replied his companion. "o me, for a wooden husband!" "i think i be a man of wood, indeed," said dick, "to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, i trow." "good dick, forgive me," cried the other. "nay, y' are the best heart in england; i but laughed. forgive me now, sweet dick." "nay, no fool words," returned dick, a little embarrassed by his companion's warmth. "no harm is done. i am not touchy, praise the saints." and at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of sir daniel's trumpeter. "hark!" said dick, "the tucket soundeth." "ay," said matcham, "they have found my flight, and now i am unhorsed!" and he became pale as death. "nay, what cheer!" returned dick. "y' have a long start, and we are near the ferry. and it is i, methinks, that am unhorsed." "alack, i shall be taken!" cried the fugitive. "dick, kind dick, beseech ye help me but a little!" "why, now, what aileth thee?" said dick. "methinks i help you very patently. but my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! and see ye here, john matcham--sith john matcham is your name--i, richard shelton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in holywood. the saints so do to me again if i default you. come, pick me up a good heart, sir white-face. the way betters here; spur me the horse. go faster! faster! nay, mind not for me; i can run like a deer." so, with the horse trotting hard, and dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman's hut. chapter iii the fen ferry the river till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets. it was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful. the wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue. a creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman's hut lay snugly. it was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof. dick went to the door and opened it. within, upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man, but lean and shaken by the country fever. "hey, master shelton," he said, "be ye for the ferry? ill times, ill times! look to yourself. there is a fellowship abroad. ye were better turn round on your two heels and try the bridge." "nay; time's in the saddle," answered dick. "time will ride, hugh ferryman. i am hot in haste." "a wilful man!" returned the ferryman, rising. "an ye win safe to the moat house, y' have done lucky; but i say no more." and then catching sight of matcham, "who be this?" he asked, as he paused, blinking, on the threshold of his cabin. "it is my kinsman, master matcham," answered dick. "give ye good day, good ferryman," said matcham, who had dismounted, and now came forward, leading the horse. "launch me your boat, i prithee; we are sore in haste." the gaunt ferryman continued staring. "by the mass!" he cried at length, and laughed with open throat. matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and dick, with an angry countenance, put his hand on the lout's shoulder. "how now, churl!" he cried. "fall to thy business, and leave mocking thy betters." hugh ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and shoved it a little forth into the deep water. then dick led in the horse, and matcham followed. "ye be mortal small made, master," said hugh, with a wide grin; "something o' the wrong model, belike.--nay, master shelton, i am for you," he added, getting to his oars. "a cat may look at a king. i did but take a shot of the eye at master matcham." "sirrah, no more words," said dick. "bend me your back." they were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up and down the river. everywhere it was enclosed with islands. clay banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and piping. there was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters. "my master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "i have a shrewd guess that john-a-fenne is on the island. he bears me a black grudge to all sir daniel's. how if i turned me up stream and landed you an arrow-flight, above the path? ye were best not meddle with john fenne." "how, then? is he of this company?" asked dick. "nay, mum is the word," said hugh. "but i would go up water, dick. how if master matcham came by an arrow?" and he laughed again. "be it so, hugh," answered dick. "look ye, then," pursued hugh. "sith it shall so be, unsling me your crossbow--so: now make it ready--good; place me a quarrel. ay, keep it so, and look upon me grimly." "what meaneth this?" asked dick. "why, my master, if i steal you across, it must be under force or fear," replied the ferryman; "for else, if john fenne got wind of it, he were like to prove my most distressful neighbour." "do these churls ride so roughly?" dick inquired. "do they command sir daniel's own ferry?" "nay," whispered the ferryman, winking. "mark me! sir daniel shall down. his time is out. he shall down. mum!" and he bent over his oars. they pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and came softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank. then hugh held water in midstream. "i must land you here among the willows," he said. "here is no path but willow swamps and quagmires," answered dick. "master shelton," replied hugh, "i dare not take ye nearer down, for your own sake now. he watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow. all that go by and owe sir daniel goodwill he shooteth down like rabbits. i heard him swear it by the rood. an i had not known you of old days--ay, and from so high upward--i would 'a' let you go on; but for old days' remembrance, and because ye had this toy with you that's not fit for wounds or warfare, i did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole. content you; i can no more, on my salvation!" hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong man breasting roughly through the wood. "a murrain!" cried hugh. "he was on the upper island all the while!" he pulled straight for shore. "threat me with your bow, good dick; threat me with it plain," he added. "i have tried to save your skins, save you mine!" the boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash. matcham, pale, but steady and alert, at a sign from dick ran along the thwarts and leaped ashore; dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to follow, but what with the animal's bulk, and what with the closeness of the thicket, both stuck fast. the horse neighed and trampled; and the boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with violence. "it may not be, hugh; here is no landing," cried dick; but he still struggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal. a tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a longbow in his hand. dick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow with a great effort, his face crimson with hurry. "who goes?" he shouted. "hugh, who goes?" "'tis master shelton, john," replied the ferryman. "stand, dick shelton!" bawled the man upon the island. "ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood! stand!--back out, hugh ferryman." dick cried a taunting answer. "nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an arrow. the horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat capsized, and next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the river. when dick came up he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that instantly began to drag him forward. it was the riding-rod, that matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp. "by the mass!" cried dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life i owe you. i swim like a cannon-ball." and he turned instantly towards the island. midway over, hugh ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while john-a-fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to hurry. "come, jack," said shelton, "run for it! ere hugh can hale his barge across, or the pair of 'em can get it righted, we may be out of cry." and adding example to his words, he began to run, dodging among the willows, and in marshy places leaping from tussock to tussock. he had no time to look for his direction; all he could do was to turn his back upon the river, and put all his heart to running. presently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was still in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of solid turf, where elms began to mingle with the willows. but here matcham, who had been dragging far into the rear, threw himself fairly down. "leave me, dick!" he cried pantingly; "i can no more." dick turned, and came back to where his companion lay. "nay, jack, leave thee!" he cried. "that were a knave's trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save my life. drowning, in sooth; for why i did not pull you in along with me, the saints alone can tell!" "nay," said matcham, "i would 'a' saved us both, good dick, for i can swim." "can ye so?" cried dick, with open eyes. it was the one manly accomplishment of which he was himself incapable. in the order of the things that he admired, next to having killed a man in single fight, came swimming. "well," he said, "here is a lesson to despise no man. i promised to care for you as far as holywood, and, by the rood, jack, y' are more capable to care for me." "well, dick, we're friends now," said matcham. "nay, i never was unfriends," answered dick. "y' are a brave lad in your way, albeit something of a milksop too. i never met your like before this day. but, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on. here is no place for chatter." "my foot hurts shrewdly," said matcham. "nay, i had forgot your foot," returned dick. "well, we must go the gentlier. i would i knew rightly where we were. i have clean lost the path; yet that may be for the better, too. an they watch the ferry, they watch the path, belike, as well. i would sir daniel were back with two score men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves. come, jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew. nay, y' are not tall enough. what age are ye, for a wager?--twelve?" "nay, i am sixteen," said matcham. "y' are poorly grown to height, then," answered dick. "but take my hand. we shall go softly, never fear. i owe you a life; i am a good repayer, jack, of good or evil." they began to go forward up the slope. "we must hit the road, early or late," continued dick; "and then for a fresh start. by the mass! but y' have a rickety hand, jack. if i had a hand like that i would think shame. i tell you," he went on, with a sudden chuckle, "i swear by the mass i believe hugh ferryman took you for a maid." "nay, never!" cried the other, colouring high. "'a did, though, for a wager!" dick exclaimed. "small blame to him. ye look liker maid than man: and i tell you more--y' are a strange-looking rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, jack, ye would be right fair--ye would. ye would be well-favoured for a wench." "well," said matcham, "ye know right well that i am none." "nay, i know that; i do but jest," said dick. "ye'll be a man before your mother, jack. what cheer, my bully? ye shall strike shrewd strokes. now, which, i marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, jack? for knighted i shall be, or die for 't. 'sir richard shelton, knight': it soundeth bravely. but 'sir john matcham' soundeth not amiss." "prithee, dick, stop till i drink," said the other, pausing where a little clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a pocket. "and o, dick, if i might come by anything to eat!--my very heart aches with hunger." "why, fool, did ye not eat at kettley?" asked dick. "i had made a vow--it was a sin i had been led into," stammered matcham; "but now, if it were but dry bread, i would eat it greedily." "sit ye, then, and eat," said dick, "while that i scout a little forward for the road." and he took a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread and pieces of dry bacon, and, while matcham fell heartily to, struck farther forth among the trees. a little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where a streamlet soaked among dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown and stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of willow and elm. the continued tossing and pouring of the wind among the leaves sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was for the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for all that dick went cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking sharply about him as he went. suddenly a doe passed like a shadow through the underwood in front of him, and he paused, disgusted at the chance. this part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent before him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing farther, he turned him to the nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to climb. luck had served him well. the oak on which he had mounted was one of the tallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours by a fathom and a half; and when dick had clambered into the topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as kettley, and the till wandering among woody islets, and in front of him the white line of high-road winding through the forest. the boat had been righted--it was even now midway on the ferry. beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught moving but the wind. he was about to descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit upon a string of moving points about the middle of the fen. plainly a small troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down the trunk and returned across the wood for his companion. chapter iv a greenwood company matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of tunstall forest. the trees grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. the ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks. and with every step of the ascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the gusts like fishing-rods. they had just entered one of the clearings, when dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward towards the shelter of the grove. matcham, in great bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated his companion's course; and it was not until they had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain. for all reply, dick pointed with his finger. at the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky. for about fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like a column. at that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the fork, like a mast-headed seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide. the sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from side to side, with the regularity of a machine. the lads exchanged glances. "let us try to the left," said dick. "we had near fallen foully, jack." ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path. "here is a piece of forest that i know not," dick remarked. "where goeth me this track?" "let us even try," said matcham. a few yards farther, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. at the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single tall chimney, marked the ruins of a house. "what may this be?" whispered matcham. "nay, by the mass, i know not," answered dick. "i am all at sea. let us go warily." with beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns. here and there they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit-trees and pot-herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden. yet a little farther and they came forth before the ruins of the house. it had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. a dry ditch was dug deep about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen rafter. the two farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their empty windows; but the remainder of the building had collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire. already in the interior a few plants were springing green among the chinks. "now i bethink me," whispered dick, "this must be grimstone. it was a hold of one simon malmesbury; sir daniel was his bane! 'twas bennet hatch that burned it, now five years agone. in sooth, 'twas pity, for it was a fair house." down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still; and matcham, laying one hand upon dick's arm, held up a warning finger. "hist!" he said. then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. it was twice repeated ere they recognised its nature. it was the sound of a big man clearing his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing:-- "then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws: 'what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?' and gamelyn made answer--he looked never adown: 'o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!'" the singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then silence. the two lads stood looking at each other. whoever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin. and suddenly the colour came into matcham's face, and next moment he had crossed the fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of lumber that filled the interior of the roofless house. dick would have withheld him, had he been in time; as it was, he was fain to follow. right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church. into this the lads silently lowered themselves. there they were perfectly concealed, and through an arrow loophole commanded a view upon the farther side. peering through this they were struck stiff with terror at their predicament. to retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe. upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt. plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear. a little farther off another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face. all this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme verge a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer's carcass, hung upon a flowering hawthorn. presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring and singing. "'o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,'" he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it. "'o, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do, but if we meet with the good king's deer to shoot a shaft into.'" still as he sang, he took from time to time another spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced cook. at length, apparently, he judged the mess was ready, for taking the horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls. the other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and looked about him. "how now, brother?" he said. "dinner?" "ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner too, with neither ale nor bread. but there is little pleasure in the greenwood now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set aside the rain and the white frosts; he had his heart's desire both of ale and wine. but now are men's spirits dead; and this john amend-all, save us and guard us! but a stuffed booby to scare crows withal." "nay," returned the other, "y' are too set on meat and drinking, lawless. bide ye a bit; the good time cometh." "look ye," returned the cook, "i have even waited for this good time sith that i was so high. i have been a grey friar; i have been a king's archer; i have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and i have been in greenwood before this, forsooth! and shot the king's deer. what cometh of it? naught! i were better to have bided in the cloister. john abbot availeth more than john amend-all.--by'r lady! here they come." one after another, tall likely fellows began to stroll into the lawn. each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. they were very variously equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their sides. they came in the silence of hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to meat. there were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound of suppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and immediately after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher debouched upon the lawn. a tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear in his hand. "lads!" he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y' have sung this while on a dry whistle, and lived at little ease. but what said i ever? abide fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift. and lo! here is her little firstling--even that good creature, ale!" there was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask. "and now haste ye, boys," the man continued. "there is work toward. a handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is their wear; they are our butts--they shall all taste arrows--no man of them shall struggle through this wood. for, lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us most foully wronged; for some they have lost lands, and some friends; and some they have been outlawed--all oppressed! who, then, hath done this evil? sir daniel, by the rood! shall he then profit? shall he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? shall he suck the bone he robbed us of? i trow not. he getteth him strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain--i have a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him." lawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of ale. he raised it, as if to pledge the speaker. "master ellis," he said, "y' are for vengeance--well it becometh you!--but your poor brother o' the greenwood that had never lands to lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the profit of the thing. he had liefer a gold noble and a pottle of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory." "lawless," replied the other, "to reach the moat house, sir daniel must pass the forest. we shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any battle. then, when he has got to earth with such ragged handful as escapeth us--all his great friends fallen and fled away, and none to give him aid--we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the fall of him. 'tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner for us all." "ay," returned lawless, "i have eaten many of these dinners beforehand; but the cooking of them is hot work, good master ellis. and meanwhile what do we? we make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink." "y' are untrue, will lawless. ye still smell of the grey friars' buttery; greed is your undoing," answered ellis. "we took twenty pounds from appleyard. we took seven marks from the messenger last night. a day ago we had fifty from the merchant." "and to-day," said one of the men, "i stopped a fat pardoner riding apace for holywood. here is his purse." ellis counted the contents. "five score shillings!" he grumbled. "fool, he had more in his sandal, or stitched into his tippet. y' are but a child, tom cuckow; ye have lost the fish." but, for all that, ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance. he stood leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest. they, in various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally washed it down with ale. this was a good day; they were in luck; but business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating. the first-comers had by this time even despatched their dinner. some lay down upon the grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked together, or overhauled their weapons; and one, whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing: "here is no law in good green shaw, here is no lack of meat; 'tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, in summer, when all is sweet. come winter again, with wind and rain-- come winter, with snow and sleet, get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, and sit by the fire and eat." all this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only richard had unslung his crossbow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or grappling-iron that he used to bend it. otherwise they had not dared to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a scene upon a theatre. but now there came a strange interruption. the tall chimney which overtopped the remainder of the ruins rose right above their hiding-place. there came a whistle in the air, and then a sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their ears. some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the chimney-top. matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and even dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his fingers. but to the fellows on the lawn this shaft was an expected signal. they were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. ellis held up his hand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of his eyes shone in his sun-brown face. "lads," he said, "ye know your places. let not one man's soul escape you. appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table. i have three men whom i will bitterly avenge--harry shelton, simon malmesbury, and"--striking his broad bosom--"and ellis duckworth, by the mass!" another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns. "'tis not sir daniel!" he panted. "they are but seven. is the arrow gone?" "it struck but now," replied ellis. "a murrain!" cried the messenger. "methought i heard it whistle. and i go dinnerless!" in the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the black arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer's carcass on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been there. chapter v "bloody as the hunter" the lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind. then they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint, clambered through the ruins and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter. matcham had picked up the windac and went first, dick following stiffly, with his crossbow on his arm. "and now," said matcham, "forth to holywood." "to holywood!" cried dick, "when good fellows stand shot? not i! i would see you hanged first, jack!" "ye would leave me, would ye?" matcham asked. "ay, by my sooth!" returned dick. "an i be not in time to warn these lads, i will go die with them. what! would ye have me leave my own men that i have lived among? i trow not! give me my windac." but there was nothing further from matcham's mind. "dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to holywood. would ye be forsworn? would you desert me--a perjurer?" "nay, i swear for the best," returned dick. "i meant it too; but now! but look ye, jack, turn again with me. let me but warn these men, and, if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and i will on again to holywood and purge mine oath." "ye but deride me," answered matcham. "these men ye go to succour are the same that hunt me to my ruin." dick scratched his head. "i cannot help it, jack," he said. "here is no remedy. what would ye? ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death. death!" he added. "think of it! what a murrain do ye keep me here for? give me the windac. st. george! shall they all die?" "richard shelton," said matcham, looking him squarely in the face, "would ye, then, join party with sir daniel? have ye not ears? heard ye not this ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own kindly blood and the father that men slew? 'harry shelton,' he said; and sir harry shelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven." "what would ye?" dick cried again. "would ye have me credit thieves?" "nay, i have heard it before now," returned matcham. "the fame goeth currently, it was sir daniel slew him. he slew him under oath; in his own house he shed the innocent blood. heaven wearies for the avenging on't; and you--the man's son--ye go about to comfort and defend the murderer!" "jack," cried the lad, "i know not. it may be; what know i? but see here: this man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men i have hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril--o, man, if i did that, i were stark dead to honour! nay, jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me to be base." "but your father, dick!" said matcham, somewhat wavering. "your father? and your oath to me? ye took the saints to witness." "my father?" cried shelton. "nay, he would have me go! if sir daniel slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay sir daniel; but neither him nor his will i desert in peril. and for mine oath, good jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. for the lives' sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free." "i, dick? never!" returned matcham. "an ye leave me, y' are forsworn, and so i shall declare it!" "my blood heats," said dick. "give me the windac! give it me!" "i'll not," said matcham. "i'll save you in your teeth." "not?" cried dick, "i'll make you!" "try it," said the other. they stood, looking in each other's eyes, each ready for a spring. then dick leaped; and though matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds he was overtaken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, and dick stood across him, flushed and menacing, with doubled fist. matcham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of resistance. dick bent his bow. "i'll teach you!" he cried fiercely. "oath or no oath, ye may go hang for me!" and he turned and began to run. matcham was on his feet at once, and began running after him. "what d'ye want?" cried dick, stopping. "what make ye after me? stand off!" "i will follow an i please," said matcham. "this wood is free to me." "stand back, by'r lady!" returned dick, raising his bow. "ah, y' are a brave boy!" retorted matcham. "shoot!" dick lowered his weapon in some confusion. "see here," he said. "y' have done me ill enough. go, then. go your way in fair wise; or, whether i will or not, i must even drive you to it." "well," said matcham doggedly, "y' are the stronger. do your worst. i shall not leave to follow thee, dick, unless thou makest me," he added. dick was almost beside himself. it went against his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no other way to rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to think, perhaps untrue companion. "y' are mad, i think," he cried. "fool-fellow, i am hasting to your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, go i thither." "i care not, dick," replied the lad. "if y' are bound to die, dick, i'll die too. i would liefer go with you to prison than to go free without you." "well," returned the other, "i may stand no longer prating. follow me, if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you, mark ye that. shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy." so saying, dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin of the thicket, and looking briskly about him as he went. at a good pace he rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quarters of the wood. to the left a little eminence appeared, spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs. "i shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a heathy clearing. he had gone but a few yards, when matcham touched him on the arm, and pointed. to the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it were, a valley passing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an unsecured buckler, and dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following another, dick saw half a score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear, ellis duckworth in person. one after another gained the top, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the farther side, until the last was gone. dick looked at matcham with a kindlier eye. "so y' are to be true to me, jack?" he asked. "i thought ye were of the other party." matcham began to sob. "what cheer!" cried dick. "now the saints behold us! would ye snivel' for a word?" "ye hurt me," sobbed matcham. "ye hurt me when ye threw me down. y' are a coward to abuse your strength." "nay, that is fool's talk," said dick roughly. "y' had no title to my windac, master john. i would 'a' done right to have well basted you. if ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come." matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that dick continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence, and not so much as looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to run in turn. but the ground was very difficult and steep; dick had already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he had long since come to the summit, crawled forward through the firs, and ensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before matcham, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side. below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from tunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry. it was well beaten, and the eye followed it easily from point to point. here it was bordered by open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every hundred yards it ran beside an ambush. far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel salets, and from time to time, as the trees opened, selden and his men could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon sir daniel's mission. the wind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warning from the troubled conduct of the birds. "now, mark," dick whispered. "they be already well advanced into the wood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward. but see ye where this wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, these two score trees make like an island? there were their safety. an they but come sound as far as that, i will make shift to warn them. but my heart misgiveth me; they are but seven against so many, and they but carry crossbows. the long-bow, jack, will have the uppermost ever." meanwhile, selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of their danger, and momently drew nearer hand. once, indeed, they paused, drew into a group, and seemed to point and listen. but it was something from far away across the plain that had arrested their attention--a hollow growl of cannon that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told of the great battle. it was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus become audible in tunstall forest, the fight must have rolled ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore against sir daniel and the lords of the dark rose. but presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single tongue of forest ran down to join the road. they were but just abreast of this, when an arrow shone flying. one of the men threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass. even from where the boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men's voices crying out; they could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dismount. a second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. the man who was dismounting lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing hoofs. the four who still kept the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road from tunstall. from every clump they passed an arrow sped. soon a horse fell, but the rider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a second shot despatched him. another man fell; then another horse; out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in different directions, the noise of the galloping of three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance. all this time not one of the assailants had for a moment showed himself. here and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain. the solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his fallen charger. he had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of timber, pointed out by dick. he was not, perhaps, five hundred yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expectation. but nothing came; and the man began to pluck up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow. at the same time, by something in his action, dick recognised selden. at this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the woods there went up the sound of laughter. a score of men, at least--for this was the very thickest of the ambush--joined in this cruel and untimely mirth. then an arrow glanced over selden's shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back. another dart struck quivering at his heel. he made for the cover. a third shaft leaped out right in his face, and fell short in front of him. and then the laughter was repeated loudly, rising and re-echoing from different thickets. it was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse. the skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in green was already calmly gathering the arrows; and now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner in his torture. selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his crossbow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood. chance favoured him, for a slight cry responded. then, throwing down his weapon, selden began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a straight line for dick and matcham. the companions of the black arrow now began to shoot in earnest. but they were properly served; their chance had passed; most of them had now to shoot against the sun; and selden, as he ran, bounded from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim. best of all, by turning up the glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the confusion of the foresters' counsels soon became apparent. a whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice. it was repeated from another quarter. the woods on either side became full of the sound of people bursting through the underwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the thicket. selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but still would miss. it began to appear as if he might escape. dick had his bow armed, ready to support him; even matcham, forgetful of his interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts. he was within fifty yards of them when an arrow struck him, and he fell. he was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction. dick leaped to his feet and waved to him. "here!" he cried. "this way! here is help! nay, run, fellow--run!" but just then a second arrow struck selden in the shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him, like a stone, to earth. "o the poor heart!" cried matcham, with clasped hands. and dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery. ten to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were furious with themselves, and taken unawares by dick's appearance in the rear of their position--but instantly out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of ellis duckworth. "hold!" it roared. "shoot not! take him alive! it is young shelton--harry's son." and immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was again taken up and repeated farther off. the whistle, it appeared, was john amend-all's battle trumpet, by which he published his directions. "ah, foul fortune!" cried dick. "we are undone. swiftly, jack, come swiftly!" and the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that covered the summit of the hill. chapter vi to the day's end it was, indeed, high time for them to run. on every side the company of the black arrow was making for the hill. some, being better runners, or having open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were already close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side. dick plunged into the nearest cover. it was a tall grove of oaks, firm under foot and clear of underbrush, and as it lay down hill, they made good speed. there followed next a piece of open, which dick avoided, holding to his left. two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same course. thus it followed that, while the lads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the high-road and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand, and running towards tunstall. the lads paused to breathe. there was no sound of pursuit. dick put his ear to the ground, and still there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure, still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain. "on again!" said dick; and, tired as they were, and matcham limping with his injured foot, they pulled themselves together, and once more pelted down the hill. three minutes later they were breasting through a low thicket of evergreen. high overhead the tall trees made a continuous roof of foliage. it was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for the hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly swarded. on the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove. "stand!" cried a voice. and there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly drew an arrow to the head and covered them. matcham stopped with a cry; but dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as he went. the other, whether he was startled by the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot: he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, dick bounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf. the arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang. the disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and descended twice. then came a couple of groans, and then dick rose to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart. "on!" said dick; and he once more pelted forward, matcham trailing in the rear. to say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. matcham had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for dick, his knees were like lead. but they kept up the form of running with undiminished courage. presently they came to the end of the grove. it stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards before them, was the high-road from risingham to shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest. at the sight dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder. it was at first like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but it soon became more definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. they rode as for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded; riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles. they were plainly fugitives from the great battle. the noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards shoreby, before fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter clattered down the road; this time a single rider, and, by his splendid armour, a man of high degree. close after him there followed several baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses as if for life. these must have run early in the day; but their cowardice was not to save them. for just before they came abreast of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of a sword began to cut the drivers down. some leaped from their places and plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human. all this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great, confused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the rout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road. dick stood sombre. he had meant to follow the highway till the turn for holywood, and now he had to change his plan. but above all, he had recognised the colours of earl risingham, and he knew that the battle had gone finally against the rose of lancaster. had sir daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive, and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of york, and was he forfeit to honour? it was an ugly choice. "come," he said sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk forward through the grove, with matcham limping in his rear. for some time they continued to thread the forest in silence. it was now growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond kettley; the tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow darker and the chill of the night to fall. "if there was anything to eat!" cried dick suddenly, pausing as he spoke. matcham sat down and began to weep. "ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives your heart was hard enough," said dick contemptuously. "y' have seven deaths upon your conscience, master john; i'll ne'er forgive you that." "conscience!" cried matcham, looking fiercely up. "mine! and ye have the man's red blood upon your dagger! and wherefore did ye slay him, the poor soul? he drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his hand, and spared you! 'tis as brave to kill a kitten as a man that not defends himself." dick was struck dumb. "i slew him fair. i ran me in upon his bow," he cried. "it was a coward blow," returned matcham. "y' are but a lout and bully, master dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see you truckle at his boot! ye care not for vengeance, neither--for your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice. but if there come but a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!" dick was too furious to observe that "she." "marry!" he cried, "and here is news! of any two the one will still be stronger. the better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well served. ye deserve a belting, master matcham, for your ill-guidance and unthankfulness to me-ward; and what ye deserve ye shall have." and dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt. "here shall be your supper," he said grimly. matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked dick steadily in the face, and never moved. dick took a step, swinging the belt. then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion. his courage began to subside. "say ye were in the wrong, then," he said lamely. "nay," said matcham, "i was in the right. come, cruel! i be lame; i be weary; i resist not; i ne'er did thee hurt; come, beat me, coward!" dick raised the belt at this last provocation; but matcham winced and drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed him yet again. the strap fell by his side, and he stood irresolute, feeling like a fool. "a plague upon thee, shrew!" he said. "an ye be so feeble of hand ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. but i'll be hanged before i beat you!" and he put on his belt again. "beat you i will not," he continued; "but forgive you?--never. i knew ye not; ye were my master's enemy; i lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y' have called me a man o' wood, a coward, and a bully. nay, by the mass! the measure is filled and runneth over. 'tis a great thing to be weak, i trow: ye can do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man's weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;--y' are weak, forsooth! nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and crieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through! tut! fool words!" "and yet ye beat me not," returned matcham. "let be," said dick--"let be. i will instruct you. y' have been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and, beyond all question, saved me from the river. nay, i had forgotten it; i am as thankless as thyself. but, come, let us on. an we be for holywood this night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily." but though dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour, matcham had forgiven him nothing. his violence, the recollection of the forester whom he had slain--above all, the vision of the upraised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten. "i will thank you, for the form's sake," said matcham. "but, in sooth, good master shelton, i had liefer find my way alone. here is a wide wood; prithee, let each choose his path; i owe you a dinner and a lesson. fare ye well!" "nay," cried dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with you!" each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel. but dick had not gone ten paces ere his name was called, and matcham came running after. "dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly. here is my hand, and my heart with it. for all that wherein you have so excellently served and helped me--not for the form, but from the heart, i thank you. fare ye right well." "well, lad," returned dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good speed to you, if speed you may. but i misdoubt it shrewdly. y' are too disputatious." so then they separated for the second time; and presently it was dick who was running after matcham. "here," he said, "take my crossbow; shalt not go unarmed." "a crossbow!" said matcham. "nay, boy, i have neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill to aim with it. it were no help to me, good boy. but yet i thank you." the night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read each other's face. "i will go some little way with you," said dick. "the night is dark. i would fain leave you on a path, at least. my mind misgiveth me, y' are likely to be lost." without any more words he began to walk forward, and the other once more followed him. the blackness grew thicker and thicker; only here and there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars. in the distance, the noise of the rout of the lancastrian army still continued to be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the rear. at the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. it glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew. and here they paused and looked upon each other. "y' are weary?" dick said. "nay, i am so weary," answered matcham, "that methinks i could lie down and die." "i hear the chiding of a river," returned dick. "let us go so far forth, for i am sore athirst." the ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river, running among willows. here they threw themselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill. "dick," said matcham, "it may not be. i can no more." "i saw a pit as we came down," said dick. "let us lie down therein and sleep." "nay, but with all my heart!" cried matcham. the pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one edge, and made a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten. and soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they rested peacefully. chapter vii the hooded face they awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours. half-starved and over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. and as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon their ears. "a bell!" said dick, sitting up. "can we be, then, so near to holywood?" a little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning. "nay, what should this betoken?" said dick, who was now broad awake. "it is some one walking," returned matcham, "and the bell tolleth ever as he moves." "i see that well," said dick. "but wherefore? what maketh he in tunstall woods? jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but i like not the hollow sound of it." "nay," said matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note. and the day were not come----" but just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a signal hammering jangle, and was silent for a space. "it is as though the bearer had run for a paternoster-while, and then leaped the river," dick observed. "and now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added matcham. "nay," returned dick--"nay, not so soberly, jack. 'tis a man that walketh you right speedily. 'tis a man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried business. see ye not how swift the beating draweth near?" "it is now close by," said matcham. they were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in. the daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of white footpath wandering among the gorse. it passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west. by the line of its course, dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the moat house. upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared. it paused a little, and seemed to look about; and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath. at every step the bell clanked. face it had none; a white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death. "a leper!" said dick hoarsely. "his touch is death," said matcham. "let us run." "not so," returned dick. "see ye not?--he is stone-blind. he guideth him with a staff. let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by and hurt us not. alas, poor soul, and we should rather pity him!" "i will pity him when he is by," replied matcham. the blind leper was now about half-way towards them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his veiled face. he had been a tall man before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a vigorous step. the dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads' bosoms with dismay; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to desert them. as he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full upon the lads. "mary be my shield! he sees us!" said matcham faintly. "hush!" whispered dick. "he doth but hearken. he is blind, fool!" the leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some seconds. then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. even dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected. but soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any further hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods. "he saw us," said matcham. "i could swear it!" "tut!" returned dick, recovering some sparks of courage. "he but heard us. he was in fear, poor soul! an ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a bird cried 'peep.'" "dick, good dick, he saw us," repeated matcham. "when a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, dick. this was seeing; it was not hearing. he means foully. hark, else, if his bell be not stopped!" such was the case. the bell rang no longer. "nay," said dick, "i like not that. nay," he cried again, "i like that little. what may this betoken? let us go, by the mass!" "he hath gone east," added matcham. "good dick, let us go westward straight. i shall not breathe till i have my back turned upon that leper." "jack, y' are too cowardly," replied dick. "we shall go fair for holywood, or as fair, at least, as i can guide you, and that will be due north." they were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of the wood. the ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered. they were weary, besides, with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily and dragged their feet among the sand. presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. his bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees. next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket. the lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror-struck. "certain, he pursueth us," said dick--"certain. he held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound. now may the saints aid and guide us, for i have no strength to combat pestilence!" "what maketh he?" cried matcham. "what doth he want? who ever heard the like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates? hath he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him? dick, there is below this something deeper." "nay, i care not," moaned dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs are like water. the saints be mine assistance!" "would ye lie there idle?" cried matcham. "let us back into the open. we have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares." "not i," said dick. "my time is come; and peradventure he may pass us by." "bend me, then, your bow!" cried the other. "what! will ye be a man?" dick crossed himself. "would ye have me shoot upon a leper?" he cried. "the hand would fail me. nay, now," he added--"nay, now, let be. with sound men i will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers. which this is, i wot not. one or other, heaven be our protection!" "now," said matcham, "if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is man! but sith ye will do naught, let us lie close." then came a single, broken jangle on the bell. "he hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered matcham. "saints! how near he is!" but dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering. soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew. to their stretched senses the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other's heart. suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran straight upon the lads. they, shrieking aloud, separated and began to run different ways. but their horrible enemy fastened upon matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner. the lad gave one scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor's arms. dick heard the cry and turned. he saw matcham fall; and on the instant his spirit and his strength revived. with a cry of pity and anger, he unslung and bent his arblast. but ere he had time to shoot, the leper held up his hand. "hold your shot, dickon!" cried a familiar voice. "hold your shot, mad wag! know ye not a friend?" and then, laying down matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the features of sir daniel brackley. "sir daniel!" cried dick. "ay, by the mass, sir daniel!" returned the knight. "would ye shoot upon your guardian, rogue? but here is this----" and there he broke off and pointing to matcham, asked--"how call ye him, dick?" "nay," said dick, "i call him master matcham. know ye him not? he said ye knew him!" "ay," replied sir daniel, "i know the lad"; and he chuckled. "but he has fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for. hey, dick? did i put the fear of death upon you?" "indeed, sir daniel, ye did that," said dick, and sighed again at the mere recollection. "nay, sir, saving your respect, i had as lief 'a' met the devil in person; and to speak truth, i am yet all a-quake. but what made ye, sir, in such a guise?" sir daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger. "what made i?" he said. "ye do well to mind me of it! what? i skulked for my poor life in my own wood of tunstall, dick. we were ill sped at the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout. where be all my good men-at-arms? dick, by the mass, i know not! we were swept down; the shot fell thick among us; i have not seen one man in my own colours since i saw three fall. for myself, i came sound to shoreby, and being mindful of the black arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly by the path for the moat house. there is no disguise to be compared with it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest; they would all turn pale to hear it. at length i came by you and matcham. i could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the finding you together. moreover, in the open, where i had to go slowly and tap with my staff, i feared to disclose myself.--but see," he added, "this poor shrew begins a little to revive. a little good canary will comfort the heart of it." the knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to another. "what cheer, jack?" said dick. "it was no leper after all; it was sir daniel! see!" "swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight. "this will give you manhood. thereafter i will give you both a meal, and we shall all three on to tunstall. for, dick," he continued, laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, "i will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks me sorely to be safe between four walls. not since i backed a horse have i been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood, and, to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down. but i be not yet shent. some of my lads will pick me their way home. hatch hath ten fellows; selden, he had six. nay, we shall soon be strong again; and if i can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and undeserving lord of york, why, dick, we'll be a man again, and go a-horseback!" and so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged his ward in dumb show. "selden," dick faltered--"selden----" and he paused again. sir daniel put down the wine untasted. "how!" he cried, in a changed voice. "selden? speak! what of selden?" dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre. the knight heard in silence; but, as he listened, his countenance became convulsed with rage and grief. "now here," he cried, "on my right hand, i swear to avenge it! if that i fail, if that i spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither from my body! i broke this duckworth like a rush; i beggared him to his door; i burned the thatch above his head; i drove him from this country; and now, cometh he back to beard me? nay, but, duckworth, this time it shall go bitter hard!" he was silent for some time, his face working. "eat!" he cried suddenly.--"and you here," he added to matcham, "swear me an oath to follow straight to the moat house." "i will pledge mine honour," replied matcham. "what make i with your honour?" cried the knight. "swear me upon your mother's welfare!" matcham gave the required oath; and sir daniel readjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his bell and staff. to see him once more in that appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions. but the knight was soon upon his feet. "eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house." and with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the bell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up-hill into the distance. "and so ye go to tunstall?" dick inquired. "yea, verily," said matcham, "when needs must! i am braver behind sir daniel's back than to his face." they ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs. two hours later they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of tunstall house. "here," said matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend jack, whom y' are to see no more. come, dick, forgive him what he did amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you." "and wherefore so?" asked dick. "an we both go to tunstall, i shall see you yet again, i trow, and that right often." "ye'll never again see poor jack matcham," replied the other, "that was so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye'll not see him more, dick, by mine honour!" he held his arms open, and the lads embraced and kissed. "and, dick," continued matcham, "my spirit bodeth ill. y' are now to see a new sir daniel; for heretofore hath all prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now, methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us. he may be brave in battle, but he hath the liar's eye; there is fear in his eye, dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf! we go down into that house, st. mary guide us forth again!" and so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last before sir daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady, flanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied waters of the moat. even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the bridge lowered, and sir daniel himself, with hatch and the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them. book ii the moat house chapter i dick asks questions the moat house stood not far from the rough forest road. externally it was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top. within, it enclosed a narrow court. the moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed by a single drawbridge. it was supplied with water by a trench, leading to a forest pool, and commanded, through its whole length, from the battlements of the two southern towers. except that one or two tall and thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence. in the court dick found a part of the garrison busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege. some were making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but, even as they worked, they shook their heads. twelve of sir daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to the moat house. but out of this dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at risingham in the disorder of the rout, one by john amend-all's marksmen as he crossed the forest. this raised the force of the garrison, counting hatch, sir daniel, and young shelton, to twenty-two effective men. and more might be continually expected to arrive. the danger lay not, therefore, in the lack of men. it was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed the spirits of the garrison. for their open foes of the party of york, in these most changing times, they felt but a far-away concern. "the world," as people said in those days, "might change again" before harm came. but for their neighbours in the wood they trembled. it was not sir daniel alone who was a mark for hatred. his men, conscious of impunity, had carried themselves cruelly through all the country. harsh commands had been harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or barbarity. and now, by the fortune of war, sir daniel had become powerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours of battle, at which many of them had not been present, they had all become punishable traitors to the state, outside the buckler of the law, a shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect. at different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate. two were from selden's troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with sir daniel to the field. lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat-side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in, his spirit had departed; but, by the words that he uttered in his agony, he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men. hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallor of anxiety; and when he had taken dick aside and learned the fate of selden, he fell on a stone bench and fairly wept. the others, from where they sat on stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion. "nay, master shelton," said hatch at last--"nay, but what said i? we shall all go. selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to me. well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow! for what said their knave rhyme?--'a black arrow in each black heart.' was it not so it went? appleyard, selden, smith, old humphrey gone; and there lieth poor john carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest." dick gave ear. out of a low window, hard by where they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his ear. "lieth he there?" he asked. "ay, in the second porter's chamber," answered hatch. "we could not bear him farther, soul and body were so bitterly at odds. at every step we lifted him he thought to wend. but now, methinks, it is the soul that suffereth. ever for the priest he crieth, and sir oliver, i wot not why, still cometh not. 'twill be a long shrift; but poor appleyard and poor selden, they had none." dick stooped to the window and looked in. the little cell was low and dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet. "carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked. "master shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear light of heaven, bring the priest. alack, i am sped: i am brought very low down; my hurt is to the death. ye may do me no more service; this shall be the last. now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal gentleman, bestir you; for i have that matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep." he groaned, and dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or terror. just then sir daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall. he had a letter in one hand. "lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it? rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle. this old harry the sixt has had the undermost. wash we, then, our hands of him. i have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the lord of wensleydale. well, i have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future. doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. a prayer without gifts is like a song without music: i surfeit him with promises, boys--i spare not to promise. what, then, is lacking? nay, a great thing--wherefore should i deceive you?--a great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it. the woods--y' are not ignorant of that--lie thick with our ill-willers. haste is most needful; but without sleight and caution all is naught. which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear it to my lord of wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?" one man instantly arose. "i will, an't like you," said he. "i will even risk my carcass." "nay, dicky bowyer, not so," returned the knight. "it likes me not. y' are sly indeed, but not speedy. ye were a laggard ever." "an't be so, sir daniel, here am i," cried another. "the saints forfend!" said the knight. "y' are speedy, but not sly. ye would blunder me headforemost into john amend-all's camp. i thank you both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be." then hatch offered himself, and he also was refused. "i want you here, good bennet; y' are my right hand, indeed," returned the knight; and then, several coming forward in a group, sir daniel at length selected one and gave him the letter. "now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all depend. bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks i will have purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. but mark it well, throgmorton: the matter is not easy. ye must steal forth under night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross till i know not, neither by the bridge nor ferry." "i can swim," returned throgmorton. "i will come soundly, fear not." "well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied sir daniel. "ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown ale." and with that he turned back into the hall. "sir daniel hath a wise tongue," said hatch aside to dick. "see, now, where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plainly to his company. here is a danger, 'a saith, and here difficulty; and jesteth in the very saying. nay, by st. barbary, he is a born captain! not a man but he is some deal heartened up! see how they fall again to work." this praise of sir daniel put a thought in the lad's head. "bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?" "ask me not that," replied hatch. "i had no hand nor knowledge in it; furthermore, i will even be silent, master dick. for look you, in a man's own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of common talk, not so. ask me sir oliver--ay, or carter, if ye will; not me." and hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving dick in a muse. "wherefore would he not tell me?" thought the lad. "and wherefore named he carter? carter--nay, then carter had a hand in it, perchance." he entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay groaning. at his entrance, carter started eagerly. "have ye brought the priest?" he cried. "not yet awhile," returned dick. "y' have a word to tell me first. how came my father, harry shelton, by his death?" the man's face altered instantly. "i know not," he replied doggedly. "nay, ye know well," returned dick. "seek not to put me by." "i tell you i know not," repeated carter. "then," said dick, "ye shall die unshriven. here am i, and here shall stay. there shall no priest come near you, rest assured. for of what avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a hand in? and without penitence, confession is but mockery." "ye say what ye mean not, master dick," said carter composedly. "it is ill threatening the dying, and becometh you (to speak truth) little. and for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less. stay an ye please. ye will condemn my soul--ye shall learn nothing! there is my last word to you." and the wounded man turned upon the other side. now dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his threat. but he made one more effort. "carter," he said, "mistake me not. i know ye were but an instrument in the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; i would not bear heavily on such an one. but i begin to learn upon many sides that this great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father. prithee, then, good carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure good-will and honest penitence, give me a word of help." the wounded man lay silent; nor, say what dick pleased, could he extract another word from him. "well," said dick, "i will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, i would not be willingly in fault to any, least of all to one upon the last change." again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans he had suppressed; and as dick turned and left the room, he was filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude. "and yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit? had his hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the secret louder than words. nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me. sir daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing." dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart. at that hour, in the ebb of sir daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of the black arrow, and proscribed by the victorious yorkists, was dick, also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth? the necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel. "pray heaven he be innocent!" he said. and then steps sounded on the flagging, and sir oliver came gravely towards the lad. "one seeketh you earnestly," said dick. "i am upon the way, good richard," said the priest. "it is this poor carter. alack, he is beyond cure." "and yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered dick. "have ye seen him?" asked sir oliver, with a manifest start. "i do but come from him," replied dick. "what said he--what said he?" snapped the priest, with extraordinary eagerness. "he but cried for you the more piteously, sir oliver. it were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad. "i am straight for him," was the reply. "well, we have all our sins. we must all come to our latter day, good richard." "ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered dick. the priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried on. "he too!" thought dick--"he, that taught me in piety! nay, then, what a world is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father's death! vengeance! alas! what a sore fate is mine, if i must be avenged upon my friends!" the thought put matcham in his head. he smiled at the remembrance of his strange companion, and then wondered where he was. ever since they had come together to the doors of the moat house the younger lad had disappeared, and dick began to weary for a word with him. about an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by sir oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner. it was a long, low apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a design of savage men and questing bloodhounds; here and there hung spears and bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the diners. neither sir daniel nor his lady made their appearance. sir oliver himself was absent, and here again there was no word of matcham. dick began to grow alarmed, to recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play had befallen him in that house. after dinner he found goody hatch, who was hurrying to my lady brackley. "goody," he said, "where is master matcham, i prithee? i saw ye go in with him when we arrived." the old woman laughed aloud. "ah, master dick," she said, "y' have a famous bright eye in your head, to be sure!" and laughed again. "nay, but where is he, indeed?" persisted dick. "ye will never see him more," she returned; "never. it is sure." "an i do not," returned the lad, "i will know the reason why. he came not hither of his full free will; such as i am, i am his best protector, and i will see him justly used. there be too many mysteries; i do begin to weary of the game!" but, as dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. it was bennet hatch that had come unperceived behind him. with a jerk of his thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife. "friend dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moonstruck natural? an ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the salt sea than here in tunstall moat house. y' have questioned me; y' have baited carter; y' have frighted the jack-priest with hints. bear ye more wisely, fool; and even now, when sir daniel calleth you, show me a smooth face, for the love of wisdom. y' are to be sharply questioned. look to your answers." "hatch," returned dick, "in all this i smell a guilty conscience." "an ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied bennet. "i do but warn you. and here cometh one to call you." and indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to summon dick into the presence of sir daniel. chapter ii the two oaths sir daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire, awaiting dick's arrival. none was by except sir oliver, and he sat discreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary. "y' have sent for me, sir daniel?" said young shelton. "i have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight. "for what cometh to mine ears? have i been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to credit ill of me? or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit my party? by the mass, your father was not so! those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather. but you, dick, y' are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance." "an't please you, sir daniel, not so," returned dick firmly. "i am grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due. and before more is said, i thank you, and i thank sir oliver; y' have great claims upon me, both--none can have more; i were a hound if i forgot them." "it is well," said sir daniel; and then, rising into anger: "gratitude and faith are words, dick shelton," he continued; "but i look to deeds. in this hour of my peril when my name is attainted, when my lands are forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my destruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith? i have but a little company remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts with your insidious whisperings? save me from such gratitude! but come, now, what is it ye wish? speak; we are here to answer. if ye have aught against me, stand forth and say it." "sir," replied dick, "my father fell when i was yet a child. it hath come to mine ears that he was foully done by. it hath come to mine ears--for i will not dissemble--that ye had a hand in his undoing. and in all verity,--i shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear to help you, till i have certain resolution of these doubts." sir daniel sat down in a deep settle. he took his chin in his hand and looked at dick fixedly. "and ye think i would be guardian to the man's son that i had murdered?" he asked. "nay," said dick, "pardon me if i answer churlishly; but indeed ye know right well a wardship is most profitable. all these years have ye not enjoyed my revenues, and led my men? have ye not still my marriage? i wot not what it may be worth--it is worth something. pardon me again; but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness." "when i was a lad of your years," returned sir daniel sternly, "my mind had not so turned upon suspicions. and sir oliver here," he added, "why should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?" "nay, sir daniel," said dick, "but where the master biddeth there will the dog go. it is well known this priest is but your instrument. i speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies. even as i speak, so would i be answered. and answer get i none! ye but put more questions. i rede ye beware, sir daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my doubts." "i will answer you fairly, master richard," said the knight. "were i to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, i were no honest man. but i will be just even in anger. come to me with these words when y' are grown and come to man's estate, and i am no longer your guardian, and so helpless to resent them. come to me then, and i will answer you as ye merit, with a buffet in the mouth. till then ye have two courses: either swallow me down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else--the door standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies--go." the spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they were accompanied, staggered dick; and yet he could not but observe that he had got no answer. "i desire nothing more earnestly, sir daniel, than to believe you," he replied. "assure me ye are free from this." "will ye take my word of honour, dick?" inquired the knight. "that would i," answered the lad. "i give it you," returned sir daniel. "upon my word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, and as i shall answer for my deeds hereafter, i had no hand nor portion in your father's death." he extended his hand, and dick took it eagerly. neither of them observed the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse. "ah," cried dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon me! i was a churl indeed to doubt of you. but ye have my hand upon it; i will doubt no more." "nay, dick," replied sir daniel, "y' are forgiven. ye know not the world and its calumnious nature." "i was the more to blame," added dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not directly at yourself, but at sir oliver." as he spoke he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of the last word. this tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when dick's eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and buried his face in his hands. sir daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the shoulder. at the same moment dick's suspicions re-awakened. "nay," he said, "sir oliver may swear also. 'twas him they accused." "he shall swear," said the knight. sir oliver speechlessly waved his arms. "ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear," cried sir daniel, beside himself with fury. "here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground. "what! ye make me doubt you! swear, i say; swear!" but the priest was still incapable of speech. his terror of sir daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him. and just then, through the high stained-glass window of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering in the midst of the long table. sir oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the knight, followed by dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest corkscrew stair to the battlements. the sentries were all on the alert. the sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded hills of the forest which enclosed the view. there was no sign of a besieger. "whence came that shot?" asked the knight. "from yonder clump, sir daniel," returned a sentinel. the knight stood a little, musing. then he turned to dick. "dick," he said, "keep me an eye upon these men; i leave you in charge here. as for the priest, he shall clear himself, or i will know the reason why. i do almost begin to share in your suspicions. he shall swear, trust me, or we shall prove him guilty." dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to the hall. his first glance was for the arrow. it was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear. again there was some writing: one word--"earthed." "ay," he broke out, "they know i am home, then. earthed! ay, but there is not a dog among them fit to dig me out." sir oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet. "alack, sir daniel!" he moaned, "y' have sworn a dread oath; y' are doomed to the end of time." "ay," returned the knight, "i have sworn an oath, indeed, thou chucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater. it shall be on the blessed cross of holywood. look to it; get the words ready. it shall be sworn to-night." "now, may heaven lighten you!" replied the priest; "may heaven incline your heart from this iniquity!" "look you, my good father," said sir daniel, "if y' are for piety, i say no more; ye begin late, that is all. but if y' are in any sense bent upon wisdom, hear me. this lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp. i have a need for him, for i would sell his marriage. but i tell you, in all plainness, if that he continue to weary me he shall go join his father. i give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel. if that ye can swear your innocency with a good solid oath and an assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and i will spare him. if that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the swearing, he will not believe you; and, by the mass, he shall die. there is for your thinking on." "the chamber above the chapel!" gasped the priest. "that same," replied the knight. "so if ye desire to save him, save him; and if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace! for an i had been a hasty man i would already have put my sword through you, for your intolerable cowardice and folly. have ye chosen? say!" "i have chosen," said the priest. "heaven pardon me, i will do evil for good. i will swear for the lad's sake." "so it is best!" said sir daniel. "send for him, then, speedily. ye shall see him alone. yet i shall have an eye on you. i shall be here in the panel room." the knight raised the arras and let it fall again behind him. there was the sound of a spring opening; then followed the creaking of trod stairs. sir oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror and contrition. "nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my soul's cost, i must save him." three minutes later, dick, who had been summoned by another messenger, found sir oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale. "richard shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me. i might complain, i might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the past, and i will even content you as ye choose. by the true cross of holywood, i did not slay your father." "sir oliver," returned dick, "when first we read john amend-all's paper i was convinced of so much. but suffer me to put two questions. ye did not slay him; granted. but had ye no hand in it?" "none," said sir oliver. and at the same time he began to contort his face, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to convey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound. dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at the empty hall. "what make ye?" he inquired. "why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance. "i make naught; i do but suffer; i am sick. i--i--prithee, dick, i must begone. on the true cross of holywood, i am clean innocent alike of violence or treachery. content ye, good lad. farewell!" and he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity. dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion, and amusement. gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. he raised his head, and, as he did so, violently started. high upon the wall there was the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. with one hand he held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear. his face was dark, for he was meant to represent an african. now, here was what had startled richard shelton. the sun had moved away from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings. in this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him with a white eyelid. he continued staring at the eye. the light shone upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was alive. again the white eyelid closed upon it for a fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone. there could be no mistake. the live eye that had been watching him through a hole in the tapestry was gone. the firelight no longer shone on a reflecting surface. and instantly dick awoke to the terrors of his position. hatch's warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him from the wall, ran together in his mind. he saw he had been put upon his trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of some miracle, he was lost. "if i cannot get me forth out of this house," he thought, "i am a dead man! and this poor matcham, too--to what a cockatrice's nest have i not led him!" he was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new chamber. "a new chamber?" he repeated. "wherefore so? what chamber?" "'tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger. "it hath stood long empty," said dick, musing. "what manner of room is it?" "nay, a brave room," returned the man. "but yet"--lowering his voice--"they call it haunted." "haunted?" repeated dick, with a chill. "i have not heard of it. nay, then, and by whom?" the messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "by the sacrist of st. john's," he said. "they had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning--whew!--he was gone. the devil had taken him, they said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before." dick followed the man with black forebodings. chapter iii the room over the chapel from the battlements nothing further was observed. the sun journeyed westward, and at last went down; but to the eyes of all these eager sentinels no living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of tunstall house. when the night was at length fairly come, throgmorton was led to a room overlooking an angle of the moat. thence he was lowered with every precaution; the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief period; then a black figure was observed to land by the branches of a willow and crawl away among the grass. for some half-hour sir daniel and hatch stood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet. the messenger had got away in safety. sir daniel's brow grew clearer. he turned to hatch. "bennet," said he, "this john amend-all is no more than a man ye see. he sleepeth. we will make a good end of him, go to!" all the afternoon and evening dick had been ordered hither and thither, one command following another, till he was bewildered with the number and the hurry of commissions. all that time he had seen no more of sir oliver, and nothing of matcham; and yet both the priest and the young lad ran continually in his mind. it was now his chief purpose to escape from tunstall moat house as speedily as might be; and yet before he went, he desired a word with both of these. at length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment. it was large, low, and somewhat dark. the window looked upon the moat, and although it was so high up, it was heavily barred. the bed was luxurious, with one pillow of down, and one of lavender, and a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses. all about the walls were cupboards, locked and padlocked, and concealed from view by hangings of dark-coloured arras. dick made the round, lifting the arras, sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards. he assured himself that the door was strong, and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp upon a bracket, and once more looked all around. for what reason had he been given this chamber? it was larger and finer than his own. could it conceal a snare? was there a secret entrance? was it indeed haunted? his blood ran a little chilly in his veins. immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads. below, he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was the hall. certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye that had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that. was it not more than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and, if so, that it had an opening in his room? to sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy. he made his weapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the door. if ill was intended, he would sell his life dear. the sound of many feet, the challenge, and the pass-word sounded overhead along the battlements; the watch was being changed. and just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it grew a little louder; then a whisper: "dick, dick, it is i!" dick ran to the door, drew the bolt and admitted matcham. he was very pale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other. "shut me the door," he whispered. "swift, dick! this house is full of spies; i hear their feet follow me in the corridors; i hear them breathe behind the arras." "well, content you," returned dick, "it is closed. we are safe for this while, if there be safety anywhere within these walls. but my heart is glad to see you. by the mass, lad, i thought ye were sped. where hid ye?" "it matters not," returned matcham. "since we be met, it matters not. but, dick, are your eyes open? have they told you of to-morrow's doings?" "not they," replied dick. "what make they to-morrow?" "to-morrow, or to-night, i know not," said the other; "but one time or other, dick, they do intend upon your life. i had the proof of it: i have heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me." "ay," returned dick, "is it so? i had thought as much." and he told him the day's occurrences at length. when it was done, matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the apartment. "no," he said, "there is no entrance visible. yet 'tis a pure certainty there is one. dick, i will stay by you. an y' are to die, i will die with you. and i can help--look! i have stolen a dagger--i will do my best! and meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could get opened, or any window that we might descend by, i will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with you." "jack," said dick, "by the mass, jack, y' are the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all england. give me your hand, jack." and he grasped the other's hand in silence. "i will tell you," he resumed. "there is a window out of which the messenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber. 'tis a hope." "hist!" said matcham. both gave ear. there was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and then began again. "some one walketh in the room below," whispered matcham. "nay," returned dick, "there is no room below; we are above the chapel. it is my murderer in the secret passage. well, let him come: it shall go hard with him!" and he ground his teeth. "blow me the lights out," said the other. "perchance he will betray himself." they blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. the footfalls underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible. several times they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a lock, followed by a considerable silence. presently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner. it widened; a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. they could see the strong hand pushing it up; and dick raised his crossbow, waiting for the head to follow. but now there came an interruption. from a distant corner of the moat house shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying aloud upon a name. this noise had plainly disconcerted the murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died away in the distance. here was a moment's respite. dick breathed deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack, and which was now rather increasing than diminishing. all about the moat house feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the voice of sir daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for "joanna." "joanna!" repeated dick. "why, who the murrain should this be? here is no joanna, nor ever hath been. what meaneth it?" matcham was silent. he seemed to have drawn farther away. but only a little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the apartment where the pair were, the darkness was complete. "jack," said dick, "i wot not where ye were all day. saw ye this joanna?" "nay," returned matcham, "i saw her not." "nor heard tell of her?" he pursued. the steps drew nearer. sir daniel was still roaring the name of joanna from the courtyard. "did ye hear of her?" repeated dick. "i heard of her," said matcham. "how your voice twitters! what aileth you?" said dick. "'tis a most excellent good fortune, this joanna; it will take their minds from us." "dick," cried matcham, "i am lost; we are both lost! let us flee if there be yet time. they will not rest till they have found me. or, see! let me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee. let me forth, dick; good dick, let me away!" she was groping for the bolt, when dick at last comprehended. "by the mass!" he cried, "y' are no jack; y' are joanna sedley; y' are the maid that would not marry me!" the girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. dick, too, was silent for a little; then he spoke again. "joanna," he said, "y' have saved my life, and i have saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies--ay, and i took my belt to thrash you; and all that time i thought ye were a boy. but now death has me, and my time's out, and before i die i must say this: y' are the best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only i could live, i would marry you blithely; and, live or die, i love you." she answered nothing. "come," he said, "speak up, jack. come, be a good maid, and say ye love me!" "why, dick," she cried, "would i be here?" "well, see ye here," continued dick, "an we but escape whole, we'll marry; and an we're to die, we die, and there's an end on't. but now that i think, how found ye my chamber?" "i asked it of dame hatch," she answered. "well, the dame's staunch," he answered; "she'll not tell upon you. we have time before us." and just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door. "here!" cried a voice. "open, master dick; open!" dick neither moved nor answered. "it is all over," said the girl; and she put her arms about dick's neck. one after another, men came trooping to the door. then sir daniel arrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise. "dick," cried the knight, "be not an ass. the seven sleepers had been awake ere now. we know she is within there. open, then, the door, man." dick was again silent. "down with it," said sir daniel. and immediately his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot and fist. solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would soon have given way, but once more fortune interfered. over the thunder-storm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard: it was followed by another: shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the wood. in the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the foresters were carrying the moat house by assault. and sir daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon dick's chamber, hurried to defend the walls. "now," cried dick, "we are saved." he seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in vain to move it. "help me, jack. for your life's sake, help me stoutly!" he cried. between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door. "ye do but make things worse," said joanna sadly. "he will then enter by the trap." "not so," replied dick. "he durst not tell his secret to so many. it is by the trap that we shall flee. hark! the attack is over. nay, it was none!" it had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of stragglers from the defeat of risingham that had disturbed sir daniel. they had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been admitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements and arms they were dismounting in the court. "he will return anon," said dick. "to the trap!" he lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room. the open chink through which some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, dick thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt. the trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. seizing it with their hands, the two young folk threw it back. it disclosed a few steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp. "now," said dick, "go first and take the lamp. i will follow to close the trap." so they descended one after the other, and as dick lowered the trap the blows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door. chapter iv the passage the passage in which dick and joanna now found themselves was narrow, dirty, and short. at the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the same door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking. heavy cobwebs hung from the roof, and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the lightest tread. beyond the door there were two branches, at right angles. dick chose one of them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow of the chapel roof. the top of the arched ceiling rose like a whale's back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. here and there were spy-holes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down through one of these, dick saw the paved floor of the chapel--the altar, with its burning tapers--and, stretched before it on the steps, the figure of sir oliver praying with uplifted hands. at the other end they descended a few steps. the passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and presently they came to a round hole about the size of a man's eye, and dick, looking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some half a dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a venison pie. these were certainly some of the late arrivals. "here is no help," said dick. "let us try back." "nay," said joanna; "maybe the passage goeth farther." and she pushed on. but a few yards farther the passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side. they retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to explore the other branch. it was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little break-neck stairs, until even dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts. at length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats. "we must be in the dungeons," dick remarked. "and still there is no outlet," added joanna. "nay, but an outlet there must be!" dick answered. presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of steps. on the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs. it was immovable. "some one holdeth it," suggested joanna. "not so," said dick; "for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield a little. but this resisteth like dead rock. there is a weight upon the trap. here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good jack, we are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle-bones. sit ye then down, and let us talk. after a while we shall return, when perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who knoweth? we may break out and stand a chance. but, in my poor opinion, we are as good as shent." "dick," she cried, "alas the day that ever ye should have seen me! for like a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is i have led you hither." "what cheer!" returned dick. "it was all written, and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass. but tell me a little what manner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into sir daniel's hands; that will do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine." "i am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother," said joanna; "and for my great misfortune, dick, and hitherto for yours, i am a rich marriage. my lord foxham had me to ward; yet it appears sir daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid for it. so here was i, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which should marry me, and i still at nurse! well, then, the world changed, and there was a new chancellor, and sir daniel bought the warding of me over the lord foxham's head. and then the world changed again, and lord foxham bought my marriage over sir daniel's; and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them. but still lord foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me. and at last i was to be married--or sold, if ye like it better. five hundred pounds lord foxham was to get for me. hamley was the groom's name, and to-morrow, dick, of all days in the year, was i to be betrothed. had it not come to sir daniel, i had been wedded, sure--and never seen thee, dick, dear dick!" and here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and dick drew her hand to him and did the like. "well," she went on, "sir daniel took me unawares in the garden, and made me dress in these men's clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, besides, they fit me not. he rode with me to kettley, as ye saw, telling me i was to marry you; but i, in my heart, made sure i would marry hamley in his teeth." "ay!" cried dick, "and so ye loved this hamley!" "nay," replied joanna, "not i. i did but hate sir daniel. and then, dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way compass it, i would marry you with right goodwill. and if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, still ye'll be dear to me. while my heart beats, it'll be true to you." "and i," said dick, "that never cared a straw for any manner of woman until now, i took to you when i thought ye were a boy. i had a pity to you, and knew not why. when i would have belted you, the hand failed me. but when ye owned ye were a maid, jack--for still i will call you jack--i made sure ye were the maid for me. hark!" he said, breaking off--"one cometh." and indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies. dick reconnoitred his position. the sudden turn gave him a post of vantage. he could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall. but it was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward, he set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to watch. presently, at the far end of the passage, bennet hove in sight. he seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which made him the better mark. "stand, bennet!" cried dick. "another step and y' are dead." "so here ye are," returned hatch, peering forward into the darkness. "i see you not. aha! y' have done wisely, dick; y' have put your lamp before you. by my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave body, i do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons! and now, what make ye? what seek ye here? why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? and have ye the young gentlewoman there?" "nay, bennet, it is i should question and you answer," replied dick. "why am i in this jeopardy of my life? why do men come privily to slay me in my bed? why am i now fleeing in mine own guardian's strong house, and from the friends that i have lived among and never injured?" "master dick, master dick," said bennet, "what told i you? y' are brave, but the most uncrafty lad that i can think upon!" "well," returned dick, "i see you know all, and that i am doomed indeed. it is well. here, where i am, i stay. let sir daniel get me out if he be able!" hatch was silent for a space. "hark ye," he began, "i return to sir daniel, to tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me. but you, if ye are no fool, had best be gone ere i return." "be gone!" repeated dick. "i would be gone already an i wist how. i cannot move the trap." "put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there," replied bennet. "throgmorton's rope is still in the brown chamber. fare ye well." and hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of the passage. dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint. at one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall. pushing his arm into the aperture, dick found an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. there followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed. they were free of the passage. a little exercise of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. a torch or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene. chapter v how dick changed sides dick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way upstairs and along the corridor. in the brown chamber the rope had been made fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed. it had not been detached, and dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night. joan stood by; but as the rope lengthened, and still dick continued to pay it out, extreme fear began to conquer her resolution. "dick," she said, "is it so deep? i may not essay it. i should infallibly fall, good dick." it was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke. dick started: the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a splash into the moat. instantly, from the battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, "who goes?" "a murrain!" cried dick. "we are paid now! down with you--take the rope." "i cannot," she cried, recoiling. "an ye cannot, no more can i," said shelton. "how can i swim the moat without you? do ye desert me, then?" "dick," she gasped, "i cannot. the strength is gone from me." "by the mass, then, we are all shent!" he shouted, stamping with his foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to close it. before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon him from the other side. he struggled for a second; then, feeling himself overpowered, ran back to the window. the girl had fallen against the wall in the embrasure of the window; she was more than half insensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was limp and unresponsive. at the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold upon him. the first he poniarded at a blow, and the others falling back for a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip. the cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend; but so furious was dick's hurry, and so small his experience of such gymnastics, that he span round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against the rugged stonework of the wall. the air roared in his ears; he saw the stars overhead, and the reflected stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before the tempest. and then he lost hold and fell, and soused head over ears into the icy water. when he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly lightened of his weight, was swinging wildly to and fro. there was a red glow overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of several torches and a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces. he saw the men's eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he was too far below, the light reached him not, and they looked in vain. and now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he began to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the moat, still keeping his head above water. in this way he got much more than half-way over; indeed the bank was almost within reach, before the rope began to draw him back by its own weight. taking his courage in both hands, he left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow that had already, that same evening, helped sir daniel's messenger to land. he went down, rose again, sank a second time, and then his hand caught a branch, and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and still half uncertain of his escape. but all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which had so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements. arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, like driving hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down--flared through the air in its swift passage--stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank, where it burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire--and then, in a good hour for dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, and was instantly extinguished. it had served its purpose. the marksmen had had time to see the willow, and dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang higher up the bank and ran for his life, he was yet not quick enough to escape a shot. an arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his head. the pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had no sooner got upon the level than he took to his heels and ran straight before him in the dark, without a thought for the direction of his flight. for a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when at length he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way from the moat house, though he could still see the torches moving to and fro along its battlements. he leaned against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised, wounded, and alone. for all that, he had saved his life for that bout; and though joanna remained behind in the power of sir daniel, he neither blamed himself for an accident that it had been beyond his power to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl herself. sir daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a young gentlewoman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him to account. it was more probable he would make haste to marry her to some friend of his own. "well," thought dick, "between then and now i will find me the means to bring that traitor under; for i think, by the mass, that i be now absolved from any gratitude or obligation; and when war is open, there is a fair chance for all." in the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight. for some little way farther he struggled forward through the forest; but what with the pain of his wounds, the darkness of the night, and the extreme uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became equally unable to guide himself or to continue to push through the close undergrowth, and he was fain at length to sit down and lean his back against a tree. when he awoke from something betwixt sleep and swooning, the grey of the morning had begun to take the place of night. a little chilly breeze was bustling among the trees, and as he still sat staring before him, only half awake, he became aware of something dark that swung to and fro among the branches, some hundred yards in front of him. the progressive brightening of the day and the return of his own senses at last enabled him to recognise the object. it was a man hanging from the bough of a tall oak. his head had fallen forward on his breast; but at every stronger puff of wind his body span round and round, and his legs and arms tossed, like some ridiculous plaything. dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and leaning on the tree-trunks as he went, drew near to this grim object. the bough was perhaps twenty feet above the ground, and the poor fellow had been drawn up so high by his executioners that his boots swung clear above dick's reach; and as his hood had been drawn over his face, it was impossible to recognise the man. dick looked about him right and left; and at last he perceived that the other end of the cord had been made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of the oak. with his dagger, which alone remained to him of all his arms, young shelton severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse fell in a heap upon the ground. dick raised the hood; it was throgmorton, sir daniel's messenger. he had not gone far upon his errand. a paper, which had apparently escaped the notice of the men of the black arrow, stuck from the bosom of his doublet, and dick, pulling it forth, found it was sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale. "come," thought he, "if the world changes yet again, i may have here the wherewithal to shame sir daniel--nay, and perchance to bring him to the block." and he put the paper in his own bosom, said a prayer over the dead man, and set forth again through the woods. his fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, his steps faltered, his mind at intervals failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of blood. doubtless he made many deviations from his true path, but at last he came out upon the high-road, not very far from tunstall hamlet. a rough voice bid him stand. "stand?" repeated dick. "by the mass, but i am nearer falling." and he suited the action to the word, and fell all his length upon the road. two men came forth out of the thicket, each in green forest jerkin, each with long-bow and quiver and short sword. "why, lawless," said the younger of the two, "it is young shelton." "ay, this will be as good as bread to john amend-all," returned the other. "though, faith, he hath been to the wars. here is a tear in his scalp that must 'a' cost him many a good ounce of blood." "and here," added greensheve, "is a hole in his shoulder that must have pricked him well. who hath done this, think ye? if it be one of ours, he may all to prayer; ellis will give him a short shrift and a long rope." "up with the cub," said lawless. "clap him on my back." and then, when dick had been hoisted to his shoulders, and he had taken the lad's arms about his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-grey friar added-- "keep ye the post, brother greensheve. i will on with him by myself." so greensheve returned to his ambush on the wayside, and lawless trudged down the hill, whistling as he went, with dick, still in a dead faint, comfortably settled on his shoulders. the sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood and saw tunstall hamlet straggling up the opposite hill. all seemed quiet, but a strong post of some half a score of archers lay close by the bridge on either side of the road, and, as soon as they perceived lawless with his burden, began to bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigilant sentries. "who goes?" cried the man in command. "will lawless, by the rood--ye know me as well as your own hand," returned the outlaw contemptuously. "give the word, lawless," returned the other. "now, heaven lighten thee, thou great fool," replied lawless. "did i not tell it thee myself? but ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers. when i am in the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; and my word for this tide is, 'a fig for all mock soldiery!'" "lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the word, fool jester," said the commander of the post. "and if i had forgotten it?" asked the other. "an ye had forgotten it--as i know y' have not--by the mass, i would clap an arrow into your big body," returned the first. "nay, an y' are so ill a jester," said lawless, "ye shall have your word for me. 'duckworth and shelton' is the word; and here, to the illustration, is shelton on my shoulders, and to duckworth do i carry him." "pass, lawless," said the sentry. "and where is john?" asked the grey friar. "he holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents as to the manner born!" cried another of the company. so it proved. when lawless got as far up the village as the little inn, he found ellis duckworth surrounded by sir daniel's tenants, and, by the right of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents, and giving written receipts in return for them. by the faces of the tenants, it was plain how little this proceeding pleased them; for they argued very rightly that they would simply have to pay them twice. as soon as he knew what had brought lawless, ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants, and, with every mark of interest and apprehension, conducted dick into an inner chamber of the inn. there the lad's hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by simple remedies, to consciousness. "dear lad," said ellis, pressing his hand, "y' are in a friend's hands that loved your father, and loves you for his sake. rest ye a little quietly, for ye are somewhat out of case. then shall ye tell me your story, and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all." a little later in the day, and after dick had awakened from a comfortable slumber to find himself still very weak, but clearer in mind and easier in body, ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside, begged him, in the name of his father, to relate the circumstance of his escape from tunstall moat house. there was something in the strength of duckworth's frame, in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness and shrewdness of his eyes, that moved dick to obey him; and from first to last the lad told him the story of his two days' adventures. "well," said ellis, when he had done, "see what the kind saints have done for you, dick shelton, not alone to save your body in so numerous and deadly perils, but to bring you into my hands, that have no dearer wish than to assist your father's son. be but true to me--and i see y' are true--and betwixt you and me we shall bring that false-heart traitor to the death." "will ye assault the house?" asked dick. "i were mad, indeed, to think of it," returned ellis. "he hath too much power; his men gather to him; those that gave me the slip last night, and by the mass came in so handily for you--those have made him safe. nay, dick, to the contrary, thou and i and my brave bowmen, we must all slip from this forest speedily, and leave sir daniel free." "my mind misgiveth me for jack," said the lad. "for jack!" repeated duckworth. "o, i see, for the wench! nay, dick! i promise you, if there come talk of any marriage we shall act at once; till then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like shadows at morning; sir daniel shall look east and west, and see none enemies; he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed a while, and hath now awakened in his bed. but our four eyes, dick, shall follow him right close, and our four hands--so help us all the army of the saints!--shall bring that traitor low!" <tb> two days later sir daniel's garrison had grown to such a strength that he ventured on a sally, and at the head of some two score horsemen pushed without opposition as far as tunstall hamlet. not an arrow flew, not a man stirred in the thicket; the bridge was no longer guarded, but stood open to all comers; and as sir daniel crossed it, he saw the villagers looking timidly from their doors. presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward, and with the lowliest salutations, presented a letter to the knight. his face darkened as he read the contents. it ran thus: "_to the most untrue and cruel gentylman, sir daniel brackley, knyght--these:_ "i fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first. ye have my father's blood upon your hands; let be, it will not wasshe. some day ye shall perish by my procurement, so much i let you to wytte; and i let you to wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed to any other the gentyl-woman, mistresse joan sedley, whom that i am bound upon a great oath to wed myself, the blow will be very swift. the first step therinne will be thy first step to the grave. "ric. shelton." book iii my lord foxham chapter i the house by the shore months had passed away since richard shelton made his escape from the hands of his guardian. these months had been eventful for england. the party of lancaster, which was then in the very article of death, had once more raised its head. the yorkists defeated and dispersed, their leader butchered on the field, it seemed, for a very brief season in the winter following upon the events already recorded, as if the house of lancaster had finally triumphed over its foes. the small town of shoreby-on-the-till was full of the lancastrian nobles of the neighbourhood. earl risingham was there, with three hundred men-at-arms; lord shoreby, with two hundred; sir daniel himself, high in favour, and once more growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of his own, on the main street, with three score men. the world had changed indeed. it was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week of january, with a hard frost, a high wind, and every likelihood of snow before the morning. in an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the harbour, three or four men sat drinking ale and eating a hasty mess of eggs. they were all likely, lusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; and though they wore plain tabards, like country ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might have looked twice before he sought a quarrel in such company. a little apart before the huge fire sat a younger man, almost a boy, dressed in much the same fashion, though it was easy to see by his looks that he was better born, and might have worn a sword had the time suited. "nay," said one of the men at the table, "i like it not. ill will come of it. this is no place for jolly fellows. a jolly fellow loveth open country, good cover, and scarce foes; but here we are shut in a town, girt about with enemies; and, for the bull's-eye of misfortune, see if it snow not ere the morning." "'tis for master shelton there," said another, nodding his head towards the lad before the fire. "i will do much for master shelton," returned the first; "but to come to the gallows for any man--nay, brothers, not that!" the door of the inn opened, and another man entered hastily and approached the youth before the fire. "master shelton," he said, "sir daniel goeth forth with a pair of links and four archers." dick (for this was our young friend) rose instantly to his feet. "lawless," he said, "ye will take john capper's watch.--greensheve, follow with me.--capper, lead forward. we will follow him this time, an he go to york." the next moment they were outside in the dark street, and capper, the man who had just come, pointed to where two torches flared in the wind at a little distance. the town was already sound asleep; no one moved upon the streets, and there was nothing easier than to follow the party without observation. the two link-bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose long cloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear was brought up by the four archers, each with his bow upon his arm. they moved at a brisk walk, threading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the shore. "he hath gone each night in this direction?" asked dick, in a whisper. "this is the third night running, master shelton," returned capper, "and still at the same hour and with the same small following, as though his end were secret." sir daniel and his six men were now come to the outskirts of the country. shoreby was an open town, and though the lancastrian lords who lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the open country. the lane which sir daniel had been following came to an abrupt end. before him there was a stretch of rough down, and the noise of the sea-surf was audible upon one hand. there were no guards in the neighbourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town. dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their chase, and presently, as they came forth from between the houses, and could see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another torch drawing near from another direction. "hey," said dick, "i smell treason." meanwhile sir daniel had come to a full halt. the torches were stuck into the sand, and the men lay down, as if to await the arrival of the other party. this drew near at a good rate. it consisted of four men only--a pair of archers, a varlet with a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their midst. "is it you, my lord?" cried sir daniel. "it is i, indeed; and if ever true knight gave proof i am that man," replied the leader of the second troop; "for who would rather not face giants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching cold?" "my lord," returned sir daniel, "beauty will be the more beholden, misdoubt it not. but shall we forth? for the sooner ye have seen my merchandise, the sooner shall we both get home." "but why keep ye her here, good knight?" inquired the other. "an she be so young, and so fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth among her mates? ye would soon make her a good marriage, and no need to freeze your fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at such untimely seasons in the dark." "i have told you, my lord," replied sir daniel, "the reason thereof concerneth me only. neither do i purpose to explain it further. suffice it, that if ye be weary of your old gossip, daniel brackley, publish it abroad that y' are to wed joanna sedley, and i give you my word ye will be quit of him right soon. ye will find him with an arrow in his back." meantime the two gentlemen were walking briskly forward over the down; the three torches going before them, stooping against the wind and scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up by the six archers. close upon the heels of these dick followed. he had, of course, heard no word of this conversation; but he had recognised in the second of the speakers old lord shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputation, whom even sir daniel affected, in public, to condemn. presently they came close down upon the beach. the air smelt salt; the noise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden, there stood a small house of two stories, with stables and other offices. the foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and, after the whole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on the other side. dick and his men were thus excluded from any further following, unless they should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap. they sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. the red glow of the torches moved up and down and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the link-bearers steadily patrolled the garden. twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party issued forth again upon the down; and sir daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation, separated and turned severally homeward, each with his own following of men and lights. as soon as the sound of their steps had been swallowed by the wind, dick got to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching with the cold. "capper, ye will give me a back up," he said. they advanced, all three, to the wall; capper stooped, and dick, getting upon his shoulders, clambered on to the copestone. "now, greensheve," whispered dick, "follow me up here; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be the less seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand if i fall foully on the other side." and so saying, he dropped into the garden. it was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house. the wind whistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach; there was no other sound. cautiously dick footed it forth, stumbling among bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise of gravel underfoot told him that he had struck upon an alley. here he paused, and taking his crossbow from where he kept it concealed under his long tabard, he prepared it for instant action, and went forward once more with greater resolution and assurance. the path led him straight to the group of buildings. all seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of the house were secured by crazy shutters; the stables were open and empty; there was no hay in the hayloft, no corn in the corn-box. any one would have supposed the place to be deserted; but dick had good reason to think otherwise. he continued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all the windows. at length he came round to the sea-side of the house, and there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper windows. he stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement of a shadow on the wall of the apartment. then he remembered that in the stable his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, and he returned with all despatch to bring it. the ladder was very short, but yet, by standing on the topmost round, he could bring his hands as high as the iron bars of the window; and, seizing these, he raised his body by main force until his eyes commanded the interior of the room. two persons were within: the first he readily knew to be dame hatch; the second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroidered dress--could that be joanna sedley? his old wood companion, jack, whom he had thought to punish with a belt? he dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of amazement. he had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a being, and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffidence. but he had little opportunity for thought. a low "hist!" sounded from close by, and he hastened to descend the ladder. "who goes?" he whispered. "greensheve," came the reply, in tones similarly guarded. "what want ye?" asked dick. "the house is watched, master shelton," returned the outlaw. "we are not alone to watch it; for even as i lay on my belly on the wall i saw men prowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the other." "by my sooth," said dick, "but this is passing strange! were they not men of sir daniel's?" "nay, sir, that they were not," returned greensheve; "for if i have eyes in my head, every man-jack of them weareth me a white badge in his bonnet, something chequered with dark." "white, chequered with dark?" repeated dick. "faith, 'tis a badge i know not. it is none of this country's badges.--well, an that be so, let us slip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an evil posture for defence. beyond all question there are men of sir daniel's in that house, and to be taken between two shots is a beggarman's position. take me this ladder; i must leave it where i found it." they returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the place where they had entered. capper had taken greensheve's position on the cope, and now he leaned down his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up. cautiously and silently they dropped again upon the other side; nor did they dare to speak until they had returned to their old ambush in the gorse. "now, john capper," said dick, "back with you to shoreby, even as for your life. bring me instantly what men ye can collect. here shall be the rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at hand before they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the entering in of the town. greensheve and i lie here to watch. speed ye, john capper, and the saints aid you to despatch!--and now, greensheve," he continued, as soon as capper had departed, "let thou and i go round about the garden in a wide circuit. i would fain see whether thine eyes betrayed thee." keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting by every height and hollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing. on the third side the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the distance necessary to their purpose, they had to go some way down upon the sands. although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf was so high, and the sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of froth and water came careering over the expanse, and dick and greensheve made this part of their inspection wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep as to the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the german ocean. suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like a faint chinese shadow, violently signalling with both arms. as he dropped again to the earth, another arose a little farther on and repeated the same performance. and so, like a silent watch-word, these gesticulations made the round of the beleaguered garden. "they keep good watch," dick whispered. "let us back to land, good master," answered greensheve. "we stand here too open; for, look ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there behind us, they shall see us plainly against the foam." "ye speak sooth," returned dick. "ashore with us, right speedily." chapter ii a skirmish in the dark thoroughly drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their position in the gorse. "i pray heaven that capper make good speed!" said dick. "i vow a candle to st. mary of shoreby if he come before the hour!" "y' are in a hurry, master dick?" asked greensheve. "ay, good fellow," answered dick; "for in that house lieth my lady, whom i love, and who should these be that lie about her secretly by night? unfriends for sure!" "well," returned greensheve, "an john come speedily, we shall give a good account of them. they are not two score at the outside--i judge so by the spacing of their sentries--and, taken where they are, lying so widely, one score would scatter them like sparrows. and yet, master dick, an she be in sir daniel's power already, it will little hurt that she should change into another's. who should these be?" "i do suspect the lord of shoreby," dick replied. "when came they?" "they began to come, master dick," said greensheve, "about the time ye crossed the wall. i had not lain there the space of a minute ere i marked the first of the knaves crawling round the corner." the last light had been already extinguished in the little house when they were wading in the wash of the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at what moment the lurking men about the garden wall might make their onslaught. of two evils, dick preferred the least. he preferred that joanna should remain under the guardianship of sir daniel rather than pass into the clutches of lord shoreby; and his mind was made up, if the house should be assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the besieged. but the time passed, and still there was no movement. from quarter of an hour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall, as if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his scattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of the little house lay undisturbed. presently dick's reinforcements began to arrive. the night was not yet old before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse. separating these into two bodies, he took the command of the smaller himself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of greensheve. "now, kit," said he to this last, "take me your men to the near angle of the garden wall upon the beach. post them strongly, and wait till that ye hear me falling on upon the other side. it is those upon the sea front that i would fain make certain of, for there will be the leader. the rest will run; even let them. and now, lads, let no man draw an arrow; ye will but hurt friends. take to the steel, and keep to the steel; and if we have the uppermost, i promise every man of you a gold noble when i come to mine estate." out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined peasantry, whom duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of his revenge, some of the boldest and the most experienced in war had volunteered to follow richard shelton. the service of watching sir daniel's movements in the town of shoreby had from the first been irksome to their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble loudly and threaten to disperse. the prospect of a sharp encounter and possible spoils restored them to good humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle. their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore bonnets strengthened by iron plates; and for offensive armour, swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them in a posture to engage even regular feudal troops. the bows, quivers, and tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set resolutely forward. dick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took position himself a few paces in front. then they all shouted with one voice, and closed upon the enemy. these, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided. before they had time to get their courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout of onslaught sounded in their ears from the far side of the enclosure. thereupon they gave themselves up for lost, and ran. in this way the two small troops of the men of the black arrow closed upon the sea front of the garden wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it were, between two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran for their lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the darkness. for all that, the fight was but beginning. dick's outlaws, although they had the advantage of the surprise, were still considerably outnumbered by the men they had surrounded. the tide had flowed in the meanwhile; the beach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field between the surf and the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious, and deadly contest. the strangers were well armed; they fell in silence upon their assailants; and the affray became a series of single combats. dick, who had come first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut down at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him hotly he was fain to give ground before their onset. one of these two was a huge fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword, which he brandished like a switch. against this opponent, with his reach of arm and the length and weight of his weapon, dick and his bill were quite defenceless; and had the other continued to join vigorously in the attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen. this second man, however, less in stature and slower in his movements, paused for a moment to peer about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds of the battle. the giant still pursued his advantage, and still dick fled before him, spying for his chance. then the huge blade flashed and descended, and the lad, leaping on one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwards with his bill. a roar of agony responded, and before the wounded man could raise his formidable weapon, dick, twice repeating his blow, had brought him to the ground. the next moment he was engaged upon more equal terms with his second pursuer. here there was no great difference in size, and though the man, fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, dick more than made it up by his greater agility on foot. neither at first gained any obvious advantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; and presently dick found that they had crossed the whole width of the beach, and were now fighting above the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. here his own superior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or less at the discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon his own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adversary was bent upon drawing him farther and farther away. dick ground his teeth. he determined to decide the combat instantly; and when the wash of the next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in, caught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his opponent. the man went down backwards, with dick still upon the top of him; and the next wave, speedily succeeding the last, buried him below a rush of water. while he was still submerged, dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and rose to his feet victorious. "yield ye!" he said. "i give you life." "i yield me," said the other, getting to his knees. "ye fight, like a young man, ignorantly and foolhardily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight bravely!" dick turned to the beach. the combat was still raging doubtfully in the night; over the hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and cries of pain and the shout of battle resounded. "lead me to your captain, youth," said the conquered knight. "it is fit this butchery should cease." "sir," replied dick, "so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the poor gentleman who here addresses you is he." "call off your dogs, then, and i will bid my villains hold," returned the other. there was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late opponent, and dick instantly dismissed all fears of treachery. "lay down your arms, men!" cried the stranger knight. "i have yielded me, upon promise of life." the tone of the stranger was one of absolute command, and almost instantly the din and confusion of the mellay ceased. "lawless," cried dick, "are ye safe?" "ay," cried lawless, "safe and hearty." "light me the lantern," cried dick. "is not sir daniel here?" inquired the knight. "sir daniel?" echoed dick. "now, by the rood, i pray not. it would go ill with me if he were." "ill with _you_, fair sir?" inquired the other. "nay, then, if ye be not of sir daniel's party, i profess i comprehend no longer. wherefore, then, fell ye upon mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very fiery friend? to what earthly purpose? and to make a clear end of questioning, to what good gentleman have i surrendered?" but before dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close by. dick could see the speaker's black and white badge, and the respectful salute which he addressed to his superior. "my lord," said he, "if these gentlemen be unfriends to sir daniel, it is a pity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were tenfold greater that either they or we should linger here. the watchers in the house--unless they be all dead or deaf--have heard our hammering this quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town; and unless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, both of us, by a fresh foe." "hawksley is in the right," added the lord. "how please ye, sir? whither shall we march?" "nay, my lord," said dick, "go where you will for me. i do begin to suspect we have some ground of friendship, and if, indeed, i began our acquaintance somewhat ruggedly, i would not churlishly continue. let us then, separate, my lord, you laying your right hand in mine; and at the hour and place that ye shall name, let us encounter and agree." "y' are too trustful, boy," said the other; "but this time your trust is not misplaced. i will meet you at the point of day at st. bride's cross.--come, lads, follow!" the strangers disappeared from the scene with a rapidity that seemed suspicious; and, while the outlaws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead bodies, dick made once more the circuit of the garden wall to examine the front of the house. in a little upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light set; and as it would certainly be visible in town from the back windows of sir daniel's mansion, he doubted not that this was the signal feared by hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the knight of tunstall would arrive upon the scene. he put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to him as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from townward. back to the beach he went hurrying. but the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already wading seaward to commit it to the mercies of the deep. a few minutes later, when there debouched out of the nearest lanes of shoreby some two score horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop of their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea was entirely silent and deserted. meanwhile dick and his men had returned to the alehouse of the "goat and bagpipes" to snatch some hours of sleep before the morning tryst. chapter iii st. bride's cross st. bride's cross stood a little way back from shoreby, on the skirts of tunstall forest. two roads met: one, from holywood across the forest; one, that road from risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. here the two joined issue, and went on together down the hill to shoreby; and a little back from the point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the ancient and weather-beaten cross. here, then, about seven in the morning, dick arrived. it was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoar-frost, and the day began to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange. dick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides. he had not long to wait. down the road from holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid charger. twenty yards behind him followed a clump of lancers; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to advance alone. his visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and dignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms. and it was with some confusion of manner that dick arose from the cross and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner. "i thank you, my lord, for your exactitude," he said, louting very low. "will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?" "are ye here alone, young man?" inquired the other. "i was not so simple," answered dick; "and, to be plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on their weapons." "y' have done wisely," said the lord. "it pleaseth me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a salvage saracen lunatic than any christian warrior. but it becomes not me to complain, that had the undermost." "ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell," returned dick; "but had the waves not holpen me, it was i that should have had the worst. ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger-marks, which i still carry. and in fine, my lord, methinks i had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that little blind-man's medley on the beach." "y' are shrewd enough to make light of it, i see," returned the stranger. "nay, my lord, not shrewd," replied dick, "in that i shoot at no advantage to myself. but when, by the light of this new day, i see how stout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the darkness, and the surf--and how easily the battle had gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic as myself--think it not strange, my lord, if i feel confounded with my victory." "ye speak well," said the stranger. "your name?" "my name, an't like you, is shelton," answered dick. "men call me the lord foxham," added the other. "then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye are guardian to the sweetest maid in england," replied dick; "and for your ransom, and the ransom of such as were taken with you on the beach, there will be no uncertainty of terms. i pray you, my lord, of your good-will and charity, yield me the hand of my mistress, joan sedley; and take ye, upon the other part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, and (if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till i die." "but are ye not ward to sir daniel? methought, if y' are harry shelton's son, that i had heard it so reported," said lord foxham. "will it please you, my lord, to alight? i would fain tell you fully who i am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands. beseech you, my lord, take place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and judge me with allowance." and so saying, dick lent a hand to lord foxham to dismount; led him up the knoll to the cross; installed him in the place where he had himself been sitting; and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner, related the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening before. lord foxham listened gravely, and when dick had done, "master shelton," he said, "ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what fortune y' have had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye have noways deserved. be of a good cheer; for ye have made a friend who is devoid neither of power nor favour. for yourself, although it fits not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, i must own ye are both brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in peace, a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing. for your estates, ye will never see them till the world shall change again; so long as lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall sir daniel enjoy them for his own. for my ward, it is another matter; i had promised her before to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one hamley; the promise is old----" "ay, my lord, and now sir daniel hath promised her to my lord shoreby," interrupted dick. "and his promise, for all it is but young, is still the likelier to be made good." "tis the plain truth," returned his lordship. "and considering, moreover, that i am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my bare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other hands, i will so far consent. aid me with your good fellows----" "my lord," cried dick, "they are these same outlaws that ye blame me for consorting with." "let them be what they will, they can fight," returned lord foxham. "help me, then; and if between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly honour, she shall marry you!" dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leaping up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son. "come," he said, "an y' are to marry joan, we must be early friends." chapter iv the "good hope" an hour thereafter, dick was back at the "goat and bagpipes," breaking his fast, and receiving the report of his messengers and sentries. duckworth was still absent from shoreby; and this was frequently the case, for he played many parts in the world, shared many different interests, and conducted many various affairs. he had founded that fellowship of the black arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money; and yet among those who knew him best, he was thought to be the agent and emissary of the great king-maker of england, richard, earl of warwick. in his absence, at any rate, it fell upon richard shelton to command affairs in shoreby; and as he sat at meat his mind was full of care, and his face heavy with consideration. it had been determined, between him and the lord foxham, to make one bold stroke that evening, and, by brute force, to set joanna free. the obstacles, however, were many; and as one after another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more discomfortable news. sir daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night before. he had increased the garrison of the house in the garden; but, not content with that, he had stationed horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that he might have instant word of any movement. meanwhile, in the court of his mansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, armed at every point, awaited but the signal to ride. the adventure of the night appeared more and more difficult of execution, till suddenly dick's countenance lightened. "lawless!" he cried, "you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?" "master dick," replied lawless, "if ye would back me, i would agree to steal york minster." presently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour. it was a considerable basin, lying among sandhills, and surrounded with patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the town. many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor, or had been drawn up on the beach. a long duration of bad weather had driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the great trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one another, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind, promised no improvement, but rather threatened a more serious storm in the immediate future. the seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part slunk ashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns. many of the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the day wore on, and the weather offered no appearance of improvement, the number was continually being augmented. it was to these deserted ships, and, above all, to those of them that lay far out, that lawless directed his attention; while dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns in the agreeable recollection of lord foxham's promise. he was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. it was lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering swell. a pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the vessel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in this momentary glitter dick could see a couple of men hauling the skiff alongside. "there, sir," said lawless, "mark ye it well! there is the ship for to-night." presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore. lawless turned to a loiterer. "how call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel. "they call her the _good hope_, of dartmouth," replied the loiterer. "her captain, arblaster by name. he pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff." this was all that lawless wanted. hurriedly thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading. there he took up his position, and as soon as they were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the _good hope_. "what! gossip arblaster!" he cried. "why, ye be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood! and is that the _good hope_? ay, i would know her among ten thousand!--a sweet shear, a sweet boat! but marry, come up, my gossip, will ye drink? i have come into mine estate, which doubtless ye remember to have heard on. i am now rich; i have left to sail upon the sea; i do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale. come, fellow; thy hand upon 't! come, drink with an old ship-fellow!" skipper arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious amazement and distrust. but the name of an estate, and a certain air of tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which lawless very well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable grasp. "nay," he said, "i cannot mind you. but what o' that? i would drink with any man, gossip, and so would my man tom.--man tom," he added, addressing his follower, "here is my gossip, whose name i cannot mind, but no doubt a very good seaman. let's go drink with him and his shore friend." lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less crowded than those nearer to the centre of the port. it was but a shed of timber, much like a block-house in the backwoods of to-day, and was coarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and boards set upon barrels to play the part of tables. in the middle, and besieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood blazed and vomited thick smoke. "ay, now," said lawless, "here is a shipman's joy--a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring in the roof! here's to the _good hope_! may she ride easy!" "ay," said skipper arblaster, "'tis good weather to be ashore in, that is sooth--man tom, how say ye to that?--gossip, ye speak well, though i can never think upon your name; but ye speak very well. may the _good hope_ ride easy! amen!" "friend dickon," resumed lawless, addressing his commander, "ye have certain matters on hand, unless i err? well, prithee be about them incontinently. for here i be with the choice of all good company, two tough old shipmen; and till that ye return i will go warrant these brave fellows will bide here and drink me cup for cup. we are not like shore-men, we old tough tarry-johns!" "it is well meant," returned the skipper. "ye can go, boy; for i will keep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew--ay, and by st. mary, till the sun get up again! for, look ye, when a man hath been long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and let him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched." thus encouraged upon all hands, dick rose, saluted his company, and going forth again into the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to the "goat and bagpipes." thence he sent word to my lord foxham that, so soon as ever the evening closed, they would have a stout boat to keep the sea in. and then leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had some experience of the sea, he returned himself to the harbour and the little sandy creek. the skiff of the _good hope_ lay among many others, from which it was easily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility. indeed, when dick and his two men had taken their places, and began to put forth out of the creek into the open harbour, the little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point of sinking. the _good hope_, as we have said, was anchored far out, where the swell was heaviest. no other vessel lay nearer than several cables' length; those that were the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather further concealed the movements of the outlaws from all possible espial. in a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and the skiff was dancing at the stern. the _good hope_ was captured. she was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and amidships, but open in the stern. she carried one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a lugger. it would seem that skipper arblaster had made an excellent venture, for the hold was full of pieces of french wine; and in the little cabin, besides the virgin mary in the bulkhead which proved the captain's piety, there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which showed him to be rich and careful. a dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, furiously barked, and bit the heels of the boarders, but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door shut upon his just resentment. a lamp was lit and fixed in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the shore; one of the wine pieces in the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent gascony emptied to the adventure of the evening; and then, while one of the outlaws began to get ready his bow and arrows and prepare to hold the ship against all comers, the other hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held on, waiting for dick. "well, jack, keep me a good watch," said the young commander, preparing to follow his subordinate. "ye will do right well." "why," returned jack, "i shall do excellent well indeed, so long as we lie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the harbour----. see, there she trembles! nay, the poor shrew heard the words, and the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs. but look, master dick! how black the weather gathers!" the darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. great billows heaved up out of the blackness, one after another; and one after another the _good hope_ buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the farther side. a thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the deck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging. "in sooth, it looketh evilly," said dick. "but what cheer! 'tis but a squall, and presently it will blow over." but, in spite of his words, he was depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the _good hope_ and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed of oars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recommended to heaven the lives of all who should adventure on the sea. at the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the outlaws. to these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark without delay. a little farther up the beach dick found lord foxham hurrying in quest of him, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour covered by a long russet mantle of a poor appearance. "young shelton," he said, "are ye for sea, then, truly?" "my lord," replied richard, "they lie about the house with horsemen; it may not be reached from the land side without alarum; and sir daniel once advertised of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good end than, saving your presence, we could ride upon the wind. now, in going round by sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much outweigheth all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and bear off the maid." "well," returned lord foxham, "lead on. i will, in some sort, follow you for shame's sake; but i own i would i were in bed." "here, then," said dick. "hither we go to fetch our pilot." and he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to a portion of his men. some of these he found lingering round the door outside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near as possible to where they saw their comrade, gathered close about lawless and the two shipmen. these, to judge by the distempered countenance and cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; and as richard entered, closely followed by lord foxham, they were all three tuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the gale. the young leader cast a rapid glance about the shed. the fire had just been replenished, and gave forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was difficult to see clearly in the farther corners. it was plain, however, that the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests. satisfied upon this point, in case of any failure in the operation of his plan, dick strode up to the table and resumed his place upon the bench. "hey?" cried the skipper tipsily, "who are ye, hey?" "i want a word with you without, master arblaster," returned dick; "and here is what we shall talk of." and he showed him a gold noble in the glimmer of the firelight. the shipman's eyes burned, although he still failed to recognise our hero. "ay, boy," he said, "i am with you.--gossip, i will be back anon. drink fair, gossip"; and, taking dick's arm to steady his uneven steps, he walked to the door of the alehouse. as soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and bound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to another, and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and crop into a neighbouring hay-barn. presently, his man tom, similarly secured, was tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth reflections for the night. and now, as the time for concealment had gone by, lord foxham's followers were summoned by a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly taking possession of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the ship. long before the last man had climbed to the deck of the _good hope_, the sound of furious shouting from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs. but it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge. out of some forty fighting men now mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, and could play the part of mariners. with the aid of these, a slice of sail was got upon her. the cable was cut. lawless, vacillating on his feet, and still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller in his hands: and the _good hope_ began to flit forward into the darkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour bar. richard took his place beside the weather rigging. except for the ship's own lantern, and for some lights in shoreby town, that were already fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit. only from time to time, as the _good hope_ swooped dizzily down into the valley of the rollers, a crest would break--a great cataract of snowy foam would leap in one instant into being--and, in an instant more, would stream into the wake and vanish. many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick, and had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo. and what with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continued drunken bravado of lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest heart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the result. but lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the ship across the breakers, struck the lee of a great sandbank, where they sailed for a while in smooth water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay ducking and grinding in the dark. chapter v the "good hope" (_continued_) the pier was not far distant from the house in which joanna lay; it now only remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a strong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive. they might then regard themselves as done with the _good hope_; it had placed them on the rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater measure of hope in the direction of the forest and my lord foxham's reserve. to get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick, all were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of the night had cowed their spirits. they made a rush upon the pier; my lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in front; and this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case. when some degree of order had been restored, dick, with a few chosen men, set forth in advance. the darkness on shore, by contrast with the flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the howling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise. he had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a lull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of horses and the clash of arms. checking his immediate followers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon the down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and horses moving. a strong discouragement assailed him. if their enemies were really on the watch, if they had beleagured the shoreward end of the pier, he and lord foxham were taken in a posture of very poor defence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow causeway. he gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon. it proved to be a signal for more than he desired. instantly there fell, through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain. in this first discharge, lord foxham was struck down; hawksley had him carried on board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) without guidance. that was perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow. at the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, dick held his own with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the twinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship. some one cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. "on board, lads, for your lives!" cried another. a third, with the true instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats: "we are betrayed!" and in a moment the whole mass of men went surging and jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry. one coward thrust off the ship's stern, while another still held her by the bows. the fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell back and perished in the sea. some were cut down upon the pier by the pursuers. many were injured on the ship's deck in the blind haste and terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on both. at last, and whether by design or accident, the bows of the _good hope_ were liberated; and the ever-ready lawless, who had maintained his place at the helm through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper tack. the ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its scuppers running blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and struggling in the dark. thereupon lawless sheathed his dagger, and, turning to his next neighbour, "i have left my mark on them, gossip," said he, "the yelping, coward hounds." now, while they were all leaping and struggling for their lives, the men had not appeared to observe the rough shoves and cutting stabs with which lawless had held his post in the confusion. but perhaps they had already begun to understand somewhat more clearly, perhaps another ear had overheard the helmsman's speech. panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, as if to wipe out the memory of their fault, will sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordination. so it was now; and the same men who had thrown away their weapons and been hauled, feet foremost, into the _good hope_, began to cry out upon their leaders, and demand that some one should be punished. this growing ill-feeling turned upon lawless. in order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had put the head of the _good hope_ to seaward. "what!" bawled one of the grumblers, "he carrieth us to seaward!" "'tis sooth," cried another. "nay, we are betrayed for sure." and they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abominable oaths bade lawless go about-ship and bring them speedily ashore. lawless, grinding his teeth, continued in silence to steer the true course, guiding the _good hope_ among the formidable billows. to their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, between drink and dignity he scorned to make reply. the malcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, "crowing for courage." presently they would be fit for any extremity of injustice or ingratitude. dick began to mount by the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got beforehand. "lads," he began, "y' are right wooden heads, i think. for to get back, by the mass, we must have an offing, must we not? and this old lawless--" some one struck the speaker on the mouth, and the next moment, as a fire springs among dry straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under the feet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions. at this the wrath of lawless rose and broke. "steer yourselves," he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the result, he left the helm. the _good hope_ was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell. she subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side. a wave, like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with a staggering blow, she plunged head foremost through that liquid hill. the green water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a man's knees; the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a beast that has been deadly wounded. six or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and as for the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to bellow to the saints and wail upon lawless to come back and take the tiller. nor did lawless wait to be twice bidden. the terrible result of his fling of just resentment sobered him completely. he knew, better than any one on board, how nearly the _good hope_ had gone bodily down below their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the sea, that the peril was by no means over. dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose wading to his knees in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the old helmsman's side. "lawless," he said, "we do all depend on you; y' are a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in the management of ships; i shall put three sure men to watch upon your safety." "bootless, my master, bootless," said the steersman, peering forward through the dark. "we come every moment somewhat clearer of these sandbanks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and for all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs. for, my master, 'tis a right mystery, but true, there never yet was a bad man that was a good shipman. none but the honest and the bold can endure me this tossing of a ship." "nay, lawless," said dick, laughing, "that is a right shipman's byword, and hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind. but, prithee, how go we? do we lie well? are we in good case?" "master shelton," replied lawless, "i have been a grey friar--i praise fortune--an archer, a thief, and a shipman. of all these coats, i had the best fancy to die in the grey friars, as ye may readily conceive, and the least fancy to die in john shipman's tarry jacket; and that for two excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man suddenly; and second, for the horror of that great salt smother and welter under my foot here"--and lawless stamped with his foot. "howbeit," he went on, "an i die not a sailor's death, and that this night, i shall owe a tall candle to our lady." "is it so?" asked dick. "it is right so," replied the outlaw. "do ye not feel how heavy and dull she moves upon the waves? do ye not hear the water washing in her hold? she will scarce mind the rudder even now. bide till she has settled a bit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like a twist of string." "ye speak with a good courage," returned dick. "ye are not then appalled?" "why, master," answered lawless, "if ever a man had an ill crew to come to port with, it is i--a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on't. well, ye may wonder, but i keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that i be to drown, i will drown with a bright eye, master shelton, and a steady hand." dick returned no answer; but he was surprised to find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, and, fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set forth upon his quest for three sure men. the great bulk of the men had now deserted the deck, which was continually wetted with the flying sprays, and where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind. they had gathered, instead, into the hold of the merchandise, among the butts of wine, and lighted by two swinging lanterns. here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in arblaster's gascony wine. but as the _good hope_ continued to tear through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in air and deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions diminished with every moment and with every lurch. many sat apart, tending their hurts, but the majority were already prostrated with sickness, and lay moaning in the bilge. greensheve, cuckow, and a young fellow of lord foxham's whom dick had already remarked for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however, both fit to understand and willing to obey. these dick set as a bodyguard about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look at the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin, whither lord foxham had been carried by his servants. chapter vi the "good hope" (_concluded_) the moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing of the ship's dog. the poor animal, whether he was merely sick at heart to be separated from his friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above the roar of wave and weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, in these sounds, the knell of the _good hope_. lord foxham had been laid in a berth, upon a fur cloak. a little lamp burned dim before the virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer dick could see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man. "i am sore hurt," said he. "come near to my side, young shelton; let there be one by me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having lived nobly and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that i should get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls." "nay, my lord," said dick, "i pray rather to the saints that ye will recover you of your hurt, and come soon and sound ashore." "how?" demanded his lordship. "come sound ashore? there is, then, a question of it?" "the ship laboureth--the sea is grievous and contrary," replied the lad; "and by what i can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do well, indeed, if we come dryshod to land." "ha!" said the baron gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the passage of my soul! sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes! howbeit, i have that upon my mind that must not be delayed. we have no priest aboard?" "none," replied dick. "here, then, to my secular interests," resumed lord foxham: "ye must be as good a friend to me dead, as i found you a gallant enemy when i was living. i fall in an evil hour for me, for england, and for them that trusted me. my men are being brought by hamley--he that was your rival; they will rendezvous in the long room at holywood; this ring from off my finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and i shall write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding hamley yield to you the damsel. will ye obey? i know not." "but, my lord, what orders?" inquired dick. "ay," quoth the baron, "ay--the orders"; and he looked upon dick with hesitation. "are ye lancaster or york?" he asked at length. "i shame to say it," answered dick, "i can scarce clearly answer. but so much i think is certain: since i serve with ellis duckworth, i serve the house of york. well, if that be so, i declare for york." "it is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well. for, truly, had ye said lancaster, i wot not for the world what i had done. but sith ye are for york, follow me. i came hither but to watch these lords at shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, richard of gloucester,[ ] prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them. i have made me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and these i was to deliver to my young lord on sunday, an hour before noon, at st. bride's cross beside the forest. this tryst i am not like to keep, but i pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from the hour and place, for the welfare of england lieth upon this cast." "i do soberly take this upon me," said dick. "in so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be done." "it is good," said the wounded man. "my lord duke shall order you further, and if ye obey him with spirit and goodwill, then is your fortune made. give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that i write these words for you." he wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, sir john hamley"; and then a second, which he left without external superscription. "this is for the duke," he said. "the word is 'england and edward,' and the counter, 'england and york.'" "and joanna, my lord?" asked dick. "nay, ye must get joanna how ye can," replied the baron. "i have named you for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for yourself, boy. i have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my life. more could no man do." by this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and dick, putting the precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him to repose. the day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of snow. close under the lee of the _good hope_, the coast lay in alternate rocky headlands and sandy bays; and farther inland the wooded hill-tops of tunstall showed along the sky. both the wind and the sea had gone down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves. lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhospitable coast. "are we going ashore?" asked dick. "ay," said lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom." and just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, that dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the arm. "by the mass!" cried dick, as the bows of the _good hope_ re-appeared above the foam, "i thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my throat." in the waist, greensheve, hawksley, and the better men of both companies were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these dick joined himself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament. but, even as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of her dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death. presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below a promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above that again, a house appeared, crowning a down. inside the bay the seas ran gaily, raised the _good hope_ upon their foam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman, and in a moment dropped her with a great concussion on the sand, and began to break over her, half-mast high, and roll her to and fro. another great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in; and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more dangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank. "now, boys," cried lawless, "the saints have had a care of us indeed. the tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge." a barrel was broached, and sitting in what shelter they could find from the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around, and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits. dick, meanwhile, returned to lord foxham, who lay in great perplexity and fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of the blow. "my lord," said young shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly for us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet." it was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the ebbing sea, and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly before them through a veil of driving snow. upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals. "they might draw near and offer us some comfort," dick remarked. "well, an they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said hawksley. "the sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed, the better for my poor lord." but they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock before the men, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company. "back! back!" cried his lordship. "beware, in heaven's name, that ye reply not!" "nay," cried greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack. "we are in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, and three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old england, what aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?" "they take us to be french pirates," answered lord foxham. "in these most troublesome and degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores of england; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do now range at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning. it is the pity and reproach of this poor land." the men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed upward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sandhills; for a mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign, to pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was only when, striking at length upon a firm high-road, dick began to call his men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the coast of england silently disappeared among the snow. they had done what they desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own families and cattle; and, their private interest being thus secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the frenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm of england. footnote: [ ] at the date of this story, richard crookback could not have been created duke of gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader's leave, he shall so be called. book iv the disguise chapter i the den the place where dick had struck the line of a high-road was not far from holywood, and within nine or ten miles of shoreby-on-the-till; and here, after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies separated. lord foxham's followers departed, carrying their wounded master towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and dick, as he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder of his troop of volunteers. some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders. dick emptied his purse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way, either severally or in pairs, to shoreby and the "goat and bagpipes." for his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the _good hope_, he chose lawless to be his companion on the walk. the snow was falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation. there was great danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among dangers. about a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks. even in the narrow horizon of the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be recognised; and lawless evidently recognised it with particular delight. "now, master richard," said he, "an y' are not too proud to be the guest of a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good christian, i can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the marrow in your frozen bones." "lead on, will," answered dick. "a cup of wine and a good fire! nay, i would go a far way round to see them." lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that had now drifted a quarter full of snow. on the verge a great beech-tree hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth. the beech had, in some violent gale, been half-uprooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of turf; and it was under this that old lawless had dug out his forest hiding-place. the roots served him for rafters, the turf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the earth. rude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the presence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron, showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a digging beast. though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of this earth-cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze and crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of comfort and of home. with a sigh of great contentment lawless spread his broad hands before the fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke. "here, then," he said, "is this old lawless's rabbit-hole; pray heaven there come no terrier! far i have rolled hither and thither, and here and about, since that i was fourteen years of mine age, and first ran away from mine abbey, with the sacrist's gold chain and a mass-book that i sold for four marks. i have been in england and france and burgundy, and in spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea, which is no man's country. but here is my place, master shelton. this is my native land, this burrow in the earth. come rain or wind--an whether it's april, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my bed, or whether it's winter, and i sit alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin-redbreast twitters in the woods--here is my church and market, my wife and child. it's here i come back to, and it's here, so please the saints, that i would like to die." "'tis a warm corner, to be sure," replied dick, "and a pleasant, and a well-hid." "it had need to be," returned lawless, "for an they found it, master shelton, it would break my heart. but here," he added, burrowing with his stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine-cellar, and ye shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo." sure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern bottle of about a gallon, nearly three parts full of a very heady and sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire had been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm. "master shelton," observed the outlaw, "y' have had two mischances this last while, and y' are like to lose the maid--do i take it aright?" "aright!" returned dick, nodding his head. "well, now," continued lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all! ye go too much on other people's errands, master dick. ye go on ellis's; but he desireth rather the death of sir daniel. ye go on lord foxham's; well--the saints preserve him!--doubtless he meaneth well. but go ye upon your own, good dick. come right to the maid's side. court her, lest that she forget you. be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the saddle-bow." "ay, but, lawless, beyond doubt she is now in sir daniel's own mansion," answered dick. "thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw. dick stared at him. "nay, i mean it," nodded lawless. "and if y' are of so little faith, and stumble at a word, see here!" and the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest, and dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a friar's robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, heavy enough to be counted as a weapon. "here," he said, "is for you. on with them!" and then, when dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise, lawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cunning, to disguise his face. the eyebrows he thickened and produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a like service; while, by a few lines around his eye, he changed the expression and increased the apparent age of this young monk. "now," he resumed, "when i have done the like, we shall make as bonny a pair of friars as the eye could wish. boldly to sir daniel's we shall go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of mother church." "and how, dear lawless," cried the lad, "shall i repay you?" "tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "i do naught but for my pleasure. mind not for me. i am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself. when that i lack, i have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell--i do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, i do most usually take." the old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although dick was displeased to lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet unable to restrain his mirth. with that lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly disguised; but below his gown dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of black arrows. "wherefore do ye that?" asked the lad. "wherefore arrows, when ye take no bow?" "nay," replied lawless lightly, "'tis like there will be heads broke--not to say backs--ere you and i win sound from where we're going to; and if any fall, i would our fellowship should come by the credit on't. a black arrow, master dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth you who writ the bill." "an ye prepare so carefully," said dick. "i have here some papers that, for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better left behind than found upon my body. where shall i conceal them, will?" "nay," replied lawless, "i will go forth into the wood and whistle me three verses of a song; meanwhile do you bury them where ye please, and smooth the sand upon the place." "never!" cried richard. "i trust you, man. i were base indeed if i not trusted you." "brother, y' are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and turning his face upon dick from the threshold of the den. "i am a kind old christian, and no traitor to men's blood, and no sparer of mine own in a friend's jeopardy. but, fool child, i am a thief by trade and birth and habit. if my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, i would rob you, dear child, as sure as i love, honour, and admire your parts and person! can it be clearer spoken? no." and he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers. dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the inconsistencies of his companion's character, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his papers. one only he reserved to carry along with him, since it in nowise compromised his friends, and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against sir daniel. that was the knight's own letter to lord wensleydale, sent by throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at risingham, and found next day by dick upon the body of the messenger. then, treading down the embers of the fire, dick left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. each looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the disguise. "yet i would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw, "that i might see myself in the mirror of a pool. there be many of sir daniel's men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might be two words for you, my brother, but as for me, in a paternoster-while, i should be kicking in a rope's-end." thus they set forth together along the road to shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near along the margin of the forest, coming forth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor folks' houses and small farms. presently at sight of one of these lawless pulled up. "brother martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to his monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners. _pax vobiscum!_ ay," he added, in his own voice, "'tis as i feared: i have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good master shelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before that i risk my fat neck by entering sir daniel's. but look ye a little, what an excellent thing it is to be a jack-of-all-trades! an i had not been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the _good hope_; an i had not been a thief, i could not have painted me your face; and but that i had been a grey friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at the board, i could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us out and barked at us for shams." he was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in. "nay," he cried, "better and better. we shall here try our false faces with a vengeance, and have a merry jest on brother capper to boot." and so saying he opened the door and led the way into the house. three of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating. their daggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing looks which they continued to shower upon the people of the house, proved that they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour. on the two monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the farm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment; and one--it was john capper in person--who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and rudely ordered them away. "we want no beggars here!" he cried. but another--although he was as far from recognising dick and lawless--inclined to more moderate counsels. "not so," he cried. "we be strong men, and take: these be weak, and crave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we below.--mind him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a benediction." "y' are men of a light mind, carnal and accursed," said the monk. "now, may the saints forbid that ever i should drink with such companions! but here, for the pity i bear to sinners, here i do' leave you a blessed relic, the which, for your soul's interest, i bid you kiss and cherish." so far lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with these words he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board in front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same instant, and, taking dick along with him, was out of the room and out of sight among the falling snow before they had time to utter a word or move a finger. "so," he said, "we have proved our false faces, master shelton. i will now adventure my poor carcass where ye please." "good!" returned richard. "it irks me to be doing. set we on for shoreby!" chapter ii "in mine enemies' house" sir daniel's residence in shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of thatch. to the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees, alleys, and thick arbours, and over-looked from the far end by the tower of the abbey church. the house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person than sir daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub. the court rang with arms and horse-shoe iron; the kitchen roared with cookery like a bees'-hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of tumblers, sounded from the hall. sir daniel, in his profusion, in the gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with lord shoreby and eclipsed lord risingham. all guests were made welcome. minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes and enchantments, and along with these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards of the long dining-hall. on the afternoon following the wreck of the _good hope_, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, the covered cart-shed that surrounded two sides of the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to sir daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue, partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time. the snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter. wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal. to the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a festive season. two monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed. a mixed crowd surrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers: and with these the elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged so many loud guffaws and country witticisms that the group momentarily increased in number. the younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised dick shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself away. he listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by the grave expression of his countenance he made but little account of his companion's pleasantries. at last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession entering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction. two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were followed by a pair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms. the next moment they had disappeared within the house; and dick, slipping through the crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit. "the taller of these twain was lady brackley," he thought; "and where lady brackley is, joan will not be far." at the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and the ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no better escort than that of the two waiting-women. dick followed close behind. it was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the darkness of the night had almost come. on the stair-landings torches flared in iron holders; down the long tapestried corridors a lamp burned by every door. and where the door stood open, dick could look in upon arras-covered walls, and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light of the wood-fires. two floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of the two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk. he, keeping his eyes lowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had but seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention. and now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady continuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids, descending the corridor to the right. dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth his head and followed the three women with his eyes. without turning or looking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor. "it is right well," thought dick. "let me but know my lady brackley's chamber, and it will go hard an i find not dame hatch upon an errand." and just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant. he was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly seized, the short young lady in the furs. she, on her part, was shocked and terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp. "madam," said dick, releasing her, "i cry you a thousand pardons; but i have no eyes behind, and, by the mass, i could not tell ye were a maid." the girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion. dick, who could read these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that hostile house. "fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand, in token ye forgive my roughness, and i will even go." "y' are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him both boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first astonishment hath somewhat passed away, i can spy the layman in each word you utter. what do ye here? why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked out? come ye in peace or war? and why spy ye after lady brackley like a thief?" "madam," quoth dick, "of one thing i pray you to be very sure: i am no thief. and even if i come here in war, as in some degree i do, i make no war upon fair maids, and i hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to leave me be. for, indeed, fair mistress, cry out--if such be your pleasure--cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman before you is merely a dead man. i cannot think ye would be cruel," added dick; and taking the girl's hand gently in both of his, he looked at her with courteous admiration. "are ye then a spy--a yorkist?" asked the maid. "madam," he replied, "i am indeed a yorkist, and in some sort, a spy. but that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for me the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of york nor lancaster. i will wholly put my life in your discretion. i am a lover, and my name--" but here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon dick's mouth, looked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast clear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence, upstairs. "hush!" she said, "and come. 'shalt talk hereafter." somewhat bewildered, dick suffered himself to be pulled upstairs, bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth. "now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there and attend my sovereign good-pleasure. i have life and death over you, and i will not scruple to abuse my power. look to yourself; y' have cruelly mauled my arm. he knew not i was a maid, quoth he! had he known i was a maid, he had ta'en his belt to me, forsooth!" and with these words she whipped out of the room, and left dick gaping with wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake. "ta'en my belt to her!" he repeated. "ta'en my belt to her!" and the recollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, and he once more saw matcham's wincing body and beseeching eyes. and then he was recalled to the dangers of the present. in the next room he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which sounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet once more began. as he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the wall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided, and, lamp in hand, joanna sedley entered the apartment. she was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit the winter and the snow. upon her head, her hair had been gathered together and became her as a crown. and she, who had seemed so little and so awkward in the attire of matcham, was now tall like a young willow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of walking. without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the young monk. "what make ye here, good brother?" she inquired. "ye are doubtless ill-directed. whom do ye require?" and she set her lamp upon the bracket. "joanna," said dick; and then his voice failed him. "joanna," he began again, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool i, but i believed it!" "dick!" she cried. "dick!" and then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him a hundred kisses all in one. "o the fool fellow!" she cried. "o dear dick! o, if ye could see yourself! alack!" she added, pausing, "i have spoilt you, dick! i have knocked some of the paint off. but that can be mended. what cannot be mended, dick--or i much fear it cannot!--is my marriage with lord shoreby." "is it decided then?" asked the lad. "to-morrow, before noon, dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "john matcham and joanna sedley both shall come to a right miserable end. there is no help in tears, or i could weep mine eyes out. i have not spared myself to pray, but heaven frowns on my petition. and, dear dick--good dick--but that ye can get me forth of this house before the morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye." "nay," said dick, "not i; i will never say that word. 'tis like despair; but while there's life, joanna, there is hope. yet will i hope. ay, by the mass, and triumph! look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did i not follow--did i not rouse good men--did i not stake my life upon the quarrel? and now that i have seen you for what ye are--the fairest maid and stateliest of england--think ye i would turn?--if the deep sea were there, i would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, i would scatter them like mice." "ay," she said dryly, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!" "nay, joan," protested dick, "'tis not alone the robe. but, lass, ye were disguised. here am i disguised; and, to the proof, do i not cut a figure of fun--a right fool's figure?" "ay, dick, an' that ye do!" she answered, smiling. "well, then!" he returned, triumphant. "so was it with you, poor matcham, in the forest. in sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at. but now!" so they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have continued all night long. but presently there was a noise behind them; and they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her lips. "saints!" she cried, "but what a noise ye keep! can ye not speak in compass?--and now, joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give your gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?" joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily. "and you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?" "madam," said dick, "i would fain offer to pay you in the same money." "come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you." but dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand. "what ails ye at my face, fair sir?" she inquired, curtseying to the very ground; and then, when dick had at length and most tepidly embraced her, "joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backward under your eyes; but i warrant you, when first we met, he was more ready. i am all black and blue, wench; trust me never, if i be not black and blue! and now," she continued, "have ye said your sayings? for i must speedily dismiss the paladin." but at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so early. "and supper?" asked the young lady. "must we not go down to supper?" "nay, to be sure!" cried joan. "i had forgotten." "hide me, then," said dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so that i may be here on your return. indeed, fair lady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bestead, and may never look upon each other's face from this night forward till we die." at this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell summoned sir daniel's household to the board, dick was planted very stiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry permitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room. he had not been long in this position when he was somewhat strangely disturbed. the silence in that upper story of the house was only broken by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in the chimney; but presently, to dick's strained hearing, there came the sound of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the door opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in lord shoreby's colours, pushed first his head and then his crooked body into the chamber. his mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes, which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro. he went round and round the room, striking here and there upon the hangings; but dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice. then he looked below the furniture, and examined the lamp; and at last, with an air of cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had come, when down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes on the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt. dick's heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign delight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to his master, the baron. he was half-tempted to throw aside the arras, fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the tell-tale token. and while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was added. a voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible from the stair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and heavy footsteps sounded without along the passage. "what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?" sang the voice. "what make ye here? hey! sots, what make ye here?" it added, with a rattle of drunken laughter; and then once more breaking into song: "if ye should drink the clary wine, fat friar john, ye friend o' mine-- if i should eat, and ye should drink, who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?" lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations. dick inwardly raged. the spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from richard's eyes. what was to be done? if he lost touch of lawless for the night he was left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth joanna's rescue. if, on the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue. it was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that dick decided. slipping from behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a warning hand upraised. lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer. at last he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of dick's imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name. dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously. "beast!" he hissed--"beast, and no man! it is worse than treachery to be so witless. we may all be shent for thy sotting." but lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young shelton on the back. and just then dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras. he leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging had been torn down, and dick and the spy were sprawling together in its folds. over and over they rolled, grappling for each other's throat, and still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury. but dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe. chapter iii the dead spy throughout this furious and rapid passage, lawless had looked on helplessly, and even when all was over, and dick, already re-arisen to his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant bustle in the lower stories of the house, the old outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring on the face of the dead man. "it is well," said dick at length; "they have not heard us, praise the saints! but, now, what shall i do with this poor spy? at least, i will take my tassel from his wallet." so saying, dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter addressed to lord wensleydale, and sealed with my lord shoreby's seal. the name awoke dick's recollection; and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. it was short, but, to dick's delight, it gave evident proof that lord shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the house of york. the young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him, and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able to write these words upon a corner of the paper: "my lord of shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is ded? but let me rede you, marry not. "jon amend-all." he laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then lawless, who had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. the sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from young shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed. "nay, i will have the credit for mine order," he hiccuped. "my jolly boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother"; and then, shutting his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to thunder, in a formidable voice: "if ye should drink the clary wine--" "peace, sot!" cried dick, and thrust him hard against the wall. "in two words--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than wit in him--in two words, and a-mary's name, begone out of this house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me also! faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, i may forget that i am in some sort your captain, and in some your debtor! go!" the sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his intelligence; and the ring in dick's voice, and the glitter in dick's eye, stamped home the meaning of his words. "by the mass," cried lawless, "an i be not wanted, i can go"; and he turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder downstairs, lurching against the wall. so soon as he was out of sight, dick returned to his hiding-place, resolutely fixed to see the matter out. wisdom, indeed, moved him to be gone; but love and curiosity were stronger. time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras. the fire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to smoke. and still there was no word of the return of any one to these upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the supper-party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of the snow, shoreby town lay silent upon every side. at length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair; and presently after several of sir daniel's guests arrived upon the landing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the body of the spy. some ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud. at the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from every direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult. soon a way was cleared, and sir daniel came forth in person, followed by the bridegroom of the morrow, my lord shoreby. "my lord," said sir daniel, "have i not told you of this knave black arrow? to the proof, behold it! there it stands, and, by the rood, my gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!" "in good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied lord shoreby, hanging back. "i would i had more such. he was as keen as a beagle and secret as a mole." "ay, gossip, truly?" asked sir daniel keenly. "an what came he smelling up so many stairs in my poor mansion? but he will smell no more." "an't please you, sir daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon with some matter, pinned upon his breast." "give it me, arrow and all," said the knight. and when he had taken into his hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a sullen musing. "ay," he said, addressing lord shoreby, "here is a hate that followeth hard and close upon my heels. this black stick, or its just likeness, shall yet bring me down. and, gossip, suffer a plain knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee! 'tis like a sickness--it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs. but let us see what they have written. it is as i thought, my lord; y' are marked like an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the axe. but what wrote ye in a letter?" lord shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it between his hands, and, overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto withheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the body and eagerly groped in the wallet. he rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance. "gossip," he said, "i have indeed lost a letter here that much imported; and could i lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should incontinently grace a halter. but let us, first of all, secure the issues of the house. here is enough harm already, by st. george!" sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and yet another about the bonfire in the shed. sir daniel's followers were supplemented by lord shoreby's; there was thus no lack of men or weapons to make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be there. meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow and deposited in the abbey church. it was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew richard shelton from his place of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed. he, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous discovery, and speedy end. joanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall. "it will avail but little," she said. "i shall be wed to-morrow in the morning, after all!" "what!" cried her friend. "and here is our paladin that driveth lions like mice. ye have little faith, of a surety.--but come, friend lion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold counsels." dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words; but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly. "truly," said he, "we are in straits. yet, could i but win out of this house for half an hour, i do honestly tell myself that all might still go well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented." "and for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven." "i crave your excuse," said dick. "i speak not now in any boasting humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if i get not forth of this house through these sentinels, i can do less than naught. take me, i pray you, rightly." "why said ye he was rustic, joan?" the girl inquired. "i warrant he hath a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure. what would ye more?" "nay," sighed joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend dick, 'tis sure enough. when i beheld him, he was rough indeed. but it matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and i must still be lady shoreby!" "nay, then," said dick, "i will even make the adventure. a friar is not much regarded; and if i found a good fairy to lead me up, i may find another belike to carry me down. how call they the name of this spy?" "rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him by. but how mean ye, lion-driver? what is in your mind to do?" "to offer boldly to go forth," returned dick; "and if any stop me, to keep an unchanged countenance, and say i go to pray for rutter. they will be praying over his poor clay even now." "the device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold." "nay," said young shelton, "it's no device, but mere boldness, which serveth often better in great straits." "ye say true," she said. "well, go, a-mary's name, and may heaven speed you! ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that is most heartily your friend. be wary, for their sakes, and make not shipwreck of your safety." "ay," added joanna, "go, dick. ye run no more peril, whether ye go or stay. go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!" dick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the fellow merely fidgeted and stared; but at the second landing the man carried his spear across and bade him name his business. "_pax vobiscum_," answered dick. "i go to pray over the body of this poor rutter." "like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted you." he leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill. "one cometh!" he cried; and then motioned dick to pass. at the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of the post ordered four men to accompany him to the church. "let him not slip, my lads," he said. "bring him to sir oliver, on your lives!" the door was then opened; one of the men took dick by either arm, another marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on the string, brought up the rear. in this order they proceeded through the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey church. at the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with the snow; and it was not until dick's conductors had exchanged a word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of the sacred edifice. the church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private chapels of illustrious families. in the midst of the choir the dead spy lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier. a hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the choir; and on the steps of the high altar a priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass. upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him to the church. out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge empty building caught up their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles. "a monk!" returned sir oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the report of the archer. "my brother, i looked not for your coming," he added, turning to young shelton. "in all civility, who are ye? and at whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?" dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to sir oliver to move a pace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done so, "i cannot hope to deceive you, sir," he said. "my life is in your hands." sir oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a space he was silent. "richard," he said, "what brings you here, i know not; but i much misdoubt it to be evil. nevertheless, for the kindness that was, i would not willingly deliver you to harm. ye shall sit all night beside me in the stalls: ye shall sit there till my lord of shoreby be married, and the party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no evil, in the end ye shall go whither ye will. but if your purpose be bloody, it shall return upon your head. amen!" and the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the altar. with that he spoke a few words more to the soldiers, and taking dick by the hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions. his mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering. three of the soldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that they had done so by sir oliver's command. here, then, he was trapped. here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in the morning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before his eyes. but, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built himself up in patience to await the issue. chapter iv in the abbey church in shoreby abbey church the prayers were kept up all night without cessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon the bell. rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. there he lay, meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning. once only, in the course of the hours, sir oliver leaned across to his captive. "richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, i will certify, on my soul's welfare, ye design upon an innocent man. sinful in the eye of heaven i do declare myself, but sinful as against you i am not, neither have been ever." "my father," returned dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, i design nothing; but as for your innocence, i may not forget that ye cleared yourself but lamely." "a man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest. "he may be set blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope. so it was with me. i did decoy your father to his death; but as heaven sees us in this sacred place, i knew not what i did." "it may be," returned dick. "but see what a strange web ye have woven, that i should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge; that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. methinks, if ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would neither thus fear nor thus detest me. and now to your prayers. i do obey you, since needs must; but i will not be burthened with your company." the priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man borne down below a weight of care. he joined no longer in the psalms; but dick could hear the beads rattle through his fingers and the prayers a-pattering between his teeth. yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to struggle through the painted casements of the church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the tapers. the light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently through the south-eastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the walls. the storm was over; the great clouds had disburdened their snow and fled farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry winter landscape sheathed in white. a bustle of church officers followed; the bier was carried forth to the dead-house, and the stains of blood were cleansed from off the tiles, that no such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of lord shoreby. at the same time, the very ecclesiastics who had been so dismally engaged all night began to put on morning faces, to do honour to the merrier ceremony which was about to follow. and further to announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town began to assemble and fall to prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the confessionals. favoured by this stir, it was of course easily possible for any man to avoid the vigilance of sir daniel's sentries at the door; and presently dick, looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than will lawless, still in his monk's habit. the outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his leader, and privily signed to him with hand and eye. now, dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him in his own predicament; and he signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to be gone. lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a pillar, and dick breathed again. what, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked by the sleeve and to find the old robber installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to all appearance, plunged in his devotions! instantly sir oliver arose from his place, and, gliding behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle. if the priest's suspicions had been so lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and lawless a prisoner in the church. "move not," whispered dick. "we are in the plaguiest pass, thanks, before all things, to thy swinishness of yester-even. when ye saw me here, so strangely seated, where i have neither right nor interest, what a murrain! could ye not smell harm and get ye gone from evil?" "nay," returned lawless, "i thought ye had heard from ellis, and were here on duty." "ellis!" echoed dick. "is ellis then returned?" "for sure," replied the outlaw. "he came last night, and belted me sore for being in wine--so there ye are avenged, my master. a furious man is ellis duckworth! he hath ridden me hot-spur from craven to prevent this marriage; and, master dick, ye know the way of him--do so he will!" "nay, then," returned dick, with composure, "you and i, my poor brother, are dead men; for i sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was to answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar. i had a fair choice, by the rood! to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life! well, the cast is thrown--it is to be my life." "by the mass," cried lawless, half arising, "i am gone!" but dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder. "friend lawless, sit ye still," he said. "an ye have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the chancel arch; see ye not that, even upon the motion of your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept you? yield ye, friend. ye were bold aboard ship, when ye thought to die a sea-death; be bold again, now that y' are to die presently upon the gallows." "master dick," gasped lawless, "the thing hath come upon me somewhat of the suddenest. but give me a moment till i fetch my breath again; and, by the mass, i will be as stout-hearted as yourself." "here is my bold fellow!" returned dick. "and yet, lawless, it goes hard against the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing, wherefore whine?" "nay, that indeed!" chimed lawless. "and a fig for death, at worst! it has to be done, my master, soon or late. and hanging in a good quarrel is an easy death, they say, though i could never hear of any that came back to say so." and so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back in his stall, folded his arms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and unconcern. "and for the matter of that," dick added, "it is yet our best chance to keep quiet. we wot not yet what duckworth purposes; and when all is said, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it." now that they ceased talking, they were aware of a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music which steadily grew nearer, louder and merrier. the bells in the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, and a greater and greater concourse of people to crowd into the church, shuffling the snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing in their hands. the western door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of the morning; and in short, it became plain by every sign, that lord shoreby desired to be married very early in the day, and that the wedding-train was drawing near. some of lord shoreby's men now cleared a passage down the middle aisle, forcing the people back with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the portal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing near over the frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet in the face with lusty blowing, the drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a wager. these as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on either side, and marking time to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the snow. as they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was the variety and gaiety of their attire, such the display of silks and velvet, fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a wall. first came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as winter, clinging to sir daniel's arm, and attended, as bridesmaid, by the short young lady who had befriended dick the night before. close behind, in the most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot, and as he passed the threshold of the sacred building, and doffed his hat, his bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion. and now came the hour of ellis duckworth. dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward, and eyes and arms uplifted. following these signs, he beheld three or four men with bent bows, leaning from the clerestory gallery. at the same instant they delivered their discharge, and before the clamour and cries of the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ear, they had flitted from their perch and disappeared. the nave was full of swaying heads and voices screaming; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased, and though the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even to the chamber where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and they also desisted from their merry labours. right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows. the bride had fainted. sir daniel stood, towering above the crowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft quivering in his left forearm, and his face streaming blood from another which had grazed his brow. long before any search could be made for them, the authors of this tragic interruption had clattered down a turnpike stair and decamped by a postern door. but dick and lawless still remained in pawn; they had indeed arisen on the first alarm, and pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with the narrowness of the stalls, and the crowding of terrified priests and choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed their places. and now, pale with horror, sir oliver rose to his feet and called upon sir daniel, pointing with one hand to dick. "here," he cried, "is richard shelton--alas the hour!--blood guilty! seize him!--bid him be seized! for all our lives' sakes, take him and bind him surely! he hath sworn our fall." sir daniel was blinded by anger--blinded by the hot blood that still streamed across his face. "where?" he bellowed. "hale him forth! by the cross of holywood, but he shall rue this hour." the crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid rough hands on dick, dragged him headforemost from the stall, and thrust him by the shoulders down the chancel steps. lawless, on his part, sat as still as a mouse. sir daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared blinkingly upon his captive. "ay," he said, "treacherous and insolent, i have thee fast; and by all potent oaths, for every drop of blood that now trickles in mine eyes i will wring a groan out of thy carcass. away with him!" he added. "here is no place! off with him to my house.--i will number every joint of thy body with a torture." but dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his voice. "sanctuary!" he shouted. "sanctuary! ho, there, my fathers! they would drag me from the church!" "from the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy," added a tall man, magnificently dressed. "on what probation?" cried dick. "they do accuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have not proved one tittle. i was, in truth, a suitor for this damsel's hand; and she, i will be bold to say it, repaid my suit with favour. but what then? to love a maid is no offence, i trow--nay, nor to gain her love. in all else i stand here free from guiltiness." there was a murmur of approval among the bystanders, so boldly dick declared his innocence; but at the same time a throng of accusers arose upon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in sir daniel's house, how he wore a sacrilegious disguise; and in the midst of the babel, sir oliver indicated lawless, both by voice and gesture, as accomplice to the fact. he, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and set beside his leader. the feelings of the crowd rose high on either side, and while some dragged the prisoners to and fro to favour their escape, others cursed and struck them with their fists. dick's ears rang and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in the eddies of a furious river. but the tall man, who had already answered dick, by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence and order in the mob. "search them," he said, "for arms. we may so judge of their intentions." upon dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his favour, until one man officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it still uncleansed of the blood of rutter. at this there was a great shout among sir daniel's followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture and an imperious glance. but when it came to the turn of lawless, there was found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had been shot. "how say ye now?" asked the tall man, frowningly, of dick. "sir," replied dick, "i am here in sanctuary, is it not so? well, sir, i see by your bearing that ye are high in station, and i read in your countenance the marks of piety and justice. to you, then, i will yield me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advantage of this holy place. but rather than to be yielded into the discretion of that man--whom i do here accuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my natural father and the unjust detainer of my lands and revenues--rather than that, i would beseech you, under favour, with your own gentle hand, to despatch me on the spot. your own ears have heard him, how before that i was proven guilty he did threaten me with torments. it standeth not with your own honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and old oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that i be guilty indeed, to slay me mercifully." "my lord," cried sir daniel, "ye will not hearken to this wolf? his bloody dagger reeks him the lie into his face." "nay, but suffer me, good knight," returned the tall stranger; "your own vehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself." and here the bride, who had come to herself some minutes past, and looked wildly on upon this scene, broke loose from those that held her, and fell upon her knees before the last speaker. "my lord of risingham," she cried, "hear me, in justice. i am here in this man's custody by mere force, reft from mine own people. since that day i had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the face of man--but from him only--richard shelton--whom they now accuse and labour to undo. my lord, if he was yesternight in sir daniel's mansion, it was i that brought him there; he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no hurt. while yet sir daniel was a good lord to him he fought with them of the black arrow loyally; but when his foul guardian sought his life by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul's sake, out of that bloody house, whither was he to turn--he, helpless and penniless? or if he be fallen among ill company, whom should ye blame--the lad that was unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust?" and then the short young lady fell on her knees by joanna's side. "and i, my good lord and natural uncle," she added, "i can bear testimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this maiden saith is true. it was i, unworthy, that did lead the young man in." earl risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased he still stood silent for a space. then he gave joanna his hand to arise, though it was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who had called herself his niece. "sir daniel," he said, "here is a right intricate affair, the which, with your good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust. content ye, then; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and in the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have your hurts attended. the air is shrewd, and i would not ye took cold upon these scratches." he made a sign with his hand; it was passed down the nave by obsequious servants, who waited there upon his smallest gesture. instantly, without the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal archers and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the colours and wearing the badge of lord risingham, began to file into the church, took dick and lawless from those who still detained them, and, closing their files about the prisoners, marched forth again and disappeared. as they were passing joanna held both her hands to dick and cried him her farewell; and the bridesmaid, nothing downcast by her uncle's evident displeasure, blew him a kiss, with a "keep your heart up, lion-driver!" that for the first time since the accident called up a smile to the faces of the crowd. chapter v earl risingham earl risingham, although by far the most important person then in shoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the extreme outskirts of the town. nothing but the armed men at the doors, and the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced the temporary residence of a great lord. thus it was that, from lack of space, dick and lawless were clapped into the same apartment. "well spoken, master richard," said the outlaw; "it was excellently well spoken, and, for my part, i thank you cordially. here we are in good hands; we shall be justly tried, and some time this evening decently hanged on the same tree." "indeed, my poor friend, i do believe it," answered dick. "yet have we a string to our bow," returned lawless. "ellis duckworth is a man out of ten thousand; he holdeth you right near his heart, both for your own and for your father's sake; and, knowing you guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and heaven to bear you clear." "it may not be," said dick. "what can he do? he hath but a handful. alack, if it were but to-morrow--could i but keep a certain tryst an hour before noon to-morrow--all were, i think, otherwise. but now there is no help." "well," concluded lawless, "an ye will stand to it for my innocence, i will stand to it for yours, and that stoutly. it shall naught avail us; but an i be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing." and then, while dick gave himself over to his reflections, the old rogue curled himself down into a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, and composed himself to sleep. soon he was loudly snoring, so utterly had his long life of hardship and adventure blunted the sense of apprehension. it was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door was opened and dick taken forth and led upstairs to where, in a warm cabinet, earl risingham sat musing over the fire. on his captive's entrance he looked up. "sir," he said, "i knew your father, who was a man of honour, and this inclineth me to be the more lenient; but i may not hide from you that heavy charges lie against your character. ye do consort with murderers and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have carried war against the king's peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye are found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy's house; a man is slain that very evening----" "an it like you, my lord," dick interposed, "i will at once avow my guilt, such as it is. i slew this fellow rutter; and to the proof"--searching in his bosom--"here is a letter from his wallet." lord risingham took the letter, and opened and read it twice. "ye have read this?" he inquired. "i have read it," answered dick. "are you for york or lancaster?" the earl demanded. "my lord, it was but a little while back that i was asked that question, and knew not how to answer it," said dick; "but, having answered once, i will not vary. my lord, i am for york." the earl nodded approvingly. "honestly replied," he said. "but wherefore, then, deliver me this letter?" "nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides arrayed?" cried dick. "i would they were, young gentleman," returned the earl; "and i do at least approve your saying. there is more youth than guile in you, i do perceive; and were not sir daniel a mighty man upon our side, i were half tempted to espouse your quarrel. for i have inquired, and it appears that you have been hardly dealt with, and have much excuse. but look ye, sir, i am, before all else, a leader in the queen's interest; and though by nature a just man, as i believe, and leaning even to the excess of mercy, yet must i order my goings for my party's interest, and, to keep sir daniel, i would go far about." "my lord," returned dick, "ye will think me very bold to counsel you: but do ye count upon sir daniel's faith? methought he had changed sides intolerably often." "nay, it is the way of england. what would ye have?" the earl demanded. "but ye are unjust to the knight of tunstall; and as faith goes, in this unfaithful generation, he hath of late been honourably true to us of lancaster. even in our last reverses he stood firm." "an it please you, then," said dick, "to cast your eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change your thought of him," and he handed to the earl sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale. the effect upon the earl's countenance was instant; he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. "ye have read this also?" he asked. "even so," said dick. "it is your lordship's own estate he offers to lord wensleydale." "it is my own estate, even as ye say!" returned the earl. "i am your bedesman for this letter. it hath shown me a fox's hole. command me, master shelton; i will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with, york or lancaster, true man or thief, i do now set you at freedom. go, a-mary's name! but judge it right that i retain and hang your fellow lawless. the crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some open punishment should follow." "my lord, i make it my first suit to you to spare him also," pleaded dick. "it is an old condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, master shelton," said the earl. "he hath been gallows-ripe this score of years. and, whether for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after, where is the great choice?" "yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither," answered dick, "and i were churlish and thankless to desert him." "master shelton, ye are troublesome," replied the earl severely. "it is an evil way to prosper in this world. howbeit, and to be quit of your importunity, i will once more humour you. go then, together; but go warily, and get swiftly out of shoreby town. for this sir daniel (whom may the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to have your blood." "my lord, i do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some brief date to pay you some of it in service," replied dick, as he turned from the apartment. chapter vi arblaster again when dick and lawless were suffered to steal, by a back way, out of the house where lord risingham held his garrison, the evening had already come. they paused in shelter of the garden wall to consult on their best course. the danger was extreme. if one of sir daniel's men caught sight of them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and butchered instantly. and not only was the town of shoreby a mere net of peril for their lives, but to make for the open country was to run the risk of the patrols. a little way off, upon some open ground, they spied a windmill standing; and, hard by that, a very large granary with open doors. "how if we lay there until the night fall?" dick proposed. and lawless having no better suggestion to offer, they made a straight push for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door among some straw. the daylight rapidly departed; and presently the moon was silvering the frozen snow. now or never was their opportunity to gain the "goat and bagpipes" unobserved and change their tell-tale garments. yet even then it was advisable to go round by the outskirts, and not run the gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the concourse of people, they stood the more imminent peril to be recognised and slain. this course was a long one. it took them not far from the house by the beach, now lying dark and silent, and brought them forth at last by the margin of the harbour. many of the ships, as they could see by the clear moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky, proceeded for more distant parts; answerably to this, the rude alehouses along the beach (although, in defiance of the curfew law, they still shone with fire and candle) were no longer thronged with customers, and no longer echoed to the chorus of sea-songs. hastily, half-running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee, they plunged through the deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine lumber; and they were already more than half-way round the harbour when, as they were passing close before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened and let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures. instantly they stopped, and made believe to be engaged in earnest conversation. three men, one after another, came out of the alehouse, and the last closed the door behind him. all three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood wavering in the moon-light, like men who knew not what they would be after. the tallest of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice. "seven pieces of as good gascony as ever a tapster broached," he was saying, "the best ship out o' the port o' dartmouth, a virgin mary parcel-gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money----" "i have bad losses too," interrupted one of the others. "i have had losses of mine own, gossip arblaster. i was robbed at martinmas of five shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing." dick's heart smote him at what he heard. until that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss of the _good hope_; so careless, in those days, were men who wore arms of the goods and interests of their inferiors. but this sudden encounter reminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill-ending of his enterprise; and both he and lawless turned their heads the other way, to avoid the chance of recognition. the ship's dog had, however, made his escape from the wreck and found his way back again to shoreby. he was now at arblaster's heels, and, suddenly sniffing and pricking his ears, he darted forward and began to bark furiously at the two sham friars. his master unsteadily followed him. "hey, shipmates!" he cried. "have ye ever a penny piece for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed by pirates? i am a man that would have paid for you both o' thursday morning; and now here i be o' saturday night, begging for a flagon of ale! ask my man tom, if ye misdoubt me. seven pieces of good gascon wine, a ship that was mine own, and was my father's before me, a blessed mary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt, and thirteen pounds in gold and silver. hey! what say ye? a man that fought the french too; for i have fought the french; i have cut more french throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails out of dartmouth. come, a penny piece." neither dick nor lawless durst answer him a word, lest he should recognise their voices; and they stood there as helpless as a ship ashore, not knowing where to turn nor what to hope. "are ye dumb, boy?" inquired the skipper.--"mates," he added, with a hiccup, "they be dumb. i like not this manner of discourtesy; for an a man be dumb, so be as he's courteous, he will still speak when he was spoken to, methinks." by this time the sailor, tom, who was a man of great personal strength, seemed to have conceived some suspicion of these two speechless figures; and, being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly before him, took lawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that he held his tongue. to this the outlaw, thinking all was over, made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand, and, calling upon dick to follow him, took to his heels among the lumber. the affair passed in a second. before dick could run at all, arblaster had him in his arms; tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one foot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above his head. it was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance that now bowed down the spirits of young shelton; it was the profound humiliation to have escaped sir daniel, convinced lord risingham, and now fall helpless into the hands of this old drunken sailor; and not merely helpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him when it was too late, actually guilty--actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he had stolen and lost. "bring me him back into the alehouse, till i see his face," said arblaster. "nay, nay," returned tom; "but let us first unload his wallet, lest the other lads cry share." but though he was searched from head to foot not a penny was found upon him; nothing but lord foxham's signet, which they plucked savagely from his finger. "turn me him to the moon," said the skipper; and taking dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his head into the air. "blessed virgin!" he cried, "it is the pirate." "hey!" cried tom. "by the virgin of bordeaux, it is the man himself!" repeated arblaster.--"what, sea-thief, do i hold you?" he cried. "where is my ship? where is my wine? hey! have i you in my hands?--tom, give me one end of a cord here; i will so truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot together, like a basting turkey--marry, i will so bind him up--and thereafter i will so beat--so beat him!" and so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about dick's limbs with the dexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull. when he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands--as helpless as the dead. the skipper held him at arm's-length, and laughed aloud. then he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him about, and furiously kicked and kicked him. anger rose up in dick's bosom like a storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped him all his length upon the sand and turned to consult with his companions, he instantly regained command of his temper. here was a momentary respite; ere they began again to torture him, he might have found some method to escape from this degrading and fatal misadventure. presently, sure enough, and while his captors were still discussing what to do with him, he took heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, addressed them. "my masters," he began, "are ye gone clean foolish? here hath heaven put into your hands as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman had--such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not find again--and, by the mass! what do ye? beat me?--nay; so would an angry child! but for long-headed tarry-johns, that fear not fire nor water, and that love gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise." "ay," said tom, "now y' are trussed ye would cozen us." "cozen you!" repeated dick. "nay, if ye be fools, it would be easy. but if ye be shrewd fellows, as i trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your interest lies. when i took your ship from you, we were many, we were well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that array? one incontestably that hath made much gold. and if he, being already rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face of storms--bethink you once more--shall there not be a treasure somewhere hidden?" "what meaneth he?" asked one of the men. "why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine," continued dick, "forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather buckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make or mar you for ever. but take me up from where i lie, and let us go somewhere near at hand and talk across a flagon, for i am sore and frozen, and my mouth is half among the snow." "he seeks but to cozen us," said tom contemptuously. "cozen! cozen!" cried the third man. "i would i could see the man that could cozen me! he were a cozener indeed! nay, i was not born yesterday. i can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for my part, gossip arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man. shall we go hear him, indeed? say, shall we go hear him?" "i would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good master pirret," returned arblaster.--"how say ye, tom? but then the wallet is empty." "i will pay," said the other--"i will pay. i would fain see this matter out; i do believe, upon my conscience, there is gold in it." "nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!" cried tom. "gossip arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too much liberty," returned master pirret. "would ye be led by a hired man? fy, fy!" "peace, fellow!" said arblaster, addressing tom. "will ye put your oar in? truly a fine pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper!" "well, then, go your way," said tom; "i wash my hands of you." "set him, then, upon his feet," said master pirret. "i know a privy place where we may drink and discourse." "if i am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at liberty," said dick, when he had been once more planted upright like a post. "he saith true," laughed pirret. "truly, he could not walk accoutred as he is. give it a slit--out with your knife and slit it, gossip." even arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his companion continued to insist, and dick had the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference of expression, and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied his prisoner's feet and legs. not only did this enable dick to walk; but, the whole network of his bonds being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back begin to move more freely, and could hope, with time and trouble, to entirely disengage it. so much he owed already to the owlish silliness and greed of master pirret. that worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted them to the very same rude alehouse where lawless had taken arblaster on the day of the gale. it was now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, radiating the most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the landlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both pirret and arblaster stretched forth their legs and squared their elbows like men bent upon a pleasant hour. the table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a pair of barrels; and each of the four curiously assorted cronies sat at one side of the square, pirret facing arblaster, and dick opposite to the common sailor. "and now, young man," said pirret, "to your tale. it doth appear, indeed, that ye have somewhat abused our gossip arblaster; but what then? make it up to him--show him but this chance to become wealthy--and i will go pledge he will forgive you." so far dick had spoken pretty much at random; but it was now necessary, under the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the all-important signet. to squander time was the first necessity. the longer his stay lasted, the more would his captors drink, and the surer should he be when he attempted his escape. well, dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much the tale of ali baba, with shoreby and tunstall forest substituted for the east, and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than diminished. as the reader is aware, it is an excellent story, and has but one drawback--that it is not true; and so, as these three simple shipmen now heard it for the first time, their eyes stood out of their faces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger's. pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while dick was still artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed the second. here was the position of the parties towards the end: arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his stool. even tom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated in proportion. meanwhile dick had gradually wormed his right arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to risk all. "and so," said pirret, "y' are one of these?" "i was made so," replied dick, "against my will; but an i could but get a sack or two of gold coin to my share, i should be a fool indeed to continue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a soldier. here be we four; good! let us, then, go forth into the forest to-morrow ere the sun be up. could we come honestly by a donkey, it were better; but an we cannot, we have our four strong backs, and i warrant me we shall come home staggering." pirret licked his lips. "and this magic," he said--"this password, whereby the cave is opened--how call ye it, friend?" "nay, none know the word but the three chiefs," returned dick; "but here is your great good fortune, that, on this very evening, i should be the bearer of a spell to open it. it is a thing not trusted twice a year beyond the captain's wallet." "a spell!" said arblaster, half awakening, and squinting upon dick with one eye. "aroint thee! no spells! i be a good christian. ask my man, tom, else." "nay, but this is white magic," said dick. "it doth naught with the devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets." "ay, ay," said pirret; "'tis but white magic, gossip. there is no sin therein, i do assure you. but proceed, good youth. this spell--in what should it consist?" "nay, that i will incontinently show you," answered dick. "have ye there the ring ye took from my finger? good! now hold it forth before you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm's length, and over against the shining of these embers. 'tis so exactly. thus, then, is the spell." with a haggard glance, dick saw the coast was clear between him and the door. he put up an internal prayer. then, whipping forth his arm, he made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman tom. he, poor soul, went down bawling under the ruins; and before arblaster understood that anything was wrong, or pirret could collect his dazzled wits, dick had run to the door and escaped into the moonlit night. the moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the open ground about the harbour bright as day; and young shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber, was a conspicuous figure from afar. tom and pirret followed him with shouts; from every drinking-shop they were joined by others whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole fleet of sailors was in full pursuit. but jack ashore was a bad runner, even in the fifteenth century, and dick, besides, had a start, which he rapidly improved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane, he even paused and looked laughingly behind him. upon the white floor of snow all the shipmen of shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and tailing out rearward in isolated clumps. every man was shouting or screaming; every man was gesticulating with both arms in air; some one was continually falling; and to complete the picture, when one fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of him. the confused mass of sound which they rolled up as high as to the moon was partly comical and partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were hunting. in itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman in the port could run him down. but the mere volume of noise, in so far as it must awake all the sleepers in shoreby, and bring all the skulking sentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the front. so, spying a dark doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into it, and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all red with hurry, and white with tumbles in the snow. it was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion of the town by the harbour came to an end, and it was long before silence was restored. for long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting through the streets in all directions and in every quarter of the town. quarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than one dead body remained behind upon the snow. when, a full hour later, the last seaman returned grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was absolutely sure that he had now forgotten. by next morning there were many strange stories flying; and a little while after, the legend of the devil's nocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the lads of shoreby. but the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, set free young shelton from his cold imprisonment in the doorway. for some time after, there was a great activity of patrols; and special parties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or other of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually broken. the night was already well spent before dick ventured from his hiding-place, and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the "goat and bagpipes." as the law required, there was neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders, and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost in slumber. book v crookback chapter i the shrill trumpet very early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, dick arose, changed his garments, armed himself once more like a gentleman, and set forth for lawless's den in the forest. there, it will be remembered, he had left lord foxham's papers; and to get these and be back in time for the tryst with the young duke of gloucester could only be managed by an early start, and the most vigorous walking. the frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril. the moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear and cheerful. there was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least temptation to delay. dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between shoreby and the forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred yards below the cross of st. bride, when, through the stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he thought he had never heard the match of it for audibility. it was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time; and then the clash of steel succeeded. at this young shelton pricked his ears, and drawing his sword, ran forward up the hill. presently he came in sight of the cross, and was aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road before it. there were seven or eight assailants, and but one to keep head against them; but so active and dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge and scatter his opponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the whole in check. still, it was by a miracle that he continued his defence, and at any moment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life would be a forfeit. "hold ye well, sir! here is help!" cried richard; and forgetting that he was alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular, "to the arrow! to the arrow!" he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants. these were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at this surprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon dick. four against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; the sparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell--in the stir of the fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the head, and though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill-sail. meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced trumpet that began the alarm. next moment, indeed, his foes were on him, and he was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to his knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand, with the same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed. but that ear-piercing summons had been heard at last. there was a muffled rushing in the snow; and in a good hour for dick, who saw the sword-points glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or his sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to speak, a passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after another from their perches, and had presently doubled the array. the original assailants, seeing themselves outnumbered and surrounded, threw down their arms without a word. "seize me these fellows!" said the hero of the trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he drew near to dick and looked him in the face. dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find in one who had displayed such strength, skill, and energy, a lad no older than himself--slightly deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance.[ ] the eyes, however, were very clear and bold. "sir," said this lad, "ye came in good time for me, and none too early." "my lord," returned dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence of a great personage, "ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman that i believe ye had managed them single-handed. howbeit, it was certainly well for me that your men delayed no longer than they did." "how knew ye who i was?" demanded the stranger. "even now, my lord," dick answered, "i am ignorant of whom i speak with." "is it so?" asked the other. "and yet ye threw yourself head first into this unequal battle." "i saw one man valiantly contending against many," replied dick, "and i had thought myself dishonoured not to bear him aid." a singular sneer played about the young nobleman's mouth as he made answer: "these are very brave words. but to the more essential--are ye lancaster or york?" "my lord, i make no secret; i am clear for york," dick answered. "by the mass!" replied the other, "it is well for you." and so saying, he turned towards one of his followers. "let me see," he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones--"let me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen. truss me them up." there were but five survivors of the attacking party. archers seized them by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each placed below a tree of suitable dimensions; the rope was adjusted; an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead, and before a minute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five men were swinging by the neck. "and now," cried the deformed leader, "back to your posts, and when i summon you next, be readier to attend." "my lord duke," said one man, "beseech you, tarry not here alone. keep but a handful of lances at your hand." "fellow," said the duke, "i have forborne to chide you for your slowness. cross me not, therefore. i trust my hand and arm, for all that i be crooked. ye were backward when the trumpet sounded: and ye are now too forward with your counsels. but it is ever so; last with the lance and first with the tongue. let it be reversed." and with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he waved them off. the footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different directions, under the cover of the forest. the day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade. the first grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young men, who now turned once more to face each other. "here," said the duke, "ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready. but i would not have you, for all christendom, suppose me thankless. you that came to my aid with a good sword and a better courage--unless that ye recoil from my mis-shapeness--come to my heart." and so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace. in the bottom of his heart dick already entertained a great terror and some hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so worded that it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, to refuse or hesitate, and he hastened to comply. "and now, my lord duke," he said, when he had regained his freedom, "do i suppose aright? are ye my lord duke of gloucester?" "i am richard of gloucester," returned the other. "and you--how call they you?" dick told him his name, and presented lord foxham's signet, which the duke immediately recognised. "ye come too soon," he said; "but why should i complain? ye are like me, that was here at watch two hours before the day. but this is the first sally of mine arms; upon this adventure, master shelton, shall i make or mar the quality of my renown. there lie mine enemies, under two old, skilled captains, risingham and brackley, well posted for strength, i do believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the sea, the harbour, and the river. methinks, shelton, here were a great blow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly." "i do think so, indeed," cried dick, warming. "have ye my lord foxham's notes?" inquired the duke. and then dick, having explained how he was without them for the moment, made himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own knowledge. "and for mine own part, my lord duke," he added, "an ye had men enough, i would fall on even at this present. for, look ye, at the peep of day the watches of the night are over; but by day they keep neither watch nor ward--only scour the outskirts with horsemen. now, then, when the night-watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their morning cup--now were the time to break them." "how many do ye count?" asked gloucester. "they number not two thousand," dick replied. "i have seven hundred in the woods behind us," said the duke; "seven hundred follow from kettley, and will be here anon; behind these, and farther, are four hundred more; and my lord foxham hath five hundred half a day from here, at holywood. shall we attend their coming or fall on?" "my lord," said dick, "when ye hanged these five poor rogues ye did decide the question. churls although they were, in these uneasy times they will be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given. therefore, my lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a surprise, ye have not, in my poor opinion, one whole hour in front of you." "i do think so indeed," returned crookback. "well, before an hour ye shall be in the thick on't, winning spurs. a swift man to holywood, carrying lord foxham's signet; another along the road to speed my laggards! nay, shelton, by the rood, it may be done!" therewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips and blew. this time he was not long kept waiting. in a moment the open space about the cross was filled with horse and foot. richard of gloucester took his place upon the steps, and despatched messenger after messenger to hasten the concentration of the seven hundred men that lay hidden in the immediate neighbourhood among the woods; and before a quarter of an hour had passed, all his dispositions being taken, he put himself at their head, and began to move down the hill towards shoreby. his plan was simple. he was to seize a quarter of the town of shoreby lying on the right hand of the high-road, and make his position good there in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed. if lord risingham chose to retreat, richard would follow upon his rear, and take him between two fires; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he would be shut in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force of numbers. there was but one danger, but that was imminent and great--gloucester's seven hundred might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first encounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to make the surprise of their arrival as complete as possible. the footmen, therefore, were all once more taken up behind the riders, and dick had the signal honour meted out to him of mounting behind gloucester himself. for as far as there was any cover the troops moved slowly, and when they came near the end of the trees that lined the highway, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre. the sun was now well up, shining with a frosty brightness out of a yellow halo, and right over against the luminary, shoreby, a field of snowy roofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning smoke. gloucester turned round to dick. "in that poor place," he said, "where people are cooking breakfast, either you shall gain your spurs and i begin a life of mighty honour and glory in the world's eye, or both of us, as i conceive it, shall fall dead and be unheard of. two richards are we. well then, richard shelton, they shall be heard about, these two! their swords shall not ring more loudly on men's helmets than their names shall ring in people's ears." dick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, expressed with so great vehemence of voice and language; and he answered very sensibly and quietly, that, for his part, he promised he would do his duty, and doubted not of victory if every one did the like. by this time the horses were well breathed, and the leader holding up his sword and giving rein, the whole troop of chargers broke into the gallop and thundered, with their double load of fighting men, down the remainder of the hill and across the snow-covered plain that still divided them from shoreby. footnote: [ ] richard crookback would have been really far younger at this date. chapter ii the battle of shoreby the whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile. but they had no sooner debouched beyond the cover of the trees than they were aware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy meadows upon either hand. almost at the same moment a great rumour began to arise, and spread and grow continually louder in the town; and they were not yet half-way to the nearest house before the bells began to ring backward from the steeple. the young duke ground his teeth together. by these so early signals of alarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a footing in the town, he knew that his small party would soon be broken and exterminated in the open. in the town, however, the lancastrians were far from being in so good a posture. it was as dick had said. the night-guard had already doffed their harness; the rest were still hanging--unlatched, unbraced, all unprepared for battle--about their quarters; and in the whole of shoreby there were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers to be mounted. the beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran about the streets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short space at least two score out of that half hundred. these got speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and contrary, galloped in different directions. thus it befell that, when richard of gloucester reached the first house of shoreby, he was met in the mouth of the street by a mere handful of lances, whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases the bark. a hundred paces into the town, dick shelton touched the duke's arm; the duke, in answer, gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his mouth, and blowing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out of the direct advance. swerving like a single rider, his whole command turned after him, and, still at the full gallop of the chargers, swept up the narrow by-street. only the last score of riders drew rein and faced about in the entrance; the footmen, whom they carried behind them, leapt at the same instant to the earth, and began, some to bend their bows, and others to break into and secure the houses upon either hand. surprised at this sudden change of direction, and daunted by the firm front of the rear-guard, the few lancastrians, after a momentary consultation, turned and rode farther into town to seek for reinforcements. the quarter of the town upon which, by the advice of dick, richard of gloucester had now seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and ill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying open towards the back. the five streets being each secured by a good guard, the reserve would thus occupy the centre, out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever it was needed. such was the poorness of the neighbourhood that none of the lancastrian lords, and but few of their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the inhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, squalling, along the streets or over garden walls. in the centre, where the five ways all met, a somewhat ill-favoured alehouse displayed the sign of the "chequers"; and here the duke of gloucester chose his headquarters for the day. to dick he assigned the guard of one of the five streets. "go," he said, "win your spurs. win glory for me; one richard for another. i tell you, if i rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder. go," he added, shaking him by the hand. but, as soon as dick was gone, he turned to a little shabby archer at his elbow. "go, dutton, and that right speedily," he added. "follow that lad. if ye find him faithful, ye answer for his safety, a head for a head. woe unto you if ye return without him! but if he be faithless--or, for one instant, ye misdoubt him--stab him from behind." in the meantime dick hastened to secure his post. the street he had to guard was very narrow, and closely lined with houses, which projected and overhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, since it opened upon the market-place of the town, the main issue of the battle would probably fall to be decided on that spot. the market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in disorder; but there was as yet no sign of any foeman ready to attack, and dick judged he had some time before him to make ready his defence. the two houses at the end stood deserted, with open doors, as the inhabitants had left them in their flight, and from these he had the furniture hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of the lane. a hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of these he threw the more part in the houses, where they might lie in shelter and deliver their arrows from the windows. with the rest, under his own immediate eye, he lined the barricade. meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had continued to prevail throughout the town; and what with the hurried clashing of bells, the sounding of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the cries of the commanders, and the shrieks of women, the noise was almost deafening to the ear. presently, little by little, the tumult began to subside; and soon after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers began to assemble and form in line of battle in the market-place. a large portion of this body were in murrey and blue, and in the mounted knight who ordered their array dick recognised sir daniel brackley. then there befell a long pause, which was followed by the almost simultaneous sounding of four trumpets from four different quarters of the town. a fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and at the same moment the files began to move, and a shower of arrows rattled about the barricade, and sounded like blows upon the walls of the two flanking houses. the attack had begun, by a common signal, on all the five issues of the quarter. gloucester was beleaguered upon every side; and dick judged, if he would make good his post, he must rely entirely on the hundred men of his command. seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other, and in the very thick of the discharges dick was touched from behind upon the arm, and found a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with bright plates of mail. "it is from my lord of gloucester," said the page. "he hath observed, sir richard, that ye went unarmed." dick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, got to his feet and, with the assistance of the page, donned the defensive coat. even as he did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third struck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet. meantime the whole body of the enemy had been steadily drawing nearer across the market-place; and by this time were so close at hand that dick gave the order to return their shot. immediately, from behind the barrier and from the windows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows sped, carrying death. but the lancastrians, as if they had but waited for a signal, shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run upon the barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with visors lowered. then followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, hand to hand. the assailants, wielding their falchions with one hand, strove with the other to drag down the structure of the barricade. on the other side, the parts were reversed; and the defenders exposed themselves like madmen to protect their rampart. so for some minutes the contest raged almost in silence, friend and foe falling one upon another. but it is always the easier to destroy; and when a single note upon the tucket recalled the attacking party from this desperate service, much of the barricade had been removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to half its height, and tottered to a general fall. and now the footmen in the market-place fell back, at a run, on every side. the horsemen, who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled suddenly, and made their flank into their front; and as swift as a striking adder, the long, steel-clad column was launched upon the ruinous barricade. of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, and was ridden down by his companions. the second leaped clean upon the summit of the rampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance. almost in the same instant he was dragged from the saddle and his horse despatched. and then the full weight and impetus of the charge burst upon and scattered the defenders. the men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen comrades, and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed through dick's broken line and poured thundering up the lane beyond, as a stream bestrides and pours across a broken dam. yet was the fight not over. still, in the narrow jaws of the entrance, dick and a few survivors plied their bills like woodmen; and already, across the width of the passage, there had been formed a second, a higher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men and disembowelled horses, lashing in the agonies of death. baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the cavalry fell back; and as, at the sight of this movement, the flight of arrows redoubled from the casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment, almost degenerated into flight. almost at the same time, those who had crossed the barricade and charged farther up the street, being met before the door of the "chequers" by the formidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the yorkists, began to come scattering backward, in the excess of disarray and terror. dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured out of the houses; a cruel blast of arrows met the fugitives full in the face, while gloucester was already riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute and a half there was no living lancastrian in the street. then, and not till then, did dick hold up his reeking blade and give the word to cheer. meanwhile gloucester dismounted from his horse and came forward to inspect the post. his face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in his head like some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse and broken with the exultation of battle and success. he looked at the rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now approach without precaution, so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of death, and at the sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one side. "despatch these horses," he said; "they keep you from your vantage.--richard shelton," he added, "ye have pleased me. kneel." the lancastrians had already resumed their archery, and the shafts fell thick in the mouth of the street; but the duke, minding them not at all, deliberately drew his sword and dubbed richard a knight upon the spot. "and now, sir richard," he continued, "if that ye see lord risingham send me an express upon the instant. were it your last man, let me hear of it incontinently. i had rather venture the post than lose my stroke at him. for mark me, all of ye," he added, raising his voice, "if earl risingham fall by another hand than mine, i shall count this victory a defeat." "my lord duke," said one of his attendants, "is your grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneedfully? why tarry we here?" "catesby," returned the duke, "here is the battle, not elsewhere. the rest are but feigned onslaughts. here must we vanquish. and for the exposure--if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you upon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory worth a life. howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other posts. sir richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry, where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. him can we trust. but mark it, sir richard, ye are not yet done. the worst is yet to ward. sleep not." he came right up to young shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and taking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the blood had nearly spurted. dick quailed before his eyes. the insane excitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein, filled him with dismay about the future. this young duke's was indeed a gallant spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but, after the battle, in the days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it was to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of death. chapter iii the battle of shoreby (_concluded_) dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him. the arrow-shot had somewhat slackened. on all sides the enemy were falling back; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered all over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered arrows. on his own side the loss had been cruel. the jaws of the little street and the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and out of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not seventy left who could still stand to arms. at the same time the day was passing. the first reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any moment; and the lancastrians, already shaken by the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an ill temper to support a fresh invader. there was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and this, in the frosty, winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon. dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant archer, binding a cut in his arm. "it was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge us twice." "sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought right well for york, and better for yourself. never hath man in so brief space prevailed so greatly on the duke's affections. that he should have entrusted such a post to one he knew not is a marvel. but look to your head, sir richard! if ye be vanquished--ay, if ye give way one foot's-breadth--axe or cord shall punish it; and i am set, if ye do aught doubtful, i will tell you honestly, here to stab you from behind." dick looked at the little man in amaze. "you!" he cried. "and from behind!" "it is right so," returned the archer; "and because i like not the affair i tell it you. ye must make the post good, sir richard, at your peril. o, our crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior; but whether in cold blood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to his commandment. if any fail or hinder, they shall die the death." "now, by the saints!" cried richard, "is this so? and will men follow such a leader?" "nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the other; "for if he be exact to punish, he is most open-handed to reward. and if he spare not the blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the first front of battle, still the last to sleep. he will go far, will crookback dick o' gloucester!" the young knight, if he had before been brave and vigilant, was now all the more inclined to watchfulness and courage. his sudden favour, he began to perceive, had brought perils in its train. and he turned from the archer, and once more scanned anxiously the market-place. it lay empty as before. "i like not this quietude," he said. "doubtless they prepare us some surprise." and, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began once more to advance against the barricade, and the arrows to fall thick. but there was something hesitating in the attack. they came not on roundly, but seemed rather to await a further signal. dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden danger. and sure enough, about half-way up the little street, a door was suddenly opened from within, and the house continued, for some seconds, and both by door and window, to disgorge a torrent of lancastrian archers. these, as they leaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, bent their bows, and proceeded to pour upon dick's rear a flight of arrows. at the same time, the assailants in the market-place redoubled their shot, and began to close in stoutly upon the barricade. dick called down his whole command out of the houses, and facing them both ways, and encouraging their valour both by word and gesture, returned as best he could the double shower of shafts that fell about his post. meanwhile house after house was opened in the street, and the lancastrians continued to pour out of the doors and leap down from the windows, shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon dick's rear was almost equal to the number in his face. it was plain that he could hold the post no longer; what was worse, even if he could have held it, it had now become useless; and the whole yorkist army lay in a posture of helplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster. the men behind him formed the vital flaw in the general defence; and it was upon these that dick turned, charging at the head of his men. so vigorous was the attack that the lancastrian archers gave ground and staggered, and, at last, breaking their ranks, began to crowd back into the houses from which they had so recently and so vaingloriously sallied. meanwhile the men from the market-place had swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell on hotly upon the other side; and dick must once again face about, and proceed to drive them back. once again the spirit of his men prevailed; they cleared the street in a triumphant style, but even as they did so the others issued again out of the houses, and took them, a third time, upon the rear. the yorkists began to be scattered; several times dick found himself alone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several times he was conscious of a hurt. and meanwhile the fight swayed to and fro in the street without determinate result. suddenly dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the town. the war-cry of york began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many and triumphant voices. and at the same time the men in front of him began to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon the market-place. some one gave the word to fly. trumpets were blown distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge. it was plain that a great blow had been struck, and the lancastrians were thrown, at least for the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic. and then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of shoreby battle. the men in front of richard turned tail, like a dog that has been whistled home, and fled like the wind. at the same moment there came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing, the lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the yorkists riding them down at the point of the lance. conspicuous in the mellay, dick beheld the crookback. he was already giving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way across the ranks of war, which, years afterwards, upon the field of bosworth, and when he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes of the day and the destiny of the english throne. evading, striking, riding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly defended himself, and so liberally scattered death to his opponents, that he was now far ahead of the foremost of his knights, hewing his way, with the truncheon of a bloody sword, to where lord risingham was rallying the bravest. a moment more and they had met; the tall, splendid, and famous warrior against the deformed and sickly boy. yet shelton had never a doubt of the result; and when the fight next opened for a moment, the figure of the earl had disappeared; but still, in the first of the danger, crookback dick was launching his big horse and plying the truncheon of his sword. thus, by shelton's courage in holding the mouth of the street against the first attack, and by the opportune arrival of his seven hundred reinforcements, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the execration of posterity under the name of richard iii., had won his first considerable fight. chapter iv the sack of shoreby there was not a foe left within striking distance; and dick, as he looked ruefully about him on the remainder of his gallant force, began to count the cost of victory. he was himself, now that the danger was ended, so stiff and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, above all, so utterly exhausted by his desperate and unremitting labours in the fight, that he seemed incapable of any fresh exertion. but this was not yet the hour for repose. shoreby had been taken by assault; and though an open town, and not in any manner to be charged with the resistance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be not less rough now that the fight was over, and that the more horrid part of war would fall to be enacted. richard of gloucester was not the captain to protect the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and, even if he had the will, it might be questioned if he had the power. it was, therefore, dick's business to find and to protect joanna; and with that end he looked about him at the faces of his men. the three or four who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drew aside; and promising them a rich reward and a special recommendation to the duke, led them across the market-place, now empty of horsemen, and into the streets upon the farther side. every here and there small combats of from two to a dozen still raged upon the open street; here and there a house was being besieged, the defenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants. the snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but except for these partial combats the streets were deserted, and the houses, some standing open, and some shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased to give out smoke. dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led his followers briskly in the direction of the abbey church; but when he came the length of the main street a cry of horror broke from his lips. sir daniel's great house had been carried by assault. the gates hung in splinters from the hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and out through the entrance, seeking and carrying booty. meanwhile, in the upper stories, some resistance was still being offered to the pillagers; for just as dick came within eye-shot of the building, a casement was burst open from within, and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and resisting, was forced through the embrasure and tossed into the street below. the most sickening apprehension fell upon dick. he ran forward like one possessed, forced his way into the house among the foremost, and mounted without pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had last parted from joanna. it was a mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, the cupboards broken open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arras lay smouldering on the embers of the fire. dick, almost without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, and then stood bewildered. sir daniel, sir oliver, joanna, all were gone; but whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from shoreby, who should say? he caught a passing archer by the tabard. "fellow," he asked, "were ye here when this house was taken?" "let be," said the archer. "a murrain! let be, or i strike." "hark ye," returned richard, "two can play at that. stand and be plain." but the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck dick upon the shoulder with one hand, while with the other he twitched away his garment. thereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst from his control. he seized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed him on the plates of his mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him at arm's-length, he bid him speak as he valued life. "i pray you mercy!" gasped the archer. "an i had thought ye were so angry i would 'a' been charier of crossing you. i was here indeed." "know ye sir daniel?" pursued dick. "well do i know him," returned the man. "was he in the mansion?" "ay, sir, he was," answered the archer; "but even as we entered by the yard gate he rode forth by the garden." "alone?" cried dick. "he may 'a' had a score of lances with him," said the man. "lances! no women, then?" asked shelton. "troth, i saw not," said the archer. "but there were none in the house, if that be your quest." "i thank you," said dick. "here is a piece for your pains." but groping in his wallet, dick found nothing. "inquire for me to-morrow," he added--"richard shel----sir richard shelton," he corrected, "and i will see you handsomely rewarded." and then an idea struck dick. he hastily descended to the courtyard, ran with all his might across the garden, and came to the great door of the church. it stood wide open; within, every corner of the pavement was crowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded by their families, and laden with the most precious of their possessions, while, at the high altar, priests in full canonicals were imploring the mercy of god. even as dick entered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the vaulted roofs. he hurried through the groups of refugees, and came to the door of the stair that led into the steeple. and here a tall churchman stepped before him and arrested his advance. "whither, my son?" he asked severely. "my father," answered dick, "i am here upon an errand of expedition. stay me not. i command here for my lord of gloucester." "for my lord of gloucester?" repeated the priest. "hath, then, the battle gone so sore?" "the battle, father, is at an end, lancaster clean sped, my lord of risingham--heaven rest him!--left upon the field. and now, with your good leave, i follow mine affairs." and thrusting on one side the priest, who seemed stupefied at the news, dick pushed open the door and rattled up the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or stumble, till he stepped upon the open platform at the top. shoreby church tower not only commanded the town, as in a map, but looked far, on both sides, over sea and land. it was now near upon noon; the day exceeding bright, the snow dazzling. and as dick looked around him he could measure the consequences of the battle. a confused, growling uproar reached him from the streets, and now and then, but very rarely, the clash of steel. not a ship, not so much as a skiff, remained in harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails and row-boats laden with fugitives. on shore, too, the surface of the snowy meadows was broken up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their way towards the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of the yorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating them back upon the town. over all the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen men and horses, clearly defined upon the snow. to complete the picture, those of the foot-soldiers as had not found place upon a ship still kept up an archery combat on the borders of the port, and from the cover of the shoreside taverns. in that quarter, also, one or two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high in the frosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous folds. already close upon the margin of the woods, and somewhat in the line of holywood, one particular clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention of the young watcher on the tower. it was fairly numerous; in no other quarter of the field did so many lancastrians still hold together; thus they had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, and dick was able to trace them step by step from where they had left the town. while dick stood watching them, they had gained, unopposed, the first fringe of the leafless forest, and, turning a little from their direction, the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it was relieved against the dusky wood. "murrey and blue!" cried dick. "i swear it--murrey and blue!" the next moment he was descending the stairway. it was now his business to seek out the duke of gloucester, who alone, in the disorder of the forces, might be able to supply him with a sufficiency of men. the fighting in the main town was now practically at an end; and as dick ran hither and thither, seeking the commander, the streets were thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with more booty than they could well stagger under, others shouting drunk. none of them, when questioned, had the least notion of the duke's whereabouts; and, at last, it was by sheer good fortune that dick found him, where he sat in the saddle, directing operations to dislodge the archers from the harbour side. "sir richard shelton, ye are well found," he said. "i owe you one thing that i value little, my life; and one that i can never pay you for, this victory.--catesby, if i had ten such captains as sir richard, i would march forthright on london.--but now, sir, claim your reward." "freely, my lord," said dick, "freely and loudly. one hath escaped to whom i owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom i owe love and service. give me, then, fifty lances, that i may pursue; and for any obligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean discharged." "how call ye him?" inquired the duke. "sir daniel brackley," answered richard. "out upon him, double-face!" cried gloucester. "here is no reward, sir richard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to me, a fresh debt upon my conscience.--catesby, get him these lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit it shall be mine to give you." just then the yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns, swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its defenders. crookback dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and, pushing his horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners. there were four or five of them--two men of my lord shoreby's and one of lord risingham's among the number, and last, but in dick's eyes not least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober, and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels. the young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review. "good," he said. "hang them." and he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight. "my lord," said dick, "so please you, i have found my reward. grant me the life and liberty of yon old shipman." gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face. "sir richard," he said, "i make not war with peacock's feathers, but steel shafts. those that are mine enemies i slay, and that without excuse or favour. for, bethink ye, in this realm of england, that is so torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or a friend upon the other party. if, then, i did begin to grant these pardons, i might sheathe my sword." "it may be so, my lord; and yet i will be overbold, and, at the risk of your disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied dick. richard of gloucester flushed. "mark it right well," he said harshly. "i love not mercy, nor yet mercymongers. ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune. if ye oppose to me my word, which i have plighted, i will yield. but, by the glory of heaven, there your favour dies!" "mine is the loss," said dick. "give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turned his back upon young shelton. dick was nor glad nor sorry. he had seen too much of the young duke to set great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his own favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence. one thing alone he feared--that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer of the lances. but here he did justice neither to gloucester's honour (such as it was) nor, above all, to his decision. if he had once judged dick to be the right man to pursue sir daniel, he was not one to change; and he soon proved it by shouting after catesby to be speedy, for the paladin was waiting. in the meanwhile dick turned to the old shipman, who had seemed equally indifferent to his condemnation and to his subsequent release. "arblaster," said dick, "i have done you ill; but now, by the rood, i think i have cleared the score." but the old skipper only looked upon him dully and held his peace. "come," continued dick, "a life is a life, old shrew, and it is more than ships or liquor. say ye forgive me; for if your life is worth nothing to you, it hath cost me the beginnings of my fortune. come, i have paid for it dearly; be not so churlish." "an i had had my ship," said arblaster, "i would 'a' been forth and safe on the high seas--i and my man tom. but ye took my ship, gossip, and i'm a beggar; and for my man tom, a knave fellow in russet shot him down. 'murrain!' quoth he, and spake never again. 'murrain' was the last of his words, and the poor spirit of him passed. 'a will never sail no more will my tom." dick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; he sought to take the skipper's hand, but arblaster avoided his touch. "nay," said he, "let be. y' have played the devil with me, and let that content you." the words died in richard's throat. he saw, through tears, the poor old man, bemused with liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head, across the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at his heels; and for the first time began to understand the desperate game that we play in life, and how a thing once done is not to be changed or remedied by any penitence. but there was no time left to him for vain regret. catesby had now collected the horsemen, and riding up to dick he dismounted, and offered him his own horse. "this morning," he said, "i was somewhat jealous of your favour; it hath not been of a long growth; and now, sir richard, it is with a very good heart that i offer you this horse--to ride away with." "suffer me yet a moment," replied dick. "this favour of mine--whereupon was it founded?" "upon your name," answered catesby. "it is my lord's chief superstition. were my name richard i should be an earl to-morrow." "well, sir, i thank you," returned dick; "and, since i am little likely to follow these great fortunes, i will even say farewell. i will not pretend i was displeased to think myself upon the road to fortune; but i will not pretend, neither, that i am over-sorry to be done with it. command and riches, they are brave things, to be sure; but a word in your ear--yon duke of yours, he is a fearsome lad." catesby laughed. "nay," said he, "of a verity he that rides with crooked dick will ride deep. well, god keep us all from evil! speed ye well." thereupon dick put himself at the head of his men, and giving the word of command, rode off. he made straight across the town, following what he supposed to be the route of sir daniel, and spying around for any signs that might decide if he were right. the streets were strewn with the dead and the wounded, whose fate, in the bitter frost, was far the more pitiable. gangs of the victors went from house to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes singing together as they went. from different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds of violence and outrage came to young shelton's ears; now the blows of the sledge-hammer on some barricaded door, and now the miserable shrieks of women. dick's heart had just been awakened. he had just seen the cruel consequences of his own behaviour; and the thought of the sum of misery that was now acting in the whole of shoreby filled him with despair. at length he reached the outskirts, and there, sure enough, he saw straight before him the same broad, beaten track across the snow that he had marked from the summit of the church. here, then, he went the faster on; but still, as he rode, he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men and horses that lay beside the track. many of these, he was relieved to see, wore sir daniel's colours, and the faces of some, who lay upon their back, he even recognised. about half-way between the town and the forest, those whom he was following had plainly been assailed by archers; for the corpses lay pretty closely scattered, each pierced by an arrow. and here dick spied among the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was somehow hauntingly familiar to him. he halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad's head. as he did so, the hood fell back, and a profusion of long brown hair unrolled itself. at the same time the eyes opened. "ah! lion-driver!" said a feeble voice. "she is farther on. ride--ride fast!" and then the poor young lady fainted once again. one of dick's men carried a flask of some strong cordial, and with this dick succeeded in reviving consciousness. then he took joanna's friend upon his saddle-bow, and once more pushed toward the forest. "why do ye take me?" said the girl. "ye but delay your speed." "nay, mistress risingham," replied dick. "shoreby is full of blood and drunkenness and riot. here ye are safe; content ye." "i will not be beholden to any of your faction," she cried; "set me down." "madam, ye know not what ye say," returned dick. "y' are hurt----" "i am not," she said. "it was my horse was slain." "it matters not one jot," replied richard. "ye are here in the midst of open snow, and compassed about with enemies. whether ye will or not, i carry you with me. glad am i to have the occasion; for thus shall i repay some portion of our debt." for a little while she was silent. then, very suddenly, she asked: "my uncle?" "my lord risingham?" returned dick. "i would i had good news to give you, madam, but i have none. i saw him once in the battle, and once only. let us hope the best." chapter v night in the woods: alicia risingham it was almost certain that sir daniel had made for the moat house; but, considering the heavy snow, the lateness of the hour, and the necessity under which he would lie of avoiding the few roads and striking across the wood, it was equally certain that he could not hope to reach it ere the morrow. there were two courses open to dick: either to continue to follow in the knight's trail, and, if he were able, to fall upon him that very night in camp, or to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself between sir daniel and his destination. either scheme was open to serious objection, and dick, who feared to expose joanna to the hazards of a fight, had not yet decided between them when he reached the borders of the wood. at this point sir daniel had turned a little to his left, and then plunged straight under a grove of very lofty timber. his party had then formed to a narrower front, in order to pass between the trees, and the track was trod proportionately deeper in the snow. the eye followed it, under the leafless tracery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; the trees stood over it, with knotty joints and the great, uplifted forest of their boughs; there was no sound, whether of man or beast--not so much as the stirring of a robin; and over the field of snow the winter sun lay golden among netted shadows. "how say ye," asked dick of one of the men, "to follow straight on, or strike across for tunstall?" "sir richard," replied the man-at-arms, "i would follow the line until they scatter." "ye are doubtless right," returned dick; "but we came right hastily upon the errand, even as the time commanded. here are no houses, neither for food nor shelter, and by the morrow's dawn we shall know both cold fingers and an empty belly. how say ye, lads? will ye stand a pinch for expedition's sake, or shall we turn by holywood and sup with mother church? the case being somewhat doubtful, i will drive no man; yet if ye would suffer me to lead you, ye would choose the first." the men answered, almost with one voice, that they would follow sir richard where he would. and dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more to go forward. the snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, and the pursuers had thus a great advantage over the pursued. they pushed on, indeed, at a round trot, two hundred hoofs beating alternately on the dull pavement of the snow, and the jingle of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a warlike noise along the arches of the silent wood. presently the wide slot of the pursued came out upon the high-road from holywood; it was there, for a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it once more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, dick was surprised to see it narrower and lighter trod. plainly, profiting by the road, sir daniel had begun already to scatter his command. at all hazards, one chance being equal to another, dick continued to pursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour's riding, in which it led into the very depth of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting shell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of the compass. dick drew bridle in despair. the short winter's day was near an end; the sun, dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the leafless thickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit cruelly at the fingernails; and the breath and steam of the horses mounted in a cloud. "well, we are outwitted," dick confessed. "strike we for holywood, after all. it is still nearer us than tunstall--or should be by the station of the sun." so they wheeled to their left, turning their backs on the red shield of sun, and made across country for the abbey. but now times were changed with them; they could no longer spank forth briskly on a path beaten firm by the passage of their foes, and for a goal to which that path itself conducted them. now they must plough at a dull pace through the encumbering snow, continually pausing to decide their course, continually floundering in drifts. the sun soon left them; the glow of the west decayed; and presently they were wandering in a shadow of blackness, under frosty stars. presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hill-tops, and they might resume their march. but till then, every random step might carry them wider of their march. there was nothing for it but to camp and wait. sentries were posted; a spot of ground was cleared of snow, and after some failures a good fire blazed in the midst. the men-at-arms sat close about this forest hearth, sharing such provisions as they had, and passing about the flask; and dick, having collected the most delicate of the rough and scanty fare, brought it to lord risingham's niece, where she sat apart from the soldiery against a tree. she sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, and stared straight before her at the fire-lit scene. at the offer of food she started, like one awakened from a dream, and then silently refused. "madam," said dick, "let me beseech you, punish me not so cruelly. wherein i have offended you, i know not; i have, indeed, carried you away, but with a friendly violence; i have, indeed, exposed you to the inclemency of night, but the hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the preservation of another, who is no less frail and no less unfriended than yourself. at least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for hunger, then for strength." "i will eat nothing at the hands that slew my kinsman," she replied. "dear madam," dick cried, "i swear to you, upon the rood, i touched him not." "swear to me that he still lives," she returned. "i will not palter with you," answered dick. "pity bids me to wound you. in my heart i do believe him dead." "and ye ask me to eat!" she cried. "ay, and they call you 'sir'! y' have won your spurs by my good kinsman's murder. and had i not been fool and traitor both, and saved you in your enemy's house, ye should have died the death, and he--he that was worth twelve of you--were living." "i did but my man's best, even as your kinsman did upon the other party," answered dick. "were he still living--as i vow to heaven i wish it!--he would praise, not blame me." "sir daniel hath told me," she replied. "he marked you at the barricade. upon you, he saith, their party foundered; it was you that won the battle. well, then, it was you that killed my good lord risingham, as sure as though ye had strangled him. and ye would have me eat with you--and your hands not washed from killing? but sir daniel hath sworn your downfall. he 'tis that will avenge me!" the unfortunate dick was plunged in gloom. old arblaster returned upon his mind, and he groaned aloud. "do ye hold me so guilty?" he said; "you that defended me--you that are joanna's friend?" "what made ye in the battle?" she retorted. "y' are of no party; y' are but a lad--but legs and body, without government of wit or counsel! wherefore did ye fight? for the love of hurt, pardy!" "nay," cried dick, "i know not. but as the realm of england goes, if that a poor gentleman fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight upon the other. he may not stand alone; 'tis not in nature." "they that have no judgment should not draw the sword," replied the young lady. "ye that fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher? war is but noble by the cause, and y' have disgraced it." "madam," said the miserable dick, "i do partly see mine error. i have made too much haste; i have been busy before my time. already i stole a ship--thinking, i do swear it, to do well--and thereby brought about the death of many innocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man whose face this very day hath stabbed me like a dagger. and for this morning, i did but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, and, behold! i have brought about the death of your dear kinsman that was good to me. and what besides, i know not. for, alas! i may have set york upon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, and may do hurt to england. o, madam, i do see my sin. i am unfit for life. i will, for penance' sake, and to avoid worse evil, once i have finished this adventure, get me to a cloister. i will forswear joanna and the trade of arms. i will be a friar, and pray for your good kinsman's spirit all my days." it appeared to dick, in this extremity of his humiliation and repentance, that the young lady had laughed. raising his countenance, he found her looking down upon him, in the fire-light, with a somewhat peculiar but not unkind expression. "madam," he cried, thinking the laughter to have been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from her changed looks, hoping to have touched her heart--"madam, will not this content you? i give up all to undo what i have done amiss; i make heaven certain for lord risingham. and all this upon the very day that i have won my spurs, and thought myself the happiest young gentleman on ground." "o boy," she said--"good boy!" and then, to the extreme surprise of dick, she first very tenderly wiped the tears away from his cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden impulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed him. a pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded dick. "but come," she said, with great cheerfulness, "you that are a captain, ye must eat. why sup ye not?" "dear mistress risingham," replied dick, "i did but wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say truth, penitence will no longer suffer me to endure the sight of food. i were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray." "call me alicia," she said; "are we not old friends? and now, come, i will eat with you, bit for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neither will i; but if ye eat hearty, i will dine like a ploughman." so there and then she fell to; and dick, who had an excellent stomach, proceeded to bear her company, at first with great reluctance, but gradually, as he entered into the spirit, with more and more vigour and devotion; until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, and most heartily repaired the expenses of his day of labour and excitement. "lion-driver," she said at length, "ye do not admire a maid in a man's jerkin?" the moon was now up; and they were only waiting to repose the wearied horses. by the moon's light, the still penitent but now well-fed richard beheld her looking somewhat coquettishly down upon him. "madam----" he stammered, surprised at this new turn in her manners. "nay," she interrupted, "it skills not to deny; joanna hath told me;--but come, sir lion-driver, look at me--am i so homely--come!" and she made bright eyes at him. "ye are something smallish, indeed----" began dick. and here again she interrupted him, this time with a ringing peal of laughter that completed his confusion and surprise. "smallish!" she cried. "nay, now be honest as ye are bold; i am a dwarf, or little better; but for all that--come, tell me!--for all that, passably fair to look upon; is't not so?" "nay, madam, exceedingly fair," said the distressed knight, pitifully trying to seem easy. "and a man would be right glad to wed me?" she pursued. "o, madam, right glad!" agreed dick. "call me alicia," said she. "alicia," quoth sir richard. "well, then, lion-driver," she continued, "sith that ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, ye owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye not?" "i do, madam," said dick. "although, upon my heart, i do hold me but partially guilty of that brave knight's blood." "would ye evade me?" she cried. "madam, not so. i have told you; at your bidding, i will even turn me a monk," said richard. "then, in honour, ye belong to me?" she concluded. "in honour, madam, i suppose----" began the young man. "go to!" she interrupted; "ye are too full of catches. in honour do ye belong to me, till ye have paid the evil?" "in honour, i do," said dick. "hear, then," she continued. "ye would make but a sad friar, methinks; and since i am to dispose of you at pleasure, i will even take you for my husband. nay, now, no words!" cried she. "they will avail you nothing. for see how just it is, that you who deprived me of one home, should supply me with another. and as for joanna, she will be the first, believe me, to commend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends, what matters it with which of us ye wed? not one whit!" "madam," said dick, "i will go into a cloister, an ye please to bid me; but to wed with any one in this big world besides joanna sedley is what i will consent to neither for man's force nor yet for lady's pleasure. pardon me if i speak my plain thoughts plainly! but where a maid is very bold, a poor man must even be the bolder." "dick," she said, "ye sweet boy, ye must come and kiss me for that word. nay, fear not, ye shall kiss me for joanna, and when we meet, i shall give it back to her, and say i stole it. and as for what ye owe me, why, dear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that great battle; and even if york be on the throne, it was not you that set him there. but for a good, sweet, honest heart, dick, y' are all that; and if i could find it in my soul to envy your joanna anything, i would even envy her your love." chapter vi night in the woods (_concluded_) dick and joan the horses had by this time finished the small store of provender, and fully breathed from their fatigues. at dick's command, the fire was smothered in snow; and while his men got once more wearily to saddle, he himself, remembering, somewhat late, true woodland caution, chose a tall oak, and nimbly clambered to the topmost fork. hence he could look far abroad on the moonlit and snow-paven forest. on the south-west, dark against the horizon, stood those upland heathy quarters where he and joanna had met with the terrifying misadventure of the leper. and there his eye was caught by a spot of ruddy brightness no bigger than a needle's eye. he blamed himself sharply for his previous neglect. were that, as it appeared to be, the shining of sir daniel's camp-fire, he should long ago have seen and marched for it; above all, he should, for no consideration, have announced his neighbourhood by lighting a fire of his own. but now he must no longer squander valuable hours. the direct way to the uplands was about two miles in length; but it was crossed by a very deep, precipitous dingle, impassable to mounted men; and for the sake of speed, it seemed to dick advisable to desert the horses and attempt the adventure on foot. ten men were left to guard the horses; signals were agreed upon by which they could communicate in case of need; and dick set forth at the head of the remainder, alicia risingham walking stoutly by his side. the men had freed themselves of heavy armour, and left behind their lances; and they now marched with a very good spirit in the frozen snow, and under the exhilarating lustre of the moon. the descent into the dingle, where a stream strained sobbing through the snow and ice, was effected with silence and order; and on the farther side, being then within a short half-mile of where dick had seen the glimmer of the fire, the party halted to breathe before the attack. in the vast silence of the wood, the lightest sounds were audible from far; and alicia, who was keen of hearing, held up her finger warningly, and stooped to listen. all followed her example; but besides the groans of the choked brook in the dingle close behind, and the barking of a fox at a distance of many miles among the forest, to dick's acutest hearkening not a breath was audible. "but yet, for sure, i heard the clash of harness," whispered alicia. "madam," returned dick, who was more afraid of that young lady than of ten stout warriors, "i would not hint ye were mistaken; but it might well have come from either of the camps." "it came not thence. it came from westward," she declared. "it may be what it will," returned dick; "and it must be as heaven please. reck we not a jot, but push on the livelier, and put it to the touch.--up, friends--enough breathed." as they advanced, the snow became more and more trampled with hoof-marks, and it was plain that they were drawing near to the encampment of a considerable force of mounted men. presently they could see the smoke pouring from among the trees, ruddily coloured on its lower edge and scattering bright sparks. and here, pursuant to dick's orders, his men began to open out, creeping stealthily in the covert, to surround on every side the camp of their opponents. he himself, placing alicia in the shelter of a bulky oak, stole straight forth in the direction of the fire. at last, through an opening of the wood, his eye embraced the scene of the encampment. the fire had been built upon a heathy hummock of the ground, surrounded on three sides by thicket, and it now burned very strong, roaring aloud and brandishing flames. around it there sat not quite a dozen people, warmly cloaked; but though the neighbouring snow was trampled down as by a regiment, dick looked in vain for any horse. he began to have a terrible misgiving that he was out-manoeuvred. at the same time, in a tall man with a steel salet, who was spreading his hands before the blaze, he recognised his old friend and still kindly enemy, bennet hatch; and in two others, sitting a little back, he made out, even in their male disguise, joanna sedley and sir daniel's wife. "well," thought he to himself, "even if i lose my horses, let me get my joanna, and why should i complain?" and then, from the farther side of the encampment, there came a little whistle, announcing that his men had joined, and the investment was complete. bennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere he had time to spring upon his arms, dick hailed him. "bennet," he said--"bennet, old friend, yield ye. ye will but spill men's lives in vain if ye resist." "'tis master shelton, by st. barbary!" cried hatch. "yield me? ye ask much. what force have ye?" "i tell you, bennet, ye are both outnumbered and begirt," said dick. "cæsar and charlemagne would cry for quarter. i have two score men at my whistle, and with one shoot of arrows i could answer for you all." "master dick," said bennet, "it goes against my heart; but i must do my duty. the saints help you!" and therewith he raised a little tucket to his mouth and wound a rousing call. then followed a moment of confusion; for while dick, fearing for the ladies, still hesitated to give the word to shoot, hatch's little band sprang to their weapons and formed back to back as for a fierce resistance. in the hurry of their change of place, joanna sprang from her seat and ran like an arrow to her lover's side. "here, dick!" she cried, as she clasped his hand in hers. but dick still stood irresolute; he was yet young to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the thought of old lady brackley checked the command upon his tongue. his own men became restive. some of them cried on him by name; others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and at the first discharge poor bennet bit the dust. then dick awoke. "on!" he cried. "shoot, boys, and keep to cover. england and york!" but just then the dull beat of many horses on the snow suddenly arose in the hollow ear of the night, and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer and swelled louder. at the same time, answering tuckets repeated and repeated hatch's call. "rally, rally!" cried dick. "rally upon me! rally for your lives!" but his men--afoot, scattered, taken in the hour when they had counted on an easy triumph--began instead to give ground severally, and either stood wavering or dispersed into the thickets. and when the first of the horsemen came charging through the open avenues and fiercely riding their steeds into the underwood, a few stragglers were overthrown or speared among the brush, but the bulk of dick's command had simply melted at the rumour of their coming. dick stood for a moment, bitterly recognising the fruits of his precipitate and unwise valour. sir daniel had seen the fire; he had moved out with his main force, whether to attack his pursuers or to take them in the rear if they should venture the assault. his had been throughout the part of a sagacious captain; dick's the conduct of an eager boy. and here was the young knight, his sweetheart, indeed, holding him tightly by the hand, but otherwise alone, his whole command of men and horses dispersed in the night and the wide forest, like a paper of pins in a hay barn. "the saints enlighten me!" he thought. "it is well i was knighted for this morning's matter; this doth me little honour." and thereupon, still holding joanna, he began to run. the silence of the night was now shattered by the shouts of the men of tunstall, as they galloped hither and thither, hunting fugitives; and dick broke boldly through the underwood and ran straight before him like a deer. the silver clearness of the moon upon the open snow increased, by contrast, the obscurity of the thickets; and the extreme dispersion of the vanquished led the pursuers into widely divergent paths. hence, in but a little while, dick and joanna paused, in a close covert, and heard the sounds of the pursuit, scattering abroad, indeed, in all directions, but yet fainting already in the distance. "an i had but kept a reserve of them together," dick cried bitterly, "i could have turned the tables yet! well, we live and learn; next time it shall go better, by the rood." "nay, dick," said joanna, "what matters it? here we are, together once again." he looked at her, and there she was--john matcham, as of yore, in hose and doublet. but now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly dress, she smiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was transported with joy. "sweetheart," he said, "if ye forgive this blunderer, what care i? make we direct for holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my better friend, lord foxham. there shall we be wed; and whether poor or wealthy, famous or unknown, what matters it? this day, dear love, i won my spurs; i was commended by great men for my valour; i thought myself the goodliest man of war in all broad england. then, first, i fell out of my favour with the great; and now i have been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. there was a downfall for conceit! but, dear, i care not--dear, if ye still love me and will wed, i would have my knighthood done away, and mind it not a jot." "my dick!" she cried. "and did they knight you?" "ay, dear, ye are my lady now," he answered fondly; "or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow--will ye not?" "that will i, dick, with a glad heart," she answered. "ay, sir? methought ye were to be a monk!" said a voice in their ears. "alicia!" cried joanna. "even so," replied the young lady, coming forward. "alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to life again, and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know." "i'll not believe it," cried joanna. "dick!" "dick!" mimicked alicia. "dick, indeed!--ay, fair sir, and ye desert poor damsels in distress," she continued, turning to the young knight. "ye leave them planted behind oaks. but they say true--the age of chivalry is dead." "madam," cried dick in despair, "upon my soul i had forgotten you outright. madam, ye must try to pardon me. ye see, i had new found joanna!" "i did not suppose that ye had done it o' purpose," she retorted. "but i will be cruelly avenged. i will tell a secret to my lady shelton--she that is to be," she added, curtseying. "joanna," she continued, "i believe, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold fellow in a fight, but he is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-hearted simpleton in england. go to--ye may do your pleasure with him! and now, fool children, first kiss me, either one of you, for luck and kindness; and then kiss each other just one minute by the glass, and not one second longer; and then let us all three set forth for holywood as fast as we can stir; for these woods, methinks, are full of peril, and exceeding cold." "but did my dick make love to you?" asked joanna, clinging to her sweetheart's side. "nay, fool girl," returned alicia; "it was i made love to him. i offered to marry him, indeed; but he bade me go marry with my likes. these were his words. nay, that i will say: he is more plain than pleasant. but now, children, for the sake of sense, set forward. shall we go once more over the dingle, or push straight for holywood?" "why," said dick, "i would like dearly to get upon a horse; for i have been sore mauled and beaten, one way and another, these last days, and my poor body is one bruise. but how think ye? if the men, upon the alarm of the fighting, had fled away, we should have gone about for nothing. 'tis but some three short miles to holywood direct; the bell hath not beat nine; the snow is pretty firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how if we went even as we are?" "agreed!" cried alicia; but joanna only pressed upon dick's arm. forth, then, they went, through open leafless groves and down snow-clad alleys, under the white face of the winter moon; dick and joanna walking hand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and their light-minded companion, her own bereavements heartily forgotten, followed a pace or two behind, now rallying them upon their silence, and now drawing happy pictures of their future and united lives. still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders of tunstall might be heard urging their pursuit; and from time to time cries or the clash of steel announced the shock of enemies. but in these young folk, bred among the alarms of war, and fresh from such a multiplicity of dangers, neither fear nor pity could be lightly wakened. content to find the sounds still drawing farther and farther away, they gave up their hearts to the enjoyment of the hour, walking already, as alicia put it, in a wedding procession; and neither the rude solitude of the forest nor the cold of the freezing night had any force to shadow or distract their happiness. at length, from a rising hill, they looked below them on the dell of holywood. the great windows of the forest abbey shone with torch and candle; its high pinnacles and spires arose very clear and silent, and the gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered brightly in the moon. all about it, in the open glade, camp-fires were burning, and the ground was thick with huts; and across the midst of the picture the frozen river curved. "by the mass," said richard, "there are lord foxham's fellows still encamped. the messenger hath certainly miscarried. well, then, so better. we have power at hand to face sir daniel." but if lord foxham's men still lay encamped in the long holm at holywood, it was from a different reason from the one supposed by dick. they had marched, indeed, for shoreby; but ere they were half-way thither, a second messenger met them, and bade them return to their morning's camp, to bar the road against lancastrian fugitives, and to be so much nearer to the main army of york. for richard of gloucester, having finished the battle and stamped out his foes in that district, was already on the march to rejoin his brother; and not long after the return of my lord foxham's retainers, crookback himself drew rein before the abbey door. it was in honour of this august visitor that the windows shone with lights; and at the hour of dick's arrival with his sweetheart and her friend, the whole ducal party was being entertained in the refectory with the splendour of that powerful and luxurious monastery. dick, not quite with his good will, was brought before them. gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat leaning upon one hand his white and terrifying countenance; lord foxham, half recovered from his wound, was in a place of honour on his left. "how, sir?" asked richard. "have ye brought me sir daniel's head?" "my lord duke," replied dick, stoutly enough, but with a qualm at heart, "i have not even the good fortune to return with my command. i have been, so please your grace, well beaten." gloucester looked upon him with a formidable frown. "i gave you fifty lances,[ ] sir," he said. "my lord duke, i had but fifty men-at-arms," replied the young knight. "how is this?" said gloucester. "he did ask me fifty lances." "may it please your grace," replied catesby smoothly, "for a pursuit we gave him but the horsemen." "it is well," replied richard, adding, "shelton, ye may go." "stay!" said lord foxham. "this young man likewise had a charge from me. it may be he hath better sped.--say, master shelton, have ye found the maid?" "i praise the saints, my lord," said dick, "she is in this house." "is it even so? well, then, my lord the duke," resumed lord foxham, "with your good will, to-morrow, before the army march, i do propose a marriage. this young squire----" "young knight," interrupted catesby. "say ye so, sir william?" cried lord foxham. "i did myself, and for good service, dub him knight," said gloucester. "he hath twice manfully served me. it is not valour of hands, it is a man's mind of iron, that he lacks. he will not rise, lord foxham. 'tis a fellow that will fight indeed bravely in a mellay, but hath a capon's heart. howbeit, if he is to marry, marry him in the name of mary, and be done!" "nay, he is a brave lad--i know it," said lord foxham. "content ye, then, sir richard. i have compounded this affair with master hamley, and to-morrow ye shall wed." whereupon dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but he was not yet clear of the refectory, when a man, but newly alighted at the gate, came running four stairs at a bound, and brushing through the abbey servants, threw himself on one knee before the duke. "victory, my lord," he cried. and before dick had got to the chamber set apart for him as lord foxham's guest, the troops in the holm were cheering around their fires; for upon that same day, not twenty miles away, a second crushing blow had been dealt to the power of lancaster. footnote: [ ] technically, the term "lance" included a not quite certain number of foot-soldiers attached to the man-at-arms. chapter vii dick's revenge the next morning dick was afoot before the sun, and, having dressed himself to the best advantage, with the aid of the lord foxham's baggage, and got good reports of joan, he set forth on foot to walk away his impatience. for some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting to arms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of torches; but gradually he strolled farther afield, and at length passed clean beyond the outpost, and walked alone in the frozen forest, waiting for the sun. his thoughts were both quiet and happy. his brief favour with the duke he could not find it in his heart to mourn; with joan to wife, and my lord foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily upon the future; and in the past he found but little to regret. as he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning grew more clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a little scathing wind blew up the frozen snow. he turned to go home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind a tree. "stand!" he cried. "who goes?" the figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person. it was arrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but dick, in an instant, recognised sir daniel. he strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his hand in his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his approach. "well, dickon," said sir daniel, "how is it to be? do ye make war upon the fallen?" "i made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "i was your true friend until ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it greedily." "nay--self-defence," replied the knight. "and now, boy, the news of this battle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine own wood, have broken me beyond all help. i go to holywood for sanctuary; thence over-seas, with what i can carry, and to begin life again in burgundy or france." "ye may not go to holywood," said dick. "how! may not?" asked the knight. "look ye, sir daniel, this is my marriage morn," said dick; "and yon sun that is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone for me. your life is forfeit--doubly forfeit, for my father's death and your own practices to meward. but i myself have done amiss; i have brought about men's deaths; and upon this glad day i will be neither judge nor hangman. an ye were the devil, i would not lay a hand on you. an ye were the devil, ye might go where ye will for me. seek god's forgiveness; mine ye have freely. but to go on to holywood is different. i carry arms for york, and i will suffer no spy within their lines. hold it, then, for certain, if ye set one foot before another, i will uplift my voice and call the nearest post to seize you." "ye mock me," said sir daniel. "i have no safety out of holywood." "i care no more," returned richard. "i let you go east, west, or south; north i will not. holywood is shut against you. go, and seek not to return. for, once ye are gone, i will warn every post about this army, and there will be so shrewd a watch upon all pilgrims that, once again, were ye the very devil, ye would find it ruin to make the essay." "ye doom me," said sir daniel gloomily. "i doom you not," returned richard. "if it so please you to set your valour against mine, come on; and though i fear it be disloyal to my party, i will take the challenge openly and fully, fight you with mine own single strength, and call for none to help me. so shall i avenge my father, with a perfect conscience." "ay," said sir daniel, "y' have a long sword against my dagger." "i rely upon heaven only," answered dick, casting his sword some way behind him on the snow. "now, if your ill-fate bids you, come; and, under the pleasure of the almighty, i make myself bold to feed your bones to foxes." "i did but try you, dickon," returned the knight, with an uneasy semblance of a laugh. "i would not spill your blood." "go, then, ere it be too late," replied shelton. "in five minutes i will call the post. i do perceive that i am too long-suffering. had but our places been reversed, i should have been bound hand and foot some minutes past." "well, dickon, i will go," replied sir daniel. "when we next meet, it shall repent you that ye were so harsh." and with these words, the knight turned and began to move off under the trees. dick watched him with strangely mingled feelings, as he went, swiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye upon the lad who had spared him, and whom he still suspected. there was upon one side of where he went a thicket strongly matted with green ivy, and, even in its winter state, impervious to the eye. herein, all of a sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music. an arrow flew, and with a great, choked cry of agony and anger, the knight of tunstall threw up his hands and fell forward in the snow. dick bounded to his side and raised him. his face desperately worked; his whole body was shaken by contorting spasms. "is the arrow black?" he gasped. "it is black," replied dick gravely. and then, before he could add one word, a desperate seizure of pain shook the wounded man from head to foot, so that his body leaped in dick's supporting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his spirit fled in silence. the young man laid him back gently on the snow and prayed for that unprepared and guilty spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a bound, and the robins began chirping in the ivy. when he rose to his feet, he found another man upon his knees but a few steps behind him, and, still with uncovered head, he waited until that prayer also should be over. it took long; the man, with his head bowed and his face covered with his hands, prayed like one in a great disorder or distress of mind; and by the bow that lay beside him, dick judged that he was no other than the archer who had laid sir daniel low. at length he also rose, and showed the countenance of ellis duckworth. "richard," he said, very gravely, "i heard you. ye took the better part and pardoned; i took the worse, and there lies the clay of mine enemy. pray for me." and he wrung him by the hand. "sir," said richard, "i will pray for you, indeed; though how i may prevail i wot not. but if ye have so long pursued revenge, and find it now of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well to pardon others? hatch--he is dead, poor shrew! i would have spared a better; and for sir daniel, here lies his body. but for the priest, if i might anywise prevail, i would have you let him go." a flash came into the eyes of ellis duckworth. "nay," he said, "the devil is still strong within me. but be at rest; the black arrow flieth nevermore--the fellowship is broken. they that still live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in heaven's good time, for me; and for yourself, go where your better fortune calls you, and think no more of ellis." chapter viii conclusion about nine in the morning lord foxham was leading his ward, once more dressed as befitted her sex, and followed by alicia risingham, to the church of holywood, when richard crookback, his brow already heavy with cares, crossed their path and paused. "is this the maid?" he asked; and when lord foxham had replied in the affirmative, "minion," he added, "hold up your face until i see its favour." he looked upon her sourly for a little. "ye are fair," he said at last, "and, as they tell me, dowered. how if i offered you a brave marriage, as became your face and parentage?" "my lord duke," replied joanna, "may it please your grace, i had rather wed with sir richard." "how so?" he asked harshly. "marry but the man i name to you, and he shall be my lord, and you my lady, before night. for sir richard, let me tell you plainly, he will die sir richard." "i ask no more of heaven, my lord, than but to die sir richard's wife," returned joanna. "look ye at that, my lord," said gloucester, turning to lord foxham. "here be a pair for you. the lad, when for good services i gave him his choice of my favour, chose but the grace of an old drunken shipman. i did warn him freely, but he was stout in his besottedness. 'here dieth your favour,' said i: and he, my lord, with a most assured impertinence, 'mine be the loss,' quoth he. it shall be so, by the rood!" "said he so?" cried alicia. "then well said, lion-driver!" "who is this?" asked the duke. "a prisoner of sir richard's," answered lord foxham; "mistress alicia risingham." "see that she be married to a sure man," said the duke. "i had thought of my kinsman, hamley, an it like your grace," returned lord foxham. "he hath well served the cause." "it likes me well," said richard. "let them be wedded speedily.--say, fair maid, will you wed?" "my lord duke," said alicia, "so as the man is straight--" and there, in a perfect consternation, the voice died on her tongue. "he is straight, my mistress," replied richard calmly. "i am the only crookback of my party; we are else passably well shapen.--ladies, and you, my lord," he added, with a sudden change to grave courtesy, "judge me not too churlish if i leave you. a captain, in the time of war, hath not the ordering of his hours." and with a very handsome salutation he passed on, followed by his officers. "alack," cried alicia, "i am shent!" "ye know him not," replied lord foxham. "it is but a trifle; he hath already clean forgot your words." "he is, then, the very flower of knighthood," said alicia. "nay, but he mindeth other things," returned lord foxham. "tarry we no more." in the chancel they found dick waiting, attended by a few young men; and there were he and joan united. when they came forth again, happy and yet serious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the long flies of the army were already winding forward up the road; already the duke of gloucester's banner was unfolded and began to move from before the abbey in a clump of spears; and behind it, girt by steel-clad knights, the bold, black-hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved on towards his brief kingdom and his lasting infamy. but the wedding party turned upon the other side, and sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast. the father cellarer attended on their wants, and sat with them at table. hamley, all jealousy forgotten, began to ply the nowise loath alicia with courtship. and there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, dick and joan sat side by side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever growing affection, in each other's eyes. thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by. they dwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love began. two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity and peace, and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine, in tunstall hamlet. one had been all his life a shipman, and continued to the last to lament his man tom. the other, who had been a bit of everything, turned in the end towards piety, and made a most religious death under the name of brother honestus in the neighbouring abbey. so lawless had his will, and died a friar. markheim markheim "yes," said the dealer, "our windfalls are of various kinds. some customers are ignorant, and then i touch a dividend on my superior knowledge. some are dishonest," and here he held up the candle, so that the light fell strongly on his visitor, "and in that case," he continued, "i profit by my virtue." markheim had but just entered from the daylight streets, and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. at these pointed words, and before the near presence of the flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside. the dealer chuckled. "you come to me on christmas day," he resumed, "when you know that i am alone in my house, put up my shutters, and make a point of refusing business. well, you will have to pay for that; you will have to pay for my loss of time, when i should be balancing my books; you will have to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that i remark in you to-day very strongly. i am the essence of discretion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a customer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it." the dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing to his usual business voice, though still with a note of irony, "you can give, as usual, a clear account of how you came into the possession of the object?" he continued. "still your uncle's cabinet? a remarkable collector, sir!" and the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood almost on tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold spectacles, and nodding his head with every mark of disbelief. markheim returned his gaze with one of infinite pity, and a touch of horror. "this time," said he, "you are in error. i have not come to sell, but to buy. i have no curios to dispose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to the wainscot; even were it still intact, i have done well on the stock exchange, and should more likely add to it than otherwise, and my errand to-day is simplicity itself. i seek a christmas present for a lady," he continued, waxing more fluent as he struck into the speech he had prepared; "and certainly i owe you every excuse for thus disturbing you upon so small a matter. but the thing was neglected yesterday; i must produce my little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected." there followed a pause, during which the dealer seemed to weigh this statement incredulously. the ticking of many clocks among the curious lumber of the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence. "well, sir," said the dealer, "be it so. you are an old customer after all; and if, as you say, you have the chance of a good marriage, far be it from me to be an obstacle.--here is a nice thing for a lady now," he went on, "this hand-glass--fifteenth-century, warranted; comes from a good collection, too; but i reserve the name, in the interests of my customer, who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew and sole heir of a remarkable collector." the dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting voice, had stooped to take the object from its place; and, as he had done so, a shock had passed through markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. it passed as swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond a certain trembling of the hand that now received the glass. "a glass," he said hoarsely, and then paused, and repeated it more clearly. "a glass? for christmas? surely not?" "and why not?" cried the dealer. "why not a glass?" markheim was looking upon him with an indefinable expression. "you ask me why not?" he said. "why, look here--look in it--look at yourself! do you like to see it? no! nor i--nor any man." the little man had jumped back when markheim had so suddenly confronted him with the mirror; but now, perceiving there was nothing worse on hand, he chuckled. "your future lady, sir, must be pretty hard favoured," said he. "i ask you," said markheim, "for a christmas present, and you give me this--this damned reminder of years, and sins and follies--this hand-conscience. did you mean it? had you a thought in your mind? tell me. it will be better for you if you do. come, tell me about yourself. i hazard a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable man?" the dealer looked closely at his companion. it was very odd, markheim did not appear to be laughing; there was something in his face like an eager sparkle of hope, but nothing of mirth. "what are you driving at?" the dealer asked. "not charitable?" returned the other gloomily. "not charitable? not pious; not scrupulous; unloving, unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safe to keep it. is that all? dear god, man, is that all?" "i will tell you what it is," began the dealer, with some sharpness, and then broke off again into a chuckle. "but i see this is a love-match of yours, and you have been drinking the lady's health." "ah!" cried markheim, with a strange curiosity. "ah, have you been in love? tell me about that." "i," cried the dealer. "i in love! i never had the time, nor have i the time to-day for all this nonsense.--will you take the glass?" "where is the hurry?" returned markheim. "it is very pleasant to stand here talking; and life is so short and insecure that i would not hurry away from any pleasure--no, not even from so mild a one as this. we should rather cling, cling to what little we can get, like a man at a cliff's edge. every second is a cliff, if you think upon it--a cliff a mile high--high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature of humanity. hence it is best to talk pleasantly. let us talk of each other: why should we wear this mask? let us be confidential. who knows?--we might become friends." "i have just one word to say to you," said the dealer. "either make your purchase, or walk out of my shop!" "true, true," said markheim. "enough fooling. to business. show me something else." the dealer stooped once more, this time to replace the glass upon the shelf, his thin blond hair falling over his eyes as he did so. markheim moved a little nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat: he drew himself up and filled his lungs; at the same time many different emotions were depicted together on his face--terror, horror, and resolve, fascination and a physical repulsion; and through a haggard lift of his upper lip his teeth looked out. "this, perhaps, may suit," observed the dealer: and then, as he began to re-arise, markheim bounded from behind upon his victim. the long, skewer-like dagger flashed and fell. the dealer struggled like a hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then tumbled on the floor in a heap. time had some score of small voices in that shop, some stately and slow, as was becoming to their great age; others garrulous and hurried. all these told out the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. then the passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pavement, broke in upon these smaller voices and startled markheim into the consciousness of his surroundings. he looked about him awfully. the candle stood on the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught; and by that inconsiderable movement the whole room was filled with noiseless bustle and kept heaving like a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross blots of darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration, the faces of the portraits and the china gods changing and wavering like images in water. the inner door stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of shadows with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger. from these fear-stricken rovings markheim's eyes returned to the body of his victim, where it lay both humped and sprawling, incredibly small and strangely meaner than in life. in these poor, miserly clothes, in that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much sawdust. markheim had feared to see it, and, lo! it was nothing. and yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquent voices. there it must lie; there was none to work the cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion--there it must lie till it was found. found! ay, and then? then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that would ring over england, and fill the world with the echoes of pursuit. ay, dead or not, this was still the enemy. "time was that when the brains were out," he thought; and the first word struck into his mind. time, now that the deed was accomplished--time, which had closed for the victim, had become instant and momentous for the slayer. the thought was yet in his mind when, first one and then another, with every variety of pace and voice--one deep as the bell from a cathedral turret, another ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz--the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the afternoon. the sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that dumb chamber staggered him. he began to bestir himself, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered by moving shadows, and startled to the soul by chance reflections. in many rich mirrors, some of home design, some from venice or amsterdam, he saw his face repeated and repeated, as it were an army of spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the sound of his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the surrounding quiet. and still, as he continued to fill his pockets, his mind accused him, with a sickening iteration, of the thousand faults of his design. he should have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have prepared an alibi; he should not have used a knife; he should have been more cautious, and only bound and gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should have been more bold, and killed the servant also; he should have done all things otherwise: poignant regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind to change what was unchangeable, to plan what was now useless, to be the architect of the irrevocable past. meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute terrors, like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the more remote chambers of his brain with riot; the hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoulder, and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish; or he beheld, in galloping defile, the dock, the prison, the gallows, and the black coffin. terror of the people in the street sat down before his mind like a besieging army. it was impossible, he thought, but that some rumour of the struggle must have reached their ears and set on edge their curiosity; and now, in all the neighbouring houses, he divined them sitting motionless and with uplifted ear--solitary people, condemned to spend christmas dwelling alone on memories of the past, and now startlingly recalled from that tender exercise; happy family parties, struck into silence round the table, the mother still with raised finger: every degree and age and humour, but all, by their own hearths, prying and hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang him. sometimes it seemed to him he could not move too softly; the clink of the tall bohemian goblets rang out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by the bigness of the ticking, he was tempted to stop the clocks. and then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, the very silence of the place appeared a source of peril, and a thing to strike and freeze the passer-by; and he would step more boldly, and bustle aloud among the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his own house. but he was now so pulled about by different alarms, that, while one portion of his mind was still alert and cunning, another trembled on the brink of lunacy. one hallucination in particular took a strong hold on his credulity. the neighbour hearkening with white face beside his window, the passer-by arrested by a horrible surmise on the pavement--these could at worst suspect, they could not know; through the brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could penetrate. but here, within the house, was he alone? he knew he was; he had watched the servant set forth sweethearting, in her poor best, "out for the day" written on every ribbon and smile. yes, he was alone, of course; and yet, in the bulk of empty house above him, he could surely hear a stir of delicate footing--he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious, of some presence. ay, surely; to every room and corner of the house his imagination followed it; and now it was a faceless thing, and yet had eyes to see with; and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet again beheld the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with cunning and hatred. at times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the open door which still seemed to repel his eyes. the house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the day blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to the ground story was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly on the threshold of the shop. and yet, in that strip of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a shadow? suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial gentleman began to beat with a staff on the shop-door, accompanying his blows with shouts and railleries in which the dealer was continually called upon by name. markheim, smitten into ice, glanced at the dead man. but no! he lay quite still; he was fled away far beyond ear-shot of these blows and shoutings; he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name, which would once have caught his notice above the howling of a storm, had become an empty sound. and presently the jovial gentleman desisted from his knocking and departed. here was a broad hint to hurry what remained to be done, to get forth from this accusing neighbourhood, to plunge into a bath of london multitudes, and to reach, on the other side of day, that haven of safety and apparent innocence--his bed. one visitor had come: at any moment another might follow and be more obstinate. to have done the deed, and yet not to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure. the money, that was now markheim's concern; and as a means to that, the keys. he glanced over his shoulder at the open door; where the shadow was still lingering and shivering; and with no conscious repugnance of the mind, yet with a tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his victim. the human character had quite departed. like a suit half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay scattered, the trunk doubled, on the floor; and yet the thing repelled him. although so dingy and inconsiderable to the eye, he feared it might have more significance to the touch. he took the body by the shoulders and turned it on its back. it was strangely light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had been broken, fell into the oddest postures. the face was robbed of all expression; but it was as pale as wax, and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple. that was, for markheim, the one displeasing circumstance. it carried him back, upon the instant, to a certain fair-day in a fishers' village: a grey day, a piping wind, a crowd upon the street, a blare of brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a ballad-singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried overhead in the crowd and divided between interest and fear, until, coming out upon the chief place of concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen with pictures, dismally designed, garishly coloured: brownrigg with her apprentice; the mannings with their murdered guest; weare in the death-grip of thurtell; and a score besides of famous crimes. the thing was as clear as an illusion; he was once again that little boy; he was looking once again, and with the same sense of physical revolt, at these vile pictures; he was still stunned by the thumping of the drums. a bar of that day's music returned upon his memory; and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him, a breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints, which he must instantly resist and conquer. he judged it more prudent to confront than to flee from these considerations; looking the more hardily in the dead face, bending his mind to realise the nature and greatness of his crime. so little a while ago that face had moved with every change of sentiment, that pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire with governable energies; and now, and by his act, that piece of life had been arrested, as the horologist, with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock. so he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more remorseful consciousness; the same heart which had shuddered before the painted effigies of crime looked on its reality unmoved. at best, he felt a gleam of pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all those faculties that can make the world a garden of enchantment, one who had never lived and who was now dead. but of penitence, no, not a tremor. with that, shaking himself clear of these considerations, he found the keys and advanced towards the open door of the shop. outside, it had begun to rain smartly; and the sound of the shower upon the roof had banished silence. like some dripping cavern, the chambers of the house were haunted by an incessant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled with the ticking of the clocks. and, as markheim approached the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing up the stair. the shadow still palpitated loosely on the threshold. he threw a ton's weight of resolve upon his muscles, and drew back the door. the faint, foggy daylight glimmered dimly on the bare floor and stairs; on the bright suit of armour posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing: and on the dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung against the yellow panels of the wainscot. so loud was the beating of the rain through all the house that, in markheim's ears, it began to be distinguished into many different sounds. footsteps and sighs, the tread of regiments marching in the distance, the chink of money in the counting, and the creaking of doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to mingle with the patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of the water in the pipes. the sense that he was not alone grew upon him to the verge of madness. on every side he was haunted and begirt by presences. he heard them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he began with a great effort to mount the stairs, feet fled quietly before him and followed stealthily behind. if he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he would possess his soul! and then again, and hearkening with ever fresh attention, he blessed himself for that unresting sense which held the outposts and stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. his head turned continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed starting from their orbits, scouted on every side, and on every side were half-rewarded as with the tail of something nameless vanishing. the four-and-twenty steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies. on that first story, the doors stood ajar, three of them like three ambushes, shaking his nerves like the throats of cannon. he could never again, he felt, be sufficiently immured and fortified from men's observing eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls, buried among bed-clothes, and invisible to all but god. and at that thought he wondered a little, recollecting tales of other murderers and the fear they were said to entertain of heavenly avengers. it was not so, at least, with him. he feared the laws of nature, lest, in their callous and immutable procedure, they should preserve some damning evidence of his crime. he feared tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious terror, some scission in the continuity of man's experience, some wilful illegality of nature. he played a game of skill, depending on the rules, calculating consequence from cause; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant overthrew the chess-board, should break the mould of their succession? the like had befallen napoleon (so writers said) when the winter changed the time of its appearance. the like might befall markheim: the solid walls might become transparent and reveal his doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and detain him in their clutch; ay, and there were soberer accidents that might destroy him: if, for instance, the house should fall and imprison him beside the body of his victim; or the house next door should fly on fire, and the firemen invade him from all sides. these things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might be called the hands of god reached forth against sin. but about god himself he was at ease: his act was doubtless exceptional, but so were his excuses, which god knew; it was there, and not among men, that he felt sure of justice. when he had got safe into the drawing-room, and shut the door behind him, he was aware of a respite from alarms. the room was quite dismantled, uncarpeted besides, and strewn with packing-cases and incongruous furniture; several great pier-glasses, in which he beheld himself at various angles, like an actor on a stage; many pictures, framed and unframed, standing with their faces to the wall; a fine sheraton sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old bed, with tapestry hangings. the windows opened to the floor; but by great good fortune the lower part of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed him from the neighbours. here, then, markheim drew in a packing-case before the cabinet, and began to search among the keys. it was a long business, for there were many; and it was irksome besides; for, after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and time was on the wing. but the closeness of the occupation sobered him. with the tail of his eye he saw the door--even glanced at it from time to time directly, like a besieged commander, pleased to verify the good estate of his defences. but in truth he was at peace. the rain falling in the street sounded natural and pleasant. presently, on the other side, the notes of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and the voices of many children took up the air and words. how stately, how comfortable was the melody! how fresh the youthful voices! markheim gave ear to it smilingly, as he sorted out the keys; and his mind was thronged with answerable ideas and images; church-going children and the pealing of the high organ; children afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on the brambly common, kite-flyers in the windy and cloud-navigated sky; and then, at another cadence of the hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence of summer sundays, and the high genteel voice of the parson (which he smiled a little to recall) and the painted jacobean tombs, and the dim lettering of the ten commandments in the chancel. and as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was startled to his feet. a flash of ice, a flash of fire, a bursting gush of blood went over him, and then he stood transfixed and thrilling. a step mounted the stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was laid upon the knob, and the lock clicked, and the door opened. fear held markheim in a vice. what to expect he knew not, whether the dead man walking, or the official ministers of human justice, or some chance witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the gallows. but when a face was thrust into the aperture, glanced round the room, looked at him, nodded and smiled as if in friendly recognition, and then withdrew again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke loose from his control in a hoarse cry. at the sound of this the visitant returned. "did you call me?" he asked pleasantly, and with that he entered the room and closed the door behind him. markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes. perhaps there was a film upon his sight, but the outlines of the new-comer seemed to change and waver like those of the idols in the wavering candlelight of the shop; and at times he thought he knew him; and at times he thought he bore a likeness to himself; and always, like a lump of living terror, there lay in his bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the earth and not of god. and yet the creature had a strange air of the commonplace, as he stood looking on markheim with a smile; and when he added: "you are looking for the money, i believe?" it was in the tones of everyday politeness. markheim made no answer. "i should warn you," resumed the other, "that the maid has left her sweetheart earlier than usual and will soon be here. if mr. markheim be found in this house, i need not describe to him the consequences." "you know me?" cried the murderer. the visitor smiled. "you have long been a favourite of mine," he said; "and i have long observed and often sought to help you." "what are you?" cried markheim, "the devil?" "what i may be," returned the other, "cannot affect the service i propose to render you." "it can," cried markheim; "it does! be helped by you? no, never; not by you! you do not know me yet; thank god, you do not know me!" "i know you," replied the visitant, with a sort of kind severity, or rather firmness. "i know you to the soul." "know me!" cried markheim. "who can do so? my life is but a travesty and slander on myself. i have lived to belie my nature. all men do; all men are better than this disguise, that grows about and stifles them. you see each dragged away by life, like one whom bravos have seized and muffled in a cloak. if they had their own control--if you could see their faces, they would be altogether different, they would shine out for heroes and saints! i am worse than most; myself is more overlaid; my excuse is known to me and god. but, had i the time, i could disclose myself." "to me?" inquired the visitant. "to you before all," returned the murderer. "i supposed you were intelligent. i thought--since you exist--you would prove a reader of the heart. and yet you would propose to judge me by my acts! think of it; my acts! i was born and i have lived in a land of giants; giants have dragged me by the wrists since i was born out of my mother--the giants of circumstance. and you would judge me by my acts! but can you not look within? can you not understand that evil is hateful to me? can you not see within me the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any wilful sophistry, although too often disregarded? can you not read me for a thing that surely must be common as humanity--the unwilling sinner?" "all this is very feelingly expressed," was the reply, "but it regards me not. these points of consistency are beyond my province, and i care not in the least by what compulsion you may have been dragged away, so as you are but carried in the right direction. but time flies; the servant delays, looking in the faces of the crowd and at the pictures on the hoardings, but still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is as if the gallows itself was striding towards you through the christmas streets! shall i help you; i, who know all? shall i tell you where to find the money?" "for what price?" asked markheim. "i offer you the service for a christmas gift," returned the other. markheim could not refrain from smiling with a kind of bitter triumph. "no," said he, "i will take nothing at your hands; if i were dying of thirst, and it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, i should find the courage to refuse. it may be credulous, but i will do nothing to commit myself to evil." "i have no objection to a death-bed repentance," observed the visitant. "because you disbelieve their efficacy!" markheim cried. "i do not say so," returned the other; "but i look on these things from a different side, and when the life is done my interest falls. the man has lived to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of religion, or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do, in a course of weak compliance with desire. now that he draws so near to his deliverance, he can add but one act of service--to repent, to die smiling, and thus to build up in confidence and hope the more timorous of my surviving followers. i am not so hard a master. try me. accept my help. please yourself in life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when the night begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn, i tell you, for your greater comfort, that you will find it even easy to compound your quarrel with your conscience, and to make a truckling peace with god. i came but now from such a death-bed, and the room was full of sincere mourners, listening to the man's last words: and when i looked into that face, which had been set as a flint against mercy, i found it smiling with hope." "and do you, then, suppose me such a creature?" asked markheim. "do you think i have no more generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and sin, and, at the last, sneak into heaven? my heart rises at the thought. is this, then, your experience of mankind? or is it because you find me with red hands that you presume such baseness? and is this crime of murder indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of good?" "murder is to me no special category," replied the other. "all sins are murder, even as all life is war. i behold your race, like starving mariners on a raft, plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and feeding on each other's lives. i follow sins beyond the moment of their acting; i find in all that the last consequence is death; and to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts her mother with such taking graces on a question of a ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such a murderer as yourself. do i say that i follow sins? i follow virtues also; they differ not by the thickness of a nail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel of death. evil, for which i live, consists not in action but in character. the bad man is dear to me; not the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far enough down the hurtling cataract of the ages, might yet be found more blessed than those of the rarest virtues. and it is not because you have killed a dealer, but because you are markheim, that i offer to forward your escape." "i will lay my heart open to you," answered markheim. "this crime on which you find me is my last. on my way to it i have learned many lessons; itself is a lesson, a momentous lesson. hitherto i have been driven with revolt to what i would not; i was a bond-slave to poverty, driven and scourged. there are robust virtues that can stand in these temptations; mine was not so: i had a thirst of pleasure. but to-day, and out of this deed, i pluck both warning and riches--both the power and a fresh resolve to be myself. i become in all things a free actor in the world; i begin to see myself all changed, these hands the agents of good, this heart at peace. something comes over me out of the past; something of what i have dreamed on sabbath evenings to the sound of the church organ, of what i forecast when i shed tears over noble books, or talked, an innocent child, with my mother. there lies my life; i have wandered a few years, but now i see once more my city of destination." "you are to use this money on the stock exchange, i think?" remarked the visitor; "and there, if i mistake not, you have already lost some thousands." "ah," said markheim, "but this time i have a sure thing." "this time, again, you will lose," replied the visitor quietly. "ah, but i will keep back the half!" cried markheim. "that also you will lose," said the other. the sweat started upon markheim's brow. "well, then, what matter?" he exclaimed. "say it be lost, say i am plunged again in poverty, shall one part of me, and that the worse, continue until the end to override the better? evil and good run strong in me, haling me both ways. i do not love the one thing, i love all. i can conceive great deeds, renunciations, martyrdoms; and though i be fallen to such a crime as murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. i pity the poor; who knows their trials better than myself? i pity and help them; i prize love, i love honest laughter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth but i love it from my heart. and are my vices only to direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like some passive lumber of the mind? not so; good, also, is the spring of acts." but the visitant raised his finger. "for six-and-thirty years that you have been in this world," said he, "through many changes of fortune and varieties of humour, i have watched you steadily fall. fifteen years ago you would have started at a theft. three years back you would have blenched at the name of murder. is there any crime, is there any cruelty or meanness, from which you still recoil?--five years from now i shall detect you in the fact! downward, downward lies your way; nor can anything but death avail to stop you." "it is true," markheim said huskily, "i have in some degree complied with evil. but it is so with all: the very saints, in the mere exercise of living, grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their surroundings." "i will propound to you one simple question," said the other; "and as you answer, i shall read to you your moral horoscope. you have grown in many things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and at any account, it is the same with all men. but granting that, are you in any one particular, however trifling, more difficult to please with your own conduct, or do you go in all things with a looser rein?" "in any one?" repeated markheim, with an anguish of consideration. "no," he added, with despair, "in none! i have gone down in all." "then," said the visitor, "content yourself with what you are, for you will never change; and the words of your part on this stage are irrevocably written down." markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed it was the visitor who first broke the silence. "that being so," he said, "shall i show you the money?" "and grace?" cried markheim. "have you not tried it?" returned the other. "two or three years ago, did i not see you on the platform of revival meetings, and was not your voice the loudest in the hymn?" "it is true," said markheim; "and i see clearly what remains for me by way of duty. i thank you for these lessons from my soul; my eyes are opened, and i behold myself at last for what i am." at this moment, the sharp note of the door-bell rang through the house; and the visitant, as though this were some concerted signal for which he had been waiting, changed at once in his demeanour. "the maid!" he cried. "she has returned, as i forewarned you, and there is now before you one more difficult passage. her master, you must say, is ill; you must let her in, with an assured but rather serious countenance--no smiles, no overacting, and i promise you success! once the girl within, and the door closed, the same dexterity that has already rid you of the dealer will relieve you of this last danger in your path. thenceforward you have the whole evening--the whole night, if needful--to ransack the treasures of the house and to make good your safety. this is help that comes to you with the mask of danger. up!" he cried; "up, friend; your life hangs trembling in the scales: up, and act!" markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. "if i be condemned to evil acts," he said, "there is still one door of freedom open--i can cease from action. if my life be an ill thing, i can lay it down. though i be, as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation, i can yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond the reach of all. my love of good is damned to barrenness; it may, and let it be! but i have still my hatred of evil; and from that, to your galling disappointment, you shall see that i can draw both energy and courage." the features of the visitor began to undergo a wonderful and lovely change: they brightened and softened with a tender triumph, and, even as they brightened, faded and dislimned. but markheim did not pause to watch or understand the transformation. he opened the door and went downstairs very slowly, thinking to himself. his past went soberly before him; he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous like a dream, random as chance-medley--a scene of defeat. life, as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on the farther side he perceived a quiet haven for his bark. he paused in the passage, and looked into the shop, where the candle still burned by the dead body. it was strangely silent. thoughts of the dealer swarmed into his mind, as he stood gazing. and then the bell once more broke out into impatient clamour. he confronted the maid upon the threshold with something like a smile. "you had better go for the police," said he: "i have killed your master." end of vol. viii printed by cassell and company, limited la belle sauvage, london, e.c. [illustration: straight and true it sped to its mark. the lion had already crouched for a spring when nat's missile was discharged. --page .] the motor rangers through the sierras by marvin west author of "the motor rangers' lost mine," etc. new york hurst & company publishers copyright, , by hurst & company contents chapter page i. into the sierras ii. between two fires iii. in a runaway auto iv. motor rangers to the rescue v. an appointment on the trail vi. some rascals get a scare vii. a photographer in trouble viii. lost in a petrified forest ix. the midnight alarm x. along the trail xi. treed! two hundred feet up xii. nat's lucky escape xiii. the volley in the canyon xiv. a "loonitacker" horse xv. the motor rangers' peril xvi. the horns of a dilemma xvii. in colonel morello's fortress xviii. a ride for life xix. outwitting his enemies xx. herr muller gets a chilly bath xxi. the fire in the forest xxii. a dash through the flames xxiii. the hut in the mountains xxiv. facing their foes xxv. through the flume the motor rangers through the sierras chapter i. into the sierras. "say nat, i thought that this was to be a pleasure trip?" joe hartley, the perspiration beading his round, good-natured countenance, pushed back his sombrero and looked up whimsically from the punctured tire over which he was laboring. "well, isn't half the pleasure of running an auto finding out how many things you don't know about it?" laughingly rejoined nat trevor, the eldest and most experienced of the young motor rangers, as they had come to be called. "v-v-v-variety is the s-s-spice----" sputtered our old friend william, otherwise ding-dong bell. "oh, whistle it, ding-dong," interjected joe impatiently. "_phwit!_" musically chirruped the stuttering lad. "variety is the spice of life," he concluded, his hesitating manner of speech leaving him, as usual, following the puckering of his lips and the resultant music. "that's no reason why we should be peppered with troubles," grumbled joe, giving the "jack" a vicious twist and raising the rear axle still higher. "here it is, only three days since we left santa barbara and i'm certain that i've fixed at least four punctures already." "well, you'll be a model of punctuality when----" grinned nat aggravatingly, but joe had sprung from his crouching posture and made for him threateningly. "nat trevor, if you dare to pun, i'll--i'll--bust your spark plug." "meaning my head, i suppose," taunted nat from a safe distance, namely, a rock at the side of the dusty road. "'lay on, macduff.'" "oh, i've more important things to go," concluded joe, with as much dignity as he could muster, turning once more to his tools. while he is struggling with the puncture let us look about a little and see where the motor rangers, whom we left in lower california, are now located. as readers of "the motor rangers' lost mine" know, the three bright lads with a companion, oddly named sandrock smith, had visited the sun-smitten peninsula to investigate some mysterious thefts of lumber from a dye-wood property belonging to mr. pomery, "the lumber king," nat's employer. while in that country, which they only reached after a series of exciting and sometimes dangerous incidents, they stumbled across a gold mine in which nat's father had, years before, been heavily interested. readers of that volume will also recall that hale bradford, the eastern millionaire, and his unscrupulous associates had made a lot of trouble for nat and his companions after the discovery. the exciting escape of nat in a motor boat across the waters of the gulf of california will also be called to mind, as well as the story of how matters were finally adjusted and nat became, if not a millionaire, at least a very well-to-do young man. the gift of the auto in which they were now touring was likewise explained. the splendid vehicle, with its numerous contrivances for comfortable touring, had been the present of mr. pomery to the lads, as a token of his esteem and gratitude for the conclusion to which they had brought the dishonest dealings of diego velasco, a mexican employed by mr. pomery. on their return to california proper, the lads had spent a brief time with their parents, and nat had seen his mother ensconced in a pretty house on the outskirts of santa barbara. it had been a great delight to the lady to leave the tiny cottage in which straitened circumstances following the death of nat's father, had compelled them to live. joe hartley, we know, was the son of a department store keeper of santa barbara, and ding-dong bell was the only child of a well-to-do widow. so much for our introductions. inactivity had soon palled on the active minds of the motor rangers, and they had, with the consent of their parents, planned another trip. this time, however, it was to be for pleasure. as nat had said, "we had enough adventures in lower california to last us a lifetime." but of what lay ahead of them not one of the boys dreamed, when, three days before, they had started from santa barbara for a tour of the sierras. nat was desirous of showing that it was feasible to hunt and fish and tour the mountains in an automobile just as well as on horseback. the car, therefore, carried rifles and shot guns as well as fishing rods and paraphernalia for camping. we shall not give an inventory of it now. suffice it to say that it was completely outfitted, and as the details of the car itself have been told in the previous volume we shall content ourselves with introducing each as occasion arises. the particular puncture which joe was repairing when this volume opens, occurred just as the lads were bowling over a rather rough road into antelope valley, a narrow, wind-swept canyon between two steep ranges of mountains. the valley is in the heart of the sierras, and though too insignificant to be noted on any but the largest maps, forms a portion of the range well known to mountaineers. it is a few miles from the tehachapi pass, at which, geographers are agreed, the true sierra nevadas begin. "say, fellows," exclaimed nat suddenly, looking about him at the sky which from being slightly overcast had now become black and threatening, "we're going to have a storm of some sort. if you're ready there, joe, we'll be jogging along. we ought to be under shelter when it hits." "yes," agreed joe, wiping his brow with the back of his hand, "it will go whooping through this narrow valley like the mischief." as he spoke he lowered the "jack," and put the finishing touches on his repair. the auto carried plenty of extra tires, but naturally the boys wished to be sparing of their new ones while the others offered an opportunity for a patch. as the first heavy rain drops fell, sending up little spurts of dust from the dry road and the dusty chaparral bordering it, nat started the motor, and the car was soon whizzing forward at a good speed. thanks to its finely-tempered springs and the shock absorbers with which it was equipped, the roughness of the road had little effect on the comfort of the riders. "this is going to be a hummer," shouted joe suddenly, "we'd better get up the shelter hood." nat agreed, and soon the contrivance referred to, which was like a low "top" of waterproof khaki, was stretched on its collapsible frames. it fitted all round the auto, enclosing it like a snug waterproof tent. in front was a window of mica through which the driver could see the road. the erection of the shelter took but a few seconds and presently the car was once more chugging forward. but as the storm increased in violence, the wind rose, till it fairly screamed through the narrow funnel of the rocky-walled valley. through his window nat could see trees being bent as if they were buggy whips. "if this gets much worse we'll have to find cover," he thought, "or else lose our shelter hood." he glanced apprehensively at the steel supports of the shelter, which were bending and bowing under the stress put upon them. as nat had remarked to himself, they would not stand much more pressure. "say, the rain is coming in here," began joe suddenly, as a tiny trickle began to pour into the tonneau. it came through a crack in the khaki top which had been wrenched apart by the violence of the wind. "it's g-g-g-gone d-d-d-own the bab-b-b-back of my n-n-n-neck," sputtered ding-dong bell protestingly. "never mind, ding-dong," comforted joe, "maybe it will wash your parts of speech out straight." "i'm going to head for that cave yonder," exclaimed nat, after running a few more minutes. he had spied a dark opening in the rocks to his right, while the others had been talking, and had guessed that it was the mouth of a cave of some sort. and so it proved. the auto was turned off the road, or rather track, and after bumping over rocks and brush rolled into the shelter of the cavern. it seemed quite an abrupt change from the warring of the elements outside to the darkness and quiet of the chamber in the rocks, and the motor rangers lost no time in lowering the hood and looking about to find out in what sort of a place they had landed. so far as they could see, after they had all climbed out of the car, the cave was a large one. it ran back and its limits were lost in darkness. the mouth, however, was quite a big opening, being more than twenty feet across at the base. it narrowed into a sharp-topped arch at the summit, from which greenery hung down. "let's see where we are," remarked nat, taking off his heavy driving gloves and throwing them upon the driver's seat. "you'd have to be a cat to do that," laughed joe hartley, gazing back into the dense blackness of the cavern. "that's soon fixed," added nat, and removing one of the lights of the car from its socket he pressed a little button. a sharp click resulted, and a flood of brilliant white radiance poured from the lamp. it was an improved carbide contrivance, the illuminant which made the gas being carried in its socket. the boy turned its rays backward into the cave, flooding the rough, rocky walls, stained here and there with patches of dampness and moss, with a blaze of light. "say," cried joe suddenly, as the rays fell far back into the cave but still did not seem to reach its terminus, "what is that back there?" as he spoke he seized nat's sleeve in a nervous, alarmed way. "what?" demanded nat, holding the light high above his head in his effort to pierce the uttermost shadows. "why that--don't you see it?" cried joe. "i do now," exclaimed nat in a startled voice, "it's----" "t-t-t-two g-g-glaring eyes!" fizzed ding-dong bell. as he spoke, from behind the boys, came a low, menacing growl. they faced about abruptly to see what this new source of alarm might be. as they all turned in the direction from which the growl had proceeded--namely the mouth of the cave--a cry of dismay was forced from the lips of the three lads. stealthily approaching them, with cat-like caution, was a low, long-bodied animal of a tawny color. its black-tipped tail was lashing the ground angrily, and its two immense eyes were glaring with a green light, in the gloom of the cave. "a mountain lion!" cried nat, recognizing their treacherous foe in an instant. "and its mate's back there in the cave," called joe, still more alarmedly. "g-g-g-g-get the g-g-g-guns!" sputtered ding-dong. this was far more easy to recommend than to accomplish, however. the lads, never dreaming that they would want their weapons, had left them in the automobile. the car, as will be recalled, had been left near the mouth of the cave. the mountain lion advancing toward them had already passed the auto and was now between them and the place in which their weapons were reposing. the mountain lion, or cougar, ordinarily not dangerous unless it gets its foe at an absolute disadvantage, becomes, during the mating season, a vindictive, savage brute, if separated from its mate. that this was now the case was evident. there was no room to doubt that the two green eyes glaring from the remote blackness of the cave were the optics of another "lion." the young motor rangers were fairly trapped. without weapons or any means of protecting themselves but their bare hands, they were in imminent peril of a nasty conclusion to their sudden encounter. chapter ii. between two fires. snarling in very much the manner of an angry cat, the lion, which had appeared at the mouth of the cave, began to come forward more rapidly. at the same instant, as if by mutual consent, his mate started to advance from the rear of the cave. it was evident that if they did not wish to be seriously injured, perhaps killed, the motor rangers would have to act, and act quickly. but what were they to do? nat it was who solved the question. the floor of the cave was littered with boulders of various sizes, ranging from stones of a pound or so in weight, up to huge rocks beyond a boy's power to lift. stooping down swiftly nat selected a stone a little larger than a baseball, and then throwing himself into a pitching posture, awaited the oncoming cougar, approaching from the cave mouth. the boy had been the best pitcher the santa barbara academy had ever produced, and his companions saw in a flash that he meant to exercise his skill now in a way of which he had little dreamed when on the diamond. his hand described an evolution in the air, far too quick to be followed by the eye. the next instant the stone left his grasp, and swished through the atmosphere. straight and true it sped to its mark. and it struck home none too quick. the lion had already crouched for a spring on the defenseless lads, who stood between himself and his mate, when nat's missile was discharged. crack! the sharp noise of the stone's impact with the skull of the crouching feline sounded like a rifle shot. "bull's-eye!" yelled joe excitedly. and bull's-eye it was. the rock had a sharp edge which nat, in his haste, had not noticed. as it struck the lion's head it did so with the keen surface foremost. like a knife it drove its way into the skull and the lion, with a howl of pain and fury, turned, stumbled forward a few paces, and then rolled over. before the others could stop him, ding-dong bell, entirely forgetting the other lion, dashed forward to examine the fallen monster. the result of his action was that his career came very near being terminated then and there. the cougar had only been stunned, and as the stuttering boy gave one of its ears a tug, it leaped erect once more and struck a blow at him with its chisel-like claws that would have torn him badly had they struck. but ding-dong, though deliberate in his speech, was quick in action. he leaped backward like an acrobat, as he saw the mighty muscles tauten for action, and so escaped being felled by the blow. he could feel it "swish" past his nose, however, and entirely too close to be pleasant. in the meantime, nat, realizing that his best move would be to get to their arms, had made a flying leap for the auto and seized an automatic rifle of heavy calibre. as ding-dong leaped back he aimed and fired, but in the darkness he missed, and with a mighty bound the wounded cougar leaped out of the cave and dashed off through the storm into the brush on the hillside above. "one!" exclaimed nat, like monte cristo in the play. the others gave a low laugh. they could afford not to worry so much now. true, there was one of the cougars still back in the cave, but with their rifles in their hands the lads had little to fear. "i felt for a minute, though, like i did that time the mexican devil sprang on me near the gulf village," said nat, recalling one of his most perilous moments in lower california. but there was little time for conversation. nat had hardly uttered his last remark before the cougar at the rear of the cave began to give signs that it too was meditating an attack. there are few animals that will not fight desperately when cornered, even a rat making a formidable foe sometimes under such conditions, and cornered the cougar unquestionably was. "she's coming," warned joe in a low voice, as a rumbling growl resounded above the roar of the storm outside. "l-l-let her c-c-come," sputtered ding-dong defiantly. "better climb into the car, boys," said nat in a whispered tone, "we can get better aim from an elevation." accordingly they clambered into the tonneau of the motor vehicle, and kneeling on the seat awaited the onslaught which they knew must come in a few seconds. "i've half a mind to let her go, if we can without putting ourselves in danger," said nat, "it doesn't seem fair somehow to shoot down a poor brute in cold blood." "but that poor brute would attack you without hesitation if you lay injured on a trail," joe reminded him; "these cougars, too, kill hundreds of sheep and young calves, just for the sheer love of killing, for half of what they kill they never touch." "that's right," agreed nat, "still fair play is a jewel, and----" further words were taken out of his mouth by something that occurred just at that instant, and settled the fate of the cougar then and there. ding-dong bell, whose unlucky day it seemed to be, had, in his excitement, been leaning far over the back of the tonneau, peering into the darkness at the rear of the cave. he was trying to detect the shadowy outlines of the cougar. a few seconds before joe hartley had said:-- "look out, ding-dong, or you'll go overboard." the stuttering youth's reply had been a scornful snicker. but now, however, he craned his neck just a bit too far. his upper quarters over-balanced his stumpy legs and body, and with a howl that rivalled the cougar's, he toppled clean over the edge of the tonneau. the floor of the cave sloped steeply toward the rear, and when ding-dong struck it he did not stop. instead, the momentum lent him by his fall appeared to propel him forward down the sloping floor. he yelled for help as he felt himself rapidly and involuntarily being borne toward the hidden cougar. by some mysterious combination of misfortune, too, the carbide in the lamp, which had not been renewed since they left santa barbara, gave out with a flicker and a fizz at this moment. the cave was plunged into almost total darkness. nat's heart came into his throat as he realized that if the cougar was not killed within the next few seconds, ding-dong's life might pay the forfeit. "good gracious!" shouted joe above poor ding-dong's cries, "how are we going to see to shoot?" "aim at the eyes," grated out nat earnestly, "it's our only chance." as he spoke there came an angry snarl and a hissing snort. it mingled with a shout of alarm from ding-dong, who had now stopped rolling, but was not yet on his feet. the she-cougar had seen his peril and had taken the opportunity to bring down at least one of her enemies. straight up, as if impelled by a powerful steel spring, she shot. but even as she was in mid-spring two rifles cracked, and with a convulsive struggle the great tawny body fell with a thud to the floor of the cave, clawing and scratching and uttering piercing roars and cries. "put her out of her misery," said nat, as ding-dong, having regained his feet, darted at the top of his speed for the mouth of the cave. once more the rifles blazed away at the two green points of fire which marked the wounded cougar's eyes. this time dead silence followed the reports, which reverberated deafeningly in the confines of the cave. there was no doubt but that the animal was dead. but where was ding-dong? his companion motor rangers looked anxiously about them, but could see nothing of him. in the excitement they had not noticed him dart by. presently, however, a slight noise near the cave month attracted their attention. there was ding-dong out in the rain, and drenched to the skin, peering into the cave. "c-a-can i c-c-c-come in?" he asked hesitatingly. "yes, and hurry up, too," ordered nat in as stern a voice as he could command. "your first duty," he went on, "will be to dig down in the clothes chest and put on dry things. then you will refill the lamps with carbide, which you ought to have done two days ago, and after that you may patch up the tear the wind made in our shelter hood." "and--phwit--after that?" inquired ding-dong with so serious an aspect that they had to laugh. "i'll think up something to keep you out of mischief," said nat finally. while ding-dong set about his tasks after investing himself in dry clothes, the others skinned the cougar and kindled a fire with some driftwood that lay about the cave. hot coffee was then brewed, and some of the stores opened. after imbibing several cups of the steaming mixture, and eating numerous slices of bread and butter, the motor rangers felt better. by this time, too, the storm had almost passed over, only a slight drizzle remaining to tell of the visit of the mountain tempest. an investigation of the cave failed to show any trace of a regular den in it, and the boys came to the conclusion, which was probably correct, that the cougars had merely taken to it for shelter from the storm. however that was, all three of them felt that they had had a mighty narrow escape. ding-dong inwardly resolved that from that time on he would take care to have the lamps packed with carbide, for nat's relation of how nearly the sudden cessation of the light had cost him his life gave the stuttering youth many qualms. "i guess the storm is about over," said joe, looking out of the cave while holding a tin cup of coffee in his hand. "i see enough blue sky to m-m-m-make a pair of pants for every s-s-s-s-sailor in the navy," remarked ding-dong, who had joined him. "that's a sure sign of clearer weather," said nat, "come on, boys, pack up the cups and get the car ready and we'll go ahead." "where are we going to stop to-night?" asked joe. "i guess we can't be many miles from lariat, can we?" "i'll see," rejoined nat, diving into his breast pocket and pulling out a map stoutly mounted on tough linen to prevent tearing. he pored over it for a moment. "the map puts lariat about fifteen miles from here," he said. "what sort of a p-p-p-lace is it?" ding-dong wished to know. "a small post-office station," rejoined nat. "i don't imagine that there is even a hotel there." ding-dong, who didn't object to the luxuries of life, sighed. somehow, he had been looking forward to stopping at a hotel that night. he said nothing, however, well knowing how his complaints would be received. the auto was soon moving out of the cave in which they had had so exciting an encounter. nat was at the wheel and his two companions in the tonneau. the faces of all were as beaming as the weather had now turned out. these boys dearly loved the sensation of taking to the road and proceeding on into the unknown and adventurous. the rough strip separating the road, as we must in courtesy call it, from the steep rock-face in which the cave lay, was speedily traversed and the auto's nose headed north. for some time they bowled along at a slow speed, the track growing rapidly rougher and rougher, till it seemed that nothing on wheels could get over it. "what's the m-m-m-matter?" asked ding-dong suddenly of joe hartley, who for a bumpy mile or two had sat with his head cocked on one side as if listening intently for something. "i'm listening for a puncture," grinned joe, resuming his posture of attention. as the road grew rougher the walls of the valley began to close in. they grew more lofty as the pass grew narrower, till only a thin strip of blue sky showed at the summit. the rugged slopes were clothed with a sparse growth of pine timber and chaparral. immense faces of rock cropped out among these. the whole scene had a wild and savage aspect. suddenly they reached a spot where the road took an abrupt dip downward. from the summit the descent looked as steep as the wall of a house. fortunately, they carried an emergency brake, so that the steepness of the declivity did not alarm them. without hesitating nat allowed the car to roll over the summit and begin the drop. the exhilaration of the rapid motion made him delay applying his emergency just as soon as he should have, and the car had been running at considerable speed when there came a sudden shout from joe:-- "look, nat! look!" the boy, who had been adjusting his spark lever, looked up suddenly. they were just rounding a curve, beyond which the road pitched down more steeply than ever. at the bottom of the long hill stood an obstacle. nat at a glance made it out as a stage coach of the old-fashioned "thorough-brace type." it was stationary, however, and its passengers stood about it in scattered groups, while, so far as nat could see, no horses were attached to it. "better go slow. there seems to be something the matter down there at the bottom of the grade," the boy remarked. at the same instant his hand sought the emergency brake lever and he pushed it forward. there was a loud crack as he did so, and an alarmed look flashed across his face as the lever suddenly felt "loose" in his hand. the car seemed to give an abrupt leap forward and plunge on more swiftly than ever. below him nat could see the scattered figures pointing upward excitedly. he waved and yelled to warn them that he had no control over the car which was tearing forward with the speed of the wind. the ordinary brake had no effect on it under the speed it had now gathered. lurching and plunging like a ship at sea, it rushed onward. directly in its path, immovable as a rock, was the stage coach. all three of the motor rangers' bronzed, sunburned faces blanched as they rushed onward to what seemed inevitable disaster. chapter iii. in a runaway auto. "can't you stop her?" gasped joe, clutching the forward portion of the tonneau and gripping it so tight that his knuckles went white. nat shook his head. he felt that he had done what he could to slow down the car. there was nothing left now but to face the end as resolutely as possible. as long as they lived the motor rangers never forgot that wild ride down the mountainside in a runaway car. the speed can be described by no other word than terrific. the handkerchiefs all three of the boys wore about their necks to keep off sunstroke and dust streaked out behind as stiff as if cut out of tin. their hair was blown back flat on their heads by the speed, and every now and then the car would strike a rock, which at the speed it was going would throw it high into the air. at such moments the auto would come back to the trail with a crash that threatened to dislocate every spring in its composition. but nat, his eyes glued to the path in front of him, clung to the wheel, gripping it till the varnish stuck to his palms. he knew that the slightest mistake on his part might precipitate the seemingly certain disaster. suddenly, however, his heart gave a glad bound. he saw before him one loophole of escape from a catastrophe. the stage was halted against the rocky wall on the right-hand side of the trail. so far over toward the rocky wall was it, in fact, that its hubs almost scraped it. this left a narrow space between its left-hand wheels and the other wall of the pass. true, it looked so narrow that it hardly seemed possible that the auto could dash through, but it was the only chance that presented itself, and nat was quick to take advantage of it. as they saw what the boy intended to do the onlookers about the stage broke into a cheer, which was quickly checked as they held their breath in anticipation. it was one chance in a thousand that nat was taking. would he win out? closer thundered the auto while the alarmed stage passengers crowded to the far side of the pass. nat, his eyes glued on the narrow space between the stage and the wall of rock, bent low over the wheel. his heart underwent a terrible sinking sensation as it grew closer and he saw how narrow the space was. but he didn't give up on that account. on the contrary, the extremely narrow margin of hope acted as a tonic on his nerves. as a naval gunner aims his big projectiles so nat aimed the thundering runaway automobile for the narrow opening between the stage and the cliff. almost before he realized it he was there. there was a quick flash of a brightly painted vehicle and white, anxious human faces as he shot by the stage and its dismounted passengers. an ominous scraping sound was audible for an instant as the hubs of the stage and the auto's tonneau came in contact. to the left, nat felt the scrub growing in the cracks of the rock brush his face, and then, amidst a shout of joy from behind, the auto emerged beyond the stage, unharmed save for a few scratches. as nat brought it to a standstill on the level, the travellers came running up at top speed. all were anxious to shake the hand of the daring boy who had turned seeming disaster into safety by his grit and cool-headedness. "pod'ner, you jammed that thar gas brigantine through that lilly hole like you wos makin' a poket at bill-yards," admiringly cried a tall man in a long linen duster and sombrero, about whose throat was a red handkerchief. he grasped nat's hand and wrung it as if he would have shaken it off. "my name's cal gifford. i'm the driver of the lariat-to-hombre stage," he announced, "and any of you kids kin ride free with me any time you've a mind to." "thank you," said nat, still a bit trembly from his nervous strain, "i really believe that if you only had horses we'd accept your invitation and tow the auto behind." as he spoke he started to scramble out of the car, the others following his example. the motor rangers were anxious to see what had gone wrong with their ordinarily trustworthy vehicle. "oh, he's quite young," simpered an elderly lady in a big veil, who was accompanied by her daughter, a girl of about twenty. an old man with fierce white whiskers stood beside them. they were evidently tourists. so, too, was a short, stout, blonde little man as rotund as a cider keg, who stepped up to the boys as they prepared to examine their car. "holt, plez!" he said in an authoritative voice. "i vish to take zee phitograft." nat looked somewhat astonished at so curt an order, but the other two motor rangers merely grinned. "better let him, pod'ner," suggested cal gifford. "he took them road agents a while back. caught 'em in the act of sneaking the express box." "chess!" sputtered the little german. "i gedt find pigdures of all of dem. dey vossn't looking andt i--click!" as he spoke he rapidly produced a camera, and before the boys knew what was happening he had pressed a little lever, and behold they were "taken." but, in fact, their minds had been busy with something else. this something was what the stage driver had referred to. "road agents?" asked nat. "you've been held up, then?" "yep, pod'ner, that's what it amounts to," drawled cal nonchalantly, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "the varmints stepped out frum behind that thar rock and we didn't hev time ter say 'knife' afore we found ourselves lookin' inter the muzzles of as complete a collection of rifles as you ever saw." "un dey tooked avay der horses by der oudtside," put in the german tourist. "oh, i schall have me fine tales to tell ven i get me pack by der faderland." "the dutchman's right," said cal. "the onnery skunks unhitched our plugs and scampered 'em off up the trail. i reckon they're in their barn at lariat by this time." "oh, dear, and we'll have to walk," cried the young lady, bursting into tears. "and i haf vot you call it, a oatmeal?--py my pig toe," protested the german. "i guess you mean a corn, dutchy," laughed cal. "vell, i knowed it vos some kindt of cereal," was the reply. "seems a shame to see that purty critter cry, don't it?" said cal, nodding his head sidewise toward the weeping young lady. "this is an outrage! an outrage, i say!" her white-whiskered father began shouting. "why were those highwaymen not shot down? why didn't somebody act?" "well, pod'ner, you acted up fer sure," grinned cal. "am i mistaken or did i hear you say you'd give 'em five thousand dollars for your life?" "bah!" shouted the white-whiskered man. "it was your duty sure to protect us. you should have fired at them." "i'd hev bin a hull lot uv use to yer then, except fer funeral poposes, wouldn't i?" inquired cal calmly. "bah! sir, bah!" sputtered the angry old gentleman. "good thing ther h'aint no mounting lions 'round," drawled cal. "they might think we wuz an outfit of sheepmen by all the bah-bahing we be doin'." "but how is my daughter to get to lariat, sir?" begged the elderly lady. "she hurt her foot in getting off the stage." "well, ma'am," said cal, "supposing yer man yonder takes a try at carryin' her instead of wasting wind a-bahing?" "voss iss diss bah? maybe i get a picture of him?" asked the german, bustling up excitedly with his camera all ready for business. "oh, sir, my husband was excited. he didn't know what he was saying," exclaimed the elderly lady clasping her hands. "there, ma'am, don't take on. i was only a-having my bit of fun," said cal. "maybe when these boys get their gasoline catamarang fixed up they'll give us a ride." "but they cannot take all of us, sir," cried the lady, beginning to weep afresh. "there, there, ma'am, never mind ther irrigation--i mean 'weep not them tears,'" comforted cal. "anyhow, you and your daughter can get a ride." "but my husband--my poor husband, sir." cal turned with a grin at a sudden noise behind them. the white-whiskered man had now turned his wrath on the unfortunate german. "out of my sight, you impudent teuton," he was shouting. "don't aggravate me, sir, or i'll have your blood. i'm a peaceable tourist, sir, but i have fought and bled in my time." "must hev bin bit by a mosquito and chased it," commented cal to himself as the lady hastened to console her raging better half, and the little dutchman skipped nimbly out of harm's way. "what yo' bin a-doing to ther ole bell-wether, dutchy?" inquired cal. "i ask him if he blease tell me vere i can get a picture of dot bah, und he get madt right avay quvick," explained the teuton. while all this had been going on among the tourists and cal, the other passengers, mainly mountaineers, had stood in a group aside talking among themselves. in the meanwhile, the motor rangers had been examining the damage to their car. they found that the connecting rod working the band of the emergency brake had snapped, and that a blacksmith would be needed to weld it. cal, who had strolled up in time to hear this decision, informed them that there was a blacksmith at lariat. "and a good 'un, too," he volunteered. the stage driver then made a request for a ride on behalf of the young lady and her parents. "me and the dutchman and the rest kin hoof it," he remarked. "it ain't above five mile, and down grade, too." "a steep grade?" asked nat, with some appearance of interest as joe finished unbolting the loose ends of the broken rod. "no, jest gentle. it runs on 'bout this way all down into lariat." "well, then," said nat, with a smile, "i'll save you all the trouble of walking." "how's that, pod'ner? we kain't all pile in the hold of that benzine buggy." "no; but i can give you a tow." "what, hitch my stage on ahind your oleomargerinerous gas cart?" "that's it." "by the big peak of mount whitney, that's an idee!" exclaimed the delighted stage driver, capering about and snapping his fingers like a big child. "wait a jiffy, i'll explain it all to bah-bah and the rest." this was soon done, and the motor rangers in the interval attached a rope to the rear axle of the car and in turn made it fast to the front of the stage. the pole of the latter vehicle was then led over the tonneau of the auto and joe and ding-dong deputed to steer. from the driver's box of the stage cal worked the brake. an experimental run of a few yards was made, and on the gentle grade the plan was found to work perfectly, the auto towing the heavy stage without difficulty. "now, then, all aboard the stagemotebubble!" shouted cal, and a few minutes later all the passengers, delighted with the novelty of the experience, had piled on board. all delighted, that is, except the white-whiskered man. "all aboard that's a-goin' ter get thar!" bellowed cal, fixing him with a baleful eye. "bah! bah!" sputtered the white-whiskered one indignantly, nevertheless skipping nimbly on beside his wife and daughter. but there came a fresh delay. "holt on, blease! vait! i vish a photegrift to take him!" "ef yer don't hurry up dutchy," shouted cal, "you'll hev a picter of yerself a-walking inter lariat." but the photo was taken without delay, and amid a cheer from her overjoyed passengers, the stage, which moved by such novel means, rumbled onward on its way to lariat. chapter iv. motor rangers to the rescue. "that came pretty near being like the time we collided with the hay wagon in lower california," commented joe, as the auto got under way, with her cumbersome tow rattling along behind. "yes, only this time we didn't hit," laughed nat, who had quite recovered from the strain of those terrible moments when it seemed that they must go crashing into the stage. "a m-m-m-miss is as g-g-g-good as a m-m-m-mile any day," said ding-dong, as his contribution to the conversation. as cal gifford had said, the road was a gentle gradient between steep mountain ranges. consequently, the towing of the coach was an easy matter. the two boys in the tonneau steered it by giving the pole a push or a tug as occasion required--much as they would have handled the tiller of a boat. when the stage showed signs of coming ahead too fast cal shoved the foot brake forward, at once checking the impetus. quite a small crowd turned out to witness the strange scene as the two vehicles rolled into lariat. the place was a typical western mountain station. there was a small post-office, two or three rough houses and a hotel. in the heydey of gold mining, lariat had been quite a flourishing place, but the hand of decay was upon it at the present time. the hotel, however, was, as ding-dong noticed, apparently open for business. at least several loungers arose from their chairs on the porch, and came forward with exclamations of surprise, as the two conveyances lumbered into town. nat shut off power in front of the post-office and at the same time cal applied and locked the brakes, bringing the stage likewise to a standstill. the postmaster, a long, lanky westerner, with a much-patched pair of trousers tucked into boot tops, was already out in front of his little domain. "ther horses be back in ther barn," he volunteered, as cal looked at him questioningly. "they come galloping in here like a blue streak an hour ago." "yep, bin held up again," cal volunteered as the crowd gathered about the stage, "and ef it hadn't been for these bubble boys here we wouldn't hev got inter town yit." "take everything, cal?" asked the postmaster. "yep; stock, lock and barrel, as the feller says. left us our vallibles, though. i reckon they would have taken them if it hadn't bin for the noise this here gasolene giglet made as it come over ther hill. thet scared 'em, and they galloped off, takin' ther plugs with 'em." "consarn 'em! i reckon they're some of col. merced morello's gang. they've bin active hereabouts lately. jes heard afore you come in thet they'd raided a ranch up north an' tuk two hundred head of stock." "outrageous! outrageous!" exclaimed the white-whiskered man, who had been listening with an angry, red countenance, "why does not some one capture them?" "well, sir," rejoined the postmaster, "if you kin tell us whar ter find 'em we'll furnish ther men to smoke 'em out. but up to date no one ain't bin able ter git a glimpse of 'em. they jes' swoop down and then vanish ag'in." "they've got some hidin' place off in the mountins," opined cal; "but you can bet that the old colonel's foxy enough ter keep it close, wherever it is." "betcher life," said one or two in the crowd who had heard. while this had been going on the motor rangers had been hard at work unhitching their car from the stage. in this operation they had been considerably bothered by the crowd which, never having seen an auto before, elbowed right up and indulged in comment and investigation. ding-dong caught one bewhiskered old fellow in the very act of abstracting a spark plug. the boy promptly switched on the current and the investigator, with a wild yell, hopped backward into the crowd, wringing his hand. "the critter bit me," he explained to the crowd. such was his explanation of the sharp electric shock he had received. the proprietor of the hotel now hastened up, and began urging the passengers on the stage to stay the night in his hotel. another stage went on from lariat, and after a run of sixty miles struck the railroad in the valley. this stage was to start in half an hour. after a hasty meal the white-whiskered man and his family, and several of the other passengers, decided to continue their journey. the boys, however, after a consultation, came to the determination to spend the night at lariat. their first care had been to hunt up the blacksmith cal had referred to, and to give into his hands the connecting rod. he promised to have it welded as good as new by morning. this arranged, the boys sauntered back to the hotel just in time to watch the other stage pull out. on a rear seat sat the white-whiskered man. he was still boiling, despite the fact that the robbers had not harmed him or his family in any way. in fact, he occasionally simmered over. the last the boys saw of him he had gotten hold of a fat, good-natured little man, who looked like a drummer, and they could hear frequent exclamations of "bah!" coming back toward them, like the explosions of a rapid-fire gun. a moment later the stage vanished behind a rocky turn in the road. soon after the boys were called in to supper. among the company at the meal was a tall man with a black mustache drooping down each side of his mouth in typical western fashion. "he looks like the pictures of alkali ike," remarked joe in an undertone as they concluded the meal and arose, leaving the black-mustached man and the others still eating. outside they found it was a beautiful night. the storm of the afternoon had laid the dust, and the moon was rising brilliantly in the clear and sharp atmosphere peculiar to the high regions of the sierras. in the silvery radiance every rock and bush was outlined sharply. the road lay between black curtains of mountainside, like a stretch of white ribbon. "let's go for a stroll," suggested nat, as they stood about on the veranda wondering what they could do with themselves till bedtime. the other two were nothing loath, and so, without bothering to say a word to any one, the lads sauntered off down the road. the balmy scent of pines and the mountain laurel hung heavily in the air. nat inhaled it delightedly. "i tell you, fellows, this is living," he exclaimed. "you bet," agreed joe heartily. "t-t-t-that p-p-pie was f-f-fine," said the unpoetical ding-dong, smacking his lips at the recollection of the dessert. "there you go," said nat in mock disgust, "always harping on eating." "t-th-that's b-b-better-phwit--than eating on harpoons, isn't it?" asked ding-dong, with a look of injured innocence. "i said harping on eating. not harpoons on eating," retorted nat. "oh," said ding-dong. "well, don't wail about it." "say, if you make any more puns i'll chuck you down into that canyon," threatened joe, pointing downward into a black abyss which, at the portion of the road they had now reached, yawned to one side of the thoroughfare. "you make me chuckle," grunted the incorrigible ding-dong, avoiding the threatened fate, however, by clambering and hiding behind a madrone tree. "tell you what i'll do," cried nat suddenly. "well, what?" demanded joe, as nat stopped short. "i'll run you fellows a race to the bottom of the hill." "you're on," cried ding-dong from his retreat, and emerging immediately thereafter, "don't bust your emergency brake though, or we'll have more trouble." he peered ahead down the moonlit canyon, and noted that the road was quite steep for a distance of about a quarter of a mile. the boys were all good runners and experts, in fact, at all branches of athletics. their blood fairly tingled as nat lined them up and they stood awaiting the word "go." at last it came. like arrows from so many bows the three boys shot forward, ding-dong in the lead. how his stubby legs did move! like pistons in their speed and activity. there was no question about it, ding-dong could run. five feet or so behind him came joe and at his rear was nat, who, knowing that he was ordinarily a faster runner than either, had handicapped himself a bit. he speedily overhauled the others, however, although ding-dong gave him a stiff tussle. reaching the finishing line, nat looked back up the moonlit road. ding-dong and joe were speeding toward him neck and neck. "go it, ding-dong!" yelled nat, "come on, joe." in a cloud of dust and small rocks the two contestants rushed on. suddenly one of ding-dong's feet caught in a rock, and at the impetus he had attained, the sudden shock caused him to soar upward into the air, as if he were about to essay a flight through space. extending his arms spread-eagle fashion, the fleshy, stuttering youth floundered above the ground for a brief second, and then, as joe dashed across the line he came down with a resounding crash. flat on his face he fell in the middle of the dusty road. "pick him up," exclaimed nat as he saw the catastrophe. joe, who had by this time checked his speed, headed about after nat, and started for the recumbent ding-dong. as they neared his side, however, the lad jumped up with a grin on his rotund features. "fooled you, didn't i?" he chuckled. "goo--d gracious. i thought you had fractured every bone in your body," exclaimed nat. "can't hurt me; i'm made of cast-iron," snickered ding-dong. "i always knew that applied to your head," said joe, determined to tease the boy a bit in revenge for the fright he had given them, "but i never realized before that the complaint had spread all over you." "i'd have won the race anyhow if i hadn't taken that tumble," retorted ding-dong, and as this seemed to be no more than the truth the others had nothing to say in rejoinder. "i guess we had better be getting back to the hotel," said nat, "we want to get an early start to-morrow, so a good night's sleep will be in order." but the words were hardly out of his mouth before he stopped short. the boy had heard voices, apparently coming from the air above them. he soon realized, however, that in reality the speakers were on the mountain-side above them. in fact, he now saw that a trail cut into the road above the point at which they stood. in their dash down the hill they had not noticed it. the other lads, who had also heard the voices, needed no comment to remain quiet. while they stood listening a figure appeared on the trail, walking rapidly down it. as the newcomer drew closer the boys recognized the features and tall, ungainly outline of the man with the black mustache--"alkali ike." he came forward as if with a definite purpose in mind. evidently, he was not, like the boys, out for a moonlight stroll. as he approached he stopped and listened intently. then he gave a low, peculiar whistle. it was like the call of a night bird. instantly, from the hill-side above them they heard the signal--for such it seemed--replied to. at the same instant whoever was on the hillside above began to advance downward. the boys, crouching back in a patch of shadow behind a chaparral clump, could hear the slipping and sliding of their horses' hoofs as they came down the rocky pathway. chapter v. an appointment on the trail. "something's up," whispered joe, as if this fact was not perfectly obvious. "hush," warned nat, "that fellow who just came down the trail is the chap we noticed at supper." "alkali ike?" "yes. that's what you called him." "he must have a date here." "looks that way. if i don't miss my guess he's here to meet whoever is coming on horseback down that trail." "are you going to stay right here?" "we might as well. i've got an idea somehow that these chaps are up to some mischief. it doesn't look just right for them to be meeting way off here." "that's right," agreed joe, "but supposing they are desperate characters. they may make trouble for us." "i guess not," rejoined nat, "we're well hidden in the shadow here. there's not a chance of their seeing us." "well i hope not." but the arrival of the horsemen on the trail put a stop to further conversation right then. there were two of them, both, so far as the boys could see, big, heavy men, mounted on active little ponies. their long tapaderos, or leather stirrup coverings, almost touched the ground as they rode. "hello, al," exclaimed one of them, as the black mustached man came forward to meet them. "hello, boys," was the rejoinder in an easy tone as if the speaker had no fear of being overheard, "well, you pulled it off i see." "yes, and we'd have got more than the express box too if it hadn't been for the allfiredest noise you ever heard at the top of the trail all of a sudden. it came just as we was about ter go through ther pockets of the passengers. sounded like a boiler factory or suthin'. i tell you we lit out in a hurry." the speaker was one of the pony riders. as he spoke nat gave joe a nudge and the other replied with a look of understanding. the men who stood talking not a score of paces from them had taken part in the stage-robbery. the man on foot seemed immensely amused at the mention of the "terrible noise" his companions said they had been alarmed by. "why, that was an automobubble," he laughed. "a bubble!" exclaimed one of the others, "what in the name of the snow-covered e-tarnal hills is one of them coal oil buckboards doin' in this neck of ther woods?" "why, three kids are running it on a pleasure trip. the motor rangers, or some such fool name, they call theirselves. they hitched the bubble on ter ther stage and towed her inter town as nice as you please." "did you say they called theirselves the motor rangers?" asked the other mounted man who up to this time had not spoken. "that's right, why?" "one of 'em a fat, foolish lookin' kid what can't talk straight?" asked the other instead of replying. nat nudged ding-dong and chuckled, in imminent danger of exposing their hiding place. it tickled him immensely to hear that youth described in such an unflattering manner. "why yep. there is a sort of chumpish kid with 'em. for the matter of that all three of 'em are stuck up, psalm singin' sort of kids. don't drink nor smoke nor nuthin'." "true for you. we're not so foolish," breathed nat to joe. "why are you so anxious about 'em, dayton?" asked the other rider who had remained silent while his comrade was making the recorded inquiries. "cos i know 'em and i've got some old scores to even up with them," was the rejoinder. "do you remember what i told you about some kids fooling us all down in lower california?" "yep. what of it?" "well, this is the same bunch. i'm sure of it." "the dickens you say. do they travel with much money about them?" it was the black-mustached man who was interested now. "i don't know about that. but their bubble is worth about $ , and one of them has a gold mine in lower cal. then, too, they always carry a fine stock of rifles and other truck." "they'd be worth plucking then?" "i guess so. at any rate i'd like to get even with them even if we didn't get a thing out of it. ed. dayton doesn't forgive or forget in a hurry." small wonder that the boys leaned forward with their ears fairly aching to catch every word. nat knew now why the outline of one of the riders had seemed familiar to him. the man was evidently none other than ed. dayton, the rascal who had acted as the millionaire hale bradford's lieutenant in lower california. nat, it will be recalled, was captured on the peninsula and an attempt made to force him to give up papers showing his right to the mine, which the gang hale bradford had gathered about him was working. i can tell you, nat was mighty glad that he and his companions happened to be there in the shadow; for, thought he to himself:-- "forewarned is forearmed, mr. ed. dayton." but the men were resuming their talk. "tell you what you fellows do," said the black-mustached man. "just lie off here in the brush for an hour or so and i'll go back to the hotel and look around. then i'll come back and tell you if the coast's clear. they've got their auto out in some sort of a shed and if we could run it we could swipe the whole thing. can you run an auto, ed.? seems to me i've heard you talk about them." "can a dog bark?" inquired the other, who if the memory of my readers goes back that far, they will recall had at one time been a chauffeur for mr. pomery. "very well then, that's settled. at all events it might be a good thing to smash up the car if we can't do anything else with it." "that's right al.," agreed ed. dayton's companion, "we don't want any nosy kids around in the mountains. they might discover too much." "that's so, too. well, you leave it to me, al. jeffries, and i'll bet you that after to-night they'll all be glad to go home to their mammies." but right here something happened which might, but for good fortune, have caused a different ending to this story. ding-dong bell, among other peculiarities, possessed a pair of very delicate nostrils, and the slightest irritation thereof caused him to sneeze violently. now at the time of the year of which we are writing the california mountains are covered with a growth, called in some localities tar weed. this plant gives off an irritating dust when it is shaken or otherwise disturbed, and the hoofs of the two riders' ponies had kicked up a lot of this pungent powder. just as the rascals concluded their plans a vagrant puff of wind carried some of it in ding-dong's direction. realizing what serious consequences it might have, the lad struggled with all his might against his immediate inclination to sneeze, but try as he would he could not keep the ultimate explosion back. "a-ch-oo-oo-oo-oo!" it sounded as loud as the report of a cannon, in the silent canyon, and quite as startling. "what in thunder was that?" exclaimed ed. dayton wheeling his pony round. he, of course, saw nothing, and regarded his companions in a puzzled way. al. jeffries was tugging his black mustache and looking about him likewise for some explanation. but he could not find it. in the meantime, the boys, in an agony of apprehension, scarcely dared to breathe. they crouched like rabbits behind their shelter awaiting what seemed inevitable discovery. "must have been a bird," grunted ed. dayton's companion. "funny sort of bird," was the rejoinder. "that's right. i am a funny sort of bird," thought ding-dong with an inward chuckle. "sounded to me more like somebody sneezin'," commented ed. dayton who was still suspicious. "it'll be a bad day for them if there was," supplemented al. jeffries grimly. "tell you what we do, boys," came a sudden suggestion from ed.'s companion, which sent a chill to the hearts of the boys; "let's scatter about here and look around a bit." "that's a good idea," was the alarming rejoinder. nat was just revolving in his mind whether it would be the better expedient to run, and trust to hiding in the rocks and chaparral, or to leap up and try to scare the others' ponies, and then escape. but just then al. jeffries spoke: "no use wastin' time on that now, boys," he said, "it's gettin' late. you do as i say, and then in a while we'll all take a little spin in that grown up taxi cab of the motor rangers." to the intense relief of the boys the others agreed. soon after this the trio of rascals separated. ed. dayton and his companions rode back up the trail while al. jeffries started off for the hotel. as soon as their footsteps grew faint nat galvanized into action. "we've got a lot to do in a very short time," he announced excitedly. "come on, joe! shake a foot! we've got to beat mr. al. back to the hotel." "how?" inquired joe amazedly, but not doubting in his own mind that nat had already thought the matter out thoroughly. "we'll skirt along the mountain-side above him. if we are careful he won't hear us." "that is, if ding-dong can muffle that nasal gatling gun of his," grunted joe. "say, young fellow, the next time you want to sneeze when we're in such a tight place, just oblige us by rolling over the edge of the canyon, will you?" "i c-c-c-o-o-ouldn't help it," sputtered ding-dong sorrowfully. "couldn't," exclaimed the indignant joe, "you didn't even try." "i did too. but i couldn't remember whether the book said that you could stop sneezing by pulling the lobe of your ear or rubbing the bridge of your nose." "so you did both?" "y-y-y-yes; why?" "well, they were both wrong. you should have wiggled your right big toe while you balanced a blade of grass on your chin." chapter vi. some rascals get a scare. everybody in the hotel at lariat had long retired to bed, when three youthful forms stole toward the stable which had been turned into a temporary garage for the motor rangers' big car. from their bed-room window, the boys had, a few moments before, watched al. jeffries stride off down the trail to meet his cronies for the second time and inform them that the time was ripe to put up their attempted trick on the lads. the doughty al., on his return to the hotel after the conference at which the lads were eavesdroppers, had found nothing to excite his suspicion. the boys were all seated on the porch and apparently had not moved since he had last seen them. al. had even sat around with them a while, trying to pump them, but of course, after what they knew of him, they did not give him much information. nat had formed an idea that the man was a sort of agent for the gang of the famous morello. that is, he hung about towns and picked up any information he could about shipments of specie from the mines, or of wealthy travellers who might be going through. in this surmise we may say that nat was correct. but to return to the three lads whom we left at the beginning of the chapter stealthily slipping across the moonlit space between the hotel and the stable. all three had changed their boots for soft moccasins, in which they made next to no noise at all as they moved. each lad, moreover, carried under his arm a small bundle. their clothing consisted of trousers and shirts. their broad-brimmed sombreros had been doffed with their coats. the motor rangers were, so to speak, stripped for action. and it was to be action of a lively kind as the event was to show. on their arrival at the stable the boys slipped into an empty stall alongside their car, and undoing their bundles, hastily donned what was in them. then nat uncorked a bottle, while a strong odor filled the air. it was a pungent sort of reek, and from the bottle could be seen a faint greenish light glowing. their preparations completed, the motor rangers crouched behind the wooden wall of the stall, awaiting the next move on the program. "and for heaven's sake sit on that sneeze!" joe admonished ding-dong. before very long the boys could hear cautious footsteps approaching the barn, and the sound of low whispering. "the auto's right in here," they caught, in jeffries' voice. "say, what a laugh we'll have on those kids in the morning." "they laugh best who laugh last," thought nat to himself, clutching more tightly a small gleaming thing he had in his hand. "this is pie to me," they could hear dayton whispering, in a cautious undertone, "i told those kids i'd get even on them for driving me out of lower california, and here's where i do it." nat gritted his teeth as he listened. "you're going to get something that you don't expect," he muttered softly to himself. the next instant the barn door framed three figures. behind them were two ponies. the feet of the little animals were swathed in sacks so that they made no noise at all. "pretty foxy," whispered joe, "they've padded the ponies' hoofs." "hush!" ordered nat, "don't say a word or make a move till i give the signal." "there's the car," whispered jeffries, as they drew closer and the shadow of the place enclosed them, blotting out their outlines. "seems a shame to run it over a cliff, don't it?" put in dayton's fellow pony rider. "that's the only thing to do with it," said dayton abruptly, "i want to give those kids a lesson they won't forget." "so, you rascals," thought nat, "you were going to run the car over a cliff were you? oh, how i'd like to get my hands on you for just five minutes." "go on, dayton. climb into the thing and start her up," said jeffries. "hope them kids don't wake up," put in dayton's companion. "they're off as sound as tops," al. assured him, "i listened at their door after i came out, and they were snoring away like so many buck saws." with the ease born of familiarity with motor vehicles, dayton climbed into the driver's seat and bent over the steering wheel. presently there came a sharp click! "now!" whispered nat. as he gave the word, from behind the wooden partition upreared three terrifying objects. their faces glared greenly and their white forms seemed to be shrouded in graveyard clothes. in unison they uttered a dismal cry. "be-ware! oh be-ware of the car of the motor ranger boys!" "wow!" yelled dayton's companion. as he gave the alarmed cry he fairly reeled back against the opposite stall and fell with a crash. at the same instant, an old claybank mule tethered in there awoke, and resenting the man's sudden intrusion, let fly with his hind hoofs. this shot the ruffian's form full tilt into that of al. jeffries, who was making at top speed for the door, and the two fell, in a rolling, cursing, struggling, clawing heap on the stable floor. "lemme up!" yelled al. jeffries, in mortal terror of the grim sheeted forms behind him. "lemme go!" shouted dayton's companion, roaring half in fear and half in pain at the reminiscences of the mule's hoofs he carried. but the startling apparitions, while at their first appearance they had made dayton recoil, only fooled him for an instant. springing erect from his first shock of amazement and alarm he gave an angry shout. "get up there you fools." "oh the ghosts! the ghosts with the green faces," bawled al. jeffries. "ghosts!" roared dayton angrily, "they're no ghosts. get up and knock their heads off." suiting the action to the word he leaped from the car and charged furiously at nat. the boy's fist shot out and landed with a crash on the point of his jaw, but although dayton reeled under the force of the blow he recovered instantly and charged furiously again on the sheeted form. in the meantime, al. jeffries and the other man had rolled apart and perceived the state of affairs. the noise of the impact of nat's fist showed conclusively that it was no ghostly hand that had struck the blow, and the fact rallied their fleeting courage. as furiously as had dayton, they charged upon the boys. the rip and tear of sheets, and the sound of blows given and received, mingled with the angry exclamations of the men and the quick, panting breath of the boys. suddenly, nat levelled the little bright glinting thing he had clutched in his hand as they crouched behind the wooden partition. he pressed a trigger on its underside and a hissing sound followed. "sfiz-z-z-z-z-z!" at the same instant the air became surcharged with a pungent odor. it seemed to fill the atmosphere and made nostrils and eyes smart. "ammonia!" shouted al. jeffries, staggering backward and dabbing desperately at his face where the full force of nat's charge had expended itself. as upon the other occasion, when the ammonia pistols had been used, the rout of the enemy was complete. with muffled imprecations and exclamations of pain, the three reeled, half blinded, out of the barn. at the same instant the boys heard windows thrown up and the sharp report of a revolver. "fire! thieves! murder!" came from one window, in the landlord's voice, following the discharge of the pistol. "get to the ponies," roared dayton, "we'll have the whole hornets' nest about our ears in a minute." the others needed no urging. grabbing al. jeffries by the arm, dayton's companion, who was only partially blinded, made for his little steed. but dayton, who had hardly received any of the aromatic discharge, suddenly whipped about and snatched a revolver from his side. before the boys could dodge the man fired at them. nat felt the bullets fan the air by his ear, but fortunately, the man fired so quickly and the excitement and confusion was such, that in the moonlight he missed his aim. "i'll make you smart for this some day!" he yelled, as fearful of lingering any longer he swung himself into his saddle. he drove home the spurs and with a squeal and a bound the little animal carried him out of the region of the hotel. as for dayton's companion he was already a good distance off with al. jeffries clinging behind him on his saddle. joe had made for the auto and seized a rifle from the rack in the tonneau as dayton galloped off, but nat sharply told him to put it down. "we have scared the rascals off, and that's enough," he said. in a few minutes the motor rangers were surrounded by everybody in the hotel, including cal and the postmaster. they were warmly congratulated on their success by all hands, and much laughter greeted their account of the amusing panic into which the rascals had been thrown by the sudden appearance of the glowing-faced ghosts, followed by the discharge of the "mule battery." "how did yer git the green glowing paint?" asked cal interestedly. "why, we took the liberty of soaking two or three bundles of california matches in the tooth glass," explained nat, "and then we had a fine article of phosphorus paint." "wall if you ain't the beatingest," was the landlord's admiring contribution. in the midst of the explanations, congratulations and angry denunciation of al. jeffries and his companions, a sudden piping voice was heard. "yust von moment blease. vait! nod a mofe!--ah goot, i haf you!" it was the little german, whom, the boys had discovered, was named hans von schiller muller. he had sprung out of bed in the midst of the excitement and instantly decided it would make a good subject for his camera. he presented a queer figure as he stood there, in pajamas several sizes too small for him and striped with vivid pink and green. the shrinkage had been the work of a chinese laundryman in the san joaquin valley. "say," exclaimed joe, "you don't expect to get a picture out of that do you?" "chess. sure. vy nodt?" "well, because in the first place you had no light," said joe. "ach! donnerblitzen, miserable vot i am. i shouldn't have got id a flash-light, aind't it. hold on! vait a minute. i get him." "better defer it till to-morrow," said nat, who like the rest, was beginning to shiver in the keen air of the mountains, "it's too cold to wait for all your preparations." and so, when herr muller returned to the fatherland there was one picture he did not have, and that was a portrait of the motor rangers as they appeared immediately after routing three notorious members of col. morello's band of outlaws. chapter vii. a photographer in trouble. the boys were not up as early the next morning as they had anticipated. in the first place, it was somewhat dull and overcast, and in the second they were naturally tired after their exciting adventures of the preceding day and night. the first person to hail them as they left the dining room where they had partaken of a hearty breakfast was cal gifford. the stage driver drew them aside and informed them in an irate voice that on account of the stage having been held up the day before, he had been notified by telegraph early that morning that his services would be no longer required by the lariat stage company. "what are you going to do?" asked nat, after he had extended his sympathies to the indignant cal. "wall, i've got a little mine up north of here that i think i'll go and take a look at," said cal. "how far north?" asked nat interestedly. "oh, 'bout two hundred miles. i'm all packed ready ter go, but i cain't git a horse." he indicated a battered roll of blankets and a canteen lying on the porch. surmounting this pile of his possessions was an old rifle--that is, in pattern and design, but its woodwork gleamed, its barrel was scrupulously polished, and its mechanism well oiled. like most good woodsmen and mountaineers, cal kept good care of his weapons, knowing that sometimes a man's life may depend on his rifle or revolver. "can't get a horse?" echoed nat. "why, i should think there would be no trouble about that." "wall, thar wouldn't hev bin, but thet little dutchman bought a nag this mornin' and started off ter take picters on his lonesome." "i guess you mean he hired one, don't you?" asked joe. "no siree. that teutonic sport paid hard cash fer ther plug. he tole the landlord that he means ter make a trip all through the sierras hereabout, making a fine collection of pictures." "he must be crazy, starting off alone in an unknown country," exclaimed nat. "thet's jes' what they all tole him, but there ain't no use arguin' with er mule or a dutchman when their mind's set. he started off about an hour ago with a roll of blankets, a frying pan and his picture box." "he stands a chance of getting captured by col. morello's band," exclaimed joe. "it's likely," agreed cal, "but what i was a goin' ter tell yer wuz that ther plug he bought was ther last one they had here. an' so now i'm stuck i guess, till they git some more up from ther valley." "tell you what you do," said nat after a brief consultation with his chums, "why not take a ride with us as far as your way lies, and then proceed any way you like?" "what, ride with you kids in thet gasolene tug boat?" "yes, we'd be glad to have you. you know the roads and the people up through here, and could help us a whole lot." "say, that's mighty white of yer," said cal, a broad smile spreading over his face, "if i wouldn't be in ther way now----" "we'll be very glad to have you," nat assured him, while joe and ding-dong nodded their heads in affirmation, "are you ready to start?" cal nodded sidewise at his pile of baggage. "thar's my outfit," he said. "all right. then i'll pay our bill and we'll start right away." and so it was arranged. ten minutes later the motor rangers in their big touring car rolled majestically out of the town of lariat, while cal in the tonneau waved his sombrero to admiring friends. "this is ther first time i ever rode a benzine broncho," he declared as the car gathered way and was soon lost to the view of the citizens of lariat in a cloud of dust. the road lay through the same canyon in which they had so fortunately overheard the conversation of al. jeffries and his cronies the night before. it was a sparkling morning, with every object standing out clear and intense in the brilliant light of the high sierras. a crisp chill lay in the air which made the blood tingle and the eyes shine. as they rolled on with the engine singing its cheering song cal, too, burst into music: "riding along on my gasolene bronc; instead of a whinny it goes 'honk! honk!' if we don't bust up we'll be in luck, you'd be blowed sky-high by a benzine buck!" about noon they emerged from the narrow canyon into a wide valley, the broad, level floor of which was covered with green bunch grass. through its centre flowed a clear stream, fed by the snow summits they could see in the distance. cattle could be seen feeding at the far end of it and it was evidently used as a pasture by some mountain rancher. as they drew closer to a clump of large redwood trees at one end of the valley nat gave a sudden exclamation of surprise, and stood up in the tonneau. joe, who was at the wheel, sighted the scene which had attracted the others' attention at the same instant. a group of cattlemen could be seen under one of the larger trees, with a figure in their midst. they were clustered about the central object, and appeared to be handling him pretty roughly. nat snatched up the glasses from their pocket in the tonneau and levelled them on the scene. he put them down again with an exclamation of excitement. "they're going to lynch that fellow," he announced. "what!" roared cal, "lend me them peep glass things, young chap." joe stopped the car, while cal took a long look. he confirmed nat's opinion. "they've got the rope over a limb of that tree already," he said. "how are we to help him?" cried nat, whose first and natural thought had been to go to the unfortunate's assistance. "what do you want ter help him fer," grunted cal, "like as not he's some sort of a horse thief or suthin'. you bet those fellers wouldn't be going ter string him up onless he had bin doin' suthin' he hadn't orter." nat was not so sure about this. from what he knew of the west its impulsive citizens occasionally executed a man first and inquired into the justice of it afterward. "steer for those trees, joe," he ordered sharply. joe, without a word, obeyed, while cal shrugged his shoulders. "may be runnin' inter trouble," he grunted. "if you're scared you can get out," said nat more sharply than was his wont. cal looked angry for a moment, but then his expression changed. "yer all right, boy," he said heartily, "and if ther's trouble i'm with you every time." "thanks," rejoined nat simply, "that's the opinion i'd formed of you, cal." the car had now left the road and was rolling over the pasture which was by no means as smooth as it had appeared from the mountain road. however, they made good progress and as their shouts and cries had attracted the attention of the group of punchers under the trees, they at least had achieved the delay of the execution. they could now see every detail of the scene, without the aid of the field glasses. but the visage of the intended victim was hidden from them by the circle of wild-looking figures about him. as the motor rangers drew closer a big, raw-boned cattle puncher, with a pair of hairy "chaps" on his legs and an immense revolver in his hand, rode toward them. as his figure separated itself from the group cal gave a low growl. "here comes trouble," he grumbled, closing his hand over the well-worn butt of his pistol. "howdy, strangers," drawled the newcomer, as he drew within earshot. "howdy," nodded the boys, not however, checking the auto. "hold on thar," cried the cowpuncher raising a big, gauntleted hand, "don't come no further, strangers. thar's ther road back yonder." he backed up his hint by exhibiting his revolver rather ostentatiously. but nat's eyelids never quivered as he looked the other full in the face and asked in a tone that sounded like one of mild, tenderfoot inquiry:-- "what are you doing there, mister--branding calves?" "no we ain't, young feller," rejoined the cowpuncher, "now if you're wise you'll take that fer an answer and get out of here pronto--quick--savee!" "i don't see any reason why we can't drive through here," said nat, cunningly stringing out the talk so that the car could creep quite close to the group of would-be lynchers. "you don't see no reason?" "no." "wall, stranger--thar's six reasons here and they all come out at once." as he spoke the cowpuncher tapped the shiny barrel of his revolver with a meaning gesture. nat saw that he could not go much further with safety. "now you git!" snarled the cowboy. "you've had fair warning. vamoose!" as he spoke the group about the tree parted for a minute as the cowpunchers composing it gazed curiously at the auto, which was nearing them. as they separated, the figure of the victim became visible. the boys greeted the sight with a shout of amazement which was echoed by cal. "boys, it's herr muller!" shouted nat. "wall ther blamed dutchman!" gasped cal, "has he bin stealin' horses?" "yep," rejoined the puncher briefly, "he hev. an' we're goin' ter string him up. now you git out." "all right," spoke nat suddenly, with a flashing light of excitement blazing in his eyes. "we'll get, but it will be--this way!" as he spoke he leaped into the driver's seat, pushing joe to one side. the next instant the car was leaping forward with a roar and a bound, headed full at the band of amazed and thunderstruck cowpunchers. chapter viii. lost in a petrified forest. before the lynching party regained its senses nat had rushed the car up alongside herr muller. before that blonde pompadoured son of the fatherland knew what had occurred, joe's strong arms, aided by cal's biceps, jerked him off his feet and into the tonneau. but the long lariat which was already about his neck trailed behind, and the first of the punchers that realized what was happening darted forward and seized it as the car sped forward. "p-ouf-o-o-o-f!" choked the unfortunate german, as the noose tightened. the cowpuncher who had hold of the other end of the rope dug his heels into the ground and braced himself. herr muller would have been jerked clean out of the tonneau by his unlucky neck had it not been for ding-dong bell, who, with a swift sweep downward of his knife blade severed the rope. as the strain was abruptly relieved the cowpuncher who had hold of the other end went toppling backward in a heap. but at the same instant the rest came to their senses, and headed by the man who had threatened nat, they clambered on their ponies and swept forward, uttering wild yells. if this had been all, the occupants of the auto could have afforded to disregard them, but, apparently realizing the hopelessness of attempting to overtake the fleeing car they unlimbered their revolvers and began a fusillade. bullets whistled all about the motor rangers and their companions, but luckily nobody was hit. nat's chief fear though, and his apprehension was shared by the rest, was that one of the bullets might puncture a tire. "if it ever does--good night!" thought nat as the angry, vengeful yells of the cheated punchers came to his ears. but to his joy they now sounded more faintly. the pursuit was dropping behind. right ahead was the feeding herd. in a few minutes the car would be safe from further attack,--when suddenly there came an ominous sound. "pop!" at the same moment the car gave a lurch. "just what i thought," commented nat, in a despairing voice, "they've winged a tire." "shall we have to stop?" asked cal rather apprehensively, although a grim look about the corners of his mouth betokened the fact that he was ready to fight. "den maype i gedt idt a pigdure, aind idt?" asked herr muller, with what was almost the first free breath he had drawn since master bell slashed the rope. "good lord!" groaned cal in comical despair, "my little man, if those fellows ever get us you'll be able to take a picture of your own funeral." "how would dot be bossible?" inquired herr muller innocently, "if i voss a deader i couldn't take my own pigdure, aind't idt?" but before any of them could make a reply, indignant or otherwise, a sudden occurrence ahead of them caused their attention to be diverted into a fresh channel. the cattle, terrified at the oncoming auto, had stopped grazing and were regarding it curiously. suddenly, one of them gave an alarmed bellow. it appeared to be a signal for flight, for like one animal, the herd turned, and with terrified bellowings, rushed madly off into the pine forests on the eastern side of the valley. this was a fortunate happening for the boys, for the cowpunchers were now compelled finally to give up their chase of the automobile and head off after the stampeded cattle. "i reckon we'd better not come this way again; it wouldn't be healthy-like," grinned cal, hearing their shouts and yells grow faint in the distance as they charged off among the trees. "there's one thing," said nat as he brought the crippled auto to a halt a short distance off, "they won't worry us for some time." "no. among them pine stumps it'll take 'em a week to round up their stock." and now all hands turned to herr muller and eagerly demanded his story. it was soon told. he had arrived in the valley a short time before they had, and, charmed by its picturesque wildness, had begun enthusiastically taking pictures. in doing so, he had dismounted, and wandered some distance from his horse. when he turned his attention to it again, it had disappeared. however, although at first he thought he had lost the animal he soon found it grazing off among a clump of willows by the creek. he had mounted it and was riding off when suddenly the cowpunchers appeared, and as soon as their eyes fell on the horse accused the german of stealing it. "i dell dem dot dey is mistakes making, but der use voss iss?" he went on. "dey say dot dey pinch me anyhow." "lynch you, you mean, don't you?" inquired nat. "vell dey pinch me too, dond dey?" asked herr muller indignantly. "howefer, i egsplain by dem dot dey make misdage and den a leedle bull boy----" "cowboy," corrected cal with a grin. "ach, how i can tell idt you my story if you are interrupt all der time," protested the german. "well as i voss saying, der bull-boy tells me, 'loafer vot you iss you dake idt my bony vile i voss go hunting john rabbits. yust for dot vee hang you py der neck.'" "what did you say?" asked nat, who began to think that the absent-minded german might actually have taken a wrong horse by accident. "i say, 'dot is my horse. i know him lige i know it mein brudder.' but dey say dot i iss horse bustler----" "rustler," muttered cal. "and dot i most be strunged oop. so i dake idt der picdures und gif dem my address in chermany und den i prepare for der endt." "weren't you scared?" demanded cal incredulously, for the german had related this startling narrative without turning a hair; in fact, he spoke about it as he might have talked about a tea party he had attended. "ach himmel, ches i voss scaredt all right. pudt der voss no use in saying noddings, voss dere?" "no i guess if you put it that way there wasn't," laughed nat, "but you saved your camera i see." he looked at the black box hanging round the german's neck by a strap. "yah," grinned herr muller, "i say i von't pee hanged if dey don'dt led itdt be mit der camera my neck py." "no wonder they say, 'heaven help the irish, the dutch can look after themselves,'" muttered cal to himself as the entire party got out of the machine and a new tire was unbuckled from the spare tire rack. the operation of replacing it was a troublesome one, and occupied some time. so long did it take, in fact, that it was almost sundown by the time the shoe had been finally bolted above the inner tube, and they were ready to start once more. just as they were about to be off cal gave an exclamation and pointed ahead. looking up in the direction he indicated the others saw coming toward them a saddled horse. but no rider bestrode it, and the reins were entangled in its forefeet. it whinnied as it saw them and came up close to the auto. "great scott!" exclaimed cal, as he saw it, "those cowpunchers had you right after all, mr. dutchman; this here is the plug you bought." "yah! yah! i know him now!" exclaimed herr muller enthusiastically. "see dere is my plankets diedt on py der saddle." "so they are," exclaimed nat, "at least i suppose they're yours. then you actually were a horse thief and didn't know it. i suppose that when your horse wandered off that cowpuncher came along on his pony and left it while he went hunting jack rabbits. then you, all absorbed in your picture taking, mistook his horse for yours." "i guess dots der vay idt voss, chust a mistage," agreed herr muller with great equanimity. "say, pod'ner," said cal, who had just led up the beast and restored it to its rightful owner, "you're glad you're livin', ain't you?" the german's blue eyes opened widely as he stared at his questioner. "sure i iss gladt i'm lifing. vot for--vy you ask me?" "wall, don't make any more mistakes like that," admonished cal with grave emphasis, "folks out here is touchy about them." as herr muller was going in the same direction as themselves he accepted a seat in the tonneau and his angular steed was hitched on behind as over the rough ground the car could not go any faster than a horse could trot. for some time they bumped along the floor of the valley and at last emerged at its upper end into a rocky-walled canyon, not unlike the one through which they had gained the depression in the hills. but to their uneasiness they could discover no road, or even a trail. however, the bottom of the canyon was fairly smooth and so nat decided, after a consultation with cal, to keep going north. a glance at the compass had shown them that the canyon ultimately cut through the range in that direction. "we'll strike a trail or a hut or suthin' afore long," cal assured them. "i hope we strike some place to make camp," grumbled joe, "i'm hungry." this speech made them remember that in their excitement they had neglected to eat any lunch. "never mind, joe," said nat, "we'll soon come across a spring or a place that isn't all strewn with rocks, and we'll camp there even if there isn't a road." "no, there's no use going ahead in the dark," agreed cal, looking about him. it was now quite dark, and the depth of the canyon they were traversing made the blackness appear doubly dense. but nat, by gazing upward at the sky, managed to keep the auto on a fairly straight course, although every now and then a terrific bump announced that they had struck a big boulder. "wish that moon would hurry up and rise; then we could see something," remarked cal, as they crept along. the others agreed with him, but they would not have the welcome illumination till some time later. they were still in the canyon, however, when a dim, silvery lustre began to creep over the eastern sky. gradually the light fell upon the western wall of the gorge and soon the surroundings were flooded with radiance. but it was a weird and startling scene that the light fell upon. each occupant of the car uttered an involuntary cry of amazement as he gazed about him. on every side were towering trunks of what, at first glance, seemed trees, but which, presently, were seen to be as barren of vegetation as marble columns. stumps of these naked, leafless forms littered the ground in every direction. in the darkness seemingly, they had penetrated quite a distance into this labyrinth, for all about them now were the bare, black trunks. some of them reached to an immense height, and others were short and stumpy. all shared the peculiarity of possessing no branches or leaves, however. "where on earth are we?" asked joe, gazing about him at the desolate scene. "i can't make out," rejoined nat in a troubled tone, "it's sort of uncanny isn't it?" the others agreed. "ugh; it remindts me of a grafeyardt," shivered the german, as he looked about him at the bare stumps rising black and ghostlike in the pale moonlight. suddenly cal, who had been gazing about him, shouted an explanation of the mystery. "boys, we're in a petrified forest!" he exclaimed. chapter ix. the midnight alarm. the boys would have been glad to explore the petrified forest that night had it been practicable. they had read of the mysterious stone relics of ancient woods, which exist in the remote sierras, but they had never dreamed they would stumble upon one so opportunely. however, even had they been less tired, it would have been out of the question to examine the strange place more thoroughly that night. as there did not seem to be any limit to the place so far as they could see, the boys decided to camp where they were for the night. the auto was stopped and the horse unhitched and turned loose at the end of a lariat to graze, his rope being made fast round one of the more slender stone trunks. "feels like hitching him to the pillar of the city hall at home," laughed joe, as he formed a double half hitch and left the horse to his own devices, first, however, having watered the animal at a small spring which flowed from the foot of a large rock at one side of the mysterious stone valley. in the meantime, cal had built a fire of sage brush roots, for there was no wood about, every bit of it having turned to stone long ages before. the pile, on being ignited, blazed up cheerfully, illuminating the sterile, lonely spot with a merry red blaze. the spider was taken out of the utensil locker, and soon bacon was hissing in it and canned tomatoes and corn bubbling in adjacent saucepans. a big pot of coffee also sent up a savory aroma. altogether, with canned fruit for dessert, the motor rangers and their friends made a meal which quite atoned for the loss of their lunch. even ding-dong admitted that he was satisfied by the time cal drew out a short and exceedingly black pipe. the former stage driver rammed this full of tobacco and then leisurely proceeded to light it. after a few puffs he looked up at the group around him. they were lolling about on waterproof blankets spread out on the rock-strewn ground, a portion of which they had cleared. in the background stood the dark outlines of the auto, and beyond, the mysterious shadows of the petrified forest, the bequest to the present of the long departed stone age. "i've bin a thinkin'," began cal, as if he were delivering his mind of something he had been inwardly cogitating for some time, "i've bin a thinkin' that while we are in this part of the country we ought to keep a good look out at night." "you think that morello's band may give us more trouble?" asked nat. "i don't jes' think so," rejoined cal earnestly, "i'm purty jes' nat'ly sure of it. they ain't the sort of fellers ter fergit or furgive." "i guess you're right," agreed nat, "that man dayton alone is capable of making lots of trouble for us. we'll do as you say and set a watch to-night." "i vind und set my votch every night," declared herr muller, proudly drawing out of his pocket an immense timepiece resembling a bulbous silver vegetable. "this is a different kind of watch that we're talking about," laughed nat. it was ultimately arranged, after some more discussion, that joe and nat should watch for the first part of the night and ding-dong and cal gifford should come on duty at one o'clock in the morning. it seemed to young bell that he hadn't been asleep more than five minutes when he was roughly shaken by nat and told to tumble out of the tonneau as it was time to go on watch. already cal, who like an old mountaineer preferred to sleep by the fire, was up and stirring. it took a long time, though, to rout ding-dong out of his snug bed. the air at that altitude is keen and sharp, and being turned out of his warm nest was anything but pleasant to the lad. "l-l-l-let the d-d-d-d-dutchman do it," he begged, snuggling down in his blankets. "no," said nat firmly, "it's your turn on duty. come on now, roll out or we'll pull you out." finally, with grumbling protestations, the stuttering youth was hauled forth, and, while nat and joe turned in, he and cal went on duty, or "sentry go," as they say in the army. "now then," said cal crisply, as the shivering ding-dong lingered by the fire with his rifle in his chilled hands, "you go off there to the right and patrol a hundred feet or more. i'll do the same to the left. we'll meet at the fire every few minutes and get warm." "a-a-all r-r-r-right," agreed ding-dong, who stood in some awe of the stage driver. consequently, without further demur, he strode off on his post. having reached the end of it he marched back to the fire and warmed himself a second. then he paced off again. this kept up for about an hour when suddenly cal, who was at the turning point of his beat, heard a startling sound off to the right among the tomb-like forms of the stone trees. bang! it was followed by two other shots. bang! bang! the reports rang sharply, amid the silence of the desolate place, and sent an alarmed chill even to cal's stout heart. he bounded back toward the fire just in time to meet ding-dong, who came rushing in with a scared white face, from the opposite direction. at the same time nat and joe awakened, and hastily slipping on some clothes, seized their rifles and prepared for trouble. "what's the matter?" demanded cal, in sharp, crisp tones, of the frightened sentinel. "indians!" was the gasped-out reply, "the p-p-p-place is f-f-f-full of them." "indians!" exclaimed cal, hastily kicking out the bright fire and leaving it a dull heap of scattered embers, "are you sure?" "s-s-s-sure. i s-s-s-saw their f-f-f-fif-feathers." "that's queer," exclaimed cal, "i never heard of any indians being in this section before. but come on, boys, it's clear the lad here has seen something and we'd better get ready for trouble." an improvised fort was instantly formed, by the boys crouching in various points of vantage in the automobile with their rifles menacingly pointed outward. herr muller snored on serenely, and they allowed him to slumber. they must have remained in tense poses without moving a muscle for half an hour or more before any one dared to speak. then nat whispered, "queer we don't see or hear anything." "they may be creeping up stealthily," rejoined cal, "don't take your eye off your surroundings a minute." for some time more the lads watched with increasing vigilance. at length even cal grew impatient. "there's something funny about this," he declared, and then turning on ding-dong he demanded: "are you sure you saw something?" "d-d-d-didn't i s-s-s-s-shoot at it?" indignantly responded the boy. "i know, but you actually saw something move?" persisted nat. "of c-c-c-course i did. you didn't think i was go-go-going to s-s-s-shoot at a put-put-petrified tree, did you?" "we'll wait a while longer and then if nothing shows up i'm going to investigate," declared cal. "i'm with you," agreed nat. as nothing occurred for a long time the motor rangers finally climbed out of the car, and with their rifles held ready for instant action, crept off in the direction from which ding-dong's fusillade had proceeded. every now and then they paused to listen, hardly breathing for fear of interrupting the silence. but not a sound could they hear. however, ding-dong stuck stoutly to his story that he had seen something move and had fired at it, whereupon it had vanished. "maybe it was morello's gang trying to give us a scare," suggested nat. "ef they'd ever got as close to us as this they'd hev given us worse than a scare," confidently declared cal. by this time they had proceeded quite some distance, and cal stopped ding-dong with a question. "whereabouts were you when you fired?" "i-i do-do-do-do-don't know," stuttered the lad. "you don't know?" indignantly echoed nat, "you're a fine woodsman." "y-y-y-y-yes i do t-t-t-too," ding-dong hastened to amend, "i was here--right here." he ascended a small knoll covered with grass, at the foot of one of the stone trees. "which direction did you fire in?" was nat's next question. "off t-t-t-that w-w-w-w-w-way," spoke ding-dong. "wow, there he is now!" the boy gave a yell and started to run, and the others were considerably startled. from the little eminence on which they stood they could see, projecting from behind one of the pillars, something that certainly did look like two feathers sticking in an indian's head dress. as they gazed the feathers moved. "shoot quick!" cried joe, jerking his rifle up to his shoulder, but cal yanked it down with a quick pull. "hold on, youngster. not so fast," he exclaimed, "let's look into this thing first." holding his rifle all ready to fire at the least alarm, the former stage driver crept cautiously forward. close at his elbow came nat, with his weapon held in similar readiness. "there is something there--see!" exclaimed nat in an awed tone. "yes," almost shouted the guide, "and it's that dutchman's old plug!" the next instant his words were verified. the midnight marauder at whom ding-dong had fired was nothing more dangerous than the horse of herr muller. it had broken loose in the night and was browsing about when the amateur sentry had come upon it. in the moonlight, and when seen projecting from behind a pillar, its ears, which were unusually long, did look something like the head dress of an indian. "wow!" yelled nat, "this is one on you, ding-dong!" "yes, here's your indian!" shouted joe, doubling up with laughter. "whoa, indian," soothed cal, walking up to the peaceful animal, "let's see if he hit you." but the merriment of the lads was increased when an examination of the horse failed to show a scratch or mark upon it. "that's another on you, ding-dong," laughed nat, "you're a fine sentinel. why, you can't even hit a horse." "well, let the dutchman try and see if he can do any better," rejoined ding-dong with wounded dignity. chapter x. along the trail. "voss iss dot aboudt mein horse?" the group examining that noble animal turned abruptly, to find the quadruped's owner in their midst. herr muller still wore his famous abbreviated pajama suit, over which he had thrown a big khaki overcoat of military cut belonging to nat. below this his bare legs stuck out like the drum sticks of a newly plucked chicken. his yellow hair was rumpled and stood up as if it had been electrified. not one of the boys could help laughing at the odd apparition. "well, pod'ner," rejoined cal, taking up the horse's broken hitching rope and leading it back to its original resting place, "you're purty lucky ter hev a horse left at all. this yar ding-dong bell almost 'put him in the well' fer fair. he drilled about ten bullets more or less around the critter's noble carcass." "but couldn't hit him with one of them," laughed nat, to ding-dong's intense disgust. the stuttering lad strode majestically off to the auto, and turned in, nor could they induce him to go on watch again that night. the morning dawned as fair and bright and crisp as mornings in the sierras generally do. the sky was cloudless and appeared to be borne aloft like a blue canopy, by the steep walls of the canyon enclosing the petrified forest. the boys, on awakening, found cal already up and about, and the fragrance of his sage brush fire scenting the clear air. "'mornin' boys," sang out the ex-stage driver as the tousled heads projected from the auto and gazed sleepily about, "i tell yer this is ther kind of er day that makes life worth livin'." "you bet," agreed nat, heading a procession to the little spring at the foot of one of the giant petrified trees. "it's c-c-c-c-cold," protested ding-dong, but before he could utter further expostulations his legs were suddenly tripped from under him and he sprawled head first into the chilly, clear water. joe hartley was feeling good, and of course poor ding-dong had to suffer. by the time the latter had recovered his feet and wiped some of the water out of his eyes, the others had washed and were off for the camp fire. with an inward resolve to avenge himself at some future time, ding-dong soon joined them. if the petrified forest had been a queer-looking place by night, viewed by daylight it was nothing short of astonishing. "it's a vegetable cemetery," said cal, looking about him. "each of these stone trees is a monument, to my way of thinking." "ach, you are a fullosopher," applauded herr muller, who had just risen and was gingerly climbing out of the tonneau. "and you're full o' prunes," grunted cal to himself, vigorously slicing bacon, while nat fixed the oatmeal, and joe hartley got some canned fruit ready. presently breakfast was announced, and a merry, laughing party gathered about the camp fire to despatch it. "i'll bet we're the first boys that ever ate breakfast in a petrified forest," commented joe. "i reckin' you're right," agreed cal, "it makes me feel like an ossified man." "dot's a feller whose headt is turned to bone?" asked herr muller. "must be ding-dong," grinned joe, which promptly brought on a renewal of hostilities. "i've read that the petrification is caused by particles of iron pyrites, or lime, taking the place of the water in the wood," put in nat. "maybe so," agreed cal, "but i've seen a feller petrified by too much forty rod liquor." "i wonder what shook so many of the stony stumps down," inquired joe, gazing about him with interest. "airthquakes, i guess," suggested cal, "they get 'em through here once in a while and when they come they're terrors." "we have them in santa barbara, too," said nat, "they're nasty things all right." "come f-f-f-f-from the e-e-e-earth getting a t-t-t-t-tummy ache," sagely announced ding-dong bell. while the boys got the car ready and filled the circulating water tank with fresh water from the spring, herr muller and cal washed the tin dishes, and presently all was ready for a start. herr muller decided that he would ride his horse this morning and so the move was made, with that noble steed loping along behind the auto at the best pace his bony frame was capable of producing. luckily for him, the going was very hard among the fallen stumps of the petrified trees, and the tall, column-like, standing trunks, and the car could not do much more than crawl. all were in jubilant spirits. the bracing air and the joyous sensation of taking the road in the early dawn invigorated them. "i tell you," said cal, "there's nothing like an early start in the open air. i've done it a thousand times or more i guess, but it always makes me feel good." "dot iss righd," put in herr muller, "vunce at heidelberg i gets me oop by sunrise to fighd idt a doodle. i felt goot but bresently i gedt poked it py der nose mit mein friendt's sword. den i nodt feel so goodt." while the others were still laughing at the whimsical german's experience he suddenly broke into yodling: "hi lee! hi lo! hi lee! hi lay! riding along by der fine summer's day; hi lee! hi lo! hi lee! hi lay! riding along on my----" "ear!" burst out joe, as the german's horse caught its foot in a gopher hole, and stumbled so violently that it almost pitched the caroler over its head. "that's ther first song i ever heard about a chink," commented cal, when herr muller had recovered his equilibrium. "voss is dot chink?" asked herr muller, showing his usual keen interest in any new word. "gee whiz, but you germans are benighted folks. why, a chink's a chinaman, of course." "budt," protested the german spurring his horse alongside the auto and speaking in a puzzled tone, "budt i voss not singing aboudt a chinaman." "wall, i'll leave it to anyone if hi lee and hi lo ain't chink names," exclaimed cal. whatever reply herr muller might have found to this indisputable assertion is lost forever to the world. for at that moment nat, who was at the wheel, looked up to see a strange figure coming toward them, making its way rapidly in and out among the column-like, petrified trunks. his exclamation called the attention of the others to it and they regarded the oncoming figure with as much astonishment as did he. it was the form of a very tall and lanky man on a very short and fat donkey, that was approaching them. the rider's legs projected till they touched the ground on each side like long piston rods and moved almost as rapidly as he advanced. what with the burro's galloping and the man's rapid footwork, they raised quite a cloud of dust. "say, is that fellow moving the burro, or is the burro moving him?" inquired joe, with perfectly natural curiosity. faster and faster moved the man's legs over the ground, as he came nearer to the auto. "i should think he'd walk and let the burro ride," laughed nat. as he spoke the boy checked the auto and it came to a standstill. the tall rider could now be seen to be an aged man with a long, white beard, and a brown, sunburned face, framed oddly by his snowy whiskers. he glanced at the boys with a pair of keen eyes as he drew alongside, and stopped his long-eared steed with a loud: "whoa!" "howdy," said cal. "howdy," rejoined the stranger, "whar you from?" "south," said cal. "whar yer goin'?" "north," was the rejoinder. "say, stranger, you ain't much on the conversation, be yer?" "never am when i don't know who i be talking to," retorted cal. the boys expected to see the other get angry, but instead he broke into a laugh. "you're a westerner all right," he said. "i thought everybody knew me. i'm jeb scantling, the sheep herder from alamos. i'm looking fer some grass country." "bin havin' trouble with the cattlemen?" inquired cal. "some," was the non-committal rejoinder. "wall, then you'd better not go through that way," enjoined cal, "there's a bunch of cattle right through the forest thar." "thar is?" was the somewhat alarmed rejoinder, "then i reckon it's no place fer me." "no, you'd better try back in the mountains some place," advised cal. "i will. so long." the old man abruptly wheeled his burro, and working his legs in the same eccentric manner as before soon vanished the way he had come. "that's a queer character," commented nat, as the old man disappeared and the party, which had watched his curious actions in spellbound astonishment, started on once more. "yes," agreed cal, "and he's had enough to make him queer, too. a sheepman has a tough time of it. the cattlemen don't want 'em around the hills 'cos they say the sheep eat off the feed so close thar ain't none left fer the cattle. and sometimes the sheepmen start fires to burn off the brush, and mebbe burn out a whole county. then every once in a while a bunch of cattlemen will raid a sheep outfit and clean it out." "kill the sheep?" asked joe. "yep, and the sheepmen, too, if they so much as open their mouths to holler. i tell you a sheepman has his troubles." "was this fellow just a herder, or did he own a flock?" inquired nat. "i've heard that he owns his bunch," rejoined cal. "he's had lots of trouble with cattlemen. no wonder he scuttled off when i tole him thar was a bunch of punchers behind." "i'm sorry he went so quickly," said nat, "i wanted to ask him some questions about the petrified forest." "well, we're about out of it now," said cal, looking around. only a few solitary specimens of the strange, gaunt stone trees now remained dotting the floor of the canyon like lonely monuments. presently they left the last even of these behind them, and before long emerged on a rough road which climbed the mountain side at a steep elevation. "no chance of your brake bustin' agin, is ther?" inquired cal, rather apprehensively. "no, it's as strong as it well can be now," nat assured him. "glad of that. if it gave out on this grade we'd go backward to our funerals." "guess that's right," agreed joe, gazing back out of the tonneau at the steep pitch behind them. despite the steepness of the grade and the rough character of the road, or rather trail, the powerful auto climbed steadily upward, the rattle of her exhausts sounding like a gatling gun in action. before long they reached the summit and the boys burst into a shout of admiration at the scene spread out below them. from the elevation they had attained they could see, rising and falling beneath them, like billows at sea, the slopes and summits of miles of sierra country. here and there were forests of dense greenery, alternated with bare, scarred mountain sides dotted with bare trunks, among which disastrous forest fires had swept. it was a grand scene, impressive in its magnitude and sense of solitary isolation. far beyond the peaks below them could be seen snow-capped summits, marking the loftiest points of the range. here and there deep dark wooded canyons cut among the hills reaching down to unknown depths. "looks like a good country for grizzlies or deer," commented cal. "grizzlies!" exclaimed joe, "are there many of them back here?" "looks like there might be," rejoined cal, "this is the land of big bears, big deer, little matches, and big trees, and by the same token there's a clump of the last right ahead of us." sure enough not a hundred yards from where they had halted, there stood a little group of the biggest trees the lads had ever set eyes on. the loftiest towered fully two hundred feet above the ground, while a roadway could have been cut through its trunk--as is actually the case with another famous specimen of the sequoia gigantea. the foliage was dark green and had a tufted appearance, while the trunks were a rich, reddish brown. the group of vegetable mammoths was as impressive a sight as the lads had ever gazed upon. "them is about the oldest livin' things in ther world," said cal gazing upward, "when noah was building his ark them trees was 'most as big as they are now." "i tole you vot i do," suddenly announced herr muller, "i take it a photogrift from der top of one of dem trees aindt it?" "how can you climb them?" asked nat. "dot iss easiness," rejoined the german, "here, hold bismark--dot iss vot i call der horse--und i gedt out mein climbing irons." diving into his blanket-roll he produced a pair of iron contrivances, shaped somewhat like the climbing appliances which linemen on telegraph systems use to scale the smooth poles. these were heavier, and with longer and sharper steel points on them, however. rapidly herr muller, by means of stout straps, buckled them on, explaining that he had used them to take pictures from treetops within the black forest. a few seconds later he selected the tallest of the trees and began rapidly to ascend it. the climbing irons and the facility they lent him in ascending the bare trunk delighted the boys, who determined to have some made for themselves at the first opportunity. "he kin climb like a dutch squirrel," exclaimed cal admiringly, as with a wave of his hand the figure of the little german grew smaller, and finally vanished in the mass of dark, sombre green which clothed the summit of the great red-wood. "he ought to get a dandy picture from way up there," said joe. "yes," agreed nat, "he----" the boy stopped suddenly short. from the summit of the lofty tree there had come a sharp, piercing cry of terror. "help! help! quvick or i fall down!" chapter xi. treed!--two hundred feet up. mingling with the alarming yells of the german came a strange spitting, snarling sound. filled with apprehensions, the boys and cal rushed for the foot of the immense tree and gazed upward into the lofty gloom of its leafy summit. they uttered a cry of alarm as they did so. in fact the spectacle their eyes encountered was calculated to cause the heart of the most hardened woodsman to beat faster. astride of a branch, with his shoe soles dangling two hundred feet above the ground, was herr muller, while between him and the trunk of the tree was crouched a snarling, spitting wild cat of unusual size. it seemed about to spring at the human enemy who had unwittingly surprised it in its aerial retreat. the boys were stricken speechless with alarm as they gazed, but cal shouted encouragingly upward. "hold on there, dutchy. we'll help you out." "i know. dot iss all right," came back the reply in a tremulous tone, "but i dink me dis branch is rodden und ef der tom cat drives me much furder out i down come." "don't dare think of such a thing," called up cal, "just you grip tight and don't move." "all right, i try," quavered the photographer, about whose neck still dangled the tool of his craft. cal's long legs covered the space between the tree and the auto in about two leaps, or so it seemed to the boys. in a flash he was back with his well worn rifle and was aiming it upward into the tree. but as he brought the weapon to his shoulder and his finger pressed the trigger the formidable creature crouching along the limb, sprang full at the luckless herr muller. with a yell that stopped the breath of every one of the alarmed party below, the german was seen to lose his hold and drop, crashing through the foliage like a rock. as he fell a shower of small branches and twigs were snapped off and floated downward into space. but herr muller was not doomed, as the boys feared was inevitable, to be dashed to pieces on the ground. instead, just as it appeared impossible that he could save himself from a terrible death, the german succeeded in seizing a projecting limb and hanging on. the branch bent ominously, but it held, and there he hung suspended helplessly with nothing under him but barren space. truly his position now did not appear to be materially bettered from its critical condition of a few minutes before. but the boys did not know, nor cal either, that the germans are great fellows for athletics and gymnastics, and almost every german student has at one time or another belonged to a turn verein. this was the case with herr muller and his training stood him in good stead now. with a desperate summoning of his strength, he slowly drew himself up upon the bending limb, and began tortuously to make his way in toward the trunk. as he did so, the wild cat perceiving that it was once more at close quarters with its enemy, advanced down the trunk, but it was not destined this time to reach the german. cal took careful aim and fired. before the echo of the sharp report had died away a tawny body came clawing and yowling downward, out of the tree, tumbling over and over as it shot downward. the boys could not repress a shudder as they thought how close herr muller had come to sharing the same fate. the creature was, of course, instantly killed as it struck the ground, and was found to be an unusually large specimen of its kind. its fur was a fine piece of peltry and cal's skillful knife soon had it off the brute's carcass. a preparation of arsenic which the boys carried for such purposes, was then rubbed on it to preserve it till it could be properly cured and mounted. this done, it was placed away with the mountain lion skin in a big tin case in the tonneau. while all this was going on, herr muller recovered the possession of his faculties, which had almost deserted him in the terrible moment when he hung between life and death. presently he began to descend the tree. near the bottom of the trunk, however, his irons slipped and he came down with a run and a rush that scraped all the skin off the palms of his hands, and coated his clothes with the red stain of the bark. he was much too glad to be back on earth, however, to mind any such little inconveniences as that. "boys, i tole you ven i hung dere i dink by myselfs if ever i drop, i drop like lucifer----" "l-l-lucy who?" inquired ding-dong curiously. "lucifer--der devil you know, nefer to rise no more yet already." "i see you have studied milton," laughed nat, "but i can tell you, all joking aside, you gave us a terrible scare. i want you to promise to do all your photographing from safe places hereafter." "i vould suffer more dan dot for mein art," declared herr muller proudly, "ach, vot a terrible fright dot robert cat give me." "yep, those bob cats,--as we call them for short,--are ugly customers at close quarters," put in cal, with a grin. "say," said nat, suddenly pointing below them, "that little stream down there looks as if it ought to have some trout in it. what do you say if we try and get some for dinner?" "all right," agreed cal, "you fellers go fishin' and the perfusser here and i will stand by the camp." "chess. i dinks me i dondt feel much like valking aroundt," remarked herr muller, whose face was still pale from the alarming ordeal he had undergone. so the boys selected each a rod and set out at a rapid pace for the little brook nat had indicated. the watercourse boiled brownly along over a rough bed of rocks, forming here and there little waterfalls and cascades, and then racing on again under flowering shrubs and beneath high, rocky ramparts. it was ideal trout water, and the boys, who were enthusiastic fishermen, welcomed the prospect of "wetting a line" in it. the brook was about a quarter of a mile from the camp under the big trees, and the approach to it was across a park-like grassy slope. beyond it, however, another range shot up forbiddingly, rearing its rough, rugged face to the sky like an impassable rampart. gaunt pines clothed its rocky slope, intermingled with clumps of chaparral and the glossy-leaved madrone bushes. they grew almost down to the edge of the stream in which the boys intended to fish. the sport, as nat had anticipated, was excellent. so absorbed in it did he become in fact, that he wandered down the streamlet's course farther than he had intended. killing trout, however, is fascinating sport, and the time passed without the boy really noticing at all how far he had become separated from his companions. at last, with a dozen fine speckled beauties, not one of which would weigh less than three-quarters of a pound, the boy found time to look about him. there was not a sign of joe or ding-dong bell and he concluded that they must be farther up the stream. with the intention of locating them he started to retrace his footsteps. "odd how far a fellow can come without knowing it, when he's fishing," mused nat. i wonder how many other boys have thought the same thing! as he went along he looked about him. on his right hand towered the rocky slopes of the range, with the dark shadows lying under the gaunt pine trees. on his other hand, separated from him, however, by some clumps of madrone and manzinita, was the grove of big trees under which the auto was parked, and where cal and herr muller were doubtlessly impatiently awaiting his arrival and that of his companions. "got to hurry," thought nat, mending his pace once more, but to his dismay, as he stepped forward, his foot slipped on a sharp-edged rock, and with a wrench of sharp pain he realized that he had twisted his ankle. the sprain, judging by the pain it gave him, seemed to be a severe one, too. "wow!" thought nat, sinking back upon another rock and nursing his foot, "that was a twister and no mistake. wonder if i can get back on foot. guess i'll rest a minute and see if it gets any better." the boy had sat thus for perhaps five minutes when there came a sudden rustling in the brush before him. at first he did not pay much attention to it, thinking that a rabbit, or even a deer might be going through. suddenly the noise ceased abruptly. then it came again. this time it was louder and it sounded as if some heavy body was approaching. "great scott!" was the sudden thought that flashed across the boy's mind, "what if it's a bear!" he had good cause for alarm in such a case, for he had nothing more formidable with which to face it but his fishing rod. but the next moment the boy was destined to receive even a greater shock than the sudden appearance of a grizzly would have given him. the shrubs before him suddenly parted and the figure of a man in sombrero, rough shirt and trousers, with big boots reaching to his knees, stepped out. "ed. dayton!" gasped nat looking up at the apparition. "yep, ed. dayton," was the reply, "and this time, master nat, i've got you where i want you. boys!" he raised his voice as he uttered the last word. in response, from the brush-wood there stepped two others whom nat had no difficulty in recognizing as the redoubtable al. jeffries and the man with whom he had struggled on the stable floor the memorable night of the attempted raid on the auto. chapter xii. nat's lucky escape. if a round black bomb had come rolling down the mountain side and exploded at nat's feet he could not have been more thunderstruck than he was at the sudden appearance of his old enemy. true, he should have had such a possibility in mind, but so intent had he been on his trout fishing, and the pain of his injury on the top of that, that he had not given a thought to the possibility of any of their foes being about. "don't make a racket," warned al. jeffries ominously, as he flourished a revolver about, "i'm dreadful nervous, and if you make a noise i might pull the trigger by accident." nat saw at once that this was one way of saying that he would be shot if he made any outcry, and he decided that there was nothing for him to do but to refrain from giving any shout of alarm. had his ankle not been wrenched and giving him so much pain the boy would have tried to run for it. but as it was, he was powerless to do anything but wait. "ain't quite so gabby now as you was in lower california," snarled dayton vindictively, as the boy sat staring at his captors. "if you mean by that that i am not doing any talking, you're right," rejoined nat. "that's a purty nice watch you've got there," remarked al., gazing at nat's gold timepiece which had been jerked out of his breast pocket when he fell over the rock. "yes," agreed nat, determined not to show them that he was alarmed by his predicament, "my dead father gave me that." "well, just hand it over." "what?" nat's face flushed angrily. his temper began to rise too. "come on, hand it over and don't be all night about it," ordered al. nat jumped to his feet. his fists were clenched ready for action. it seemed clear that if they were going to take the watch from him while he had strength to protect himself that they had a tough job in front of them. but an unexpected interruption occurred. it came from ed. dayton. "see here, al.," he growled, "don't get too previous. i reckon the colonel can dispose of the watch as he sees fit. all such goes to him first you know, so as to avoid disputes." "don't see where you come in to run this thing," muttered al., but nevertheless he subsided into silence. all this time nat's mind had been working feverishly. but cast about as he would he could not hit on a plan of escape. "i guess the only thing to do is to let them make the first move, and then lie low and watch for a chance to get away," he thought to himself. "wonder what they mean to do with me anyhow?" he was not left long in doubt. "get the horses," dayton ordered, turning to al. jeffries. the other, still grumbling, turned obediently away however. there seemed to be no doubt that ed. dayton was a man of some power in the band. nat saw this with a sinking heart. he knew the vengeful character of the man too well for it not to cause him the gravest apprehension of what his fate might be. not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash, however, did he let the ruffians see that he was alarmed. he would not for worlds have given them the satisfaction of seeing him weaken. pretty soon al. returned with three ponies. the animals must have been hidden in the brush on the opposite, or mountain side of the stream, for this was the direction in which al. had gone to get them. they were a trio of wiry little steeds. on the back of each was a high-horned and cantled mexican saddle, with a rifle holster and a canteen slung from it. the bridle of dayton's pony was decorated with silver ornaments in the western fashion. "come on. get up kid," said dayton gruffly, seizing nat by the shoulder, "we've got a long way to go with you." a long way to go! the words sounded ominous, and nat, hurt as he was, decided on taking a desperate chance. springing suddenly to his feet he lowered his head and ran full tilt at dayton, driving his head into the pit of the ruffian's stomach with the force of a battering ram. "wo-o-o-f!" with the above exclamation the rascal doubled up and pitched over. before the others could recover their presence of mind nat, despite the pain in his ankle, had managed to dash in among the brush where it was impossible to aim at him with any hope of bringing him down. nevertheless, dayton's companions started firing into the close-growing vegetation. "fire away," thought nat, painfully struggling through the thick growth, "the more bullets you waste the fewer you'll have for your rascally work." but dayton had, by this time, scrambled to his feet, and the boy could hear him shouting angry commands. at the same instant came shouts from another direction. with a quick flash of joy, nat recognized the new voices. the shouts were in the welcome and familiar tones of cal gifford and the motor rangers. "mount, boys, and get out of here quick!" the warning shout came from behind the fleeing boy, and was in the voice of dayton. the rascal evidently had heard, and interpreted aright, the exclamations and shouts from the meadow side of the brook. the next instant a clattering of hoofs announced the fact that the members of col. morello's band of outlaws were putting all the distance between themselves and the motor rangers' camp that they could. "good riddance," muttered nat, thinking how nearly he had come to being borne off with them. but the tension of the excitement over, the pain in his ankle almost overcame him. he sank limply down on a rock and sent out a cry for aid. "cal! cal! this way!" "yip yee!" he heard the welcome answering shout, and before many seconds had passed herr muller's horse, with the westerner astride of its bony back, came plunging into the brush. behind came joe and ding-dong, wide-eyed with excitement. they had missed their comrade and had been searching for him when the sound of the shots came. cal, who had also become anxious, and had ridden down from the camp to the stream side, was with them at the moment. together the rescue party had hastened forward, too late however, to find dayton and his companions. they naturally heard nat's story with deep interest and attention. "good thing them varmints didn't know that you two weren't armed," said cal, turning to joe and ding-dong, "or they might hev stayed. in which case the whole bunch of us might have been cleaned out." "i think it will be a pretty good rule never to leave camp in future without a revolver or a rifle," said nat, painfully rising to his feet and steadying himself by gripping bismark's mane. "right you are, my boy. we ought to have done thet in the first place. howsomever, the thing to do now is to get you back ter camp. come on, i'll give you a leg up." as he spoke, cal slid off bismark's back, and presently nat was in his place. escorted by joe and ding-dong, the cavalcade lost no time in getting back to where the auto had been left in charge of herr muller. "get any pictures while we was gone?" asked cal as they came within hailing distance. "nein," rejoined the german sorrowfully. "nine," exclaimed cal looking about him, "where in thunder did you get nine subjects about here?" "he means no," said nat, who had to laugh despite his pain, at this confusion of tongues. "wall, why can't he say so?" grunted cal, plainly despising the ignorance of the foreigner. nat's ankle was found to be quite badly twisted, but cal's knowledge of woodcraft stood them in good stead. after examining it and making sure that nothing was broken, the former stage driver searched about the grassy meadow for a while and finally plucked several broad leaves from a low-growing bush. these had a silvery tint underneath and were dark on the upper surface. "silver weed," said cal briefly, as he came back to the camp. selecting a small pot, he rapidly heated some water on the fire which herr muller had kindled in his absence. this done, he placed the leaves to steep in it and after a while poured off the water and made a poultice with the leaves. this he bound upon nat's ankle and in a wonderfully short time the pain was much reduced, and the boy could use his foot. in the meantime, a spiderful of beans and bacon had been cooked to go with the fried trout, and the inevitable coffee prepared. for dessert they had canned peaches, topping off the spread with crackers and cheese. "tell you," remarked cal, as he drew out his black pipe and prepared to enjoy his after dinner smoke, "this thing of travelling round in an auto is real, solid comfort. we couldn't hev had a spread like that if we'd bin on the trail with a packing outfit." dinner over and nat feeling his ankle almost as well as ever, it was decided to start on at once. for one thing, the outlaws might have marked the camping place and it was not a good enough strategic position to withstand an attack if one should be made. "we want to be in a snugger place than this if that outfit starts in on us," said cal decisively. "do you think they'll make us more trouble then?" inquired joe. "i think that what they did to-day shows that they are keeping pretty close watch on us, my boy. it's up to us to keep our eyes open by day and sleep with one optic unclosed at night." herr muller and ding-dong bell, who had undertaken the dishwashing, soon concluded the task and the motor rangers once more set out. they felt some regret at leaving the beautiful camping spot behind them, but still, as cal had pointed out, it was a bad location from which to repulse an enemy, supposing they should be attacked. "vell, i'm gladt i didndt drop from dot tree," remarked herr muller, gazing back at the lofty summit of the imposing big tree, in which he had had such a narrow escape. "you take your pictures on terra firma after this," advised joe. "or if you do any more such stunts leave the camera with us," suggested cal, who was leading the teuton's steed. "then we could get a g-g-g-g-good pup-p-p-picture of what england d-d-dreads," stuttered ding-dong. "what's that?" inquired nat. "the g-g-g-g-g-german p-p-p-peril," chuckled the stuttering youth. soon after leaving the pleasant plateau of the big trees the scenery became rough and wild in the extreme. the sierras are noted for their deep, narrow valleys, and after about an hour's progress over very rough trails the motor rangers found themselves entering one of these gloomy defiles. after the bright sunlight of the open country its dim grandeur struck a feeling of apprehension into their minds. it seemed chilly and oppressive somehow. "say, perfusser," suggested cal presently, "just sing us that chinese song to cheer us up, will you?" "hi lee! hi lo! hi lee! hi lay!----" the "perfusser," as cal insisted on calling him, had obligingly begun when from ahead of them and high up, as it seemed, came a peculiar sound. it was a crackling of brush and small bushes apparently. instinctively nat stopped the car and it was well that he did so, for the next instant a giant boulder came crashing down the steep mountainside above them. [illustration: instinctively nat stopped the car, and it was well that he did so, for the next instant a giant boulder came crashing down.] chapter xiii. the volley in the canyon. nat had stopped in the nick of time. as the auto came to an abrupt halt, almost jolting those in the tonneau out of their seats, there was a roar like the voice of an avalanche. from far up the hillside a cloud of dust grew closer, and thundered past like an express train. in the midst of the cloud was the huge, dislodged rock, weighing perhaps half a ton or more. so close did it whiz by, in fact, just ahead of the car, that nat could almost have sworn that it grazed the engine bonnet. the ground shook and trembled as if an earthquake was in progress, during the passage of the huge rock. "whew! well, what do you think of that!" gasped joe. "i thought the whole mountainside was coming away," exclaimed ding-dong, startled into plain speech by his alarm. of course the first thing to be done was to clamber out of the car and examine the monster rock, which had come to rest some distance up the side of the opposite cliff to that from which it had fallen, such had been its velocity. nat could not help shuddering as he realized that if the great stone had ever struck the auto it would have been, in the language of cal, "good-night" for the occupants of that vehicle. "ach, vee vould haf been more flat as a pretzel alretty yet," exclaimed herr muller, unslinging his ever ready camera, and preparing to take a photo of the peril which had so narrowly missed them. "this must be our lucky day," put in joe, "three narrow escapes, one after the other. i wonder if there'll be a fourth." "better not talk about it, joe," urged cal, "the next time we might not be so fortunate." "guess that's right," said nat, who was examining the boulder with some care. apparently it had been one of those monster rocks which glacial action in the bygone ages has left stranded, delicately balanced on a mountainside. some rocks of this character it takes but a light shove to dislodge. so perfectly are other great masses poised that it takes powerful leverage to overcome their inertia--to use a term in physics. but the scientific aspect of the rock was not what interested nat. what he wanted to find out was just how such a big stone could have become unseated from the mountainside and at a time when its downfall would, but for their alertness, have meant disaster and perhaps death, to the motor rangers. nat had an idea, but he did not wish to announce it till he was sure. suddenly he straightened up with a flushed face. his countenance bore an angry look. "come here, fellows," he said, "and tell me what you make of this mark at the side of the rock." he indicated a queer abrasion on one side of the stone. the living stone showed whitely where the lichen and moss had been scraped aside. "looks like some cuss had put a lever under it," pronounced cal, after a careful inspection. "that's what. fellows, this rock was deliberately tilted so that it would come down on us and crush us. now there's only one bunch of men that we know of mean enough to do such a thing and that's----" _phut-t-t!_ something whistled past nat's ear with a noise somewhat like the humming of a drowsy bee, only the sound lasted but for a fraction of a second. nat knew it instantly for what it was. a bullet! it struck the rock behind him, and not half an inch from a direct line with his head, with a dull spatter. the boy could not help turning a trifle pale as he realized what an exceedingly narrow escape he had had. cal's countenance blazed with fury. "the--the dern--skunks!" he burst out, unlimbering his well polished old revolver. "reckon two kin play at that game." but nat pulled the other's arm down. "no good, cal," he said, "the best thing we can do is to get out of here as quickly as possible. one man up there behind those rocks could wipe out an army down in here." cal nodded grimly, as he recognized the truth of the lad's words. truly they were in no position to do anything but, as nat had suggested, get out as quickly as possible. as they reached this determination another bullet whizzed by and struck a rock behind them, doubly convincing them of the wisdom of this course. fortunately, as has been said, the boulder had rolled clear across the floor of the narrow canyon, such had been its velocity. this was lucky for the lads, for if it had obstructed the way they would have been in a nasty trap. with no room to turn round and no chance of going ahead their invisible enemies would have had them at their mercy. but if they could not see the shooters on the hillside, those marksmen appeared to have their range pretty accurately. bullets came pattering about them now in pretty lively fashion. suddenly herr muller gave an exclamation and a cry of mingled pain and alarm. a red streak appeared at the same instant on the back of his hand where the bullet had nicked him. but this was not the cause of his outcry. the missile had ended its career in the case in which he carried his photographic plates. nat heard the exclamation and turned about as the car began to move forward. "where are you hurt?" he asked anxiously, fearing some severe injury might have been inflicted on their teutonic comrade. "in der plate box," was the astonishing reply. "good heavens, you are shot in the stomach?" cried joe. "no, but seferal of my plates have been smashed, ach himmel voss misfordune." "i suppose you thought that plate box meant about the same thing as bread basket," grinned nat, turning to joe, as they sped forward. a ragged fire followed them, but no further damage to car or occupants resulted. herr muller's horse, in the emergency, behaved like a veteran. it trotted obediently behind the car without flinching. "bismark, i am proudt off you," smiled his owner, after the damage to the plate box had been investigated and found to be not so serious as its owner had feared. "we must have drawn out of range," said cal, as after a few more desultory reports the firing ceased altogether. "i hope so, i'm sure," responded nat, "i tell you it's a pretty mean feeling, this thing of being shot at by a chap you can't see at all." "yep, he jes' naturally has a drop on you," agreed cal. "wonder how them fellers trailed us?" "simple enough," rejoined nat, "at least, it is so to my way of thinking. they didn't _trail_ us at all. they just got ahead of us." "how do you mean?" asked cal, even his keen wits rather puzzled. "why they figured out, i guess, that we weren't going to be such cowards as to let their attempts to scare us turn us back. that being the case, the only way for us to proceed forward from the big trees was to drive through this canyon. i reckon therefore that they just vamoosed ahead a bit and were ready with that big rock when we came along." "the blamed varmints," ground out the ex-stage driver, "i wonder if they meant to crush us?" "quite likely," rejoined nat, "and if this car hadn't been able to stop in double-quick jig-time, they'd have done it, too. of course they may have only intended to block the road so that they could go through us at their leisure. but in that case i should think that they would have had the rock already there before we came along." "just my idea, lad," agreed the westerner heartily, "them pestiferous coyotes wouldn't stop at a little thing like wiping us out, if it was in their minds ter do it. but i've got an idea that we must be getting near their den. i've heard it is back this way somewhere." "if that is so," commented nat, "it would account for their anxiety to turn us back. but," and here the boy set his lips grimly, "that's one reason why i'm determined to go on." "and you can bet that i'm with you every step of the way," was cal's hearty assurance. he laid a brown paw on nat's hands as they gripped the steering wheel. i can tell you, that in the midst of the perils into which nat could not help feeling they were now approaching, it felt good to have a stalwart, resourceful chap like cal along. "thanks, cal. i know you'll stick," rejoined nat simply, and that was all. the canyon--or more properly, pass--which they had been traversing soon came to an end, the spurs of the mountains which formed it sloping down, and "melting" off into adjoining ranges. this formed a pleasant little valley between their slopes. the depression, which was perhaps four miles in circumference, was carpeted with vivid green bunch grass. clumps of flowering shrubs stood in the centre where a small lake, crystal clear, was formed by the conjunction of two little streams. the water was the clear, cold liquid of the mountains, sharp with the chill of the high altitudes. after the boys had selected a camping place on a little knoll commanding all parts of the valley, their first task was to bring up buckets of water and clean off the auto which, by this time, as you may imagine, was pretty grimy and dusty. several marks on the tonneau, too, showed where bullets had struck during the brush in the canyon. altogether, the car looked "like business," that is to say, as if it had gone through other ups and downs than those of the mountains themselves. an inspection of the big gasolene tank showed that the emergency container was almost exhausted, and before they proceeded to anything else, nat ordered the tanks filled from the stock they carried in the big "store-room," suspended under the floor of the car. "we might have to get out of here in a hurry, when there would be no time to fill up the tanks," he said. "it's best to have everything ready in case of accidents." "that's right," agreed cal, "nothing like havin' things ready. i recollect one time when i was back home in iowy that they----" but whatever had occurred--and it was doubtless interesting--back at cal's home in iowa, the boys were destined never to know; for at that moment their attention was attracted to the horse of herr muller, which had been tethered near a clump of madrone shrubs not far from the lake. "he's gone crazy!" shouted joe. "m-m-m-mad as a h-h-h-atter in mum-m-march," sputtered ding-dong. no wonder the boys came to such a conclusion. for a respectable equine, such as herr muller's steed had always shown himself to be, bismark certainly was acting in an extraordinary manner. at one moment he flung his heels high into the air, and almost at the same instant up would come his forelegs. then, casting himself on the ground, he would roll over and over, sending up little showers of turf and stones with his furiously beating hoofs. all the time he kept up a shrill whinnying and neighing that greatly added to the oddity of his performance. "ach himmel! bismark is a loonitacker!" yelled herr muller, rushing toward his quadruped, of which he had become very fond. but alas! for the confidence of the teuton. as he neared bismark, the "loonitacker" horse up with his hind legs and smiting herr muller in the chest, propelled him with speed and violence backward toward the lake. in vain herr muller tried to stop his backward impetus by clutching at the brush. it gave way in his hands like so much flax. another second and he was soused head over heels in the icy mountain water. "what in the name of ben butler has got inter the critter?" gasped cal amazedly. the others opened their eyes wide in wonder. all of them had had something to do with horses at different stages of their careers, but never in their united experiences had a horse been seen to act like bismark, the "loonitacker." chapter xiv. a "loonitacker" horse. "i have it!" cried nat suddenly. "what, the same thing as bismark?" shouted joe, "here somebody, hold him down." "no, i know what's the matter with him--loco weed!" he stooped down and picked up a small, bright green trefoil leaf. cal slapped his leg with an exclamation as he looked at it. "that's right, boy. that's loco weed, sure. it's growing all around here, and we was too busy to notice it. that old plug has filled his ornery carcass up on it." by this time the german had crawled out of the water, and was poking a dripping face, with a comical expression of dismay on it, through the bushes about the lake. not seeing bismark near, he ventured out a few paces, but the horse suddenly spying him made a mad dash for him. herr muller beat a hasty retreat. even bismark could not penetrate into the thick brush after him. "vos is los mit bismark?" yelled the german from his retreat at the boys and cal, who were almost convulsed with laughter at the creature's comical antics. "i guess his brains is loose," hailed back cal, whose knowledge of the german language was limited. "he's mad!" shouted joe by way of imparting some useful information. "mad? voss iss he madt about?" "oh, what's the use?" sighed joe. then placing his hands funnelwise to his mouth he bawled out:-- "he's locoed!" "low toed?" exclaimed the amazed german. "then i take him mit der blacksmith." "say, you simian-faced subject of hoch the kaiser, can't you understand english?" howled cal, in a voice that might have dislodged a mountain. "bismark is crazy, locoed, mad, off his trolley, got rats in his garret, bats in his belfry, bug-house, screw-loose, daft, looney--now do you understand?" "yah!" came the response, "now i know. bismark is aufergerspeil." "all right, call it that if you want to," muttered cal. then, as bismark, with a final flourish of his heels and a loud shrill whinny, galloped off, the westerner turned to the boys. "well, we've seen the last of him for a while." "aren't you going to try to catch him?" asked nat, as he watched the horse dash across the meadow-like hollow, and then vanish in the belt of dark wood on the hillside beyond. "no good," said cal decisively, "wouldn't be able to do a thing with him for days. that loco weed is bad stuff. if i'd ever noticed it growing around here you can bet that bismuth, or whatever that dutchman calls him, wouldn't have left the camp." herr muller, rubbing a grievous bump he had received when the ungrateful equine turned upon the hand that fed him, now came up and joined the party. he made such a grievous moan over the loss of his horse that nat's heart was melted. he promised finally that they would stay in the vicinity the next day, and if bismark had not appeared that they would make a short search in the mountains for him. this was strongly against cal's advice, but he, too, finally gave in. the westerner knew better even than the boys with what a desperate gang they were at odds, and he did not favor anything that delayed their getting out of that part of the country as quick as possible. "my mine is only a day or so's run from here," he said to nat, "and if once we reached there we could stand these fellows off till help might be summoned from some place below, and we could have morello's gang all arrested." "that would be a great idea," agreed nat, "do you think it could be done?" "don't see why not," rejoined cal, "but you'll see better when you get a look at the place. it's a regular natural fortress, that's what it is. my plan would be to hold 'em there while one of us rides off to laredo or big oak flat for the sheriff and his men." "we'll talk some more about that," agreed nat, to whom the idea appealed immensely. in fact, he felt that there was little chance of their really enjoying their trip till they were sure that col. morello's gang was disposed of. somehow nat had a feeling that they were not through with the rascals yet. in which surmise, as we shall see, he was right. supper that night was a merry meal, and after it had been disposed of, the waterproof tent which the boys had brought along was set up for the first time. with its sod cloth and spotless greenish-gray coloring, it made an inviting looking little habitation, more especially when the folding cots were erected within. but herr muller was in a despondent mood. he ate his supper in silence and sat melancholy and moody afterward about the roaring camp fire. "ach dot poor horse. maypee der wolves get der poor crazy loonitacker," he moaned. "wall," commented cal judicially, "ef he kin handle wolves as well as he kin dutchmen he's no more reason to be scared of 'em than he is of jack-rabbits." of course watches were posted that night, and extra careful vigilance exercised. the events of the day had not added to the boys' confidence in their safety, by any means. there was every danger, in fact, of a night attack being attempted by their enemies. but the night passed without any alarming interruption. and the morning dawned as bright and clear as the day that had preceded it. breakfast was quickly disposed of, and then plans were laid for the pursuit of the errant bismark. cal was of the opinion, that if the effect of the loco weed had worn off, that the horse might be found not far from the camp. there was a chance, of course, that he might have trotted back home. but cal's experience had shown him that in the lonely hills, horses generally prefer the company of human kind to the solitudes and that if the influence of the crazy-weed was not still upon him the quadruped would be found not very far off. this was cheering news to the photographing teuton, who could hardly eat any breakfast so impatient was he to be off. cal was to stay and guard the camp with ding-dong for a companion. the searching party was to consist of nat, in command, with joe and herr muller as assistants. all, of course, carried weapons, and it was agreed that the signal in case of accident or attack, would be two shots in quick succession, followed by a third. two shots alone would announce that the horse was found; while one would signify failure and an order to turn homeward. these details being arranged, and herr muller thoroughly drilled in them, the searchers set forth. the little meadow was soon traversed, and at the edge of the woods, which clothed the slope at this side of the valley, they separated. nat took the centre, striking straight ahead on bismark's trail, while the other two converged at different radii. the hill-side was not steep, and walking under the piñons and madrones not difficult. occasionally a clump of dense chaparral intervened, so thick that it had to be walked around. it would have been waste of time to attempt to penetrate it. all three of the searchers, as may be imagined, kept a sharp look-out, not only for trace of bismark but also for any sign of danger. but they tramped on, while the sun rose higher, without anything alarming making itself manifest. but of bismark not a trace was to be found. he had, apparently, vanished completely. the ground was dry and rocky, too, which was bad, so far as trailing was concerned. nat, although he now and then tumbled on a hoof mark or found a spot where bismark had stopped to graze, saw nothing further of the horse. at last he looked at his watch. he gave an exclamation of astonishment as he did so. it was almost noon. "got to be starting back," he thought, and drawing his revolver, he fired one shot, the signal agreed upon for the return. this done, he set off walking at a brisk pace toward what he believed was the valley. but nat, like many a more experienced mountaineer, had become hopelessly turned around during his wanderings. while it seemed to him he was striking in an easterly direction, he was, as a matter of fact, proceeding almost the opposite way. after tramping for an hour or more the boy began to look about him. "that's odd," he thought as he took in the surroundings, "i don't remember seeing anything like this around the valley." it was, in fact, a very different scene from that surrounding the camp that now lay about him. instead of a soft, grass-covered valley, all that could be seen from the bare eminence on which he had now climbed, was a rift in some bare, rocky hills. the surroundings were inexpressibly wild and desolate looking. tall rocks, like the minarets of eastern castles, shot upward, and the cliffs were split and riven as if by some immense convulsion of nature. high above the wild scene there circled a big eagle. from time to time it gave a harsh scream, adding a dismal note to the dreary environment. for a flash nat felt like giving way to the wild, unreasoning panic that sometimes overwhelms those who suddenly discover they are hopelessly lost. his impulse was to dash into the wood and set off running in what he thought must be the right direction. but he checked himself by an effort of will, and forced his mind to accept the situation as calmly as possible. "how foolish i was not to mark the trees as i came along!" he thought. if only he had done that it would have been a simple matter to find his way back. a sudden idea flashed into his mind, and drawing out his watch the boy pointed the hour hand at the sun, which was, luckily, in full sight. he knew that a point between the hour hand thus directed, and noon, would indicate the north and south line. as nat had begun to think, this test showed him that he had been almost completely turned about, and had probably come miles in the wrong direction. the east lay off to his right. nat faced about, and was starting pluckily off in that direction when a sudden commotion in a clump of chaparral below attracted his attention. a flock of blue jays flew up, screaming and scolding hoarsely in their harsh notes. nat was woodsman enough to know that the blue jay is the watch-dog of the forests. their harsh cries betoken the coming of anything for half a mile or more. sometimes, however, they do not scream out their warning till whatever alarms them is quite close. as the birds, uttering their grating notes, flew upward from the clump in the chaparral, nat paused. so still did he keep that he could distinctly hear the pounding of his heart in the silence. but presently another sound became audible. the trampling of horses coming in his direction! chapter xv. the motor ranger's peril. "reckon nat must have forgotten to fire the signal," thought joe, sinking down on a rock, some little time before the former had halted to listen intently to the approaching noise. suddenly, however, the distant report came, borne clearly to his ears. "there it goes," thought joe. "one shot. i guess that means good-bye to the dutchman's horse." knowing that it would be no use looking about for nat, for evidently from the faint noise of the shot it had been fired at some distance, joe faced about and started back for the camp. when he reached it, he found to his surprise, that herr muller had returned some time before. as a matter of fact, joe formed a shrewd suspicion from the rapid time he must have made on his return, that herr muller had sought a snug spot and dozed away the interval before nat's shot was heard. as it so happened he was not very far from the truth. the german, having tramped quite a distance into the woods, had argued to himself that he stood about as good a chance of recovering his horse by remaining still as by proceeding. so he had seated himself with a big china-bowled pipe, to await the recall signal. he had started on the hunt with much enthusiasm, but tramping over rough, stony ground, under a hot sun, is one of the greatest solvents of enthusiasm known. and so it had proved in the german's case. he had, however, a fine tale to tell of his tramp, and to listen to him one would have thought that he was the most industrious of the searchers. "guess we'd better start dinner without nat," said cal, after they had hung around, doing nothing but watching the pots simmer over the camp fire, for an hour or two. "that's a gug-g-g-good idea," agreed ding-dong. joe demurred a bit at the idea of not waiting for their young leader, but finally he, too, agreed to proceed with the meal. as will be seen by this, not much anxiety was yet felt in the camp over nat's absence. he was stronger and much more wiry than the other two searchers, and it was altogether probable that he had proceeded much farther than had they. but, as the afternoon wore on and no nat put in an appearance, conversation seemed to languish. anxious eyes now sought the rim of the woods on the opposite side of the clearing. nobody dared to voice the fears that lay at their hearts, however. cal, perhaps, alone among them, realized the extent of the peril in which nat stood, if he were lost in the mountains. it was for this reason that he did not speak until it became impossible to hold out hope any longer. this was when the shadows began to lengthen and the western sky burned dull-red, as the sun sank behind the pine-fringed mountain tops. then, and not till then, cal spoke what was on his mind. his comrades received the news of cal's conviction that nat was lost without the dismay and outward excitement that might have been expected. as a matter of fact, the dread that something had happened to the lad had been in the minds of all of them for some hours, although each tried to appear chipper and cheerful. there was no evading the facts as they stood, any longer, however. very soon night would fall, with its customary suddenness in these regions. unless nat returned before that time--which was so improbable as to hardly be worth considering--there remained only one conclusion to be drawn. "whatever can we do?" demanded joe, in a rather shaky voice, as he thought of his comrade out on the desolate mountain side, hungry and perhaps thirsty, looking in vain for a trace of a trail back to camp. "not much of anything," was cal's disquieting reply, "except to stay put." "you mean stay right where we are?" "that's right, boy. there's a chance that nat may be back before long. only a chance, mind you, but in that case we want ter be right here." "suppose he is h-h-h-h-hurt?" quavered out ding-dong, voicing a fear they had all felt, but had not, so far, dared to speak of. cal waved his hand in an inclusive way at the range opposite. "that will mean a search for him," he said, "and he may be any place in those hills within a ten-mile radius. talk about lookin' fer a needle in a haystack. it 'ud be child's play, to finding him in time to do anything." they could not but feel the truth of his words. "besides," went on cal, "there's another thing. we know that that ornery bunch of skunks and coyotes of morello's is sky-hootin' round here some place. if we leave the camp they might swoop down on it and clean it out, and then we'd be in a worse fix than ever." "that's right," admitted joe, "but it seems dreadfully tough to have to sit here with folded hands and doing nothing; while nat----" his voice broke, and he looked off toward the mountains, now dim and dun-colored in the fast gathering night. "no use giving way," said cal briskly, "and as fer sitting with folded hands, it's the worst thing you could do. here you," to herr muller, "hustle around and git all ther wood you can. a big pile of it. we'll keep up a monstrous fire all night in case the lad might happen to see it." "it will give us something to think about anyhow," said joe, catching the infection of cal's brisk manner; "come on, herr muller, i'll help you." they started off to collect wood, while ding-dong bell and cal busied themselves with the supper dishes and then cleaned up a variety of small jobs around the camp. "jes' stick this bit of advice in your craw, son," advised cal as he went briskly about his tasks, "work's the thing that trouble's most scart of, so if ever you want to shake your woes pitch in an' tackle something." while nat's comrades are thus employed, let us see for ourselves what has become of the lad. we left him listening intently to some approaching horsemen. he remained in this attentive attitude only long enough to assure himself that they were indeed coming toward him, and then, like a flash, his mind was made up. it was clear to the boy that travellers in such a remote part of the sierras were not common. it also came into his mind that col. morello's band was reputed to have their hiding place somewhere in the vicinity. the brief glance about him that nat had obtained had shown him that it was just the sort of place that men anxious to hide themselves from the law would select. in the first place, it was so rugged and wild as to be inaccessible to any but men on foot or horseback, and even then it would have been a rough trip. the valley, or rather "cut," in the hills, up which the sound of hoofs was coming, was, as has been said, narrow and deep in the extreme. from the summits of its cliffs a defence of the trail that lay beneath would be easy. stationed on those pinnacled, natural turrets, two might, if well supplied with ammunition, have withstood an army. all these thoughts had occurred to nat before he made his resolution--and turning, started to run. but as he sped along a fresh difficulty presented itself. the hillside at this point seemed to be alive with blue-jays. they flew screaming up, as he made his way along, and nat knew that if they had acted as a warning to him of approaching danger the vociferous birds would be equally probable to arouse the suspicions of whoever was coming his way. he paused to listen for a second, and was glad he had done so. the horsemen, to judge from their voices, had already reached the spot upon which he had been standing when he first heard them. what wind there was blew toward him and he could hear their words distinctly. "those jays are acting strangely, manuello. i wonder if there is anybody here." "i do not know, colonel," was the reply from the other unseen speaker, "if there is it will be to our advantage to find him. we don't want spies near the wolf's mouth." "wolf's mouth," thought nat, "if that's the name of that abyss it's well called." "you are right, manuello," went on the first speaker, "after what dayton told us about those boys i don't feel easy in my mind as long as they are in our neighborhood. if dayton and the others had not miscalculated yesterday we shouldn't have been bothered with them any longer." "no," was the rejoinder, "it's a pity that boulder didn't hit them and pound them into oblivion. just because they happen to be boys doesn't make them any the less dangerous to us." at this unlucky moment, while nat was straining his ears to catch every word of the conversation a stone against which he had braced one of his feet gave way. ordinarily he would have hardly noticed the sound it made as it went bounding and rolling down the hillside, but situated as he was, the noise seemed to be as startling and loud as the discharge of a big gun. "what was that?" asked the man who had been addressed as "colonel." "a dislodged stone," was the reply, "someone is in there; the blue-jays didn't fly up for nothing." "so it would seem. we had better investigate before going farther." "still, it is important that we find where those boys are camped." "that is true, but it is more important that we find out who is in that brush." without any more delay, the two horses were turned into the hillside growth. nat could hear their feet slipping and sliding among the loose rocks on the mountain as they came toward him. he did not dare to run for fear of revealing his whereabouts. close at hand was a piñon tree, which spread out low-growing branches all about. nat, as he spied it, decided that if he could get within its leafy screen unobserved he would, if luck favored him, escape the observation of the two men--one of whom he was certain now, must be the famous, or infamous, col. morello himself. without any repetition of the unlucky accident of the minute before, he crept to the trunk of the tree and hoisted himself noiselessly up. as he had surmised, the upper branches made a comfortable resting place impervious to the view from below. hardly had he made himself secure, before the horses of the two outlaws approached the tree and, rather to nat's consternation, halted almost immediately beneath it. could the keen-eyed leader of the outlaw band have discovered his hiding place? it was the most anxious moment of the boy's life. chapter xvi. the horns of a dilemma. few men, and still fewer boys, have ever been called upon to face the agonizing suspense which nat underwent in the next few seconds. so close were the men to his hiding place that his nostrils could scent the sharp, acrid odor of their cigarettes. he was still enough as he crouched breathless upon the limb to have been carved out of wood, like the branch upon which he rested. he did not even dare to wink his eyes for fear of alarming the already aroused suspicions of the two men below him. "guess those jays got scared at a lion or something," presently decided the man who had been addressed as "colonel." nat, peering through his leafy screen, could see him as he sat upright on his heavy saddle of carved leather and looked about him with a pair of hawk-like eyes. colonel morello, for nat had guessed correctly when he concluded that the man was the famous leader, was a man of about fifty years, with a weather-beaten face, seamed and lined by years of exposure and hard living. but his eye, as has been said, was as keen and restless as an eagle's. a big scar made a livid mark across his cheek indicating the course of a bullet, fired years before when morello had been at the head of a band of mexican revolutionists. in that capacity, indeed, he had earned his brevet rank of "colonel." a broad-brim gray sombrero, with a silver embossed band of leather about it, crowned the outlaw chief's head of glossy black hair, worn rather long and streaked with gray. across his saddle horn rested a long-barrelled automatic rifle, of latest make and pattern. for the rest his clothes were those of an everyday mountaineer with the exception of a wide red sash. his horse was a fine buckskin animal, and was almost as famous in sierran legend as its redoubtable master. his companion was a squat, evil-visaged mexican, with none of the latent nobility visible under the cruelty and rapaciousness which marred what might have once been the prepossessing countenance of morello. his black hair hung in dank, streaky locks down to the greasy shoulders of his well-worn buckskin coat, and framed a wrinkled face as dark as a bit of smoked mahogany, in which glittered, like two live coals, a pair of shifty black eyes. he was evidently an inferior to the other in every way--except possibly in viciousness. such were the two men who had paused below the tree in which was concealed, none too securely, the leader of the young motor rangers. as to what his fate might be if he fell into their hands nat could hazard a guess. all at once the lad noticed that the branch of the tree upon which he was lying was in motion. his first thought was that one of the men might be shaking it in some way. but no--neither of them had moved. they were seemingly following the remark of the colonel regarding the blue-jays, and taking a last look about before leaving. in another moment nat would have been safe, but as he moved his eyes to try and see what had shaken the bough he suddenly became aware of an alarming thing. from the branch of another tree which intertwined with the one in which he was hidden, there was creeping toward him a large animal. the boy gave a horrified gasp as he saw its greenish eyes fixed steadily on him with a purposeful glare. step by step, and not making as much noise as a stalking cat, the creature drew closer. to nat's terrified imagination it almost seemed as if it had already given a death spring, and that he was in its clutches. truly his predicament was a terrible one. if he remained as he was the brute was almost certain to spring upon him. on the other hand to make a move to escape would be to draw the attention of the outlaws to his hiding place. "phew," thought nat, "talk about being between two fires!" instinctively he drew his revolver. he felt that at least he stood more of a chance with his human foes than he did with this tawny-coated monster of the sierran slopes. if the worst came to the worst he would fire at the creature and trust to luck to escaping from the opposite horn of his dilemma. but in this nat had reckoned without his host--or rather, his four-footed enemy--for without the slightest warning the big creature launched its lithe body through the air. with a cry of alarm nat dropped, and it landed right on the spot where a second before he had been. at the same instant the colonel and his companion wheeled their horses with a startled exclamation. the horses themselves, no less alarmed, were pawing the ground and leaping about excitedly. the boy's fall, and the howl of rage from the disappointed animal, combined to make a sufficiently jarring interruption to the calm and quiet of the mountain side. "caramba! what was that?" the colonel's voice rang out sharply. "it's a boy!" cried his companion, pointing to nat's recumbent form. to the lad's dismay, in his fall his revolver had flown out of its holster and rolled some distance down the hillside. he lay there powerless, and too stunned and bruised by the shock of his fall to move. but the great cat above him was not inactive. foiled in its first spring it gathered itself for a second pounce but the colonel's sharp eye spied the tawny outline among the green boughs. raising his rifle he fired twice. at the first shot there came a howl of pain and rage. at the second a crashing and clawing as the monster rolled out of the tree and fell in a still, motionless heap not far from nat. "even the mountain lions seem to work for us," exclaimed the colonel triumphantly, as he dismounted and walked to nat's side. "yes, señor, and if i make no mistake this lad here is one of the very boys we are in search of." "you are right. these americans are devils. i make no doubt but this one was on his way to spy into our manner of living at our fort. eh boy, isn't that true?" "no," replied nat, whose face was pale but resolute. he scrambled painfully to his feet. covered with dust, scratched in a dozen places by his fall through the branches, and streaming with perspiration, he was not an imposing looking youth right then; but whatever his appearance might have been, his spirit was dauntless. "no," he repeated, "i came up here to look for a horse that one of us had lost." "that's a very likely story," was the colonel's brief comment, in a dry, harsh tone. his eyes grew hard as he spoke. evidently he had made up his mind that nat was a spy. "it is true," declared nat, "i had no idea of spying into your affairs." "oh no," sneered the colonel vindictively, "i suppose you will tell us next that you did not know where our fort is; that you were not aware that it is up that gorge there?" "this is the first i've heard of it," declared nat truthfully. "i hold a different opinion," was the rejoinder, "if you had not been up here on some mischievous errand you would not have concealed yourself in that tree. eh, what have you to say to that?" "simply that from all i had heard of you and your band. i was afraid to encounter you on uneven terms, and when i heard you coming, i hid," replied nat. "that is it, is it? well, i have the honor to inform you that i don't believe a word of your story. do you know what we did with spies when i was fighting on the border?" nat shook his head. the colonel's eyelids narrowed into two little slits through which his dark orbs glinted flintily. "we shot them," he whipped out. for a moment nat thought he was about to share the same fate. the colonel raised his rifle menacingly and glanced along the sights. but he lowered it the next minute and spoke again. "since you are so anxious to see our fort i shall gratify your wishes," he said. "manuello, just take a turn or two about that boy and we'll take him home with us; he'll be better game than that lion yonder." manuello nimbly tumbled off his horse, and in a trice had nat bound with his rawhide lariat. the boy was so securely bundled in it that only his legs could move. "good!" approvingly said the colonel as he gazed at the tightly tied captive, "it would be folly to take chances with these slippery americanos." manuello now remounted, and taking a half-hitch with the loose end of his lariat about the saddle horn, he dug his spurs into his pony. the little animal leaped forward, almost jerking nat from his feet. he only remained upright with an effort. "be careful, manuello," warned the colonel, "he is too valuable a prize to damage." every step was painful to nat, bruised as he was, and weak from hunger and thirst as well, but he pluckily gave no sign. he had deduced from the fresh condition of his captors' ponies that they could not have been ridden far. this argued that it would not be long before they reached the outlaws' fortress. in this surmise he was correct. the trail, after winding among chaparral and madrone, plunged abruptly down and entered the gloomy defile he had noticed when he first made up his mind that he was lost. viewed closely the place was even more sinister than it had seemed at a distance. hardly a tree grew on its rugged sides, which were of a reddish brown rock. it seemed as if they had been, at some remote period, seared with tremendous fires. the trail itself presently evolved into a sort of gallery, hewn out of the sheer cliff face. the precipice overhung it above, while below was a dark rift that yawned upon unknown depths. so narrow was the pass that a step even an inch or two out of the way would have plunged the one making it over into the profundities of the chasm. a sort of twilight reigned in the narrow gorge, making the surroundings appear even more wild and gloomy. a chill came over nat as he gazed about him. do what he would to keep up his spirits they sank to the lowest ebb as he realized that he was being conducted into a place from which escape seemed impossible. without wings, no living creature could have escaped from that gorge against the will of its lawless inhabitants. suddenly, the trail took an abrupt turn, and nat saw before him the outlaws' fort itself. chapter xvii. in colonel morello's fortress. directly ahead of them the gorge terminated abruptly in a blank wall of rock, in precisely the same manner that a blind alley in a city comes to a full stop. but "blank" in this case is a misnomer. the rocky rampart, which towered fully a hundred feet above the trail, was pierced with several small openings, which appeared to be windows. a larger opening was approached by a flight of steps, hewn out of the rock. although nat did not know it, the spot had once been a habitation of the mysterious aborigines of the sierras. the colonel, stumbling upon it some years before, had at once recognized its possibilities as a fortress and a gathering place for his band, and had hastened to "move in." stabling for the horses was found in a rocky chamber opening directly off the trail. but nat's wonderment was excited by another circumstance besides the sudden appearance of the rock fort. this was the strange manner in which the abyss terminated at the pierced cliff. as they came along, the boy had heard the sound of roaring waters at the bottom of the rift, and coupling this with the fact that the gorge emerged into the cliff at this point, he concluded that a subterranean river must wind its way beneath the colonel's unique dwelling place. small time, however, did he have for looking about him. about a hundred yards along the trail from the pierced cliff there was a strange contrivance extending outward from the face of the precipice along which the trail was cut. this was a sort of platform of pine trunks of great weight and thickness, on the top of which were piled several large boulders to add to the weight. this affair was suspended by chains and was an additional safeguard to the outlaws' hiding place. in the event of a sudden attack the chains were so arranged that they could be instantly cast loose. this allowed the platform to crash down, crushing whatever happened to be beneath it, as well as blocking the trail. the colonel paused before they reached this, and whistled three times. "who is it?" came a voice, apparently issuing from a hole pierced in the rock at their left hand. "two eagles of the pass," came the reply from the colonel as he gave utterance to what was evidently a password. "go ahead, two eagles of the pass," came from the invisible rock aperture, and the party proceeded. a few paces brought them from under the shadow of the weighted platform and to the foot of the flight of stone steps. a shaggy-headed man emerged from the stable door as they rode up, and took the horses of the new arrivals. he gazed curiously at nat, but said nothing. evidently, thought the lad, the colonel is a strict disciplinarian. this was indeed the case. col. morello exacted implicit obedience from his band, which at this time numbered some twenty men of various nationalities. on more than one occasion prompt death had been the result of even a suspicion of a mutinous spirit. with manuello still leading him along, as if he were a calf or a sheep, nat was conducted up the stone staircase and into the rock dwelling itself. the contrast inside the place with the heated air outside was extraordinary. it was like entering a cool cellar on a hot summer's day. the passage which opened from the door in the cliff was in much the same condition as it had been when the vanished race occupied the place. in the floor were numerous holes where spears had been sharpened or corn ground. rude carvings of men on horseback, or warring with strange beasts covered the walls. light filtered in from a hole in the rock ceiling, fully twenty feet above the floor of the place. several small doors opened off the main passage, and into one of these the colonel, who was in the lead, presently turned, followed by manuello leading the captive lad. nat found himself in a chamber which, if it had not been for the rough walls of the same flame-tinted rock as the abyss, might have been the living room of any well-to-do rancher. skins and heads of various wild beasts ornamented the walls. on the floor bright rugs of sharply contrasting hues were laid. in a polished oak gun-case in one corner were several firearms of the very latest pattern and design. a rough bookshelf held some volumes which showed evidences of having been well thumbed. from the ceiling hung a shaded silver lamp, of course unlighted, as plenty of light streamed into the place from the window in the cliff face. the three chairs and the massive table which occupied the centre of the place were of rough-hewn wood, showing the marks of the axe, but of skilled and substantial workmanship, nevertheless. the upholstery was of deerskin, carefully affixed with brass-headed nails. the colonel threw himself into one of the chairs and rolled a fresh cigarette, before he spoke a word. when he did, nat was astonished, but not so much as to be startled out of his composure. "i've heard about you from hale bradford," said the outlaw, "and i have always been curious to see you." "hale bradford! could it be possible," thought nat, "that the rascally millionaire who had appropriated his father's mine was also associated with col. morello, the mexican outlaw?" nat suddenly recalled, however, that it was entirely likely that bradford, in his early days on the peninsula, had met morello, who, at that time, was a border marauder in that part of the country. perhaps they had met since bradford's abrupt departure from lower california. or perhaps, as was more probable, it was dayton who had told the colonel all about the motor rangers, and this reference to bradford was simply a bluff. "yes, i knew hale bradford," was all that nat felt called upon to say. "hum," observed the colonel, carefully regarding his yellow paper roll, "and he had good reason to know you, too." "i hope so," replied nat, "if you mean by that, that we drove the unprincipled rascal out of lower california." "that does not interest me," retorted morello, "what directly concerns you is this: one of my men, an old acquaintance of mine, who has recently joined me, was done a great injury by you down there. he wants revenge." "and this is the way he takes it," said nat bitterly, gazing about him. "i don't know how he means to take it," was the quiet reply. "that must be left to him. where is dayton?" he asked, turning to manuello. "off hunting. the camp is out of meat," was the reply. "well, i expect mr. trevor will stay here till he returns," remarked the colonel with grim irony, "take him to the west cell, manuello. see that he has food and water, and when dayton gets back we will see what shall be done with him." he turned away and picked up a book, with a gesture signifying that he had finished. nat's lips moved. he was about to speak, but in the extremity of his peril his tongue fairly clove to the roof of his mouth. to be left to the tender mercies of dayton! that was indeed a fate that might have made a more experienced adventurer than nat tremble. the boy quickly overcame his passing alarm, however, and the next moment manuello was conducting him down the passage toward what nat supposed must be the west cell. before a stout oaken door, studded with iron bolts, the evil-visaged mexican paused, and diving into his pocket produced a key. inserting this in a well-oiled lock, he swung back the portal and disclosed a rock-walled room about twelve feet square. this, then, was the west cell. any hope that nat might have cherished of escaping, vanished as he saw the place. it was, apparently, cut out of solid rock. it would have taken a gang of men armed with dynamite and tools many years to have worked their way out. the door, too, now that it was open, was seen to be a massive affair, formed of several layers of oak bolted together till it was a foot thick. great steel hinges, driven firmly into the wall, held it in place and on the outside, as an additional security to the lock, was a heavy sliding bolt of steel. manuello gave nat a shove and the boy half stumbled forward into the place. the next minute the door closed with a harsh clamor, and he was alone. so utterly stunned was he by his fate that for some minutes nat simply stood still in the centre of the place, not moving an inch. but presently he collected his faculties, and his first care was to cast himself loose from the rawhide rope the mexican had enveloped him in. this done, he felt easier, and was about to begin an inspection of the place when a small wicket, not more than six inches square, in the upper part of the door opened, and a hand holding a tin jug of water was poked through. nat seized the receptacle eagerly, and while he was draining it the same hand once more appeared, this time with a loaf of bread and a hunk of dried deer meat. nat's hunger was as keen as his thirst, and wisely deciding that better thinking can be done on a full stomach than on an empty one, he speedily demolished the provender. so utterly hopeless did the outlook seem that many a boy in nat's position would have thrown himself on the cell floor and awaited the coming of his fate. not so with nat. he had taken for his motto, "while there is life there is hope," although it must be confessed that even he felt a sinking of the heart as he thought over his position. guided by the light that came into the cell through the small wicket, the boy began groping about him and beating on the wall. for an hour or more he kept this up, till his hands were raw and bleeding from his exertions. it appeared to him that he had pounded every foot of rock in the place, in the hope of finding some hollow spot, but to no avail. the place was as solid as a safety vault. giving way to real despair at last, even the gritty boy owned himself beaten. sinking his face in his hands he collapsed upon the cell floor. as he did so voices sounded in the corridor. one of them nat recognized with a thrill of apprehension, as dayton's. chapter xviii. a ride for life. the next moment the door was flung open, but not before nat had jumped to his feet. he did not want his enemies, least of all dayton, to find him crouching in a despondent attitude. to have brought despair to nat's heart was the one thing above all others, the lad realized, which would delight ed. dayton highly. dayton was accompanied by manuello and al. jeffries. the latter seemed highly amused at the turn things had taken. "well! well! well! what have we here!" he cried ironically, tugging his long black mustaches as the light from the passage streamed in upon nat, "a young automobiling rooster who's about to get a lesson in manners and minding his own business. oh say, ed., this is luck. here is where you get even for the other day." "oh, dry up," admonished dayton sullenly, "i know my own business best." he advanced toward nat with a sinister smile on his pale face. dayton had, as manuello had informed colonel morello, been off hunting. his clothes were dust covered, from the tip of his riding boots--high heeled and jingle spurred in the mexican fashion--to the rim of his broad sombrero. he had evidently lost no time in proceeding to the cell as soon as he learned that nat was a captive. "looks as if we had you bottled up at last, my elusive young friend," he grated out, "this is the time that you stay where we want you." "what are you going to do, dayton?" asked nat, his face pale but resolute, though his heart was beating wildly. knowing the man before him as he did, he had no reason to expect any compassion, nor did he get any. "you'll see directly," rejoined dayton, "come with me. i'm going to let the colonel boss this thing." nat didn't say a word. in fact, there was not anything to be said. dayton, as well as manuello and al. jeffries, was armed, and all had their weapons ready for instant action. it would have been worse than madness to attempt any resistance right then. with dayton ahead of him and manuello and jeffries behind, nat stepped out of the cell and into the dimly lit passage. never had daylight looked sweeter or more desirable to him than it did now, showing in a bright, oblong patch at the end of the passage. but nat, much as he longed to make a dash for it then and there, saw no opportunity to do so and in silence the little procession passed along the passageway and entered the colonel's room. colonel morello looked up as they entered, but did not seem much surprised. doubtless he had had a chat with dayton on the latter's return from hunting and was aware that nat would be ushered before him. "here he is, colonel," began dayton advancing to the table, while manuello, ever on the outlook for a cigarette, also stepped a pace to the front, to help himself from a package of tobacco and some rice papers that lay upon the table. this left only al. jeffries standing in the door-way. swift as the snap of an instantaneous camera shutter nat's mind was made up. crouching low, as he was used to do in football tactics, he made a rush at al. jeffries, striking him between the legs like a miniature thunderbolt. as he made his dash he uttered an ear-splitting screech:-- "yee-ow!" he shrewdly calculated that the sudden cry would further demoralize the astonished outlaws. jeffries was literally carried off his feet by the unexpected rush. he was forcibly lifted as nat dashed beneath him and then he fell in a heap, his head striking a rock as he did so, knocking him senseless. like an arrow from a bow nat sped straight for the end of the passage through which he had spied, a minute before, two horses standing still saddled and bridled. they were the steeds upon which dayton and jeffries had just ridden in. such had been dayton's haste to taunt nat, however, that he and his companion deferred putting up their ponies till later. nat, on his journey down the passage, had spied the animals and his alert mind had instantly worked out a plan of escape; as desperate a one, as we shall see, as could well be imagined. as al. toppled over in a heap, another outlaw, who was just entering the passage, opposed himself to nat. he shared the black-mustached one's fate, only he came down a little harder. neither he nor al. moved for some time in fact. in the meantime, morello, dayton and manuello, dashing pellmell after the fleeing lad, stumbled unawares over the prostrate al., and all came down in a swearing, fighting heap. this gave nat the few seconds he needed. in two flying leaps he was down the steps and had flung himself into the saddle of one of the horses, before the stableman knew what was happening. when the latter finally woke up and heard the bandits' yells and shouts coming from the passage-way, it was too late. with a rattle of hoofs, and in a cloud of dust, nat was off. off along the trail to freedom! "yee-ow!" the boy yelled as he banged his heels into the pony's sides and the spirited little animal leaped forward. bang! nat's sombrero was lifted from his head and he could feel the bullets fairly fan his hair as he rode on. "stop him! stop him!" came cries from behind. and then a sudden order:-- "let go the man-trap!" if nat had realized what this meant he would have been tempted to give up his dash for freedom then and there. but he had hardly given a thought to the big suspended platform of pine trunks and rocks while on his way to the outlaws' fort, nor even if he had noticed it more minutely, would he have guessed its purpose. but as the order to release the crushing weight and send it crashing down upon the trail was roared out by the colonel, a clatter of hoofs came close behind. it was dayton, who had hastily thrown himself upon the other horse and was now close upon nat. drawing a revolver he fired, but the bullet whistled harmlessly by nat's head. at the terrific pace they were making an accurate shot was, fortunately for our hero, impossible. and now nat was in the very shadow of the great platform. at that instant he heard a sudden creaking overhead, and looked up just in time to realize that the ponderous mass was sagging. in one flash of insight he realized the meaning of this. the great mass had been released and was about to descend. crack! "ye-oo-ow!" the heavy quirt, which nat had found fastened to the saddle horn, was laid over the startled pony's flanks. it gave an enraged squeal and flung itself forward like a jack-rabbit. at the same instant came a shout from behind. "stop, dayton. stop!--the man-trap!" [illustration: nat, as the pony leaped forward, instinctively bent low in the saddle.] nat, as the pony leaped forward, instinctively bent low in the saddle. as they flashed forward a mighty roar sounded in his ears. behind him, with a sound like the sudden release of an avalanche, the man-trap had fallen. it had been sprung by the colonel's own hand. so close to nat did the immense weight crash down that it grazed his pony's flanks, but--nat was safe. behind him, he heard a shrill scream of pain and realized that dayton had not been so fortunate. "has he been killed?" thought nat as his pony, terrified beyond all control by the uproar behind it, tore up the trail in a series of long bounds. "safe!" thought the lad as he dashed onward. but in this he was wrong. nat was far from being safe yet. even as he murmured the word to himself there came a chorus of shouts from behind. turning in his saddle, the boy could see pursuing him six or seven men, mounted on wiry ponies, racing toward the wreckage of the ponderous man-trap. with quirt and spur they urged their frightened animals over the obstruction. from the midst of the débris nat could see dayton crawling. the man was evidently hurt, but the others paid no attention to him. "a thousand dollars to the one who brings that boy down!" the cry came in the voice of col. morello. nat laid his quirt on furiously. but the pony he bestrode had been used for hunting over the rugged mountains most of that day and soon it began to flag. "they're gaining on me," gasped nat, glancing behind. at the same instant half a dozen bullets rattled on the rocks about him, or went singing by his ears. as the fusillade pelted around him, nat saw, not more than a hundred yards ahead, the end of the trail. the point, that is, where it lost itself in the wilderness of chaparral and piñon trees, among which he had met the adventure which ended in his capture. if he could only gain that shelter, he would be safe. but on his tired, fagged pony, already almost collapsing beneath him, could he do it? chapter xix. outwitting his enemies. there was a feeling of pity in nat's heart for the unfortunate pony he bestrode. the lad was fond of all animals, and it galled him to be compelled to drive the exhausted beast so unmercifully, but it had to be done if his life were to be saved. crack! crack! came the cruel quirt once more, and the cayuse gamely struggled onward. its nostrils were distended and its eyes starting out of its head with exhaustion. its sunken flanks heaved convulsively. nat recognized the symptoms. a few paces more and the pony would be done for. "come on, old bronco!" he urged, "just a little way farther." with a heart-breaking gasp the little animal responded, and in a couple of jumps it was within the friendly shelter of the leafy cover. a yell of rage and baffled fury came from his pursuers as nat vanished. the boy chuckled to himself. "i guess i take the first trick," he thought, but his self-gratulation was a little premature. as he plunged on amid the friendly shelter he could still hear behind him the shouts of pursuit. the men were scattering and moving forward through the wood. there seemed but little chance in view of these maneuvers, that nat, with only his exhausted pony under him, could get clear away. as the shouts resounded closer his former fear rushed back with redoubled force. suddenly his heart almost stopped beating. in the wood in front of him he could hear the hoof-tramplings of another horse. they were coming in his direction. who could it be? nat realized that it was not likely to prove anybody who was friendly to him. he was desperately casting about for some way out of this new and utterly unexpected situation, when, with a snort, the approaching animal plunged through the brush separating it from nat. as it came into view the boy gave a sharp exclamation of surprise. the new arrival was herr muller's locoed horse, now, seemingly, quite recovered from its "late indisposition." it whinnied in a low tone as it spied nat's pony, and coming alongside, nuzzled up against it. to nat's joy, bismark showed no signs of being scared of him, and allowed the boy to handle him. but in the few, brief seconds that had elapsed while this was taking place, col. morello's gang had drawn perilously near. the trampling and crashing as they rode through the woods was quite distinct now. "after him, boys," nat could hear the colonel saying, "that boy knows our hiding place. we've got to get him or get out of the country." "we'll get him all right, colonel," nat heard manuello answer confidently. "yep. he won't go far on that foundered pony," came another voice. in those few, tense moments of breathing space nat rapidly thought out a plan of escape. deftly he slipped the saddle and bridle off the outlaw's pony, and transferred them to bismark's back. then, as the chase drew closer, he gave the trembling pony a final whack on the rump with the quirt. the little animal sprang forward, its hoofs making a tremendous noise among the loose rocks on the hillside. half frantic with fear, its alarm overcame its spent vitality, and it clattered off. "wow! there he goes!" "yip-ee-ee! after him, boys!" "now we've got him!" these and a score of other triumphant cries came from the outlaws' throats as they heard the pony making off as fast as it could among the trees, and naturally assumed that nat was on its back. with yells and shrieks of satisfaction they gave chase, firing volleys of bullets after it. the fusillade and the shouts, of course, only added to the pony's fear, and made it proceed with more expedition. as the cries of the chase grew faint in the distance, nat listened intently, and then, satisfied that the outlaws had swept far from his vicinity, urged bismark cautiously forward. this time he travelled in the right direction, profiting by his experiment with his watch. but urge bismark on as he would, darkness fell before he was out of the wilderness. but still he pressed on. in his position he knew that it was important that he reach the camp as soon as possible. not only on his own account, but in order that he might give warning of the attack that col. morello would almost certainly make as soon as he realized that his prisoner had got clear away. if they had been interested in the motor rangers' capture before, the outlaws must by now be doubly anxious to secure them, nat argued. the reason for this had been voiced by col. morello himself while he was conducting the chase in the wood: "that boy knows our hiding place." "you bet i do," thought nat to himself, "and if i don't see to it that the whole bunch is smoked out of there before long it won't be my fault." tethering bismark to a tree the boy clambered up the trunk. his object in so doing was to get some idea of his whereabouts. but it was dark, i hear some reader remark. true, but even in the darkness there is one unfailing guide to the woodsman, providing the skies be clear, as they were on this night. the north star was what nat was after. by it he would gauge his direction. getting a line on it from the outer star of "the dipper" bowl, nat soon made certain that he had not, as he had for a time feared, wandered from his course. descending the tree once more, he looked at his watch. it was almost midnight, yet in the excitement of his flight he felt no exhaustion or even hunger. he was terribly thirsty though, and would have given a lot for a drink of water. however, the young motor ranger had faced hardships enough not to waste time wishing for the unattainable. so, remounting bismark, he pressed on toward the east, knowing that if he rode long enough he must strike the valley which would bring him to his friends. all at once, a short distance ahead, he heard a tiny tinkle coming through the darkness. it was like the murmuring of a little bell. nat knew, though, that it was the voice of a little stream, and a more welcome sound, except the voices of his comrades, he could not have heard at that moment. "here's where we get a drink, bismark, you old prodigal son," he said in a low tone. a few paces more brought them into a little dip in the hillside down which the tiny watercourse ran. tumbling off his horse nat stretched himself out flat and fairly wallowed in the water. when he had refreshed his thirst, bismark drinking just below him, the boy laved his face and neck, and this done felt immensely better. he was just rising from this al-fresco bath when, from almost in front of his face as it seemed, came a sound somewhat like the dry rattle of peas in a bladder. it was harsh and unmusical, and to nat, most startling, for it meant that he had poked his countenance almost into the evil wedge-shaped head of a big mountain rattler. "wow!" yelled the boy tumbling backward like an acrobat. at the same instant a dark, lithe thing that glittered dully in the starlight, was launched by his cheek. so close did it come that it almost touched him. but nat was not destined to be bitten that night at least. as the long body encountered the ground after striking, and bismark jumped back snorting alarmedly, nat picked up a big rock and terminated mr. rattler's existence on the spot. sure of his direction now, the boy remounted, and crossing the stream, arrived in due course near to the camp. the first thing he almost stumbled across was the prostrate form of herr muller, sound asleep just outside the flickering circle of light cast by the fire. "now for some fun," thought nat, and slipping off his horse he crouched behind the sleeping teuton, and with a long blade of grass, began tickling his ear. at first herr muller simply stirred uneasily, and kicked about a bit. then finally he sat up erect and wide awake. the first thing he saw was a tall, dark form bent over him. with a wild succession of whoops and frantic yells he set off for the camp in an astonishing series of leaps and bounds, causing nat to exclaim as he watched the performance:-- "that dutchman could certainly carry off a medal for broad jumping." a few of the leaps brought herr muller fairly into the camp-fire, scattering the embers right and left and thoroughly alarming the awakened adventurers. as they started up and seized their arms, nat caused an abrupt cessation of the threatened hostilities by a loud hail:-- "hullo, fellows!" "it's nat--whoop hurroo!" came in a joyous chorus, and as description is lamentably inadequate to set forth some scenes, i will leave each of my readers to imagine for himself how many times nat's hand was wrung pump-handle fashion, and how many times he was asked:-- "how did it happen?" chapter xx. herr muller gets a chilly bath. "shake a le-e-eg!" rather later than usual the following morning the lengthy form of cal reared itself upright in its blankets and uttered the waking cry. from the boys there came only a sleepy response in rejoinder. they were all pretty well tired out with the adventures and strains of the day before and had no inclination to arise from their slumbers. even nat, usually the first to "tumble up," didn't seem in any hurry to crawl out of his warm nest. winking to himself, cal picked up two buckets and started for the little lake. he soon filled them with the clear, cold snow-water, and started back with long strides across the little meadow. "here's where it rains for forty days and forty nights," he grinned, as poising a bucket for a moment he let fly its contents. s-l-o-u-s-h! what a torrent of icy fluid dashed over the recumbent form of herr von schiller muller! the teuton leaped up as if a tarantula had been concealed in his bed clothes, but before he could utter the yell that his fat face was framing cal was on him in one flying leap and had clapped a big brown hand over his mouth. "shut up," he warned, "if you want to have some fun with the others." he pointed to the pail which was still half full. herr muller instantly comprehended. dashing the water out of his eyes he prepared to watch the others get their dose, on the principle, i suppose, that misery loves company. s-l-o-u-s-h! this time ding-dong and joe got the icy shower bath, and sputtering and protesting hugely, they leaped erect. but the water in their eyes blinded them and although they struck out savagely, their blows only punctured the surrounding atmosphere. "here, hold this bucket!" ordered cal, handing the empty pail to the convulsed dutchman. "oh-ho-ho-ho dees iss too much!" gasped herr muller, doubling himself up with merriment, "i must mage me a picdgure of him." in the meantime cal had dashed the contents of the other bucket over nat, who also sprang up full of wrath at the unexpected immersion. "take this, too," ordered cal, handing the other empty bucket to herr muller. tears were rolling down the german's fat cheeks. he was bent double with vociferous mirth as he shook. "dees iss der best choke i haf seen since i hadt der measles!" he chuckled. shouts of anger rang from the boys' throats as they rushed about, shaking off water like so many dogs after a swim. suddenly their eyes fell on herr muller doubled with laughter and holding the two buckets. from time to time, in the excess of his merriment he flourished them about. "oh-ho-ho-ho, i dink me i die ef i dodn't laughing stop it." "hey, fellows!" hailed nat, taking in the scene, "there's the chap that did it." "that dutchman?--wow!" with a whoop the three descended on the laughter-stricken teuton, and before he could utter a word of expostulation, they had seized him up and were off to the little lake at lightning speed, bearing his struggling form. "help! murder! poys, i don't do idt. it voss dot cal vot vatered you!" the cries came from the german's lips in an agonizing stream of entreaty and expostulation. but the boys, wet and irritated, were in no mood for mercy. to use an expressive term, though a slangy one, they had caught herr muller "with the goods on." through the alders they dashed, and then---- splash! head over heels herr muller floundered in the icy water, choking and sputtering, as he came to the surface, like a grampus--or, at least in the manner, we are led to believe, grampuses or grampi conduct themselves. as his pudgy form struck out for the shore the boys' anger gave way to yells of merriment at the comical sight he presented, his scanty pajamas clinging tightly about his rotund form. "say, fellows, here comes venus from the bath!" shouted nat. "first time i heard of a dutch venus!" chortled joe. "poys, you haf made it a misdake," expostulated herr muller, standing, with what dignity he could command, on the brink of the little lake. his teeth were chattering as if they were executing a clog dance. "d-dod-d-dot c-c-c-c-al he do-done idt. if you don'd pelieve me,--loog!" he pointed back to the camp and there was cal rolling about on the grass and indulging in other antics of amusement. "wow!" yelled nat, "we'll duck him, too." at full speed they set off for the camp once more, cal rising to his feet as they grew near. he looked unusually large and muscular somehow. "w-w-w-w-w-where w-w-w-w-will we t-t-t-t-tackle him?" inquired ding-dong, who seemed quite willing to yield his foremost place in the parade of punishment. "i guess," said nat slowly and judiciously, "i guess we'll--leave cal's punishment to some other time." breakfast that morning was a merry meal, and old bismark, who had naturally been tethered in a post perfectly free from loco weed, came in for several lumps of sugar as reward for his signal service of the day before. all were agreed that if the old horse had not wandered along so opportunely that nat might have been in a bad fix. "i wonder if they'd have dared to kill me?" said nat, drawing cal aside while the others were busy striking camp and washing dishes. "wall," drawled cal, "i may be wrong, but i don't think somehow that you'd hev had much appetite fer breakfast this mornin'." "i'm inclined to agree with you," said nat, repressing a shudder as he recalled the tones of the colonel's voice. "and that reminds me," said cal, "that our best plan is to get on ter my mine as quick as we can. it ain't much of a place. you know there's mighty little mining down here nowadays but what is done by the big companies with stamp mills and hundreds of thousands invested. but i reckon we kin be safe there while we think up some plan to get these fellows in a prison where they belong." "that's my idea exactly," said nat, "i'm pretty sure that now they are aware that we know the location of their fort that they'll try to get after us in every way they can." "right you are, boy. their very existence in these mountains depends on their checkmating us some way. i think the sooner we get out of here the better." "how soon can we get to the mine?" asked nat. "got your map?" "yes." "let's see it." nat dipped down into his pocket and drew out his folder map of the sierra region. it was necessarily imperfect, but cal, after much cogitation, darted down his thumb on a point some distance to the northwest of where they were camped. "it's about thar," he declared, "right in that thar canyon." "how soon can we get there?" "with luck, in two days, i should say. we can camp there while one of us rides off and gets the sheriff and a posse. i tell you it'll be a big feather in our caps to land those fellows where they belong. the scallywags have made themselves the terror of this region for a long time." "well, don't let's holler till we're out of the wood," advised nat. by this time the auto was ready and the others awaited their coming with some impatience. "are we all right?" asked nat looking back at the tonneau and then casting a comprehensive eye about. bismark, hitched behind as usual, was snorting impatiently and pawing the ground in quite a fiery manner. "let 'er go," cried cal. chug-chu-g-chug! nat threw on the power and off moved the auto, soon leaving behind the camp on the knoll which had been the scene of so many anxieties and amusing incidents. as they rode along nat explained to the others the plan of campaign. it was hailed with much joy and joe and ding-dong immediately began asking questions. cal explained that his mine was located in a canyon which had once been the scene of much mining activity, but like many camps in the sierras, those who once worked it--the argonauts--had long since departed. only a little graveyard with wooden head-boards on the hill above the camp remained to tell of them. cal had taken up a claim there in the heyday of the gold workings and from time to time used to visit it and work about the claim a little. he had never gotten much gold out of it, but it yielded him a living, he said. "anybody else up there?" asked nat. "only a few chinks," rejoined cal. "i don't like 'em," said joe briefly, "yellow-skinned, mysterious cusses." "m-m-m-my mother had a c-c-c-c-chinese c-c-c-c-cook--phwit!--once," put in ding-dong, "but we had to fire him." "why?" inquired cal with some show of interest. "we could never tell whether he was sus-s-s-singing over his work or moaning in agony," rejoined ding-dong. "say, is that meant for a joke?" asked nat amid a deadly silence. "n-n-no, it's a f-f-fact," solemnly rejoined ding-dong. "that feller must hev bin a cousin to the short-haired chinaman who couldn't be an actor," grinned cal. "what is this, a catch?" asked joe suspiciously. "no," cal assured him. "oh, all right, i'll bite," said nat with a laugh, "why couldn't the short-haired chinaman be an actor?" "pecoss he voss a voshman, i subbose," suggested herr muller. "oh, no," said cal, "because he'd always miss his queue." "reminds me of the fellow who thought he was of royal blood every time he watered his wife's rubber plant which grew in a porcelain pot," grinned nat. "i'll bite this time," volunteered joe, "how was that, mister bones?" "well, he said that when he irrigated it, he rained over china," grinned nat, speeding the car up a little grade. "if this rare and refined vein of humor is about exhausted," said joe with some dignity after the laugh this caused had subsided, "i would like to draw the attention of the company to that smoke right ahead of us." "is that smoke? i thought it was dust," said nat, squinting along the track ahead of them. the column of bluish, brownish vapor to which joe had drawn attention could now be seen quite distinctly, pouring steadily upward above the crest of a ridge of mountains beyond them. although they were travelling at a considerable height they could not make out what was causing it, but cal's face grew grave. he said nothing, however, but if the others had noticed him they would have seen that his keen eyes never left the column which, as they neared it, appeared to grow larger in size until it towered above its surroundings like a vaporous giant or the funnel of a whirlwind. chapter xxi. the fire in the forest. "why, that smoke's coming up from those trees!" declared nat as they topped the rise, and saw below them the familiar panorama of undulating mountain tops, spreading to the sky line in seeming unending billows. sure enough, as he said, the smoke was coming from some great timber-clad slopes directly in front of them. "may be some more campers," suggested joe. "not likely," said cal gravely, "no campers would light a fire big enough to make all that smoke." nat did not reply, being too busy applying the brakes as the road took a sudden steep pitch downward. at the bottom of the dip was a bridge, made after the fashion of most mountain bridges in those remote regions. that is to say, two long logs had been felled to span the abyss the bridge crossed. then across these string pieces, had been laid other logs close together. the contrivance seemed hardly wide enough to allow the auto to cross. grinding down his brakes nat brought the machine to a halt. "i guess we'd better have a look at that bridge before we try to cross it," he said, turning to cal. "right you are, boy," assented the ex-stage driver, getting out, "this gasolene gig is a sight heavier than anything that bridge was ever built for. come on, joe, we'll take a look at it." accompanied by the young motor ranger the westerner set off at his swinging stride down the few paces between the auto and the bridge. lying on his stomach at the edge of the brink, he gazed over and carefully examined the supports of the bridge and the manner in which they were embedded in the earth on either side. then he and joe jumped up and down on the contrivance and gave it every test they could. "i guess it will be all right," said cal, as he rejoined the party. "you guess?" said nat, "say, cal, if your guess is wrong we're in for a nasty tumble." "wall, then i'm sure," amended the former stage driver, "i've driv' stage enough to know what a bridge 'ull hold i guess, and that span yonder will carry this car over in good shape. how about it, joe?" "it'll be all right, nat," joe assured his chum, "in any case we are justified in taking a chance, for after what you told us about the colonel's gang it would be dangerous to go back again." "that's so," agreed nat, "now then, all hold tight, for i'm going to go ahead at a good clip. hang on to bismark, herr muller." "i holdt on py him like he voss my long lost brudder," the german assured him. forward plunged the auto, bismark almost jerking herr muller out of the tonneau as his head rope tightened. the next instant the car was thundering upon the doubtful bridge. a thrill went through every one of the party as the instant the entire weight of the heavy vehicle was placed upon it the flimsy structure gave a distinct sag. "let her have it, nat!" yelled cal, "or we're gone coons!" there was a rending, cracking sound, as nat responded, and the car leaped forward like a live thing. but as the auto bounded forward to safety bismark hung back, shaking his head stubbornly. herr muller, caught by surprise, was jerked half out of the tonneau and was in imminent peril of being carried over and toppling into the chasm. but joe grasped his legs firmly while cal struck the rope--to which the teuton obstinately held--out of his hands. "bismark! come back!" wailed the german as the released horse turned swiftly on the rickety bridge and galloped madly back in the direction from which they had come. but the horse, which was without saddle or bridle, both having been placed in the car when they started out, paid no attention to his owner's impassioned cry. flinging up his heels he soon vanished in a cloud of dust over the hilltop. "turn round der auto. vee go pack after him," yelled the german. "not much we won't," retorted cal indignantly, "that plug of yours is headed for his old home. you wouldn't get him across that bridge if you built a fire under him." "and i certainly wouldn't try to recross it with this car," said nat. "i should say not," put in joe, "why we could feel the thing give way as our weight came on it." "goodt pye, bismark, mein faithful lager--charger i mean," wailed herr muller, "i nefer see you again." "oh yes, you will," comforted cal, seeing the german's real distress, "he'll go right home to the hotel stable that he come frum. you'll see. the man that owns it is honest as daylight and ef you don't come back fer the horse he'll send you yer money." "put poor bismark will starfe!" wailed the teuton. "not he," chuckled cal, "between here and lariat is all fine grazing country, and there's lots of water. he'll get back fatter than he came out." "dot is more than i'll do," wailed herr muller resignedly as nat set the auto in motion once more and they left behind them the weakened bridge. "no auto 'ull ever go over that agin," commented cal, looking back. "not unless it has an aeroplane attachment," added joe. but their attention now was all centred on the smoke that rose in front of them. the bridge had lain in a small depression so that they had not been able to see far beyond it, but as they rolled over the brow of the hill beyond, the cause of the uprising of the vapor soon became alarmingly apparent. a pungent smell was in the air. "smells like the punks on fourth of july," said joe, as he sniffed. but joking was far from cal's mind as he gazed through narrowed eyes. the smoke which had at first not been much more than a pillar, was now a vast volume of dark vapor rolling up crowdedly from the forests ahead of them. worse still, the wind was sweeping the fire down toward the track they had to traverse. "the woods are on fire!" cried nat as he gazed, and voicing the fear that now held them all. as he spoke, from out of the midst of the dark, rolling clouds of smoke, there shot up a bright, wavering flame. it instantly died down again, but presently another fiery sword flashed up, in a different direction, and hung above the dark woods. they could now hear quite distinctly, too, the sound of heavy, booming falls as big trees succumbed to the fire and fell with a mighty crash. "great scott, what are we going to do?" gasped joe. "t-t-t-t-turn b-b-b-back!" said ding-dong as if that settled the matter. "py all means," chimed in herr muller, gazing ahead at the awe-inspiring spectacle. "how are you going to do that when that bridge won't hold us?" asked nat. "do you think we can beat the fire to the trail, cal?" "we've gotter," was the brief, but comprehensive rejoinder. "but if we don't?" wailed ding-dong. "ef you can't find nothing ter say but that, jus' shut yer mouth," warned cal in a sharp tone. his face was drawn and anxious. he was too old a mountaineer not to realize to a far greater extent than the boys the nature of the peril that environed them. his acute mind had already weighed the situation in all its bearings. in no quarter could he find a trace of hope, except in going right onward and trusting to their speed to beat the flames. true, they might have turned back and waited by the bridge, but the woods grew right up to the trail, and it would be only a matter of time in all probability before the flames reached there. in that case the motor rangers would have been in almost as grave a peril as they would by going on. the fire was nearly two miles from where they were, but cal knew full well the almost incredible rapidity with which these conflagrations leap from tree to tree, bridging trails, roads, and even broad rivers. it has been said that the man or boy who starts a forest fire is an enemy to his race, and truly to any one that has witnessed the awful speed with which these fires devour timber and threaten big ranges of country, the observation must ever seem a just one. "can't we turn off and outflank the flames?" asked joe, as they sped on at as fast a pace as nat dared to urge the car over the rough trail. cal's answer was a wave of his hand to the thickset trees on either side. even had it not been for the danger of fire reaching them before they could outflank it, the trunks were too close together to permit of any vehicle threading its way amidst them. there was but little conversation in the car as it roared on, leaping and careering over rocks and obstructions like a small boat in a heavy sea. the motor rangers were engaged in the most desperate race of their lives. as they sped along the eyes of all were glued on the trail ahead, with its towering walls of mighty pines and about whose bases chaparral and inflammable brush grew closely. the air was perceptibly warmer now, and once or twice a spark was blown into the car. not the least awe-inspiring feature of a forest fire in the mountains is the mighty booming of the great trunks as they fall. it is as impressive as a funeral march. "ouch, somebody burned my hand!" exclaimed joe suddenly. but gazing down he saw that a big ember had lit on the back of it. he glanced up and noticed that the air above them was now full of the driving fire-brands. overhead the dun-colored smoke was racing by like a succession of tempest-driven storm clouds. a sinister gloom was in the air. suddenly, cal, who had been half standing, gazing intently ahead, gave a loud shout and pointed in front of them. the others as they gazed echoed his cry of alarm. chapter xxii. a dash through the flames. the object thus indicated by cal was in fact about as alarming a thing as they could have encountered. it was nothing more or less than the smoking summit of a big tree a few hundred feet ahead of them. as they gazed it broke into flame, the resinous leaves igniting with a succession of sharp cracks like pistol shots. in a second the tree was transformed into the semblance of an immense torch. driven by the wind the flames went leaping and rioting among its neighbors till all above the motor rangers was a fiery curtain stretched between them and the sky. to make matters worse, the smoke, as acrid and pungent as chemical vapor, was driven in nat's eyes, and he could hardly see to drive. his throat, too, felt hot and parched, and his gloves were singed and smoking in half a dozen places. "get out that big bucket and fill it from the tank," he ordered as he drove blindly onward. "guess it's about time," muttered cal as he, guessing the rest of nat's order, dashed the water right and left over the party, "we'd have bin on fire ourselves in a few seconds." nat drove as fast as he dared, but the fire seemed to travel faster. the roar now resembled the voice of a mighty waterfall, and occasionally the sharp cracks of bursting trunks or falling branches filled the air. "the whole forest is going," bawled cal, "put on more steam nat." the boy did as he was directed and the beleaguered auto forged forward a little more swiftly. suddenly, however, a happening that bade fair to put a dead stop to their progress occurred. directly in front of them the chaparral had blazed about a tree, till it had eaten into the trunk. weakened, the monster trembled for a moment and then plunged downward. "lo-ok ou-t!" cal bellowed the warning, and just in time. nat, half blinded as he was, had not seen the imminent danger. with a crash like the subsidence of a big building, the tree toppled over and fell across the track, blazing fiercely, and with a shower of sparks and embers flying upward from it. [illustration: as if it had been a leaping, hunting horse, the big car bounced and jolted over the log.] a new peril now threatened the already danger-surrounded lads, and their western companion. the tree lay across their path, an apparently insurmountable object. a glance behind showed that the flames had already closed in, the fire, by some freak of the wind, having been driven back from their temporary resting place. but they knew that the respite was only momentary. suddenly, the car surged forward, and before one of the party even realized that nat had made up his mind they were rushing full tilt for the blazing log. "wow!" yelled cal carried away by excitement, as he sensed nat's daring purpose, "he's going ter jump it--by thunder!" even as he spoke the auto was upon the log and its front wheels struck the glowing, blazing barrier with a terrific thud. had they not been prepared for the shock the motor rangers would have scattered out of the car like so many loose attachments. as if it had been a leaping, hunting horse, the big car bounced and jolted over the log, which was fully six feet in diameter. it came down again beyond it with a jounce that almost shook the teeth out of their heads, but the lads broke into a cheer in which herr muller's and cal's voices joined, as they realized that nat's daring had saved the day for them. behind them lay the fiercely blazing forest, but in front the road was clear, although the resinous smell of the blaze and the smoke pall lay heavily above them still. a short distance further a fresh surprise greeted them. a number of deer, going like the wind, crossed the road, fleeing in what their instinct told them was a safe direction. they were followed by numerous wolves, foxes and other smaller animals. as they went onward they came upon a big burned-out patch in which an ember must have fallen, carried by some freak of the capricious wind. in the midst of it, squirming in slimy, scaly knots, were a hundred or more snakes of half a dozen kinds, all scorched and writhing in their death agonies. the boys were glad to leave the repulsive sight behind them. at last, after ascending a steep bit of grade they were able to gaze back. it was a soul-stirring sight, and one of unpassable grandeur. below them the fire was leaping and raging on its way eastward. behind it lay a smoking, desolate waste, with here and there a charred trunk standing upright in its midst. already the blaze had swept across the trail, stripping it bare on either side. the lads shuddered as they thought that but for good fortune and nat's plucky management of the car, they might have been among the ashes and débris. "wall, boys," said cal, turning to them, "you've seen a forest fire. what do you think of it?" "i think," said nat, "that it is the most terrible agent of destruction i have ever seen." "i t-t-t-think we need a w-w-w-ash," stuttered ding-dong. they burst into a laugh as they looked at one another and recognized the truth of their whimsical comrade's words. with faces blackened and blistered by their fiery ordeal and with their clothes scorched and singed in a hundred places, they were indeed a vagabond looking crew. "i'll bet if old colonel morello could see us now we'd scare him away," laughed joe, although it pained his blistered lips to indulge in merriment. "wall, there's a stream a little way down in that hollow," said cal, pointing, "we'll have a good wash when we reach it." "and maybe i won't be glad, too," laughed nat, setting the brakes for the hill ahead of them. suddenly ding-dong piped up. "s-s-s-s-say, m-m-m-may i m-m-m-make a remark?" "certainly, boy, half a dozen of them," said cal. "it's a go-g-g-g-good thing we lost bismark," grinned ding-dong, in which sage observation they all perforce acquiesced. "i've got something to say myself," observed joe suddenly, "maybe you other fellows have noticed it? this seat is getting awfully hot." "by ginger, so it is," cried cal suddenly, springing up from the easy posture he had assumed. "l-l-l-ook, there is s-s-s-smoke c-c-c-coming out from back of the car!" cried ding-dong alarmedly. as he spoke a volume of smoke rolled out from behind them. "good gracious, the car's on fire!" yelled nat, "throw some water on it quick!" "can't," exclaimed cal, "we used it all up coming through the flames yonder." "we'll burn up!" yelled joe despairingly. indeed it seemed like it. smoke was now rolling out in prodigious quantities from beneath the tonneau and to make the possibilities more alarming still, the reserve tank full of gasolene was located there. the tonneau had now grown so hot that they could not sit down. "get out, everybody," yelled joe, as badly scared as he had ever been in his life. "yep, let us out, nat," begged cal. the westerner was no coward, but he did not fancy the idea of being blown sky high on top of an explosion of gasolene any more than the rest. "good thing i haven't got on my sunday pants," the irrepressible westerner remarked. "hey, nat," he yelled the next minute, as no diminution of speed was perceptible, "ain't you going ter stop?" "not on your life," hurled back nat, without so much as turning his head. he evidently had some plan, but what it was they could not for the life of them tell. their hearts beat quickly and fast with a lively sensation of danger as the burning auto plunged on down the rough slope. all at once joe gave a shout of astonishment. "i see what he's going to do now!" he exclaimed. so fast was the auto travelling that hardly had the words left his lips before they were fairly upon the little rivulet or creek cal's acute eyes had spied from the summit of the hill. the next instant they were in it, the water coming up to the hubs. clouds of white steam arose about the car and a great sound of hissing filled the air as the burning portion encountered the chill of the water. "wall, that beats a fire department," exclaimed cal, as, after remaining immersed for a short time, nat drove the car up the opposite bank which, luckily, had a gentle slope. as cal had remarked, it did indeed beat a fire department, for the water had put out the flames effectually. an investigation showed that beyond having charred and blistered the woodwork and paint that the fire had fortunately done no damage. it would take some little time to set things to rights, though, after the ordeal they had all gone through, and so it was decided that they would camp for a time at the edge of the river. "hullo, what's all that going on over there?" wondered joe, as he pointed to a cloud of dust in the distance. cal rapidly shinned up a tree, and shading his eyes with his hand, gazed for some moments in the direction of the cloud. "sheep!" he announced as he slid down again, "consarn thet jeb scantling, now i know who set thet fire." the boys looked puzzled till cal went on to explain. "you know i told you fellows that cattlemen was dead sore at sheepmen," he said, "and that's the reason." he jerked one brown thumb backward to indicate that "that" was the fire. "do you mean to say that jeb scantling started it?" gasped nat. the idea was a new one to him. "wall, i'd hate to accuse any one of doing sich a thing," rejoined cal non-committally, "but," he added with a meaning emphasis, "i've heard of sheepmen setting tracts on fire afore this." "but whatever for?" inquired joe in a puzzled tone. "so's to burn the brush away and hev nice green grass in the spring," responded cal. "well, that's a nice idea," exclaimed nat, "so they burn up a whole section of country to get feed for a few old sheep." "yep," nodded cal, "and that's what is at the bottom of most of the sheep and cattlemen's wars you read about." at first the boys felt inclined to chase up jeb, but they concluded that it would be impracticable, so, allowing the sheepman to take his distant way off into the lonelier fastnesses of the sierras, they hastened to the stream and began splashing about, enjoying the sensation hugely. suddenly a voice on the bank above hailed them. somewhat startled they all turned quickly and burst into a roar of laughter as they saw herr muller, who had slipped quietly from among them "holding them up" with a camera. "lookd idt breddy, blease," he grinned, "a picdgure i take idt." click! and there the whole crew were transferred to a picture for future development. "i guess we won't be very proud of that picture," laughed nat, turning to his ablutions once more. "no, we must answer in the negative," punned joe. but the next minute he paid the penalty as cal leaped upon him and bore him struggling to the earth. over and over they rolled, cal attempting to stuff a handful of soapsuds in the punning youth's mouth. "help! nat!" yelled joe. "not me," grinned nat, enjoying the rough sport, "you deserve your fate." soon after order was restored and they sat down to a meal to which they were fully prepared to do ample justice. "say," remarked cal suddenly, with his mouth full of canned plum pudding, "this stream and those sheep back yonder put me in mind of a story i once heard." "what was it?" came the chorus. "wall, children, sit right quiet an' i'll tell yer. oncet upon a time thar was a sheepman in these hills----" "sing ho, the sheepman in the hills!" hummed joe. "thar was a sheepman in these hills," went on cal, disdaining the interruption, "who got in trouble with some cattlemen, the same way as this one will if they git him. wall, this sheepman had a pal and the two of them decided one day that ef they didn't want ter act as reliable imitations of porous plasters they'd better be gitting. so they gabbled and got. wall, the cattlemen behind 'em pressed em pretty dern close, an' one night they come ter a creek purty much like this one. "wall, they was in a hurry ter git across as you may suppose, but the problem was ter git ther sheep over. you see they didn't want ter leave 'em as they was about all the worldly goods they had. but the sheep was inclined to mutiny." "muttony, you mean, don't you?" grinned joe, dodging to safe distance. when quiet was restored, cal resumed. "as i said, the sheep was inclined ter argify"--this with a baleful glance at joe--"and so they decided that they'd pick up each sheep in ther arms and carry them over till they got the hull three thousand sheep across ther crick. you see it wuz ther only thing ter do." the boys nodded interestedly. "wall, one of ther fellows he picks up a sheep and takes it across and comes back fer another, and then ther other feller he does the same and in the meantime ther first feller had got his other across and come back fer more and ther second was on his way over and----" "say, cal," suggested nat quietly, "let's suppose the whole bunch is across. you see----" "say, who's tellin' this?" inquired cal indignantly. "you are, but----" "wall, let me go ahead in my own way," protested the westerner. "let's see where i was; i--oh yes, wall, and then ther other feller he dumped down his sheep and come back fer another and----say, how many does that make, got across?" "search me," said joe. nat shook his head. "i d-d-d-d-on't know," stuttered ding-dong bell. "diss iss foolishness-ness," protested herr muller indignantly. "wall, that ends it," said cal tragically, "i can't go on." "why not?" came an indignant chorus. "wall, you fellers lost count of ther sheep and there ain't no way of going on till we get 'em all over. you see there's three thousand and----" this time they caught a merry twinkle in cal's eye, and with wild yells they arose and fell upon him. it was a ruffled cal who got up and resumed a sandy bit of canned plum pudding. "you fellers don't appreciate realism one bit," grumbled cal. "not three thousand sheep-power realism," retorted nat with a laugh. chapter xxiii. the hut in the mountains. the next morning they were off once more. as may be imagined each one of the party was anxious to reach the canyon in which cal's mine was located. there they would be in touch with civilization and in a position to retaliate upon the band of col. morello if they dared to attack them. on the evening of the second day they found themselves not far from the place, according to cal's calculations. but they were in a rugged country through which it would be impossible to proceed by night, so it was determined to make camp as soon as a suitable spot could be found. as it so happened, one was not far distant. a gentle slope comparatively free from rocks and stones, and affording a good view in either direction, was in the immediate vicinity. the auto, therefore, was run up there and brought to a halt, and the motor rangers at once set about looking for a spring. they had plenty of water in the tank, but preferred, if they could get it, to drink the fresh product. water that has been carried a day or two in a tank is not nearly as nice as the fresh, sparkling article right out of the ground. "look," cried joe, as they scattered in search of a suitable spot, "there's a little hut up there." "m-m-m-maybe a h-h-h-hermit l-l-lives there," suggested ding-dong in rather a quavering voice. "nonsense," put in nat, "that hut has been deserted for many years. see the ridge pole is broken, and the roof is all sagging in. let's go and explore it." with a whoop they set out across the slope for the ruined hut, which stood back in a small clearing cut out of the forest. blackened stumps stood about it but it was long since the ground had been cultivated. a few mouldering corn stalks, however, remained to show that the place had once been inhabited. as for the hut itself, it was a primitive shelter of rough logs, the roof of which had been formed out of "slabs" split from the logs direct. a stone chimney was crumbling away at one end, but it was many a year since any cheerful wreaths of smoke had wound upward from it. the boys were alone, cal and herr muller having remained to attend to the auto and build a fire. somehow, in the fading evening light, this ruined human habitation on the edge of the dark sierran forest had an uncanny effect on the boys. the stillness was profound. and half consciously the lads sank their voices to whispers as they drew closer. "s-s-s-s-say hadn't we b-b-b-better go back and g-g-g-get a g-gun?" suggested ding-dong in an awe-struck tone. "what for," rejoined joe, whose voice was also sunk to a low pitch, "not scared, are you?" "n-n-n-no, but it seems kind of creepy somehow." "nonsense," said nat crisply, "come on, let's see what's inside." by this time they were pretty close to the place, and a few strides brought nat to the rotting door. it was locked apparently, for, as he gave it a vigorous shake, it did not respond but remained closed. "come on, fellows. bring your shoulders to bear," cried nat, "now then all together!" three strong young bodies battered the door with their shoulders with all their might, and at the first assault the clumsy portal went crashing off its hinges, falling inward with a startling "bang." "look out!" yelled nat as it subsided, and it was well he gave the warning. before his sharp cry had died out a dark form about the size of a small rabbit came leaping out with a squeak like the sound made by a slate pencil. before the boy could recover from his involuntary recoil the creature was followed by a perfect swarm of his companions. squeaking and showing their teeth the creatures came pouring forth, their thousands of little eyes glowing like tiny coals. "timber rats!" shouted nat, taking to his heels, but not before some of the little animals had made a show of attacking him. nat was too prudent a lad to try conclusions with the ferocious rodents, which can be savage as wild cats, when cornered. deeming discretion the better part of valor he sped down the hillside after ding-dong and joe, who had started back for the camp at the first appearance of the torrent of timber rats. from a safe distance the lads watched the exodus. for ten minutes or more the creatures came rushing forth in a solid stream. but at last the stampede began to dwindle, and presently the last old gray fellow joined his comrades in the woods. "great scott!" exclaimed joe, "did you ever see such a sight?" "well, i've heard of places in which the rats gathered in immense numbers, but i never knew before that such a thing as we have seen was possible," replied nat; "there must have been thousands." "mum-m-m-m-millions," stuttered ding-dong, his eyes still round with astonishment. "i suppose some supplies were left in there," suggested nat, "and that the rats gathered there and made a regular nesting place of it after the owner departed." "well, now that they have all cleared out, let's go and have a look," said joe. "might as well," agreed nat, "it's a good thing those creatures didn't take it into their heads to attack us, as i have read they have done to miners. they might have picked our bones clean." they entered the hut with feelings of intense curiosity. it was well that they trod gingerly as they crossed the threshold, for the floor was so honeycombed with the holes of the timber rats that walking was difficult and even dangerous. the creatures had evidently gnawed through the sill beams supporting the floor, for the hearthstone in front of the open fireplace had subsided and sagged through into the foundations, leaving a big open space. the boys determined to explore this later but in the meantime other things in the hut attracted their attention. there was a rough board table with a cracker box to serve as chair drawn up close to it. but both the table and the box had been almost gnawed to pieces by the ravenous rats. some tin utensils stood upon the table but all trace of what they might have contained had, of course, vanished. even pictures from illustrated magazines which had once been pasted on the walls had been devoured, leaving only traces to show what they had been. nat, while the others had been investigating at large, had made his way to the corner of the hut where a rude bunk had been built. as he gazed into its dark recesses he shrank back with a startled cry. "fellows! oh, fellows! come here!" the other two hastened to his side and were scarcely less shocked than he at what they saw. within the bunk, the bed clothing of which had been devoured wholesale, lay a heap of whitened bones. a skull at the head of the rude bed-place told all too clearly that the owner had either been killed or had died in the lonely place and had been devoured by the rats. the grisly evidences were only too plain. the boys were almost unnerved by this discovery, and it was some time before any one of them spoke. then nat said in a low tone, almost a whisper:-- "i wonder who he was?" "there's a tin box," said joe, pointing to a receptacle beneath the bunk, "maybe there's something in that to tell." "perhaps," said nat, picking the article up. it was a much battered case of the type known as "despatch box." the marks of the rats' teeth showed upon it, but it had not been opened. a rusty hammer with the handle half gnawed off lay a short distance away. with one sharp blow of this tool nat knocked the lock off the despatch box. he gave a cry of triumph as he opened it. within, yellow and faded, were several papers. "let's get into the open air and examine these," suggested nat, who was finding the ratty odor of the place almost overpowering. the others gladly followed him. squatting down outside the hut in the fading light, they opened the first paper. it seemed to be a will of some sort and was signed elias goodale. putting it aside for further perusal, nat, in turn, opened and glanced at a packet of faded letters in a woman's handwriting, a folded paper containing a lock of hair, seemingly that of an infant, and at last a paper that seemed fresher than the others. this ink, instead of being a faded brown, was black and clear. the paper seemed to have been torn from a blank book. "read it out," begged joe. "all right," said nat, "there doesn't seem to be much of it, so i will." holding the paper close to his eyes in the waning day, the boy read as follows:-- "i am writing this with what i fear is my last conscious effort. it will go with the other papers in the box, and some day perhaps may reach my friends. i hope and pray so. it has been snowing for weeks and weeks. in my solitude it is dreadful, but no more of that. i was took down ill three days ago and have been steadily getting worse. it is hard to die like this on the eve of my triumph, but if it is to be it must be. the sapphires--for i found them at last--are hid under the hearthstone. i pray whoever finds this to see that they are restored to my folks whom i wronged much in my life before i came out here. "as i write this i feel myself growing weaker. the timber rats--those terrible creatures--have grown quite bold now. they openly invade the hut and steal my stores. even if i recover i shall hardly have enough to live out the winter. the lord have mercy on me and bring this paper to the hands of honest men. they will find details in the other papers of my identity." "is that all?" asked joe as nat came to a stop. "that's all," rejoined nat in a sober voice. "what do you think of it?" "that we'd better tell cal and see what he advises." "that's my idea, too. come on, let's tell him about it." the motor rangers lost no time in hastening back to the camp and cal's face of amazement as he heard their story was a sight to behold. as for herr muller he tore his hair in despair at not having secured a photograph of the rats as they poured out of the ruined hut. "i've heard of this elias goodale," said cal as he looked over the papers. "he was an odd sort of recluse that used to come to lariat twice a year for his grub. the fellows all thought he was crazy. he was always talking about finding sapphires and making the folks at home rich. i gathered that some time he had done 'em a great wrong of some kind and wanted to repair it the best way he could. anyhow, he had a claim hereabouts that he used to work on all the time. the boys all told him that the injuns had taken all the sapphires there ever was in this part of the hills out of 'em, but he kep' right on. i last heard of him about a year ago--poor chap." "was he old?" asked nat. "wall, maybe not in years, but in appearance he was the oldest, saddest chap you ever set eyes on. the boys all thought he was loony, but to me it always appeared that he had some sort of a secret sorrow." "poor fellow," exclaimed nat, "whatever wrong he may have done his death atoned for it." they were silent for a minute or so, thinking of the last scenes in that lonely hut with the snow drifting silently about it and the dying man within cringing from the timber rats. "say!" exclaimed joe suddenly, starting them out of this sad reverie, "what's the matter with finding out if he told the truth about those sapphires or if it was only a crazy dream?" "you're on, boy," exclaimed cal, "i think myself that he must hev found a lot of junk and figgered out in his crazy mind they wuz sapphires and hid 'em away." "it's worth investigating, anyhow," said nat, starting up followed by the others. it took them but a few seconds to reach the hut. having entered they all crowded eagerly about the hearthstone. cal dropped into the hole with his revolver ready for any stray rats that might remain, but not a trace of one was to be seen. suddenly he gave a shout and seized a rough wooden box with both hands. "ketch hold, boys," he cried, "it's so heavy i can't hardly heft it." willing hands soon drew the box up upon the crazy floor, and nat produced the rusty hammer. "now to see if it was all a dream or reality," he cried, as he brought the tool down on the half rotten covering. the wood split with a rending sound and displayed within a number of dull-looking, half translucent rocks. "junk!" cried cal, who had hoisted himself out of the hole by this time, "a lot of blame worthless old pyrites." "not py a chug ful," came an excited voice as herr muller pressed forward, "dem is der purest sapphires i haf effer seen." "how do you know?" demanded nat quickly. "pecos vunce py amstertam i vork py a cheweller's. i know stones in der rough and dese is an almost priceless gollecdion." "hoorooh!" yelled cal, "we'll all be rich." he stepped quickly forward and prepared to scoop up a handful of the rough-looking stones, but nat held him back. "they're not ours, cal," he said, "they belong to the folks named in that will." "you're right, boy," said cal abashed, "i let my enthoosiasm git away with me. but what are we going to do about it? them folks don't live around here." "we'll have to find them and----hark!" the boy gave an alarmed exclamation and looked behind him. he could have sworn that a dark shadow passed the window as they bent above the dully-gleaming stones. but although he darted to the door like a flash, nothing was to be seen outside. "what's the matter?" asked cal, curiously. "nothing," was the quiet rejoinder, "i thought i saw another timber rat, but i guess i was mistaken." chapter xxiv. facing their foes. "nat, wake up!" "_nat!_" "nat!" joe's third exclamation awoke the slumbering boy and he raised himself on the rough couch on one arm. "what is it, joe?" he asked, gazing in a startled way at his chum. joe was sitting bolt upright on the rough, wooden-framed bed, and gazing through a dilapidated window outside upon the moon-flooded canyon. "hark!" whispered joe, "don't you hear something?" "nothing but the water running down that old flume behind the hut." "that's queer, i don't hear it any more either," said joe; "guess it was a false alarm." "guess so," assented nat, settling down once more in the blankets. from various parts of the rough hut came the steady, regular breathing of ding-dong bell, cal and herr muller. the latter must have been having a nightmare for he kept muttering:---- "lookd oudt py der sapphires. lookd oudt!" "no need for him to worry, they are safe enough in the hiding place where cal used to keep his dust when he had any," grunted joe, still sitting erect and on the alert, however. somehow he could not get it out of his head that outside the hut he had heard stealthy footsteps a few moments before. the motor rangers and their friends had arrived at cal's hut in the canyon that afternoon. their first care had been to dispose safely of the box of precious stones in the hiding place mentioned by joe. the evening before their last act at the camp by the ruined hut had been to consign the remains of the dead miner to a grave under the great pines. nat with his pocketknife had carved a memorial upon a slab of timber. "sacred to the memory of elias goodale. died----." * * * * * and so, with a last look backward at the scene of the lonely tragedy of the hills, they had proceeded. nat had not mentioned to his companions that he was sure that he had seen some one at the window, as they bent over the sapphires. after all it might have been an hallucination. the boy's first and natural assumption had been that whoever had peeped through the window was a member of col. morello's band, sent forward to track them. but then he recollected the burned forest that lay behind. it seemed hardly credible that any member of the band could have passed that barrier and arrived at the hut at almost the same time as the motor rangers. had nat known what accurate and minute knowledge the colonel possessed of the secret trails and short cuts of that part of the sierras he might not, however, have been so incredulous of his first theory. the same afternoon they had reached a summit from which cal, pointing downward, had shown them a scanty collection of huts amid a dark sea of pines. "that's the place," he said. half an hour's ride had brought them to the canyon which they found had been deserted even by the patient chinamen, since cal's last visit. his hut, however, was undisturbed and had not been raided by timber rats, thanks to an arrangement of tin pans set upside down which cal had contrived on the corner posts. the afternoon had been spent in concealing the sapphire chest in a recess behind some rocks some distance from the hut. a short tour of exploration followed. as cal had said on a previous occasion, the camp had once been the scene of great mining activity. traces of it were everywhere. the hillside was honeycombed with deserted workings and mildewed embankments of slag. scrub and brush had sprung up everywhere, and weeds flourished among rotting, rusty mining machinery. it was a melancholy spot, and the boys had been anxious to leave it and push on to big oak flat, ten miles beyond. but by the time they reached this decision it was almost dark and the road before them was too rough to traverse by night. it had been decided therefore to camp in cal's hut that night. "pity we can't float like a lot of logs," said joe, as he stood looking at the water roaring through the flume which was a short distance behind the hut. "yep," rejoined cal, "if we could, we'd reach big oak flat in jig time. this here flume comes out thereabouts." "who built it?" inquired nat, gazing at the moss-grown contrivance through which the water was rushing at a rapid rate. there had been a cloudburst on a distant mountain and the stream was yellow and turbid. at other times, so cal informed them, the flume was almost dry. "why," said cal, in reply to nat's question, "it was put up by some fellows who thought they saw money in lumbering here. that was after the mines petered out. but it was too far to a market and after working it a while they left. we've always let the flume stand, as it is useful to carry off the overflow from the river above." somehow sleep wouldn't come to joe. try as he would he could not doze off. he counted sheep jumping over a fence, kept tab of bees issuing from a hive and tried a dozen other infallible recipes for inducing slumber. but they wouldn't work. nat, after his awakening, had, however, dozed off as peacefully as before. suddenly, joe sat up once more. he had been electrified by the sound of a low voice outside the hut. this time there was no mistake. some human being was prowling about that lonely place. who could it be? he was not kept long in doubt. it was the voice of dayton. low as it was there was no mistaking it. joe's heart almost stopped beating as he listened:-- "they're off as sound as so many tops, colonel. all we've got to do is to go in and land the sapphires, and the kid, too." "you are sure they have them?" "of course. didn't i see them in old goodale's hut? you always said the old fellow was crazy. i guess you know better now. these cubs blundered into the biggest sapphire find i ever heard of." joe was up now, and cautiously creeping about the room. one after another he awoke his sleeping companions. before arousing herr muller, however, he clapped a hand over the german's mouth to check any outcry that the emotional teuton might feel called upon to utter. presently the voices died out and cautiously approaching the window nat could see in the moonlight half a dozen dark forms further down the canyon. suddenly a moonbeam glinted brightly on a rifle barrel. "they mean business this time and no mistake," thought nat. tiptoeing back he told the others what he had seen. "maybe we can ketch them napping," said cal, "oh, if only we had a telephone, the sheriff could nab the whole pack." "yes, but we haven't," said the practical nat. cal tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack. if there had been any doubt that they were closely watched it was dispelled then. zip! _phut!_ two bullets sang by cal's ears as he jumped hastily back, and buried themselves in the door jamb. "purty close shooting for moonlight," he remarked coolly. "what are we going to do?" demanded joe. "well, thanks to our foresight in bringing in all the rifles and ammunition, we can make things interesting for them coyotes fer a long time," rejoined cal. "but in this lonely place they could besiege us for a month if need be," said nat. cal looked grave. "that's so, lad," he agreed, "we'd be starved and thirsted out before long. if only we could communicate with big oak flat." nat dropped off into one of his deep studies. the boy's active mind was revolving the situation. it resolved itself into a very simple proposition. the colonel's band was well armed. they had ample opportunities for getting food and water. situated as the motor rangers were, the others could keep them bottled up as long as they could stand it. then nothing would be left but surrender. nat knew now from what joe had told him, that it was no fancy he had had at the hut. dayton had been on their track and had unluckily arrived in time for his cupidity to be tempted by the sight of the sapphires. his injury when the man-trap fell must have been only a slight one. nat knew the character of the outlaws too well to imagine that they would leave the canyon till they had the sapphire box and could wreak their revenge on the motor rangers. true, as long as their ammunition held out the occupants of the hut could have stood off an army. but as has been said, without food or water they were hopeless captives. unless--unless---- nat leaped up from the bedstead with a low, suppressed:-- "_whoop!_" "you've found a way out of it?" exclaimed joe, throwing an arm around his chum's shoulder. "i think so, old fellow--listen." they gathered around while in low tones nat rehearsed his plan. "i ain't er goin' ter let you do it," protested cal. "but you must, cal, it's our only chance. you are needed here to help stand off those rascals. it is evident that they are in no hurry to attack us. they know that they can starve us out if they just squat down and wait." "thet's so," assented cal, scratching his head, "i guess there ain't no other way out of it but--nat, i think a whole lot of you, and don't you take no chances you don't have to." "not likely to," was the rejoinder, "and now the sooner i start the better, so good-bye, boys." nat choked as he uttered the words, and the others crowded about him. "donner blitzen," blurted out herr muller, "i dink you are der pravest poy i effer heardt of, und----" nat cut him short. there was a brief hand pressure between himself and joe, the same with ding-dong and the others, and then the lad, with a quick, athletic movement, caught hold of a roof beam and hoisted himself upward toward a hole in the roof through which a stone chimney had once projected. almost noiselessly he drew himself through it and the next moment vanished from their view. "now then to cover his retreat," said joe, seizing his rifle. the others, arming themselves in the same way rushed toward the window. through its broken panes a volley was discharged down the canyon. a chorus of derisive yells greeted it from morello's band. "yell away," snarled cal, "maybe you'll sing a different tune before daybreak." in the meantime nat had emerged on the roof of the cabin. it was a difficult task he had set himself and this was but the first step. but as the volley rang out he knew that the attention of the outlaws had been distracted momentarily and he wriggled his way down toward the eaves at the rear of the hut. luckily, the roof sloped backward in that direction, so that he was screened from the view of any one in front. reaching the eaves he hung on for a second, and then dropped the ten feet or so to the ground. then crouching like an indian he darted through the brush till he reached the side of the old flume. he noted with satisfaction that the water was still running in a good stream down the mouldering trench. with a quick, backward look, nat cast off his coat and boots, and flinging them aside picked up a board about six feet long that lay near by. the water at the head of the flume traversed a little level of ground, and here it ran more slowly than it did when it reached the grade below. extending himself full length on the board, just as a boy does on a sleigh on a snowy hill, nat held on for a moment. he gave one look about him at the moonlit hills, the dark pines and the rocky cliffs. then, with a murmured prayer, he let go. the next instant he was shooting down through the flume at a rate that took his breath away. all about him roared the voices of the water while the crosspieces over his head whizzed by in one long blur. chapter xxv. through the flume. faster than he had ever travelled before in his life nat was hurtled along down the flume. water dashed upward into his face, half choking him and occasionally his board would hit the wooden side with a bump that almost threw him off. his knuckles were bruised and bleeding and his head dizzy from the motion. it was the wildest ride that the lad, or any other lad for that matter, had ever undertaken. suddenly, ahead of him--above the noise of the rushing water--came another sound, a deep-throated, sullen thunder. as he shot along with the speed of a projectile, nat realized what the strange sound betokened. the end of the flume. cal had told them that the raised water-course discharged its contents into a big pool at that point. with a sudden sinking of the heart nat realized that he had forgotten to inquire how high the drop was. if it was very high--or if there was but little water in the pool below the flume--he would be dashed to pieces, or injured so that he could not swim, and thus drown. but even as the alarming thought was in his mind, nat felt himself shot outward into space. instinctively his hands came together and he dived downward, entering the water about twenty feet below him, with a clean dive. for a space the waters closed above the lad's head and he was lost to view in the moonlit pool. when he came to the surface, out of breath and bruised, but otherwise uninjured, he saw that he was in what had formerly been used as a "collection-pool" for the logs from the forest above. he struck out for the shore at once and presently emerged upon the bank. but as he clambered out, the figure of a chinaman who had been seated fishing on the brink galvanized into sudden life. the mongolian was poaching in private waters under cover of the darkness and was naturally startled out of a year's growth at the sudden apparition. with an ear-splitting screech the mongolian leaped about three feet into the air as if propelled by a spring, and then, with his stumpy legs going under him like twin piston rods, he made tracks for the town. "bad spill-it! bad spill-it! he come catchee me!" he howled at the top of his voice, tearing along. as he dashed into the town a tall man dressed in western style, and with a determined, clean-cut face under his broad-brimmed sombrero, stepped out of the lighted interior of the post-office, where the mail for the early stage was being sorted. "here, sing lee," he demanded, catching the astonished chinaman by the shoulder and swinging him around, "what's the matter with you?" "wasee malla me, missa sheliff? me tellee you number one chop quickee timee. me fish down by old lumbel yard and me see spill-it come flum watel!" "what?" roared jack tebbetts, the sheriff, "a ghost? more likely one of morello's band; i heard they were around here somewhere. but hullo, what's this?" he broke off as a strange figure came flying down the street, almost as fast as the fear-crazed chinaman. "wow!" yelled the sheriff, drawing an enormous gun as this weird figure came in view, "halt whar you be, stranger? you're a suspicious character." nat, out of breath, wet through, bruised, bleeding and with his clothing almost ripped off him, could not but admit the truth of this remark. but as he opened his mouth to speak a sudden dizziness seemed to overcome him. his knees developed strange hinges and he felt that in another moment he would topple over. the sheriff stepped quickly forward and caught him. "here, hold up, lad," he said crisply, "what's ther trouble?" * * * * * "one o'clock. we ought to be hearing from nat soon." cal put his old silver watch back in his pocket and resumed his anxious pacing of the floor. the others, in various attitudes of alertness, were scattered about the place. since nat's departure they had been, as you may imagine, at a pretty tight tension. somehow, waiting there for an attack or for rescue, was much more trying than action would have been. "do you guess he got through all right?" asked joe. "i hope so," rejoined cal, "but it was about as risky a bit of business as a lad could undertake. i blame myself for ever letting him do it." "if nat had his mind made up you couldn't have stopped him," put in joe earnestly. "h-h-h-hark!" exclaimed ding-dong. far down the canyon they could hear a sound. it grew closer. for an instant a wild hope that it was the rescue party flashed through their minds. but the next instant a voice hailed them. evidently col. morello had made up his mind that a siege was too lengthy a proceeding. "i will give you fellows in the hut one chance," he said in a loud voice, "give up that boy nat trevor and the sapphires and i will withdraw my men." cal's answer was to take careful aim, and if joe had not hastily pulled his arm down that moment would have been morello's last. but as cal's white face was framed in the dark window a bullet sang by viciously and showered them with splinters. "that's for a lesson," snarled morello, "there are lots more where that came from." but as he spoke there came a sudden yell of alarm from his rear. "we're attacked!" came a voice. at the same instant the sound of a distant volley resounded. "hooray! nat made good!" yelled cal, leaping about and cracking his fingers. the next instant a rapid thunder of hoofs, as the outlaws wheeled and made off, was heard. as their dark forms raced by, the posse headed by sheriff tebbetts and nat, fired volley after volley at them, but only two fell, slightly wounded. the rest got clear away. a subsequent visit to their fortress showed that on escaping from the posse they had revisited it and cleaned all the loot out of it that they could. the express box stolen from cal's stage was, however, recovered. as the posse galloped up, cheering till the distant canyons echoed and re-echoed, the besieged party rushed out. they made for nat and pulled him from his horse. then, with the young motor ranger on their shoulders, they paraded around the hut with him, yelling like maniacs, "'for he's a jolly good fellow'!" "and that don't begin to express it," said the sheriff to himself. "he's the grit kid," put in one of the hastily-gathered posse admiringly. and the "grit kid" nat was to them henceforth. the remainder of the night was spent in the hut, nat telling and retelling his wild experience in the flume. the next morning the posse set out at once at top speed for the fortress of morello, the sapphire chest being carried in the auto which accompanied the authorities. of course they found no trace of the outlaws; but the place was destroyed and can never again be used by any nefarious band. nat and his friends were anxious for the sheriff to take charge of the sapphire find, but this he refused to do. it remained, therefore, for the motor rangers themselves to unravel the mystery surrounding it. how they accomplished this, and the devious paths and adventures into which the quest led them, will be told in the next volume of this series. here also will be found a further account of col. morello and his band who, driven from their haunts by the motor rangers, sought revenge on the lads. having remained in the vicinity of big oak flat till every point connected with morello and his band had been cleared up, the boys decided to go on to the famous yosemite valley. there they spent some happy weeks amid its awe-inspiring natural wonders. with them was herr muller and cal. bismark, as cal had foretold, returned to the hotel at lariat and herr muller got his money. but all the time the duty which devolved upon the motor rangers of finding elias goodale's heirs and bestowing their rich inheritance on them was not forgotten. nat and his companions considered it in the nature of a sacred trust--this mission which a strange chance had placed in their hands. how they carried out their task, and what difficulties and dangers they faced in doing it, will be related in "the motor rangers on blue water; or, the secret of the derelict." the end. reasons why you should obtain a catalogue of our publications _a postal to us will place it in your hands_ . you will possess a comprehensive and classified list of all the best standard books published, at prices less than offered by others. . you will find listed in our catalogue books on every topic: poetry, fiction, romance, travel, adventure, humor, science, history, religion, biography, drama, etc., besides dictionaries and manuals, bibles, recitation and hand books, sets, octavos, presentation books and juvenile and nursery literature in immense variety. . you will be able to purchase books at prices within your reach; as low as cents for paper covered books, to $ . for books bound in cloth or leather, adaptable for gift and presentation purposes, to suit the tastes of the most critical. . you will save considerable money by taking advantage of our special discounts, which we offer to those whose purchases are large enough to warrant us in making a reduction. hurst & co., _publishers_, , , broadway, new york. motor rangers series by marvin west outdoor life stories for modern boys cloth bound price ¢ per volume. the motor rangers' lost mine. a new series dealing with an idea altogether original in juvenile fiction,--the adventures of a party of bright, enterprising youngsters in a splendid motor car. their first trip takes them to the dim and mysterious land of lower california. naturally, as one would judge from the title, the lost mine, which proves to be nat trevor's rightful inheritance,--occupies much of the interest of the book. but the mine was in the possession of enemies so powerful and wealthy that it taxed the boys' resources to the uttermost to overcome them. how they did so makes absorbing reading. in this book also, the young motor rangers solve the mystery of the haunted mexican cabin, and exterminate for all time a strange terror of the mountains which has almost devastated a part of the peninsula. the motor rangers too, have an exciting encounter with mexican cowboys, which beginning comically, comes very near having a serious termination for all hands. emphatically "third speed" books. sold by booksellers everywhere. hurst & co., publishers new york border boy series by fremont b. deering frontier stories for modern boys cloth bound price, ¢ per volume. the border boys on the trail. there is little left of the romantic western life of which our forefathers delighted to read and in which they not infrequently took a part. the author of this series has, however, taken to himself modern conditions in this interesting section of the country in a vital way. the pages of this book throb with the strenuous outdoor life and pastimes of the ranch and range. the volume is as vivid as a western sunset and as lively as a bucking broncho. what boy will not want to read of the adventures of the ranchers and the boys in grizzly pass and the strange strategy of black ramon--the border cattle-rustler which came nearly costing them all their lives? but the adventures do not terminate at the annihilation of the bridge by the rustler's gang. they elude pursuit for a time by this means but only for a time. the beginning of the end of their depredations comes when jack and his cowpuncher chum escape from the bell-tower of the old mission. from then on to the conclusion of the book events come as fast as the discharge of an automatic rifle, or the rattling execution of the long roll on a snare-drum. no boy should fail to read how the mexicans almost succeeded in releasing the pent-up waters of the irrigation dam and ruining a vast track of country. thoroughly healthy in tone and appealing to manly standards the border boys are ideal chums for the wholesome lads of to-day. sold by booksellers everywhere. hurst & co., publishers new york. boy scout series by lieut. howard payson modern boy scout stories for boys cloth bound price, ¢ per volume. the boy scouts of the eagle patrol. a fascinating narrative of the doings of some bright boys who become part of the great boy scout movement. the first of a series dealing with this organization, which has caught on like wild fire among healthy boys of all ages and in all parts of the country. while in no sense text-book, the volume deals, amid its exciting adventures, with the practical side of scouting. to rob blake and his companions in the eagle patrol, surprising, and sometimes perilous things happen constantly. but the lads, who are, after all, typical of most young americans of their type, are resourceful enough to overcome every one of their dangers and difficulties. how they discover the whereabouts of little joe, the "kid" of the patrol, by means of smoke telegraphy and track his abductors to their disgrace; how they assist the passengers of a stranded steamer and foil a plot to harm and perhaps kill an aged sea-captain, one must read the book to learn. a swift-moving narrative of convincing interest and breathless incident. sold by booksellers everywhere. hurst & co. publishers new york * * * * * transcriber's notes: obvious punctuation errors repaired. varied hyphenation was retained. page , "attampt" changed to "attempt" (and an attempt made) page , "penertate" changed to "penetrate" (could not penetrate into) generously made available by the internet archive.) history of .. .. .. .. "billy the kid" a cowboy outlaw whose youthful daring has never been equalled in the annals of criminal history. when a bullet pierced his heart he was less than twenty-two years of age, and had killed twenty-one men, indians not included. [illustration] by chas. a. siringo history of "billy the kid." the true life of the most daring young outlaw of the age. he was the leading spirit in the bloody lincoln county, new mexico, war. when a bullet from sheriff pat garett's pistol pierced his breast he was only twenty-one years of age, and had killed twenty-one men, not counting indians. his six years of daring outlawry has never been equalled in the annals of criminal history. by chas. a. siringo. author of: "fifteen years on the hurricane deck of a spanish pony," "a cowboy detective," and "a lone star cowboy." to my friend, george s. tweedy--an honest, easy-going, second abraham lincoln; this little volume is affectionately dedicated by the author, chas. a. siringo. copyrighted , by chas. a. siringo. all rights reserved. introduction the author feels that he is capable of writing a true and unvarnished history of "billy the kid," as he was personally acquainted with him, and assisted in his capture, by furnishing sheriff pat garrett with three of his fighting cowboys--jas. h. east, lee hall and lon chambers. the facts set down in this narrative were gotten from the lips of "billy the kid," himself, and from such men as pat garrett, john w. poe, kip mckinnie, charlie wall, the coe brothers, tom o'phalliard, henry brown, john middleton, martin chavez, and ash upson. all these men took an active part, for or against, the "kid." ash upson had known him from childhood, and was considered one of the family, for several years, in his mother's home. other facts were gained from the lips of mrs. charlie bowdre, who kept "billy the kid," hid out at her home in fort sumner, new mexico, after he had killed his two guards and escaped. chas. a. siringo. chapter i. billy bonney kills his first two men, and becomes a daring outlaw in the republic of mexico. in the slum district of the great city of new york, on the rd day of november, , a blue-eyed baby boy was born to william h. bonney and his good looking, auburn haired young wife, kathleen. being their first child he was naturally the joy of their hearts. later, another baby boy followed. in william h. bonney shook the dust of new york city from his shoes and emigrated to coffeeville, kansas, on the northern border of the indian territory, with his little family. soon after settling down in coffeeville, mr. bonney died. then the young widow moved to the territory of colorado, where she married a mr. antrim. shortly after this marriage, the little family of four moved to santa fe, new mexico, at the end of the old santa fe trail. here they opened a restaurant, and one of their first boarders was ash upson, then doing work on the daily new mexican. little, blue-eyed, billy bonney, was then about five years of age, and became greatly attached to good natured, jovial, ash upson, who spent much of his leisure time playing with the bright boy. three years later, when the hero of our story was about eight years old, ash upson and the antrim family pulled up stakes and moved to the booming silver mining camp of silver city, in the southwestern part of the territory of new mexico. here mr. and mrs. antrim established a new restaurant, and had ash upson as the star boarder. naturally their boarders were made up of all classes, both women and men,--some being gamblers and toughs of the lowest order. amidst these surroundings, billy bonney grew up. he went to school and was a bright scholar. when not at school, billy was associating with tough men and boys, and learning the art of gambling and shooting. this didn't suit mr. antrim, who became a cruel step-father, according to billy bonney's way of thinking. jesse evans, a little older than billy, was a young tough who was a hero in billy's estimation. they became fast friends, and bosom companions. in the years to come they were to fight bloody battles side by side, as friends, and again as bitter enemies. as a boy, mr. upson says billy had a sunny disposition, but when aroused had an uncontrollable temper. at the tender age of twelve, young bonney made a trip to fort union, new mexico, and there gambled with the negro soldiers. one "black nigger" cheated billy, who shot him dead. this story i got from the lips of "billy the kid" in . making his way back to silver city he kept the secret from his fond mother, who was the idol of his heart. one day billy's mother was passing a crowd of toughs on the street. one of them made an insulting remark about her. billy, who was in the crowd, heard it. he struck the fellow in the face with his fist, then picked up a rock from the street. the "tough" made a rush at billy, and as he passed ed. moulton he planted a blow back of his ear, and laid him sprawling on the ground. this act cemented a friendship between ed. moulton and the future young outlaw. about three weeks later ed. moulton got into a fight with two toughs in joe dyer's saloon. he was getting the best of the fight. the young blacksmith who had insulted mrs. antrim and who had been knocked down by ed. moulton, saw a chance for revenge. he rushed at moulton with an uplifted chair. billy bonney was standing near by, on nettles, ready to render assistance to his benefactor, at a moment's notice. the time had now arrived. he sprang at the blacksmith and stabbed him with a knife three times. he fell over dead. billy ran out of the saloon, his right hand dripping with human blood. now to his dear mother's arms, where he showered her pale cheeks with kisses for the last time. realizing the result of his crime, he was soon lost in the pitchy darkness of the night, headed towards the southwest, afoot. for three days and nights billy wandered through the cactus covered hills, without seeing a human being. luck finally brought him to a sheep camp, where the mexican herder gave him food. from the sheep camp he went to mcknight's ranch and stole a horse, riding away without a saddle. three weeks later a boy and a grown man rode into camp bowie, a government post. both were on a skinny, sore-back pony. this new found companion had a name and history of his own, which he was nursing in secret. he gave his name to billy as "alias," and that was the name he was known by around camp bowie. finally billy, having disposed of his sore-back pony, started out for the apache indian reservation, with "alias," afoot. they were armed with an old army rifle and a six-shooter, which they had borrowed from soldiers. about ten miles southwest of camp bowie these two young desperados came onto three indians, who had twelve ponies, a lot of pelts and several saddles, besides good fire-arms, and blankets. in telling of the affair afterwards, billy said: "it was a ground-hog case. here were twelve good ponies, a supply of blankets, and five heavy loads of pelts. here were three blood-thirsty savages revelling in luxury and refusing help to two free-born, white, american citizens, foot-sore and hungry. the plunder had to change hands. as one live indian could place a hundred united states soldiers on our trail, the decision was made. "in about three minutes there were three dead indians stretched out on the ground, and with their ponies and plunder we skipped. there was no fight. it was the softest thing i ever struck." about one hundred miles from this bloody field of battle, the surplus ponies and plunder were sold and traded off to a band of texas emigrants. finally the two young brigands settled down in tucson, where billy's skill as a monte dealer, and card player kept them in luxuriant style, and gave them prestige among the sporting fraternity. becoming tired of town life, the two desperadoes hit the trail for san simon, where they beat a band of indians out of a lot of money in a "fake" horse race. the next we hear of billy bonney is in the state of sonora, old mexico, where he went alone, according to his own statement. in sonora he joined issues with a mexican gambler named melquiades segura. one night the two murdered a monte dealer, don jose martinez, and secured his "bank roll." now the two desperadoes shook the dust of sonora from their feet and landed in the city of chihuahua, the capital of the state of chihuahua, several hundred miles to the eastward, across the sierra madres mountains. chapter ii. a fierce battle with apache indians. single handed billy bonney liberates segura from jail. in the city of chihuahua, the two desperadoes led a hurrah life among the sporting elements. finally their money was gone and their luck at cards went against them. then billy and segura held up and robbed several monte dealers, when on the way home after their games had closed for the night. one of these monte dealers had offended billy, which caused his death. one morning before the break of day, this monte dealer was on his way home; a peon was carrying his fat "bank roll" in a buckskin bag, finely decorated with gold and silver threads. when nearing his residence in the outskirts of the city, segura and young bonney made a charge from behind a vacant adobe building. the one-sided battle was soon over. a popular mexican gambler lay stretched dead on the ground. the peon willingly gave up the sack of gold and silver. now towards the texas border, in a north-easterly direction, a distance of three hundred miles, as fast as their mounts could carry them. when their horses began to grow tired, other mounts were secured. their bills were paid enroute, with gold doubloons taken from the buckskin sack. on reaching the rio grande river, which separates texas from the republic of mexico, the young outlaws separated for the time being. billy bonney finally met up with his silver city chum, jesse evans, and they became partners in crime, in the bordering state of texas, and the territories of new mexico and arizona. many robberies and some murders were committed by these smooth-faced boys, and they had many narrow escapes from death, or capture. fresh horses were always at their command, as they were experts with the lasso, and the scattering ranchmen all had bands of ponies on the range. on one occasion the boys ate dinner with a party of texas emigrants, and were well treated. leaving the emigrant camp, a band of renegade apache indians were seen skulking in the hills. the boys concealed themselves to await results, as they felt sure a raid was to be made on the emigrants, who were headed for the territory of arizona. there were only three men in the party, and several women and children. just at dusk, the boys, who were stealing along their trail in the low, flint covered hills, heard shooting. realizing that a battle was on, billy bonney and jesse evans put spurs to their mounts and reached the camp just in time. by this time it was dark. the three men had succeeded in standing off the indians for awhile, but finally a rush was made on the camp, by the reds, with blood curdling war whoops. at that moment the two young heroes charged among the indians and sprang off their horses, with winchester rifles in hand. for a few moments the battle raged. one bullet shattered the stock of billy's rifle, cripping his left hand slightly. he then dropped the rifle and used his pistol. when the battle was over, eight dead indians lay on the ground. the emigrants had shielded themselves by getting behind the wagons. two of the men were slightly wounded, and the other dangerously shot through the stomach. one little girl had a fractured skull from a blow on the head with a rifle. the mother of the child fainted on seeing her daughter fall. in telling of this battle, billy bonney said the war-whoops shouted by himself and jesse, as they charged into the band of indians, helped to win the battle. he said a bullet knocked the heel off one of his boots, and that jesse's hat was shot off his head. he felt sure that the man shot through the stomach died, though he never heard of the party after separating. soon after the indian battle billy bonney and jesse evans landed in the mexican village of la mesilla, new mexico, and there met up with some of jesse's chums. their names were jim mcdaniels, bill morton, and frank baker. during their stay in mesilla, jim mcdaniels christened billy bonney, "billy the kid," and that name stuck to him to the time of his death. finally these three tough cowboys started for the pecos river with jesse evans. "billy the kid" promised to join them later, as he had received word that his old mexico chum, segura, was in jail in san elizario, texas, below el paso. this word had been brought by a mexican boy, sent by segura. the "kid" told the boy to wait in mesilla till he and segura got there. it was the fall of . mounted on his favorite gray horse, "billy the kid" started at six o'clock in the evening for the eighty-one mile ride to san elizario. a swift ride brought him into el paso, then called franklin, a distance of fifty-six miles, before midnight. here he dismounted in front of peter den's saloon to let his noble "gray" rest. while waiting, he had a few drinks of whiskey, and fed "gray" some crackers, there being no horse feed at the saloon. now for the twenty-five mile dash down the rio grande river, over a level road to san elizario. it was made in quick time. daylight had not yet begun to break. dismounting in front of the jail, the "kid" knocked on the front door. the mexican jailer asked; "quien es?" (who's that?) the "kid" replied in good spanish: "open up, we have two american prisoners here." the heavy front door was opened, and the jailer found a cocked pistol pointed at him. now the frightened guard gave up his pistol and the keys to the cell in which segura was shackled and handcuffed. in the rear of the jail building there was another guard asleep. he was relieved of his fire-arms and dagger. when segura was free of irons the two guards were gagged so they couldn't give an alarm, and chained to a post. the two outlaws started out in the darkest part of the night, just before day, segura on "gray" and the "kid" trotting by his side, afoot. an hour later the two desperadoes were at a confederate's ranch across the rio grande river, in old mexico. after filling up with a hot breakfast, the "kid" was soon asleep, while segura kept watch for officers. the "kid's" noble "gray" was fed and with a mustang, kept hidden out in the brush. now the ranchman rode into san elizario to post himself on the jail break. hurrying back to the ranch, he advised his two guests to "hit the high places," as there was great excitement in san elizario. reaching la mesilla, new mexico, the two young outlaws found the boy who had carried the message to "billy the kid," from segura, and rewarded him with a handful of mexican gold. chapter iii. "billy the kid" and segura make successful robbery raids into mexico. a battle with indians. the "kid" joins his chum, jesse evans. after a few daring raids into old mexico, with segura, the "kid" landed in la mesilla, new mexico. here he fell in with a wild young man by the name of tom o'keefe. together, they started for the pecos river to meet jesse evans and his companions. instead of taking the wagon road, the two venturesome boys cut across the mescalero apache indian reservation, which took in most of the high guadalupe range of mountains, which separates the pecos and rio grande rivers. first they rode into el paso, texas, and loaded a pack mule with provisions. a few days out of el paso, the boys ran out of water, and were puzzled as to which way to ride. finally a fresh indian trail was found, evidently leading to water. it was followed to the mouth of a deep canyon. for fear of running into a trap, the "kid" decided to take the canteen and go afoot, leaving his mount and the pack mule with o'keefe, who was instructed to come to his rescue should he hear yelling and shooting. a mile of cautious traveling brought the "kid" to a cool spring of water. the ground was tramped hard with fresh pony and indian tracks. after filling the canteen, and drinking all the water he could hold, the "kid" started down the canyon to join his companion. he hadn't gone far when indians, afoot, began pouring out of the cliff to the right, which cut off his retreat down the canyon. there was nothing to do but return towards the spring, as fast as his legs could carry him. the twenty half-naked braves were gaining on him, and shouting blood-curdling war-whoops. like a pursued mountain lion, the "kid" sprang into the jungles of a steep cliff. foot by foot his way was made to a place of concealment. the indians seeing him leave the trail, scrambled up into the bushy cliff. now the "kid's" trusty pistol began to talk, and several young braves, who were leading the chase passed to the "happy hunting ground." the "kid" said the body of one young buck went down the cliff and caught on the over-hanging limb of a dead tree, and there hung suspended in plain view. many shots were fired at the "kid" when he sprang from one hiding place to another. one bullet struck a rock near his head, and the splinters gave him slight wounds on the face and neck. reaching the extreme top of a high peak, the young outlaw felt safe, as he could see no reds on his trail. being exhausted he soon fell asleep. on hearing the yelling and shooting, tom o'keefe stampeded, leaving the "kid's" mount and the pack mule where they stood. reaching a high bluff, which was impossible for a horse to climb, o'keefe quit his mount and took it afoot. from cliff to cliff, he made his way towards the top of a peak. finally his keen eyesight caught the figure of a man, far away across a deep canyon, trying to reach the top of a mountain peak. he surmised that the bold climber must be the "kid." at last young o'keefe's strength gave out and he lay down to sleep. his hands and limbs were bleeding from the scratches received from sharp rocks, and he was craving water. being refreshed from his long night's sleep, the "kid" headed for the big red sun, which was just creeping up out of the great "llano estacado," (staked plains), over a hundred miles to the eastward, across the pecos river. finally water was struck and he was happy. then he filled up on wild berries, which were plentiful along the borders of the small sparkling stream of water. three days later the young hero outlaw reached a cow-camp on the rio pecos. he made himself known to the cowboys, who gave him a good horse to ride, and conducted him to the murphy-dolan cow-camp, where his chum, jesse evans, was employed. in this camp the "kid" also met his former friends, mcdaniels, baker, and morton. here the "kid" was told of the smouldering cattle war between the murphy-dolan faction on one side, and the cattle king, john s. chisum, on the other. many small cattle owners were arrayed with the firm of murphy and dolan, who owned a large store in lincoln, and were the owners of many cattle. on john s. chisum's side were alex a. mcsween, a prominent lawyer of lincoln--the county seat of lincoln county--and a wealthy englishman by the name of john s. tunstall, who had only been in america a year. mcsween and tunstall had formed a co-partnership in the cattle business, and had established a general trading store in lincoln. it was now the early spring of . jesse evans tried to persuade "billy the kid" to join the murphy-dolan faction, but he argued that he first had to find tom o'keefe, dead or alive, as it was against his principles to desert a chum in time of danger. for nearly a year a storm had been brewing between john chisum and the smaller ranchmen. chisum claimed all the range in the pecos valley, from fort sumner to the texas line, a distance of over two hundred miles. naturally there was much mavericking, in other words, stealing unbranded young animals from the chisum bands of cattle, which ranged about twenty-five miles on each side of the pecos river. chisum owned from forty to sixty thousand cattle on this "jingle-bob" range. his cattle were marked with a long "jingle-bob" hanging down from the dew-lap. in branding calves the chisum cowboys would slash the dew-lap above the breast, leaving a chunk of hide and flesh hanging downward. when the wound healed the animal was well marked with a dangling "jingle-bob." thus did the chisum outfit get the name of the "jingle-bobs." well mounted and armed, "billy the kid" started in search of tom o'keefe. he was found at las cruces, three miles from la mesilla, the county seat of dona ana county, new mexico. it was a happy meeting between the two smooth-faced boys. each had to relate his experience during and after the indian trouble. o'keefe had gone back to the place where he had left the "kid's" mount and the pack mule. there he found the "kid's" horse shot dead, but no sign of the mule. his own pony ran away with the saddle, when he sprang from his back. now o'keefe struck out afoot, towards the west, living on berries and such game as he could kill, finally landing in las cruces, where he swore off being the companion of a daring young outlaw. "billy the kid" tried to persuade o'keefe to accompany him back to the pecos valley, to take part in the approaching cattle war, but tom said he had had enough of playing "bad-man from bitter creek." now the "kid" went to a ranch, where he had left his noble "gray," and with him started back towards the pecos river. chapter iv. the starting of the bloody lincoln county war. the murder of tunstall. "billy the kid" is partially revenged when he kills morton and baker. arriving back at the murphy-dolan cow-camp on the pecos river, "billy the kid" was greeted by his friends, mcdaniels, morton and baker, who persuaded him to join the murphy and dolan outfit, and become one of their fighting cowboys. this he agreed to do, and was put on the pay-roll at good wages. the summer and fall of passed along with only now and then a scrap between the factions. but the clouds of war were lowering, and the "kid" was anxious for a battle. still he was not satisfied to be at war with the whole-souled young englishman, john s. tunstall, whom he had met on several occasions. on one of his trips to the mexican town of lincoln, to "blow in" his accumulated wages, the "kid" met tunstall, and expressed regret at fighting against him. the matter was talked over and "billy the kid" agreed to switch over from the murphy-dolan faction. tunstall at once put him under wages and told him to make his headquarters at their cow-camp on the rio feliz, which flowed into the pecos from the west. now the "kid" rode back to camp and told the dozen cowboys there of his new deal. they tried to persuade him of his mistake, but his mind was made up and couldn't be changed. in the argument, baker abused the "kid" for going back on his friends. this came very near starting a little war in that camp. the "kid" made baker back down when he offered to shoot it out with him on the square. before riding away on his faithful "gray," the "kid" expressed regrets at having to fight against his chum jesse evans, in the future. at the rio feliz cow camp, the "kid" made friends with all the cowboys there, and with tunstall and mcsween, when he rode into lincoln to have a good time at the mexican "fandangos" (dances.) a few "killings" took place on the pecos river during the fall, but "billy the kid" was not in these fights. in the early part of december, , the "kid" received a letter from his mexican chum whom he had liberated from the jail in san elizario, texas, melquiades segura, asking that he meet him at their friend's ranch across the rio grande river, in old mexico, on a matter of great importance. mounted on "gray," the "kid" started. meeting segura, he found that all he wanted was to share a bag of mexican gold with him. while visiting segura, a war started in san elizario over the guadalupe salt lakes, in el paso county, texas. these salt lakes had supplied the natives along the rio grande river with free salt for more than a hundred years. an american by the name of howard, had leased them from the state of texas, and prohibited the people from taking salt from them. a prominent man by the name of louis cardis, took up the fight for the people. howard and his men were captured and allowed their liberty under the promise that they would leave the salt lakes free for the people's use. soon after, howard killed louis cardis in el paso. this worked the natives up to a high pitch. under the protection of a band of texas rangers, howard returned to san elizario, twenty-five miles below el paso. on reaching san elizario the citizens turned out in mass and besieged the rangers and the howard crowd, in a house. many citizens of old mexico, across the river, joined the mob. among them being segura and his confederate, at whose ranch "billy the kid" and segura were stopping. as "billy the kid" had no interest in the fight, he took no part, but was an eye witness to it, in the village of san elizario. near the house in which howard and the rangers took refuge, lived captain gregario garcia, and his three sons, carlos, secundio, and nazean-ceno garcia. on the roof of their dwelling they constructed a fort, and with rifles, assisted in protecting howard and the rangers from the mob. the fight continued for several days. finally, against the advice of captain gregario garcia, the rangers surrendered. they were escorted up the river towards el paso, and liberated. howard, charlie ellis, john atkinson, and perhaps one or two other americans, were taken out and shot dead by the mob. thus ended one of the bloody battles which "billy the kid" enjoyed as a witness. the following year the present governor of new mexico, octaviano a. larrazolo, settled in san elizario, texas, and married the pretty daughter of carlos garcia, who, with his father and two brothers, so nobly defended howard and the rangers. now "billy the kid," with his pockets bulging with mexican gold, given him by segura, returned to the tunstall-mcsween cow camp, on the rio feliz, in lincoln county, new mexico. in the month of february, , w. s. morton, who held a commission as deputy sheriff, raised a posse of fighting cowboys and went to one of the tunstall cow-camps on the upper ruidoso river, to attach some horses, which were claimed by the murphy-dolan outfit. tunstall was at the camp with some of his employes, who "hid out" on the approach of morton and the posse. it was claimed by morton that tunstall fired the first shot, but that story was not believed by the opposition. in the fight, tunstall and his mount were killed. while laying on his face gasping for breath, tom hill, who was later killed while robbing a sheep camp, placed a rifle to the back of his head and blew out his brains. this murder took place on the th day of february, . before sunset a runner carried the news to "billy the kid," on the rio feliz. his anger was at the boiling point on hearing of the foul murder. he at once saddled his horse and started to lincoln, to consult with lawyer mcsween. now the lincoln county war was on with a vengeance and hatred, and the "kid" was to play a leading hand in it. he swore that he would kill every man who took part in the murder of his friend tunstall. at that time, lincoln county, new mexico, was the size of some states, about two hundred miles square, and only a few thousand inhabitants, mostly mexicans, scattered over its surface. on reaching the town of lincoln, the "kid" was informed by mcsween that e. m. bruer had been sworn in as a special constable, and was making up a posse to arrest the murderers of tunstall. "billy the kid" joined the bruer posse, and they started for the rio pecos river. on the th day of march, the bruer posse ran onto five mounted men at the lower crossing of the rio penasco, six miles from the pecos river. they fled and were pursued by bruer and his crowd. two of the fleeing cowboys separated from their companions. the "kid" recognized them as morton and baker, his former friends. he dashed after them, and the rest of the posse followed his lead. shots were being fired back and forth. at last morton's and baker's mounts fell over dead. the two men then crawled into a sink-hole to shield their bodies from the bullets. a parley was held, and the two men surrendered, after bruer had promised them protection. the "kid" protested against giving this pledge. he remarked: "my time will come." now the posse started for the chisum home ranch, on south spring river, with the two handcuffed prisoners. on the morning of the th day of march, the bruer posse started with the prisoners for lincoln, but pretended to be headed for fort sumner. the posse was made up of the following men: r. m. bruer, j. g. skurlock, charlie bowdre, "billy the kid," henry brown, frank mcnab, fred wayt, sam smith, jim french, john middleton and mcclosky. after traveling five miles they came to the little village of roswell. here they stopped to allow morton time to write a letter to his cousin, the hon. h. h. marshall, of richmond, virginia. ash upson was the postmaster in roswell, and morton asked him to notify his cousin in virginia, if the posse failed to keep their pledge of protection. mcclosky, who was standing near, remarked: "if harm comes to you two, they will have to kill me first." the party started out about a. m. from roswell. about p. m., martin chavez of picacho, arrived in roswell and reported to ash upson that the posse and their prisoners had quit the main road to lincoln and had turned off in the direction of agua negra, an unfrequented watering place. this move satisfied the postmaster that the doom of morton and baker was sealed. on march the eleventh, frank mcnab, one of the bruer posse, rode up to the post-office and dismounted. mr. upson expressed surprise and told him that he supposed he was in lincoln by this time. now mcnab confessed that morton, baker and mcclosky were dead. later, ash upson got the particulars from "billy the kid" of the killing. the "kid" and charlie bowdre were riding in the lead as they neared blackwater spring. mcclosky and middleton rode by the side of the two prisoners. the balance of the posse followed behind. finally brown and mcnab spurred up their horses and rode up to mcclosky and middleton. mcnab shoved a cocked pistol at mcclosky's head saying: "you are the s-- of a b-- that's got to die before harm can come to these fellows, are you?" now the trigger was pulled and mcclosky fell from his horse, dead, shot through the head. "billy the kid" heard the shot and wheeled his horse around in time to see the two prisoners dashing away on their mounts. the "kid" fired twice and morton and baker fell from their horses, dead. no doubt it was a put up job to allow the "kid" to kill the murderers of his friend tunstall, with his own hands. the posse rode on to lincoln, all but mcnab, who returned to roswell. the bodies of mcclosky, morton and baker were left where they fell. later they were buried by some sheep herders. thus ends the first chapter of the bloody lincoln county war. chapter v. the murder of sheriff brady and his deputy, hindman, by the "kid" and his band. "billy the kid" and jesse evans meet as enemies and part as friends. on returning to lincoln, "billy the kid" had many consultations with lawyer mcsween about the murder of tunstall. it was agreed to never let up until all the murderers were in their graves. the "kid" heard that one of tunstall's murderers was seen around dr. blazer's saw mill, near the mescalero apache indian reservation, on south fork, about forty miles from lincoln. he at once notified officer dick bruer, who made up a posse to search for roberts, an ex-soldier, a fine rider, and a dead shot. as the posse rode up to blazer's saw mill from the east, roberts came galloping up from the west. the "kid" put spurs to his horse and made a dash at him. both had pulled their winchester rifles from the scabbards. both men fired at the same time, robert's bullet went whizzing past the "kid's" ear, while the one from "billy the kid's" rifle, found lodgment in robert's body. it was a death wound, but gave roberts time to prove his bravery, and fine marksmanship. he fell from his mount and found concealment in an outhouse, from where he fought his last battle. the posse men dismounted and found concealment behind the many large saw logs, scattered over the ground. for a short time the battle raged, while the lifeblood was fast flowing from robert's wound. one of his bullets struck charlie bowdre, giving him a serious wound. another bullet cut off a finger from george coe's hand. still another went crashing through dick bruer's head, as he peeped over a log to get a shot at roberts; bruer fell over dead. this was robert's last shot, as he soon expired from the wound "billy the kid" had given him. a grave yard was now started on a round hill near the blazer saw mill, and in later years, mr. and mrs. george nesbeth, a little girl, and a strange man, who had died with their boots on--being fouly murdered--were buried in this miniature "boot hill" cemetery. two of the participants in the battle at blazer's saw mill, frank and george coe, are still alive, being highly respected ranchmen on the ruidoso river, where both have raised large families. after the battle at blazer's mill, the coe brothers joined issues with "billy the kid" and fought other battles against the murphy-dolan faction. in one battle frank coe was arrested and taken to the lincoln jail. through the aid of friends he made his escape. now that their lawful leader, dick bruer, was in his grave, the posse returned to lincoln. here they formed themselves into a band, without lawful authority, to avenge the murder of tunstall, until not one was left alive. by common consent, "billy the kid" was appointed their leader. in lincoln, lived one of "billy the kid's" enemies, j. b. mathews, known as billy mathews. while he had taken no part in the killing of tunstall, he had openly expressed himself in favor of jimmie dolan and murphy, and against the other faction. on the th day of march, billy mathews, unarmed, met the "kid" on the street by accident. mathews started into a doorway, just as the "kid" cut down on him with a rifle. the bullet shattered the door frame above his head. major william brady, a brave and honest man, was the sheriff of lincoln county. he was partial to the murphy-dolan faction, and this offended the opposition. he held warrants for "billy the kid" and his associates, for the killing of morton, baker, and roberts. on the first day of april, , sheriff brady left the murphy-dolan store, accompanied by george hindman and j. b. mathews to go to the court house and announce that no term of court would be held at the regular april term. the sheriff and his two companions carried rifles in their hands, as in those days every male citizen who had grown to manhood, went well armed. the tunstall and mcsween store stood about midway between the murphy-dolan store and the court house. in the rear of the tunstall-mcsween store, there was an adobe corral, the east side of which projected beyond the store building, and commanded a view of the street, over which the sheriff had to pass. on the top of this corral wall, "billy the kid" and his "warriors" had cut grooves in which to rest their rifles. as the sheriff and party came in sight, a volley was fired at them from the adobe fence. brady and hindman fell mortally wounded, and mathews found shelter behind a house on the south side of the street. ike stockton, who afterwards became a killer of men, and a bold desperado, in northwestern new mexico, and southwestern colorado, and who was killed in durango, colorado, at that time kept a saloon in lincoln, and was a friend of the "kid's." he ran out of his saloon to the wounded officers. hindman called for water; stockton ran to the bonita river, nearby, and brought him a drink in his hat. about this time, "billy the kid" leaped over the adobe wall and ran to the fallen officers. as he raised sheriff brady's rifle from the ground, j. b. mathews fired at him from his hiding place. the ball shattered the stock of the sheriff's rifle and plowed a furrow through the "kid's" side, but it proved not to be a dangerous wound. now "billy the kid" broke for shelter at the mcsween home. some say that he fired a parting shot into sheriff brady's head. others dispute it. at any rate both brady and hindman lay dead on the main street of lincoln. this cold-blooded murder angered many citizens of lincoln against the "kid" and his crowd. now they became outlaws in every sense of the word. from now on the "kid" and his "warriors" made their headquarters at mcsween's residence, when not scouting over the country searching for enemies, who sanctioned the killing of tunstall. often this little band of "warriors" would ride through the streets of lincoln to defy their enemies, and be royally treated by their friends. finally, george w. peppin was appointed sheriff of the county, and he appointed a dozen or more deputies to help uphold the law. still bloodshed and anarchy continued throughout the county, as the "kid's" crowd were not idle. san patricio, a mexican plaza on the ruidoso river, about eight miles below lincoln, was a favorite hangout for the "kid" and his "warriors," as most of the natives there were their sympathizers. one morning, before breakfast, in san patricio, jose miguel sedillo brought the "kid" news that jesse evans and a crowd of "seven river warriors" were prowling around in the hills, near the old bruer ranch, where a band of the chisum-mcsween horses were being kept. thinking that their intentions were to steal these horses, the "kid" and party started without eating breakfast. in the party, besides the "kid," were charlie bowdre, henry brown, j. g. skerlock, john middleton, and a young texan by the name of tom o'phalliard, who had lately joined the gang. on reaching the hills, the party split, the "kid" taking henry brown with him. soon the "kid" heard shooting in the direction taken by the balance of his party. putting spurs to his mount, he dashed up to jesse evans and four of his "warriors," who had captured charlie bowdre, and was joking him about his leader, the "kid." he remarked: "we are hungry, and thought we would roast the 'kid' for breakfast. we want to hear him bleat." at that moment a horseman dashed up among them from an arroyo. with a smile, charlie bowdre said, pointing at the "kid;" "there comes your breakfast, jesse!" with drawn pistol, "old gray" was checked up in front of his former chum in crime, jesse evans. with a smile, jesse remarked: "well, billy, this is a h--l of a way to introduce yourself to a private picnic party." the "kid" replied: "how are you, jesse? it's a long time since we met." jesse said: "i understand you are after the men who killed that englishman. i, nor none of my men were there." "i know you wasn't, jesse," replied the "kid." "if you had been, the ball would have been opened before now." soon the "kid" was joined by the rest of his party and both bands separated in peace. chapter vi. "billy the kid" and gang stand off a posse at the chisum ranch. a bloody battle in lincoln, which lasted three days. as time went on, sheriff peppin appointed new deputies on whom he could depend. among these being marion turner, of the firm of turner & jones, merchants at roswell, on the pecos river. for several years, turner had been employed by cattle king john chisum, and up to may, had helped to fight his battles, but for some reason he had seceded and became chisum's bitter enemy. marion turner was put in charge of the sheriff's forces in the pecos valley, and soon had about forty daring cowboys and cattlemen under his command. roswell was their headquarters. early in july, "billy the kid" and fourteen of his followers rode up to the chisum headquarters ranch, five miles from roswell, to make that their rendezvous. turner with his force tried to oust the "kid" and gang from their stronghold, but found it impossible, owing to the house being built like a fort to stand off indians, but he kept out spies to catch the "kid" napping. one morning, turner received word that the "kid" and party had left for fort sumner on the upper pecos river. the trail was followed about twenty miles up the river, where it switched off towards lincoln, a distance of about eighty or ninety miles. the trail was followed to lincoln, where it was found that "billy the kid" and gang had taken possession of mcsween's fine eleven-room residence, and were prepared to stand off an army. on arriving in lincoln with his posse, turner was joined by sheriff peppin and his deputies, and they made the "big house," as the murphy-dolan store was called, their headquarters. for three days shots were fired back and forth from the buildings, which were far apart. on the morning of july th, , marion turner concluded to take some of his men to the mcsween residence and demand the surrender of the "kid" and his "warriors." with turner were his business partner, john a. jones and eight other fearless men. at that moment the "kid" and party were in a rear room holding a consultation, otherwise some of the advancing party might have been killed. on reaching the thick adobe wall of the building, through which portholes had been cut, turner and his men found protection against the wall between these openings. when the "kid" and party returned to the port-holes they were hailed by turner, who demanded their surrender, as he had warrants for their arrest. the "kid" replied: "we, too, hold warrants for you and your gang, which we will serve on you, hot from the muzzles of our guns." about this time lieut. col. dudley, of the ninth cavalry, arrived from ft. stanton with a company of infantry and some artillery. planting his cannons midway between the belligerent parties, col. dudley proclaimed that he would turn his guns loose on the first of the two, who fired over the heads of his command. despite this warning, shots were fired back and forth, but no harm was done. now martin chavez, who at this writing is a prosperous merchant in santa fe, rode up with thirty-five mexicans, whom he had deputized to protect mcsween and the "kid's" party. col. dudley asked him under what authority he was acting. he replied that he held a certificate as deputy sheriff under brady. col. dudley told him that as sheriff brady was dead, and a new sheriff had been appointed, his commission was not in effect. still he proclaimed that he would protect the "kid" and mcsween. now col. dudley ordered chavez off the field of battle, or he would have his men fire on them. when the guns were pointed in their direction, the chavez crowd retreated to the ellis hotel. here he ordered his followers to fire on the soldiers if they opened up on the "kid" and party with their cannon. toward night the turner men, who were up against the mcsween residence, between the port-holes, managed to set fire to the front door and windows. a strong wind carried the blaze to the woodwork of other rooms. mrs. mcsween and her three lady friends had left the building before the fight started. she had made one trip back to see her husband. the firing ceased while she was in the house. in the front parlor, mrs. mcsween had a fine piano. to prevent it from burning, the "kid" moved it from one room to another until it was finally in the kitchen. the crowd made merry around the piano, singing and "pawing the ivory," as the "kid" expressed it to the writer a few months later. after dark, when the fiery flames began to lick their way into the kitchen, where the smoke begrimed band were congregated, a question of surrender was discussed, but the "kid" put his veto on the move. he stood near the outer door of the kitchen, with his rifle, and swore he would kill the first man who cried surrender. he had planned to wait until the last minute, then all rush out of the door together, and make a run for the bonita river, a distance of about fifty yards. finally the heat became so great, the kitchen door was thrown open. at this moment one mexican became frightened and called out at the top of his voice not to shoot, that they would surrender. the "kid" struck the fellow over the head with his rifle and knocked him senseless. when the mexican called out that they would surrender, robert w. beckwith, a cattleman of seven rivers, and john jones, stepped around the corner of the building in full view of the kitchen door. a shot was fired at beckwith and wounded him on the hand. then beckwith opened fire and shot lawyer mcsween, though this was not a death shot. another shot from beckwith's gun killed vicente romero. now the "kid" planted a bullet in beckwith's head, and he fell over dead. leaping over beckwith's body, the band made a run for the river. the "kid" was in the lead yelling: "come on, boys!" tom o'phalliard was in the rear. he made his escape amidst flying bullets, without a scratch, although he had stopped to pick up his friend harvey morris. finding him dead he dropped the body. mcsween fell dead in the back yard with nine bullets in his body, which was badly scorched by the fire, before he left the building. it was p. m. when the fight had ended. seven men had been killed and many wounded. only two of turner's posse were killed, while the "kid" lost five,--mcsween, morris and three mexicans. chapter vii. "billy the kid" kills two more men. at the head of a reckless band, he steals horses by the wholesale. he becomes desperately in love with miss dulcuiea del toboso. after their escape from lincoln, "billy the kid" got his little band together, and made a business of stealing stock and gambling. their headquarters were made in the hills near fort stanton--only a few miles above lincoln. the soldiers at the fort paid no attention to them. now governor lew wallace, the famous author of "ben hur," of santa fe, the capital of the territory of new mexico, issued a proclamation granting a pardon to "billy the kid" and his followers, if they would quit their lawlessness, but the "kid" laughed it off as a joke. on the th day of august, "billy the kid" and gang rode up in plain view of the mescalero indian agency and began rounding up a band of horses. a jew by the name of bernstein, mounted a horse and said he would go out and stop them. he was warned of the danger, but persisted in his purpose of preventing the stealing of their band of gentle saddle horses. when mr. bernstein rode up to the gang and told them to "vamoose," in other words, to hit the road, the "kid" drew his rifle and shot the poor jew dead. this was the "kid's" most cowardly act. his excuse was that he "didn't like a jew, nohow." during the fall the government had given a contract to a large gang of mexicans to put up several hundred tons of hay at $ a ton. as they drew their pay, the "kid" and gang were on hand to deal monte and win their money. when the contract was finished, there was no more business for the "kid's" monte game, so with his own hand, as told to the author by himself, he set fire to the hay stacks one windy night. now the government gave another contract for several hundred tons of hay at $ a ton--as the work had to be rushed before frost killed the grass. when pay day came around the "kid's" monte game was raking in money again. the new stacks were allowed to stand, as it was too late in the season to cut the grass for more hay. during the fall the "kid" and some of his gang made trips to fort sumner. bowdre and skurlock always remained near their wives in lincoln, but finally those two outlaws moved their families to "sumner," where a rendezvous was established. here one of their gang, who always kept in the dark, and worked on the sly, lived with his mexican wife, a sister to the wife of pat garrett. his name was barney mason, and he carried a curse of god on his brow for the killing of john farris, a cowboy friend of the writer's, in the early winter of . on one of his trips to fort sumner, "billy the kid" fell desperately in love with a pretty little seventeen-year-old half-breed mexican girl, whom we will call miss dulcinea del toboso. she was a daughter of a once famous man, and a sister to a man who owned sheep on a thousand hills. the falling in love with this pretty, young miss, was virtually the cause of "billy the kid's" death, as up to the last he hovered around fort sumner like a moth around a blazing candle. he had no thought of getting his wings singed; he couldn't resist the temptation of visiting this pretty little miss. during the month of september, , the "kid" and part of his gang visited the town of lincoln, and on leaving there stole a large band of fine range horses from charlie fritz and others. this band of horses was driven to fort sumner, thence east to tascosa in the wild panhandle of texas, on the canadian river. while disposing of these horses to the cattlemen and cowboys, the "kid" and his gang camped for several weeks at the "lx" cattle ranch, twenty miles below tascosa. it was here, during the months of october and november, , that the writer made the acquaintance of "billy the kid," tom o'phalliard, henry brown, fred wyat, john middleton, and others of the gang whose names can't be recalled. the author had just returned from chicago where he had taken a shipment of fat steers, and found this gang of outlaws camped under some large cottonwood trees, within a few hundred yards of the "lx" headquarter ranch house. for a few weeks, much of my time was spent with "billy the kid." we became quite chummy. he presented me with a nicely bound book, in which he wrote his autograph. i had previously given him a fine meerschaum cigar holder. while loafing in their camp, we passed off the time playing cards and shooting at marks. with our colt's pistols i could hit the mark as often as the "kid," but when it came to quick shooting, he could get in two shots to my one. i found "billy the kid" to be a good natured young man. he was always cheerful and smiling. being still in his teens, he had no sign of a beard. his eyes were a hazel blue, and his brown hair was long and curly. the skin on his face was tanned to a chestnut brown, and was as soft and tender as a baby's. he weighed about one hundred and forty pounds, and was five feet, eight inches tall. his only defects were two upper front teeth, which projected outward from his well shaped mouth. during his many visits to tascosa, where whiskey was plentiful, the "kid" never got drunk. he seemed to drink more for sociability than for the "love of liquor." here henry brown and fred wyat quit the "kid's" outlaw gang and went to the chickasaw nation, in the indian territory, where the parents of half-breed fred wyat lived. it is said that fred wyat, in later years, served as a member of the oklahoma legislature. henry brown became city marshal of caldwell, kansas, and while wearing his star rode to the nearby town of medicine lodge, with three companions and in broad day light, held up the bank, killing the president, wiley payne, and his cashier, george jeppert. this put an end to henry brown, as the enraged citizens mobbed the whole band of "bad men." the snow had begun to fly when the "kid" and the remnant of his gang returned to fort sumner, new mexico. one of his followers, john middleton, had sworn off being an outlaw and rode away from tascosa, for southern kansas, where the author met him in later years. he had settled down to a peaceful life. the "kid" made his headquarters at fort sumner, so as to be near his sweetheart. he made several raids into lincoln county to steal cattle and horses. on one of these trips to lincoln county, his respect for women and children, avoided a bloody battle with united states soldiers. in the month of february, , wm. h. mcbroom, at the head of a united states surveying crew, established a camp at the roberts ranch on the penasco creek, in the pecos valley. while absent with most of his crew, mr. mcbroom left a young man, twenty-two years of age, will m. tipton, in charge of the camp and extra mules. a young mexican by the name of nicholas gutierez was detailed to help young tipton care for the stock. their camp was within a few hundred feet of the roberts home, on the bank of the creek. one morning mr. roberts started up the river to roswell to buy supplies, leaving his wife, grown daughter, and five-year-old son at the ranch. late that evening, captain hooker and some negro soldiers pitched camp near the roberts home. they had several american prisoners with them, to be taken to fort stanton and placed in jail. that night after supper, mr. will m. tipton, who at this writing, , is a highly respected citizen of santa fe, new mexico, says he and nicolas gutierez were sitting on the bank of the creek in their camp. he was playing a guitar while nicolas was singing. just then a horseman climbed up the steep embankment from the bed of the creek, and dismounted. this stranger began asking questions about the soldiers' camp, where the camp-fires blazed brilliantly in the pitchy darkness. finally the stranger gave a shrill whistle, and soon a companion rode into camp, out of the bed of the creek. this second visitor was a slender, boyish young man, who seemed anxious to learn all about the soldiers' camp. in a few moments three negro soldiers strolled into camp and chatted awhile. when they left to return to their quarters, the two strangers bade tipton and his companion goodnight, and rode down the bed of the creek. at noon next day, mr. roberts returned from roswell. on meeting young tipton, he remarked: "you boys had 'billy the kid' as a visitor last night." he then told of meeting the "kid" and his band of "warriors" that morning, and of how the "kid" told of his visit to the mcbroom camp. he told will tipton that the small young man was the "kid." "billy the kid" had told roberts that they had planned to make a charge into the soldiers' camp and liberate the prisoners, who were friends of theirs, but finding that mrs. roberts and the children were alone, and that the soldiers' camp was so near the roberts home, they gave up the proposed battle, knowing that the shooting would disturb mrs. roberts and the family. mr. roberts explained to mr. tipton that he had always fed the "kid" and his "warriors" when they happened by his place, hence their friendship for him. now the "kid" and his party rode to lincoln to use their influence in a peaceful way to liberate their friends, whom capt. hooker intended to turn over to the new sheriff of lincoln county. in lincoln the "kid" met his former chum, jesse evans, and they started out to celebrate the meeting. with jesse evans was a desperado named william campbell. one night a lawyer named chapman, who had been sent from las vegas to settle up the mcsween estate, was in the saloon, when campbell shot at his feet to make him dance. the lawyer protested indignantly and was shot dead by campbell. jimmie dolan and j. b. mathews, being present, were later arrested, along with campbell, for this killing. dolan and mathews came clear at the preliminary trial, and campbell was bound over to the grand jury. he was taken to fort stanton and placed in jail. there he made his escape and has never been heard of in that part of the country since. now "billy the kid" and tom o'phalliard rode back to fort sumner, but soon returned to lincoln, where they were arrested by sheriff kimbrall and his deputies--merely as a matter of performing their duty, but with no intention of disgracing them. they were turned over to deputy sheriff t. b. longworth and guarded in the home of don juan patron, where they were wined and dined. on the st day of march, , deputy sheriff longworth received orders to place his two prisoners in the town jail--a filthy hole. arriving at the jail door, the "kid" told mr. longworth that he had been in this jail once before, and he swore he would never go into it again, but to avoid making trouble, he would go back on his pledge. on a pine door to one of the cells, the "kid" wrote with his pencil: "william bonney was incarcerated first time, december nd, --second time, march st, , and hope i will never be again. w. h. bonney." this inscription showed on the old jail door for many years after it was written. the first time the "kid" was put in this jail he walked right out, and this second time, he broke down the door when he got ready to go. after breaking out of the jail, the "kid" and o'phalliard spent a couple of weeks in lincoln, carrying their rifles whenever they walked through the street, in plain view of the sheriff. in april, they returned to fort sumner and were joined by charlie bowdre and skurlock. jesse evans had left for the lower pecos, where he was later killed, according to reports. the summer was spent by the "kid" and his followers stealing cattle and horses. in october they went to roswell and stole head of john chisum's fattest steers, and later sold them to colorado beef buyers. the "kid" claimed that chisum owed him for fighting his battles during the lincoln county war, and he was using this method to get his pay. from now on, for the next year, the "kid" and gang did a wholesale business in stealing cattle. tom cooper and his gang had joined issues with the "kid" and party, and they established headquarters at the portales lake--a salty body of water at the foot of the staked plains, about seventy-five miles east of fort sumner. here a permanent camp was pitched against a cliff of rock, at a fresh water spring, and it afterward became noted as "billy the kid's" cave. a rock wall had been built against the cliff to take in the spring, and afforded protection as a fort in case of a surprise from indians or law-officers. they had the whole country to themselves, as there were no inhabitants--only drifting bands of buffalo hunters. raids were made into the texas panhandle, the western line being a few miles east of their camp, and fat steers stolen from the "lx" and "lit" cattle ranges on the canadian river. these herds of stolen steers were driven to tularosa, in dona ana county, new mexico, and turned over to pat cohglin, the "king of tularosa," who had a contract to furnish beef to the u. s. soldiers at ft. stanton. cohglin had made a deal with "billy the kid" to buy all the steers he could steal in the texas panhandle, and deliver to him in tularosa. in january, , the "kid" added another notch on the handle of his pistol as a mankiller. he and a crowd of the chisum cowboys were celebrating in bob hargroves' saloon in fort sumner. a bad-man from texas, by the name of joe grant, was filling his hide full of "kill-me-quick" whiskey, in the hargroves' saloon. grant pulled a fine, ivory-handled colt's pistol from the scabbard of cowboy finan, putting his own pistol in place of it. here the "kid" asked grant to let him look at this beautiful, ivory-handled pistol. the request was granted. then the "kid" revolved the cylinder and saw there were two empty chambers. he let the hammer down so that the first two attempts to shoot would be failures. now the pretty pistol was handed back to grant and he stuck it in his scabbard. a little later grant stepped behind the bar, so as to face the crowd, and jerking his pistol, he began knocking glasses off the bar with it. eyeing "billy the kid," he remarked: "pard, i'll kill a man quicker than you will, for the whiskey." the "kid" accepted the challenge. grant fired at the "kid," but the hammer struck on an empty chamber. now the "kid" planted a ball between grant's eyes and he fell over dead. at the bosque grande, on the pecos river, the three dedrick boys, sam, dan, and mose, owned a ranch, which became quite a rendezvous for the "kid's" and tom cooper's gangs. from here the herds of stolen panhandle, texas, cattle were started across the waterless desert to the foot of the capitan mountains, a distance of about one hundred miles. here dave rudabaugh, who had the previous fall killed the jailer in las vegas in trying to liberate his friend, webb, joined "billy the kid's" gang. also billy wilson and tom pickett joined the party, and their time was spent stealing cattle and horses. chapter viii. "billy the kid" adds one more notch to his gun as a killer. trapped at last by pat garrett and posse. two of his gang killed. in jail at santa fe. in the year , rich gold ore had been struck on baxter mountain, three miles from white oaks spring, about thirty miles north of lincoln, and the new town of white oaks was established, with a population of about one thousand souls. the "kid" had many friends in this hurrah mining camp. he had shot up the town, and was wanted by the law officers. on the rd day of november, , the "kid" celebrated his birthday in white oaks, under cover, among friends. on riding out of town with his gang after dark, he took one friendly shot at deputy sheriff jim woodland, who was standing in front of the pioneer saloon. the chances are he had no intention of shooting woodland, as he was a warm friend to his chum, tom o'phalliard, who was riding by his side. o'phalliard and jim woodland had come to new mexico from texas together, a few years previous. woodland is still a resident of lincoln county, with a permanent home on the large block cattle ranch. this shot woke up deputy sheriffs jim carlyle and j. n. bell, who fired parting shots at the gang, as they galloped out of town. the next day a posse was made up of leading citizens of white oaks with deputy sheriff will hudgens and jim carlyle in command. they followed the trail of the outlaw gang to coyote spring, where they came onto the gang in camp. shots were exchanged. "billy the kid" had sprung onto his horse, which was shot from under him. when the "kid's" gang fired on the posse, johnny hudgens' mount fell over dead, shot in the head. the weather was bitter cold and snow lay on the ground. without overcoat or gloves, "billy the kid" rushed for the hills, afoot, after his horse fell. the rest of the gang had become separated, and each one looked out for himself. in the outlaws' camp the posse found a good supply of grub and plunder. jim carlyle appropriated the "kid's" gloves and put them on his hands. no doubt they were the real cause of his death later. with "billy the kid's" saddle, overcoat and the other plunder found in the outlaws' camp, the posse returned to white oaks, arriving there about dark. it would seem from all accounts that "billy the kid" trailed the posse into white oaks, where he found shelter at the dedrick and west livery stable. he was seen on the street during the night. on november th, a posse of white oaks citizens under command of jim carlyle and will hudgens, rode to the jim greathouse road-ranch, about forty miles north, arriving there before daylight. their horses were secreted, and they made breastworks of logs and brush, so as to cover the ranch house, which was known to be a rendezvous of the "kid's" gang. after daylight the cook came out of the house with a nosebag and ropes to hunt the horses which had been hobbled the evening before. this cook, steck, was captured by the posse behind the breastworks. he confessed that the "kid" and his gang were in the house. now steck was sent to the house with a note to the "kid" demanding his surrender. the reply he sent back by steck read: "you can only take me a corpse." the proprietor of the ranch, jim greathouse, accompanied steck back to the posse behind the logs. jimmie carlyle suggested that he go to the house unarmed and have a talk with the "kid." will hudgens wouldn't agree to this until after greathouse said he would remain to guarantee carlyle's safe return. that if the "kid" should kill carlyle, they could take his life. a time limit was set for carlyle's return, or greathouse would be killed. this was written on a note and sent by steck to the "kid." when carlyle entered the saloon, in the front part of the log building, the "kid" greeted him in a friendly manner, but seeing his gloves sticking out of carlyle's coat pocket, he grabbed them, saying: "what in the h--l are you doing with my gloves?" of course this brought back the misery he had endured without gloves after the posse raided their camp at coyote spring. here he invited carlyle up to the bar to take his last drink on earth--as he said he intended to kill him when the whiskey was down. after carlyle had drained his glass the "kid" pulled his pistol and told him to say his prayers before he fired. with a laugh the "kid" put up his pistol, saying, "why, jimmie, i wouldn't kill you. let's all take another friendly drink." now the time was spent singing and dancing. every time the gang took a drink, carlyle had to join them in a social glass. the "kid" afterwards told friends that he had no intention of killing carlyle, that he just wanted to detain him till after dark, so they could make a dash for liberty. the time had just expired when the posse were to kill jim greathouse, if carlyle was not back. at that moment a man behind the breastworks fired a shot at the house. carlyle supposed this shot had killed greathouse, which would result in his own death. he leaped for the glass window, taking sash and all with him. the "kid" fired a bullet into him. when he struck the ground he began crawling away on his hands and knees, as he was badly wounded. now the "kid" finished him with a well aimed shot from his pistol. the men behind the logs were witnesses to this murder,--as they could see carlyle crawling away from the window. now they opened fire with a vengeance on the building. the gang had previously piled sacks of grain and flour against the doors, to keep out the bullets. in the excitement, jim greathouse slipped away from the posse and ran through the woods. finding one of his own hobbled ponies, he mounted him and rode away. he was later shot by desperado joe fowler, with a double-barrel shot gun, as he lay in bed asleep. this murder took place on joe fowler's cattle ranch west of socorro, new mexico. after dark the posse concluded to return to white oaks, as they were cold and hungry. they had brought no grub with them, and they dared not build a fire to keep warm, for fear of being shot by the gang. a few hours later the "kid" and gang made a break for liberty, intending to fight the posse to a finish, they not knowing that the officers had departed. all night the gang waded through the deep snow, afoot. they arrived at mr. spence's ranch at daylight, and ate a hearty breakfast. then continued their journey towards anton chico on the pecos river. about daylight that morning, will hudgens, johnny hurley, and jim brent made up a large posse and started to the greathouse road-ranch. arriving there, they found the place vacated. the buildings were set afire, then the journey continued on the gang's trail, in the deep snow. a highly respected citizen, by the name of spence, had established a road-ranch on a cut-off road between white oaks and las vegas. the gang's trail led up to this ranch, and mr. spence acknowledged cooking breakfast for them. now mr. spence was dragged to a tree with a rope around his neck to hang him. many of the posse protested against the hanging of spence, and his life was spared, but revenge was taken by burning up his buildings. the "kid's" trail was now followed into a rough, hilly country and there abandoned. then the posse returned to white oaks. in anton chico, the "kid" and his party stole horses and saddles, and rode down the pecos river. a few days later, pat garrett, the sheriff of lincoln county, arrived in anton chico from fort sumner, to make up a posse to run down the "kid" and his gang. at this time the writer and bob roberson had arrived in anton chico from tascosa, texas, with a crew of fighting cowboys, to help run down the "kid," and put a stop to the stealing of panhandle, texas, cattle. the author had charge of five "warriors," jas. h. east, cal polk, lee hall, frank clifford (big-foot wallace), and lon chambers. we were armed to the teeth, and had four large mules to draw the mess-wagon, driven by the mexican cook, francisco. bob roberson was in charge of five riders and a mess-wagon. at our camp, west of anton chico, pat garrett met us, and we agreed to loan him a few of our "warriors." the writer turned over to him three men, jim east, lon chambers and lee hall. bob roberson turned over to him three cowboys, tom emmory, bob williams, and louis bozeman. we then continued our journey to white oaks in a raging snow storm. pat garrett started down the pecos river with his crew, consisting of our six cowboys, his brother-in-law, barney mason, and frank stewart, who had been acting as detective for the panhandle cattlemen's association. at fort sumner, pat garrett deputized charlie rudolph and a few mexican friends, to join the crowd which now numbered about thirteen men. finding that the "kid" and party had been in fort sumner, and made the old abandoned united states hospital building, where lived charlie bowdre and his half-breed mexican wife, their headquarters, pat garrett concluded to camp there. he figured that the outlaws would return and visit mrs. charlie bowdre, whose husband was one of the outlaw band. in order to get a true record of the capture of "billy the kid" and gang, the author wrote to james h. east, of douglas, arizona, for the facts. jim east is the only known living participant in that tragic event. his reputation for honesty and truthfulness is above par wherever he is known. he served eight years as sheriff of oldham county, texas, at tascosa, and was city marshal for several years in douglas, arizona. herewith his letter to the writer is printed in full: "douglas, arizona, may st, . dear charlie: yours of the th received, and contents noted. i will try to answer your questions, but you know after a lapse of forty years, one's memory may slip a cog. first: we were quartered in the old government hospital building in ft. sumner, the night of the first fight. lon chambers was on guard. our horses were in pete maxwell's stable. sheriff pat garrett, tom emory, bob williams, and barney mason were playing poker on a blanket on the floor. i had just laid down on my blanket in the corner, when chambers ran in and told us that the 'kid' and his gang were coming. it was about eleven o'clock at night. we all grabbed our guns and stepped out in the yard. just then the 'kid's' men came around the corner of the old hospital building, in front of the room occupied by charlie bowdre's woman and her mother. tom o'phalliard was riding in the lead. garrett yelled out: 'throw up your hands!' but o'phalliard jerked his pistol. then the shooting commenced. it being dark, the shooting was at random. tom o'phalliard was shot through the body, near the heart, and lost control of his horse. 'kid' and the rest of his men whirled their horses and ran up the road. o'phalliard's horse came up near us, and tom said: 'don't shoot any more, i am dying.' we helped him off his horse and took him in, and laid him down on my blanket. pat and the other boys then went back to playing poker. i got tom some water. he then cussed garrett and died, in about thirty minutes after being shot. the horse that dave rudabaugh was riding was shot, but not killed instantly. we found the dead horse the next day on the trail, about one mile or so east of ft. sumner. after dave's horse fell down from loss of blood, he got up behind billy wilson, and they all went to wilcox's ranch that night. the next morning a big snow storm set in and put out their trail, so we laid over in sumner and buried tom o'phalliard. the next night, after the fight, it cleared off and about midnight, mr. wilcox rode in and reported to us that the "kid," dave rudabaugh, billy wilson, tom pickett, and charlie bowdre, had eaten supper at his ranch about dark, then pulled out for the little rock house at stinking spring. so we saddled up and started about one o'clock in the morning. we got to the rock house just before daylight. our horses were left with frank stewart and some of the other boys under guard, while garrett took lee hall, tom emory and myself with him. we crawled up the arroyo to within about thirty feet of the door, where we lay down in the snow. there was no window in this house, and only one door, which we would cover with our guns. the "kid" had taken his race mare into the house, but the other three horses were standing near the door, hitched by ropes to the vega poles. just as day began to show, charlie bowdre came out to feed his horse, i suppose, for he had a moral in one hand. garrett told him to throw up his hands, but he grabbed at his six-shooter. then garrett and lee hall both shot him in the breast. emory and i didn't shoot, for there was no use to waste ammunition then. charlie turned and went into the house, and we heard the 'kid' say to him: 'charlie, you are done for. go out and see if you can't get one of the s--of--b's before you die.' charlie then walked out with his hand on his pistol, but was unable to shoot. we didn't shoot, for we could see he was about dead. he stumbled and fell on lee hall. he started to speak, but the words died with him. now garrett, lee, tom and i, fired several shots at the ropes which held the horses, and cut them loose--all but one horse which was half way in the door. garrett shot him down, and that blocked the door, so the 'kid' could not make a wolf dart on his mare. we then held a medicine talk with the kid, but of course couldn't see him. garrett asked him to give up, billy answered: 'go to h--l, you long-legged s-- of a b!' garrett then told tom emory and i to go around to the other side of the house, as we could hear them trying to pick out a port-hole. then we took it, time about, guarding the house all that day. when nearly sundown, we saw a white handkerchief on a stick, poked out of the chimney. some of us crawled up the arroyo near enough to talk to 'billy.' he said they had no show to get away, and wanted to surrender, if we would give our word not to fire into them, when they came out. we gave the promise, and they came out with their hands up, but that traitor, barney mason, raised his gun to shoot the 'kid,' when lee hall and i covered barney and told him to drop his gun, which he did. now we took the prisoners and the body of charlie bowdre to the wilcox ranch, where we stayed until next day. then to ft. sumner, where we delivered the body of bowdre to his wife. garrett asked louis bousman and i to take bowdre in the house to his wife. as we started in with him, she struck me over the head with a branding iron, and i had to drop charlie at her feet. the poor woman was crazy with grief. i always regretted the death of charlie bowdre, for he was a brave man, and true to his friends to the last. before we left ft. sumner with the prisoners for santa fe, the 'kid' asked garrett to let tom emory and i go along as guards, which, as you know, he did. the 'kid' made me a present of his winchester rifle, but old beaver smith made such a roar about an account he said 'billy' owed him, that at the request of 'billy,' i gave old beaver the gun. i wish now i had kept it. on the road to santa fe, the 'kid' told garrett this: that those who live by the sword, die by the sword. part of that prophecy has come true. pat garrett got his, but i am still alive. i must close. you may use any quotations from my letters, for they are true. good luck to you. mrs. east joins me in best wishes. sincerely yours, jas. h. east." the author had previously written to jim east about "billy the kid's" sweetheart, miss dulcinea del toboso. here is a quotation from his answer, of april th, : "your recollection of dulcinea del toboso, about tallies with the way i remember her. she was rather stout, built like her mother, but not so dark. "after we captured 'billy the kid' at arroyo tivan, we took him, dave rudabaugh, billy wilson, and tom pickett--also the dead body of charlie bowdre--to fort sumner. "after dinner mrs. toboso sent over an old navajo woman to ask pat garrett to let 'billy' come over to the house and see them before taking him to santa fe. so garrett told lee hall and i to guard 'billy' and dave rudebough over to toboso's, dave and 'billy' being shackled together. as we went over the lock on dave's leg came loose, and 'billy' being very superstitious, said: 'that is a bad sign. i will die, and dave will go free,' which, as you know, proved true. "when we went in the house only mrs. toboso, dulcinea, and the old navajo woman were there. "mrs. toboso asked hall and i to let 'billy' and dulcinea go into another room and talk awhile, but we did not do so, for it was only a stall of 'billy's' to make a run for liberty, and the old lady and the girl were willing to further the scheme. the lovers embraced, and she gave 'billy' one of those soul kisses the novelists tell us about, till it being time to hit the trail for vegas, we had to pull them apart, much against our wishes, for you know all the world loves a lover." it was december rd, , when the "kid" and gang, dave rudebaugh, tom pickett and billy wilson--were captured, and charlie bowdre killed. the prisoners were taken to the nearest railroad, at las vegas, where a mob tried to take them away from the posse, to string them up. they were placed in the county jail at santa fe, the capital of the territory of new mexico, as the penitentiary was not yet completed. dave rudebaugh was tried and sentenced to death for the killing of the jailer in las vegas. later he made his escape and has never been heard of since. chapter ix. "billy the kid" is sentenced to hang. he kills his two guards and makes good his escape. in the latter part of february, , "billy the kid" was taken to mesilla to be tried for the murder of roberts at blazer's saw mill. judge bristol presided over the district court, and assigned ira e. leonard to defend the "kid." he was acquitted for the murder of roberts. in the same term of court, the "kid" was put on trial for the murder of sheriff wm. brady, in april, . this time he was convicted, and sentenced to hang on the th day of may, , in the court house yard in lincoln. deputy united states marshall, robert ollinger, and deputy sheriff david wood, drove the "kid" in a covered back to fort stanton, and turned him over to sheriff pat garrett. as lincoln had no suitable jail, an upstairs room in the large adobe court house was selected as the "kid's" last home on earth--as the officers supposed, but fate decided otherwise. bob ollinger and j. w. bell were selected to guard "billy the kid" until the time came for shutting off his wind with a rope. the room selected for the "kid's" home was large, and in the northeast corner of the building, upstairs. there were two windows in it, one on the east side and the other on the north, fronting the main street. in order to get out of this room one had to pass through a hall into another room, where a back stairs led down to the rear yard. in a room in the southwest corner of the building, the surplus firearms were kept, in a closet, or armory. one room was assigned as the sheriff's private office. the "kid's" furniture consisted of a pair of steel hand-cuffs, steel shackles for his legs, a stool, and a cot. bob ollinger, the chief guard, was a large, powerful middle-aged man, with a mean disposition. he and the "kid" were bitter enemies on account of having killed warm friends of each other during the bloody lincoln county war. it is said that ollinger shot one of the "kid's" friends to death while holding his right hand with his, ollinger's, left hand. after this local war had ended, the fellow stepped up to ollinger to shake hands and to bury the hatchet of former hatred. ollinger extended his left hand, and grabbed the man's right, holding it fast until he had shot him to death. of course this cowardly act left a scar on "billy the kid's" heart, which only death could heal. j. w. bell was a tall, slender man of middle age, with a large knife scar across one cheek. he had come from san antonio, texas. he held a grudge against the "kid" for the killing of his friend, jimmie carlyle, otherwise there was no enmity between them. in the latter part of april, cowboy charlie wall had four mexicans helping him irrigate an alfalfa field, above the mexican village of tularosa, on tularosa river. a large band of tularosa mexicans appeared on the scene one morning, to prevent young wall from using water for his thirsty alfalfa. when the smoke of battle cleared away, four tularosa mexicans lay dead on the ground and charlie wall had two bullet wounds in his body, though they were not dangerous wounds. now, to prevent being mobbed by the angry citizens of tularosa, which was just over the line in dona ana county, wall and his helpers made a run, on horseback, for lincoln, to surrender to sheriff pat garrett. the sheriff allowed them to wear their pistols and to sleep in the old jail. at meal times they accompanied either bob ollinger or j. w. bell, to the ellis hotel across the main street, which ran east and west through town. charlie wall did his loafing while recovering from his bullet wounds, in the room where the "kid" was kept. on the morning of april th, , sheriff garrett prepared to leave for white oaks, thirty-five miles north, to have a scaffold made to hang the "kid" on. before starting, he went into the room where the "kid" sat on his stool, guarded by ollinger, who was having a friendly chat with charlie wall--the man who gave the writer the full details of the affair. j. w. bell was also present in the room. garrett remarked to the two guards: "say, boys, you must keep a close watch on the 'kid,' as he has only a few more days to live, and might make a break for liberty." bob ollinger answered: "don't worry, pat, we will watch him like a goat." now ollinger stepped into the other room and got his double-barrel shot gun. with the gun in his hand, and looking towards the "kid," he said: "there are eighteen buckshot in each barrel, and i reckon the man who gets them will feel it." with a smile, "billy the kid" remarked: "you may be the one to get them yourself." now ollinger put the gun back in the armory, locking the door, putting the key in his pocket. then garrett left for white oaks. about five o'clock in the evening, bob ollinger took charlie wall and the other four armed prisoners to the ellis hotel, across the street, for supper. bell was left to guard the "kid." according to the story "billy the kid" told mrs. charlie bowdre, and other friends, after his escape, he had been starving himself so that he could slip his left hand out of the steel cuff. the guards thought he had lost his appetite from worry over his approaching death. j. w. bell sat on a chair, facing the "kid," several paces away. he was reading a newspaper. the "kid" slipped his left hand out of the cuff and made a spring for the guard, striking him over the head with the steel cuff. bell threw up both hands to shield his head from another blow. then the "kid" jerked bell's pistol out of its scabbard. now bell ran out of the door and received a bullet from his own pistol. the body of bell tumbled down the back stairs, falling on the jailer, a german by the name of geiss, who was sitting at the foot of the stairs. of course geiss stampeded. he flew out of the gate towards the ellis hotel. on hearing the shot, bob ollinger and the five armed prisoners, got up from the supper table and ran to the street. charlie wall and the four mexicans stopped on the sidewalk, while ollinger continued to run towards the court house. after killing bell, the "kid" broke in the door to the armory and secured ollinger's shot-gun. then he hobbled to the open window facing the hotel. when in the middle of the street, ollinger met the stampeded jailer, and as he passed, he said: "bell has killed the "kid." this caused ollinger to quit running. he walked the balance of the way. when directly under the window, the "kid" stuck his head out, saying: "hello, bob!" ollinger looked up and saw his own shotgun pointed at him. he said, in a voice loud enough to be heard by wall and the other prisoners across the street: "yes, he has killed me, too!" these words were hardly out of the guard's mouth when the "kid" fired a charge of buckshot into his heart. now "billy the kid" hobbled back to the armory and buckled around his waist two belts of cartridges and two colt's pistols. then taking a winchester rifle in his hand, he hobbled back to the shot gun, which he picked up. he then went out on the small porch in front of the building. reaching over the ballisters with the shotgun, he fired the other charge into ollinger's body. then breaking the shotgun in two, across the ballisters, he threw the pieces at the corpse, saying: "take that, you s-- of a b--, you will never follow me with that gun again." now the "kid" hailed the jailer, old man geiss, and told him to throw up a file, which he did. then the chain holding his feet close together was filed in two. when his legs were free, the "kid" danced a jig on the little front porch, where many people, who had run out to the sidewalk across the street, on hearing the shots, were witnesses to this free show, which couldn't be beat for money. geiss was hailed again and told to saddle up billy burt's, the deputy county clerk's, black pony and bring him out on the street. this black pony had formerly belonged to the "kid." when the pony stood on the street, ready for the last act, the "kid" went down the back stairs, stepping over the dead body of bell, and started to mount. being encumbered with the weight of two pistols, two belts full of ammunition, and the rifle, the "kid" was thrown to the ground, when the pony began bucking, before he had got into the saddle. now the "kid" faced the crowd across the street, holding the rifle ready for action. charlie wall told the writer that he could have killed him with his pistol, but that he wanted to see him escape. many other men in the crowd felt the same way, no doubt. when the pony was brought back the "kid" gave geiss his rifle to hold, while he mounted. the rifle being handed back to him when he was securely seated in the saddle, then he dug the pony in the sides with his heels, and galloped west. at the edge of town he waved his hat over his head, yelling: "three cheers for billy the kid!" now the curtain went down, for the time being. chapter x. "billy the kid" goes back to his sweetheart in fort sumner. shot through the heart by sheriff pat garret, and buried by the side of his chum, tom o'phalliard. a few days after the "kid's" escape, billy burt's black pony returned to lincoln dragging a rope. he had either escaped or been turned loose by the "kid." the next we hear of the "kid" he visited friends in las tablas, and stole a horse from andy richardson. from there he headed for fort sumner to see his sweetheart, miss dulcinea del toboso. it was said he tried to persuade her to run away with him, and go to old mexico to live in happiness ever afterward. but that sweet little dulce refused to leave mamma. the "kid" found shelter and concealment in the home of mrs. charlie bowdre and her mother. one night a few weeks after his escape, the writer was within whispering distance of "billy the kid." myself and a crowd of cowboys had attended a mexican dance. mrs. charlie bowdre was there, dressed like a young princess. she captured the heart of the author, so that he danced with her often, and escorted her to the midnight supper. about three o'clock in the morning the dance broke up and the writer escorted the pretty young widow, mrs. charlie bowdre, to her adobe home. at the front door, i almost got down on my knees pleading for her to let me go into the house and talk awhile, but no use, she insisted that her mother would object. now a wine-soaked young cowboy with jingling spurs on his high-heel boots, staggered into camp and "piled" into bed, spread on the ground under a cottonwood tree, to dream of mexican "fandangos," where the girls have no choice of partners. without an introduction the man walks up to the girl of his choice and leads her out on the floor to dance to his heart's content. about six months later, in the fall of , after the "kid" had been killed, the writer was in fort sumner again, and attended a dance with mrs. charlie bowdre. now she explained the reason for not letting me enter the house. she said at that time, "billy the kid," who was in hiding at her home, was on the inside of the door listening to our conversation. that he recognized my voice. here mrs. bowdre told me the facts in the case, of how "billy the kid" met his death, bare-headed and bare-footed, with a butcher knife in his hand. while in hiding in fort sumner the "kid" stole a saddle horse from mr. montgomery bell, who had ridden into town from his ranch fifty miles above, on the rio pecos. bell supposed the horse had been ridden off by a common mexican thief. he hired barney mason and a mr. curington to go with him to hunt the animal. they started down the stream, bell keeping on one side of the river, while mason and curington headed for a sheep camp in the foot hills. riding up to the tent in the sheep camp, the "kid" stepped out with his winchester rifle, and hailed them. barney mason was armed to the teeth, and was on a swift horse. he had on a new pair of spurs and nearly wore them out making his get-away. mr. curington rode up to his friend, "billy the kid," and had a friendly chat. the "kid" told mr. curington to tell montgomery bell that he would return his horse, or pay for him. when curington reported the matter to mr. bell, he was satisfied and searched no more for the animal. after the "kid's" escape from lincoln, sheriff pat garrett "laid low," and tried to find out the "kid's" whereabouts through his friends and associates. in march, , a deputy united states marshal by the name of john w. poe arrived in the booming mining camp of white oaks. he had been sent to new mexico by the cattlemen's association of the texas panhandle. cattle king charlie goodnight, being the president of the association, had selected mr. poe as the proper man to put a stop to the stealing of panhandle cattle by "billy the kid" and gang. after the "kid's" escape, pat garrett went to white oaks and deputized john w. poe to assist him in rounding up the "kid." from now on mr. poe made trips out in the mountains trying to locate the young outlaw. the "kid's" best friends argued that he was "nobody's fool," and would not remain in the united states, when the old mexico border was so near. they didn't realize that little cupid was shooting his tender young heart full of love-darts, straight from the heart of pretty little miss dulcinea del toboso, of fort sumner. early in july, pat garrett received a letter from an acquaintance by the name of brazil, in fort sumner, advising him that the "kid" was hanging around there. garrett at once wrote brazil to meet him about dark on the night of july th at the mouth of the taiban arroyo, below fort sumner. now the sheriff took his trusted deputy, john w. poe, and rode to roswell, on the rio pecos. there they were joined by one of mr. garret's fearless cowboy deputies, "kip" mckinnie, who had been raised near uvalde, texas. together the three law officers rode up the river towards fort sumner, a distance of eighty miles. they arrived at the mouth of taiban arroyo an hour after dark on july th, but brazil was not there to meet them. the night was spent sleeping on their saddle blankets. the next morning garrett sent mr. poe, who was a stranger in the country, and for that reason would not be suspicioned, into fort sumner, five miles north, to find out what he could on the sly, about the "kid's" presence. from fort sumner he was to go to sunny side, six miles north, to interview a merchant by the name of mr. rudolph. then when the moon was rising, to meet garrett and mckinnie at la punta de la glorietta, about four miles north of fort sumner. failing to find out anything of importance about the "kid," john w. poe met his two companions at the appointed place, and they rode into fort sumner. it was about eleven o'clock, and the moon was shining brightly, when the officers rode into an old orchard and concealed their horses. now the three continued afoot to the home of pete maxwell, a wealthy stockman, who was a friend to both garrett and the "kid." he lived in a long, one-story adobe building, which had been the u. s. officers' quarters when the soldiers were stationed there. the house fronted south, and had a wide covered porch in front. the grassy front yard was surrounded by a picket fence. as pat garrett had courted his wife and married her in this town, he knew every foot of the ground, even to pete maxwell's private bed room. on reaching the picket gate, near the corner room, which pete maxwell always occupied, garrett told his two deputies to wait there until after he had a talk with half-breed pete maxwell. the night being hot, pete maxwell's door stood wide open, and garrett walked in. a short time previous, "billy the kid" had arrived from a sheep camp out in the hills. back of the maxwell home lived a mexican servant, who was a warm friend to the "kid." here "billy the kid" always found late newspapers, placed there by loving hands, for his special benefit. this old servant had gone to bed. the "kid" lit a lamp, then pulled off his coat and boots. now he glanced over the papers to see if his name was mentioned. finding nothing of interest in the newspapers, he asked the old servant to get up and cook him some supper, as he was very hungry. getting up, the servant told him there was no meat in the house. the "kid" remarked that he would go and get some from pete maxwell. now he picked up a butcher knife from the table to cut the meat with, and started, bare-footed and bare-headed. the "kid" passed within a few feet of the end of the porch where sat john w. poe and kip mckinnie. the latter had raised up, when his spur rattled, which attracted the "kid's" attention. at the same moment mr. poe stood up in the small open gateway leading from the street to the end of the porch. they supposed the man coming towards them, only partly dressed, was a servant, or possibly pete maxwell. the "kid" had pulled his pistol, and so had john poe, who by that time was almost within arm's reach of the "kid." with pistol pointing at poe, at the same time asking in spanish: "quien es?" (who is that?), he backed into pete maxwell's room. he had repeated the above question several times. on entering the room, "billy the kid" walked up to within a few feet of pat garrett, who was sitting on maxwell's bed, and asked: "who are they, pete?" now discovering that a man sat on pete's bed, the "kid" with raised pistol pointing towards the bed, began backing across the room. pete maxwell whispered to the sheriff: "that's him, pat." by this time the "kid" had backed to a streak of moonlight coming through the south window, asking: "quien es?" (who's that?) garrett raised his pistol and fired. then cocked the pistol again and it went off accidentally, putting a hole in the ceiling, or wall. now the sheriff sprang out of the door onto the porch, where stood his two deputies with drawn pistols. soon after, pete maxwell ran out, and came very near getting a ball from poe's pistol. garrett struck the pistol upward, saying: "don't shoot maxwell!" a lighted candle was secured from the mother of pete maxwell, who occupied a nearby room, and the dead body of "billy the kid" was found stretched out on his back with a bullet wound in his breast, just above the heart. at the right hand lay a colt's calibre pistol, and at his left a butcher knife. now the native people began to collect,--many of them being warm friends of the "kid's." garrett allowed them to take the body across the street to a carpenter shop, where it was laid out on a bench. then lighted candles were placed around the remains of what was once the bravest, and coolest young outlaw who ever trod the face of the earth. the next day, this, once mother's darling, was buried by the side of his chum, tom o'phalliard, in the old military cemetery. he was killed at midnight, july th, , being just twenty-one years, seven months and twenty-one days of age, and had killed twenty-one men, not including indians, which he said didn't count as human beings. a few months after the killing of the "kid," a man was coining money, showing "billy the kid's" trigger finger, preserved in alcohol. seeing sensational accounts of it in the newspapers, sheriff garrett had the body dug up, but found his trigger-finger was still attached to the right hand. during the following spring in the town of lincoln, the sheriff auctioned off the "kid's" saddle, and the blue-barrel, rubber-handled, double action colt's calibre pistol, which the "kid" held in his hand when killed. there were only two bidders for the pistol, the writer and the deputy county clerk, billy burt, who got it for $ . . its actual value was about $ . . since then many pistols have been prized as keepsakes from the supposed idea that the "kid" had held each one of them in his hand when he fell. many were presented to friends with a sincere thought that they were genuine. as an illustration we will quote a few lines from a friendly letter, dated may th, , written by the present game warden, mr. j. l. dehart of the state of montana: "later in march, , i was ushered into office as sheriff of sweet grass county, montana, and a former resident of new mexico, and an acquaintance of 'billy the kid,' later a resident of livingston, montana, by the name of william dawson, upon this momentous occasion, presented me with a splendid colt's six-shooter, forty-five calibre, seven inch barrel, and ivory handle, said to have been the property of the notorious "billy the kid," when killed by sheriff pat garrett, at the maxwell ranch house. i have always considered this piece of artillery a valuable relic, and with much trouble have retained it. most of my diligent watch, however, upon this gun, was brought about as a result of being named as state game warden in , by his excellency, governor s. v. stewart." "where ignorance is bliss, it is folly to be wise," is a true saying. no doubt mr. dehart has felt proud over the ownership of the pistol "billy the kid" was supposed to have in his hand at the time of his death. this is not the only "billy the kid" pistol in existence. it would be a safe gamble to bet that there are a wagon load of them scattered over the united states. the winchester rifle taken from the "kid" at the time of his capture at stinking spring, was raffled off in the spring of , and the writer won it. he put it up again in a game of "freeze out" poker. as one of my cowboys, tom emory, was an expert poker player, i induced him to play my hand. i then went to bed. on going down to the pioneer saloon, in white oaks, early next morning, the night barkeeper told me a secret, under promise that i keep it to myself. he said he was stretched out on the bar trying to take a nap. the poker game was going on near him. when he lay down all had been "freezed out" but tom emory and johnny hudgens. just before daylight, emory won all the chips, in a big show down, and i was the owner of "billy the kid's" rifle for the second time, but only for a moment, as johnny hudgens gave tom emory $ . for the gun, under the pretense that hudgens had won it. emory almost shed tears when he told me of losing the rifle in what he thought was a winning hand. of course i didn't dispute it, as i had given a promise to keep silent. "billy the kid" came very near having a stone monument placed on his grave for the benefit of posterity--so that the curious among the unborn generations would know the exact spot where this "claude duval" of the southwest was planted. one day, on the plaza in the city of santa fe, in about the year , the writer met mrs. gertrude dills, wife of lucius dills, the surveyor general of new mexico, a daughter of judge frank lea of white oaks, and a niece to that whole-souled prince among men, the father of the city of roswell, captain j. c. lea. she suggested that the writer get up a subscription to place a lasting monument on the grave of "billy the kid," so that future generations would know where he was buried. as a little girl, mrs. dills was once tempted to crawl under the bed, when "billy the kid" and gang shot up the town of white oaks. i at once went to the monument establishment of mr. louis napoleon, and selected a fine marble monument, with the understanding that the inscription not be cut on it until after i had located the grave. many years ago, will e. griffin, who is still a resident of santa fe, moved all the bodies of the soldiers buried in the old military cemetery, at fort sumner, to the national cemetery at santa fe. he says, when the work was finished, the only graves left in the grave-yard, were those of "billy the kid" and his chum, tom o'phalliard. on these two graves, close together, still remained the badly rotted wooden head boards. since then the old cemetery has been turned into an alfalfa field, and the chances are, all signs of this noted young outlaw's resting place have been obliterated. soon after selecting the monument, i happened to be in the town of tularosa, and brought up the subject to my old cowboy friend, john p. meadows. he at once subscribed five dollars towards the erection of the monument. he said "billy the kid" had befriended him in , when he needed a friend, and for that reason he would like to perpetuate his memory. he thought it would be no trouble to raise the desired amount in tularosa, but the first man he struck for a subscription, mr. charlie miller, former state engineer, discouraged him. mr. miller went straight up in the air with indignation at the idea of placing a monument at the grave of a blood-thirsty outlaw. soon after this, mr. miller was murdered, when pancho villa made his bloody raid on columbus, new mexico. this is as far as the grave of "billy the kid" came to being marked, as the writer has been too busy on other matters, to visit fort sumner and try to locate his last resting place. in closing, i wish to state that with all his faults, "billy the kid" had many noble traits. in white oaks, during the winter of , the writer talked with a man who actually shed tears in telling of how he lay almost at the point of death, with smallpox, in an old abandoned shack in fort sumner, when the "kid" found him. a good supply of money was given by the "kid," and a wagon and team hired to haul him to las vegas, where medical attention could be secured. since the killing of the "kid," kip mckinney has died with his boots off, while pat garrett died with them on, being shot and killed on the road between tularosa and las cruces, new mexico. hence the only man now living who saw the curtain go down on the last act of "billy the kid's" eventful life, is john w. poe, at the present writing a wealthy banker in the beautiful little city of roswell, new mexico. he has served one term as sheriff of lincoln county, and has helped to change that blood-spattered county from an outlaw's paradise, to a land of happy, peaceful homes. peace to william h. bonney's ashes, is the author's prayer. the end. a lone star cowboy being the recollections of fifty years spent in the saddle, as cowboy and new mexico ranger, on nearly every cow-trail in the wooly old west, when the cowboys, buffalo hunters, and indians had room to come and go, before the "hoe-man" and wire fences cut off the trails. fine cloth binding, pages, with fourteen illustrations. price postpaid, $ . . a cowboy detective being the twenty-two years experience with pinkerton's national detective agency, in all parts of the united states, british columbia, alaska and old mexico. fine cloth binding pages and illustrations. price $ . , post-paid. the song companion of a lone star cowboy a booklet of old favorite cow-camp songs. price postpaid, cents. address the author: chas. a. siringo, p. o. box , santa fe, n. m. [illustration: pat garrett the fearless sheriff of lincoln county, new mexico, who killed "billy the kid." they had met by accident in a dark room, which meant that one, or both, had to die quick.] google books (the bavarian state library) transcriber's notes: . page scan source: google books https://books.google.com/books?id= fzlaaaacaaj collection of ancient and modern british authors. vol. ccclxxxvi. ================================================== forest days a romance of old times. ----------------------------------------- printed by crapelet, , rue de vaugirard. forest days a romance of old times. by g. p. r. james, author of "morley ernstein," "the robber," etc. paris, baudry's european library, , quai malaquais, near the pont des arts; and stassin et xavier, , rue du coq. sold also by amyot, rue de la paix; truchy, boulevard des italiens; brockhaus and avenarius, rue richelieu; leopold michelsen, leipzig; and by all the principal booksellers on the continent. . to james milnes haskill, esq. m p. etc. my dear sir, in offering you a book, which i fear is little worthy of your acceptance, and a compliment which has become valueless, i cannot help expressing my regret at having no other means of testifying my esteem and respect for one, who has not only always shown a most kindly feeling towards myself and my works, but has ever advocated the true interests of literature. you will, nevertheless, i am sure, receive the tribute not unwillingly, however inadequate it may be to convey my thanks for many an act of kindness, or to express a feeling of high esteem founded on no light basis. in the volumes i send, you will find many scenes with which you are familiar, both in history and in nature; but one thing, perhaps, will strike you with some surprise. we have been so much accustomed, in ballad and story, to see the hero of the forest, robin hood, placed in the days of richard i., that it will seem, perhaps, somewhat bold in me to depict him as living and acting in the reign of henry iii. but i think, if you will turn to those old historians, with whose writings you are not unfamiliar, you will find that he was, as i have represented, an english yeoman, of a very superior mind, living in the times in which i have placed him, outlawed, in all probability, for his adherence to the popular party of the day, and taking a share in the important struggle between the weak and tyrannical, though accomplished, henry iii., and that great and extraordinary leader, simon de montfort, earl of leicester. in regard to the conduct of my story, i have nothing to say, but that i wish it were better. i think, however, that it will be found to contain some striking scenes of those times; and i trust that the struggle of feelings, depicted in the third volume, may afford you matter of some interest. believe me to be, my dear sir, with the highest esteem, your most faithful servant, g. p. r. james. forest days. chapter i. merry england!--oh, merry england! what a difference has there always been between thee and every other land! what a cheerfulness there seems to hang about thy very name! what yeoman-like hilarity is there in all the thoughts of the past! what a spirit of sylvan cheer and rustic hardihood in all the tales of thy old times! when england was altogether an agricultural land--when a rude plough produced an abundant harvest, and a thin, but hardy and generous peasantry, devoted themselves totally to the cultivation of the earth,--when wide forests waved their green boughs over many of the richest manufacturing districts of great britain, and the lair of the fawn and the burrow of the coney were found, where now appear the fabric and the mill, there stood, in a small town, or rather, i should call it, village, some fourteen miles from pontefract, a neat little inn, well known to all the wayfarers on the road as a comfortable resting place, where they could dine on their journey to or from the larger city. the house was constructed of wood, and was but of two stories; but let it not be supposed on that account that it was devoid of ornament, for manifold were the quaint carvings and rude pieces of sculpture with which it was decorated, and not small had been the pains which had been bestowed upon mouldings and cornices, and lintels and door-posts by the hand of more than one laborious artisan. indeed, altogether, it was a very elaborate piece of work, and had probably been originally built for other purposes than that which it now served; for many were the changes which had taken place in that part of the country, as well as over the rest of england, between the days i speak of, and those of a century before. any one who examined the house closely, would have seen that it must have been constructed before the year , for there was very strong proof, in the forms of the windows, and the cutting across of several of the beams which traversed the front, that at the period of its erection the use of glazed casements in private houses was not known. at the time i speak of, however, glass had become plentiful in england, and, though cottages were seldom ornamented with anything like a lattice, yet no house with the rank and dignity of an inn, where travellers might stop in rainy and boisterous weather, was now without windows, formed of manifold small lozenge-shaped pieces of glass, like those still frequently employed in churches, only of a smaller size. the inn was a gay-looking, cheerful place, either in fine weather or in foul; for, as there are some men who, clothe them as you will, have a distinguished and graceful air, so are there some dwellings which look sunshiny and bright, let the aspect of the sky be what it will. the upper story of the house projected beyond the lower, and formed of itself a sort of portico, giving a shelter to two long benches placed beneath it, either from the heat of the summer sun, or the rain of the spring and autumn; and it need not be said that these benches formed the favourite resting place of sundry old men on bright summer evenings; and that many a time, in fine weather, a table would be put out upon the green before the house, the bench offering seats on one side, while settles and stools gave accommodation on the other, to many a merry party round the good roast beef and humming ale. before the door of the inn, spread out one of those pleasant open pieces of ground, which generally found room for themselves in every country village in england; on which the sports of the place were held; to which the jockey brought his horse for sale, and tried his paces up and down; on which many a wrestler took a fall, and cudgel-player got a broken head. there too, in their season, were the merry maypole and the dance, the tabor and the pipe. there was many a maiden wooed and won; and there passed along all the three processions of life--the infant to the font, the bride to the altar, the corpse to the grave. various were the memories attached to that village green in the hearts of all the neighbourhood; various were the associations which it called up in every bosom and various were the romances, probably much better worth listening to than this that we are going to tell, which that village green could have related. it had all the things pertaining to its character and profession: it had a dry, clear, sandy horse-road running at one side, it had two foot-paths crossing each other in the middle, it had a tall clump of elms on the south side, with a well, and an iron ladle underneath. it had a pond, which was kept clear by a spring at the bottom, welling constantly over at the side next the road, and forming a little rivulet, full of pricklebacks, flowing on towards a small river at some distance. it had its row of trees on the side next to the church, with the priest's house at the corner. the surface was irregular, just sufficiently so to let some of the young people, in any of their merry meetings, get out of sight of their elders for a minute or two; and the whole was covered with that short, dry, green turf, which is only to be found upon a healthy sandy soil. in short, dear reader, it was as perfect a village green as ever was seen, and i should like very much, if such a thing were possible, to transport you and me to the bench before the inn door on some fine afternoon in the end of the month of june, and there, with a white jug of clear nottingham ale before us, while the sun sunk down behind the forest, and the sky began to glow with his slant rays, to tell you the tale which is about to follow, marking in your face the signs of interest which you would doubtless show--the hope, the fear, the expectation, perhaps the smile of surprise, perhaps the glistening drop of sympathy--suffering you to interrupt and ask a question here and there, but not too often--forgiving a moment's impatience when the tale was dull, and thanking you in the end for your friendship towards the good and noble who lived and died more than five centuries ago. in truth, reader, you know not what a pleasure there is--when the mind is clear from care or sorrow, the heart well attuned, the object a good one, and the tale interesting--you know not what a pleasure there is, to sit down and tell a long story to those who are worthy of hearing one. and now, having made a somewhat wide excursion, and finding it difficult to get back again to the tale by any easy and gradual process, i will even in this place, close the first chapter, which, by your leave, shall serve for a preface and introduction both. chapter ii. it was in the spring of the year, somewhere about the period which good old chaucer describes in the beginning of his canterbury tales, "whanne that april with his shoures sote, the droughte of march hath perced to the rote, and bathed every veine in swiche licour, of whiche vertue engendred is the flow'r:" it was also towards the decline of the day, and the greater part of the travellers who visited the inn for an hour, on their way homeward from the neighbouring towns, had betaken themselves to the road, in order to get under the shelter of their own roof ere the night fell, when, at one of the tables in the low-pitched parlour--the beams of which must have caused any wayfarer of six feet high to bend his head--might still be seen a man in the garb of a countryman, sitting with a great, black leathern jug before him, and one or two horns round about, besides the one out of which he himself was drinking. a slice of a brown loaf toasted at the embers, and which he dipped from time to time in his cup, was the only solid food that he seemed inclined to take; and, to say sooth, it probably might not have been very convenient for him to call for any very costly viands--at least, if one might judge by his dress, which, though good, and not very old, was of the poorest and the homeliest kind--plain hodden-grey cloth, of a coarse fabric, with leathern leggings and wooden-soled shoes. the garb of the countryman, however, was not the only thing worthy of remark in his appearance. his form had that peculiarity which is not usually considered a perfection, and is termed a hump; not that there was exactly, upon either shoulder, one of those large knobs which is sometimes so designated, but there was a general roundness above his bladebones--a sort of domineering effort of his neck to keep down his head--which gave him a clear title to the appellation of hunchback. in other respects he was not an unseemly man--his legs were stout and well turned, his arms brawny and long, his chest singularly wide for a deformed person, and his grey eyes large, bright and sparkling. his nose was somewhat long and pointed, and was not only a prominent feature, but a very distinguished one in his countenance. it was one of those noses which have a great deal of expression in them. there was a good deal of fun and sly merriment about the corners of his mouth and under his eyelids, but his nose was decidedly the point of the epigram, standing out a sort of sharp apex to a shrewd, merry ferret-like face; and, as high mountains generally catch the sunshine either in the rise or the decline of the day, and glow with the rosy hue of morning before the rest of the country round obtains the rays, so had the light of the vine settled in purple brightness on the highest feature of his face, gradually melting away into a healthy red over the rest of his countenance. he wore his beard close shaven, as if he had been a priest; but his eyebrows, which were very prominent, and his hair, which hung in three or four detached locks over his sun-burnt brow and upon his aspiring neck, though they had once been as black as a raven's wing, were now very nearly white. with this face and form sat the peasant at the table, sopping his bread in the contents of his jug, and from time to time looking down into the bottom of the pot with one eye, as if to ascertain how much was left. he stirred not from his seat, nor even turned his head away from the window, though a very pretty girl of some eighteen years of age looked in at him from time to time, and his was a face which announced that the owner thereof had at one time of his life had sweet things to say to all the black eyes he met with. at length, however, the sound of a trotting horse was heard, and the peasant exclaimed, eagerly--"here, kate! kate!--you merry compound of the woman and the serpent, take away the jack; they're coming now. away with it, good girl! i mustn't be found drinking wine of bourdeaux. give me a tankard of ale, girl. how does the room smell?" "like a friar's cell," said the girl, taking up the black jack with a laugh. "grape juice, well fermented, and a brown toast beside." "get thee gone, slut!" cried the peasant, "what dost thou know of friars' cells? too much, i misdoubt me. bring the ale, i say--and spill a drop on the floor, to give a new flavour to the room." "i'll bring thee a sprig of rue, hardy," said the girl; "it will give out odour enough. put it in thy posset when thou gett'st home; it will sweeten thy blood, and whiten thy nose." "away with thee," cried the man she called hardy, "or i'll kiss thee before company." the girl darted away as her companion rose from his seat with an appearance of putting, at least, one part of his threat in execution, and returned a minute after, bearing in her hand the ale he had demanded. "spill some--spill some!" cried the peasant. but as she seemed to think such a proceeding, in respect to good liquor, a sin and a shame, the peasant was obliged to bring it about himself in a way which the manners of those days rendered not uncommon. the girl set down the tankard on the table, and, with her pretty brown fingers still wet with a portion of the ale which had gone over, bestowed a buffet on the side of the peasant's head which made his ear tingle for a moment, and then carefully wiped her mouth with the corner of her apron, as if to remove every vestige of his salute. as nearly as possible at the same moment that she was thus clearing her lips, the feet of the horse which had been heard coming, stopped at the door of the inn; and loud applications for attendance called the girl away from her coquettish sparring with hardy, who, resuming his seat, put the tankard of ale to his lips, and did not seem to find it unpalatable, notwithstanding the bourdeaux by which it had been preceded. at the same time, however, a considerable change took place in his appearance. his neck became more bent, his shoulders were thrown more forward; he untied the points at the back of his doublet, so that it appeared somewhat too loose for his figure; he drew the hair, too, more over his forehead, suffered his cheeks to fall in, and by these and other slight operations he contrived to make himself look fully fifteen years older than he had done the minute before. while this was going on, there had been all that little bustle and noise at the door of the inn which usually accompanied the reception of a guest in those days, when landlords thought they could not testify sufficient honour and respect to an arriving customer without mingling their gratulations with scoldings of the horse-boys and tapsters, and manifold loud-tongued directions to chamberlains and maids. at length the good host, with his stout, round person clothed in close-fitting garments, which displayed every weal of fat under his skin, led in a portly well-looking man, of about thirty, or five-and-thirty years of age, bearing the cognizance of some noble house embroidered on his shoulder. he was evidently, to judge by his dress and appearance, one of the favourite servants of some great man, and a stout, frank, hearty, english yeoman he seemed to be; a little consequential withal, and having a decidedly high opinion of his own powers, mental and corporeal, but good-humoured and gay, and as ready to take as to give. "not come!" he said, as he entered, talking over his shoulder to the landlord--"not come! that is strange enough. why, i was kept more than half an hour at barnsley green to be the judge of a wrestling match. they would have me, god help us, so i was afraid they would be here before me. well, give us a stoup of good liquor to discuss the time; i must not say give it of the best--the best is for my lord--but i do not see why the second best should not be for my lord's man; so let us have it quick, before these people come, and use your discretion as to the quality." the wine that he demanded was soon supplied, and being set upon the table at which the peasant was seated, the lord's man took his place on the other side, and naturally looked for a moment in the face of his table-fellow; while the landlord stood by, with his fat stomach, over-hanging the board, and his eyes fixed upon the countenance of his new guest, to mark therein the approbation of his wine which he anticipated. the lord's man was not slow in proving the goodness of the liquor; but, without employing the horn cup, which the host set down beside the tankard, he lifted the latter to his mouth, drank a good deep draught, took a long sigh, drank again, and then nodded his head to the landlord, with a look expressive of perfect satisfaction. after a few words between my host and his guest, in which hardy took no part, but sat with his head bent over his ale, with the look of a man both tired and weakly, the landlord withdrew to his avocations, and the lord's man, fixing his eyes for a moment upon his opposite; neighbour, asked, in a kindly but patronising tone-- "what have you got there, ploughman? thin ale,--isn't it? come, take a cup of something better, to cheer thee. these are bad times, ar'n't they? ay, i never yet met a delver in the earth that did not find fault with god's seasons. here, drink that; it will make your wheat look ten times greener! were i a ploughman, i'd water my fields with such showers as this, taken daily down my own throat. we should have no grumbling at bad crops then." "i grumble not," replied the hunchback, taking the horn, and draining it slowly, sip by sip, "my crops grow green and plentiful. little's the labour that my land costs in tillage, and yet i get a fat harvest in the season; and moreover, no offence, good sir, but i would rather be my own man and heaven's, than any other person's." "not if you had as good a lord as i have," answered the serving-man, colouring a little, notwithstanding. "one is as free in his house as on salisbury-plain; it's a pleasure to do his bidding. he's a friend, too, of the peasant and the citizen, and the good de montfort. he's no foreign minion, but a true englishman." "here's his health, then," said the peasant. "is your lord down in these parts?" "ay, is he," replied the lord's man--"no farther off than doncaster, and i am here to meet sundry gentlemen, who are riding down this way to york, to tell them that their assembling may not be quite safe there, so that they must fix upon another place." "ho, ho!" said the peasant, "some new outbreak toward, against the foreigners. well, down with them, i say, and up with the english yeomen. but who have we here?--some of those you come to seek, i'll warrant.--let us look at their faces." and going round the table, with a slow, and somewhat feeble step, he placed his eye to one of the small lozenges of glass in the casement, and gazed out for a minute or two, while the serving-man followed his example, and took a survey of some new travellers who had arrived, before they were ushered into the general reception room. "do you know him?" asked the peasant. "i think i have seen that dark face down here before." "ay, i know him," answered the serving-man. "he's a kinsman of the earl of ashby, one of our people, whom i came principally to meet. he's a handsome gentleman, and fair spoken, though somewhat black about the muzzle." "if his heart be as black as his face," said the peasant, "i would keep what i had got to say for the earl's ears, before i gave it to his, were i in your place." "ha! say you so?" demanded the lord's man. "methinks you know more of him, ploughman, than you tell us." "not much," replied the other, "and what i do know is not very good, so one must be careful in the telling." "what keeps him, i wonder?" said the serving-man, after having returned to the table, and sipped some more of his wine. "he's toying without, i'll aver," said the peasant, "with pretty kate, the landlord's daughter. he had better not let young harland, the franklin's son, see him, or his poll and a crab-stick cudgel may be better acquainted. it had well-nigh been so three months ago, when he was down here last." these words were said in an undertone, for while one of two servants, who had accompanied the subject of their discourse, led away the horses to the stable, and the other kept the landlord talking before the inn, there was a sound of whispering and suppressed laughter behind the door of the room, which seemed to show that the earl of ashby's kinsman was not far off, and was employed in the precise occupation which the peasant had assigned to him. the serving-man wisely held his tongue, and, in a minute after, the door opened, and gave entrance to a man somewhat above the middle size, of a slim and graceful figure, the thinness of which did not seem to indicate weakness, but rather sinewy activity. he was dressed in close-fitting garments of a dark marone tint, with riding-boots, and spurs without rowels. over the tight coat i have mentioned, coming halfway down his thigh, was a loose garment called a tabard, of philimot colour, apparently to keep his dress from the dust, and above it again a green hood, which was now thrown back upon his shoulders. his sword peeped from under his tabard, and the hilt of his dagger showed itself, also, on the other side. his air was easy and self-possessed, but there was a quick and furtive glance of the eye from object to object, as he entered the room, which gave the impression that there was a cunning and inquisitive spirit within. his face was certainly handsome, though pale and dark; his beard was short and black, and his hair, which was remarkably fine and glossy, had been left to grow long, and was platted like that of a woman. his hand was white and fine, and it was evident that he paid no slight attention to his dress, by the tremendous length of the points of his boots, which were embroidered to represent a serpent, and buttoned to his knees with a small loop of gold. his hood, too, was strangely ornamented with various figures embroidered round the edge; and yet so great was the extravagance of the period, that his apparel would then have been considered much less costly than that of most men of his rank, for his revenues were by far too limited, and his other expenses too many and too frequent, to permit of his indulging to the full his taste for splendid garments. as this personage entered the room, the sharp glance of the serving-man detected the figure of kate, the host's daughter, gliding away from the opening door, but, turning his head discreetly, he fixed his eyes upon the new-comer with a low reverence, advancing at the same time towards him. the earl's kinsman, however, either did not, or affected not to know the person who approached him, and the lord's man was obliged to enter into explanations as to who he was, and what was his errand. "ha!" said richard de ashby, "danger at york, is there? my good lord, your master, has brought us down here for nothing, then, it seems. i know not how my kinsman, the earl of ashby, will take this, for he loves not journeying to be disappointed." "my lord does not intend to disappoint the earl," replied the serving-man; "he will give him the meeting in the course of to-morrow--somewhere." "know you not where?" demanded the gentleman; and, as the servant turned his eyes, with a doubtful glance, to the spot where the peasant was seated, the other added, "come hither with me upon the green, where there are no idle ears to overhear." if his words were meant as a hint for hardy to quit the room, it was not taken; for the hunchback remained fixed to the table, having recourse from time to time to his jug of ale, and looking towards the door more than once, after sir richard and the lord's man had quitted the chamber. their conference was apparently long, and at length, first one of the gentleman's servants, and then another, entered the little low-roofed room, and approached the table at which the peasant sat. "hallo! what hast thou got here, bumpkin?" cried one of them--"wine for such a carle as thou art!" and, as he spoke, he took up the tankard from which the serving-man had been drinking. "that is neither thine nor mine," replied hardy, "so you had better let it alone." "heyday!" cried the servant of the great man's kinsman; "rated by a humpbacked ploughman! if it be not thine, fellow, hold thy tongue, for it can be nothing to thee! i shall take leave to make free with it, however," and, pouring out a cup, he tossed it off. "you must be a poor rogue," said the peasant, "to be so fond of drinking at another man's cost, as not to pay for your liquor even by a civil word." "what is that he says?" cried the man, turning to his companion--for, to say sooth, although he had heard every word, he was not quite prepared to act upon them, being one of those who are much more ready to bully and brawl, than to take part in a fray they have provoked--"what is that he says?" "he called thee a poor rogue, timothy," said his companion. "turn him out by the heels, the misbegotten lump!" "out with him!" cried the other, seeing that his comrade was inclined to stand by him, "out with him!" and he advanced, menacingly, upon the peasant. "hold your hands!--hold your hands!" said hardy, shaking his head--"i am an old man, and not so well made as you two varlets, but i don't 'bide a blow from any poor kinsman's half-starved curs!--take care, my men!" and as one of them approached rather too near, he struck him a blow, without rising from his stool, which made him measure his length upon the rushes that strewed the floor, crying out at the same time, in a whining tone, "to think of two huge fellows falling upon a poor, deformed old body." it so happened that the personage whom the peasant had knocked down was the braver man of the two; and, starting up, he rushed fiercely upon his adversary; which his companion espying, darted upon hardy at the same moment, and by a dexterous kick of his foot knocked the stool from under him, thus bringing the hunchback and his own comrade to the ground together. he then caught their enemy by the collar, and held his head firmly down upon the floor with both hands, as one has sometimes seen a child do with a refractory kitten. "baste him, dickon--baste him!" he cried. "i'll give him a dip in the horse-pond," said the other; "his nose will make the water fizz like a red-hot horseshoe." at that moment, however, the noise occasioned by such boisterous proceedings called in pretty kate greenly, the landlord's daughter, who, although she had a great reverence and regard for all the serving men of richard de ashby, was not fond of seeing poor hardy ill-treated. glancing eagerly round, while the peasant strove with his two opponents, she seized a pail of water which stood behind the parlour door, and following the plan which she had seen her father pursue with the bulldog and mastiff which tenanted the back yard, she dashed the whole of the contents over the combatants as they lay struggling on the ground. all three started up, panting; but the gain was certainly on the part of hardy, who, freed from the grasp of his adversaries, caught up the three-legged stool on which he had been sitting, and whirling it lightly above his head, prepared to defend himself therewith against his assailants; who, on their part, with their rage heightened rather than assuaged by the cool libation which kate had poured upon them, drew the short swords that they carried, and were rushing upon the old peasant with no very merciful intent. kate greenly now screamed aloud, exerting her pretty little throat to the utmost, and her cries soon brought in the lord's man, followed, somewhat slowly, by richard de ashby. the good landlord himself--having established as a rule, both out of regard for his own person and for the custom of his house, never to interfere in any quarrels if he could possibly avoid it, which rule had produced, on certain occasions, great obtuseness in sight and in hearing--kept out of the way, and indeed removed himself to the stable upon the pretence of looking after his guests' horses. the lord's man, however, with the true spirit of an english yeoman, dashed at once into the fray, taking instant part with the weakest. "come, come!" he cried, placing himself by hardy's side, "two men against one--and he an old one! out upon it! stand off, or i'll break your jaws for you!" this accession to the forces of their adversary staggered the two servants, and a momentary pause took place, in which their master's voice was at last heard. "what! brawling, fools!" he exclaimed. "we have something else to think of now. stand back, and let the old man go! get you gone, ploughman; and don't let me find you snarling with a gentleman's servants again, or i will put you in the stocks for your pains." "i will break his head before he's out of the house," said one of the men, who seemed to pay but little deference to his master's commands. "i will break thine, if thou triest it," answered the lord's man, sturdily. "come along, old man, come along; i will see thee safe out of the place, and let any one of them lay a finger on thee if he dare!" thus saying, he grasped hardy's arm and led him forth from the inn, muttering as he did so, "by the shoulder-bone of st. luke, the old fellow has got limbs enough to defend himself!--it's as thick as a roll of brawn, and as hard as a branch of oak! how goes it with thee, fellow?" "stiff--woundy stiff, sir," replied the hunchback; "but i thank you, with all my heart, for taking part with me; and i would fain give you a cup of good ale in return, such as you have never tasted out of london. if you could but contrive to come to my poor place to-morrow morning," he added, dropping his voice to a low tone, "i could shew some country sports, which, as you are a judge of such things, might please you." "it must be early hours, then," replied the serving-man. "those that don't come to-night will not be here till noon to-morrow, it is true: but still i think i had better wait for them." "nay, nay--come," said hardy; "come and take a cup of ale with me," and, after a pause, he added, significantly, "besides, there's something i want to tell you which may profit your lord." "but how shall i find my way?" demanded the serving-man, gazing inquiringly in his face, but with no expression of surprise at the intimation he received. "oh, i will shew you," answered the peasant. "meet me at the church stile there, and i will guide you. it is not far. be there a little before six, and you shall find me waiting. give me your hand on't." the serving-man held out his hand, and hardy shook it in a grasp such as might be given by a set of iron pincers, at the same time advancing his head, and adding, in a low tone, "take care what you do--you have a traitor there! one of those men is a nidget, and the other is a false hound, come down to spy upon good men and true." thus saying, he relaxed his hold, and, turning away, was soon lost in the obscure twilight of the evening. chapter iii. the animal called the sluggard has greatly increased in modern days. in former times the specimens were few and far between. the rising of the sun was generally the signal for knight and yeoman to quit their beds, and if some of the old or the soft cumbered their pillows for an hour or so later, the sleeping time rarely if ever extended beyond seven in the morning. the sky was still grey when the stout yeoman, whom we have mentioned under the title of the lord's man, but whose real name was thomas blawket, sprang lightly out of his bed, and made that sort of rapid, but not unwholesome toilet, which a hardy englishman, in his rank of life, was then accustomed to use. it consisted merely in one or two large buckets of clean cold water poured over his round curly head and naked shoulders, and then, with but some small ceremony of drying, his clothes were cast on, and bound round him with his belt. the whole operation occupied, perhaps, ten minutes, and a considerable portion of that space of time was taken up in rubbing dry his thick, close, short-cut beard, which curled up under the process into little knots, like the coat of a french water dog. "give thee good day, host, give thee good day," he said, as he issued forth. "i will be back anon;" and, sauntering forward leisurely on the green, he stood for a moment or two looking round him, to prevent the appearance of taking any preconcerted direction, and then walked slowly towards the church, which stood behind the row of trees we have mentioned. after gazing up at the building, which was then in its first newness, he made a circuit round it, and passing the priest's house, he reached what was called the church stile, where two broad stones, put edgeways, with one flat one between them for a step, excluded all animals without wings--except man, and his domestic companion, the dog--from what was then called the priest's meadow. on the other side of this stile, with his arms leaning upon the top stone, was hardy the hunchback, whistling a lively tune, and watching the lord's man as he came forward, without moving from his position till the other was close upon him. their salutation was then soon made, and crossing the stile, the good yeoman walked on by the side of his companion, sauntering easily along through the green fields, and talking of all the little emptinesses which occupy free hearts in the early morning. the first hour of the day, the bright first hour of a spring day i mean, appears always to me as if care and thought had nought to do with it. it seems made for those light and whirling visions--not unmingled with thanks and praise--which drive past the dreamy imagination like motes in the sunshine, partaking still, in a degree, of sleep, and having all its soft indistinctness, without losing the brightness of waking perception: thoughts, hopes, and fancies, that glitter as they go, succeeded each minute by clearer and more brilliant things, till the whole, at length, form themselves into the sterner realities of noonday life. the two men wandered on in that dreamy hour. they listened to the sweet birds singing in the trees; and it was a time of year when the whole world was tuneful; they stopped by the side of the babbling brook, and gazed into its dancing waters; they watched the swift fish darting along the stream, and hallooed to a heron which had just caught one of the finny tribe in its bill. "now had we a hawk," said the peasant, "we would very soon have master greycoat there, as surely as foul richard de ashby will catch pretty kate greenly before he has done." "think you so?" said the lord's man, certainly not speaking of catching the heron. "will she be so easily deceived, think you?" "ay, will she," answered the peasant. "not that the girl wants sense or learning either, for the good priest took mighty pains with her, and she can read and write as well as any clerk in the land. nor has she a bad heart either, though it is somewhat fierce and quick withal--like her mother's, who one day broke tim clough's head with a tankard, when he was somewhat boisterous to her, and then well-nigh died with grief when she found she had really cracked his skull. but this girl is as vain as a titmouse, and though i do believe she loves young harland, the franklin's son, at the bottom, yet i have often told him that it is as great a chance she never marries him as that the river will be frozen next winter; and now i see this fellow come down again and hanging about her as he did before, i say her vanity will take her by the ears, and lead her to any market he chooses to carry her to." "alack and a-well-a-day!" said the lord's man, "that a gentleman like that cannot let a far off place such as this be in peace, with its quiet sunshine and good country-folks. he may find a light-o'-love easily enough in the great cities, without coming down to break a father's heart, and make a good youth miserable, and turn a gay-hearted country girl into a sorrowful harlot! i hope he may get his head broke for his pains!" "he is like to get his neck broke for something else," replied the peasant, "if i judge rightly. but we will talk more of that anon. let us get on." forward accordingly they walked, passed another field, and another, and then took their way down a narrow, sandy lane, which in the end opened out from between its high banks upon a long strip of ground covered with short grass, and old hawthorn trees, with many a bank and dingle breaking the turf, and showing the yellow soil beneath. "why, you seem to live on the edge of the forest, ploughman," said the serving-man; "it must be poor ground here, i wot?" "it's good for my sort of farming," replied the other, shooting a shrewd glance at him, along the side of his very peculiar nose; "you have a mile to go yet, master yeoman, and we may as well go through a bit of the woodland." "have with you, have with you!" replied the yeoman. "i love the forest ground as well as any man, and often, when the season comes on, i turn woodman for the occasion, and, with my lord's good leave, help his foresters to kill the deer." "dangerous tastes in these days, master yeoman," said the peasant, and there the conversation dropped again, each falling back into that train of thought which had been awakened in their minds by the reference to kate greenly, and her probable fate; for, although we are accustomed to consider those as ruder times--and certainly, in the arts of life, man was not so far advanced as in the present day--yet the natural affections of the heart, the sound judgment of right and wrong, and the high emotions of the immortal spirit within us, do not depend upon civilization, at least as the term is generally applied, but exist independent of a knowledge of sciences, or skill in any of man's manifold devices for increasing his pleasures and his comforts. they are rather, indeed, antagonist principles, in many respects, to very great refinement; and the advance of society in the arts of luxury is but too often accompanied by the cultivation of that exclusive selfishness which extinguishes all the finer emotions, and leaves man but as one of the machines he makes. the mind of the stout yeoman, following the track on which it had begun to run, represented to himself what would be the feelings of the rustic lover, to find himself abandoned for a comparative stranger, and not only to know that the girl he loved was lost to him for ever, but degraded and debased--a harlot, sported with for the time, to be cast away when her freshness was gone. he had no difficulty in sympathising from his honest heart with the sensations which young harland would experience--with the bitter disappointment--with the anger mingled with tenderness towards her who in her folly blighted her own and his happiness for ever--with the pure and unmitigated indignation against him who, in his heartless vanity, came down to blast the peace of others for the gratification of an hour. he thought of the father, too; but there, indeed, his sympathies were not so much excited, for it needed but to see good john greenly once or twice to perceive that there was no great refinement in his virtue--that self was his first object--and, after meditating over that part of the subject for two or three hundred yards, as they walked on through the hawthorns, he said aloud, with a half laugh, "i shouldn't wonder if he would rather have her a lord's leman than a countryman's wife!" "not at first," answered hardy, understanding at once what he meant; "he will take it to heart at first, but will soon get reconciled to it." and again they fell into thought, walking on over the smooth turf, upon which it was a pleasure to tread, it was so soft, so dry, and so elastic. as they proceeded, the hawthorns became mingled with other trees; large beeches, with their long waving limbs not yet fully covered with their leaves, stood out upon the banks, here and there an oak, too, was seen, with the young leaves still brown and yellow; while patches of fern broke the surface of the grass, and large cushions of moss covered the old roots that forced their way to the surface of the ground. the trees, however, were still scattered at many yards' distance from each other, and cast long shadows upon the velvet green of the grass, as the sun, not many degrees above the horizon, poured its bright rays between them. but when the yeoman looked through the bolls, to the northward and westward, he could see a dim mass of darker green spreading out beyond, and showing how the forest thickened, not far off; while, every now and then, some cart-way, or woody path, gave him a long vista into the very heart of the woodland, with lines of light, where the beams of day broke through the arcade of boughs, marking the distances upon the road. that they were getting into the domain of the beasts of chase was soon very evident. more than one hare started away before their footsteps, and limped off with no very hurried pace. every two or three yards, a squirrel was seen running from tree to tree, and swarming up the boll; and, once or twice, at a greater distance, the practised eye of the good yeoman caught the form of a dun deer, bounding away up some of the paths, to seek shelter in the thicker wood. the way did not seem long, however, and all the thousand objects which a woodland scene affords to please and interest the eye and ear, and carry home the moral of nature's beautiful works to the heart of man, occupied the attention of the stout englishman, as they walked onward, till the distance between the trees becoming less and less, the branches formed a canopy through which the rays of the morning sun only found their way occasionally. "why, master ploughman," said the lord's man, at length, "you seem plunging into the thick of the wood. does your dwelling lie in this direction?" "in good sooth does it!" answered the ploughman;--"it will be more open presently." "much need," rejoined the yeoman, "or i shall take thee for a forester, and not one of the king's either." the peasant laughed, but made no reply, and in a minute or two after, the yeoman continued, saying--"thou art a marvellous man, assuredly, for thou art ten years younger this morning than thou wert last night. good faith, if i had fancied thee as strong and active as thou art, and as young withal, i think i should have left thee to fight it out with those two fellows by thyself." "would that i had them for but half an hour, under the green hawthorn trees we have just passed," said the peasant, laughing--"i would need no second hand to give them such a basting as they have rarely had in life--though i doubt me they have not had a few." "doubtless, doubtless!" answered the yeoman--"but word, my good friend, before we go farther: as you are not what you seemed, it is as well i should know where i am going?" "i am not what i seemed, and not what i seem either, even now," said the peasant, with a frank and cheerful smile, "but there is no harm in that either, master yeoman. here, help me off with my burden; i am not the first man who has made himself look more than he is. there, put your hand under my frock, and untie the knot you will find, while i unfasten this one in front." so saying, he loosened a little cord and tassel that was round his neck, and with the aid of his companion, let slip from his shoulders a large pad, containing seemingly various articles, some hard, and some soft, but which altogether had been so disposed as to give him the appearance of a deformity that nature certainly had not inflicted upon him. as soon as it was gone, he stood before the honest yeoman, a stout, hearty, thick-set man, with high shoulders indeed, but without the slightest approach to a hump upon either of them; and regarding, with a merry glance, the astonishment of his companion--for those were days of society's babyhood, when men were easily deceived--he said, "so much for the hunch, master yeoman. had those good gentlemen seen me now, they might not have been quite so ready with their hands; and had they seen this," he added, showing the hilt of a good stout dagger under his coat, "they might not have been quite so ready with their swords. and now let us come on without loss of time, for there are those waiting who would fain speak with you for a short time, and give you a message for your lord." the yeoman hesitated for an instant, but then replied--"well, it matters not! i will not suspect you, though this is an odd affair. i have helped you once at a pinch--at least, i intended it as help--and you will not do me wrong now, i dare say." "doubt it not, doubt it not," said the peasant--"you are a friend, not an enemy. but now to add a word or two to anything else you may hear to-day, let me warn you as we go, that one of those two men you saw struggling with me last night is a traitor and a spy. ay! and though i must not say so much, i suppose, of a lord's kinsman, i rather think that he who brought him is little better himself." "hard words, hard words, master ploughman, or whatever you may be," said the lord's man, with a serious air--"i trust it is not a broken head, or an alehouse quarrel that makes you find out treason in the man. besides, if he be a spy, he can only be a spy upon his own master." "and who is his own master?" demanded hardy. "come, put your wit to, and tell me that." "why, sir richard de ashby, to be sure," replied the man; "truly!" answered hardy. "methought the cognizance of the house of ashby was a tree growing out of a brasier?" "and so it is," said the man, "and he has it on his coat." "and what has he on his breast?" demanded hardy. "three pards, what they call passant?" the man started. "why that is the king's!" he cried. "or the prince edward's," added hardy. "so now when you return, tell your lord to look well to the earl of ashby's kinsman--if not to the earl himself. we had tidings of something of this kind, and i remained to see--for you must not think me such a fool as to give a serving-man hard words for nothing, and bring blows upon my head without an object." "did you see the leopards, then?" demanded blawket. "did you see them with your own eyes?" "i grappled with him when he sprang upon me," answered his companion, "and with my two thumbs tore open his coat, while he thought that we were merely rolling on the floor like a terrier and a cat. under his coat he had a gipon of sendull fit for a king, with three pards broidered in gold upon the breast. when i had seen that, i was satisfied; but that mad girl kate thought i was brawling in earnest, i suppose, and dashed a pail of water over us, which made us all pant and lose our hold, and as for the rest, you know what happened after. he is no servant of richard de ashby; the poor knave keeps but one, and, on my life, i believe, that having long ago sold his soul to the devil for luxury and wastel bread, he has now sold the only thing he had left to sell, his friends, to some earthly devil, for gold to win away pretty kate greenly." the yeoman cast down his eyes on the ground, and walked on for a step or two in grave deliberation. "marry," he said, at length, "if this tale be true,--that is to say, i do not doubt what you say, good comrade,--but if i can prove it to my lord's content, i shall be a made man in his opinion for discovering such a trick, and get the henchman's place, which i have long been seeking.--i never loved that richard de ashby; though he is as soft and sweet as his cousin alured is rash and haughty." "it will be easily proved," replied his companion. "charge sir richard boldly, when your good lord and his friends have met, with bringing down a servant of the king, disguised as his own, to be a spy upon their counsels." "nay, nay--not so," replied the serving-man. "i am more experienced in dealing with lords than thou art. that will cause my master to take up the matter, and may make mischief between the two earls. nay, i will pick a quarrel with him in the inn kitchen, will make him take off his coat to bide a stroke or two with me; and then, when we all see the leopards, we will drag him at once before his betters." "first tell your lord the whole," said hardy, somewhat sternly. "it may behove him to know immediately who he is dealing with." "i will--i will!" replied the man; "and i will let him know my plan for proving the treachery. but what have we here?--your cottage, i suppose?--why, you have a goodly sight of sons, if these be all your children. shooting at the butts, too, as i live! ay, i see now how it is!" chapter iv. as merry a peal as ever was rung, though not perhaps as scientific a one, ushered in the month of may, and as bright a sun as ever shone rose up in the eastern sky, and cast long lines of light over the green fields, glistening with the tears of departed night. the spring had been one of those fair seasons which have but rarely visited us in latter years, when, according to the old rhyme, "march winds and april showers had brought about may flowers." almost every leaf was upon the trees, except, indeed, in the case of some of those sturdy old oaks, which, in their brown hardihood, seemed unwilling to put on the livery of spring. the snowdrop had had her season and was gone, but the violet still lingered, shedding her perfume in the shade, and the hawthorn flaunted her fragrant blossoms to the wooing air. it was, in short, the merry, merry month of may, and her ensigns were out in every hedge and every field, calling young hearts to gaiety and enjoyment, and promising a bright summer in her train. many a maiden had been out, before the sun rose, from behind the distant slopes, to gather may dew to refresh her beauty, and many a youth, seeking the blossom of the white-thorn, had met, by preconcerted accident, the girl he loved under the lover's tree, and kissed her as warmly as under the mistletoe. young harland, however, had looked for kate greenly at the place where he had found her on the same day in the former year, but had looked in vain; and, as he returned homeward, somewhat disappointed, had found her with a party of gay girls, sometimes laughing with their laughter, sometimes falling into deep and gloomy thought. her young companions broke away to leave her alone with her acknowledged lover; and kate walked quickly home by his side, with a varying and a changeful air, which we must notice for a moment, though we cannot pause to tell all that passed between them. sometimes she was gay and saucy, as her wont; sometimes she was thoughtful and even sad; sometimes she affected scorn for her lover's gentle reproaches; sometimes she raised her eyes, and gazed on him with a look of tenderness and regret that made him sorry he had uttered them. her demeanour was as varying as an april day; but that it had often been before, and he saw not a deeper shadow that spread with an ominous cloud-like heaviness over all. they parted at the door of her father's house, and young ralph harland turned him home again, thinking of the pleasure of the merry dance and all the sports that were to come, and how a little gift, which he had prepared for her he loved, would quiet all idle quarrels between him and fair kate greenly. the village green, the sweet little village green which we have described, was early decked out with all that could be required for the sports of the day. the tall may-pole in the centre, surmounted with a coronet of flowers, streaming with ribbons and green leaves, and every sort of country ornament, was prepared for the dance around it, which was soon to take place. every tree was hung with garlands, and even the old well was decorated with wreaths and branches of the hawthorn and the oak. the inn itself was a complete mass of flowers; and, before the door, at a very early hour, were arranged the various prizes which were to reward the successful competitors in the rustic sports of the day. there was a runlet of wine stood beside the little bench beneath the eaves, and in a pen, formed by four hurdles, was a milk-white ram, with his horns gilded, and a chaplet twisted round his curly pate; and further off, leaning against the wall, stood a long yew bow, with a baldric, and sheaf of arrows, winged with peacock's feathers, bearing silver ornaments upon the quiver. these prizes were the first object of curiosity, and at an early hour many a group of boys and girls, and youths and maidens, gathered round the pen where the fat, long fleeced ram was confined, and pulled him by the gilded horns, while others looked at the bow, and every now and then stretched out a hand to touch and examine it more closely, but were deterred by a loud shrill voice from one of the windows of the inn, shouting, "beware the thong!" no season of merriment occurred at that time in england without bringing together its crowd of minstrels and musicians; and even then so populous had the gentle craft become, and so dissolute withal, that laws and regulations were found necessary for the purpose of diminishing the numbers of its followers and regulating their manners. "free drink for the minstrels" was a general proverb assented to by all, and the consequence was, that having the opportunity, they seldom wanted the inclination to pour their libations too freely, a good deal to the inconvenience, very frequently, of their entertainers. the class, however, which came to a may-day merry-making in a common country village was, of course, not of the highest grade, either in musical skill or professional rank; and the first who appeared on the village-green was a piper, with his bag under his arm, producing, as he came, those extraordinary sounds which are found to have a very pleasant effect upon some portions of the human species, but are almost universally distasteful to the canine race. upon this occasion almost all the dogs in the village followed him, either barking or howling. the good piper, however, did not seem to consider it as at all a bad compliment, but sitting himself down upon the bench before the inn door, played away to his square-headed auditory, till some human bipeds, and amongst the rest jack greenly himself, came forth with a jug of humming ale, and set it down beside him. the piper drank, as pipers will drink, a long and hearty draught, then looked around him, and as a matter of course, commended liberally to the ears of his entertainer the preparations which had been made for the may-day games. a floyter, or player on the flute, was not long behind, and he himself was succeeded by a man with a rote but the great musician of all, the performer on the viol, without whom the dance would not have been perfect, like all other important personages, caused himself to be waited for; and at length, when he did appear, came accompanied by his retinue, consisting of two long-eared curs, and a boy, carrying his viol, carefully wrapped up in the recesses of a fustian bag. with great airs of dignity, too, he took his way at once into the house, and both prudently and humanely tuned his instrument in a room where few if any ears were nigh to hear. fain would i, dear reader, could such a thing be permitted, indulge in a long description of the may-day games of old england. fain would i tell you who in the wrestling match won the milk-white ram, or shot the best arrow, or hurled the best quoit; but there are more serious things before us, and to them we must hurry on, leaving to imagination to undertake the task of depicting not only these, but the still greater struggle which took place amongst many a hardy yeoman for a fine horse. of yorkshire breed, given by ralph harland himself in honour of her he loved. suffice it then, for the present, that the sports of the morning were over, that the noonday meal, too, was at an end, that the girls of the village had rearranged their dress for the lighter amusement of the evening, and were gathering gaily under the group of trees to begin their first dance around the maypole. ralph harland stood by kate's side, and was asking anxiously what made her so sad, when suddenly he raised his eyes, and his countenance became even more overcast than hers. the sound which had made him look up had certainly nothing unusual in it on that busy morning. it was but the tramp of three or four horses coming at a rapid pace, but the young man's heart was anxious; and when his eyes rested on the face of richard de ashby, who rode in, followed by three men, and dressed with unusual splendour, well might the young franklin's bosom be troubled with feelings bitter and indignant, especially as he saw her whom he loved turn red and white, and read in the changing colour the confirmation of many a dark suspicion. the personage who had produced these sensations seemed at first to take no notice of the gay groups around him, but advancing at once to the low inn door, which was nearly blocked up by the jovial person of john greenly himself, he sprang to the ground lightly and gracefully, asking, in such a tone that all around could hear what he said, whether the earl of ashby had yet arrived. on finding that such was not the case, he turned round with an indifferent air, saying, "good faith, then i must amuse myself as best i may, till my fair cousin comes. what have you going forward here--a may-day dance? good sooth, i will make one. pretty kate," he continued, advancing to the spot where she stood, "will you give me your hand to lead you a measure round the maypole?" "it is promised to me," said ralph harland, in a stern tone, before kate could reply, bending his brows angrily upon his rival. "is it, indeed!" cried richard de ashby, gazing at him from head to foot with that cool look of supercilious contempt which is so hard to bear, and yet so difficult to quarrel with.--"well, but she has two hands; she shall give you one and me the other, and this pretty little damsel," he continued, to a girl of some twelve or thirteen years of age, who stood by listening, "this pretty little damsel shall take my other hand--so that is all settled. come, master violer, let us hear the notes of the catgut! come, sweet kate, i long to see those lovely limbs playing in the graceful dance." poor ralph harland! it was one of those moments when it is equally difficult to act and not to act, especially for one inexperienced, young, and brought up in habitual deference for superior rank and station. a direct insult, an open injury, he would have avenged at once upon the highest head that wagged in all the realm; but the covert scorn of the manner, the hidden baseness of the design, he knew not how to meet; and following, rather than accompanying, his light-o'-love sweetheart to the dance, he joined in a pastime to which his heart was but ill attuned. it is under such circumstances that those who are wronged have always the disadvantage. ralph was fierce, silent, gloomy; while richard de ashby was all grace, self-possession, smiles, and cheerfulness. his speech and his glances were for kate greenly alone. his looks and his voice were full of triumph, his eyes full of meaning; and many a time and oft, as they danced gaily round, he whispered to her soft things, of which no one heard the whole, although there was a keen and eager ear close by, listening for every sound to fix a quarrel on the speaker. at length the notes of the viol stopped, and the dance came to an end, just as richard de ashby was adding a word or two more to something he had been saying in a low tone to the fair coquette beside him, while her colour changed more than once, and eyelids were cast down. the sudden silence rendered the last half of the sentence audible. it was--"then lose not a moment." ralph harland cast her hand from him indignantly, and fronting richard de ashby, exclaimed--"to do what?" "what is that to thee, peasant?" demanded richard de ashby, colouring as much with anger at his words having been overheard, as with pride. "everything that she does is matter to me," replied ralph, fiercely, "if i am to be her husband; and if i am not, woe be to the man that makes her break her promise." "you are insolent, peasant," replied the earl's kinsman, with a look of scorn; "take care, or you will make me angry." "it shall be done without care," replied ralph harland, feeling no more hesitation, now that he was fully embarked; "let go my arm, kate, and i will soon show you and others of what egg-shells a lord's cousin can be made.--what brings you here to spoil our merriment, and mar our may-day games? take that as a remembrance of ralph harland!" and he struck him a blow, which, although richard de ashby partially warded it off, made him stagger and reel back. but at that very moment, the three servants he had brought with him, who had hitherto stood at a distance, seeing their master engaged in a squabble with one of the dancers, ran up, and one of them, catching him by the arm, prevented him from falling. his sword was now out of the sheath in an instant; the weapons of his attendants were not behind, and all four rushed upon the young franklin, exclaiming, "cut off his ears! the villain has dared to strike a nobleman! cut off his ears!" all the villagers scattered back from the object of their fury, except two--kate greenly, who cast herself upon her knees before richard de ashby, begging him to spare her lover, and ralph's old grey-headed father, who, running up from the inn door, placed a stout staff in his son's hand, exclaiming, "well done, ralph, my boy! thrash 'em all! ho! greenly, give me another stick that i may help him!" one of the serving-men, however, struck the old franklin with the pummel of his sword, and knocked him down, while the two others pressed forward upon ralph, and the foremost caught his left arm, just as richard de ashby, putting kate aside, came within arm's-length of him in front, reiterating with fierce vehemence, "cut off his ears!" it is probable that the order would have been executed unmercifully, had not a sudden ally appeared upon ralph harland's side. leaping from the window of the inn, a man clothed in a close-fitting coat, and hose of lincoln green, with a sword by his side, a narrow buckler on his shoulder, a sheaf of arrows under his left arm, and a leathern bracer just below the bend of the elbow, sprang forward, with a pole some six feet long in his hand, and at three bounds cleared the space between the inn and the disputants. the third leap, which brought him up with them, was scarcely taken, when one blow of his staff struck the man who held ralph by the left arm to the ground, and a second sent the sword of richard de ashby flying far over his head. at the same moment he exclaimed, looking at the servant whom he had knocked down, "ha! ha! my old acquaintance; when last we had a fall in yonder inn together, i thought we should meet again! fair play! fair play!--not four against one! get you in, kate light-o'-love! out of harm's way! the day may not end so well as it has begun. fair play, i say, or we may take odds too!" richard de ashby looked round, furiously, after his sword, and laid his hand upon the dagger that hung at his right side; but the sight he saw, as he turned his eyes towards the inn, was one well calculated to moderate, at least, the expression of his rage, for some eight or nine men, all habited alike in close coats of lincoln green, were coming up at a quick pace from behind the house, and their apparel, and appearance altogether, could leave little doubt that they were companions of him who had first arrived, and in whom he recognised with no slight surprise, the same blue-nosed old peasant whom he had found contending with his servants not many nights before. the hump, indeed, was gone, and the neck was straight enough. all signs of decrepitude, too, had passed away; but the face was not to be mistaken, and richard de ashby's countenance fell at the sight. he was no coward, however; for, amongst the swarm of vices, and follies, and faults, which degraded so many of the norman nobility of that day, cowardice was rarely, if ever, to be met with. they were a people of the sword, and never unwilling to use it. his first thought, then, was to resist to the death, if need might be; his next, how to resist to the best advantage. snatching his sword, then, which one of his servants had picked up, he looked to the clump of trees, but harland, and the man in green, with a whole host of villagers, whose angry faces betokened him no good, were immediately in the way, so that his only resource seemed to be to retreat to the inn door. the first step he took in that direction, however, produced a rapid movement on the part of the yeomen, or foresters, or whatever the green-coated gentlemen might be, which cut him off from that place of refuge, and, at the same moment, the voice of hardy exclaimed, "stop him from the church path, much! this rat-trap of ours has too many holes in it, but that will close them all--now, master richard de ashby, listen to a word or two. you come here with no good purposes to any one, and we want no more of you. but you shall have your choice of three things:--you shall either get to your horse's back, and go away, swearing, as you believe in the blessed virgin, never to set foot in this place again,--i don't think you dare break that oath,--or--" "i will not!" replied richard de ashby, fiercely. "very well, then," said hardy; "if that is the case, you shall stand out in the midst, cast away sword and dagger, betake you to a quarter-staff, and see whether, with the same arms, young ralph harland here will not thrash you like a sheaf of wheat." "fight a peasant with a quarter-staff!" cried richard de ashby. "i will not!" "well, then, the third may be less pleasant," said hardy. "i have nothing else to offer, but that we all fall upon you and yours, and beat you till you remember hendley-green as long as you call yourself a man." "murder us, if you will," said richard de ashby, doggedly; "but we will sell our lives dearly." "i don't know that, worshipful sir," said the man with the purple nose; "we have no inclination to thrash more men than necessary, so all your servitors may take themselves off, if they like. run, my men, run, if it so please you. but make haste, for my quarter-staff is itching to be about your master's ears!" and so saying, he made it whirl round in his hand like the sails of a mill. one of the men needed no time to deliberate, but betook himself to his heels as fast as he could go. a second hesitated for a moment or two, and then saying, "it is no use contending with such odds," moved slowly away. the third, however--hardy's old adversary in the hostelry--placed himself by richard de ashby's side, saying, "i will stand by you, sir!" and added a word or two in a lower tone. "now, much--and you, tim-of-the-mill," cried hardy, "let us rush on them all at once, beat down their swords with your bucklers, and tie them tight. then we will set the bagpipe before them, and flog them half way to pontefract. quick! quick! i see the priest coming, and he will be for peace-making." the first step was hardly taken in advance, however, when the blast of a trumpet sounded upon the high road, and a dozen different cries from the villagers of---- "hold off! hold off!" "forbear! here comes the sheriff!" "run for it, master hardy--they are the lords greenly talked of!" "away--away, good yeomen!" all uttered at once, gave notice to the gentlemen in green that some formidable enemy was in the rear. in a moment after, two or three gentlemen of distinguished port, riding slowly at the head of some fifty horsemen, came down the road upon the green; and hardy, as he was called, seeing that the day was no longer his own, was passing across to join his companions on the other side, when richard de ashby cast himself in his way, and aimed a blow at him with his sword. the stout yeoman parried it easily with his staff, and struck his opponent on the chest with the sharp end of the pole, thus clearing a path by which he soon placed himself at the head of the foresters. "come with us, harland," he cried, "you will be safer away." richard de ashby, however, shouting aloud, and waving his hand to the party of gentlemen who were advancing, soon brought some of them to his side. "stop them! stop them!" he cried, pointing to the men in green. "i have been grossly ill used, and well-nigh murdered!--let your men go round, my lord, and cut them off." a word, a sign, from an elderly man at the head of the party, instantly set some twenty of the horsemen into a gallop, to cut off the foresters from the road to the church. they, on their part, took the matter very calmly, however, unslinging their bows, bending them, and laying an arrow on the string of each, with a degree of deliberation which shewed that they were not unaccustomed to such encounters. the villagers however, scattered like a flock of sheep at these intimations of an approaching fray; the girls and the women, screaming, and running, and tumbling down, took refuge in the neighbouring houses, or ran away up the road. the greater part of the men decamped more slowly, looking back from time to time to see what was going on; while some six or seven stout peasants and the yeomen stood gathered together under one of the trees, armed, in some instances, with swords and bows, and one or two displaying a quarter-staff, but all seeming very well disposed to take part in the fray, on one side or the other. things were in this state, and that hesitating pause had intervened which usually precedes the first blow in a strife of any kind, when the priest, who had been seen before to quit his house, now hurried forward to the group of gentlemen who, without dismounting from their horses, had gathered round richard de ashby. his errand was, of course, to preach peace and forbearance; and although his face was round and rosy, his body stout, and indicating strongly a life of ease and a fondness for good things, it is but justice to say, that he not only urged the necessity of quiet and tranquillity with eagerness and authority, but he rated richard de ashby boldly for his conduct in the village, and showed that ho knew a great deal more of his proceedings than was at all pleasant to that personage. "sir, you are one of those," he said, "who are ever ready to play the fool with a poor village coquette, who, if in riding through a place they see a poor girl proud of a neat ankle or a jimp waist, are ever ready to take advantage of her vanity to work her ruin; and if such men put themselves in danger, and get a broken head, they must take the consequences, without running on to bloodshed and murder." the priest was still speaking; the yeomen were slowly retreating towards the church, without at all heeding the horsemen in their way; two or three elderly noblemen were listening attentively to the works of the good clergyman; and two young ones, a step behind, were holding themselves somewhat apart from each other, with no great appearance of friendship between them, when the one on the left hand of the group suddenly put the magnificent horse on which he was mounted into a quick canter, and rode straight towards the foresters. at first, supposing his purpose to be hostile, they wheeled upon him, raising their bows at once, and each man drew his arrow to his ear; but seeing that he was not followed, they assumed a more pacific aspect; and, while one of the old lords whom he had left behind, called to him loudly, by the name of hugh, to come back, he not only rode on, but, to the surprise of all, sprang from his horse and grasped young harland warmly by the hand. this proceeding for the time drew all eyes in that direction, and the end of the priest's speech was but little attended to; but, at his request, one of the gentlemen sent off a servant to the horsemen near the church, telling them not to act without orders. in the meantime a brief conversation between the young nobleman and the franklin took place, after which, remounting his horse, the former came back to the group, and said, "may i venture a few words, my lords?" "of course, lord hugh will take part against me," exclaimed richard de ashby, "or old earl hubert's blood will not be in his veins!" "not so," replied the young gentleman; "all old feuds between our families have--thanks to god and the wisdom of those two noble earls--been done away. no one more rejoices in the friendship which now exists between our houses than i do--none will more strenuously strive to preserve it. i came merely to tell that which i know and that which i have just heard. the young man i have been speaking with is as honest and true as any knight or noble in the world. he once rendered me a good service, and no one shall harm him; for that at least i pawn my name and knighthood. he tells me, however, that this worthy gentleman here, having taken a fancy to his promised bride, thinks fit to intrude on their may-day sports, and, stretching somewhat the privileges of a gentleman, makes love to the girl before his face. his endurance, it seems, does not reach that length, and he struck our friend sir richard, who fell upon him again, sword in hand, with his three servants, when these good foresters of barnesdale interfered to see fair play." "the whole is true, i doubt not," cried the priest, "for----" "look! look!" cried richard de ashby, fiercely; "while you listen to such gossip, they are making their escape! they are going into the priest's house, as i live!" as he spoke, a loud voice from the other side of the green shouted, in a laughing tone, "for richard de ashby's bonnet!" all eyes were instantly turned in that direction, where, at the door of the priest's house, two or three of the foresters were still to be seen, the rest of them having gone in one by one. in front of the group stood the man they called hardy, and he repeated again, with a loud shout, "for richard de ashby's bonnet!" as soon as he saw that he had attracted attention, he suddenly raised the bow he held in his hand, drew it to the full extent of his arm, and an arrow whistled through the air. richard de ashby had started slightly on one side as soon as he saw the archer take his aim, but the forester altered the direction of his arm, with a laugh, even as he loosed the shaft from the string, and the missile, with unerring truth, passed through the hood that it was intended for, and would have fallen beyond had it not been stopped by a jewel in the front. as it was, the arrow remained hanging amongst his black hair, and when he drew it forth, with a white cheek, and a somewhat trembling hand, he read imprinted in black letters, on the wood just below the feather, "scathelock. remember!" the nobles handed the arrow one to another, read the name, and the word that followed it, and then gazed in each other's faces with a meaning look. "call back the horsemen," said one of the elder gentlemen. "these men are gone; and it is as well as it is." chapter v. such events as we have described in the last chapter were by no means uncommon in the fairs and merry-makings of england at the period of history in which our tale is laid. the sunshiny gaiety of the morning, in the april day of states and societies, is too often changed into sorrow and clouds ere night. the sports were not resumed upon the village green; and all the amusements and occupations with which a may-day generally closed--the fresh dances by the moonlight, on the delights of which old fitz stephen so fondly dwells, the parting of the garlands, the gifts of flowers, the light song, and the gay tale amongst the young; with the merry jest, the wassail cup, and the game of chance amongst the elder, were all forgotten. the villagers and country people dispersed each to their several homes, and the inn, with such conveniences as it could afford, was given up to the nobles and their train. arrangements were made for accommodating all the men of high degree with chambers, if not suitable to their rank, at least possessing some degree of comfort. truckle beds were found for pages and squires, and straw was laid down for the yeomen, who were accustomed to lie across the doors of their masters' rooms. much bustle and confusion was of course created by all these proceedings; horses had to be taken care of as well as men; and the voice of the good host was heard frequently shouting aloud for his daughter kate, or grumbling low at her giddy idleness in being absent at such a moment as that. "ay, master greenly, master greenly!" said the tapster--"it is may-day evening, remember. pretty kate has twenty lads courting her by this time, if you could but see. i should not wonder if she and young harland were kissing and making-up behind the church, at this moment." "not they," replied the host; "it will take her a fortnight to get over that matter. kate's a silly girl, she could'nt do better for herself than young harland. why his father, old ralph, is as rich as an abbey, and as hospitable as a county knight; his table is never without a pie or a pasty from ten in the morning till vespers, and there's ale for whoever chooses to draw it. i would sooner be a franklin in these days than a baron by half. run out, bessy, and see if you can find kate anywhere." in the meanwhile, after some conversation on the green at the door of the inn, the lords had taken possession of the little room of common reception, while their chambers were prepared for sleeping; and a cook, who had been brought with the party, established himself in the kitchen, and, aided by his own particular assistant, or knave, as he called him, together with two women belonging to the household of john greenly, was preparing a supper for his masters from all that he could lay hands on in the place, in addition to a large body of capons, young ducks, and pigeons, which, as well as spices and other rich condiments, had been brought thither on two sumpter horses. the scanty number of personages assembled in the little hall, indeed, did not justify the great profusion of good things which the cook was so busily concocting, but he very prudently considered that he himself was to be fed as well as the host, to whom, in case of civility and obedience, he made a point of extending his bounties, and that all the chief servants of the different gentlemen present, with his special favourites and friends in the retinue of his own master, would also expect to be regaled, at least as well as their several lords. to that master and his companions, however--amounting, in the whole, to the number of ten personages--we must now turn; but it is only of four, out of the whole party, that we shall give any particular description, having already said enough of richard de ashby, and the five others being gentlemen, whose history, though mixed up in some degree with the fate of those we are most interested in, did not affect it so immediately as to require us to present a minute portrait of each to the eye of the reader. the earl of ashby himself was a man considerably past the prime of life, and of what was then called a choleric temperament, which does not alone mean that he was hot in temper and disposition, but that he was constitutionally so. age, indeed, had in some degree tamed his fiery blood; and a good deal of indulgence in the pleasures of the table, with no great distaste for good old wine of any country, had tended to enfeeble him more than even time had done. he had still a great opinion of his own importance, however, and looked upon his skill in arms, wisdom in council, and judgment in matters of taste, as by no means inferior to the first in the land; and, to say the truth, when once upon his horse's back, and armed at all points, he would bide a blow, or lead a charge, with any man, although his knees bent somewhat under him when on foot, and he was glad enough to be freed from the weight of his armour as soon as possible. his judgment, too, was a sound one when not biassed by passion, though there was a certain degree of wavering unsteadiness in his character, proceeding more from temper than from weakness of mind, which rendered him an insecure ally in trying circumstances. he piqued himself much upon being just, too, but like many other people who do so, his justice had almost always a tinge of prejudice in it, and was in fact but a perception of specious arguments in favour of the side that he espoused. his son, alured de ashby, resembled his father in many points; but many of his mother's qualities entered into his character likewise. the old earl had married a foreigner, a sister of the king of minorca--kingdoms being, in those days, very often but small things. her dowry had been in proportion to her brother's territory; but to her husband she brought an accession of dignity, and increased his pride by her own. that pride was, perhaps, her only bad quality, for a strong and pertinacious determination of character, which she also possessed, was, of course, good or bad according to the direction in which it was guided. she, herself, being of a fine mind, and a high-spirited though tender heart, had employed the resolute firmness of which we speak to struggle against the misfortunes that beset her father and her brother during her early years, and to give them support and strength in resisting a torrent which seemed destined to sweep them away. her son, however, nurtured in prosperity, and pampered by praises and indulgence, possessed her pride in its full force, without the mitigating influence of her kindness and tenderness of heart; and, neither having so good a judgment, nor such high motives, as herself, what was firmness in her became obstinacy in him--an obstinacy of a harsh and unpleasant kind. he was by no means without talents, indeed,--was as stout a man-at-arms as ever sat in the saddle, had a natural taste and genius for war, and had distinguished himself in many of the expeditions, or _chevauchées_, of the time. he was a high and honourable man, too, kept his word strictly, wronged no one but through pride, and was generous and liberal of his purse. thus he was esteemed and respected more than liked, and was more popular with his inferiors than with his equals. one knightly quality, it is true, he wanted. he cared little for love, there being only one person in the world, after his mother's death, for whom he ever felt anything like real tenderness. that person was his sister. she was nine years younger than himself; he had held her on his knee when she was an infant; she had been a plaything to him in her childhood, and an object of interest during her whole life. perhaps the reason that he so loved her was, that she was the very reverse of himself in all respects: gentle, yet gay, and lively almost to wildness; tenderhearted, clinging, and affectionate, yet with a spice of saucy independence withal, which often set rules and regulations at defiance, and laughed at anger which she knew would fall but lightly on her head. as we shall have to speak more of her hereafter, however, we will now turn to another of our group, and talk of the good earl, whose trusty man, blawket, we have already introduced to the reader's notice. hugh, lord of monthermer, or mo'thermer, as it was generally pronounced--and whom, as his name is not a very musical one, we shall more frequently call "the earl"--was in the fifty-ninth or sixtieth year of his age; and--as he had seen many perils by land and sea, had been in wars against the heathen, both in spain and palestine, and had spent the greater part of his life in the tented field, and on the battle plain--his frame was somewhat worn and shaken, though he had once well merited the name which had been bestowed upon him in early years, when people, from the hardships which he endured unshrinkingly, had called him _iron monthermer_. he was still strong and powerful, however--though gaunt and meagre; a brown tint of health was upon his face, and the light of clear and strong intelligence was in his eye. his features were aquiline, and somewhat harsh, his chin prominent, his brow strongly marked, and his forehead high and capacious, with his white hair lying lightly upon it, like snow upon a mountain. notwithstanding several defects in point of beauty, and a sternness of outline in almost every feature, there was something uncommonly pleasing, as well as striking, in the whole expression of his countenance, and one read there kindness of heart, as well as firmness and decision of character. he was habited richly enough, but not gorgeously so; and, though not what was considered armed in those days, he carried more weapons, but of a different sort, about his person than is required for any modern trooper. the fourth person, of whose appearance we shall now give some account, was the young man who had ridden forward to speak with ralph harland, hugh de monthermer by name, but commonly called by all who knew him, "the lord hugh." he was the only nephew of the earl, and presumptive heir to his title and estates. at the same time, however, he was altogether independent of his uncle, being the son of that james de monthermer, who was summoned to parliament in the first year of the reign of henry the third, as baron amesbury, having married the heiress of that ancient house. his father had long been dead; and as he had received his military education under his uncle, he still attached himself to that nobleman--respecting him as a parent, and treated by him as a son. he was some four or five years younger than alured de ashby, but had nevertheless gained considerable renown in arms, both under his uncle, and in service, which he had taken for a time with the king of castile, in order to win his knightly spurs with honour. in person, he somewhat resembled the earl, though he was taller, and his features were both softened by youth, and were smaller in themselves. his complexion was of a dark, warm brown, his hair short and curling, his hazel eyes full of light and fire, and a frank, but somewhat sarcastic smile, playing frequently about his well-cut lip. on the whole, it is seldom that a handsomer face meets the eye, and his countenance well expressed the spirit within, which was gay and cheerful, but none the less thoughtful and imaginative. there might be a slight touch of satirical sharpness in his disposition, which often prompted a laugh or a jest at any of the many follies that an observing eye, in all ages, and all states of society, must meet at every turn. but a kind heart and a well regulated mind taught him to repress, rather than to encourage such a disposition, and it seldom broke forth unless the absurdity was very gross. in those ages it was rare to find a man in his station who possessed even a very low degree of learning. to read and write was an accomplishment, and anything like elegance of composition, or a knowledge of classical lore, was hardly, if ever, dreamt of. in these respects, however, circumstances had given hugh de monthermer an advantage over many of his contemporaries. various foreign languages he had acquired in following his uncle; and having been crushed and nearly killed, by his horse falling in one of the passes of the taurus, he had been left for several months in a convent amongst the mountains, while broken bones were set, and health restored, by the skill of the monks. there, some of the friars, more learned than the rest, had taken a pleasure in solacing his weary hours, by communicating to him what was then considered a rich store of knowledge. with a quick and intelligent mind, he had thus gained, not only much information at the time, but a taste for reading, which in after years excited some envy, and called forth many a scoff from others, who had themselves no inclination for any exercises but those of the body. amongst these was alured de ashby, who affected to hold his military talents cheap, and called him a book-worm; but, nevertheless, hugh de monthermer quietly pursued his course, although, to say the truth, for reasons of his own, he was not a little anxious to gain the friendship of the house of ashby, which during many years had been separated from his own by one of those fierce and bloody feuds that so often existed in those days between the noble families of the land. the reconciliation of the two houses had been but lately effected, and could scarcely yet be called cordial, though the bond of party feeling brought them frequently into long and intimate communication with each other. the dress of the young lord was not so homely as that of his uncle; there might, indeed, be a little foppery in it; for though the colours were dark, yet the embroidery which appeared in every part was rich and costly, and the long and hanging sleeves of the loose coat he wore, was in itself one of the distinguishing marks of a petit maître of that day. into the extreme, however, he did not go: there was no long and braided hair, there were no devils, and angels, and cupids, hanging over his head on a fanciful hood; but instead of that most ugly part of our ancient garments, he wore a cap or hat, a mode then common in flanders and in italy, with a long feather crossing from right to left, and nearly touching his shoulder. with the exception of the loose tunic, or gown, all the rest of his dress fitted as closely as possible, leaving nothing to embarrass the free action of his limbs, except, indeed, the long points of his shoes, which, though very moderate for that period, were certainly not less than twenty inches longer than necessary. the rest of the party was composed of several noblemen, wealthy and powerful, but of less distinction than the two earls we have mentioned, and evidently looking up to them as to their leaders; and besides these, was a distant cousin of the earl of monthermer, brought, as it were, to balance the presence of richard de ashby, though, to say the truth, if he more than outweighed that gentleman in wealth and respectability, he was very much his inferior in cunning and talents. as a matter of course, the events which had just taken place upon the green formed the first subject of conversation with the personages assembled in the inn. the younger men only laughed over the occurrence. "you must get some fair lady to darn the hole in your hood, richard," said the lord alured. "i wonder," added another of the young noblemen, "that the arrow did not carry away one of those soft tresses." "it might well have been called scathelock, then," observed a third. "it only disturbed a little of the perfume," rejoined alured. the elder gentleman, however, treated the matter more seriously. the earl of ashby rated his kinsman with an angry brow for his licentiousness, and represented to him with great justice the evil of nobles bringing themselves into bad repute with the people. "do you not know," he said, "that at the present moment, between the king and his foreign minions on the one hand, and the people on the other, the english noblemen have to make their choice?--and, of course, it is by the people that we must stand. they are our support, and our strength, and we must avoid in all things giving them just cause of complaint. scathelock?--scathelock?--i have heard that name." "you must have heard if often, my father," said alured de ashby. "it is the name of one of our good forest outlaws of sherwood. i have seen the man twice in the neighbourhood of our own place, and though i did not mark this fellow with the arrow much, he has the same look and air." "seen him twice, and did not arrest him?" cried richard de ashby, with marked emphasis. "heaven forefend!" exclaimed alured laughing. "what, arrest a good english yeoman, on account of a taste for the king's venison! if harry would throw open his forests to us, and not give to proud frenchmen and spaniards rights that he denies to his english nobles, we might help him in such matters; but as it is, no free-forester shall ever be arrested by our people, or on our land." the earl of monthermer and his nephew had both been silent, leaving the rebuke of richard de ashby to his own relations; for they well knew the jealousy of the nobles with whom they were leagued, and were anxious to avoid every matter of offence. the poor kinsman, however, had established a right to sneer even at the proud earl of ashby and his no less haughty son, upon grounds which at first sight would seem to afford no basis for such a privilege. his poverty and partial dependence upon them had taught them to endure much at his hands which they would have borne from no other man on earth; and he, keen-sighted in taking advantage of the higher as well as the lower qualities of all those he had to do with, failed not to render their forbearance a matter of habit, by frequently trying it as far as he dared to venture. "forgive an old proverb, alured," he replied, "but you know, it is said, that 'fowls of a feather flock together.' perhaps, as you love forest thieves so well, you have no distaste for the king's venison yourself?" "an unlucky proverb for you, richard," said the young lord, while his father's cheek got somewhat red; "if what we have heard be true, the fowls you flock with are not quite those that suit our present purposes." "what you have heard!" exclaimed richard de ashby, turning somewhat pale. "if you have heard aught against me," he added, after an instant's thought, turning at the same time towards hugh de monthermer, and bowing low, "i know to what noble hands i may trace it." "you are mistaken, sir," said hugh, sternly. "respect for these two noble lords, your kinsmen, has made me eager that no charge should be brought against you by any of our people. of this they are well aware." "and they are aware also," added the earl, "that both i and my nephew declared from the first that we believe you utterly innocent of all knowledge of the fact, even if it should prove to be true." "what fact?" demanded richard, in a low tone, and with a wandering eye, which did not produce a very favourable impression on the minds of those who observed his countenance. "what fact, my lord?--but any charge brought by a monthermer, or one of a monthermer's followers, against an ashby; should be viewed with some slight caution, methinks." "certainly!" said alured de ashby, in a marked tone. but to the surprise of both, the earl of monthermer added likewise, "certainly!--old feuds, even after they are happily laid at rest," he continued, calmly, "will leave rankling suspicions, especially in the minds of the low and the uneducated, and such i doubt not may be, in some degree at least, the origin of a charge to which i would not have listened for a moment, if it had not been that my good lord and friend here, who was present when it was made this morning, insisted that it should be inquired into.--the charge is this, sir, that you have with you, disguised as one of your servants, a spy of the king's. this accusation was brought by my good yeoman, blawket, who vows he saw that man with you when i sent him to meet you and others here but a few days ago.--sir, you seem agitated, and i know that such a charge must necessarily affect any gentleman deeply; but my lord of ashby here present is well aware that, from the first, i declared my conviction of your innocence of all share in the transaction." "i assure you, my lord,--on my honour, gentlemen believe me," cried richard de ashby, hesitating, "it is not true--the man is a liar!" "no, sir richard, no," said hugh de monthermer at once, "the man is no liar, but as honest a yeoman as ever lived. you may have been deceived, sir richard," he added, with a slight smile curling his lip; "we are all of us subject to be deceived, occasionally. blawket may have been deceived, too; but that i should say may soon be proved, for he declares that the leopards of henry of winchester will be found upon the breast of your servant, richard keen." "fool!" muttered richard de ashby to himself, but at the same moment his kinsman, the earl, exclaimed, "let him be sent for--let him be sent for!" "i will call him immediately," said richard de ashby, turning towards the door; "but i declare, so help me heaven! if this man have ever been in the king's service, it is more than i know." "stay, stay, richard!" exclaimed the lord alured. "let some one else go and call him, and let no word be said to him of the matter in hand." "do you doubt me, my lord?" demanded his kinsman, turning upon him with a frowning brow. "if i am to have no support from my own relations----" "an honest man needs no support, sir, but his own honesty," said lord alured, interrupting him. "not that i doubt thee, richard," he continued; "but i would fain have thee tell me how that fellow came into thy service, while some one else calls him hither. sir charles le moore, i pr'ythee bid them send hither this richard keen. now, good cousin, tell us how this man came to thee, for he is not one of our own people born, that is evident. richard keen! i never heard the name." "how he came to me, matters not much to the question," replied richard de ashby. "i hired him in london. i was told he was a serviceable knave, had been in france and almaine, and--but here comes sir charles le moore. have you not found him?"--and as he spoke he fixed his eyes eagerly, but with a dark smile, upon the face of the gentleman who entered, as if some anticipations of triumph had crossed his mind. "the people have gone to seek him," said sir charles; "he is somewhere about the green, and it is growing dark; so i let them go, as i know not the place." a moment or two elapsed, but before the conversation could be generally renewed, one of the attendants of the earl of ashby appeared at the door, bringing intelligence that richard keen was nowhere to be found, and that his horse and saddle-bags had disappeared also. the kinsman of the earl of ashby affected to be furious at the news--"the villain has robbed me of the horse," he said, "and, doubtless, of other things also. my lord," he continued, tuning to the earl of monthermer, "i beg your pardon; doubtless your servant was right, and this man has fled, having obtained same intimation of the charge against him. did any of you see him go?" he added, addressing the servant who had appeared. "no, sir," replied the yeoman. "we were all upon the green, for it must have been, while these noble lords were talking with you, before they came in, that he went away. the host saw him go toward the stable, just before the arrow was shot that stuck in your hood." richard de ashby frowned, for the man's tone was certainly not the most respectful. but before any observation could be made, a noise and bustle was heard without, which suspended the reply upon the lips of the earl's kinsman; and the next moment, the landlord himself, with his full round face on fire with anger and grief, pushed his way into the room, exclaiming--"noble lords and gentlemen, i claim justice and help. they have taken away my daughter from me--they have corrupted and carried off my poor kate.--you, sir, you are at the bottom of this!" he continued, turning furiously to richard de ashby. "i have seen your whisperings and your talkings!--my good lords and gentlemen, i claim justice and assistance." "how now!" cried richard de ashby, in as fierce a tone as his own, but not quite so natural a one. "dare you say that i have anything to do with this? your light-o'-love daughter has made mischief enough to-night already. let us hear no more of her. doubtless you will find her in some cottage, if not in the woods, with her lover, trying to make up by courtesies for her fickle conduct of this morning." "no, sir--no, no, no!" replied the host, vehemently; "she is in neither of those places! she was seen, some half an hour ago, going out at the end of the village with your servant beside her; and a boy says that he found a black mare tied to a tree not a quarter of a mile along the road. gentlemen, i pray you do me right, and suffer not my child to be taken from me in this way by any one, be he gentle or simple." "was your daughter going willingly!" demanded the earl of ashby. "i know not, sir--i know not!" cried the host, wringing his hands; "all i know is, they have taken her, and i am sure this is the man who has caused it to be done." "i know nothing of her, fellow!" replied richard de ashby. "you must hold your daughter's beauty very high to suppose that i would take the trouble of having her carried off." "why, richard, you are not scrupulous," said his cousin. "london and winchester," cried another gentleman, with a laugh, "are indebted to him for many a fair importation, i believe." "his taste lies amongst country wenches," added a third. and notwithstanding the misery of the injured father, a great deal of merriment and jesting was the first effect produced by the complaint of the host. "if this tale be true," said hugh de monthermer, who had been looking down with a frowning brow, "i would strongly advise sir richard de ashby to mount his horse, put his spurs to the flanks, and not draw a rein till he is safe in nottingham. there be people about this neighbourhood who are likely to render such a course expedient." "i shall do no such thing, sir," replied richard de ashby; "this good man's suspicions are false as far as they regard me, though it is not at all improbable that the knave, keen, who has, it seems, deceived me--and is a good-looking varlet, moreover has played the fool with a buxom light-headed country wench, whose cheek i may once or twice have pinched for lack of something better to do." "such being the case, my lord of ashby," said the earl, drily, "as your kinsman has nought to do with the affair, and as this servant of his has cheated and robbed him, injured this good man, and is suspected of being a spy--by your leave, i will send some of my people after him without farther delay. without there! is blawket to be found?" "here, my lord," replied the man, standing forward as upright as a lance and as stiff as a collar of brawn, from amidst a group of six or seven servants, who were all discussing as vehemently on the one side of the door the events which had just taken place as their masters were on the other. "mount in a minute," said the earl of monthermer. "take with you three of your fellows whose horses are the freshest; follow this richard keen, from the best information you call get, and bring him hither with all speed, together with the girl he has carried off." "shall i beat him, my lord?" asked the yeoman. "not unless he resists," replied the earl; "but bring him dead or alive, and use all means to get information of his road." "i will bring him, my lord," replied blawket, and retired, followed by the host, who ceased not, till the man was in the saddle, to give him hints as to finding his daughter, mingled with lamentations over fate and praises of the house of monthermer. "now," said the earl, when they were alone, "let us speak of more important things;" but it being announced that supper was well-nigh ready, the earl of ashby, who had an affection for the good things of this life, proposed that any farther conversation should be put off till after that meal. the other earl, knowing that his placability depended much upon the condition of his stomach, agreed to the suggestion; and after the ceremony of washing hands had been performed, the supper was served and passed over as such proceedings usually did in those days, with huge feeding on the part of several present, and much jesting on the part of the younger men. a good deal of wine was also drank, notwithstanding a caution from the earl of monthermer to be moderate. but moderation was little known at that time. malvoisie was added to bordeaux, and the spiced wine, then called claret, succeeded the malvoisie; a cup of hippocras was handed round to sweeten the claret, and the earl of ashby fell asleep at the very moment the conference should have begun. chapter vi. i cannot help grieving that amongst all the changes which have taken place,--amongst all the worlds, if i may so call them, which have come and gone in the lapse of time, the forest world should have altogether departed, leaving scarcely greater or more numerous vestiges of its existence than those that remain of the earth before the flood. the green and bowery glades of the old forest, their pleasant places of sport and exercise, the haunts of the wild deer, the wolf, and the boar, the fairy-like dingles and dells, the woodcraft that they witnessed, the sciences, and the characters that were peculiar to themselves, have now, alas! passed away from most of the countries of europe, and have left scarcely a glen where the wild stag can find shelter, or where the contemplative man can pause under the shade of old primeval trees, to reflect upon the past or speculate upon the future. the antlered monarch of the wood is now reduced to a domestic beast, in a walled park; and the man of thought, however much he may love nature's unadorned face, however much he may feel himself cribbed and confined amongst the works of human hands, must shut his prisoner fancies within the bounds of his own solitary chamber, unless he is fond to indulge them by the side of the grand but monotonous ocean. the infinite variety of the forest is no longer his: it belongs to another age, and to another class of beings. in the times i write of, it was not so, and the greater part of every country in europe was covered with rich and ancient wood; but, perhaps, no forest contained more to interest or to excite than that of merry sherwood--comprising within itself, as the reader knows, a vast extent of very varied country, sweeping round villages, and even cities, and containing, in its involutions, many a hamlet, the inhabitants of which derived their sustenance from the produce of the forest ground. the aspect of the wood itself was as different in different places as it is possible to conceive. in some spots the trees were far apart, with a wide expanse of open ground, covered by low brushwood, or the shall shrub bearing the bilberry; in others, you came to a wide extent, covered with nothing but high fern and old scrubbed hawthorn trees; but throughout a great part of the forest the sun seldom if ever penetrated, during the summer months, to the paths beneath, so thick was the canopy of green leaves above, while those paths themselves were generally so narrow that in many of them two men could not walk abreast. there were other and wider ways, indeed, through the wood, some of them cart roads, for the accommodation of woodmen and carriers, some of them highways from one neighbouring town to another: but the latter were not very numerous or very much frequented--many a tale being told of travellers lightened of their baggage, in passing through sherwood; and, to speak the truth, no one could very well say, at that time, who and what were the dwellers in the forest, or their profession; so that those who loved not strange company, kept to the more open country if they could. nevertheless, it was a beautiful ride across almost any part of the woodland, offering magnificent changes of scene at every step, and the people of those times were not so incapable of enjoying it as has been generally supposed; but still, with all the tales of outlaws and robbers which were then afloat, it required a stout determination, or a case of great necessity, to impel any of the citizens of the neighbouring towns to make a trip across the forest in the spring or autumn of the year. those who did so, usually came back with some story to tell, and some, indeed, brought home stripes upon their shoulders and empty bags. the latter, however, were almost always of particular classes. rich monks and jovial friars occasionally fared ill; the petty tyrants of the neighbouring shire ran a great risk, if they trusted themselves far under the green leaf; the wealthy and ostentatious merchant might sometimes return rather lighter than he went; but the peasant, the honest franklin, the village curate, the young, and women of all degrees, had generally very little to relate, except that they had seen a forester here, or a forester there, who gave them a civil word, and bade god speed them, or who aided them, in any case of need, with skilful hands and a right good will. thus there was evidently a strong degree of favouritism shown in the dealings of the habitual dwellers in the greenwood with the various classes of travellers who passed through on business or on pleasure. but, nevertheless, it was the few who complained, and the many who lauded, so that the reputation of the merry men of sherwood was high amongst all the inferior orders of society at the time when this tale begins. so much was necessary to be said, to give the reader any idea of the scene into the midst of which we must now plunge, leaving barnsdale behind us, and quitting yorkshire for nottingham. it was about two o'clock, on the second of may, then, that a party of horsemen reached a spot in the midst of sherwood, where the road--after having passed for nearly two miles through a dense part of the wood, which the eye could not penetrate above fifteen or twenty yards on either side--ran down a slight sandy descent, and entered upon a more open scene, where the trees had been cleared away not many years before, and where some two hundred acres of ground appeared covered with scattered brushwood and bilberry bushes, sloping down the side of a wide hill, at the bottom of which the thick wood began again, extending in undulating lines for many a mile beneath the eye of the traveller. the number of the journeyers was five; and they pulled in the rein to let their horses drink at a clear stream which crossed the road, and bubbling onward, was soon lost amongst the bushes beyond. four of them were dressed as yeomen attached to some noble house; for although liveries, according to the modern acceptation of the word, were then unknown, and the term itself applied to quite a different thing, yet the habit was already coming in, of fixing a particular badge or cognizance upon all the followers or retainers of great noblemen, as well as of kings, whereby they might know each other in any of the frequent affrays which took place in those times. sometimes it was fixed upon the breast, sometimes upon the back, sometimes upon the arm, where it appeared in the present instance. each of the yeomen had a sword and buckler, a dagger on the right side, and a bow and a sheaf of arrows on the shoulders; and all were strong men and tall, with the anglo-saxon blood shining out in the complexion. the fourth personage was no other than ralph harland, the stout young franklin, of whom we have already spoken. he, too, was well armed with sword and buckler, though he bore no bow. besides the usual dagger, however, he wore, hanging by a green cord from his neck, a long, crooked, sharp-pointed knife, called in those days an anelace, which was, i believe, peculiar to the commons of england and flanders, and which was often fatally employed in the field of battle in stabbing the heavy horses of the knights and men-at-arms. the horses of this party were evidently tired with a long, hot ride, and the horsemen stopped, as i have said, to let their beasts drink in the stream before they proceeded onward. as they pulled up, a fat doe started from the brushwood about thirty yards distant, and bounded away towards the thicker parts of the forest, and at the same moment a loud, clear, mellow voice, exclaimed--"so, ho, madam! nobody will hurt you in the month of may! give you good day, sirs!--whither are ye going?" the eyes of all but young harland had been following the deer, and his had been bent, with a look of sad and stern abstraction, upon the stream, but every one turned immediately as the words were uttered; and there before them on the road, stood the speaker. how he came there, however, no one could tell, for the moment before, the highway was clear for a quarter of a mile, and there seemed no bush or tree in the immediate neighbourhood sufficiently large to conceal a full grown man. the personage who accosted them was certainly full-grown, and very well grown, too. he was in height about five feet eleven, but not what could be called large in the bone; at least, the proportion of the full and swelling muscle that clothed his limbs made the bone seem small. his foot, too, was less than might have been expected from his height; and though his hand was strong and sinewy, the shape was good, and the fingers were long. his breadth over the chest was very great; but he was thin in the flank, and small in the waist; and when his arm hung loosely by his side, the tip of his middle finger reached nearly to his knee. his countenance was a very fine one; the forehead high and broad, but with the brow somewhat prominent above the eyes, giving a keen and eagle-like look to a face in every other respect frank and gentle. his well rounded chin, covered with a short curling beard, of a light brown hue, was rather prominent than otherwise, but all the features were small and in good proportion; and the clear blue eye, with its dark-black eyelashes, and the arching turn of the lip and mouth, gave a merry expression to the whole, rather reckless, perhaps, but open and free, and pleasant to the beholder. in dress he was very much like the foresters whom we have before described; he wore upon his head a little velvet cap, with a gold button in the front, and a bunch of woodcock's feathers therein. he had also an image, either in gold or silver gilt, of st. hubert on horseback, on the front of the cross-belt in which his sword was hung. the close-fitting coat of lincoln green, the tight hose of the same, the boots of untanned leather, disfigured by no long points, the sheaf of arrows, the bow, the sword, and bracer, were all there; and, moreover, by his side hung a pouch of crimson cloth called the gipciere, and, resting upon it, a hunting horn, tipped with silver. as the fashion of those days went, his apparel was certainly not rich, but still it was becoming, and had an air of distinction which would have marked him out amongst men more splendidly habited than himself. such was the person who stood before the travellers when they looked round, but taken by surprise, none of the party spoke in answer to his question. "what!" he said, again, with a smile, "as silent as if i had caught you loosing your bow against the king's deer in the month of may? i beseech you, fair gentlemen, tell me who you are that ride merry sherwood at noon, for i cannot suffer you to go on till i know." "cannot suffer us to go on?" cried blawket. "you are a bold man to say so to five." "i am a bold man," replied the forester, "as bold as robin rood; and i tell you again, good yeomen, that i must know." what might have been blawket's reply, who shall say? for--as we have before told the reader--he had some idea of his own consequence, and no slight reliance on his own vigour; but ralph harland interposed, exclaiming, "stay, stay, blawket, this must be the man we look for to give us aid. i have seen his face before, i am well-nigh sure. let me speak with him." "ay, ay, they show themselves in all sorts of forms," answered his companion, while harland dismounted and approached the stranger. "one of them took me in as a ploughman, and now we have them in another shape." in the meanwhile, harland had approached the forester, and had put into his hand a small strip of parchment, in shape and appearance very much like the ticket of a trunk in modern days. it was covered on one side with writing in a large, good hand, but yet it would have puzzled the wit of the best decipherer of those or of our own times to make out what it meant, without a key. it ran as follows:-- "scathelock, number one, five, seven, to the man of sherwood." then came the figure of an arrow, and then the words, "a friend, as by word of mouth. help, help, help!" this was all, but it seemed perfectly satisfactory to the eye that rested upon it, for he instantly crushed the parchment in his hand, saying, "i thought so!--go on for half a mile," he continued; "follow the man that you will find at the corner of the first path. say nothing to him, but stop where he stops, and take the bits out of your horses' mouths, for they must feed ere they go on. away!" he added; "away! and lose no time." ralph harland sprang upon his horse's back again, and rode on with the rest, while the forester took a narrow path across the brushwood, which led to the thicker wood above. they soon lost sight of him, however, as they themselves rode on; but when they had gone nearly half a mile, they heard the sound of a horn in the direction which he had taken. a moment or two after, they came to a path leading to the right, and looking down it, saw a personage, dressed in the habit of a miller's man, leaning upon a stout staff in the midst of the narrow road. the instant he beheld them he turned away, and walked slowly onward, without turning to see whether they noticed or not. harland led the way after him, however, for the path would not admit two abreast, and the rest followed at a walk. they thus proceeded for somewhat more than a mile, taking several turns, and passing the end of more than one path, each so like the other, that the eye must have been well practised in woodcraft which could retrace the way back to the high road again. at length they came to a little square cut in the wood, about the eighth part of an acre in extent, at the further corner of which was a hut built in the simplest manner, with posts driven into the ground, and thatched over, while the interstices were filled with flat layers of earth, a square hole being left open for a window, and one somewhat longer appearing for the door. here their guide paused, and turning round, looked them over from head to foot without saying a word. "ha! miller, is this your mill?" said blawket, as they rode up. "yes," answered the stranger, in a rough tone, shaking his staff at the yeoman; "and this is my mill-wheel, which shall grind the bran out of any one who asks me saucy questions." "on my life, i should like to try!" cried blawket, jumping down from his horse. "hush--hush!" cried harland; "you know we were told not to speak to him." "and a good warning, too," said the other. "you will soon have somebody to speak to, and then pray speak to the purpose." "ah! madge she was a merry maid, a merry maid, with a round black eye; and everything jobson to her said, the saucy jade she ask'd him, 'why?' "'i'll deck thee out in kirtles fine, if you'll be mine,' he said, one day; 'i'll give you gold, if you'll be mine.' but 'why?' was all the maid would say. "'i love you well, indeed i do,' the youth he answered, with a sigh; 'to you i ever will be true.' the saucy girl still ask'd him, 'why!' "but one day, near the church, he said, 'the ring is here--the priest is nigh, come, let us in, madge, and be wed;' but then she no more ask'd him, 'why?'" so sung the miller, with an easy, careless, saucy air, leaning his back against the turf wall of the hut, and twirling his staff round between his finger and thumb, as if prepared to tell the clock upon the head of any one who approached too near. there was no time for any farther questions, however: for he had scarcely finished the last stave, when the forester whom they had first met appeared from behind the hut, with a brow that looked not quite so free and gay as when the travellers had last seen him. "come--come, master miller," he said, "you should have to do with corn. get some oats for these good men's horses, for they must speed back again as fast as they came." "they will find oats enough in the hut, robin," replied the other; "but i will do your bidding however, though i be a refractory cur." almost at the same moment that the above reply was made, the young franklin was speaking likewise. "go back again faster than we came?" he said. "i shall not feel disposed to do that, unless----" "unless i show you good cause," interrupted the forester. "but i am not going to do that. you shall stay with me for a while: these men may go back again, for we do not want them. let them return by mansfield; that is their only chance of finding those they seek. the southwell and the winborn side i will answer for. you know me, harland, i think; and if you do, you know that my word is not in vain." "i believe i do know you," replied ralph harland; "and i will trust you, at all events. but why should i stay, and not go with them, if there is a chance of finding the people that we want on the mansfield road?" "because the chance is but a small one," replied the forester, "and because there is something for you to do here, which, i fear me, is better for you now than anything that can be done for you elsewhere.--quick! slit open the bag with your knife, careless miller, and let the horses feed out of it on the ground. i want the men to get back quick. hark ye, yeoman! is your name blawket?" "the same, master forester," replied the yeoman. "what of me?" "why, this," answered the other. "i have heard of you from scathelock, and know you are a faithful fellow. you must return to my good lord, your master, for me. tell him that i will meet him between bloodworth and nurstead, the day after to-morrow, by three in the afternoon. let him bring his whole company with him, for i have tidings to give which it imports them much to hear." "find some other messenger, good forester," replied the yeoman. "my lord sent me to seek for richard keen and kate greenly, and bade me not come back without having found them." "pshaw!" said the forester, "did i not tell you you would find them on the road to mansfield, if at all? if they be not there, they have given you the slip, and are in nottingham by this time. away with you, master blawket, without more words! give the man a cup of wine, miller; his stomach is sour with long fasting." "i know not," murmured blawket, hesitating still, but feeling an authority in the forester's speech, under which his own self-confidence quailed. "but who shall i say to my lord sent me back with this message? i must give him some name, good forester." "well, tell him," replied the person he addressed, with a smile upon his countenance, "that it is robert of the lees by ely, sent you." "tell him robin hood!" cried the miller, with a loud laugh. "do as i bid you," rejoined the forester. "say robert of the lees: by that name will he know me, from passages in other days; and hark!" he continued--"be sure the earl of ashby comes with him, and utter not one word of what that foolish miller just now said." "i understand--i understand!" cried blawket, with a much altered manner--"i will do your bidding, master robin of the lees; but this horse eats so wondrous slow." "he will soon be done," said the forester. "give him the wine, miller. we have no cups here; take it from the stoup good blawket, and hand it to your comrades." a large tankard of wine which had been brought from the hut went round, and then a minute or two passed in silence while the horses finished their corn. when it was done, the four yeomen mounted, and at a word from the forester, the miller led the way before them at a quicker pace, leaving his leader behind with the young franklin. when they were gone, the forester took a turn backwards and forwards before the hut, without speaking; then pausing, he grasped harland's. hand, saying, in a tone of stern feeling--"come, harland, be a man!" "you have bad tidings?" asked the young franklin, gazing with painful earnestness in his face. "tell me, quickly!--the worst blow is past. they are not on the road to mansfield?" "there is scarcely a chance!" said robert of the lees; "i believe they passed some two hours since, and----" "and what?" demanded ralph, in a low, but eager tone. "and richard of ashby is at nottingham, waiting for them." ralph harland cast himself down upon the ground, and hid his eyes upon his hands; while the stout forester stood by, gazing upon him with a look of deep sadness and commiseration, and repeating three times the words, "poor fellow!" "oh, you cannot tell--you cannot tell!" cried ralph harland, starting up, and wringing his hand hard; "you cannot tell what it is to have loved as i have loved--to have trusted as i have trusted, and to find that she in whom my whole hopes rested, she whom i believed to be as pure as the first fallen snow, is but a wanton harlot after all. to quit her father's house, voluntarily--to fly with a base stranger--the promised bride of an honest man--to make herself the leman of a knave like that! oh, it is bitter--bitter--bitter! worse than the blackest misfortune with which fate can plague me that i can never think of her again but as the paramour of richard de ashby! would i had died first--died, believing that she was good and true!" "it is a hard case," said the forester, "and i grieve for you deeply; but there is a harder case still than it,--that of her father, i mean. to you, she can be nothing more--she has severed the tie that bound you together; but she is still his daughter, and nothing can cut that bond asunder, though fallen and dishonoured.--it were well if we could separate her from her seducer, ralph, and give her back to her father's care. this is all, i fear, that now remains for us to do.--had i known this two hours earlier," he continued, "the nose and ears of richard de ashby would by this time have been nailed to the post where the four roads meet; but the runner scathelock sent me last night, fell lame on the other side of the abbey, and i did not get the news till about an hour before you came. the scoundrel, in the meanwhile, skirted the forest by southwell at ten o'clock this morning, so that it is all too late. the time of punishment for his crimes, however, will come: we need not doubt that; but the time for preventing this one, i fear, is past." "but how--but how can we punish him?" cried ralph harland, eagerly; "if he be in nottingham town, how can we reach him there? how can we even make him give up the wretched girl, and send her back to her father!" "we cannot do it ourselves," replied the forester, "but we can make others do it. did you not hear the message i sent to the good old lord of monthermer?" ralph harland bent down his eyes with a look of bitter disappointment. "if that be your only hope, it is all in vain," he said; "the monthermer is linked to the earl of ashby by a common cause; and in the great movements of people such as these, the feelings, and even the rights of us lesser men are never heeded. the old earl, good as he is, will not quarrel with richard de ashby for john greenly's daughter, lest it breed a feud between him and the other lord. there is but cold hope to be found there." his companion heard him to an end, but with a faint smile upon his countenance. "i asked the earl of ashby, too," he said; "perhaps we may do something more with him." ralph harland shook his head. "not till you have got his neck under your baldrick," he said. "perhaps i may have by that time," replied the forester; "i mean," he continued, in a serious tone, "that i may by that time have a hold upon him which will make him use his power to send back this light-o'-love girl to her father's house. i know old john greenly well, and grieve for him. once i found shelter with him when i was under the ban of a tyrant, and no one else would give me refuge.--i never forget such things. he is somewhat worldly, it is true; but what host is not? it is a part of their trade; they draw their ale and affection for every guest that comes, the one as readily as another, so that he pay his score. but still the man has not a bad heart, and it will be well-nigh broken by his daughter's shame." "she has broken mine," said ralph harland. "nay--nay!" replied his companion; "you must think better of all this. you loved her--she has proved false. forget her--seek another. you will find many as fair." "ay," replied harland, "i shall find many as fair, perhaps fairer; but i shall find none that had my first love--none with whom all the thoughts of my early years were in common--none with whom i have wandered about the fields in boyhood, and gathered spring flowers for our may-day games--none with whom i have listened to the singing of the birds when my own heart was as light and tuneful as theirs--none for whom i have felt all those things which i cannot describe, which are like the dawning of love's morning, and which i am sure can never be felt twice over. no--no! those times are past; and i must think of such things no more!" "it is all true," said robert of the lees, "but the same, good youth, is the case with every earthly joy; each day has its pleasure, each year of our life has things of its own. as the spring brings the fruit, and the autumn brings the corn, so every period of man's existence has its apportioned good and evil. i have ever found it so, from infancy till this day, now eight-and-thirty years, and you will find it likewise. you will love another--differently, but as well; with less tenderness, but more trust; with less passion, but with more esteem; and you will be happier with her than you would have been with this idle one; for passion dies soon, killing itself with its own food; esteem lives, and strengthens by its own power. shake not thy head, ralph. i know it is vain to talk to thee as yet, for sorrow and disappointment blind a man's eyes to the future, and he will look at nothing but the past." "but of the earl of ashby," said young harland, little cheered, to say the truth, by his companion's reasoning; "how can you get such a hold of him as will make him constrain his own kinsman to give up his paramour?--alas! that i should call her so!" "take your bridle over your arm," replied the forester; "come with me, and i will tell you more. you want rest, and food, and reflection; but nothing can be done before to-morrow, so we shall have plenty of time to discuss the means, and to arrange the plan." chapter vii. upon the edge of the merry forest-land, on the side nearest to derbyshire, not far from the little river lind, and surrounded at that time by woods which joined the district on to sherwood itself, there rose, in the days i speak of, a norman castle of considerable extent. it had been built in the time of william rufus--had been twice attacked in the turbulent reign of stephen--had been partly dismantled by order of henry ii.--and had been restored under the dominion of the weak tyrant john. being not far from nottingham, it was frequently visited by noble and royal personages, and was often the scene of the splendid and ostentatious hospitality of the old baronage of england. it has now crumbled down, indeed, and departed; the ploughshare has passed over most of its walls, and the voice of song and merriment is heard in it no more. the lower part of one of the square flanking-towers in the outer wall is all that remains of the once magnificent castle of lindwell; and a dingly copse, where many a whirring pheasant rises before the sportsman, now covers the hall and the lady's bower. in the days of which i speak, however, it was in its greatest splendour, having come into the possession of the earl of ashby by his father's marriage, and being the favourite dwelling of the race. it was situated upon a gentle eminence, and the great gate commanded a view over some sixty or seventy acres of meadow land, lying between the castle and the nearest point of the wood; and for the distance of nearly three miles on the sherwood side, though there was no cultivated land--except, indeed, a few detached fields here and there--the ground assumed more the aspect of a wild chase than a forest, with the thick trees grouping together to the extent of an acre or two, and then leaving wide spaces between, as pasture for the deer and other wild animals, only broken by bushes and hawthorns. this district was properly within the limits of sherwood; but, as all persons know, who are acquainted with the forest laws, certain individuals frequently possessed private woods in the royal forest, which was the case of the earl of ashby in his manor of lindwell; and, whether or not he had originally any legal right of chase therein, such a privilege had been secured to the manor in the reign of john, by the king's special grant and permission. his rights of vert and venison, then, as they were called, extended over a wide distance around, and it was reported that some disputes had arisen between himself and his sovereign, whether he had not extended the exercise of those rights somewhat beyond their legitimate bounds. in the same merry month of may, however, of which we have just been writing, and but one day after the occurrences took place which have just occupied our attention, a gay party issued forth from the gates of the castle, and took its way in the direction of nottingham. we have called it gay, and it was so altogether: gay in colouring, gay in movement, gay in feeling. at the head of it appeared three light-hearted young women, a lady and her two maids, all about the same age, and none of them having as yet numbered twenty years. their clothing, was rich and glittering; and they were followed by a page, possessing all the requisite qualities for his office in saucy boldness and light self-confidence. three or four yeomen came next, who, having been left behind while their lord went with numerous attendants upon a distant progress, had necessarily had all the love and the merriment of the lower hall to themselves. the horses which bore the whole party were fresh, proud, and spirited; and never, perhaps, was more brightness of appearance and heart embodied in one group than in that which took its way down from the castle gate and through the meadows below; but we must pause, for a moment upon the fair leader of the cavalcade, for she is worth a short description. the earl's daughter, lucy de ashby, wanted yet a few months of that period when girlhood may be said to end and womanhood begin; where the teens--which are so longingly looked for by the child--come to their end, and the third ten of the allotted seven begins. oh, how long do the five tens that are to follow appear, when viewed from the brow of the hill of youth! and yet the two that are gone contain the brightest and the sweetest part of our apportioned time. lucy looked not older than her years, for she was small and delicately formed; but yet there was the fulness of womanhood in every line. her face had not much colour, and yet it was not pale, but the whole hue was warm and healthy, and fairer than that of the southern nations of europe, though still evidently the complexion of what is now called a brunette. the brow, the nose, the lips, the chin, were all beautifully cut; though the model was not greek, for the forehead was wider and higher, and there was a slight, a very slight wave in the line between the brow and the nose. the eyebrows were dark, small, and long, slightly depressed in the middle over the eye, but by no means either arched or strongly defined, according to the eastern notions of beauty, but, on the contrary, shaded softly off, so as only to show a definite line to beholders when at a little distance. the eyes beneath them were large and long, but with the deep black eyelashes, which she had derived from her mother, shading them so completely, that the sparkling of the dark iris was only clearly seen when she looked up. that, however, was often the case; for in her gay liveliness, when she had said some little thing to tease or to surprise, she would still raise the "fringed curtain" of her eye to mark the effect it produced, and to have her smile at anything like astonishment that appeared upon the countenance of those who heard her. the lip, too, was full of playfulness; for, indeed, sorrow had but sat there once, and tears were very unfrequent in those dark, bright eyes. there had been people seen, perhaps, more beautiful in mere feature, but few more beautiful in expression, and certainly none ever more captivating in grace of movement and in variety of countenance. her dress was full of gay and shining colours, but yet so well assorted, so harmonious in their contrast, that the effect could not be called gaudy. the same was not the case with her two women, who, with the pleasant familiarity of those times, were chattering lightly to their mistress as they rode along, upon the ordinary subject of women's thoughts in all ages--alas! i mean dress. there was, on the contrary, a good deal of gaudiness about their apparel, and their taste did not appear to be of the most refined kind. "nay, dear lady," said one of them, "i would have put on the robe of arms when i was going to nottingham to wait for my father. it does look so magnificent, with the escutcheon of pretence for minorca just on your breast, the silver field on one side, and the azure field on the other, and the beautiful wyverns all in gold." "i cannot bear it, silly girl," replied the lady; "to hear you talk about wearing the fields, one would suppose that i was a piece of arable land; and as to coats of arms, judith, i like not this new custom; women have nothing to do with coats of arms. i put it on once to please my brother, but i will never wear it again, so he may cut the skirt off and use it himself next time he goes to a tournament." "dear, now, lady, how you jest," replied the girl; "he could never get it on; why, lord alured's thigh is thicker than your waist; and i do declare i think it much handsomer than that azure and gold you are so fond of. i would not wear that, at all events." "and pray, why not?" demanded lucy de ashby, with some surprise; "they are the two colours that divide the universe, girl--azure the colour for heaven, gold the only colour for this earth; so between the two i should have all mankind on my side. why would you not wear them?" "because they are the colours of the monthermers," replied the girl; "and they are old enemies of your house." "but they are friends now," rejoined lucy, into whose cheek, to say truth, the blood had come up somewhat warmly. she ventured to say nothing more for a minute or two, and when she did speak again, changed the subject. the conversation soon resumed its liveliness, however; and thus they rode on, talking of many things, and laughing gaily as they talked, while the yeomen who were behind amused themselves in the same manner. after about half a mile's ride, they approached nearer to the banks of the little stream, which being every here and there decorated with bushes and tall trees that hung over the water, was sometimes seen glancing through a meadow, and then again lost amongst the thick foliage. just as they were entering a closer part of the woodland, and leaving the stream on their right, one of the yeomen exclaimed, "by----!" using an oath of too blasphemous a kind to be even written down in the present age, but which in those days would have been uttered in the court of the king, "by----there is somebody netting the stream. quick, jacob, quick! come after them. you, bill, go round the wood, and catch them on the other side. see, they're running that way--they're running that way!" and setting spurs to their horses, the whole of lucy's male attendants, with the exception of the page, galloped off as fast as ever they could, shouting and whooping as if they had been in pursuit of some beast of the chase. lucy de ashby paused for a moment, and called to the page, who was the last to leave her, not to go; but the spur had been already given to his horse, and the boy became seized with a sudden deafness which prevented him from hearing a word that the lady uttered. lucy gazed after them with a thoughtful look for an instant, then laughed, and said--"'tis a droll fancy that men have to run after everything that flies them." "ay, and dogs as well as men," added one of the girls. "and women as well as both," answered lucy. "i have more than three quarters of a mind to go myself; but i will not, girls; and so, to be out of the way of temptation, we will ride slowly on." thus saying, she shook her rein, and keeping her horse to a walk, followed the road before her into the thicker part of the wood, leaving her truant attendants to come after as they might. in about a quarter of an hour the first of the men appeared at the spot where they had left her, but he was by no means in the same plight as when he last stood there. his clothes were dripping as well as his hair; there were the marks of severe blows on his face; his smart apparel was soiled and torn, and he was both disarmed and on foot. in short, he looked very much like a man who had been heartily beaten and dragged through a horse-pond. a loud hallo, which reached his ear from the direction of the stream, seemed to visit him with no very pleasant sensations, for he darted in at once amongst the bushes, and hid himself as well as he could for a few minutes. at length, however, two of his comrades appeared; but they seemed to have fared not much better than himself, for though they had preserved their horses, both were in terrible disarray, and had returned from the fray evidently with broken heads. "where is bill?" said one to the other as they came up; "i saw him running this way." "poor devil, he got it!" replied his comrade. "and you got it, too, i think," cried the one who had first appeared, now coming out from amongst the bushes. "why, i never saw or heard anything like that blow of the staff across your shoulders, jacob. you echoed like an empty cask under a cooper's hammer." "ay, bill," said the man to whom he spoke, "and when the man bestowed upon you the buffet in the eye, and knocked you down, what a squelch was there! why, it was for all the world as when the scullion, bringing in the kitchen dinner, let the apple pudding fall, and it burst itself upon the pavement." "i will be even with him," said the man called bill; "but where's the page and walter?" "they galloped off to the castle as they could," answered the third, "and your horse along with them, so you must go back too, and we must ride after the lady as fast as we can go." "pretty figures you are to follow her into nottingham," rejoined bill; "and what will my lord say when he finds that we four and the page were beaten by five men on foot?" "there were more than five," replied the other, "i am sure." "i thought i saw some in the bushes," added the third. "come, come," exclaimed bill, "there were only five, i was disabled by being knocked into the river, otherwise i would have shewn them a different affair." "i dare say you'd have done wonders," answered the other, with a sneer; "but we must get on, so you go back to the castle as fast as you can." "pr'ythee see me beyond those trees," said the yeoman on foot; "if those fellows are hiding there, they may murder me!" "we have no time--we have no time!" replied one of the horsemen--"go along with you! if you hadn't been in the stream, you would have thrashed them all; so thrash them now, good bill;" and thus saying, the two rode on, for certainly there is no human infirmity, though it is a very contagious one, which meets with such little sympathy as fear. onward, then, they went at a quick pace, hoping to catch up their young mistress before she reached nottingham, but feeling a little ashamed for having left her at all, and not a little ashamed at the result of their expedition. when they had gone about a couple of miles, however, without seeing anything of lucy de ashby, the one looked round to his comrade, and said, "it is odd we haven't come up with her--she must have ridden fast." "oh, it is just like her," replied the other, "she has galloped on just to tease us, and punish us a little for having left her in the wood. i would wager a besant that she does not draw a rein till she gets to nottingham." "ay, but the best of it is," rejoined his companion, "that we shall hear no more of it than just, 'jacob, you should not have quitted me; you should have let the stream take care of itself,' instead of twenty great blustering oaths, such as lord alured would have given us. then it will be all fair weather again in a minute." "ay, she is very kind!" said the other yeoman, "and when anything does go wrong, she knows that one did not do it on purpose." with such conversation, and with praises of their sweet lady, which one may be sure were well deserved, as no ear was there to hear, no tongue to report them, the yeomen rode on; but the one called jacob did so, it must be confessed, uneasily. his eyes, as he went, were bent down upon the ground, which in that part was soft, searching for the traces of horses' feet, but though he gazed eagerly, he could perceive none, till, at length, they reached the gates of nottingham, and entering the city, proceeded at once to what was called the lodging of the lord ashby. it was, in fact, a large, though low-built house, shut from the street by a court-yard and a high embattled wall. the gates were open, and all the bustle and activity were apparent about the doors, which attended in those days the arrival of a large retinue. there were servants hurrying hither and thither, horse-boys and grooms slackening girths, and taking off saddles, servers and pantlers unpacking baskets and bags, and boys and beggars looking on. "what, is my lord arrived?" cried one of the men who had followed lucy, springing from his horse; "we did not expect him till to-night, or to-morrow morning." "he will be here in half an hour," replied the horse-boy, to whom he addressed himself; "we rode on before." "what tidings of my young lady?" said a server, walking up; "we thought we should find her here to meet the earl." "is she not arrived?" cried the yeoman who had remained on horseback, in a tone of dismay; "she came on before us--we fancied she was here!" the one who had dismounted sprang into the saddle again, exclaiming--"this is some infernal plot!" the story was soon told, and the whole household of the lord of ashby, or at least such a part of it as was then in nottingham, was thrown into a state of confusion indescribable. in the midst of this, some ten or twelve men mounted their horses, though every beast was tired with a long day's journey, and set out to seek for the fair lady who was missing, beating the forest paths in every direction. but not the slightest trace of her could they find; and, after a two hours' search, were coming home again, when, having made a round on the southwell side, they met the party of the earl himself, riding slowly on towards nottingham. he was accompanied by only four or five attendants, but had with him his son alured and hugh de monthermer, the other earl having remained behind at pontefract to settle some business of importance there. it may be easily conceived what indignation and surprise the tidings, brought by the servants, spread amongst the party they thus met. lord alured chafed like an angry tiger, and the old lord vowed every kind of vengeance. hugh de monthermer's lip quivered, but all he said was, "this is horrible indeed, my lord, that your lordship's daughter cannot ride from lindwell to nottingham in safety! what can we do?" "we!" cried alured de ashby. "hugh of monthermer, you have little enough to do with it, methinks! what i shall do, will be to cut off the ears of the scoundrels that left their lady on any account, when they were following her to nottingham." "my lord of ashby," said hugh de monthermer, addressing the earl, "i merely used the word _we_, because, as a gentleman, and your friend, i take as deep an interest in the affair as any one. i and my men are at your command to seek for this lady instantly; and we will strive to do you as good service in the search as the best of your own people, if you will permit us." "certainly--certainly, my good lord!" replied the earl--"alured, you are rash and intemperate.--three hours ago, they say, this happened. should they have taken to the forest, they cannot have gone very far, if they have followed the horse-paths; and were one of us to go back to the second road to the left, where there stands a meer[ ], he must, by beating up those lanes, either come upon the party themselves or find the horses, if they have turned them loose, and taken to the footways." --------------- [footnote : one of the posts, or marks, by which the limits of the forest were distinguished.] --------------- "they have not gone into the forest," cried alured de ashby; "depend upon it, these are some of the king's people, or the bishop's. better far let us scour the more open country along the banks of trent. you will soon hear at the bridges whether such persons have passed that way." "stand out, jacob," said the earl; "you were one of the fools that were misled. what like were these men who lured you from your lady?" "i think they were men at arms disguised," answered the servant, in a sorrowful and timid tone; "for so well practised were they at their weapons, that they beat us all in the twinkling of an eye; besides, when i struck one of them, i heard something clatter underneath, like armour. the net, too, did not look like a real net." "it is very clear, the whole was a trick," said the earl. "i doubt not you are right, alured, but still we had better spread out, and scour the whole country across. you, with part of the men, take the banks of the trent--i, with others, will skirt the borders of the forest from nottingham to lindwell--and our young friend here, with his own two servants and two of ours, will, perhaps, examine the forest itself from the second turning on the road to southwell, as far as he may judge it likely, from the time which has elapsed, that these gentry could have advanced. i will send people to meet him when i reach lindwell, who will tell him what success we have had, and give him aid and assistance." alured de ashby seemed not over well pleased at the arrangement, for his brows still continued heavy, his cheek flushed, and his proud lip quivering; but he made no objection, and after a few words more, the party separated upon the different tracks they proposed to follow, having still three or four hours of daylight before them. alured rode on, with his fiery temper chafing at the insult which had been offered to his family, and but the more irritable and impatient because he had no one on whom to vent his anger. his father pursued his course more slowly, and with very different thoughts. wrath in the bosom of the son swallowed up every sensation; but the loss of a child, which he had treated but lightly in the case of the innkeeper, now filled the earl's breast with deep anxiety and apprehension, though certainly poor greenly had more cause for agonizing fear and sorrow than the proud noble. it is a curious fact, however, and one which gives a strange indication of the lawless state of the times, that no one imagined the absence of lucy de ashby could proceed from any ordinary accident. chapter viii. the sun had declined about two hours and a half from the meridian, but the day was still warm and bright. the month of may, in the olden time, indeed, was a warmer friend than at present, if we may believe the ancient tales and chronicles; and, in good sooth, the seasons of the year seem to have changed altogether, and the weather to have become chilly, whimsical, and crotchetty, as the world has grown older. there are no vineyards to be found now in northumberland, and yet many a place in the northern counties retains the name to the present day, evidently showing to what purposes they were formerly applied. it is rarely now in england, too, that we have any title to call it the merry, merry month of may, for, very often, cold and piercing are the winds, sad the sleet and rain; and, for one of the bright and glorious days of summer, we have a multitude of the dark and shadowy ones of winter. perhaps one cause of this change may be that which has brought about many another evil in the land,--namely, the cutting down of those magnificent old forests which sheltered the breast of england like a garment, and stopped the fierce winds in their career over the island, indeed we know that the destruction of the woods in other countries has produced such effects; and there is every reason to believe that here also the climate has greatly suffered, though other benefits may have been obtained. however that may be, the month of may at that time in england was indeed a merry month, replete with sunshine, bountiful in flowers, with every bird in song, and every tree in leaf, and the whole world full of the warmth and the tenderness of youth. it is true, indeed, that in the early part of the month, april would still look in with a tear in her eye to bid the earth good bye; and such had been the case on the morning of the fourth of may, in the year of which we have lately been speaking. about nine o'clock, two or three showers had swept past, though the blue eye of heaven had seldom been altogether withdrawn, but looked through the rain as through a veil, and every now and then the sun peeped out, even while the drops were coming down, and flung a rainbow over the bosom of the forest. the clouds, however, cleared off entirely before noon, and left the world but the fresher for the sprinkling, the woods looking more green, and the flowers more bright and full of perfume. the road from sheffield--not the high road--running through bloodsworth, and leaving nurstead a little to the right, at the distance of about a mile past the former place, entered the extensive woody ground, which had ceased for a space in the neighbourhood of mansfield; but which at that time covered the whole of the rest of the country. a little farther on again, the scene changed to one of those small, open greens, common in the forest, where two or three acres of grassy turf appeared free from trees, but surrounded on all sides by the wood. fine old oaks and beeches stood forward here and there, stretching out their long and rugged arms, covered with the soft hue of spring, and leaving the line of the little savannah wild and irregular, while a break amongst the trees on the right showed the sunshine streaming into another opening of the same kind, and gave the imagination room to sport through other groves and dells beyond. in the midst of this green, with his arms crossed upon his chest, his eyes bent on the ground, and his brow somewhat gloomy, walked robert of the lees by ely, as he had called himself, while not far off, under the shadow of a wide-spreading oak, stood a boy, holding a white horse and a bow, robin seemed to be whiling away a time of waiting, in communing with himself of many things, with that sort of desultory meditation which woodlands gender more than any other scenes; and, ever and anon, his lips proved faithless guardians to his thoughts, muttering a word of two of what was passing in his mind, without his knowing that they did so. "ha! left nottingham so soon with her paramour!" he said, "that was hasty!" and again he was silent for a space. "they must have heard that i had taken the chase in hand, or else the earl has followed them closer than they expected.--how this poor youth suffers! one would think that he had lost the most precious thing on earth, instead of a light-o'-love may-day flirt!--and after, all, perhaps, he has lost the most precious thing on earth, for he has lost trust--confidence. that can never come again when once it is gone.--besides, a woman is to us what we esteem her more than what she is. he held her to be all that is good, and so in losing her he loses all that is good,--they are idle things, these women; and yet there is good as well as bad in them. so goes the old song-- "to whom does woman's love belong? and who shall hold that fickle thing? no iron chain was e'er so strong, as long to bind its fluttering wing. "caught by the ear--caught by the eye-- the handsome face, the flattering tongue, the pleasant smile, the well-told lie, may win it, but not hold it long. "the king has no command o'er love, the peasant's sweetheart jilts the swain; and those who stay, and these who rove, seek bands for woman's heart in vain. "rank, wealth, prosperity, and power, have all been tried, without avail; yet ne'er in dark misfortune's hour, has woman's love been known to fail." so sung, or rather hummed, the bold forester, as he walked to and fro along the sandy path; and, as is very often the case, the song seemed the most convincing argument he could use, for it concluded the discussion with himself concerning young harland, and he turned his thoughts to other things again. "they will take him by surprise," he muttered to himself in the same low tone as before; and then having uttered this vaticination, he relapsed into silence, took another turn, and said--"the king at cambridge?--that cannot be for nothing: he has misled de montfort--gloucester fortifying his castles too--that looks ill! he is not to be trusted, gloucester. he never was--he never will be.--hark! a horse's feet! here come the earls!" another moment, however, showed him that he was mistaken, for the horse whose tramp he heard came from the side of nottingham, and not from that of yorkshire. the animal itself was a good brown gelding, with a short tail, which, in those days, was a rarity, for many of the barbarous customs of the present time were then unknown. indeed, though it may seem a contradiction in terms, civilization in general has not a little barbarism in it, and luxury is always sure to introduce practices of which savages would be ashamed. the horse, however, as i have said, was a good brown gelding with a short tail; the man that bestrode it, a jolly, large-stomached personage, in the garb of a tradesman; and the moment the forester saw him, he exclaimed, "ha! our good friend the sutler of southwell! what makes you ride the forest, barnaby? you do not trouble sherwood for nothing." "seeking you, robin--seeking you," replied the sutler. "one that you know of gave me this for you. it was to pass through no hands but mine and yours. but look ye! here comes a goodly train. now will there be rough work anon between the silken hoods and the men in lincoln green. i'll away, robin--i'll away, for i love no blows but those of the rolling pin!" the man to whom he spoke took no notice either of his words or his departure, so intent was he upon the contents of the letter which had just been put into his hand. he read it over twice after the messenger was gone, and seemed scarcely to remark the approach of a large party on horseback, comprising, as the reader may have divined by this time, the very personages for whom he was waiting. when he raised his eyes, however, he beheld advancing towards him, at a slow pace, some twenty mounted men, well armed, and headed by the old earl of monthermer. that nobleman, however, was unaccompanied by one of those whom our friend in the lincoln green was the most anxious to see, the earl of ashby being, as the reader is well aware, on the other side of nottingham. the party of old monthermer, as he was called, consisted of himself and his servants alone, having sent away all the other noblemen and gentlemen who had met him in yorkshire, to find their way, in separate bodies to join their friends in london. his nephew, too, for reasons that the old lord saw and well approved, had gone on with the earl of ashby; and the only addition to his train since we last saw him, was a stout old priest, his chaplain, who had been previously dispatched on a mission to northumberland. at a distance of about twenty yards from the spot where the bold forester stood, the earl pulled up his horse and dismounted slowly, giving the word to halt. he then advanced directly towards, him, holding out his hand, which the other took with an air of respect and deference, but without the least approach to fawning. "welcome to sherwood, my good lord," said robert of the lees. "but why come you alone? would not the noble earl of ashby trust himself amidst these shades?" "he had left me, robin," replied the earl, "before i got your message, with his son alured and my nephew hugh. he set out for nottingham yesterday, just after morning song." "ha!" exclaimed the forester, his brow growing dark. "'tis strange i heard not of it. gone to nottingham, just after morning song? he might have been there by noon; and yet he was not." "no, no," answered the earl, "he could not arrive by noon. he had matters of some moment to see to by the way. but were you so anxious to have some speech with him?" "i was," answered the forester, abruptly. "i was.--but it matters not--i will send him a message; and now, my lord, will you mount your horse again; and come with me? i have much to say to you, and many things to tell, some of which you know, perhaps, already, but some of which you have never heard." "i can but stay an hour," replied the earl; "for i must forward to nottingham to supper, and that will be a late one, even now." "we have supper ready for you, my good lord," answered the forester; "and you, at least, need not fear to ride through sherwood in the eventide." "no feasting on the king's venison, robin!" cried the earl, with a laugh; "but still our meal must be short, for i have business to do to-night of more importance than my supper. shall i bid the men come on with me, or to stay here till i return?" "let them follow--let them follow," said the forester; "but keep them out of earshot--the priest especially. ho, boy! bring up my horse." more at a sign by which he accompanied the call than at the words themselves, the boy, whom we have mentioned as holding a white horse under one of the trees, ran up with the animal in hand, while the earl gave directions to his men to follow him slowly, keeping at the distance of some fifty yards. he then remounted, with his forest friend, who led him on still upon the open road, saying--"you shall have as little of the woodland as possible, and every step you take is so much on your way to nottingham." "that is well," replied the earl; "but now tell me, robin, how many of your old friends have you gathered round you here, in case of need?" "not more than a hundred," answered his companion, "with some forty in barnsdale." "sadly few!" said the earl, musing. "many a stout soldier and many a true friend," replied the forester, "love not to live the life and share the perils of an outlaw." "there is a reproach in that," said the earl; "but i pledge you my knightly word, robin, that i did my best to have the outlawry reversed whenever we got the power into our own hands, but it was gloucester opposed it, and the earl of leicester judged it dangerous to thwart him." "you mistake, my lord," rejoined the forester, "and would have done me but little service had you succeeded, though i thank you for the wish. the enmity of my lord of gloucester stood me in good stead. these are riddles, my good lord, but they are easily read. hark to another, not much more difficult. my hundred men are not few, but many; for each man, besides a sheaf of arrows, has a sheaf of friends, and about the same number of each. we shall not count much less than two thousand, noble sir, in the day of need, and that day is coming faster than you imagine." "there are clouds in the sky, certainly," replied the earl, "they overshadow the sun," rejoined the outlaw, abruptly. "the news i had to tell you, but an hour ago, was merely that the king had contrived to lead my lord of leicester away from his resources, and that gloucester is fortifying himself in the marches of wales--that he has refused to be present at the tournament of northampton, and that people flock to him who are known to be favourers of the foreigners." "i have heard something of this," said the earl, "but knew not that it had gone so far." "farther--farther, my lord," replied the other--"farther a great deal! i have more tidings for you now. gloucester is proclaimed a traitor, leicester has fallen back upon the severn, and i fear me that means have been taken to amuse the good earl's son in that business of pevensey. look at that letter, my lord." "ay this bears the likeness of war, indeed," replied the earl, after reading a paper which his companion, gave to him--"this bears the likeness of war, indeed; and i am glad it has come to this. gloucester is a loss to the good cause, it is true, though he is cold and cautious----" "and selfish, and treacherous, and cunning," added the outlaw. "but still there is little to fear," continued the earl, "he is no more competent to cope with simon de montfort, than an usher's white rod with a soldier's battle-axe." "he wants the energy of a strong will," said the outlaw, "and therefore can never be a great man; but still his influence makes him dangerous, my lord, and you must look to it." "we will not despise him," replied the earl; "but still i fear him not. so long as the prince is in the hands of de montfort, the freedom of england is secure. he is the power of the royal party, but we have taken care that he shall have no means of acting--nominally free, but watched, day and night--his servants, his keepers--his companions, his gaolers. i could grieve for the noble prince, i must confess, were it not that the safety of the whole realm, the freedom of every man within it, and the happiness of every english hearth, demand that he should be prevented by any means from giving strength to his father's weakness by his own powerful mind." "i grieve for him, too," replied the outlaw. "i once, at york, saw an eagle in a cage, my lord; and though it looked at me fiercely, as if it would have torn me for my pains, i broke the bars, and let the noble bird go free." "we must not do that here," replied the earl. "i fear not," answered his companion. "nevertheless, i grieve for the prince with all my heart; and would he but swear and keep his oath, which princes seldom do, i would be the first to give him his liberty, upon a promise to respect ours." "we have tried that, good robin," replied the earl, "and we must do so no more. the wisest man that ever lived, said, 'put not your faith in princes;' and this young leopard must, i fear, be kept in a chain, however sad it be to fetter noble energies like his." "make the chain strong enough, then, my lord," said the outlaw; "for if he breaks it, he will be more fierce than ever." "forged by simon de montfort, it will be strong enough," answered the earl; "but let us think of farther proceedings. so, gloucester is proclaimed a traitor?" "ay, and mortimer, too," replied the forester, "and a number of others. many of the lords marchers have joined him, you see, and his power is daily increasing." "then it is time," said the earl, "for the friends of england to gather round de montfort. a battle cannot be far distant. doubtless there will be letters for me at nottingham, and i will soon let you know where you can meet us with your brave archers. gloucester's day is over, and--" "i know what you would add, my lord," replied the forester, "but i say, no. this outlawry sits more easily on my shoulders than you can think. heaven forbid that you should ever have to try our life; but, were such the case, you would soon grow fond of it. there is a charm in these wild woods, and in our free existence amongst them, which leaves the parade of the city or the castle sadly tasteless in the comparison. no, my lord, i am well as i am, for the present. no man can call me traitor; for kings and princes have cast off my allegiance, and i have cast off their rule. perhaps when happier days come back--when england's wounds are healed--when justice and honour hold the sway, and peace and liberty go hand in hand, i may reclaim my rights, my lord, and ask your voice to testify that the outlaw of sherwood was as just in his dealings, as true to his country, and as fearless in her defence as any judge in his court, or statesman in the hall, or knight in the saddle. but till then--good faith," he added, in a gayer tone, "i live a merry life of it here, and am troubled with no remorse for the deeds i do under the green leaf of the wood. however, enough of myself, and as for your letters, you will find none at nottingham. the sheriff is no friend of simon de montfort, and that the earl of leicester knows by this time. i would wager, my lord, a pipe of malvoisie to a flitch of bacon, that if you go on to nottingham, you will be a tarrier in the castle for longer than you reckon." "if so," replied monthermer, "the earl of ashby is a prisoner there by this time." "not so, my lord," said the outlaw, drily "the earl of ashby has had other things to do." "why, i thought that but now," exclaimed the earl, "you did not know where our good friend was?" "true," answered his companion, "but i know what waited him at nottingham, if he arrived there yesterday.--besides, my good lord, he has a friend at court. richard de ashby passed through nottingham before him, was with the sheriff in close consultation for an hour, and doubtless set forth duly, 'how good a subject the earl is to the king, and how humble a servant to the earl of gloucester.'--take care, my lord, that you are not betrayed, as well as deceived.--there is a viper under your hand; and it may sting you." "no--no--no!" said the old nobleman, shaking his head. "the ashbys are incapable of treachery: proud and irascible they both are, father and son; but even in their pride there is no dishonour, though----" "though pride be the most dishonest of all our knave passions;" interrupted the outlaw, "ay, and the meanest, too! but i believe you, my good lord, they will not betray you, either father or son, but they will betray themselves; and their roguish kinsman will betray you and them every one. you judge, perhaps, that he came down but upon the lewd errand of carrying off a peasant girl, but his business in barnsdale was of a darker character than that. prisoner as the king now is, and watched as the prince now seems, they have agents over all the land." "but can you be sure," said the earl--"can you prove that this richard de ashby is one of them? base, i have always believed him to be; and i recollect that while the feud existed between our two families, he did all in his power to keep it alive, and prevent the breach from ever being healed--pandering, like all mean sycophants, to the fiercer passions of their lords; but i ever judged him a petty scoundrel, fit only to cheat at cross and pile, or accomplish the ruin of a milkmaid. i think not, robin, that he has courage to deal with much greater things. have you any proof of his treachery in this business?" "something i know, my lord," replied the outlaw, "and much more do i suspect--let them take my counsel who like it. what will you have? he was first with mortimer, and then with gloucester; and then, making a circuit round, to seem as if he came from the side of norfolk, he visited leicester at northampton, and spent two days there, seeing the king thrice, and the prince as often. thence he went back to london, was purveyed with a spy, one richard keen, a servant of the king's who fled from lewes; and thus accompanied, he followed you to pontefract." "i will tax him with it in his kinsman's presence," said monthermer. "the good lord of ashby wants not sense and discrimination. he was eager for the business to be inquired into before, but the man's flight with the light-o'-love girl of the inn broke off the investigation. think you his master has really any share in that bad business? i left the poor man, her father, nearly broken-hearted." "share!" exclaimed the forester; "somewhat more than a share. she is now his leman at huntingdon. i had tidings this morning, and they are now tasting together the fiery drop of joy which floats upon the deep draughts of bitterness in the cup of vice. a few weeks will cloy him, and then her sorrows will begin; but if i lay my hands upon him, so help me the blessed virgin! as i will nail his ears to the door-posts of good john greenly's house, and scourge him with bowstrings from wakefield to pontefract. but, to speak of what is more important, my lord--do you think the rogue filched any of your secrets?" "no," replied the earl--"no, many of the people did not come; hugh bigod, too, was away; and, as is often the case with long-concerted meetings, to settle matters of great moment, we waited for each other, and, in the end, the whole thing went to empty air. i could not but think, however, that he strove hard to renew the breach between the house of ashby and ourselves. with the father he did not succeed, but with the son he seemed to make some progress; so much so, indeed, that i was well pleased when this sir richard told us his purpose of going on before to london. after he was gone, alured grew somewhat placable; and when we parted company, hugh went with the two lords, trying to soothe and gain the younger one.--but here, robin, what have we here? why you have made the forest as gay as a may-day bride!" chapter ix. the words of the old earl gave a good idea of the picture which was presented to his eyes. it was indeed like a may-day pageant, or like one of those scenes which we now-a-days see upon the stage, but which are but feeble representations of those that in former times were constantly acted in reality. though, it is true, we form exaggerated images of many things that we do not behold, imagination presents but a very faint idea of the splendour and decoration of those ages when sumptuary laws were enacted in various countries to prevent peasants from displaying gold and silver embroidery in their garments. what may be called representation was a part of that epoch. it was in every palace, and in every castle, at the table of the grave citizen, with his gold chain, in the arm-chair of the justice, in the ball of the franklin. it sat upon the forked beard of chaucer's merchant, it appeared in the party-coloured garments of the gallant of the court. in short, a great part of everything in that day was effect: it was one of the great objects of the age, and all classes of people had an eye for it. perhaps in all things, as in their great buildings, their taste was better than our own--in very few points it could be worse; and in consulting what is bright and pleasing to the eye, what is exciting and dazzling to the imagination, they followed where nature led--nature who delights in striking contrasts, as much as in gentle harmonies. if, indeed, we can form a very faint idea of the splendour of the court and the castle, our conception is still more inadequate of the picturesque decoration of humbler scenes in those days. we are apt to conceive that it was all rude, or gross; and we scarcely believe in the charms of the merry morrice dance, in the graces and attractions that sported round the may-pole, in the moonlight meetings which old fitzstephen records, or in any of the sweeter and more gentle pleasures and pastimes of the peasantry of old england; and yet all these things were true, all were enacted by living beings like ourselves upon every village green throughout the land, long before a feeble mockery of them crept into a close and stifling playhouse. stronger passions--or perhaps the same passions but less under control than in the present day--took their part therein, from time to time, and prompted to all those wild energies which spring from deep and highly-excited feelings. graces free and uncultivated were there likewise, and the honest outpourings of the heart, subjected to no dull sneer from the lips of false refinement, burst forth with the touching force of simplicity and truth. the universal weaknesses of our nature mingled with all the rest, and varied the drama through a thousand parts. vanity, and self-love, and pride, and envy, had their share in the gathering of spring flowers, in the weaving of the garland, in the decoration of the tent, in the choice of the may queen, and in the dance upon the sward; but to say sooth, they gave a pungency and a brightness, and a human interest to the whole. i beseech thee, then, dear reader, carry thy mind back to the times of which i write, and recollect that such scenes as that which met the eye of the old lord monthermer, were every-day realities, and not any part of a cold fable. whether planted by accident or design i know not, but at the side of one of the little savannahs i have described, where the grass was short and dry, six old oaks came forward from the rest of the wood, three on either hand, at the distance of about forty feet apart, forming a sort of natural avenue. their long branches stretched across and nearly met each other, and under this natural canopy was spread out the long table, prepared for the good earl's repast; while, from bough to bough above, crossing each other in various graceful sweeps, were innumerable garlands, forming a sort of net-work of forest flowers, the board, too--let not the reader suppose that it was rude and bare, for it was covered with as fine linen as ever came from the looms of ireland or saxony.[ ] the board had a nosegay laid where every man was expected to sit, and the ground beneath was strewed with rushes and green leaves to make a soft resting-place for the feet. under the trees were gathered together various groups of stout archers in their peculiar garb, with many a country girl from the neighbouring villages, all in holiday apparel. a number of young countrymen, too, were present, showing that the rovers of the forest were at no great pains to conceal their place of meeting; for their lawless trade found favour in the sight of the many; and their security depended as much upon the confidence and goodwill of the lower orders, as upon the dissensions and disunion of the higher classes. --------------- [footnote : i need not refer the learned reader to the curious investigations of m. le grand; and perhaps for the less inquisitive it may be enough to say, that such was literally the fact.] --------------- the first sight of the earl and the outlaw caused not a little bustle amongst the companions of the latter. there was running here and there, and putting things in array; and it was very evident that, although expected and prepared for, everything was not quite ready when the earl arrived. "give him good morrow--give the noble earl good morrow!" cried the forester, putting his horn to his lips and waving his hand for a signal. every man followed his example, and in a moment the whole glades of the forest rang with the sounds of the merry horn. not a note was out of tune, no two were inharmonious, and, as with a long swell and fall, the mellow tones rose and died away, the effect in that wild yet beautiful scene was not a little striking and pleasant to the ear. "yeomanly! yeomanly! right yeomanly done!" cried robin hood. "this is the way, my lord, that we receive a true friend to the english commons and the good old saxon blood. will you please to dismount, and taste our cheer? if yonder cooks have not done their duty, and got all ready, i will fry them in their own grease, though i guess from yon blazing log that they are somewhat behindhand." as he spoke, he fixed his eyes upon a spot, to which those of the earl followed them, where a scene not quite harmonious with the poetry of the rest of the arrangement was going on, but one very satisfactory to the hungry stomachs of the earl's retainers. an immense pile of blazing wood, fit to have roasted hercules himself, was crackling and hissing and roaring so close to a distant angle of the wood, that the flames scorched the green leaves on the farther side. beside it were some five men, in clean white jackets, running hastily about, and basting sundry things of a very savoury odour, which by the contrivance of small chains and twisted strings, were made to revolve before the fire. each man was glad enough to keep to windward of the blaze; and, even then, full many a time were they forced to run to a distance for cool air and free breath, for the heat was too intense for any one to endure it long without suffering the fate of the immense masses of meat which were turning before it. about fifty yards from this burning mountain was a lesser volcano, from which, upon the primitive tripod of three long poles; hung sundry pots of vast dimensions, emitting steams very grateful to the nose; while, in a cool spot under the trees, appeared the no less pleasant sight of two large barrels, one twined round with a garland of young vine-leaves, and the other with a wreath of oak. a host of drinking cups, fit to serve an army, lay near them, and a man with a mallet was busily engaged in driving a spigot and faucet to give discreet vent to the liquor within. "ho! where is little john?" cried robin hood--"a small friend of mine, my lord, whom you must know. what! naylor! the master of our revels--where is he? by my life, he is basting the capons! hallo! friend john!--you will easily see, my lord, how he deserves his title." as he spoke, a yeoman, some six feet four in height, with shoulders that seemed as fit to carry the bull as the calf, a round head covered with nut-brown hair, and a face running over with fun and jest, came near and shook the earl's proffered hand. "we have met before, i believe, little john," said the earl, "and i think in as warm a feast-day as this!" "warmer, my lord, by a bucket full," replied naylor. "one of those feasts where one is as likely to be carved as carve." "i recollect, your face well," said the earl. "john of andelys would recollect it better, my lord, if he could recollect anything, poor fellow," answered the yeoman. "when last he and i and you met together, he had got you by the throat, with his dagger through your avantaille. i just tapped him on the head, to remind him not to do such things; and whether he went away or not i don't know, but if he did, he certainly did not carry his brains with him." "ay, you did me good service there," replied the earl--"i should have lost an eye, at least. there's a jewel, my good friend," he continued, taking a ring from his finger--"i won it with hard strokes myself, near tripoli, and i give it to you for as good a blow as ever was struck by an english yeoman." "i'll set it in my cap, my lord," replied little john, "and, perhaps, some day----" "nay, now, no boasting, john!" cried robin hood; "but let the earl sit down to meat. it is the season, my good lord, when one strikes neither hart nor hare, when the partridge is free for her brood, and even the wild bustard runs unscathed. thus, my good lord, i cannot give you forest cheer; otherwise, so help me heaven! as you should dine at the king's expense, while his majesty be revelling with my lord of leicester. however, not being able to treat you as a yeoman, i will feast you as a baron; and if those good cooks do but their duty, no castle hall in all merry england shall show a better supper than yours this day." "i doubt it not, good robin--i doubt it not!" replied the earl, with a good-humoured laugh; "you are lord of sherwood, and may hold your court of free-baron when you like. on my life! you have a peacock," he continued, as a long train or men began to approach, bearing large wooden trenchers loaded with viands--"and the noble baron of beef too!" "true, my lord.--true!" replied robin, "i could not feast an earl, you know, without giving him a young peacock with his tail spread, nor receive your merry men honourably without a double sirloin from the best ox in the country. the beef's my own," he continued, "for i bought it with gold out of my purse; and the peacock's my own, for little john gave it to me." "and how he came by it--you did not ask," said the earl, smiling. "nay, why should i?" demanded robin hood, in the same jesting tune; "you would not have me doubt my man's honesty?" "heaven forbid!" replied the earl; "and i will claim a slice of the fair bird, by the same title." "come, my lord, come," cried robin; "let us sit down.--we have no salt-cellar here, to make a distinction between highest and lowest," he continued aloud; "so let every man place himself where he can find room.--peaceably there,--peaceably! give seats to the women, and show yourselves courteous as knights. if there be not stools for all, there are platters for all, with meat to spare, and god made the green ground, you know, long before man made a settle. here my lord, sit by me, and i will help you; and, as my chaplain is not here, i will give you a forest grace to your meat--reverence, my men--reverence!" each man stood up, took off his hat, and crossed himself, and robin hood, bowing his head, and running the two parts of his sentence somewhat close together, though there was a slight pause between them, said, "god give us his blessing--and let no man disturb us!" we have given the words of the forester, as affording the best account of the arrangement of his party; and it is only necessary to add that about a third of the number of those present found seats upon the ground, while the rest placed themselves on stools round the table; and it is to be remarked that many of the village girls, who had come as guests, preferred the green sward, with a stout young bowman beside them, eating, as was then customary with lovers, out of the same dish. as robin had said, indeed, there was plenty of food for all; for, besides two gigantic barons of beef, there was many a roasted pig of tender age, capons, and fowls, and pigeons, a heron here and there, together with that most excellent of all ancient dishes, a bittern made into soup, while, in the centre of the table, was seen the peacock with his magnificent tail spread out. close by the herons wherever they appeared, had been placed, by direction of little john, who would have his jest at the long-legged fowl, large dishes of magnificent trout. "there," said the master of robin hood's revels, "the ancient enemies sit side by side peaceably, to show that man's maw made friends of all things!" there was no serving at the table of robin hood. the earl's good yeomen fell as readily into the customs of sherwood as their lord, and, sitting down pell-mell with the green-coated rangers, attacked the meat as soon as grace was said. the cooks, themselves, when their function was done, and the dinner was dished up, took such places as they could find, and every man drawing forth anelace, or dagger, as the case might be, assailed the dish that was before him, and helped his neighbours and himself. for some time a deep silence fell over the whole party, and less noise attended the proceeding than ever occurs now-a-days, for dishes ages platters were all of wood, and the knives were encountered by no forks in those times, so that little clatter accompanied the operation either of carving or eating. at the end of about ten minutes, some five or six of the younger men rose from various parts of the table, and made an excursion towards the barrels we have mentioned. they returned loaded with large flagons, and the only act of ceremony which took place was, that little john himself, with a large black jack full of strong ale in one hand, and a stoup of wine in the other, approached the earl, while another brought a large silver cup, and offered him to drink. thus refreshed, another attack upon the unresisting viands succeeded, after which more tankards of wine were set around for every line to help himself as he liked. the juice of the grape soon had its effect so far as to quicken the movements of the tongue; and the jests and laughter, and, it must said, noise also, became considerable. from time to time the earl and robin hood exchanged a word in a lower and more serious tone; but, in general, the old nobleman joined in gaily with the rest, with few words, indeed, and calm withal, but with a well-pleased smile, and a frequent glance down either side of the table at the row of merry faces which surrounded him. "come, pigmy, come!" cried robin hood, at length, addressing little john, "cheer us with a song, if thy portion of the baron have left thee any voice; but mind, no ribaldry, and as little impudence as may be." "heaven deliver us!" cried little john, "i shall never be able to sing! i am like a city lady, who has just been called _madam_ for the first time in her life, and somewhat faint with the smell of fat viands. come, billy of southwell, fill me a cup of wine; for i must do our captain's bidding." and having taken a deep draught, he went on, in a voice of a fine tone, indeed, but loud enough, according to the whimsical thought of the poet, to "sweep the sear leaves off the trees, as if a storm pass'd by." song. robin hood and the grinder. "lythe and listen, my merry-men all, lythe and listen to me, of a wonderful matter that once did befal under the greenwood tree. "those who go out to catch are caught, as you shall presently hear; for bold robin hood once a lesson was taught which well-nigh had cost him dear. "'i'm going alone,' said robin, one day-- 'i'm going alone, to see what sport i can make on the king's highway, for i am as good as three. "'take any three men from nottingham town, and set them all of a row, if they bide my buffet and do not go down, they shall set me up for a show.' "bold robin went out, and he met with a man-- a grinder he was by trade; and 'hillo! stand fast!' good robin began, 'bide here, till the toll be paid.' "'get out of my way, toll-taker,' said he; 'i'm a grinder, and one of hot blood, and i have a strap that should well leather thee, wert thou even our bold robin hood!' "then robin he took his stout staff in his hand, and struck at the grinder a blow, but he jump'd aside, and his running wheel-band o'er robin's two shoulders did throw. "with a tug at the end, and a twitch at the buckle, he pull'd it down over his wrists-- i know not if robin's forgotten his knuckle, but he left him the sign of his fists. "good luck for bold robin!--the grinder took fright at three yeomen, who came from the wood, or right sure he'd have pummell'd him on until night, and made jelly of bold robin hood!" robin laughed heartily at the song; and turning to the earl, he said--"if men should ever talk of me after i am dead, they'll take my character from yon knave's songs. but come, my lord, i'll give you one myself, to another tune." song. merry england. "ho, merry england! merry england, ho! the crimson grape grows ruddy in fair france; there the rich juices from the wine-cup flow, there beat the timely feet in graceful dance. but give me back the bower where pass'd youth's jocund hour-- ho, merry england! merry england, ho! "ho, merry england merry england, ho! light fills the skies, and gilds the fields of spain; orange and olive, thyme and myrtle, grow o'er purple hill and perfume-breathing plain; but give to me the glade, and twinkling forest shade, of merry england, merry england, ho! "ho, merry england! merry england, ho! bright shines the sun on the italian shore, and art and nature gain a brighter glow from memories of greatness gone before; but my dear island home veils not the crest to rome, ho, merry england, merry england, ho! "ho, merry england, merry england, ho! thy hills, and dells, and groves, are full of brighter things than other lands: glorious remembrances, and happy loves, and hearts sincere, and true and honest hands. there let my life go by, and my grave, when i die, be merry england, merry england, ho!" it seemed to be a favourite song with the outlaw, and also with his companions, for at the close of each stanza they took up the refrain of-- "ho, merry england, merry england, ho!" and singing it to a wild though very simple minor airs produced a powerful effect upon their hearers and upon each other. when they had done, their leader poured out some wine, saying, "pledge us a cup, my lord the earl, in wine--better than which gascony never produced,--to that dear mother-land for which we have bled, or are willing to bleed. here's to merry england!" the earl willingly drunk the toast; and after a few words more, he said, in a low voices to his companion, "i fear i must mar your merriment, robin, by departure. i am anxious for tidings, and have perhaps delayed somewhat too long already. i know that letters must be waiting for me, and they may need an instant answer." "seek them not at nottingham, my lord, at all events," replied the forester; "aware of the trap they hid laid for you there, i have already sent out people to stay all messengers de montfort may have dispatched to you, and bid them turn aside to the little village of stapleford. there you will find them, if at all. yet i would fain have you remain here an hour or two longer; for, in the course of this night, i myself expect tidings by a sure hand and a nearer way." "i will leave either the priest or my good yeoman, blawket, with you," said the earl, in a low tone. "both are to be trusted." "the priest!" exclaimed robin hood, "god bless his reverence, i forgot, and took his trade out of his hand just now. i must add a paternoster to-night, when he is at the table; but, in good truth, i quite forgot him.--blawket must do, i fear, my lord; but yet i could have wished to have some one with me whom i could consult in case of need; for i, too, may have to act at a moment's warning, and may require to arrange some plan for joining you speedily, which i could not do with either the yeoman or the priest. still i suppose you are right, and had better proceed." "hark!" cried the earl, and, after a momentary pause, he added, "i thought i heard the blast of a horn at a great distance; perhaps it is your messenger." "no," replied the outlaw; "i heard it too, but it came from the east. i have scouts out that way. some one must be riding sherwood worthy of notice. we shall soon know more. silence, my men, silence! there is a horn, i think, from the ash-tree covert!" all was instantly still, and for rather more than a minute no one spoke. but patience began to grow weary, and one or two at the lower end of the table were beginning to say an occasional word to their next neighbour in a low tone, when the horn again sounded, much nearer than before, and little john started up, exclaiming, "that's kneller's blast at the hollow oak on mostyn's edge!" "look to your bows, my merry men," cried robin hood; "whoever it is, he comes this way fast. we may have to show the earl some of our habits of life." every man now rose from the table at once, the implements of archery (which were hung upon, or leaning against, several of the trees around) were hastily resumed, the bows were strung, and an arrow or two fitted to the string. in about five minutes more, another horn sounded, not many hundred yards from the spot where the tables were laid. the country girls ran to the other side of the green, although they were told not to be afraid; and the old earl separating his followers from the rest bade each man have his hand upon his bridle, ready to mount and take whatever part might seem needful; when gradually the sound of horses' feet coming at a quick pace became distinct, and, after a short pause of expectation, hugh of monthermer, with four or five servants, somewhat heated and travel-stained, rode into the little open space, and suddenly halted, as if in wonder at the scene which met their sight. chapter x. not a little was the surprise of uncle and nephew at thus meeting in the midst of sherwood, but it was greater on the part of the old earl than of hugh. the scene, indeed, in which he found his venerable relative, might astonish the young gentleman a little; for the free rangers of the forest, the profusely covered table, the wine barrel, and the drinking cups, were certainly accessories which he had not expected to see around his noble kinsman. with the deference, however, which, at that period, existed for age and renown, he expressed no astonishment, and asked no questions, but dismounting from his horse, proceeded, in answer to his uncle, to inform him why and how he had returned, instead of accompanying the earl of ashby on his way either to lindwell or to london. but as the reader is well aware of the circumstances connected with the sudden disappearance of lucy de ashby, and of the part in seeking her which hugh de monthermer had taken upon himself, we shall not recapitulate this part of the young knight's account, but content ourselves with stating what success he had met with in the pursuit. "last night i swept the whole roads through the forest," he said, "in a breadth of about two miles, without discovering the slightest trace of any one who could have had a share in this outrageous act. i met a swineherd at one time, and then a ploughman with two potters bringing along clay in a cart, but no other persons whatsoever.--why do you smile, good forester?" he continued, turning to robin hood. "because, noble sir," replied the outlaw, "men in the forest of sherwood are not always exactly what they look. it is difficult there to know a carrion crow from an ousel." "i may have been deceived, indeed," said hugh de monthermer; "but in one thing i must be right; whether they be ousels or carrion crows, they had no lady with them. however, i arrived at oxton, in the wood, an hour after sunset, and as there was no possibility of pursuing my search, any farther then, i remained at the house of the reve, making inquiries amongst the people of the village, several of whom were coming in from their work in the forest. last night i discovered nothing, but this morning at dawn a man was brought to me who reported that, in crossing from southwell about noon yesterday, he had seen two ladies on horseback, accompanied by a number of men on foot. the lady, he said, was gaily dressed, and very beautiful"--the earl smiled,--"and certainly a lady of high degree. they were bringing her down towards mansfield, the fellow thought, so i set off at once, beating up every road in the neighbourhood, and often losing my way. from time to time, however, the sound of a horn led me on, though i never could discover who it was that winded it." "did the man imply," asked the earl, "that the people who accompanied this lady were using force?" "no," replied hugh de monthermer; "he vowed that she appeared to go very willingly; but still i thought it could not but be the lady i was seeking, from her great beauty and her dress." "as if there were no beautiful woman in the world but lucy de ashby?" cried the earl. "what say you to this story, robin? you should know if she have passed this way." "no lady higher than a franklin's daughter has gone on the road to mansfield," replied robin hood, "except the prioress of wakefield, who came by yesterday with about a dozen men on foot, and a nun with her. she is a goodly dame to look upon, too, with lips like a pair of cherries, and as to her dress, she had a pulled liripipy might have suited a court harlot, a dagger at her girdle with a silver chain, a peaked hat, and a gold medal round her neck. yes, she was a goodly dame to look upon, and weighed some fourteen stone or more. i have seen fatter women, but not many." "psha!" said hugh de monthermer; "you are jesting." "not i, in faith and truth," cried robin hood; "she is the only woman of rank who has passed this way for a week, and assuredly i ought to know. here is a bevy of as pretty country maidens as ever came out to see foresters shoot at the butts; but i will answer for it that no lady of higher degree than themselves has gone along the road to mansfield--except, indeed, the prioress of wakefield, and the nun who went with her. but did the good man tell you no more?--his information must have been somewhat scanty." "he told me," replied hugh de monthermer, with a momentary smile crossing the anxiety which his countenance displayed--"he told me to take care how i went, for i might meet with robin hood and his merry men, and come home with a loss." "ay!" said robin; "ay! and, doubtless, you answered, my young lord, that you were not afraid, but would bring robin hood to nottingham if you met him." "no," answered hugh de monthermer, "no, i said no such thing. i told him, on the contrary, that i should be very glad to see bold robin hood; and that i was sure, if i did, we should meet and part good friends, as he and my uncle had fought side by side in the good cause of old england." robin hood held out his hand to him, replying--"you said right, young lord: though, let me tell you, it is not every gay gallant who may come through the forest that would go out of it again, without having his smart skin taken off his back as if he were a brown hare or a spotted deer. but you have come just at the nick of time: let your uncle go on, and tell the earl of ashby, when he finds him, that robin hood says, the loss of his daughter is the judgment of the blessed virgin upon his head, for winking at richard de ashby's carrying off the child of as honest a man as himself, and making a leman of her.--it would be no marvel to hear that she has gone away with some wild young frenchman of king henry's bringing over.--nay, look not so fierce, my noble lord, nor colour up so red! i mean no insult to the lady.--how should i know aught about her or her character? but if i had her in my hands, she should never return to her own home till the old earl had pledged himself to send back idle kate greenly. however, it's no affair of mine, you'll say; and we have weightier matters to think of. both your uncle and myself were mightily puzzled just now, as he must go on at all speed, and yet it is needful that i should have some one here, to consult with in regard to the news i expect to-night. you have come, then, just in time to remain with me, and to settle whatever plan may seem expedient according to the tidings that i receive." hugh de monthermer looked doubtfully from the face of the outlaw to that of his uncle, and then demanded, "have i your word that she has not passed this way?" "i pawn my soul that she has not," replied the forester. the young man cast his eyes down towards the ground, and thought for an instant or two, a suspicion having taken possession of his mind, he knew not well why, that robin was better informed of lucy de ashby's fate than he chose to avow. before he had brought his meditations to an end, however, the old earl interrupted them, saying, "it is very needful, hugh, that, if possible, you should remain here, as he asks you. from your account, you have sought this fair lady much farther than you undertook to do. you have likewise been misled a little from the track, i fancy; and it seems to me more than probable that some emissary of the king's, or of the earl of gloucester's--who has been lately proclaimed by de montfort, a traitor,--may have got possession of the fair lucy, as a hostage for her father's neutrality." "gloucester proclaimed a traitor!" said hugh de monthermer. "then are active times coming, my dear uncle!--i will not refuse to stay if it be needful, but still----" "you could do no good bye any farther search," interrupted the earl; "she must either have been found by her father or her brother, or must be far away ere now.--i look upon it as a duty, hugh, that one of us should remain here this night; and assuredly i ought to go on." "enough, enough!" replied hugh de monthermer. "your wish, my lord, is sufficient for me. but what can i do with the men? two of them belong to my lord of ashby,--and where can i stable my horses?" "send them all away but your own charger," said the outlaw. "you are not afraid to stay alone with robin hood--or robert of the lees, if you like the name better?" "not in the least," answered the young gentleman. "i know i am as safe with you, bold robin, as in my own castle. take them then with you, fair uncle; and you, sir," he continued, turning to one of the earl of ashby's servants, "bear witness to your lord that i have sought this young lady far and near, with all zeal and due devotion. tell him, moreover, that i have ascertained beyond all doubt--as you yourself have heard--that she has not passed in this direction. should he himself find her, i trust he will send me a messenger to ease my mind--that is to say, to save me the trouble of farther pursuit." "well, then, i will away," said the old earl, "for the sun is getting far down already. i sleep to-night at stapleford, and to-morrow go on for derby. follow me quickly, hugh. so long as you are in sherwood with our good friends here, you are safe, but i will leave you half a score of archers at stapleford, and, should i find the roads dangerous, will send you some spears from derby. if you learn by to-night's tidings that war has already begun, arrange with bold robin for a levy of as many yeomen as possible, and let them march to join me wherever i am making head." thus saying, the earl, putting his foot in the stirrup, flung himself lightly into the saddle, gave a brief order for the attendants who had followed his nephew to fall in with the rest of his train; and, once more grasping the hand of the outlaw, without forgetting his companion, little john, he rode away, taking, as his parting benison, a loud cheer from the band of yeomen. "now, my young lord," said robin, when he had gazed for a moment or two after the gallant old earl, "you seem fatigued and exhausted after your day's ride. i will warrant you, you have not broken bread since----" "since five o'clock this morning," replied hugh de monthermer; "but that matters not, i am more anxious than tired, and care little for food." "nonsense, nonsense, young gentleman," cried robin, taking him by the arm, and drawing him towards the table. "here, some one hold the horse. a slice of yon baron, though it be, like a timid counsellor, neither hot nor cold, together with a cup of bordeaux wine, will do you good, young sir." "nay," replied hugh, "give me one of those barley cakes and the wine you speak of. that is all i want. where do we rest to-night?" "some three miles hence, on the way to nottingham," answered the forester, "and if you will not sup now, you must have a rere supper there." while hugh de monthermer broke the barley cake and drank the wine, robin spoke a few words, in an undertone, to little john, who replied, laughing, "no fear, no fear; there is plenty of light, dear little souls." "nay, but i will have it so," answered his leader, aloud. "now, my merry men and pretty maids, disperse, and god's blessing be with you. but let it be remembered that if there be a damsel away from her home at sunset, i will reckon with the man that keeps her. they are all under the safeguard of our honour; and we shall lose their sweet faces at our feasts if any evil happens to them.--those who have sturdy shoulders, clear away all that is left, and let it be given to the poor in the villages round. so do the monks at their gates, and robin hood will be as good as a monk, though his gates be the meres of sherwood. here, cooks, here is your reward, and let the tapster take the tuns for his pains." very rapidly after these words were spoken the numbers on the green began to disperse. some sauntered down the road, some disappeared amongst the trees, and those that remained made themselves busy in carrying off the platters and trenchers from the table, and piling the whole of the simple dinner-service, stools and all, into some large country carts which stood near. no horses, indeed, were upon the ground, but that of hugh de monthermer, and the white charger which had borne the bold forester, and which was still seen under a tree, finishing slowly a trough of oats that had been put down for its consumption. the boy who had held the beast while robin was waiting for the earl of monthermer, now stood close to his master's side looking up in his face; and, at a sign of the finger, he darted away and led up the steed at a quick pace. robin laid his hand upon the urchin's head, saying, "good boy!" and that word, if one might judge by the smile of the young countenance, was reward enough. "now i am ready," said hugh de monthermer; and, mounting their horses, they rode away into the wood. "you will sup better to-night," said robin, as they went. "i do not know," replied the young lord; "i am anxious about this young lady, robin, that is the truth; and anxiety makes but bad sauce to the most savoury food." "nay--nay, take heart of grace," said robin; "i doubt not she is well enough wherever she may be, and it becomes not a gay gentleman to pine for any lady till he knows that she fares hardly." "nay, i do not pine," replied hugh, not liking the term; "methinks i do not look much like a sick crow or a magpie in the moulting season; but still i must feel somewhat anxious, as you would if you had ever seen her." "is she so very beautiful, then?" said robin hood, with an arch smile. "faith is she!" answered hugh de monthermer, "and more than beautiful, though you may think my description savours of extravagance. but it is not so. i have seen others perhaps as beautiful--perhaps more so--but there is that sort of charm about her--that sort of sparkling grace, which is like nothing but the bright morning sunshine, giving fresh loveliness to everything it lights upon." "are you sure that the charm is not love?" asked robin hood. "but let us talk of other matters. here we must turn off from the road, and i take you through paths in sherwood unknown to any justice, either north or south of trent. although i could well trust to your knightly honour, and to your regard for the laws of hospitality, yet i must here exact from you a promise, which every one makes who is led where i lead you. it is, that, upon your honour as true man and good knight, everything you see or hear from this spot till i lead you back to the high road again, shall be forgotten as soon as you quit me, and revealed to no one--no, not to your confessor." the notions which then existed of knightly honour caused hugh de monthermer to give the promise exacted from him without the slightest hesitation; and, that having been done, the bold forester led him on through one of those narrow lanes which we have before mentioned, where only one horse could advance at a time. this path continued for about half a mile, and opened out into one of the wildest parts of the forest, through which there seemed to be no track of any kind. it was not one of those spots properly called coverts--which name was only applied to woods so thick that the branches of the trees touched each other,--but, on the contrary, it was a sort of wild chase, scattered with fine old oaks, and encumbered with an immense quantity of brushwood. there were patches of green grass to be seen here and there, indeed, and once or twice a sandy bank peeped out amongst the bushes, while two or three large ponds, and a small silver stream appeared glistening at about half a mile's distance from the spot where the horsemen issued forth from the lane. it was as lovely a forest scene as ever the eye rested upon, for the ground was broken, and a thousand beautiful accidents diversified the landscape. every here and there a tall mound of earth, sometimes covered with turf, sometimes rounded with brushwood, would rise up, bearing aloft a graceful clump of trees, while the setting sun, pouring its long horizontal rays across the wild track, cast lengthened shadows over the ground below, and brightened all the higher points with gleams of purple light. beyond, again, at the distance of not less than two miles and a half, and considerably lower than the spot where the two journeyers stood, reappeared the thicker coverts of the forest, rolling like the waves of a deep green sea in the calm and mellow rays of the departing day, while a slight mist here and there marked out its separate lines, growing fainter and more faint, till some distant objects, like towers and pinnacles--they might be clouds--they might be parts of a far city--closed the scene, and united the earth with the sky. here all trace of a road ended, but without the slightest hesitation, bold robin hood led the way onward, threading with unerring steps the different green lines which separated one mass of brushwood from another, guiding his companion under one tall bank, and round another high mound, between the bolls of old oaks and across the dancing stream, without even once meeting a check, or having to pause in his whole course through the woody labyrinth. at length, however, the sun went down, and the twilight just sufficed to show hugh de monthermer his way, as they had reached the lowest spot of the chase, and approached a clump of several acres of thick covert. there was a path at one angle by which robin and his companion entered, and winding on in darkness for some way--for the trees excluded the whole of the remaining rays--they at length emerged into an open space in the centre, where they could again see, though faintly, the objects around them. opposite to the mouth of the road by which they came, was the first building that they had seen upon their ride. it was of a very peculiar architecture, consisting of round stones piled upon one another, and cemented together, being what, i believe, is called rubble, while the windows and doors alone, presented hewn stone lintels and transoms, with short small columns supporting each. a quantity of ivy had grown over the greater part of the building; but there were lights within, and for a moment robin hood drew up his horse as if to listen. "here," he said, at length, "lived and reigned a saxon thane when the trees of sherwood were yet young. his bones lie in the little chapel behind. the memory of the place has passed away as well as the people that inhabited it, and it has come to be the abode of a child of the same race, when outlawed for the love of his country." chapter xi. two notes, or, as they were then called, mots, upon his horn, formed the only signal that robin hood gave of his return; but in an instant those sounds brought forth a head from one of the windows, at the height of about twelve or thirteen feet from the ground. that it was apparently a human head, hugh could distinguish, and also that it was a very large one, somewhat strangely shaped; but he was not a little surprised when the body began to follow after, with an extraordinary serpent-like suppleness, till the knees were brought upon the window sill; and then, the feet being swung over, the body was suddenly dropped, and hung against the side of the house, while one hand retained its hold of the stone work, and the other waved, what seemed to be, an odd-looking cap, round and round in the air. the next instant the being who had thought fit to employ this unusual method of descent, let go the grasp of its left hand, and came down upon its feet, bounding up again from the earth like a ball, and cutting a curious caper in the air. although well accustomed to all the monsters which were then much sought for in courts and castles, hugh de monthermer at first imagined that the creature before him was an enormous ape, so extraordinary was its agility, and such the pliancy of all its limbs. the arms, too, like those of the simia tribe, were of an extraordinary length, and the one which attached it to the window as it hung from above, seemed to be longer than the whole body. the moment after it descended, however, the young knight was undeceived, for a human voice proceeded from the supposed ape, of remarkable sweetness. "ho! robin, ho!" it said in english.[ ] "so you have come home at length, wicked wanderer. you have been feasting in the forest, i know, and carried off little harry with you to pamper him on wine and comfits, and left tangel behind with the women." --------------- [footnote : it must be remembered that norman french was at that time the language of the court.] --------------- "did i not take thee at christmas," asked robin, "and leave harry behind? it was but fair, tangel!" "ay, but he's the favourite," said the dwarf, "though he can't do half that i can. pretty looks, robin, pretty looks! you're like all the world, beauty's fool. pretty looks are everything! but i'll comb him into worsted when he comes back again." "nay; thou wilt not hurt him," replied robin; "thou lovest him as well as we do, tangel." "i love him!" exclaimed the dwarf. "scurvy little monster of whiteness! i love him not--out upon him! i'll carve his pink cheeks for him, and bore a hole in each of his eyes. take care what you do with him, robin, and look well to your meat; for if i find you kinder to him than to me, i'll roast him before a slow fire, baste him in his own fat, and serve him up to you as a barbecued pig. ha! ha! ha!--that will be fine sport!--come, give me the horses.--who have you got here in the purfled jerkin?--give you good day, sir," and with his cap in his hand, he made a low and grotesque bow to the young lord. "he will take your horse, my lord," said robin. "now let us in," and approaching the door, he shook it with his hand. it was locked, however, and the stout forester was obliged to have recourse to an instrument, in use during many centuries in england, which served the purpose of a knocker. it consisted merely of a large ring with sundry notches in it; and, a small iron bar, hanging beside it by a chain, being rapidly run over the indented surface, produced a sharp and unpleasant sound, which soon called the attention of those within, who enquired who was there. the door was speedily thrown open at robin's well-known voice, and hugh de monthermer followed his guide through a long dark passage into a room at the back of the house. there were lights in it, though it was vacant; and it was hung with tapestry, which was stained in some places as if with damp, though in general the colours were as fresh as when first the texture was wrought. "here, cicely," said robin hood, pausing at the door after his guest had entered, and speaking to a pretty young woman who had given them admission--"bid them prepare a chamber for this young lord; and hark! tell old martha--" the rest of the sentence was lost to the ears of the young gentleman, and after the girl had tripped away, the outlaw remained upon the ground, apparently in a meditative mood, till at length the sound of some one singing seemed to rouse him from his reverie. it was a remarkably sweet voice, and the air was one but little known in england at the time, coming from those southern lands where music had made greater progress than with us. robin listened for a moment or two, and then said aloud, though evidently speaking to himself--"it is scarcely just, after all, to punish the innocent for the guilty; and it must be a punishment, though she bears it lightly. i must speak with him first, however." "remember, you are not alone, good robin," said hugh of monthermer, unwilling to be a partaker in the outlaw's counsels. robin hood laughed--"it was ever a fault of mine," he replied, "that my tongue was a false gaoler to my thoughts. one would sometimes fancy i was an old doating woman, to mumble to myself the fragments of half-digested purposes. but come, my lord, you have not supped, i have; and as there is much business to do, i must leave you for a time. i go to see a young friend of yours and mine, in order to hold with him some counsel of importance; and i beseech you, quit not this house till i return, which will be in about two hours' time." "i will not," answered hugh, "and in the meantime, rather than sup, i will lie me down and take some rest, having first, with your good leave, seen to the accommodation of my horse." "trust him to my people, trust him to my people," replied robin hood--"and follow my advice. take some supper: you may have to ride far to-night, for aught you know; and meat and drink in moderation, is strength, if not courage. hunger is a sad tamer of stout limbs." as he spoke, he lighted a small silver lamp at one of the candles, which hung in a large polished brass sconce against the wall, and bidding the young lord follow, he led the way through another of those long narrow passages which occupied so much space in all ancient houses. no doors appeared on either side till a sudden turn to the right brought them to the foot of a heavy wooden staircase, the steps of which seemed to be composed of solid blocks of wood, piled round a common centre. there was a rope on either hand fastened by stanchions of iron let into the stonework of the wall. "there," said robin hood, giving the young lord the lamp, "if you go up and open the door just before you, at the top, you will find some supper ready. when you are tired, and wish to go to bed, call for cicely or tangel, and they will show you the way. i must hasten away, or i may miss my time." hugh de monthermer took the lamp and bidding god speed him for the present, ascended the stairs with a slow step. at the top he found himself in a large sort of vestibule, lighted from one end, and containing three doors; one immediately opposite to him, as robin had said; another a little farther down, and another upon his left hand; but although the directions of the outlaw had been very distinct, hugh de monthermer paused and hesitated, for he heard the sound of voices speaking within, and the tongues seemed those of women. although he was by no means averse to the society of the fair, the young knight imagined that there must be some mistake, as the outlaw had given him no cause to suppose that any one was waiting for him. after a moment of suspense, however, he approached and knocked; and a voice answered, "come in, for we have no means of keeping any one out." the sight that presented itself to hugh de monthermer made him pause suddenly in surprise not unmingled with pleasure. the room was a small low-roofed chamber, covered with dark-coloured painted cloth instead of arras, but well lighted, and with a blazing log on the hearth, which might be needed in that old dwelling, notwithstanding the month being may. although the furniture was ancient even in those times, yet everything was most comfortable according to the usages of the day. the floor was thickly strewed with dry rushes, and a table was in the midst, on which pretty cicely was arranging, in haste, a number of dishes, and plates, and drinking-cups. but it was neither on the maid nor on the table that the eyes of hugh rested, for in a chair, at some distance from the fire, sat a fair lady, amusing herself with an old embroidery frame, while on two seats somewhat lower, engaged in winding and unwinding silks, sat two girls of about the same age as their mistress, one of whom was evidently the person who had spoken, as her eyes were fixed upon the door, and her pretty little lips still apart. if the surprise of hugh de monthermer was great, that of the party within seemed not less so. the lady at once dropped the embroidery frame, started up and ran towards him with her hands extended, as if she would have cast herself into his arms, exclaiming, with a glowing cheek and sparkling eye--"hugh!" then, suddenly stopping herself, she turned her eyes to the ground, and the colour became still brighter in her face than before. she recovered herself in a moment; but neither of the maids of lucy de ashby ever jested with their mistress afterwards upon her wearing the colours of the house of monthermer. hugh, however, did not hesitate, but advancing, with a quick step, took the hand that was held out to him, and pressed his lips upon it. "lucy!" he cried, "have i then found you at last?" "have you been seeking me, my lord?" asked lucy de ashby, glancing her eyes timidly towards the two maids; "i trust you are come to deliver us--though, to say sooth," she added, with a gay look, "we have been so well treated in the forest, and so thoroughly despaired of gaining our freedom, that we had well-nigh chosen ourselves husbands from the bold rangers." "you might do worse, lady," said cicely, scarcely liking the subject to be jested with; "there are honest hearts in the forest!" "doubtless, my good girl," replied lucy; "but you forget, we have not tried them yet. now, my good lord hugh, let us know, in a word, whether you are come to deliver us or not.--on my life, one would think that he was the man who goes about preaching patience: to keep a lady one whole minute without an answer!" "nay," replied hugh, "i am so surprised to find you here, that my wonder must have time to cool. but, in reply to your question, fairest lady, i must own, though i certainly came into sherwood to seek you, i came not here to deliver you." "why, how is that, sir knight?" demanded lucy, a shade of disappointment coming over her bright countenance, at the thought of being detained longer in the forest; for, however gaily we may bear it, the loss of liberty is always painful, and the exercise of that gift which has brought so much misery to every man--our own free will--is not the less dear under any circumstances--"why, how is that? surely, if you came to seek me, you came to deliver me! you speak in riddles but to tease me a little longer." "nay, heaven forbid!" replied hugh de monthermer, "that i should tease you at all! but, to explain what i mean, i must tell you the whole story." "oh, tell it, tell it then!" cried the lady; "that is quite according to every ballad in the land! the knight always finds the lady in the wood, and then narrates his lamentable history." "mine shall be a short one, at all events," said hugh, and he proceeded, as briefly as possible, to relate all that had occurred to him during the last six-and-thirty hours. every one, of course, in this world tells his story in his own way, and his manner of telling it is not alone modified by his own peculiar character, but by the circumstances in which he is placed, and the passions that are within him at the moment. this truism may be trite enough, but it was applicable to the case of hugh de monthermer, for his own sensations at the time affected the method of telling his tale even more than any of the peculiarities of his own nature. the feelings that he entertained towards lucy de ashby--the difficulty of restraining those feelings, and yet the fear of suffering them to appear too openly, circumstanced as he then was, all modified his history, and made it very different from what it would have been had he been indifferent to the person whom he addressed. love, however, has ever been considered a skilful teacher of oratory, and without any actual intention of doing so, every word that hugh de monthermer uttered showed the fair girl beside him something more of the passion which she already knew was in his heart. he paused but little upon the anxiety of her father, or the indignation of her brother, but he detailed at length the whole of his own course while seeking her, the grief he had felt, the apprehensions he had entertained, and the disappointment he had experienced when frustrated in his endeavours; and, although there appeared from time to time flashes of his own gay and sparkling disposition--though he told his tale jestingly, with many a light figure and playful illustration, there was an undertone of deep tenderness running through the whole, which showed lucy that the sportive tone was but as a light veil cast over the true feelings of his heart. the reader need hardly be told, after the traits that we have given--which, though they be few, were significant enough--that lucy was not by any means displeased with the discoveries which she made in hugh de monthermer's bosom. that she loved him we have not attempted to conceal, but the history of her love is somewhat curious, and worth inquiring into, as it displays some of the little secrets of the human heart. lucy de ashby was by no means a coquette; her nature was too tender--too sensitive, her mind too imaginative for cold arts. she knew that she was beautiful, it is true; indeed she could not doubt it, for she saw it in every mirror, and heard it from every tongue; but she was far less anxious for admiration than for love. indeed, to persons not naturally vain, who aim at higher objects than merely to please the eye, personal admiration, although they may know that they deserve it, may sometimes become even burdensome. lucy, for one, was tired of hearing that she was beautiful, and to tell her that she was so, in whatever courtly forms the intimation might be conveyed, was no way of winning her favour. it was the general mode, however adopted by the young nobles who frequented the court of england, and were admitted to her father's house. they thought they could never too much praise her loveliness or extol her grace. it was the custom of the day, the only mode of winning lady's love then known; and the world were much surprised to find that for one or two years she remained very cold and insensible to all who strove by such means to raise a warmer feeling in her bosom. during the greater part of that time the house of monthermer had been at open enmity with that of ashby, and hugh himself was the object of many a bitter and an angry speech on the part both of her father and her brother. now it may seem that the fair lady was a little animated by the spirit of contradiction, when we acknowledge that the hatred which her family entertained towards the young lord hugh was one of the first causes that created in lucy's bosom a feeling in his favour. but the reader must not forget, lucy had no reason to suppose that the animosity of her family was well-founded, or their harsh censure just. on the contrary, from every indifferent person whom she was inclined to respect and esteem, she heard the highest praises of him whom her father and brother delighted to decry. she saw, also, that they themselves had no slight difficulty in finding matter for blame in the conduct of the rival house; and when occasionally the two families met, either at the court or at any of the chivalrous pageants of the day, it seemed to her that in demeanour, at least, hugh de monthermer was very different from that which the voice of angry passion represented him. all these things sunk into her mind; and although she said nothing upon the subject, but remained equally silent when he was condemned or praised, the conviction forced itself upon her that he was the object of injustice; and where is the woman's heart without that latent chivalry which instantly takes arms in favour of the oppressed? thus went on the history of lucy's love till that reconciliation was brought about between the families, of which we have already spoken. circumstances then led them into frequent communication, and a great change took place in her father's opinion of the young lord. he made no longer any difficulty of acknowledging that hugh was one of the most distinguished gentlemen of the day; and though her brother alured did not forget his enmity so easily--for in his case there was a touch of envious jealousy in it--yet he suffered the motives too plainly to appear; and lucy, seeing, esteeming, and admiring, had always ready a champion in her own breast to defend the cause of hugh de monthermer. had anything been wanting to lead her onward to that state in which the whole heart is given--where there is no retreat, and where all other sensations are swallowed up in love--some of the events of the first few months succeeding the reconciliation of the two families would have speedily furnished it. for some time hugh de monthermer paid only such attention to lucy de ashby as the courtesy of the day required. she was certainly surprised--perhaps a little disappointed, that the only man for whose admiration she had ever wished, should not at once be captivated by her beauty, as others had been. many a woman, under such circumstances, would have thrown out every lure, would have used every art to win his attention; but lucy did not so: she retired to her own chamber, and fell into deep meditation. "he may love some one else," she said to herself, and as she said so, she felt inclined to weep; but she repressed her tears, and determined never to let her thoughts rest for a moment upon him again. she chid herself for unwomanly rashness, even for the preference she felt; but with poor lucy the time for good resolutions or self-chiding to be of any avail, was past. she loved already--loved truly, and those who have so loved, well know that, like the garment imbued with the blood of nessus, true affection, when once it clothes the human heart, can never be torn off, and that even in the effort to do so the very veins and flesh are rent away along with it. she was not destined long to suffer any doubt, however: a single day brought her relief, and changed sorrow into joy. the earl of monthermer and his nephew were then at her father's castle of lindwell, enjoying the sports of the brown autumn, and cementing the newly-revived friendship between the two houses in the intimate communication of domestic life. the day after she had indulged in the melancholy thoughts, and made all the vain resolutions, and addressed to her own heart the idle reproaches we have mentioned, hugh and lucy were seated next each other at the table, and at first their conversation was cold and commonplace. at length, however, as so often happens, something was said--some accidental word--some mere casual observation--some sentence, apparently as light as air, but accompanied by smile, or glance, or tone, indicative of feelings deeper than the words implied, and the heart of each seemed to open to the other as if by magic. i recollect once visiting a house where the scenery around appeared tame and monotonous enough. the rooms were stately, fine pictures hung upon the walls, and many objects of art and interest lay scattered round, but still when one looked forth there was nothing beautiful before the eye, till suddenly, in a dark, dull chamber, in a remote part of the mansion, a servant drew back a blind from a small window, and one of the most magnificent scenes in nature burst instantly upon the view. what it was that lucy de ashby said to hugh de monthermer i know not, but it drew back the veil from her heart and showed him a new world, such as he had never dreamt was near at hand. he had certainly not been without warm admiration of her beauty: he had felt its power, and somewhat dreaded its effects; but the master spell was now added, and the harmony between her person and her mind left him no power to resist. his whole manner towards her changed at once; admiration and regard were thenceforward in every look and in bright interchange of thoughts and feelings; and when lucy laid her head down upon her pillow, her brain reeled with the memory of a thousand sweet sensations crowded into the short space of a few hours. her brother was absent--there is reason to believe purposely--and on the following day her father's horse fell in the chase and injured him, though not dangerously. it was hugh who brought her the tidings, who soothed her apprehensions, who calmed and consoled her, and every hour added something to the intimacy that grew up between them. they rode forth in the woods together, they walked side by side upon the battlements; and, though the words of love that might be spoken, were all vague and shadowy, yet each understood the feelings of the other; and hugh only waited till the friendship of their houses should be more confirmed, to demand the hand of lucy as a new bond of union between their families. the man who delays even for an hour in love is a fool, or has no experience. the latter was the case of hugh de monthermer. had he asked for lucy de ashby then, the old earl would have granted her to him at once; but in a few days alured de ashby returned, bringing his cousin richard with him; and it soon became evident to the lover that the favourable moment was past for the time. such is the history of the affection which had grown up between hugh and lucy to the time when last they parted. some months had intervened, and it may well be supposed that it was not a little soothing to the sweet girl's heart to mark that strain of tenderness which, as we have said, ran through the whole of hugh de monthermer's story. so pleasant was it, indeed, that for a short time the disappointment of her hopes of deliverance was forgotten in the gratification of other feelings. she paused and mused; but at length her mind reverted to the more painful consideration. she at once saw, when she reflected on all he had just told her, that hugh was bound by his promise to the outlaw to take no step whatever to set her free. he had sworn that all he beheld and heard there should be to him as if it were not; and lucy herself had too much of the chivalrous spirit in her nature to wish that one she loved should ever evade, even were it possible, the sincere execution of an engagement he had formed. she looked in his face for a moment or two in silence, and in the end asked him simply, "what then do you intend to do?" "good faith, dear lady," he replied, "i see but one thing to be done, which is, as i cannot take you away with me, to stay here with you; and, if this terrible enchanter of sherwood will not set you free, why we must spend our days here under the green leaves, chasing the wild deer, and singing the hours away." lucy smiled gaily, for the images were not unpleasant ones that hugh de monthermer's reply called up. she thought it would be a very happy life; and if those sad bonds of circumstances which continually tie down the noblest energies of the mind and the best, and strongest feelings of the heart had permitted it, she would willingly have cast off high rank and station, and all the gawds and gewgaws of society, to remain with hugh de monthermer in the forest of sherwood and pass the rest of her days in low estate. his reply threw her into a new fit of musing, however, and their farther conversation was interrupted, for the moment, by the pretty maid, cicely, calling their attention to the supper, which was spread upon the table. the two lovers sat down side by side; lucy's maidens took their seats opposite, and the meal passed over partly in gay, partly in serious conversation; but, between lucy and hugh, there was of course a degree of restraint from the presence of others, which was sufficiently evident to those who caused it. there is a general sympathy in every woman's heart for love, but, of course, that sympathy is more active in the young, who feel, than in the old, who only remember the passion. with unchilled hearts ready to thrill at the first touch, lucy de ashby's two maids having so lately been enlightened fully in regard to their mistress's feelings for hugh de monthermer, were only anxious for an excuse to leave the lady and her lover alone; and not finding any ready to their hand, they dispensed with all pretexts whatever, first the one and then the other quitting the room, and betaking themselves to the sleeping-chamber which had been assigned to them and their lady. there can be but little doubt that lucy was well satisfied with their departure; but yet a sort of timid panic took possession of her, and she had well-nigh called them back. the next moment she smiled at her own fears, and would have given a great deal to renew the conversation, which had come to a sudden halt, upon some indifferent topic; but words were wanting, and lucy sat with the colour a little heightened in her cheek, and the silky fringes of her soft dark eyes drooping so as to veil half their light. hugh de monthermer gazed at her with admiration and love, and although he felt very certain that she was not without her share of tenderness towards him, he determined to make "assurance double sure," and not lose the opportunity which fortune had presented. "well, lucy," he said, breaking the long pause at length, "as i cannot deliver you, shall i remain with you to protect you?" "assuredly!" she answered, covering a certain degree of agitation with a gay look, "you are a faithless knight, even to dream of quitting a lady in this enchanted castle! did you not say that you were to stay here; and that we were to live a woodland life--chasing the wild deer, and making the groves and dells echo with our horns? i declare it is quite delightful to think of!" "and you are to be my lady, and i am to be your knight?" asked the lover. "is it not so, lucy?" "to be sure!" replied his fair companion. "i will have you my most devoted servant, as in duty bound. you shall train my hawks for me, and teach my dogs, and ride by my side, and be ever ready to couch your lance in my defence. in short, as i have said, you shall be my very humble servant on all occasions." "and nothing more?" inquired hugh de monthermer. "may i not sometimes have a dearer title?" lucy blushed deeply and was silent, and hugh de monthermer went on; "may i not be called your lover, lucy?--may i not some time, perhaps, be called your husband? dear girl," he continued, taking her hand, which trembled a little in his,--"dear girl, if we are to remain here, depend upon it, we shall soon have to look for a priest in the forest. what say you, lucy, shall it be so?" lucy crushed a bright drop through her eyelashes, and giving her pretty brow a wild fawnlike shake, she turned her glowing face towards him with a look of gay daring, saying, "i dare say we could find one, hugh, if it were needful." her lover drew her somewhat nearer to him, whispering a few low words in her ear. "hush, hush!" she said, "be satisfied, i will tell you no more!" "but listen, dearest lucy," said hugh de monthermer, "we have here a few moments to ourselves: it may be long ere we have the same again. it is right that we should clearly understand how we are placed. i love you, dearest lucy, as well as woman was ever loved! do you believe me?" "i dare say you do," replied lucy, laughing, "i think it is quite natural you should--how could you help yourself, poor youth!" "and you love me as much, lucy," added the young knight; "is it not so?" "no!" cried lucy, "i hate you! you know it quite well, and i shall hate you still more if you tease me about it!" "hate me in the same way ever," replied hugh de monthermer, kissing her cheek, "and i will forgive you, my sweet mistress.--but the case is this, lucy," he added, in graver tone; "there are difficulties and dangers before us. why they have brought you here, i do not know. how long they may keep you, i cannot tell; but the moment that i dare to leave you, i must march with all speed towards wales. battle and peril are in my way--perhaps i may never see you more. a thousand evils may occur, a thousand dark mischances may separate us for long, if not for ever, and i would fain----" "say no more, hugh, say no more," cried lucy, at once rendered serious by his words; "i do love you, if it will make you happy to hear it. i have never loved any but you--there, i can say no more, can i?" hugh rewarded the confession as such an acknowledgment may best be rewarded; but still he went on, after a few minutes, in the same tone. "no one can tell dear girl," he proceeded, "what events the future may have in store; but i see clouds gathering in the sky, portending storms which may well dash down the blossom of our hopes, if we put it not under shelter. what i mean is, that we must not fancy our affection will meet with no opposition." "but my father loves you, hugh," exclaimed lucy; "he loves, esteems, and praises you." "but your brother does not," replied her lover. "it is in vain, lucy, that i have sought his regard, by every honest means that a true heart could take. still he loves me not; and i am apprehensive lest in the coming events some cause of dissension should arise, which might induce him, and perhaps your father also, to endeavour to separate us for ever." lucy bent down her eyes thoughtfully, and remained for several moments without answering. "one cannot resist the will of a father," she said, at length, "but i am not bound to obey the will of a brother. what is it you would have me to do, hugh?--i am in a foolish mood for complying," she added, with a smile. "i know not what you men would do, if we women did not sometimes become as soft as wax when the sun shines on it." hugh de monthermer paused, for there was a strong temptation at his heart, and, to say the truth, he could scarcely resist it. he saw that lucy was in a yielding mood--he saw that, taking advantage of the opportunity, he might, perhaps, win her even to give him her hand at once. there were excuses for such a step, which, probably, no other moment would furnish. in a situation of danger and captivity, where she required the protection of one invested with some sacred right--far from her own relatives, and having every reason to believe that her father would approve her choice, a thousand motives for yielding to such a request might easily be urged; and when pleaded by the voice of love would doubtless prevail. these were strong temptations to hugh de monthermer, whose heart was not of the most icy nature; but, on the other hand, there were those chivalrous feelings of honour in which he had been educated, which but too few, indeed, of the nobles of his own day entertained, but which were rooted in his mind as principles that even passion could not overthrow. he demanded of himself, would it be honourable? would it be just?--treated with kindness and trust as he had lately been by the earl of ashby, ought he not to return confidence for confidence, and boldly ask her father for lucy's hand without taking advantage of her unprotected situation to induce her to grant what might otherwise be refused? "it is like stealing a treasure," said hugh to himself, "which we have found by chance, but which we know belongs to another man." lucy looked up, wondering that he did not reply; and her lover, believing that he risked nothing to show her both the passion which was in his heart, and the principles which restrained that passion, answered, at length, "dear girl, i am sorely tempted--tempted to ask you to be mine at once--tempted to ask you to send for that same priest we talked of but now, and to give me this fair hand before we quit these greenwood shades." "nay, nay, hugh," cried lucy, colouring brightly. "hear me, lucy," said her lover; "i only said i was sorely tempted; but i know i must not yield. yet one thing, lucy, i may seek, and that fairly, for it is what i would ask were we now in the midst of the gayest hall,--ay! or in that sweet oriel window of your father's castle, where we have whiled away so many an hour with idle words that covered deeper thoughts within. will you promise to be mine?--will you promise to be mine whatever betide!" lucy gazed somewhat sadly in his face--"sooner or later, hugh," she said; "sooner or later, i will. i must not resist my father's will. if he oppose, i must obey so far, as to deny you for the time; but never--believe me, hugh, for i promise by all i hold most sacred--never shall this hand rest as a bride in that of another man. they can but send me to a convent; and that my father will not do, for i know that often, when my brother's rash mood frets him and brings a cloud over the calm evening sunshine of his days, he finds a comfort in my presence, which he would not willingly be without." "but, dear lucy," said hugh, "were your father dead, might not your brother doom you to the dark cold shade of the cloister?" "he cannot, hugh--he dare not!" replied lucy. "he has no power. the lands i hold are not from him, nor from the king of england. however, they might strip me of them, hugh, it is true, and lucy de ashby might be a dowerless bride, but----" "but the more welcome, dearest lucy!" replied hugh. "would that your father even now would give me this fair hand, with nothing on it but the ring that makes you mine! and should the time ever come when, after his death, your brother opposes our union, but bring me that sweet smile, and the kind word, 'yes,' at the altar, and i shall think my lucy dowered well enough." "it is sad, hugh," said lucy, "even to look forward to future joys when one of those we love shall be no longer here; and, therefore, i will still trust that my father's eyes may see our wedding, and his voice give us a blessing. but my proud brother, alured, shall never stand between you and me.--hark! there are steps upon the stairs!" she exclaimed; "before they come, let me bind myself by bonds that cannot be broken.--i promise you that, sooner or later, i will be yours, hugh; and that i will never be the bride of another; so help me heaven at my need!" chapter xii. all the principal streets of the old town of hereford were thronged with personages of various conditions and degrees, towards the evening of one of those soft, but cloudy summer days, when the sun makes his full warmth felt, but without the glare which dazzles the eye when he shines unveiled upon the world. that street, however, to which we shall conduct the reader, was narrow, so that not more than three or four horsemen could ride abreast, and yet it was one of the best in the town. but, in reality, the space for passengers was much wider than it seemed; for, as was then very common, especially upon the frontiers of wales, one half of the ground-floor of the houses was taken up by a long, open arcade, which sheltered the pedestrians from the rain at some periods of the year, and from the heat at others. from the first floors of these houses--just high enough to allow a tall horse, mounted by a tall man with a lance in his hand to pass, without striking the head of the cavalier or the weapon he carried--projected long poles, usually gilt; and suspended therefrom appeared many of the various signs which are now restricted to inns and taverns, but were then common to every mansion of any importance. down this street, and underneath innumerable symbols of swans, and horses, and eagles, and mermaids, and falcons, and doves, and of all those heterogeneous mixtures of birds, beasts, and fishes, which the fertile fancy of man ever confounded, were riding, at the time i speak of, various groups of horsemen, while ever and anon the progress of one party or another would be stopped by some man, woman, or child, darting out from the arcade at the side, and holding a conversation, short or long, as the circumstances might be, with one of the equestrians. amongst other groups in the gay and animated scene, was one which remained ungreeted by any of the good people of the town, but which was suffered to pass along uninterrupted till it reached a second-rate inn, called the maypole. it consisted of four human beings and three beasts--namely, three men and a woman, two horses, and a sleek, vicious-looking mule. on one of the horses was mounted a tall sturdy man in the guise of a servant; on the other was evidently a fellow-labourer in the same vineyard; but he was not alone, for on a pillion behind him appeared a female from, covered with a thick veil which shrouded the face, so that it was impossible to see whether there was beauty beneath or not, although the figure gave indications of youth and grace which were not to be mistaken. jogging along upon the mule, with his legs hanging down easily by the side of the animal, and his fat stomach resting peacefully upon the saddle, was a jolly friar clothed in grey, with his capuche thrown back, the sun not being troublesome, and a bald head--the glistening smoothness of which had descended by tradition even to shakspeare's days, and was recorded by him in his two gentlemen of verona--peeping out from a narrow ring of jet black hair, scarcely streaked with grey. his face was large and jovial, which, in good sooth, was no distinction in those times between one friar and another; but there was withal a look of roguish fun about the corners of his small grey eyes; and a jeering smile, full of arch satire, quivered upon his upper lip, completely neutralizing the somewhat sensual and food-loving expression of the under one, which moved up and down every time he spoke, like a valve, to let out the words that could never come in again. indeed, he seemed to be one of those easy-living friars who, knowing neither sorrow nor privation in their own persons, appeared to look upon grief and care with a ready laugh and a light joke, as if no such things in reality exist. his rosy gills, his double chin, and his large round ear, all spoke of marrow and fatness; and, indeed, at the very first sight, the spectator saw that he was not only a well-contented being, but one who had good reason to be so. just as they reached the entrance of the tavern which we have mentioned, the friar, by some mismanagement, contrived to get his mule's hind quarters towards the servant, who was riding singly on horseback, and by a touch of the heel, given, apparently, to make the beast put itself into a more convenient position for all parties, he produced a violent fit of kicking, in the course of which the horseman received a blow upon the fleshy part of his thigh, which made him roar with pain. the seat upon the vicious beast's back was no easy one, but yet the fat monk kept his position, laughing heartily, and calling his mule a petulant rogue, while he held him by his left ear, or patted his pampered neck. as soon as the fit was done, he rolled quietly off at the side, and looking up to his companion, saw, or appeared to see, for the first time, the wry faces which the servant man was making. "bless my heart!" he cried, "has he touched thee, the good-for-nothing rogue? i will chastise him for it soundly." "if he have not broke my leg it is not his fault," replied the man, dismounting, and limping round his horse; "and you have as great a share in it, mad priest, for bringing his heels round where they had no business to be." "nay," rejoined the friar, "i brought not his heels round, he brought them himself, and me along with them. it was all intended to cast me off; so the offence is towards myself, and i shall punish him severely. he shall have five barley-corns of food less for his misbehaviour." "psha!" said the serving-man, looking up at the inn. "you are jesting foully, friar; i am sorry i let you join us. is this the hostel you boasted had such good wine? it seems but a poor place for such commendation." "thou shalt find the liquor better than in any house in hereford," replied he of the grey gown; "whether you choose mead, or metheglin, or excellent warm burgundy, or cool bordeaux. taste and try--taste and try; and if you find that i have deceived you, you shall cut me into pieces not an inch square, and sow me along the high road! there is good lodging, too.--canst thou not trust a friar?" the man grumbled forth some reply not very laudatory of the order to which his fat friend belonged; and in a few minutes after, the whole party were seated in a hall, which, for the time being, lacked other tenants. the usual hour of supper was over, and in many a hostelry of those days the wayfarers would have found no food in such a case, unless they brought it with them. but the host was a compassionate man, and, moreover, knew right well the twinkle of the jolly friar's eye, so that, for old friendship's sake, many a savoury mess was speedily set before them, together with a large flagon of wine, which fully bore out the character that had been given to it by the friar as they rode along. under the influence of such consolations, the serving-man forgot his bruise; and the lady, laying aside her veil, shewed a pretty face, with which the reader is in some part acquainted, being none other than that which, once happy and bright, graced the door of the little village inn under the name of kate greenly. there was some sadness upon that fair countenance--the cheerful smile was gone, although there was a smile of a different character still left. the freshness, the ease, the lightness, were all wanting; though there was greater depth of thought and feeling in the expression than during the pleasant days of village sport and girlish coquetry. the rough touch of passion had brushed the bloom from the fruit, and kate greenly, in look at least, was three or four years older than a few weeks before. as she put aside her veil to take part in the meal, the eye of the friar fixed upon her, till she reddened under his gaze, looking half angry, half abashed; but the moment after, the colour became deeper still, when he said, "methinks, fair lady, i have seen that sweet face before." "perhaps so," she replied--"i cannot tell. there's many a wandering friar comes to my father's door; but i heed them not, good sooth." the friar laughed, answering gaily-- "beauty, fair girl, is like the sun-- is marked by all, but marketh none." "try some of these stewed eels, pretty one; they are worthy of the wye, whose waters have no mud to give them a foul flavour. try them--try them--they are good for the complexion: and now, master serving-man, what think you of the wine? did you ever taste better out of the spare tankard which the butler hideth behind the cellar door?" the serving-man was forced to admit that he had seldom drunk such good liquor, and gradually getting over the ill humour which had been sharpened by a lurking suspicion that the heels of the mule had been turned towards him by human agency rather than the brute's own obstinacy, enjoyed his supper, and laughed and talked with the friar till the wine seemed to mount somewhat into the brain of both. in the meanwhile, the light-o'-love, kate greenly, sat by for some three quarters of an hour, melancholy in the midst of mirth. the thoughts of home had been called up in her heart by the monk's words--the thoughts of home and happy innocence! and she now found that in giving up every treasure with which heaven had gifted her lot, for one trinket that, she could not always wear upon her hand, she had made a mighty sacrifice for an uncertain reward. the only object that could console her was away; and after enduring for the space of time we have mentioned the pangs of others' mirth, she rose, and said she would seek her chamber, as they had to proceed early. the two serving-men sat idly at the table, leaving her to find her way alone, for they reverenced but little their master's leman; but the jovial fat friar started up from his seat with an activity which he seemed little capable of, saying, "stay, stay, pretty one--i will call my host or hostess to you. they are worthy, kind people, as ever lived," and he walked side by side with her towards the door. had the eyes of her two companions been upon her, they would have seen her start as she was quitting the room with the friar; but their looks were directed to the tankard which was passing between them, and in a moment after, the rich full voice of the grey gown was heard calling for the host and hostess. in another instant he rolled back into the room, and resuming his place at the table, did as much justice as any one to the good wine of the maypole. "here's to thy lord, whosoever he may be!" cried the friar, addressing the serving-man whom his mule had kicked. "god prosper his good deeds, and frustrate his bad ones, if he commits any!" "i'll not drink that," replied the worthy who had carried kate greenly behind him. "i say, god prosper my master, and all his works--good, bad, and indifferent. i have no business to take exceptions." "tut, man, drink the toast, and sing us a song!" cried he of the grey gown. "sing first, thyself, fat friar," answered the serving-man. the friar rejoined, "that i will!" and after taking another deep draught, he poured forth, in full mellow strains, the well-known old song, "in a tavern let me die, and a bottle near me lye, that the angelic choir may cry, god's blessing on the toper!" etc. the song was much applauded, and as both the friar's companions were now sufficiently imbued with drink to be ready for any species of jollity, the same musical propensity seized upon them both in turn, and they poured forth a couple of strains, which, if they could be found written down in the exact terms in which they were sung, might well be considered as invaluable specimens of the english poetry of that early age. as they had no great tendency to edification, however, and contained more ribaldry than wit, the gentle render will probably excuse their omission in this place. while thus with mirth and revelry three out of the personages whom we saw arrive at the inn passed more than one hour of the night, the fourth was ushered to a chamber hung with dark-painted cloth, while a lamp placed in the window shewed a deep recess projecting over the street, and making, as it were, a room within the room. the hostess accompanied kate greenly to her apartment, and for some time bustled about, seeing that all was in order, much to the poor girl's discomfort. in vain she assured the good landlady that she had all she wanted; in vain she expressed weariness and a desire to retire to bed: still the hostess found something to set to rights, some table to place, some stool to dust, while ever and anon she declared that her girls were slatterns, and her chamberlain a lazy knave. at length she turned towards the door, and kate greenly thought that she was going to be freed from her presence; but it was only to call for her husband, and to tell him, at the top of her voice, that he was "wonderful slow." the poor girl could bear it no longer, but approaching the deep recess, where the lamp stood in the window, she mounted the two little steps, which separated it from the rest of the room, and standing close to the light, unfolded a paper which she held in her hand. at first she could scarcely see the words which were written therein, but shading her eyes with her hand, she gazed intently on the lines, and read,-- "return to your father; leave him not broken-hearted with shame and sorrow! if you are willing to go back, i will soon find means; for i have more help at hand than you wot of. say but one word to the hostess, and ere daylight to-morrow you shall be on the way to barnesdale. as i know the whole, so i tell you that the last hope is before you. if you go back you may have peace and ease, though you have cast away happiness; if you go forward, you may have a few hours of joy, but a long life of misery, neglect, destitution, and despair, without the hope of this world or the hope of the next. "the friar." kate trembled very much, and her whole thoughts seemed to refuse all direction or control; but at that moment the host of the maypole himself appeared, bearing a small silver chalice of warm wine, and a plate filled with many-coloured comfits. "i pray you, taste the sleeping-cup," he said, approaching his fair guest; and as she mechanically followed the common custom of the day in taking the cup, putting a few comfits in, and raising it for an instant to her lips, she saw the eyes of both her companions fix upon her countenance with a look of interest and inquiry, and perceived at a glance that they also had, in some way, been made acquainted with her history. the burning glow of shame--the first time that she had felt it fully--came into kate greenly's cheek, but it only roused her pride; and instead of trampling that viper of the human heart under her feet, after a moment's pause to recover herself, she said, with the look and air of a queen-- "i want nothing more. you may go! if i want aught else, i will call." the host and hostess retired, wishing her good night; but she thought she saw upon the man's lip one of those maddening smiles which say more than words, but do not admit of reply. the moment they were gone she clasped her hands together, and burst into tears--tears, not calm and soothing; tears, not bitter and purifying; but tears of fierce and passionate anger at meeting, perhaps, kinder treatment than she deserved. seating herself upon the step to the window, she sobbed for a few minutes with uncontrollable vehemence; and then, starting up, she approached the lamp, and once more read the lines she had received. they seemed to change the current of her thoughts again, for her eye fixed upon vacancy, the paper dropped from her hand, and once or twice she uttered, in a low, solemn voice, the word "return!" "oh no!" she cried at length, "no; i cannot return. what! return to my father's house, with every object that my eyes could light upon crying out upon me, and telling me what i was once, and what i am now,--to have the jeers and smiles and nods of my companions, and be pointed at as the light-o'-love and the wanton!--to be marked in the walk, and in the church, to be shunned like a leper, to be pitied by those who hate me most, and looked cold upon by those who loved me! no, no, no! i can never return. there is no return in life from any course that we have once taken.--i feel it, i know it now. we may strive hard, we may look back, we may stretch forth our arms towards the place from which we set out; but we can never reach it again, struggle however we may. no, no; i must forward! i have chosen my path, i have sealed my own fate, and by it i must abide!" she paused and thought for several minutes, and as she did so, it would seem, the fears and apprehensions, the doubts and anxieties, that dog the steps of sin, the hell-hounds that are ever ready to fall upon their prey the moment that lassitude overtakes it on its onward course, seized upon the heart of poor kate greenly with their envenomed teeth. yes, you may struggle on, poor thing; you may burst away, for an instant, from the fangs that hold, you may get a fresh start and run on, thinking that you have distanced them, but those fell pursuers, fear and apprehension, doubt and anxiety, are still behind you, and shall hunt you unto death! they were now, for the first time, tearing the sides of their victim; and the shapes they assumed may be discovered by the words that broke from her in her mental agony--"he will never surely abandon me!--he will never surely ill-treat me! after all that he has promised, after all that he has told me, after all that he has sworn! he will never surely be so base, so utterly base!--and yet why has he not come on with me? why, after two poor days' companionship, send me on with serving-men? if he needs must to london, why not take me with him?--but no," she continued, soothing herself with fond hopes, "no, it cannot be; he has some weighty business on hand requiring instant dispatch. doubtless his journey was too swift and fatiguing for a woman.--oh, yes, he will come back to me soon.--perhaps he is already at his castle--perhaps i may see him to-morrow:" and she clapped her pretty hands with joy at the happiness which imagination had called up. at that moment, however, by one of those strange turns of thought which the mind sometimes suddenly takes, whether we will or not--like a bird struggling away from the hand that would hold it--the image of poor ralph harland rose up before her, and the satisfaction she felt at the idea of again seeing her seducer, seemed to contrast itself painfully in imagination with the anguish which he must endure at never beholding more the object of his earliest love, and knowing that she was in the arms of another. "what," she asked herself, "what would be my own feelings under such circumstances?" and the answer which naturally sprang to her lips from the eager and passionate heart that beat within her bosom, was, "i should kill some one and die!" the contemplation, however, was too painful; she would think of it no more. sorrow and repentance had not yet sufficiently taken hold of her, to render it difficult for kate greenly to cast away thought with the usual lightness of her nature, and she answered the reproaches of conscience, as usually happens, with a falsehood. "oh, he will soon find some one to console him!" she said; and for fear of her own better judgment convicting her of an untruth, she hastened to employ herself on the trifles of the toilet, and to seek in sleep that repose of heart which her waking hours were never more to know. but there was a thorn in her pillow too, and her nights had lost no small portion of their peace. the following morning dawned bright and clear, and kate greenly's state of mind was changed. fears and apprehensions, self-reproach and regret, had vanished with the shades of night. the stillness, the darkness, the solitude--those powerful encouragers of sad thoughts--were gone; the busy, bustling, sunshiny day was present; she heard songs coming up from the streets, she heard voices talking and laughing below; all the sounds and sights of merry life were around her; and her heart took the top of the wave, and bounded onward in the light of hope. her only care, as she dressed herself in the morning, was, how she should meet the keen grey eye of the friar; but that was soon resolved. she would frown upon him, she thought; she would treat him with silent contempt, and doubtless he would not dare to say another word, for fear of calling upon himself chastisement from her two attendants. she was spared all trouble upon the subject, however, for the friar had departed before daybreak. she had sent him no answer by the hostess, and her silence was answer enough. after a hasty meal the light-o'-love and those who accompanied her once more set out upon their way, and rode on some fifteen miles down the wye without stopping. not that the two serving-men would not willingly have paused, at one of the little towns they passed, to let the fair companion of their journey take some repose; but kate herself was eager to proceed. hope and expectation were busy at her heart--hope, that like a moth, flies on to burn itself to death in the flame of disappointment. at length, upon a high woody bank, showing a bold craggy face towards the river--the reader who has travelled that way may know it, for a little country church now crowns the trees--appeared a small castellated tower, with one or two cottages seeking protection beneath its walls. the serving-man who rode beside her pointed forward with his hand, as they passed over a slight slope in the ground, which first presented this object to their sight, saying, "there is the castle, madam." kate looked forward, and her eyes sparkled; and in a few minutes more they were entering the archway under the building. the castle was smaller than she expected to see it. it was, in fact, merely one of those strong towers which had been built about a century before, for the protection of the norman encroachers upon that fair portion of the island, into which the earliest known possessors of the whole land had been driven by the sword of various invaders. many of these towers, with a small territory round them, had fallen into the possession of the younger sons of noble families; upon the mere tenure of defending them against the attacks of the enemy; and although the incursions of the welsh upon the english lands were now much less frequent than they had been some time before, the lords of these small castles had often to hold them out against the efforts of other still more formidable assailants. it mattered not to kate, however, whether the place was large or small: how furnished or decorated was the same to her. it was _his_ castle--_his_, to whom all her thoughts and feelings were now given; and she looked upon it but as the home of love and joy, where all the hours of the future were to be passed. her disappointments began almost at the threshold. an old warder who let them in, not only said in a rough tone, that sir richard de ashby had not yet arrived, but gazed over the form of the female visitor with a look of harsh and somewhat sullen displeasure. he murmured something to himself too, the greater part of which she did not hear, but words that sounded like--"this new leman," caught her ear, and made her start, while a thrill of agony indescribable passed through her bosom at the thought of a name which might but too justly be applied to her. the eyes of two or three archers, however, who were hanging about the gate, were upon her, as she knew; and, fancying that the same term might be in their hearts also, she hurried on after the old warder, who said he would show her the chamber which had been prepared for her by his master's orders. she found it convenient, and fitted up with every comfort, some of the articles being evidently new; and she concluded, with love's eager credulity, that these objects had been sent down to decorate her apartment, and make every thing look gay and cheerful in her eyes. she was well used also; but still, amongst the men who surrounded her, there was a want of that respect, which, although she knew she had fairly forfeited all claim to it, she was angry and grieved not to obtain. she had fancied, in her idle vanity, that the concubine of a man of rank would approach, in a degree at least, to the station of his wife; and she now consoled herself with believing that she could easily induce richard de ashby, if not to punish such want of reverence, at least to put a stop to it. but day passed by, after day, without the appearance of him for whom she had sacrificed all; and melancholy memories and vain regrets kept pouring upon her mind more and more strongly, till she could hardly bear the weight of her own thoughts. at length, one day, towards eventide, she saw, as she wandered round the battlements, which were left unguarded, a small party of horsemen coming up over the hill; and, with impatience which would brook no restraint, she ran down to meet him who, she was convinced, was now approaching. the old warder would have prevented her from passing the gate, but she bade him stand back in so stern and peremptory a tone that he gave way: for few are the minds upon which the assumption of authority does not produce some effect. kate greenly was not mistaken. the party consisted of her seducer, and four or five soldiers, whom he had obtained at hereford, for the purpose of strengthening his little garrison, war being by this time imminent, and the post that he held considered of some importance. richard de ashby sprang down from his horse to meet her, and kissed her repeatedly, with many expressions of tenderness and affection. it is true, he spoke to her lightly; called her "pretty one," and used those terms with which he might have fondled a child, but which he would never have thought of employing to a woman he much respected. to other ears, this might have marked the difference between kate greenly's real situation, and that which fancy almost taught her to believe was hers; but poor kate saw it not; for happiness swallowed up all other feeling. he was with her--he was kind--he was affectionate--she was no longer a solitary being, without love, or joy, or occupation, or self-respect, and that evening, and the next day, and the next, passed over in happiness, which obliterated every sensation of remorse for the past or apprehension for the future. gradually, however, a change came over richard de ashby; he lost some of his tenderness--he now and then spoke angrily--he would be out on horseback the whole day, and return at night, tired, imperious and irritable. kate tried to soothe him, but tried in vain. he uttered harsh and unkind words--he laughed at her tears--he turned from her caresses. it were painful to pursue and recapitulate the very well-known course of the events which, in nine cases out of ten, follow such conduct as she had adopted. the retribution was beginning. the pangs of ill-requited affection, of betrayed confidence, and of disappointed hope, rapidly took possession of the young, light, wilful heart, which had inflicted the same on others; and, in the gentler paroxysms of her grief, kate would sit and think of young ralph harland, and his true love, of the father she had deceived and disgraced, of the happy scenes of her childhood and her youth, her village companions, her innocent sports, the flowers gathered in the early morning, and the maypole on the green. of all these she would think, i say, in the gentler moments of her sorrow, and would sit and weep for many an hour together. but there were other times, when a fiercer and a haughtier mood would come upon her, when disappointed vanity and irritated pride would raise their voice, as well as injured love; and dark and passionate thoughts would pass through her mind, sometimes flashing forth fiery schemes of vengeance, like lightning from a cloud, soon swallowed up in the obscurity again. an angry word, also, would often break from her when she saw herself trifled with, or neglected, or ill-treated, but it only excited a mocking laugh, or some insulting answer. it seemed, indeed, as if richard de ashby took a pleasure in seeing her fair face and beautiful figure wrought by strong passion; for, when he beheld her wrath kindled, he would urge her on, with mirth or taunts, till the fire would flash from her eyes, and then drown itself in tears. there was still, however, so much of unsated passion yet left in his bosom, as to make him generally soothe her in the end; and, though sometimes kate's heart would continue to burn for a whole day, after one of these scenes, they generally ended with her face hid on his bosom. the very quickness and fiery nature of her spirit, indeed, gave her charms in his cold, dissolute eyes, which none of the softer and the weaker victims who had preceded her had ever possessed. it kept his sensations alive, amused and excited him, and he treated her as a good cavalier will sometimes treat a fiery horse, which he now spurs into fury, now reins and governs with a strong hand, now soothes and caresses into tranquillity and gentleness. his servants marked all this, and smiled, and one would turn to another and say, "this has lasted longer than it ever lasted before. she must have some spell upon him, to keep his love for a whole month!" but it was clear to see that, under such constant vehemence and irritation, affection, on her part, at least, could not long endure, or that, as will sometimes happen, love would change its own nature, and act the part of hate. chapter xiii. as unpleasant a moment as any in the ordinary course of life is when a conversation with the being we love best--one of the few sweet entrancing resting-places of the heart which fate sometimes affords us in the midst of the ocean of cares, anxieties, sorrows, and trifles, that surrounds us on every side--is interrupted suddenly by some one to whom we are wholly indifferent. the step upon the stairs, and the knock that followed it at the door, were amongst the most ungrateful sounds that could have struck the ear of hugh de monthermer and lucy de ashby; and there was no slight impatience in the tone of the former, as he said, "come in!" the door opened slowly; but, instead of either of lucy's maids or pretty cicely, who waited upon them, the ape-like face and figure of poor tangel, the dwarf, appeared, beckoning hugh out of the room with one of his strange gestures. "what would you, boy?" said hugh, without rising from his seat. "i would have you get upon your walking-sticks," replied tangel, "and come with me." "i must first know why," answered hugh de monthermer. "go away, good tangel; i will come presently." "nay, you must come now," said the dwarf. "robin stays for no man; and robin and the t'other fellow sent me for him of the purfled jerkin. he has matter of counsel for thine ear, though well i wot that it is for all the world like sticking a flower in a cock's tail." "i see not the likeness, good tangel," answered hugh, slowly rising. "it will soon fall out again," said tangel. "counsel, i mean, sir man at arms. what's the wit of giving counsel to a man in a purfled jerkin? but you must come and have it, whether you will or not." "it must be so, i suppose," answered hugh. but lucy held him for a moment by the sleeve, saying, anxiously-- "you will come back, hugh? you will come back?" "think you that i will leave you here now, lucy?" he asked, with a smile. "no, no, dear lucy; as i said before, if i take you not with me, i will remain and spend my life in the forest with you." "ho, ho!" cried the dwarf, as if he had made a discovery, "ho, ho! i were better away, methinks." "we did not wish for you, good tangel," answered hugh, laughing. "lead on, however. where is your master?" the dwarf again made a sign, waving one of his long arms in the direction of the stairs, and hugh de monthermer, after a word or two more to lucy de ashby, in a lower tone, quitted the room, and followed the boy down to the same chamber into which the outlaw had led him on his first arrival. it was now tenanted by two men--the bold forester, and another, who was standing with his back towards the door. at the step of the young lord, however, the latter turned round, displaying the face of the good franklin, ralph harland. hugh de monthermer started; for in the short space which had passed since last he saw him on the village green, a change had taken place in his countenance such as nothing but intense grief can work. indeed, mortal sickness itself but rarely produces so rapid an alteration; he looked like one of those, whom we read of, stricken with the plague of the fourteenth century, where the warning sign of the coming death was read by others in the face and eyes, before the person doomed was at all aware that the malady had even laid the lightest touch upon them. of poor ralph harland, it might indeed be said, as then of those attacked by the pestilence, "the plague was at his heart." hugh de monthermer instantly took him by the hand, exclaiming, "good heaven! ralph, what ails thee? thou art ill, my good friend--thou art very ill!" "sick in mind, my lord, and ill in spirit," replied ralph harland, gloomily, "but nothing more." "nay, nay, ralph," exclaimed hugh de monthermer, "you must not speak to me so coldly. we have wrestled on the turf in our boyhood, we have galloped together through the woodland in our youth; i have eaten your good father's bread and drank his wine, and rested my head upon the same pillow with yourself--and hugh de monthermer must have a brother's answer from ralph harland. what is it ails thee, man? on my honour and my knighthood, if my sword, or my voice, or my power can do you service--but i know, i know what it is," he continued, suddenly recollecting the events of the may-day; and though he was not fully aware of the whole, divining more than he actually knew, by combining one fact with another--"i remember now, ralph; and i know what is the serpent that has stung thee. alas, ralph, that is a wound i have no balm to cure! "there is none for it on earth," replied ralph harland. "ay," said robin hood, "but though there be none to cure, there may be balm to allay, my lord; and yours must be the hand to give it. i will tell you the truth; we hold here a certain fair young lady, whom, as you see, we treat with all respect. you may ask, why we hold her--why we have taken her from her friends? my lord, one of her noble house has taken from a father's care, a child beloved as she can be; has broken bonds asunder which united many a heart together--parent and child, lover and beloved--has made a home desolate, crushed the hopes of an honest spirit, and made a harlot of a once innocent country girl. this is all bad enough, my lord; but still we seek not for revenge. all that we require is, the only slight reparation that can be made by man. let her be sent back to her home--let her be given up to her father--let her not be kept awhile in gaiety and evil, and then turned an outcast upon the bitter, biting world. you, my lord, must require this at the hands of the earl of ashby; he only can do that which is right, and to you we look to induce that noble lord to do justice even to us poor peasants." hugh de monthermer paused for a moment or two in thought ere he replied, but he then answered--"i can bear no compulsory message to the earl, my good friend. what you have done here is but wild justice; this lady never injured you--her father never injured you. you take her unwilling from her home as a hostage for the return of one who went willingly where she did go--who stays willingly where she now is. if she chooses to stay there, who can send her back again? i can do nothing in this, so long as you keep this lady here. indeed, i tell you fairly, as you have bound me by my honour not to mention what i have seen, i must e'en remain here, too; for my first act as a knight and a gentleman, when i am at liberty, must be to do my endeavour to set her free." "and as a lover, also," added robin hood; "but, my lord, we will spare you a useless trouble; for, let me tell you, that not all the men of monthermer, and ashby to boot, would liberate that lady if i chose to hold her. but there is some truth in what you say; and that truth struck me before you uttered it. it was on that account i left you an hour or two ago, and went to seek this much injured young man, to confess to him what i am never ashamed to confess, when it is so, that i have been rash--that i had no right to punish a fair and innocent lady for the fault of a false traitor. to-morrow morning she shall return under your good charge and guidance; but still, my lord, to you i look to demand of the earl of ashby that he compel his kinsman both to send back that light-o'-love, kate greenly, to her father's house, and to make such poor reparation, in the way of her dowry to a convent, as may at least punish the beggarly knave for the wrong he has committed. i charge you; my lord, as a knight and gentleman, to do this." "and i will do it," answered hugh de monthermer, "since you so willingly set the lady free, whatever be the consequences; and to me they may be bitterer than you think. i will do what you require because my heart tells me it is right, and my oath of chivalry binds me to perform it." "ah, my lord!" said robin hood, "would the nobles of england but consult the dictates of the heart, and keep that heart unhardened--would they remember the oath of their chivalry, and act as that oath requires, there would be less mourning in the land--there would be more happiness in the cottage, and some reverence for men in high station." "you are wrong," said hugh de monthermer, laying his hand upon the bold forester's arm--"you are wrong, and give more way to common prejudice than i had hoped or expected. there are amongst us, robin, men who disgrace the name of noble, whose foul deeds, like those of this richard de ashby, carry misery into other orders, and disgrace into their own. but vices and follies find ready chroniclers--virtues and good actions are rarely written but in the book of heaven. one bad man's faults are remembered and talked of, and every one adds, 'he was a noble;' but how many good deeds and kindly actions, how many honourable feelings and fine thoughts remain without a witness and without a record? who is there that says, this good old lord visited my cottage and soothed me in sickness or in sorrow? who is there that says, i love this baron, or that, because he defended me against wrong, protected me against trouble, supported me in want, cheered me in adversity? and yet there are many such. i mean not to assert that there are not many corrupt and vicious, cruel and hard-hearted. i mean not to contend that there are any without faults, for every man has some, be be rich or poor. but if the merits and demerits could be fairly weighed, i do believe that the errors of my own class would not be found greater than those of any other, only that our rank serves to raise us, as it were, on a pedestal, that malice may see all flaws, and that envy may shoot at them." robin hood paused, with his eyes bent down upon the ground, making no reply; and hugh de monthermer went on a moment after, saying, "at least, do us justice in one point. in this age, and in others gone before, the nobles of england have stood forward against tyranny wherever they found it. have they ever failed to shed their blood in defence of the rights of the people? is it not their doing, that such a thing as human bondage is disappearing from the island? we may have vassals, followers, retainers, men who are bound, for the land they hold, to do us service in time of need, but we have no serfs, no theows, as in the olden time, and even villain tenure is passing away. again, who is it, even at the very present time, that is calling deputies from the ranks of the people to the high parliament of the nation; to represent the rights and interests of those classes which had heretofore no voice in making the laws of the land? i say, it is the nobles of england; and i am much mistaken if, in all times to come, that body of men--though there may be, and ever will be, evildoers amongst them--will not stand between the people and oppression and wrong--will not prove the great bulwark of our institutions, preserving them from all the tempests that may assail them, let the point of attack be where it will." "perhaps it may be so," said robin hood; "but yet, my good lord, i could wish that persons in high station would remember that, with their advantages and privileges, with wealth, power, and dignity, greater than their fellow-men, they have greater duties and obligations likewise; and, as envy places them where all their faults may be observed, it would be as well if, as a body, they were to remember that each man who disgraces himself disgraces his whole order, and were to punish him for that crime by withdrawing from him the countenance of those upon whom he has brought discredit. when the virtuous associate with the vicious, they make the fault their own; and no wonder that men of high birth, though good men in themselves, are classed together with the wicked of their own order when they tolerate the evildoer, and leave him unpunished even by a frown." "i cannot but agree with you," said hugh de monthermer; "but----" "ay, my lord, there is many a but," replied the bold outlaw, after having waited for a moment to hear the conclusion of the young lord's sentence; "and there ever will be a but, so long as men are men, and have human passions and human follies. there was but one in whose life there was no _but_, and him they nailed upon a tree;" and the outlaw raised his hand, and touched his bonnet, reverently, for he felt deep reverence, however much his words might seem to want it. hugh de monthermer was not inclined to pursue the conversation any farther, and, turning to the young franklin, he said, "i fear, ralph, that after all the wrong you have suffered from one of my class, you will not be inclined to allow us much merit in any respect; but, believe me, we are not all like him." "i know it, my lord--i know it," replied ralph. "if i were ignorant that, as well as the blackest vices which can degrade man, there are to be found in your order the brightest virtues, i should not merit to have known you.--but in good sooth, my lord, my thoughts are not of general subjects just now. one private grief presses on me so hard that i can think of nothing else." "i would fain have you wean yourself from those remembrances," said his friend. "nay, shake not your head, i know that it can only be done by banishing all those sights and sounds that are the watchwords of memory, and by seeking other matter for thought. ay, even matter that will force your mind away from the subject that it clings to, and occupy you whether you will or not. there are stirring times before us, ralph,--times when the great interests of the state,--when dangers to our liberties and rights may well divide men's attention with private griefs. what say you; will you come with me to the west, and take a part in the struggle that i see approaching?" "i will follow you right willingly, my lord," replied ralph harland, "though i cannot well go with you. i must not forget, in my selfish sorrow, that i have a father who loves me; and whose life and happiness rests upon mine, as i have seen an old wall held up by the ivy which it first raised from the ground. i must speak with him before i go--must bid him adieu, and do what i can to comfort and console him. he will not seek to make me stay, and i will soon follow you; but it shall not be alone, for i can bring you many a heart right willing to fight under the same banner with yourself. where shall i find you, my good lord?" "as soon as i have taken this fair lady's orders," said hugh de monthermer, "and conducted her whither she is pleased to go, i shall turn my steps direct to hereford by the way of gloucester, hoping to overtake my uncle and the good earl of ashby, and should i find with him his cousin richard, he shall render to me no light account of more than one base act." "nay, my lord, nay," replied the young franklin, "i do beseech you, quarrel not for me. i know, or at least guess, what dear interests you may peril. but, moreover, though i be neither knight nor noble, there are some wrongs that set aside all vain distinctions, and i do not despair of the time coming when i shall find that base traitor alone to give me an answer. when that moment arrives, it will be a solemn one; but i would not part with the hope thereof for a king's crown. but now, my lord, let me not keep you from the lady of your love. go to her; let her know she is free to come and go, as far as i at least am concerned; but tell her, my lord, i charge you, why she was brought here, that she may be aware of what a serpent her father and her brother cherish." "ay, tell her--tell her," said robin hood--"tell her, for her own sake; for there is something that makes me fear--i know not why--that the day will come when that knowledge may be to her a safeguard and a shield against one who now seems powerless. scoff not at it, my lord, as if he were too pitiful to give cause for alarm. the scorpion is a small, petty-looking insect, but yet there is death in his sting. and now, good night; when you have spent another hour in the sweet dreams that lovers like, betake you to repose, and early to-morrow you shall have some one to guide you on your way." chapter xiv. there are some days of life when everything appears to combine to heighten the hues of happiness, when not only the sensations in our own bosoms, and the circumstances of our fate are all bright and cheerful, but when every external object, every feature in nature's face seems to smile, and every sound to be in harmony with our feelings. but such hours are too precious to be many; blessed is that life which can count two or three of them; and it has been often remarked, that as at some seasons of the year, a peculiarly fine day generally announces the approach of storm and tempest, so do one of these bright intervals in our cloudy existence precede a period of sorrow, trouble, and disaster. an hour after daybreak, on as sweet a morning as ever dawned, in the midst of the magnificent scenery of the forest, hugh de monthermer and lucy de ashby stood by the side of their horses, ready to mount and depart. love gave its sunshine to each heart. lucy's bosom beat high at her deliverance by her lover. the assurance of her affection--the delight of her presence--the increased hope of obtaining her, rendered his sensations not less joyful. the yellow morning light spread sweetly overhead; the old grey saxon building rested calm in its ivy robe behind them: every blade of grass was sparkling with a thousand diamonds; every air wafted the breath of the sweet forest flowers; every tree was tuneful with the song of the birds. it was like some happy dream, when imagination, stripping life of its stern realities, revels supreme, and decks the brief moments of sleep with all the boundless treasures of her airy kingdom. a step nearer to the lodge stood the bold forester; his fine, muscular limbs clear and defined in his tight-fitting garb, and his nut brown hair curling round his thoughtful forehead. a faint smile hung upon his lip as he watched the two lovers, leaving them to proceed as they would, without interrupting them with courtesies. it seemed as if he was reading a pleasant book, of the truth of which he might have some doubt, but which yet interested and amused him; for robin knew the world too well to suppose that such happiness could last long, but yet his mind was of that firm and hardy nature which clouds not the present with cares and fears of the future, but extracts from every hour its honey, and leaves the rest to fate. when hugh de monthermer had placed lucy on her horse, he turned to bid their host good bye, frankly holding out his hand. "farewell, my lord!" said robin, taking it. "we shall soon meet again in busier scenes, if i judge right. but where is the guide i promised you? why, tangel, tangel! where are you?" and he raised his voice loud and somewhat sternly. at his last call the dwarf crept forth from behind the house, with a bent head and crouching posture, like an unwilling dog, approaching his master slowly, and eyeing him askance. "what now--what now?" said robin hood. "did i not give you orders? where is the horse?" "i would fain not go," cried the dwarf. "let me stay with thee, robin, let me stay with thee. send smooth face, send white skin, send harry the page.--if the fool can't take care of himself, and must have a boy to lead him about the world, like a blind beggar, send young porkflesh with him.--why should he take me?" "nay, my good friend," said hugh de monthermer, seeing the bold forester about to speak somewhat angrily, "let the lad stay with thee! i shall find my way well enough; his only fault is loving thee well." "those that love me obey me," replied robin hood; "and, my good lord, he must do so, or never see me more. it is not alone to guide you through the forest i send him with you; you must take him to hereford, and keep him till we meet again. you will find him faithful and true, crafty and active, though he shews himself so unruly at present; and in these dangerous times it may be of great service both to you and me that you should have some one with you who knows every man in my band. i may have to convey intelligence to you and to the good lord, your uncle; for i gain a knowledge of all that takes place throughout the land, which my lord of leicester, with all his power, cannot attain. it is needful that you should have some means of knowing which messengers are really mine, and which are not, for these are times full of deceit, and human cunning is more busily at work than the world ever saw, i believe. if anybody comes to you in my name, call for this boy, and make him tell you whether he be one of my people or not. go, tangel; and let me hear that you have done your duty." "come, my boy--come!" said hugh de monthermer, speaking to him kindly; "i will try to make thee as happy as may be; and thou shalt love me, whether thou wilt or not." "goodsooth, i love thee well enough," replied the dwarf, "though i have no weakness for men in purfled jerkins. i love thee well enough, though not so well as him; but what must be, must be. poor tangel has always been fate's foot-ball. well, i will get the horse." so saying, he stretched out his long arms, put his hands suddenly upon the shoulders of lucy's two maids, who were standing close together, and vaulting over them with a leap that made them both scream, he bounded round the angle of the building, and soon reappeared, leading a small brown forest horse, furnished with saddle-bags for his journey. as soon as the whole party were mounted, the outlaw approached the side of hugh de monthermer's horse, and, looking up in his face, said a few words to him in a low tone which seemed to excite some surprise. "indeed!" exclaimed the young knight; "but are you certain?" "as certain," replied robin hood, "as of that being a magpie in the tree." "then you must have taken some means to delude them," said hugh de monthermer. "not i," answered robin hood, "i always leave fools to delude themselves; they are sure to do it more cleverly than i could. however, it was necessary that you should know the fact, so i tell you. now, god speed you, sir--we shall meet again soon." in a moment or two after, the little cavalcade was moving along through the glades of the forest, tangel riding on before, in somewhat sullen mood, followed at the distance of about twenty yards by lucy and her lover, with a discreet space between them and the maids who followed. the pace at which they proceeded was not quick, for those were hours which two at least of the party would willingly have spun out slowly--a fine golden thread, which they feared would end only too soon. but why should i pause upon their happiness? why should i relate what each said to the other? the stream of human pleasure, except when it falls in the fierce cataract of passion, is so calm and smooth that there is little to describe. let each one bring such a moment home to his own breast; let him fancy himself riding by the side of her whom he loves best through scenes as fair, with hopes as bright, and his own heart will present him a better picture than any which my hand could draw. they soon emerged from the deeper part of the wood, and wound slowly on through the mingled savannahs and copses which occupied a considerable part of the forest ground, till they came upon a high road running from nottingham to some of the yorkshire towns, with a finger-post--which is a much older invention than is generally supposed--marking the various paths towards mansfield, southwell, and other small places within the meres of the forest. to say the truth, hugh de monthermer, with a true lover's forgetfulness, had never remembered to give their dwarfish guide any orders as to the direction he should take, and the first thing that called the necessity to his mind was the question which that finger-post mutely put to the traveller. "i fear, dear lucy," he said, "that lindwell is not far off, and thither i suppose i must conduct you direct, although it is sad to bring such happy moments as these to an end." "i fear it must be so," answered lucy, with a sigh; "my father will be anxious, you know, till he sees me again, and i must think of him before myself, hugh." "but if it be on his account you would go to lindwell," replied her lover, "you will be disappointed, dear lucy, for he is not there. judging hastily that you must have been carried off by some emissary of the king's party, in order to detach him from the english cause, he and your brother have, i find, gone on in the direction of gloucester likewise." "oh, then i will not stay at lindwell all alone," cried lucy, gaily--"i should be as melancholy as one of the rooks that haunt the old trees round it; and besides," she added, perhaps not ill-pleased at having a good excuse to go on under her lover's protection--"and besides, who can tell what might happen. the foreign party are strong in nottingham and all the neighbouring places, and i might have to put on armour and defend lindwell against an army. no, no, hugh, if you are a good knight and true, you will guide me on to seek my father till we have found him. by my sooth, i would rather have remained with the blithe foresters than be confined to lindwell, with all the chances of these evil times." the reader may easily suppose that hugh de monthermer was not at all dissatisfied with lucy's decision, and as he was one whose heart was no way faint, he doubted not that he should be able to guide her safely and well to her father's side, although he could not conceal from himself, and would not conceal from her, that there were difficulties and dangers in the way. "you put a hard task upon me, lucy," he said, laughing. "what mean you, uncourteous knight!" she asked, in the same tone;--"this is the first time that i ever met a gentleman unwilling to guide and protect me whithersoever i went.--a mighty hard task, truly!" "no, by those bright eyes," replied hugh, "that is not the task i speak of; but it is to persuade you not to do that which i most wish you would. i mean, dear lucy, that i must dissuade you from going on, though to ride beside you thus, for two or three days more, were worth a whole year of any other part of life. but i cannot let you choose without telling you that there is many a peril to be encountered between this and gloucester. gilbert de clare, whose faith has long been doubtful it is now ascertained, is ready to take arms against de montfort. indeed, he may already have done so; and one thing is certain, that in the forest of dean, armed men are gathering thick, without any known object, so that the way is dangerous." "i have no fear, hugh," replied lucy, "so that you be beside me; and moreover we can get some men from lindwell. i would not stay there alone to be queen of cyprus, so that my only choice is to go with you, or to put myself at the head of the best troop i can gather, and then, like an errant lady, seek my way without you." "nay, then, if such be your will," answered her lover, "there is no choice for either of us, though perhaps your brother may frown, and even your father look cold. there is still, however, a chance that we may overtake my uncle at torwel, and if we do so, his grave company and stout men at arms will save us from all danger, and all reproaches. at all events, he will leave some four or five archers behind him, trusty soldiers at one's need; and if we can get as many from lindwell, i would undertake, with care and forethought and good precautions, to guard you uninjured hence to palestine." "oh, how pleasant!" cried lucy--"let us go, hugh--why should we not go? i think every woman should make a pilgrimage to palestine before she marries." hugh de monthermer, however, thought it would be better to reverse the proceeding, and, marrying first, make the pilgrimage afterwards--if they liked it. so he told lucy; nor did she say no; and putting their horses into a quicker pace, he directed their dwarfish guide to lead on towards torwel. passing by arnold, and skirting the edges of thorney wood, they crossed the lind not far from basfort, at which little village they paused for a moment or two, to water their horses, towards nine in the morning. at torwel, however, they found that the earl had gone on, leaving six archers behind him to await his nephew's coming. here a longer repose was necessary, for though lucy, trained to hardier habits than ladies affect in the present day, was capable of enduring much more fatigue; she was still a woman, and might well feel somewhat weary with a four-hours' ride. the time they passed at torwel flew quick away, and they were speedily retreading, in some degree, their steps towards her father's castle. great were the rejoicings at lindwell to see her safe returned, and every man would have gladly accompanied her to guard her by the way. the defence of the place itself, however, was not to be neglected, and as lucy was resolved to proceed that night, six stout men-at-arms were chosen from the rest, and being quickly mounted and accoutred, the party once more set out with four hours clear daylight before them, taking their way towards the frontiers of derbyshire. onward they rode with light, gay hearts; the spirit of adventure and enterprise itself adding something to all the manifold enjoyments which had crowded into that day. the boy tangel had by this time dropped into the rear, being no longer necessary as a guide, and to say truth, although hugh had spoken to him once or twice as they proceeded, absorbed in his own feelings towards lucy, he had taken but little notice of his absence from the front. when they had left lindwell, however, some seven miles behind them, the boy urged his horse up at a quick pace, saying, "on your guard--on your guard! there are men coming up fast behind;" and turning round, hugh de monthermer perceived some six or seven persons galloping down from a hill at the distance of about half a mile. lucy paused to gaze likewise, and as the pursuers came nearer, she exclaimed, with a look, it must be owned, of no great pleasure--"it is my brother, hugh; i am sure that is alured on the black horse." "i think so too," replied hugh de monthermer, drawing in his rein; "but even if it be not, we have nothing to fear." the little party of horsemen who were following, came on at full speed, and certainly not with the most peaceful appearance; but every stretch of the horses showed more and more clearly the form of alured de ashby, and at length, after slackening his pace a good deal, as if to examine the group which was now waiting his approach, he rode up, with a countenance expressive of less pleasure than might have been expected at seeing his sister in safety. "how now!" he exclaimed--"what is all this? why have you turned your back upon lindwell, my good lord? and whither are you having the great kindness to conduct my sister?" "to overtake lord ashby, my lord," replied hugh, "who has gone on towards gloucester, we find." "methinks, sir," answered alured de ashby, "that lindwell castle were the properest place for you to conduct her to, after having so dexterously found her when no one else knew where she was." "but suppose, alured," said lucy, ere hugh de monthermer could utter the somewhat sharp rejoinder which was springing to his lips--"suppose, alured, that your sister did not choose to be so conducted. suppose, after visiting lindwell, she thought fit to ask this noble gentleman to guard and protect her by the way, till she overtook her father?" "doubtless he was very willing," answered lord alured, with a sneer. "beyond all question," replied hugh de monthermer, in as cool a tone as he could command; "and not more willing to do so than justified in doing it. but you were pleased just now to make use of a word which must be explained. you said, sir, that i had found your sister when no one else knew where she was. do you mean to imply that i did know?" "good faith," replied the hot young nobleman, "it is not for me to say whether you did or not. it is mighty strange, however, that you could discover her in the twinkling of an eye, as soon as her relations were gone." "not half so strange," said lucy, interposing once more in terror for the result, "as that you should show yourself so ungrateful, alured, for his having found me. instead of giving him deep thanks, which are his due both from you and me, you seem as angry as if you had wished me to remain and perish in the forest." "well, well," said alured de ashby, a little ashamed perhaps of his irritable heat--"this is all waste of words!--where were you? what was the cause of your being taken away? what has happened to you?" "three questions in a breath," exclaimed lucy, "each of which would take an hour to answer fully, even if i could answer them all. as to the first, then, i have been in the forest; as to the last, i reply, a good deal has happened to me, of which i will tell you at leisure. as to the middle one, why they took me away? my answer must be very short,--i do not know." "perhaps you do, sir?" said her brother, turning to hugh. the young nobleman looked him straightforwardly and somewhat sternly in the face, answering, "i do." "then pray explain," said alured. "you will excuse me," replied hugh, "i shall first explain the whole to your father, as he is the person who must act in the business, and as i bear a message to him of which he alone can judge." "mighty mysterious, my good lord," cried alured--"but as i am now present here, and am going with all speed to overtake the earl of ashby, my sister will no longer need your kind protection." "but as we take the same road," said hugh de monthermer, "it will be safer for all, if we travel it together." "fie! alured; in common courtesy----" exclaimed lucy. but her brother interrupted her petulantly, saying--"these are times that abridge courtesy, lucy.--i differ, my good lord," he continued--"i judge that it will be safer for us to travel apart. with our two troops united we form a body that cannot escape observation, and which is yet too small to make a good defence. i therefore think that it will be better for us to separate. thanking you much for the assistance and protection you have given to this lady, and waiting with devout patience for the explanations which you have not thought fit to afford, i will take one way if you will take another." hugh de monthermer bit his lip; but though quick and fiery in his own disposition, he was acting under a restraint which made him bear to the utmost, rather than quarrel with the brother of her whom he loved, resolved that it should be no act of his which placed a barrier between them. without making any reply to alured de ashby then, he wheeled round his horse to lucy's side, asking in a low voice--"shall i go?" "you had better," said lucy, with a sigh--"you had better:" and then raising her voice, she added--"farewell, lord hugh; i at least am grateful, and so you will find my father, i am sure. farewell." thus speaking she held out her hand to him; and hugh de monthermer, pressing his lips upon it, turned his horse, and bade his men follow him, without offering any salutation to the ungracious young nobleman who had brought so happy a day to so unpleasant a close. taking a road which lay somewhat to the north of that which lucy and her brother were pursuing, he advanced towards gloucester, keeping nearly upon a line with the other party, and gaining from time to time some information of their movements. towards the end of the fifth day's march, his little troop approached the city in which he expected to find his uncle; but at the small town of charlton, he received intimation from his host that if he were going to join the army of the great earl of leicester, it would be well for him to take a large circuit, the road between that place and gloucester being somewhat dangerous. "gilbert de clare," he said, "our good earl, keeps the forest of dean with some five thousand men; and we just this morning heard that the young lord of ashby, who left last night, has been taken with all his company. his sister was with him, too, pretty lady; but some say the young lord was not unwilling to fall into the earl's hands. at all events he was well forewarned, for we told him what would happen when he set out." hugh bit his lip, mused for a moment or two; and then murmuring--"it is not impossible," mounted his horse and rode away, taking the road which the host had pointed out as the most secure. chapter xv. the greatest men that ever lived, if we were to examine accurately all the actions that they have performed at different periods of their existence, and could try them with impartial and perfectly discriminating judgment, would be found to have committed more than one great mistake which in many instances did not lead to the evil consequences that might have been anticipated. and, on the contrary, very often indeed, a trifling fault, a rash word, a thoughtless act, or even an angry look, has produced more important results than one of these capital errors. sometimes it has been conduct which has retrieved the fault, but history shows us that the moment at which an act is committed more frequently decides whether the consequences shall be great or insignificant than the nature of the act itself. at the period of history of which we now speak, the famous simon de montfort, earl of leicester--justly celebrated both as a soldier and a politician, one of the few men, with a prophetical spirit, to foresee the path in which society will march, and forestall their age in choosing it--had committed that grand mistake which led to his overthrow and death. often, before this period, he had proceeded with inferior forces from one end of the land to the other, and, supported by the strong popular feeling in his favour, had overthrown all his enemies, holding his weak and tyrannical sovereign a mere prisoner in his hands, and keeping even prince edward himself, one of the wisest men and best soldiers of the age, in a state of honourable captivity. no evil results had ensued--no great danger even had been incurred. but the times had changed. many of those who had attached themselves to de montfort, upon the less virtuous and honourable motives which affect the course of human actions, had been treated by him with cold and most impolitic neglect. others feared the consequences of his growing power, either for themselves or their country, not taking in the vast range to which his own political vision extended; and others were indignant at his treatment of their king, who, however weak, vicious, and tyrannical, they still looked upon with feudal respect. many of the lords of the marches of wales were actually in arms against his power; and the famous earl of gloucester, a factious kinsman of the throne, had been for some time assuming loyalty, and displaying a thinly veiled enmity to the party of de montfort. at this inauspicious moment, the earl of leicester had determined to march from the neighbourhood of london, by whose citizens he had always been vigorously supported, and where his chief strength lay, and to advance to the frontiers of wales, with the purpose of punishing the malcontents who refused to submit to his authority. by thus removing from the proximity of his best resources, he rendered the power of his adversaries and his own so nearly equal, that it wanted but one of those slight accidents which so frequently overthrow the best laid schemes, to turn the balance against him; and that accident was soon destined to occur. with the exception of this great mistake, not the slightest error has been pointed out in his conduct, at least in a military point of view. his march was conducted with the circumspection; and, with a force by no means large--keeping the king and the prince, eager for deliverance and assisted by many friends, at his side, while he advanced in the midst of enemies, equal, if not superior in numbers to himself,--he proceeded, with slow and careful steps, to gloucester, and there entered into negotiations with gilbert de clare, his most formidable opponent, in order to induce him once more to join the party which had so frequently asserted the rights of the people against the encroaching spirit of henry iii. deceived; in some degree, by pretended advances on the part of the earl of gloucester, he agreed to refer their differences to arbitration, and recommenced his march for hereford; but still, with the most scrupulous precaution, guarded his royal companions, and frustrated every effort made by the earl to take him at a disadvantage, and to set them free. at the same time, perceiving that, in order to attain the great objects he had in view, he must strengthen himself to the utmost of his power, he notified to all his friends the absolute necessity of their combining to give him support and marching to his assistance with all the troops that they could levy. the effect of his messages and exhortations we have seen in the meetings held in yorkshire, and gradually perceiving that there was no chance of recovering the friendship of gloucester, he prepared to compel that submission which he could not obtain, by gentler means. men were gathering from all parts--arms were being manufactured in every town--the land was agitated from end to end, and every one looked forward to a great and decisive struggle--though there were few, it must be confessed, who did not believe that de montfort would triumph--for the prestige of victory hung around his banner, and the whole air and tone of the great leader were those of a man marked out by the hand of god for success. such was the state of affairs, when hugh de monthermer, with his small troop, after having visited the town of gloucester, and learned that his uncle had proceeded at once to hereford, arrived in that fair city. it was now filled with soldiers and with noblemen from different parts of the country, so that a lodging would have been difficult to obtain, had not the old earl of monthermer secured a portion of the inn called the may which we have once led the reader--for the dwelling of himself and his nephew. hugh found but small space, however, allotted to him and to those who accompanied him. a party of his own servants who had gone on with the earl were already in possession, two having taken up their abode in the small ante-room leading to the chamber which had been assigned to himself; and an adjoining room, not very large, with one somewhat less, at the side, was all that remained for the rest of his retinue, and the five archers who had been left behind by his uncle. the other parts of the inn were completely filled; and for the poor boy, tangel, no place had, of course, been reserved, as every one had been ignorant of his coming. the dwarf, who had seemed to grow more sad at each day's journey from sherwood, stood in the doorway of the ante-room, as the young lord entered, listening to the arrangements which had been made. "where to put the maggot that you have brought, my lord," said the old servant, who was explaining to hugh the fullness of the rooms and the disposition they had been obliged to adopt, and who did not appear at all well pleased at poor tangel's addition to the party--"where to put the maggot you have brought, i cannot tell. the ante-room is scarce big enough for the two yeomen, and----" "he shall sleep in my chamber," said hugh, noting the poor dwarf's desolate look; "come hither, tangel, thou shalt sleep on a bed at my feet. know him, and take care of him, walsh; for he is a good and faithful boy, true and affectionate to his master; and if any one does him wrong, he shall answer to me for it." the boy darted forward, and kissed his hand; and hugh de monthermer, after giving some farther directions, to ensure that he was protected against insult as well as injury, proceeded at once, followed by two servants, armed with sword and buckler, to the magnificent castle of hereford, whither he found that his uncle had gone about an hour before. it was a gay and bustling scene that the court-yard presented, for as every detail of military life was then complicated in the extreme, and the taste for splendour and expense was at its height, the crowd of followers, in gaudy dresses, who accompanied even the inferior officers of an army hither, caused the head-quarters of the general to appear in a constant state of flutter and pageantry. forcing his way through the crowd, and, from the scanty number of his attendants, attracting but little attention, hugh de monthermer ascended the steps into the great hall of the keep, which he found nearly filled with people, pacing up and down; and as he was not acquainted with the building, he asked a gentleman, who seemed at his ease in the place, to tell him where he could find the earl of leicester. the personage to whom he addressed himself pointed to a flight of steps leading from the farther end of the hall, and replied, "at the top of the stairs you will meet with some one who will tell you where the earl is: but you will not get speech of him, i think." "i think i shall!" replied hugh, "but, at all events, i thank you;" and ascending the stairs, he was stopped by an officer with a partisan, who asked him his business, and in the same breath told him he could not pass that way. hugh gave his name, and demanded to see the earl; upon which a page was sent to knock at the council chamber, and ask if the earl would see the young lord of monthermer. in about three minutes the boy returned, bidding him follow, and hugh was led along the dark and gloomy corridor, until his guide paused, and again tapped at a low narrow door on the left hand side of the passage. after a moment's interval, a deep voice replied, "come in!" and the next instant hugh entered the room, and found himself standing within a step or two of the chair in which de montfort was seated. he was a tall, powerful, square-browed man, with a countenance full of thought, but likewise full of confidence. there was great calmness also in his aspect, and an eye, not stern but grave, not so much shrewd as searching. there were but two other persons in the room, although he was said to be holding council. one of those was the old earl of monthermer, and the other a man considerably younger, but yet grey-headed, and well known in the history of the times as the lord ralph basset. de montfort looked up, as hugh de monthermer entered, with a bland and pleasant smile, holding out his hand at the same time, and saying, "how are you, hugh? right glad are we to see such friends as you arrive. do you bring us any farther tidings from nottingham?" "none, my lord," replied hugh, "except that levies of the yeomen and foresters are going on rapidly." "they had need be speedy," said de montfort, "or we shall strike some great blow before they come. heard you aught else by the way?" "in truth, my lord, i did, and no good news either!" replied hugh. "the earl of gloucester is daily gathering strength, and he renders the road round his fair city somewhat dangerous to travel. indeed, the reason why i intruded on you now, was but to tell you that alured de ashby, his sister, and some twelve or fourteen archers, had been captured by de clare, between gloucester and charlton. i judge, my lord, that if you took speedy means to set him free, it might fix the house of ashby somewhat more firmly in the good cause." both de montfort and the earl of monthermer heard him with a smile, and ralph basset muttered between his teeth--"fix the sands of the sea!" "you have been forestalled, my young friend," said de montfort; "some one else has already liberated alured de ashby, together with his sister and his archers." "indeed!" exclaimed hugh de monthermer; "may i ask who?" "gilbert de clare, earl of gloucester," replied de montfort. "ay, and not without cause, be sure of that;" said ralph basset; "he is coming hither now, will arrive to-morrow, with a smooth air and a high-carried head, and my lord of leicester here will receive him as kindly and frankly as the truest of his friends." "i want not to multiply my enemies, ralph," replied de montfort; "and perhaps we may find some better way of attaching him to what is right, than by treating him as a foe, before we are well sure that he has done aught to deserve the name. what say you, hugh, will you be the link to bind him to our cause?" "right willingly, my lord," answered hugh de monthermer; "but i rather fear that i am more likely to separate him from it. he loves me not, that is clear; and though the good earl, his uncle, is not so hot and fiery in his nature, yet i have those things to say about their near relation, richard, which may breed ill blood before i have done." de montfort mused for a minute or two. "why, richard," he said, at length, "is apparently the most zealous in our cause of all the race!" "but did my uncle----" demanded hugh. "ay, he did,". said de montfort, interrupting him; "and i spoke with richard about it; but he assures me that the thing was done in ignorance, and that the man himself has since been discharged.--however----" "he is a foul knave!" replied hugh de monthermer; "and at all events i have promised to demand, at the hands of the earl, some reparation for a gross wrong which he has committed." "well, well," said the earl of leicester, apparently desirous of changing the subject for the time; "if you must do so, hugh, let it be done before some friends as witnesses--before myself, perhaps, were better; and do whatever you do gently, for your uncle here has told me of hopes and wishes which you may go far to mar, if you act rashly in the business." "i will be as calm and gentle as the south-west wind," replied hugh, "for i would fain give neither alured nor his father any matter for offence; and if you will send and let me know when they are with you, i will come and speak to them in your presence. and now, my lord," he continued, "if such a thing be permitted, as i suppose it is, i would fain spend a short time with prince edward. you know we were sworn friends in youth." "i know you were," replied de montfort; "but good sooth, hugh, to have been his sworn friend is no good motive, in my eyes, for letting you confer with him." the brow of hugh de monthermer grew somewhat dark, but the earl of leicester added immediately--"i will tell you what is a motive, however, my young friend--your own honour and high name. we treat the prince with every courtesy and due respect; we do not look upon him as a prisoner; but it is highly needful for the safety of the state, ay, and for our own lives and fortunes, that he should remain in close attendance upon his father, the king. now, my good friend, there are men who would fain persuade him it were better for him to be away, consulting, doubtless, with this good earl of gloucester, and heading armies to tear the kingdom with fresh strife, while others again would willingly give him the means of carrying such designs into execution. none that we even suspect, therefore, do we permit to visit him; and this very richard de ashby, whom we spoke of but now, though he gave good reasons, as i have said, to make us believe him innocent, we have, on your uncle's information, forbidden to hold any farther communication with the prince, and, moreover, warned him to quit hereford without delay. it is different, however, with a monthermer," continued the earl, with a gracious but stately inclination of the head--"you can be trusted." "of this, at least, my lord, you may rest assured," replied hugh; "that, although i own i wish to see the prince at liberty, and only bound by solemn vows to take no part against the cause of freedom and right----" "no wise man trusts to fetters of wind," interrupted the earl, who had taken up a pen, and was writing at the table. "at all events," continued hugh de monthermer, "i would never basely use a permission you yourself had granted to thwart your dearest wishes." "i know it," said the earl; "there is a pass. you will find the prince in the other court; but make what speed you may, for it is growing dusk, and the castle gates must soon be closed." "haste away, hugh," said his uncle; "in an hour i shall be at the inn." chapter xvi. in the old castle of hereford, which, according to the account of leland, was one of the largest and finest specimens of the military architecture of feudal times, were numerous courts and various detached buildings, so that the number of persons which it could contain was immense; and even when several hundred men were within the walls, many of the open spaces and passages would be found silent and solitary. thus, on the evening of hugh de monthermer's visit, the chief court, the halls, and the corridors around it, were crowded with not less than seven or eight hundred persons; but as one turned one's steps to other parts of the building, the throng decreased, the passers to and fro became fewer and more few, and at length nothing presented itself but untenanted courts and empty arcades. in a dark corner of a long passage--which, traversing one side of the keep under open cloisters, passed through a large mass of buildings, receiving no light but that which poured in at either end, and, after being joined by two other arched corridors, led out into the court in which prince edward's lodging was situated--in a dark corner of this long passage stood two men engaged in earnest conversation, just about the time that hugh de monthermer quitted the earl of leicester. they were both covered with large cloaks, and both had their hoods drawn far over their heads, so that it would have been very difficult for any one to recognise them, unless well acquainted with their air and figure. nevertheless, they did not seem to feel themselves secure; for, the instant that they heard a step coming from the direction of the principal court, they walked on a few paces, and then turned into one of the lateral passages, near the mouth of which they again paused, and resumed their conversation in a low tone. a moment after, the tall, graceful figure of hugh de monthermer passed across, without appearing to excite their attention, so earnest were they in the matter they were discussing. he, however, turned his head, and looked at them steadily, but still walked on without slackening his pace. "some means must be found," said one--the shorter and the slighter of the two--"some means must be found, and that right speedily, or our last chance is lost." "you must have been playing some of your accursed tricks, richard," replied the other, "or de montfort never would have taken such a step. the house of ashby is of too much importance to any cause that its members espouse, for even the lowest branch to be treated with indignity, without some strong occasion." "nonsense, alured, i did nothing!" replied the other. "i tell you, it was solely and simply upon this old monthermer's charge against me." "on your life and honour?" demanded his companion. "on my life, honour, soul, and salvation!" replied the other. "well, then, i am glad of it," said the taller speaker. "i am glad that it has happened; for, first, i will take care it shall rouse my father's anger against de montfort, and, secondly, it shall stir him up against these monthermers, and, i trust, induce him to break with them both. at all events, it will make him forgive my joining gloucester. so, i repeat, i am glad that it has happened." "i cannot say as much," rejoined the first speaker. "i never care, for my part, alured, about an excuse for anything i am about to do. oh, there is many a convenient point in having a bad reputation! men do not expect too much of you--you may do what you please, without anybody wondering; and then, when you are in the humour, and perform two or three good actions, lord! how you are praised! but, to the point--what can be done now? how can we give _him_ intimation of the scheme?" "on my life! i know not," said the other. "could you not bribe some woman?" demanded the taller and more powerful of the speakers; "they would not stop a woman, i suppose." "right, right!" cried his companion. "you have put me on the track, and i will not miss my game." "but can you engage any woman you can trust?" asked the other. "it must not be some common hireling, some minstrel's wench, some follower of city fairs." "leave it to me, leave it to me!" cried the shorter man; "if i cannot _engage_, i can make her, and that ere another hour be over. there is no time to be lost. farewell, for the present, for i must away from hereford to-night; and, if you intend, good alured, to hatch a quarrel with my noble lord hugh, let it be speedy; for i do not think that twenty-four hours will be over ere i have repaid him some trifles that i owe him. i have some plans in my head, as well as you. so fare you well, once more." and thus they parted. in the meanwhile, hugh de monthermer sped upon his way, traversed the other court, and approached a door at which stood two or three of de montfort's officers, guarding closely, though with an appearance of profound respect, the only entrance to the apartments of prince edward. while he showed the pass which he had received, and mounted the long, narrow staircase, we shall take leave to precede him, for a few minutes, to the apartment of the prince. it consisted of a suite of several rooms, all reached by the same ascent, and was in itself as convenient and comfortable as any abode can be from which free egress is denied us. the principal chamber was a large and lofty one, with two wide windows, situated in deep bays, looking over the fair scene around. the casement was open; and, seated in a large chair, with his feet resting on a stool, sat the captive prince, gazing down upon a part of the town of hereford and the meadows and orchards beyond. the apple-trees were all in blossom, and every shrub in the manifold gardens had put on the blush of vegetable youth, promising rich fruit in the maturity of the year. beyond the meadows and the orchards came slopes and rising ground, and lines of deep wood, sheltering the intervening space, and then high hills were seen, fading off into the sky. on the left hand the scene was all open, but on the right, an angle of the cathedral, as it then appeared, bounded the view, while the tower of another church, of inferior dimensions, rose up under the eye, and cut the long, straight lines of the houses and other buildings. edward leaned his head upon his hand and gazed, while at a little distance from him sat a gentleman, somewhat younger than himself, looking upon him, from time to time, with a glance of deep interest, but keeping silence out of respect for the prince's musing mood. the soft air of summer wafted to the window the scent of the blossoms from the fields beyond; and edward thought it spoke of liberty. up rose from the streets and houses of hereford the manifold sounds of busy life, the buzz of talking multitudes, the call, the shout, the merry laugh of idle boyhood; and still, to the captive's ears, they spoke of liberty. the bells from the cathedral joined in, and rang complines; and turning his eyes thither, he thought how often he had heard those sweet tones, at even-close, in the happy days of early youth, returning from the chase or any other or the free sports of the time. his sight wandered on, over tower and spire, round which the crows were winging their airy flight, to the deep woods and blue hills, flooded with glory from the declining sun. still, still, it all spoke of liberty; and edward's heart felt oppressed, his very breathing laboured, as he remembered the mighty blessing he had lost. it was like the sight of a river to a man dying with thirst in the sands of africa, without the strength to reach it. he gazed, and perhaps for a moment might forget himself and his hard fate, in a dream of enjoyment; but if he did, it lasted not long--the dark reality soon came between him and the light of fancy, and letting his head droop, he turned away with a deep sigh, and gave up a brief space to bitter meditation. then rising from his seat, taller by many an inch than the ordinary race of men, he threw back his magnificent head and his wide shoulders with a sorrowful smile, saying, "i will walk up and down my chamber, de clare, and fancy i am free!" "i hope you feel better, my lord, to-night," said young thomas de clare, the earl of gloucester's brother. "yes, good faith," replied the prince, "i am better. the fever has left me, but nothing will make me truly well but open air and strong exercise. however, i am better, and i thank you much; for i believe you love me, de clare, although you make yourself a sort of willing gaoler to me." the young gentleman bent his head without reply, though there was a faint smile upon his lip, which might have puzzled edward had he seen it; and after a moment or two de clare said, somewhat abruptly, "now i could wager your grace is strong enough to ride some twenty or thirty miles, if you were at liberty to do so." "a hundred!" answered edward, quickly; and then added, more slowly--"were i at liberty." at that moment some one knocked at the door, and on being told to come in, hugh de monthermer entered. the face of the prince instantly brightened--"ah, monthermer!" he cried, "right glad am i to see you, my friend!--yes, my friend--for these factious times shall never make us enemies, though we draw our swords on different sides. this is my state apartment, hugh, and that staircase by which you came hither the extreme limit of my principality. i wonder that de montfort suffered you to see me." "i almost wondered myself, my lord," said hugh de monthermer; "for my request was coupled with a remonstrance against your imprisonment." "and yet," added the prince, "you will remonstrate, but not aid to free me." "my lord, i cannot, without treason," replied hugh de monthermer. "treason to whom?" demanded edward, somewhat sharply. "treason to the land, my lord," answered hugh de monthermer, "and to those rights which i know, when you are king, you will yourself willingly respect. i do beseech you, my dear lord, press me not harshly on a matter where i can make but one reply. you are here by the will of four-and-twenty noble gentlemen, appointed lawfully----" "and by the _mise_ of lewes," added the prince, bitterly--"but say no more, monthermer; i do believe that if your voice might prevail, i should soon be at liberty." "upon my life, you would," replied the young nobleman; "indeed, you never should have been otherwise, for i would have taken your word--your plighted word--to maintain the rights of englishmen, and to aid in no act against them, and would have set you free at once." "well, it matters not," answered the prince; "perhaps it is better as it is. i know not what i might have promised to buy my liberty, if men had asked me; but now, though fettered in body, i am at large in mind, and events may yet come to open stronger doors than that.--how fares it with your good uncle?" he continued. "he has been somewhat harsh and sudden with his king, but still he is a noble gentleman, and one of whom england may well be proud." hugh de monthermer answered in general terms; and the conversation, having then taken a turn away from painful subjects of discussion, reverted pleasantly to brighter themes. their boyish hours rose up before their eyes--the sports, the pastimes--the gay thoughts and heedless jests of youth were recollected--edward's countenance unbent, his eyes sparkled, his lips smiled, the prison and its cares were forgotten; and for the time he seemed to live once more in the sweet early days of which they spoke. the conversation proceeded almost entirely between the prince and hugh de monthermer, for though thomas de clare added a word or two now and then, they were but few, and only served to break through one of those momentary pauses which would have given thought time to return from the pleasant past to the sad present. the sun was, as i have said, going down when hugh de monthermer entered the prince's chamber, and ere he had been there half an hour, the bright orb had sunk beneath the horizon; but in these northern climes, heaven has vouchsafed to us a blessing which brighter lands do not possess--the long, soft twilight of the summer evening--and the sky was still full of light, so that one might have read with ease in the high chamber of the prince, nearly half an hour after the star of day had disappeared. it was just at that moment that hugh, who was sitting with his face towards the door, saw it open slowly, and a beautiful girl, dressed in somewhat gay and sparkling attire, even for those gaudy times, entered with a noiseless step, bearing a small basket in her hands. an expression of some surprise on the young lord's countenance made edward himself turn round, and the sight suddenly produced signs of greater amazement in his face than even in hugh de monthermer's. he rose instantly, however, saying--"what would you, my fair lady?" "nothing, royal sir," replied the girl, "but to bring your grace this small basket of early strawberries. you will find the flavour good," she added, "_especially at the bottom_, where they have not been heated by the sun." as she spoke she put down the basket on the table, and was retreating quickly, but edward exclaimed--"stay--stay; pretty one! tell me who you are, that i may remember in my prayers one who has thought upon her captive prince, and striven to solace him in his imprisonment." "it matters not," replied the girl, courtesying low and speaking evidently with a country accent--"it matters not. i promised not to stay a moment, but to give the strawberries and to come away. god send your grace a happy even, and a happy morning to boot!" and thus saying, she retired, closing the door carefully behind her. "this is strange," said the prince, taking up the basket, and turning towards hugh de monthermer. but the young lord was buried in deep meditation. "you seem surprised, monthermer," said the prince, "and, faith, so am i, too. i never saw the girl in all my days. did you, de clare?" "never!" replied the young noble. "methinks, i have," observed hugh de monthermer, gravely, "and that, many a mile hence. but i will now leave you, my lord; the gates will soon be shut." "nay, stay, and take some of this sweet food," said edward, "which has been brought me, not by ravens but by doves." "not so, sir," replied hugh, staying the prince's hand, as he was about to empty the basket on the table. "may the fruit prove propitious to your grace and to england!--adieu, my lord!" and thus saying, he quitted the room abruptly. "he is right, he is right!" cried thomas de clare; "there is more than fruit in that basket, or i am much mistaken." edward laid his hand upon it firmly, and fixed a keen and searching glance upon the young nobleman, saying, "whatever there be in it, is mine, and for my eye alone, thomas de clare." but his companion passed round the table, bent one knee before him, and, kissing his hand respectfully, said, "my noble lord and future king, you have mistaken me; but it is now time to tell you that i am no gaoler. if i be not very wrong, there are in that basket tidings which shall soon set you free as the wind. i have already gained from stern de montfort permission for you to ride forth, accompanied by six gentlemen of his choosing, and followed by a train of spears. i said, that it was the only means of restoring you to health.--i might have added had i pleased, and to liberty. now, my lord, see what that basket does contain; and believe me, if it cost me my head to keep your secret, i would not reveal it." "thanks, de clare, thanks," replied edward. "we often suspect the honest of being guilty; but, this time, suspicion has taken a different course, and i have long suspected thee of being honest.--now suppose all your hopes are false?" and he overturned the basket on the table. nothing fell from it except the fruit; but, fastened to the bottom by a piece of wax, appeared, on closer inspection, a small billet, folded so as to take the form of the basket. it was speedily drawn forth and opened, as the reader may suppose; but the first words which met the eye of the prince puzzled him not a little. the note was to the following effect:-- "my lord," "one of your horses has been stolen from your stable, namely, the bright bay norman charger; but, as some compensation, in its place has been put a large-boned, long-legged grey. he is not beautiful to look upon, though a skilful eye will see fine points in him; but he is strong and enduring, and no horse in europe can match him for speed. your lordship may try him against what horse you will, you will be sure to win the race; and should you be disposed to try to-morrow, you will find spectators in monington wood who will receive you at the winning post. mark this, for it is from "a friend." "would that i knew his name," cried edward, as he concluded the letter. "i can tell you, my lord," replied thomas de clare. "it is richard de ashby." "ha!" said edward, as if not well pleased--"ha! richard de ashby. he is a faithful subject of my father's, i believe, but that is all the good i know of him. however, i must not be ungrateful--hark! there is a step upon the stairs. get the fruit into the basket--quick!" and concealing the note, edward cast himself into the chair which he had previously occupied. de clare had scarcely replaced the strawberries and set down the basket, when a heavy, stern-looking man, one of the chief officers whom the earl of leicester had placed in attendance, as he called it, upon the prince, entered the room, with a silver dish in his hand. "seeing that a fair lady has carried you some strawberries, my lord," he said, "i have brought you a dish to put them in;" and taking the basket, he emptied it slowly into the silver plate. "thanks, ingelby, thanks," replied the prince with a look of total indifference as to what he did with the fruit. "methinks, if you had brought me some cream also it would have been as well." "your lordship shall have it immediately," answered the officer. "they are fine berries, so early in the season." "they will refresh me, after the fever," said edward; "for still my mouth feels dry." "you shall have the cream directly, my good lord," rejoined the officer, and left the room. edward and de clare looked at each other with a smile, and the note was soon re-read and totally destroyed. chapter xvii. about the hour of ten, on the morning following the day of which we have just been speaking, simon de montfort sat alone at a small table in a room adjoining that which he used as a council chamber. manifold papers and parchments were before him, and a rude map of england, such as the geographical skill of that day enabled men to produce, lay underneath his large powerful hand, with the forefinger resting upon the word, gloucester. his brow was heavy and his teeth were set; and he fixed his eyes--we cannot call it vacantly, for they were full of expression, though without sight--upon the opposite wall of the room, while his right hand ran slowly up and down the hilt of his heavy sword. "care," he said--"continual care! thought, and anxiety, and strife!--oh, life, life! the gilded bubble--how is it that man clings to thee so fondly!--who would not gladly be waked from an unpleasant dream? and yet how troublous is this sad dream of human existence, which we are so loath to lose? some five or six years in early youth, when fancy, passion, and inexperience forbid us to think, and teach us only to enjoy, may have a portion of chequered brightness; but the rest, alas! has its care for every day, and its anxiety for every hour. it is a weary place, this world to dwell in, and life but a grim and discontented tenant of the house!" he paused, and looked at the papers again, but it seemed difficult for him to fix his mind upon them. "it is strange," he continued--"i am not often thus; but i feel as if all things were passing away from me. can it be, that sometimes the spirit has an indication of coming fate, from beings that we see not?--it may be so--but it is weak to give way to such thoughts. it is with human actions and endeavours that we have now to do. ho! without there!--does any one wait?" he continued, addressing a servant who appeared at his call. "the constable of the guard of the west court, my lord," replied the attendant; "he has something to report." "send him, in," said the earl of leicester; "and dispatch a messenger to the earl of ashby, with many courteous greetings, to say that i am ready to receive him when it suits his pleasure: the same to the earl of monthermer and the lord hugh.--now, constable, what have you to tell me?" the servant had beckoned in from the door where he stood, a sturdy soldier, clad in full armour, except the casque; and the latter now replied to leicester's question-- "you told me, my lord, that the pass was withdrawn from sir richard de ashby, and that he was no more to have access either to the king or the prince." "i said, moreover," answered leicester, "that he was to quit hereford. is he not gone?" "he may be now, my lord," replied the soldier, "but last night i found him several times lingering about the castle." "if you find him any more, arrest him on the spot," cried de montfort, hastily. "methinks the man is a traitor. i sent him hence for his good; if he come back, evil shall overtake him." he spoke evidently with considerable irritation, which the great earl of leicester, as he was generally called, was seldom, if ever, known to display. impetuous he certainly had been in his early youth; and pride and sternness had been faults of his years; but excitement upon trifling occasions was so foreign to his character, that the constable of the guard, as he retired from his presence, muttered--"something must have gone very wrong with the great earl; i never saw him so before." when the officer had departed, simon de montfort rose, and took two or three turns up and down the room, murmuring to himself--"each petty knave dares to disobey me; but i doubt these ashbys; they are none of them stern and steadfast in the cause of right. this conference with gloucester, on pretence of being stopped by his troops--'tis rank,--'tis evident. but we shall soon hear more. here they come, i suppose:" and opening the door into the council-room, he walked slowly to the head of the table, while the old earl of monthermer advanced to meet him, and hugh lingered for a moment at the opposite side reading a note which seemed to have been just put into his hands. "public or private?" asked de montfort, looking upon his young friend with a smile. "private, my lord," answered hugh--"at least it is marked so; and though i have some doubt of the honesty of the writer, i will keep it private--at least for the present." the earl was about to reply; but at that moment the jingling step of alured de ashby was heard in the stone corridor at the top of the stairs; and after a brief pause he followed, his father into the council chamber. "welcome, my lord of ashby," said de montfort, advancing, and taking the earl's hand. "i am right glad to see you here; and welcome, too, lord alured. i fear that you have passed through some perils, and met with somewhat rough treatment on your road hither?" "perils, my lord, i may have passed through," answered alured, "but rough treatment i have none to complain of. the noble earl of gloucester treated me with more courtesy than i had a right to expect; and, as you see, suffered me to proceed, to join your lordship." de montfort strove in vain to prevent his brow from gathering into a heavy frown; and he replied, with a bitter smile--"doubtless the earl is wise." in the meanwhile the earl of ashby had been greeting cordially the monthermer and his nephew; and the sight of their mutual courtesies, which was in no way pleasant to alured de ashby, prevented him, in all probability, from making a rash reply to the earl of leicester. "well, sir," he said, not noticing the words of de montfort, but turning sharply to hugh, "you informed me, some time ago, that the cause of my sister's being carried off and detained by some rude country people, or forest outlaws, would be explained to my good father here. pray let us hear it in this noble presence! i am as curious as a woman." "tush, alured!" cried his father; "you are an impatient, irritable boy. first let me render thanks to our young friend, for his gallant, well-conducted search after our dear lucy, and for restoring her to us so soon." "whatever thanks he has merited, my lord," replied alured, "i am right willing to pay; but first i wish to hear the full extent of his great deservings, lest my gratitude should overwhelm me. luckily, however, there is a small deduction to be made, for having even at this early hour, brought an unjust charge against our kinsman richard, and roused dark suspicions of him in the breast of this noble earl." "i fear, my young friend," said the old lord of monthermer, in a calm and kindly tone, "that the gratitude which seems to sit so heavy upon you--if there prove any cause for gratitude at all, which i doubt--can suffer no diminution on the account you would place against it. the charge against your kinsman was made by me, not hugh. i neither concealed any part of the suspicion, nor aggravated it in the least; but merely told noble de montfort that which we all know, and which behoved him to be acquainted with, when he was trusting daily near prince edward a person of whom even your father must entertain grave doubts." "no--no! not so, my lord!" cried the earl of ashby, "my doubts have been dispelled." some farther conversation, of a menacing character, took place, the old lord of monthermer showing himself desirous of soothing the two lords of ashby, but alured evidently striving to drive the matter to a personal quarrel. it is no easy task, with a companion so disposed, to avoid administering some occasion of offence; and although hugh de monthermer, in his love for lucy, found every motive for avoiding a breach with her brother, yet there was a point of endurance beyond which even that inducement could not carry him. "well--well, lord alured," he said, at length, "it is clear to me, and must be clear to all, what is your object now. you have never forgotten ancient feuds, though we all agreed to cast them aside for ever. i would do all that is honourable and just, to maintain and strengthen every kindly feeling between our two houses, but even the desire of so doing shall not induce me to swerve from what i consider right. i believe richard de ashby to be a false traitor, unworthy of the name he bears; for your noble race, whatever side it has taken, has never produced such a one before." "and i maintain him honest and true," replied alured, "and will uphold it at----" he was going to add, the spear's point; but his father stopped him, exclaiming--"hush--hush! no violence! hear what lord hugh would say." "at all events," said de montfort, "have some respect, sir, for those in whose presence you speak." alured de ashby bit his lip, but made no reply, and hugh de monthermer turned with a glowing cheek to the earl of ashby, inquiring--"my lord, have you heard from your daughter, in whose hands i found her?" "i have not seen her," replied the earl--"i have not yet seen her. this city is so full of troops and armed men, that alured judged it better to leave her at a place a short distance hence, between this and gloucester. but alured has told me what she told him." "well then, my lord," continued hugh, "i have but to add, that the men in whose hands she was, and against whom i could bring no force sufficient to set her free, agreed to liberate her on condition that i requested you, by your honour and high name, to compel your kinsman, richard de ashby, to restore the unhappy girl he carried off, when we all met in barnesdale, to the house of her father, john greenly, and to make him pay such dowry, on her entering a convent, as may punish him and ensure her reception. it was as a hostage for her return that they seized your daughter; and it was only upon this condition that they set her free." "may i know," demanded alured de ashby, assuming a sweet and ceremonious tone, which contrasted strangely with the workings of anger and pride in his face--"may i know, fair sir, whether this demand is made of my father by these courteous outlaws of sherwood, or by the noble lord hugh de monthermer?" "hush! alured, i will have none of this!" exclaimed his father again. "you are too violent! surely i have maintained the dignity of my house all my days, and can do it without your help. now, my lord hugh, from whom comes this demand?" "it comes, my lord," replied hugh, "from all those persons who held your daughter in their power. to you, my lord, for whom i entertain so much respect, i bear it unwillingly, and bear it only in the name of others; but it is my purpose, i acknowledge, whenever and wheresoever i meet richard de ashby, to demand that and more at his hands." "sir!" cried alured, "there is one here present right willing and ready to put himself in the place of his cousin, and render you every account of his conduct you can desire." hugh turned from him with a look from which he could not altogether banish some contempt. "when i find, my lord," he replied, "that richard de ashby is lame or impotent, a woman or a monk, i will consent to his appointing a champion, but not till then. i have no quarrel with you, my lord, and do not intend to have one." "methinks, my lord of ashby," said de montfort, who had been speaking for a moment apart with the old earl of monthermer--"methinks the demand made upon you is but just, let it come from whom it may. these men held your daughter in their power, and they fixed certain conditions, taking it for granted you would execute which, they set the lady free. those conditions in themselves are fair, if i understand the matter rightly; and it were better far to yield to them, than now to dispute the matter, when your daughter has thus attained her liberty.--it would be more honourable, i say." the colour came up in the old earl de ashby's cheek. "the house of ashby, my lord," he replied, "permits no one to dictate to it, what is for its honour to do." "far less," cried alured, "will it allow an ancient enemy, presuming on the forbearance which has already given pardon and forgiveness for many offences, to bring false charges against one of its members, and then dictate how its chief is to act!" "pardon and forgiveness!" exclaimed hugh de monthermer--"false charges! these are strange terms. as to the truth of the accusation, if your base kinsman, sir, dares to put forth still the lying pretext that he made use of when last i saw him, and to lay, upon the same scapegoat, the blame of corresponding with the enemies of the state and of carrying off this poor girl, his falsehood now can soon be proved, for she has been seen with him in this very city." alured looked down and bit his lip; and the old lord of monthermer, anxious to prevent the house of ashby from abandoning that cause which he conceived to be just and right, interposed in the calm, grave manner which was usual with him, saying--"do not suppose, my noble friend, that my lord of leicester wishes to dictate to you in any degree. it is fair that he should submit for your consideration whether it will not be more honourable to your family to clear it of the stain which this man's conduct leaves upon it." "i can meddle, my lord, with no man's pastimes," said the earl de ashby, carried away by the example of his son. "richard de ashby is not my page, for me to chastise him, if he plays the fool with a peasant's daughter. i cannot meddle in the matter." "would your lordship not have meddled," asked de montfort, sternly, "if your daughter's freedom had still depended on it. methinks you would then have found right soon motives sufficient to interfere, and that somewhat vigorously." "well, my lord," cried the earl, in an angry tone,--for where weakness goes hand in hand with wrong, wrath is never far behind; "at all events, it is no affair of yours! this is no public matter, but a private business, put upon me by lord hugh of monthermer." "nay, my good lord--nay!" exclaimed hugh, "most unwillingly did i undertake it; but surely you would not have had me risk your daughter's liberation, by hesitating to convey to you a mere demand, which, without obtaining her deliverance at all, might have been sent by any other person." "and carried by any other, with much more grace than by a pretended friend," rejoined alured de ashby. "young gentleman," said the old earl of monthermer, "you have done mischief enough this morning, whether you intended it or not. do no more mischief, i beseech you; nor make those part enemies who would fain be friends. your father's answer is given--he will not meddle in the affair; so let it rest. hugh has done his duty, and he has had, moreover, the pleasure and the honour of serving and protecting a lady. whatever more is to be done rests with yourselves." "not entirely," replied de montfort, with a frown; "i have some say in this business." "how so, my lord?" demanded the earl of ashby, sharply. "i will allow no one--, not the highest in all the laud, to judge for me, as to my private conduct." "you are somewhat hasty, my good lord," said de montfort, coldly. "hasty or not," interrupted alured de ashby, eager to widen the breach as far as possible, "my father is right in what he says: and i say yea to him." "so bold!" said de montfort, contemptuously; "so very bold for so young a bird! methinks its wings want clipping, lest it should flee away!" alured de ashby saw that he had gone somewhat too far, and might, perhaps, if he said more, endanger his own liberty. at least, conscious of his own purposes, he so construed the words of the earl of leicester. his haughty spirit, however, would not bow to qualify even in a degree the rash language he had used, and he remained sullenly silent, looking down upon the ground, while the great earl continued with his keen grey eyes fixed sternly upon him. "to end all this," de montfort went on, "and to conclude a conversation which has continued too long, there are other charges against your kinsman, earl of ashby, which cannot exactly be trusted to your lordship's lenity. they are somewhat more serious than debauching a country girl; and as it has been proved that he has been seen with this light-o'-love damsel, who, by his own confession, went off with one undoubtedly a traitor to these realms, it is strong presumptive proof that he still has that traitor in his service, or knows more of him than is befitting. under these circumstances, i have already ordered his arrest, should he enter hereford; and now, moreover, i will have him sought for, and if he be a traitor, deal with him as such--which i will likewise do with all who prove so;" he added, in a marked tone. "your lordship is right," said alured de ashby; and he muttered between his teeth so low that it could not be heard--"if you can catch them!" "now, good morning to you, my lords," continued de montfort; "at three this evening we will hold a council, to consider of proclaiming mortimer and others, traitors. we shall expect you all to be present. come with me, monthermer--come with me, lord hugh! we will have no high words upon the stairs." lord ashby and his son turned away, with frowning brows; and, as they descended to the court-yard, two short sentences were spoken, which decided the fate of both. "i know not what may be your purpose, my father," said alured, "but my course is determined. i will neither be the jest of the monthermers nor the slave of simon de montfort!" "nor i either, alured," answered the earl, in a low tone; and without more comment they mounted their horses, and rode back to the inn. they had scarcely quitted the court when hugh de monthermer appeared in it, with a hasty step. one of the small party of armed retainers who had accompanied him instantly led forwards his horse, and he sprang into the saddle. "which way did the earl of ashby take?" he demanded. "through that gate, my lord," replied the man; and, bidding the servants follow him, the young knight was turning towards the other archway, when he felt something pull his stirrup, and looking down, beheld the boy tangel, holding up his long bony hand with many a curious grimace. "i will speak with thee by and by, tangel," said hugh; "i will be back in an hour." "ay, by and by is the cat that lapped up all the cream!" cried the dwarf. "by and by wont do, i must speak with you now! i have much to say!" "then you must get a horse, and follow me, tangel," replied the young lord--"it is already near the hour named. i go up the hill--be quick!" and he put spurs to his horse. the dwarf gazed after him for a minute, murmuring--"he'll be an hour too soon, if he do not mind!" and turned away. chapter xviii. about half an hour after the events had taken place, of which we have spoken in the last chapter, prince edward stood in the midst of the chamber already described, habited in a light riding suit, but armed only with his sword. he was gazing, with a look of expectation, at the door, when it opened, and his young companion, thomas de clare, entered in haste. "oh yes, my lord," he said, with a well pleased smile, "he fully confirms the permission; and, indeed, william of cantelupe, ingelby, and thomas de blundel, with three or four, are already waiting in the court-yard for your coming." "is my horse prepared, then?" demanded the prince. "why, the foolish grooms, my lord," replied the young nobleman, "had brought out the roan, alleging that grey was lean, and not like a prince's horse, but i bade them saddle him, notwithstanding, saying that i had given him to your grace, and checking them for not obeying the order they had received. he is, doubtless, caparisoned by this time--but you are pale, my lord; the fever has weakened you! were it not as well to take a cup of wine before you ride forth?" edward shook his head. "not so!" he said; "when i strike my spur into that horse's side, the very thought of freedom shall give me better strength and courage than the best wine that ever france produced. however, let me have your arm; it may be well to seem a little weaker than i am. do you go with me, de clare?" "no, my lord," answered his companion, "i am not one of those named; and, to say the truth, i did not seek the honour, for i might but embarrass you, and i must provide for my own safety here." "are you sure you can?" demanded the prince. "you must not risk your life for me, de clare!" "oh, fear not--fear not!" replied the young nobleman; "give me but one hour, and i will be beyond the reach of harm." after a few more words, prince edward took his arm, and slowly descended the stairs, at the foot of which they found a number of gentlemen assembled, with several servants holding the horses which had been prepared for their excursion. the spearmen whom de clare had talked of the preceding night did not make their appearance, de montfort judging that seven or eight of his stanchest followers would be quite sufficient to secure him against the escape of the captive prince. edward bowed familiarly to the various gentlemen present, and was received with every appearance of deference and respect. "good morning, ingelby," he said; "good morning, sir william de cantelupe. blundel, i am glad you are here--you are a judge of horses; and de clare has given me one, which he declares will make an excellent charger--god speed the mark! when shall i need a charger again?--but there he comes; at least, i suppose so. what think you of him?" "nay, no jesting, gentlemen!" cried de clare, remarking a smile upon the lips of the rest; "that is a horse which, when well fed and pampered highly, will do more service than a thousand sleek-coated beauties." "to the latter appellation, at least, he has no title," replied blundel, looking at the horse as it was led forward; "but he has good points about him, nevertheless." "he seems quiet enough," observed the prince; "and, to say sooth, that is no slight matter with me to-day. i am not strong enough to ride a rough-paced fiery charger. but let us mount, gentlemen, and go. farewell, de clare! i will not break your horse's wind." "i defy your grace," answered thomas de clare, holding edward's stirrup, as he mounted slowly. "i wish you a pleasant ride." at the gate of the castle stood the earl of leicester himself, ready to do honour to prince edward, as he passed; and after a few words of cold courtesy, the train proceeded on its way, and wound out of the town of hereford. "this free air cheers me," said edward, turning to one of his companions, after they had passed the gates about half a mile. "how true it is, that blessings, manifold blessings, are only known to be such when we have lost them! to me this free summer wind is in itself the richest of enjoyments." "i am glad to hear it, my lord," replied the gentleman he addressed; "i hope it may do you much good." "if i can obtain many such rides," continued edward; "i shall soon be quite well. see, how proud blundel is of his horse! and yet i would bet a silver tankard against a pewter can, that cantelupe's would beat it for the distance of half a mile, or ingelby's either." ingelby, who was near, smiled, well pleased; and the other, to whom edward had spoken, exclaimed--"do you hear what the prince says, blundel?--that cantelupe's horse would beat yours for half a mile!" "cantelupe would not try," answered blundel, "i should think." "oh, i will try!" cried cantelupe; "to please the prince, i will try with all my heart. let us set off!" "nay, nay," rejoined edward, "let us wait till we get upon the turf, on the higher ground. if i remember right, there is as fair a course there as any in england. we will make matches there for you, and i will give a golden drinking cup as a prize for the horse that beats all the rest. you shall run two at a time, and the gentlemen who remain with me will be the judges of each course." "agreed, agreed!" cried the whole party. "i shall win the cup!" said blundel. "not you!" shouted ingelby, in his loud, hoarse voice. "it is scarcely fair for me, however, for i am so much heavier." "but you have a stronger horse," replied edward; and thus passing the time in light conversation, they mounted slowly the first gentle slopes in the neighbourhood of hereford, and came upon some fine dry turf at the top. as soon as they found an open space where there was grass enough, blundel and cantelupe put their horses into a quick pace and galloped on, taking for the winning-post a tree that stood detached at the distance of about half a mile. cantelupe was the lighter man of the two, and he rode well; but blundel's horse was decidedly superior, and, he had already passed the tree when his competitor was two or three lengths behind. the prince seemed greatly to enjoy the sport, and cheered on the men and horses with his voice and hand. two more competitors speedily succeeded the first, and still the whole party kept, advancing over the wild, turfy sort of down, ever and anon choosing an open spot for their gay pastime. "now, ingelby," said the prince, at length, "you must try with blundel. as you are the heavier man, you have some advantage in his horse being rather tired. we will give you a mile's course, too, so that your beast's strength will tell. there, up to that gate, with the little village church beyond, and if you beat him, i will fill the cup with silver pieces. he is so proud of his beast, it makes me mad to see him." blundel patted the arching neck of, his proud charger with a self-satisfied smile, and, at the given sign, gave him his head. away the two best horses in the party went, and ran the longer course before them with very equal speed, blundel taking the lead at first, but ingelby's stronger beast gaining upon him afterwards. blundel, however, was the first to reach the gate; but ingelby dared him to try his chance back again, and away they came once more at headlong speed. this time, ingelby was first, till, at the distance of about three hundred yards from the prince, his horse stumbled, and came down with a heavy fall. the rider and the charger were both upon their feet again in a moment, but the beast had struck his knee, although not severely, and went lame as he finished the rest of his course. "i know not how we must award the prize here," said the prince; "for had it not been for that accident----" "oh, it is mine--it is mine, fairly!" cried blundel. "oh, yes, my lord, i think he has won it!" said several voices round. "oh, i have won it!" reiterated blundel; but added, laughing, "unless his grace himself will ride a course with me upon his grey charger." "it must be but a short one, blundel," answered edward; "but i do not mind if i try for some hundred yards or two the mettle of the beast. what say you to that little tree?" "with all my heart!" replied blundel. "on, then!" cried the prince; and at the same moment he loosed the rein--at which his horse had been tugging for the last half hour--and struck his spurs into the animal's sides. like an arrow shot from a bow, the lean and bony charger darted forth, covering an immense space of ground at every stretch, and speedily leaving blundel and his vaunted steed behind. spurring with all his might, the disappointed cavalier followed on edward's track; but though the distance to the tree was certainly not more than five hundred yards, the prince was full fifty in front when he passed it. seeing that it was vain to make any further effort, blundel slackened his speed, but to his astonishment the prince spurred on, gaining upon him every minute; and, at the distance of about seventy or eighty yards, feeling the immense speed and power of the horse that he bestrode, edward turned gaily round in the saddle, and, waving his hand, exclaimed, in a loud voice, "all courteous things to my cousin de montfort! tell him he shall hear from me soon." by this time the party, who had been slowly following, had caught sight of what was passing, and putting their chargers into a gallop, were soon up to the spot where blundel had halted in bewilderment and wonder. "he is gone!" cried blundel. "by st. john the evangelist, he is gone!" "what shall we do?" exclaimed another. "follow him, follow him, at all events," said ingelby; "it must not be said that we did not follow him," and accordingly they spurred on at their best speed; but it was all in vain. the poor-looking grey, that every one had contemned, now showed his real powers, each moment seemed to increase his speed, each stride seemed wider than the last, and every instant edward gained upon his pursuers. for some way he never turned his head to look, feeling sure that they were left far behind; but at length, after rising another gentle slope, he paused for an instant to let his horse breathe, and gazed back over the grassy land, which he could now see extending all the way down to the river. at the distance of about a mile, he beheld a knot of eight horsemen, in whom he instantly recognised the persons who had been sent to guard him. but they were no longer following upon his track, their horses' heads were turned towards hereford, and thither they now pursued their way, having soon given up all hope of overtaking the fugitive. "where is my lord of leicester?" demanded ingelby, the moment they arrived in the court of the castle. "he is holding private council, and cannot be spoken with," replied the officer to whom he addressed himself. "i must speak with him, however," rejoined ingelby. "you cannot!" said the officer, sternly; "he is in close conference with the earl of oxford and lord ralph." "if the devil were with him, i must see him!" exclaimed ingelby. "out of my way, man! i will bear the blame." and, pushing past him, he approached the door of the council-chamber, and knocked hard with his hand. a page, who was within, opened the door; and walking straight up to de montfort, who sat at the head of the table, ingelby whispered, "the prince is gone, my lord!" de montfort turned fiercely round upon him, and struck the table with his clenched hand, exclaiming "gone!" "ay, my lord, gone!" replied the officer; "and yet none of us could help it;" and he proceeded to explain how edward had effected his escape. de montfort showed no further agitation or surprise than that which the sudden communication of such intelligence elicited at first. it overpowered his usual calmness for a moment; but then it was past. after hearing ingelby's account, he muttered to himself--"the shadow that fell upon me this morning was from this cloud. go, boy," he continued, addressing the page who stood at the door, "bid the constable of the guard seek for thomas de clare; and if he find him, attach him for high treason. let some one, too, summon the lords of ashby hither instantly, on business of much importance. quick boy, away!--my lord of oxford, i will beseech you to speed across the country to pevensey at once, and instead of aiding my son to take it, as we proposed just now, bid him raise the siege, and march to join me, with all the men whom he can raise, coming by winchester and oxford. we shall soon have business on our hands, and must be up and stirring. what were we saying, sir adam de newfort!--oh, about bringing the troops from chester;" and he entered again upon the subject which they had before been discussing, seeming to dismiss from his mind the escape of the prince, as if it had been a matter of no moment. in about half an hour the messenger returned, whom he had sent to order the arrest of thomas de clare. "my lord," said the page, "they are not to be found." "they!" exclaimed the earl. "lord thomas left the castle an hour ago," replied the page, "and his servants are all gone likewise." "so i thought, so i thought!" said de montfort; "'trust not soft seeming' is a good old saw. i might have been wiser than to put faith in one of the brood of gloucester." "but of the ashbys, boy--speak of the ashbys!" cried lord ralph basset. "my heart is no true prophet if they play us not false likewise." "they went out upon the worcester road, the people of their inn declare," rejoined the boy, "within half an hour after they left the castle, and ere an hour was over all their people followed them, their steward paying the score." "let them go!" cried de montfort, "we can afford to lose them. an unwilling hand is always well spared from a good cause. besides, the greater loss puts out the less. one edward is worth a whole shop full of ashbys!" and with this contemptuous observation he turned to other matters again. chapter xix. the impediments of life, at which we fret and chafe in early years, and which we view with stern doubt and disappointment in that after period when the shortness of the space left to us renders each moment really as valuable as it only seems to be in the eagerness of youthful impatience--the impediments of life, i say--the things that check us in our impetuous course, and force us to pause and to delay--how often are they blessings instead of curses? how often is the object which they dash from our outstretched hands an evil rather than the good that we esteemed it! hugh de monthermer, as we have shewn, rode away from the castle of hereford about half an hour before prince edward. he chose the very road, and went on at great speed for about three miles; he then turned his horse into a path somewhat different from that which the prince had chosen, but leading nearly in the same direction; and in that he proceeded at a rate which gave his five servants some trouble in keeping up with him. at length, however, his horse suddenly went lame, and on dismounting to see what was the matter, he found that a nail had run into the frog of the animal's foot; and although it was easily extracted, yet it was impossible to proceed at the same pace as before. "give me your horse, peterkin," he said, "halting, and take mine slowly back to hereford." while the servant was changing the saddle, however, a countryman appeared on the road, driving some swine before him; and hugh immediately walked up to him, asking, "is this the way, my friend, to monington chapel?" "no, no," replied the man; "you must go back. you should have taken the first turning on your left. lord, now! only to think of your not knowing your way to monington chapel!" "what's the hour?" asked hugh. "just mid-day," answered the man. "don't you see the sun?" "then there is time," said hugh de monthermer; and mounting the servant's horse, he retrod his steps for some distance. just as he was approaching the turning, however, which the man had directed him to take, he heard a loud whistling scream, which made him look up to the sky, thinking that some eagle--a bird then very common in the marches of wales--had come close above his head. but nothing of the kind was to be seen; and a moment after the same cry was repeated, while one of the servants who were riding a little way behind, exclaimed, "it is the dwarf, my lord, it is tangel. see where he comes at full speed, like a monkey on a race-horse!" hugh de monthermer paused for a moment and turned his eyes down the road from hereford, up which the dwarf was coming, not mounted on his forest pony, but perched upon the back of a tall charger with his head just seen between the ears of the animal, his long arms stretched out holding the bridle somewhat short, and his equally lengthy legs hanging down, affording no bad type for the old figure of nobody. the boy was speedily by hugh de monthermer's side, shaking his head reproachfully as he came, and saying, "ay, you would not listen to tangel, man-at-arms. nobody listens to tangel; and why? because he has not got a skin like a sucking pig and a face such as boys cut out of a turnip. now, if any of these bottle-nosed beer drinkers had told you to stay and listen, you would have waited by the hour." "not i," replied hugh de monthermer, "nor can i wait now, good tangel; so come on, and make haste with your story by the way. what is it you want to tell me?" "ay, haste, haste!" cried tangel, turning his horse and keeping by the side of the young lord; "always hasting to destruction, and slow to anything good. now are you riding out here, without knowing where you are going or who it is that has sent for you." "and pray, if you are wiser, tangel," said hugh, with a smile, "let me know where it is i am going to, and who it is that has sent for me." "going to a prison," cried tangel, "and he who sent for you is a traitor." "are you serious?" demanded hugh, turning gravely towards him. "no, never was merrier in my life," answered tangel, grinning till he shewed his fine white teeth running back almost to his ears. "is it not enough to make me merry, to see a man who calls himself wise put his head into a noose like a woodcock?--now i will catechise you, as the priest of the chapel did me one day when he was drunk. did you not receive a letter to-day?" "yes, i did," replied hugh. "who gave you that letter?" demanded tangel. "one of the servants of the noble earl of leicester," answered hugh. "ha!" said the boy, "they are cunninger than i thought." "and moreover," added the young nobleman, "i asked the servant from whom he had received it, and he told me, from one of the attendants of the earl of ashby." "and who did the earl ashby's ton of flesh get it from?" demanded the dwarf.--"i will tell you, for you know nothing about it yourself. he got it from gallant, sweet, honest, pretty richard de ashby, before he ran away from hereford, last night. i heard him when he thought there were no ears listening; for i watched him all over the place, as soon as i found he was in hereford, creeping after him like a shadow. he gave me a blow once in nottingham, and called me ape and devil; but the ape was at his heels last night when he and his fair cousin alured were plotting to go over to gloucester; and i heard him say, that he would have you in a net before four-and-twenty hours were over." "he might have found himself mistaken, tangel," replied hugh, "for i had my misgivings. although i have not often seen the lady lucy's handwriting, i suspected that the note was not hers; and, though he told me to come alone, i brought five stout fellows with me, as you see, intending to leave them within call. i think we six might be quite enough to deal with any force they would dare to bring within seven miles of hereford." the dwarf laughed aloud, paused, and then laughed again; but in his wayward fashion he would not explain the cause of his merriment, let hugh say what he would. "mighty cunning--mighty cunning!" he cried. "now, if you have luck, you may catch the fowler in his trap; but yet, if you be wise, you will ride back to hereford, and take a nuncheon at the maypole." "no," replied hugh; pausing for an instant, and beckoning to his followers to come up; "no, i will not. i know richard de ashby's force right well, and we five are worth any ten he can bring against us. i would give a capful of gold pieces to take that traitor back with me, and nail his ears to the castle gates; but we must lay our plan securely. the place appointed is monington chapel, and there surely must be some place near it where i can conceal the men." "why, my lord," said one of his followers, "just on this side of it is little bilberry wood. i know it well; and then beyond, is the great wood of monington. we can find cover in either, for a thousand spears if it were necessary." "i forget the place, though i have seen it often," replied hugh; and, musing over what the dwarf had told him, he rode on till the highway entered a little copse intersected by numerous paths. the width of the whole wood might be about a hundred and fifty yards, though the length, to the right and left of the road which they followed was not less than a couple of miles; and as the young nobleman and his train issued forth again on the other side, they perceived at a short distance before them a small chapel, to which the name of a shrine would have been more appropriate, for the largest congregation that it could contain was certainly thirty persons at the utmost. hugh de monthermer's arrangements were soon made. drawing back as soon as possible, lest any one should observe his movements, he stationed his men under cover of the wood, and then advanced alone to the chapel, the door of which was open, as usual with all places of worship at that time. before he entered, however, he paused to gaze over the scene on the other side of the little building, which presented, first an open green expanse covered with short grass dotted with tufts of fern, and then, with the interval of about a third of a mile, a deep, sombre wood, extending to a considerable distance on both sides. the ground all round was perfectly clear, and the copse, where he had left his men, so near at hand that it was impossible for him to be taken at a disadvantage by a larger force than his own, without having due warning of its approach. hugh looked up towards the sun, saying to himself, "i am half an hour before the time, i should imagine--we shall have a storm ere long:" and, fastening his horse to a hook fixed in the stone work, apparently for that purpose, he entered the chapel, which was quite vacant. above the altar appeared the figure of the virgin, and kneeling for a moment, as usual with all persons of his faith, hugh repeated a short prayer, and then rising, gazed out of a window which turned towards the larger wood at the back. the sky was becoming rapidly clouded, and though the sun shone high in heaven, it only served to render the thick, thronged mass of vapours, that were rolling up from the south-west, more dark and lowering in appearance than would have been the case had they not been contrasted with the warm glow of the zenith. soon, however, swelling up like the waves of an ocean of molten lead, the white edges of the thunder-cloud covered the disk of the sun, bringing with them an oppressive heat very different from the mild but fresh air which had prevailed during the morning. still hugh de monthermer kept his eye fixed upon the wood; and after watching for several minutes, he thought he could distinguish, through the bolls of the trees, a human form, moving slowly along at the very verge. it disappeared again, and for a few moments nothing more was perceived, so that hugh, at length, begun to think he had been in error. he soon found that such was not the case, for after a short pause, a man on foot issued forth a step or two, and was seen to look carefully round him. he then gazed down the road towards hereford, and put his hand over his eyes, as if to shade them from the light. apparently satisfied, he retired into the wood again, after having continued his investigations for about three or four minutes. it was evident he was watching for some one, and hugh naturally concluded it was himself. the young nobleman paused, meditating how he should act--at one moment, thinking of shewing himself, in order to bring the affair to a speedy issue, but the next, judging it would be better to remain in the chapel till the hour appointed had arrived. while he was still hesitating, a vivid flash of lightning, that almost blinded him, burst forth from the cloud, and appeared to sweep close past the chapel. some large drops of rain fell at the same time, and after another and another flash--succeeding each other with extraordinary rapidity--the flood-gates of the heavens seemed to open, and the torrent poured down, mingling hail with the rain, and forming foaming yellow pools at every indentation of the road. incessantly through the twilight of the storm the broad blue glare of the lightning was seen, with a thin, bright, fiery line crossing the tissue of the flame, and marking its fierce and destructive character; while the rolling peal of the thunder seemed to shake the very earth, echoing and re-echoing from the woods around. "those poor fellows will be half drowned," thought hugh de monthermer; "i have a great mind to call them into the chapel, though it might lose me my opportunity. yet, if i were sure of catching that villain, and carrying him into hereford,--ay, or of meeting him with double my numbers, i would myself swim the wye a dozen times.--hark! surely that was the tramp of a horse's feet!" another clap of thunder, however, drowned all other sounds; but when it had passed away, the noise of a horse's hoofs beating the ground at a quick pace distinctly reached the young nobleman's ear. hugh de monthermer listened. "there is but one," he said; "i will take no odds against him;" and he loosened his sword in the scabbard, keeping behind the angle of the building, so as not to show himself too soon at the half-opened door. the next instant the horse stopped opposite the chapel, the rider was heard to spring to the ground; and after a moment's delay, in order, it seemed, to secure the beast from straying, the stranger's foot was heard ascending the steps. hugh de monthermer advanced to confront him, but instantly drew back again, exclaiming, in a tone of strong astonishment--"prince edward!" "hugh de monthermer," cried edward, "this is strange meeting, old companion!" "it is, indeed, my dear lord," replied hugh. "it becomes me not to ask how or why you are here, but i will confess that it rejoices my very heart to see you at liberty, though i doubt not many men would say, if they knew of our meeting, that i ought to arrest and bring you back to hereford." "he would be a bold man!" answered the prince, raising his towering form to its full height--"he would be a bold man who would attempt, single-handed, to stop edward of england on his way!" "alas, my lord!" replied hugh de monthermer, "i have not even that excuse to give to those who may blame me. one shout from that door would bring fearful odds against you, for, to tell the truth, i am waiting here to catch that arch-traitor, richard de ashby, in his own net, and have left men in the little wood you have just passed. but once more, i say, i rejoice to see you free." "then, indeed, i thank you, hugh," replied the prince--"i thank you from my heart for your sincere love--though, if i judge rightly, i am not so unprotected as i seem." the young nobleman took the hand that edward held out to him, and kissed it respectfully, saying, "i would not betray you, my lord, for the world, were you here alone and i at the head of hundreds; but ere we part, i must ask you one boon." "nay, let us not part yet," rejoined edward; "there is much to be said between us, hugh. i have taken shelter here from the storm,--you are here also; and while the elements rage without, let us talk of giving peace to the land." "that is the object of the boon i crave, my lord," answered hugh, "but i can stay no longer with you than to name that boon. no, not even to hear you concede or refuse it--else i shall be held a traitor to that cause which i believed to be sacred. the boon is this: when you have joined the earl of gloucester--when you see yourself at the head of armies--and when you feel your royal mind at liberty to act with power and success, publish a proclamation pledging yourself to uphold all those laws and ordinances which have been enacted for the safety of the land, for the rights and liberties of the people, and for our protection from foreign minions and base favourites--laws and ordinances to which you have once already given your consent. if you do this, i myself will never draw the sword against you, nor do i believe will simon de montfort." edward shook his head, with a look of doubt. "de montfort is ambitious, hugh," he said; "perhaps he was not always so, for many a man begins a patriot and ends a tyrant." at that moment the sound of a horn was heard from the little neighbouring copse, and hugh de monthermer advanced to the door of the chapel, knowing that it was a signal of danger. the scene that presented itself was curious: the rain was still pouring down heavy and grey; the air was dim and loaded; the flashes of the lightning were blazing through the sky, and seemed to the eyes of the young nobleman to be actually running along the ground. at the same time, rushing towards him with rapidity almost superhuman, was the poor dwarf, tangel, throwing about his long, lean arms, in the most grotesque manner, and pointing ever and anon to the opposite wood, issuing forth from which appeared a body of at least three hundred horse, well armed and mounted, and coming down at full speed towards the chapel. hugh turned one look more into the building and waved his hand, exclaiming--"adieu, my lord, adieu! here is danger near;" and, gaining his horse's side, he unhooked the bridle, and leapt into the saddle. "up, tangel! up behind me!" he cried, as the dwarf came nigh--"up, quick, or they will be upon us!" the dwarf sprang up behind him in a moment, with one single bound from the ground; and hugh, turning the bridle towards the little copse, dashed on at full speed. the servant's horse, however, which he was riding, was not a very fast one; the troop from the wood was coming forward with great rapidity, and seemed determined to chase him: his own force was too small to offer any resistance; and hugh de monthermer saw with bitterness of spirit that if the adversaries still pursued, he must soon be a prisoner. to be so deceived and foiled, added anger to the grief he felt at the prospect of captivity, and he muttered to himself--"they shall pay dearly for it, at all events," while he still spurred on towards the copse from which his own men were now approaching, leading the horse on which the dwarf had joined them. "mount your beast quickly!" cried hugh, turning his head to tangel. "go on--go on, fast, good master!" cried the boy. "do not halt for me: i will mount without your stopping, only carry me close enough to the beast;" and in a moment after, as hugh rode swiftly up towards his followers, the boy put his hands upon the young nobleman's shoulders, sprang up with his feet on the charger's haunches, and then with a leap and a shrill cry, he lighted on his own horse, whirled himself round, and dropped into the saddle. no time, indeed, was to be lost; for hugh and his attendants met midway between the building and the wood, when one end of the enemy's line already reached the chapel. and at that moment, edward himself darted out upon the steps, and shouted aloud, "halt! i command you, halt!--lord lovell, sir thomas grey, i charge you, halt! chase him not. i say!--sir richard de ashby," he continued, raising his voice till it seemed to vie with the thunder, as he saw that his orders were unheeded, "halt! on your life! will you disobey my first command?" but richard de ashby was deaf, and dashed on with five or six others, while the rest of their party drew the rein, some sooner, some later, pausing in a broken line. hugh de monthermer and his men spurred forward at the full gallop; but the slippery ground, now thoroughly soaked by the pelting rain, defeated his effort to escape an attack. the horse of one of his followers floundered, and fell some forty yards before they reached the copse; and though both man and beast staggered up again, the pursuers were too near to be evaded. some ten yards in advance of the rest, mounted upon a fleet black horse, was richard de ashby himself. he was fully armed with hauberk and shield and spear, but his aventaille was open, and a glow of savage satisfaction might be seen upon his countenance. hugh de monthermer turned in the saddle, to measure the distance between them with his eye, saw in a moment that escape was not possible, but that vengeance was; and, snatching from the man next to him a spear and small round buckler, he wheeled his horse, struck the sharp spur furiously into its flanks, and met his pursuer in full career. the young knight himself was clothed in nothing but a hauqueton of purple cendal, which, though stiffly stuffed with cotton, as was then customary, afforded poor protection against the point of a lance. but the tournament and the battlefield had been the young nobleman's ball-room and his school, his place of amusement and his place of practice; and his eye was always ready to discover, his hand prepared to take advantage of the slightest movement of an enemy. he perceived in an instant that richard de ashby's lance was aimed at his throat, but he showed by no sign that he knew that such was the case, till he was within a yard of his enemy. then suddenly raising his buckler, he turned the point aside; and at the same instant he somewhat lifted his own spear, which, as he had no rest, was charged upon his thigh, intending to strike his adversary full in the face. but richard de ashby bent his head, and the lance touching him high upon the forehead, glanced off from the skull, and catching in the hood of mail, hurled him headlong from his charger to the ground. hugh drew up his horse suddenly by the side of the fallen man, and shortening the spear, held it to his throat, shouting aloud to those who followed--"if any one comes near; he dies!" by this time his own attendants had rejoined him; and two or three gentlemen came riding down at a quick pace from the chapel, calling upon their companions, who had gone before, to halt and come back. "did you not hear the prince's voice?" exclaimed an elderly knight, angrily, as he approached: "it is his express commands, that you come back. depart, lord hugh--depart in peace; it is the prince's will, and we obey." "had i but one half your numbers, lord lovel," answered hugh, "i would not go without taking this traitor with me." "or being taken yourself," replied lord lovell, with a laugh. "i can assure you, my good lord, we had every intention of carrying you with us into worcestershire; but as the prince will let the bird out of the trap which poor richard baited so nicely for him, he must e'en use his wings--there is no help for it. you seem to have pecked the fowler pretty handsomely, however. i believe you have cleft his skull. there--let his people come up and help him! you have my word against treachery." "i fear he is not punished as much as he deserves," replied hugh de monthermer. "bear my dutiful thanks to the prince for his courtesy; and now, fare you well, my lord lovell. i trust we shall soon meet again." thus saying, he turned his horse, and rode quickly but thoughtfully back to hereford. chapter xx. a few pages more of dry details, dear reader, and then for nothing but brief scenes and rapid action. this, if you please, is a chapter of pure history; and therefore those who are well read in the annals of the times may pass it over without any particular attention. to all who are not, however, it will be found absolutely necessary to the right understanding of that which is to follow. on hugh de monthermer's arrival at hereford, he found the news of edward's escape common to all the town; but, nevertheless, he thought it necessary to communicate first to his uncle, and then to the earl of leicester, all that had taken place after he had left them in the morning. "some three hundred horses!" said de montfort, as he listened to the young nobleman's account of his meeting with richard de ashby. "they are bold, upon my life! but they teach us that we have been somewhat negligent. and so you unhorsed the traitor, but could neither kill nor take him? it is a pity--you are sure that he is not dead?" "not sure, my lord," replied hugh; "but i rather think not, for i felt the spear strike, and then glance off. i would fain have brought him into hereford." "have you heard," continued de montfort, "that our good friends the earl of ashby and his son have left us?--so that i fear some hopes and expectations, which your uncle mentioned regarding a fair lady's hand, may suffer disappointment." "i have heard it, my lord," answered hugh, "and am, i confess, not a little grieved. nevertheless----" "well, what of nevertheless?" asked de montfort, seeing that be. paused. "why, nevertheless, my lord," replied hugh, "i cannot but hope that i shall succeed at last. i have never yet seen a matter of love which was destined to end happily begin smoothly at the first." "ay, hope!" said de montfort. "hope is like a hungry boy, who i once saw burn his mouth with his porridge; for he still consoled himself, poor urchin, by saying that it would be cool enough by and by. may it be as you wish, my young friend:--and so good night; for neither you nor i can mend what is gone amiss this day." as hugh was leaving the room, de montfort called to him again, saying, "pray ask your uncle to spend an hour with me to-night. i want his warlike counsels in our present strait; i know no one more fitted to advise me." "and none more willing, my lord," replied hugh, quitting the room. bustle, activity, preparation, the movement of troops, rumours of strange events, some false, some true, portents, even miracles--for those were times in which every man were the magnifying-glasses of superstition--doubts, expectations, suppositions in regard to the motions of every following day, filled up the next fortnight busily. every part of the country, from one end to the other, was stirred up to fight for one party or the other; and bands of soldiers moving across to join their several banners often encountered in the same village, and by their contests "frighted the isle from its propriety." according to the best accounts that could be obtained, the number of troops which gathered round prince edward and the earl of gloucester was considerably larger than that which joined de montfort in hereford, and being principally composed of cavalry, these levies dropped much more rapidly in; the foot soldiers, who were enrolling themselves for the party of the lords commissioners, as de montfort's faction was called, though infinitely more numerous, being very much longer in their march, and more easily intercepted and driven back by the enemy. to counterbalance the depression, however, which the increasing strength of edward and gloucester might have spread through hereford, rumours came daily of a great rising of the citizens of the capital, in favour of de montfort; and there was also on his side that great moral support which is given by the assurance of being at the head of a great popular movement--for, that the cause of de montfort was the popular one, no one can doubt who reads the ballads, the legends, or the histories of the day. the people, beyond all question, looked upon that renowned leader, not only as the champion of their rights and liberties, but as a hero, which he really was, and as a saint, which he probably was not. still the camp of de montfort suffered many severe defections. in political contests, the love of novelty and of change affects many more men than one would at first sight suppose, causing them to seize any pretext for abandoning a party to which they have been for some time attached, and for going over to the other, which they have constantly opposed. dissensions with their leaders or their fellow partisans, disgusts at trifling acts of neglect--even weariness of habitual associations, will produce in others the same effect; and thus a great number of the nobles, who before the famous battle of lewes supported the earl of leicester, now framed or discovered an excuse for following the example of the earl of ashby and his son, and joining the forces of gloucester and prince edward. a few, too, really doubtful of de montfort's real intentions, and fearful of his growing power, either retired from his party without espousing that of the prince, or abandoned him entirely, and prepared to oppose him in arms. many of his weaker partisans, though adhering still to his cause, were alarmed at this defection, and looked grave and sorrowful at the intelligence received of the enemy's movements; but the earl, though as serious in his demeanour as his age and character might require, was still firm and cheerful, as were all his principal councillors and companions. none seemed less depressed than the old earl of monthermer, who had always a hopeful and courteous answer to give to every one. "we shall beat them yet, my good friend," he said, in answer to a somewhat timid and news-seeking gentleman, who stopped him while riding down from the castle to his inn. "we shall beat them yet, do not fear. unless some great and extraordinary error is committed on our side, or some inconceivable piece of good fortune occurs upon theirs, they must be defeated, as they were at lewes." "but i see," said his companion, "that the earl has proclaimed----" "not the earl, but the king," interrupted the old lord--"it is the king who has proclaimed gloucester and all his adherents traitors; but that makes very little difference. in contentions like these, every man is called a traitor in his turn, whatever side he takes; and as for those who have gone over to the enemy, do not let their defection alarm you. it is better always to have an open enemy than a false friend; and a wise general gives all cowards and waverers a prompt order to quit the ranks of his army, not only as a useless, but an injurious incumbrance." such cheerful words, and a few gallant acts performed in a casual skirmish here and there, kept up the spirits of the soldiery in hereford and the neighbouring towns, till at length such a number of men were collected, as seemed to justify de montfort in taking the field, although the army of the prince might be, perhaps, by one-half more numerous than his own. the movements of the great earl after marching out of hereford, became of a strange and incongruous character, which greatly puzzled and embarrassed many of his best supporters, and which have not been clearly understood even in our own time; but de montfort's countenance remained calm and tranquil, even in the midst of what seemed, to ordinary observers, checks and reverses; and it was remarked, that the two or three noblemen who were in his most intimate councils, maintained the same serene aspect, whatever circumstances occurred. at the head of a large force, edward interposed between the army of the lords commissioners and london, moving as it moved, and practising with consummate art, the science of strategy, as it was known in those days, with the evident purpose of keeping his adversary at a distance from his resources, without giving him battle, exactly at his own time and place. de montfort, in the meantime, affected to man[oe]uvre skilfully for the purpose of passing edward's superior force without fighting, and making his way direct to london. but in all these operations, the prince seemed to have the advantage, turning his opponent at every passage, as the greyhound does the hare. many facts have since been discovered, which have induced modern historians to suppose that de montfort sought merely to amuse his adversary; but, at the time, two circumstances only, led the closer observers in the earl of leicester's camp to believe that that great man had a covert object in view, and that he was not actually so completely frustrated by his opponent as appeared upon the surface. the first was, that perfect equanimity to which we have alluded, and which he maintained under every apparent reverse. the second, was a degree of anxious impatience, which manifested itself upon the arrival of many of the messengers who were constantly coming and going between his camp and the south-eastern parts of the country. these facts, in those who remarked them, created a suspicion that the earl was waiting for reinforcements, not choosing to risk a battle till they had joined him; and at length a circumstance occurred which confirmed this opinion, and quieted the anxiety of many who had begun to fear that ill success was hanging over the very commencement of their career. towards the middle of july, the army approached the small town of newport, after having attacked and taken uske, which was feebly defended by some of the earl of gloucester's adherents. it seemed evidently the intention of de montfort and his councillors to cross the severn, a few miles above newport, and take possession of bristol; and orders to that effect had been actually given. few vessels, however, capable of transporting the forces of the earl, were found at the spot where de montfort had ordered them to be collected, and edward himself was known to be in the neighbourhood. but several ships and galleys of a considerable size were to be seen moored at the opposite side; and hugh de monthermer, who commanded an advance party, threw himself into a passage boat with a small force, and crossed the estuary towards a point where he believed he could make good his defence, while he dispatched the vessels to the opposite shore, to bring over the main army of the earl. his proceedings, as far as they were suffered to go, proved entirely successful. he effected his landing, repulsed a body of the enemy who attempted to dislodge him, and secured a place of disembarkation for the rest of the forces; when, to his surprise, while he was endeavouring to induce the seamen in the other vessels to cross to the welsh shore, a messenger reached him, in a small row-boat, commanding his immediate return. hugh obeyed at once; and, proceeding to the head-quarters of de montfort, he found his uncle and lord ralph basset in conference with the earl of leicester. the young nobleman was about to explain the motives of his conduct, but de montfort stopped him, saying--"you did quite right, my young friend; but prince edward and i, you must know, are as two chess-players, where the game is life and power, and neither he nor i must hazard one rash move, if we would avoid destruction. i know my own game--he is not aware of it; and it is necessary that he should not be so till the last moment." these words were heard by many of the gentlemen round, and rumour soon carried them through the whole host--one person repeating them in one manner, and another in another, but all implying the same thing--that de montfort had some dark secret purpose in view; and such was the confidence of the soldiery in their leader, that they never doubted success would attend him, whatever that purpose was. an immediate change of movements then took place. suddenly turning into south wales, the army ravaged a district belonging to some of the adherents of gloucester; and in his progress, de montfort entered into a treaty with several of the native welsh princes, by which he obtained the assistance of a considerable body of their light armed troops. a short pause of total inactivity next succeeded, and the earl remained encamped for two or three days on the banks of the river lug, apparently with the purpose of giving some repose to his forces, in the midst of the heats of july. messengers, however, were continually coming and going; the earl was constantly employed, either in writing or in training the troops to various military evolutions; and, after all the camp except the sentinels were sound asleep, a light was seen burning in his tent till two or three in the morning. "he used his nights," says a historian of those times, "more for thought and labour, than for sleep." during the greater part of each day, and often during these nocturnal vigils, the old earl of monthermer and the lord le despenser remained with de montfort, sometimes consulting with him, sometimes writing in the same tent, sometimes examining the rude maps of that period, measuring distances and tracing out lines, but not one word did either of them utter, even to their nearest and dearest relations, in regard to the plans and purposes of the general. at length, one night towards eleven o'clock, while the army was what was both technically and literally, "in the field," hugh de monthermer received a summons, written in the hand of de montfort himself, desiring his immediate presence, the last words were, "bring your dwarf page with you." tangel was accordingly roused from the corner in which he slept, and followed hugh to the quarters of the earl, whom they found sitting in the outer tent in company with two or three noblemen. the flap of the canvas was drawn back on either side, in order to admit what fresh air could be found in a sultry night of summer, and at one end of a table, round which the assembled nobles were seated, appeared a man, dusty with travelling and dressed in the garb of a yorkshire forester. "here is a letter for you, my lord hugh," said de montfort, "enclosed in one to myself;" and he handed a small packet to hugh de monthermer, tied, as was then customary, and fastened with yellow wax. hugh took it, but before he broke the seal or cut the silk, he advanced to the table and examined the outside of the letter carefully by the light of one of the lamps. "something seems to strike you as extraordinary," said de montfort. "what is the matter?" "i will tell your lordship presently," replied hugh; and severing the silk with his dagger, he read the contents. "this is good news as far as it goes," he said at length in a low tone; "i find that my good friend ralph harland is on his road to join us, together with a certain forest friend of ours," he added, turning towards his uncle, "with some seven hundred bold yeomen and foresters of york and nottingham, and more will follow. they are already far advanced on their way in staffordshire.--but i cannot help thinking, my good lord," he added, raising his voice, "that this letter has been opened and read before it reached my hands." as the young nobleman spoke he fixed his eyes on the messenger, who was somewhat pale before, but became paler still when he heard the last words. "i will swear upon the blessed rood!" he cried, "that i have never opened the packet, but brought it safely hither, as i was told." "who told you to bring it?" asked de montfort, fixing his stern eyes upon him. the man hesitated a moment, and then replied, "robin of barnesdale." "what makes you think it has been opened, hugh?" demanded the earl of monthermer. "why, my dear uncle," answered the young nobleman, "this wax is yellow, but at the side of it is a stain of green, as if at first it had been sealed with another colour." "can our friend robin write?" inquired de montfort. "yea!" cried a shrill voice from behind hugh de monthermer, "as well as a florentine reed or a turkey's quill in the hand of an oxford clerk." "we shall soon know more, my lord," said hugh de monthermer; "but this letter is not robin's writing, this is from ralph harland the franklin." "but this," replied the earl, laying his hand upon another letter--"this purports to be from the bold forester, praying me to send you with some men-at-arms to reinforce them as they come, seeing that gloucester threatens them, and they are afraid to proceed." "that shows it to be a forgery at once," said hugh, in a low voice to leicester; "robin never seeks aid of any man. there is treachery somewhere, my lord; but we have means at hand of convicting this fellow.--now, sir," he continued, "tell me, and tell me true, who sent you hither; and, beware! for if you deceive me, it may cost your life." "i have told you already," answered the man, doggedly. "well then, stand forward, my little magician," cried hugh, laying his hand upon tangel's head. "we hear of eastern talismans, my lord, whereby truth and falsehood are discovered, as gold and alloy by the touchstone; and in this boy i have such a human talisman, who will soon tell us how much verity there is in the fellow's tale. now, tangel, look at him well, and say if he came from robin hood?" "no," answered the dwarf, well pleased with the importance of his functions, and entering fully into the spirit of his master's figure of speech--"hark! i hear robin deny him, and say he never yet set eyes upon him." then tugging the young nobleman's sleeve he whispered the words, "go on!--ask me more!" "and now, tangel," continued hugh, "can you tell me whose man he is?" "right well," replied the dwarf, fixing his keen gaze upon the pale face of the messenger; and then speaking slowly, he added, "he is prince edward's." a slight smile came upon the man's countenance for a moment; but tangel went on almost without a pause, watching him keenly as he spoke. "he is prince edward's by the earl of gloucester, and the earl of gloucester's by richard de ashby. ha! ha! ha! i hear them laughing, when they think how they will take in de montfort, and lead the lord hugh into a trap--and he hears them, too! look at his face--look at his face!" certainly that face was now as bloodless as the visage of the dead. "take him away!" said de montfort, in a stern tone--"take him away, and hang him on the first tree!" "i will confess--i will confess," cried the man, falling upon his knees. "spare my life, and i will confess!" "it is your only hope of safety," replied the earl; "tell the whole truth, and you shall be spared--out with it at once, and without hesitation!" "well, then," said the detected impostor, in a whining tone, "i confess i am sir richard de ashby's man!" and he went on to tell how a jolly monk, passing through a village in the neighbourhood of worcester, and making merry with some soldiers, had been recognised by one of the servants of richard de ashby, and instantly arrested. on searching him strictly, the letter from ralph harland to hugh de monthermer had been found, wrapped in leather, between his sandal and the sole of his foot, and a plan was instantly formed, both for cutting off the party of the young franklin and robin hood, and also for leading hugh de monthermer into an ambuscade. "the earl of gloucester and roger mortimer," he said, "had been made acquainted with the plot, but not the prince." "take him away!" said de montfort, after the story was told--"take him away, and guard him strictly! we may have occasion to account with these gentlemen at some future time.--now here is an opportunity," he continued, as soon as the pretended yeoman was removed, "which some men would seize, for cutting off whatever troops the rebels may detach in execution of their pitiful schemes, but i think, my good lords, we must not waste our strength upon skirmishes. at any moment, we may have to act suddenly with our whole force, and therefore we must cast away the occasion that now presents itself of lopping off a limb from our enemy. nevertheless, we must not forget the safety of our friends; some faithful messenger must be sent at once to meet the reinforcement from nottingham and yorkshire, and give them notice to take a circuit through shropshire. shrewsbury is ours, and all the country round; so, on that road, they will be safe. have you any one you can send?" hugh looked at the dwarf, and the boy clapped his hands gladly, exclaiming, "let me go--let me go!" "so be it, then!" said hugh, "i will provide him with the means at once, my lord. he had better have no letter but a purse well-filled, and a swift horse. he will not fail a word of the message---- "hark!" cried de montfort, "there is a sound of galloping from the other side of the river! the messengers, at length, i trust.--do you know your errand, boy?" "right well, great man," answered the dwarf, "and i will not fail either in speed or truth." "what, ho!--stand!--who goes there?" demanded the sentinels, who were placed about fifty yards from de montfort's tent. "a friend!" was the reply. "stand, friend, and dismount!" cried the sentinel. "letters," answered the other voice--"letters from the lord simon de montfort, to his father, the most noble earl of leicester." "ha!" exclaimed leicester, starting up, with his whole face beaming with satisfaction, "at length!--let him advance!" he shouted--"let him advance!" and a moment after, coming forward to the opening of the tent, a man, pale, haggard, and worn, presented himself, bearing a small packet in his hand. "this is to your lordship, from your son," he said; "i left him well, at oxford, not many hours ago, with thirty thousand men in arms, all ready to defy the world, on behalf of de montfort." too eager to make any reply, the earl of leicester took the packet, tore it open, and read--"all is right!" he cried at length, rising with a well pleased smile, and turning to the gentlemen on his right. "now, my good lords--now, the moment for action has come. to you, monthermer--to you, le despenser, thanks--many thanks, for those wise and prudent counsels which have cast cool patience upon my own somewhat too impetuous nature, and enabled me to resist my own inclination to advance. here have we amused these rebel lords, and the infatuated prince, in needless marches and counter-marches, while my son has raised the country behind them, and is already at oxford with an overwhelming force. he, on the one side,--and i on the other, we have them in a net; or, even if they escape from the toils that are around them, our forces united will be irresistible, and we will drive them to fight, to surrender, or to flee the land. let every noble lord give instant orders in his own quarter of the camp, to make ready for our advance an hour before daylight; and you, my lord hugh, must now direct your messenger to lead our friends from nottingham, by clebury and wire forest, on towards worcester, keeping a keen look-out for the enemy; but, doubtless, ere they arrive we shall have cleared the country.--you have brought me good tidings," he continued, addressing the messenger, "go to my steward, let him provide for you, and to-morrow a hundred marks shall be your reward.---now, for a few hours, my lords, good night--good night!" by daybreak the next morning, every tent was struck, and the main body of the army had passed the lug. de montfort still advanced with great care and caution, throwing out scouts in all directions, and never making a movement which exposed any part of his force to sudden attack. but not an enemy wad now to be met with. the whole country, as he advanced towards worcester, was clear, and it seemed evident to all that edward had become aware of his danger, and was endeavouring to escape from it. on the evening of st. peter's day, in the year , de montfort reached a magnificent country palace of the bishop of worcester, called, in the language of the time, "kemestoia, or kematow," from which, in all probability, the name kemsey is derived. it was surrounded by an extensive park, reserved for the chase; and therein, or in a small neighbouring village, the army lodged during the night, while the head-quarters of the general and his royal prisoner were in the manor, or palace of the bishop. the distance from worcester was only three miles, but still no tidings reached the army of prince edward's movements. about seven o'clock, however, a letter was received by de montfort from his eldest son, who was at the head of the large body of men, marching from oxford to reinforce him; but when he opened it and read the date, his brow became clouded, and he muttered to himself, "kenilworth--kenilworth! that is a great mistake! what does he in kenilworth?" on reading on, he found that the letter had been written just after a long night's watching in the fields to intercept the army of prince edward, which was said to be flying from worcester, and that the young nobleman proposed to march on to join him on the friday following, concluding that the prince had made his escape. de montfort mused, after he had perused the letter twice, and then murmured, "there is no help for it--there is no help for it! we must onward to evesham, with all speed--edward flying, with a large force at his command, worcester in his power, gloucester garrisoned by his troops--dean forest near! no, no, no! that is not likely! edward was not made to fly.--we must guard against surprise--there is something under this!" and ringing a small hand-bell which stood upon his table, he continued aloud; as soon as one of his officers appeared, "double the guards at every avenue of the park--throw out some fifty horse archers on the road to worcester, and barricade the farther end of the village,--give those orders quickly, and then come back for a letter, after directing a horse and mail to make ready for kenilworth.--kenilworth!" he added, musing, "what had he to do at kenilworth? hark ye!" he proceeded, once more addressing the man--"get some diligent fellows, who do not fear for their necks, to make their way into worcester as soon as the gates are open, and bring me tidings of what is going on--promise them high wages--we must have news." the officer departed, and de montfort put his hand upon his brow, repeating, to himself, "what had he to do at kenilworth?--my heed aches," he continued; "ere long, perchance, it may cease to ache for ever!" day had dawned about an hour when, by his permission, and of the spies who, as we have seen, had been sent into worchester, was admitted to the chamber of the earl of leicester, whom he found just putting on his steel hauberk, proposing soon to set forth upon his march. "i have had a narrow escape, my lord!" cried the scout; "all the rest are taken." "but the news--the news!" exclaimed de montfort, with a degree of heedlessness for human life which most veteran warriors acquire--"the news! what did you learn?" "little or nothing, my lord," answered the man, somewhat sullenly. "i heard my companions ordered to be hanged, and saw prince edward's troops arriving in haste and disarray, after a long night march. but i could only save myself by speed, and therefore could learn nothing more." "it is enough--it is enough!" cried de montfort. "there, fellow, is your reward!--edward arriving in disarray at worcester!--that is enough! now, on to evesham with all speed--join my boy's forces, and then return to crush this nest of hornets with my foot!" he spoke proud and exultingly. ah, little did he know that at that moment his son's forces were defeated and dispersed, thirteen of his gallant barons killed, and a whole host of noble prisoners following the army of edward into worcester! chapter xxi. the march of a feudal army of that day was a beautiful thing to see. although a part of the splendour which it afterwards assumed, when the surcoats of the knights were embroidered with their arms, was not yet displayed, still those arms were emblazoned upon the banners and on the shields, still the richest colours that the looms of france, italy, and england could supply, were to be found in the housings of the horses, and in the pourpoints and coats of the knights, and in the beautiful scarfs, called cointises, then lately introduced, which, passing over the right shoulder and under the left arm, fluttered like many tinted streamers in the air, with every breath of wind. yes, it was a beautiful sight to see; and wisely does the rugged front of war deck itself with every brilliant accessory, to hide the dark and murderous look which would otherwise scare the hearts of men. it was a beautiful sight; and as hugh de monthermer detached with a body of horse-archers and men-at-arms from the main army to reconnoitre the neighbouring country--stood for a moment on a little hill, looking down the lovely vale of evesham, and watched the host of de montfort winding on its way from kemestow, probably a more magnificent scene never met the eyes of man. sunshine, the bright sunshine of a summer's day, was over the whole, mingling the ingredient of its own loveliness with every fair thing in the landscape. still, now and then, over the brilliant blue sky floated a light cloud, like a flying island, casting here and there a deep shadow, which hurried speedily onward, leaving all shining behind it--like those fits of gentle pensiveness which come at times even upon the happiest spirit, scarcely to be called melancholy, but seeming as if a shade from something above us flitted over our minds for a moment, and then left them to the sunshine and the light. on one hand, rising tall and blue, was the beautiful range of malvern, with many a lesser hill springing out from the base, wooded to the top, and often crowned with an embattled tower. on the other side were the high grounds running down in the direction of sudleigh, covered with magnificent trees, and bearing up innumerable castles, while here and there the spire of a church peeped out, or the pinnacles of an abbey. in the wide expanse between the two were seen the rich slopes, the green meadows, the corn-bearing fields, the long lines of forest that still distinguish the lovely vale of evesham, with tower, town, and hamlet, brook and river, offering a confusion of beautiful forms and splendid colouring; and, in the midst of this, marched on the army of de montfort, with banners displayed and pennons fluttering in the wind. first came the slingers with their staves and leathern bands, and then the light foot pikemen, armed with the shorter spears and oucins. the former were totally without defensive armour, and the latter were only protected by a pectoral, or breastplate of steel scales hanging from the neck, and a round steel buckler on the arm. all was confusion amongst them, as they ran on, preceding the rest of the army, somewhat in the manner of modern skirmishers, only with less discipline and skill. but immediately following these appeared the first regular troops, consisting of various bands of heavy armed spearmen, with much longer lances than the former, and defended by the steel cap, or _chapel de fer_, the long oval shields, and thickly-stuffed hauqueton, so stiff and hard as to resist the blow of sword or dagger. some of these bands, according to the taste or the means of their leader, were furnished with the same pectorals of scales that were borne by the lighter spearmen; while some had short hauberks of steel rings, set edgewise--and some were unprovided with any other armour for the body than the hauqueton of which we have already spoken. marching, however, in regular order, with their spears leaning on their shoulders, and their steel caps glistening in the sun, they presented a fine martial appearance, and were, in fact, a very formidable body to attack. after the pikemen came the bands of archers, the pride of the english army. in general they were covered with the hauberk and the steel cap of the times, but--upon what account it is difficult to be discovered--each wore above his armour a sort of leathern cuirass, ornamented with four round plates of iron. their arrows were in a belt at their waist, their bows unbent in their hands, while each man had his anelace, or short dagger, hanging from his neck by a cord, and many of the bands were also, furnished with a strong broad sword of about two feet in length. little difference existed in the equipment of the crossbowmen, who in the army of de montfort were not very numerous, as the arbalist was a foreign arm; for his being more especially the english party, care was taken to avoid everything that had not some touch of the national character about it. bodies of horse-archers followed, and then came the long line of men-at-arms, marching four abreast, with their polished harness reflecting every ray, but presenting a very different appearance from that of the cavalry at an after period, when plate armour had been introduced. at this time each ring of their mail caught the light, and sent the rays glancing to the eyes of the beholder, at a different angle from the one next to it, so that a more sparkling object could scarcely be seen than the new hauberk of a knight in the middle of the thirteenth century. great pride, too, was taken by each soldier in keeping his arms bright and highly polished; and though many of the leaders wore a rich surcoat without sleeves, yet others took a pride in displaying their full panoply. certainly a more splendid sight has rarely been witnessed than the long line of de montfort's cavalry winding onward through the beautiful vale of evesham. ever and anon, too, the light summer wind brought to the ears of hugh de monthermer the stirring blast of the trumpet, and the loud shouted word of command; and as he gaged and listened, his high chivalrous soul seemed to swell within him, and he longed to break a lance or wield a sword against the most renowned champion that europe could produce. riding onward at the head of his men, through the by-ways by which he had been directed to advance upon evesham, visions of glory, and of honour, and of knightly fame, swam before his eyes, chasing away, for the first time, a dark train of melancholy images which had possessed him ever since the father of her he loved had gone over to the enemy. it was not, indeed, that the hope of winning renown could banish the memory of lucy de ashby, but in those days the passion for glory was so intimately mingled with the thoughts of love, that they never could be separated from each other. to know that she would hear of his deeds of arms--to know that her bosom would thrill at the tidings--to know that her heart would go with him to the battlefield, and that she would watch and listen for every tale and every history concerning the scenes in which he was now mingling, was a solace and a comfort to him. glorious actions were one of the ways of wooing in chivalrous times, and but too often the only way to which the true-hearted lover could have recourse. such indeed was now the situation of hugh de monthermer himself, and such, he knew, would, in all probability, be his state for many years, unless some of the great accidents of war brought to a speedy extinction the flame which was just kindled in the country. thus the desire of military glory was the twin sister of his love for lucy de ashby, and at that moment, when the splendid pageantry of the marching army passed before his eyes, and the inspiring blast of the trumpet reached his ear, he would gladly have defied the most renowned champion in all europe for honour and the lady that he loved. the host moved on, however, and, after gazing for a minute or two, hugh once more pursued his course, eagerly examining from every little eminence in the plain the whole country around him, to see if friend or foe was near, in arms, to the forces of de montfort. but nothing appeared--all was calm and tranquil. there was the village girl tripping away through the fields, the long ears of corn almost reaching to her head; there was the labourer reaping the barley of a rich and early season; there was the wagoner guiding his team along the road; there was the herd driving his cattle into the shade; but the only martial thing that struck the eye was the glancing of de montfort's spears, as they wound onward at the distance of about a mile. it was towards evening, and the host of the earl was entering the little town of evesham, about two miles from the spot at which hugh de monthermer had by this time arrived, when an object attracted his attention in a small wood at some short distance. the declining sun shone upon something glistening under the trees. it might be a ploughshare, the young knight thought; but a moment after, another gleam came from a different part of the copse, and he instantly turned his horse's head thither, advancing cautiously along a narrow lane, with some archers thrown out in the fields on either side. after having gone on for about ten minutes, a living creature, creeping along under the hedge, was observed both by the young lord and the persons immediately behind him, but in the dimness of the shade they could not discover what it was. "'tis a dog," said tom blawket, who was in the first rank behind his leader. "or a wolf," remarked another man near. "'tis more like a bear," observed a third, "and it goes like a bear." "pooh! you are always thinking of the holy land," rejoined blawket; "we have no bears here but bears upon two legs." at that moment hugh spurred on his horse, and raising his voice, shouted aloud, "tangel, tangel, is that you?" the dwarf started upon his feet, for he was creeping along with wonderful swiftness upon his hands and knees; and, turning round at the well known sound of the young lord's call, he darted towards him with various wild and extravagant gestures. "they are here," he cried--"they are here; robin and ralph and all, and right glad will they be to see you, for we have had a sore time of it these last four days. they thought it was the prince's army again, and sent me out of the wood to discover." "right glad shall we be to meet them, too," replied hugh; "for though we are strong enough, i trust, and shall soon be stronger, yet a reinforcement of seven or eight hundred gallant men can never come amiss." "not so many as that, good knight--not so many as that!" cried the dwarf. "some of the yorkshire churls were afraid to come by the road we took, and went round by stafford--the rascals that leighton raised, and shergold of the bower. thus there are but robin and ralph harland, and two hundred and fifty barely counted; but they are good men and true, who will send you an arrow through the key-hole of mumbury church-door, or beat the sheriff's constable into the shape of a horseshoe." "they shall be welcome--they shall be welcome!" said hugh; "and as for the others, the man who has ever felt a doubt or fear in a good cause, had better not bring his faint heart to spread the mildew through a gallant army." when the young knight, however, met his yeoman friends, under the first trees of the little wood, he found the bearing of bold robin hood somewhat more serious than it was wont to be. "what is the matter, robin?" he asked, after they had greeted each other kindly. "i know not, my lord," replied the forester; "but wild rumours have reached us in the course of the day, of a battle fought and de montfort routed." hugh de monthermer laughed. "nay, robin," he said, "from that little hill you may see even now the last troops of the great earl's gallant force marching into evesham without a plume shorn from a crest, without banner torn, or a surcoat rent." "that is good news, my lord," answered robin hood, "that is good news." but still he looked grave, and added, "the tidings came from the warwick side, and i love not such rumours, whether they show what men fear, or what men hope." "from the warwick side!" said hugh, musing in turn. "my lord of leicester must hear this. come, robin--come, ralph, let us quickly on to evesham. my uncle's men keep good quarters for me and mine, and i will share them with you for to-night. have you no horses?" "no, my lord," replied ralph; "we have marched with our people afoot. i have here a hundred good spears, and robin some seven score archers. if you go on with your mounted men, we will soon follow, now that we know there are friends before us. for the last four days we have slept in the fields and woods; for the marchings and countermarchings of prince edward have more than once brought us nearly into a net. go on--go on, my lord, and we will follow you." hugh de monthermer did not hesitate to do so; for he was well aware that at such a critical moment the least intelligence might be of importance to de montfort. the moment he reached evesham he left his men under the command of one of the principal followers of his house, and proceeded through the thronged confusion of the streets to seek the head-quarters of the earl of leicester. he found him at the abbey surrounded by a number of officers, and leading the king, with every appearance of deference and profound respect, to the apartment which had been prepared for him. this being done, and the usual measures having been taken to guard against the monarch's escape, the earl turned to go back to the refectory. the moment his eye fell upon hugh, de montfort beckoned him to follow; and, in the large dining hall of the monks, called him into one of the deep windows, saying, "you have some news for me, i see. what is it?" hugh related to him his meeting with their friends, and mentioned the rumours they had heard, which brought a sudden gloom on de montfort's brow. "ah!" he exclaimed; "from warwick did he say the news had come?" "from the side of warwick, my lord," replied hugh. "by st. james, that were bad tidings, if true!" continued the earl; "but it cannot be! i had letters from my son, last night. no, no; all is well. he had watched for edward," he said, "but the prince had not come.--thanks, thanks, my young friend!--these good yeomen arrive most seasonably. see that they be well lodged and fed. take care of your own people too; for, although the king told your uncle just now that he looked upon him as the worst enemy he had, i regard him as one of the best subjects in the land. so good night for the present, we must be early in the saddle to-morrow." chapter xxii. it was about one o'clock on the th of august, , when simon de montfort--having the king upon his right hand, with lord le despenser, the high justiciary, on the monarch's right, the earl of monthermer and lord ralph basset, on his own left, and some four or five and twenty knights and gentlemen following close upon his steps--rode out from the highway leading from evesham to alcester, upon that ever renowned plain, where the truncheon of power was to be wrested from his grasp for ever. the country was for the most part open, but there was a little wood and some rising ground to the right, a rivulet running along across the patch of common land which the road now traversed, and a cultivated field with its hedgerow on the left. about a quarter of a mile from the point at which the highway issued from between the banks, was a stone post, marking the spot where three roads, coming down from some slight hills in front, met and united in the one along which de montfort had marched from evesham. for nearly the same distance beyond, these roads might be seen crossing the common, and then, plunging amongst woods and hedges, they ascended the gentle slope opposite. the day was not so fine as the preceding one; clouds were gathering in the sky; the air was heavy and oppressive; the horses either languid or impatient, and everything announced that the sun would go down in storms. a small advanced guard had been sent forward to reconnoitre the country in front, and, the head of the column of the army was about a hundred yards behind the general and his companions; but no detachment had been on this, as on the preceding day, thrown out to examine the fields to the left of the line of march. de montfort's brow was calm and serene; he hoped, ere many hours were over, to unite his forces to those of his eldest son, and then, turning upon his enemy, to terminate the contest at a blow. ere he had reached the stone at the crossing of the roads, however, three or four horsemen, at headlong speed, came down from the rising ground in front, and in a moment after the whole advance-guard were seen in full retreat. "what is this?" asked de montfort, spurring on his horse to meet the first of the men-at-arms who was approaching. "what news bring you in such haste?" "my lord, there is a mighty power coming down upon you," cried the man; "we saw them from the edge of the slope beyond--full twenty thousand men." "did you see their banners?" demanded de montfort. "no," answered the messenger; "there were banners in plenty, but i marked not what they were." "you are speedily alarmed," said the earl, in a cold tone. "hugh de monthermer," he proceeded, speaking to the young lord, who was close behind, "gallop up that hill there to the right, and bring us word what your keen eyes can see. i will ride on to the other slope, and judge for myself." hugh was away in a moment, and de montfort continued, turning in the saddle--"my kind friend, monthermer--my good lord ralph--i beseech you, array the men as they issue forth from between the banks. these that are coming must be the forces of my son from kenilworth, but it is as well to be prepared. my lord le despenser, i leave you to entertain his majesty--i will be back directly. some of you gentlemen follow me;" and spurring on at full speed, he crossed the little rivulet, and ascended the first slope of the ground beyond. he there paused, for some minutes, watching attentively the country before him, through which, upon the left-hand road, was advancing a large body of men, under numerous banners. at length, he seemed satisfied, turned his horse, and rode back at an easy canter to the spot where the old earl of monthermer and lord ralph basset were arraying the spearmen, archers, and crossbowmen, who had by this time come forth upon the common, while the men-at-arms were only beginning to appear, taking up a position behind the infantry. "it is as well," said de montfort, speaking, as they returned, to one of the gentlemen who had followed him--"it is as well to put them in array, for we shall halt here for an hour, while the men refresh themselves. you saw those banners?" "yes, my lord," replied the knight; "i marked that of your son, and that of the earl of oxford." "we will give them a cheer when they come up," continued de montfort; and he rode on to the earl of monthermer, saying--"it is my son, monthermer; i see his banner, and oxford's likewise. but here comes your nephew. who is this he is driving down before him, at the point of the lance? a crossbowman, it seems." "my lord--my lord!" cried hugh de monthermer, as he came up--"prepare for instant battle. prince edward's army is within a mile, and mortimer is coming up on the right-hand road!" "what! to the right?" exclaimed de montfort. "how came he there?--well, let them come! they will meet more than they expected. my son is on the left. advance our wing, my good lord of monthermer, that we may join with him more easily." "my lord, you are deceived," said hugh, eagerly; "the banners you have seen are not your son's." "but----" cried de montfort. "speak, sirrah!" exclaimed hugh, turning sternly to the crossbowman, whom he had driven down before him; "speak, and let the earl hear the truth. such bitter tidings should only come from the lips of an enemy. speak, i say. my lord, this is one of gloucester's archers; he will tell you more." "let him, then," said the earl. "who are these, marching against me, sirrah?" "prince edward, roger mortimer, and gilbert de clare," replied the man. "your son, my lord--kill me if you will, but it is the truth--your son was surprised in his bed, at kenilworth, his army routed and dispersed, thirteen barons displaying their own banners were taken, and as many more were slain. the banners you have seen were captured by the prince, and are hung out but to deceive you." "and my son?" asked de montfort, gazing earnestly in the man's face. "what of my son?" "he escaped, my lord," replied the archer, "he escaped, and threw himself into the castle." "take him to the rear," said de montfort. "lo! where they come! a mighty power, indeed!! how orderly--how firm!--the boy learnt that from me. now, god have mercy on our souls--for our bodies are prince edward's!" he added the latter words in a lower voice, but so as to be distinctly heard by the gentlemen around him. a moment after, he raised his head proudly, saying, "however, he must be met boldly, and we must do our duty as knights and gentlemen. every one who is willing to do so may this day conquer high renown, if he wins no other prize; but should there be any one who fears to fight and fall with de montfort, he has full leave to go; for i would not have it said, when men shall talk of this glorious, though perhaps disastrous day, that there was one coward amongst all those who did battle at evesham. let us make the best of our array, my lord of monthermer. yonder wood is a point that must be maintained. hugh, line the hedges of that little field with archers--place me there our stout foresters from sherwood: it is a point of much importance. take up your post beyond them there with your men-at-arms--have some archers and slingers in your front, and keep the ground between the further hedge and those scrubby bushes and hawthorn trees, amongst which their horsemen cannot act. i put you in a post of difficulty and danger, young gentleman, but i know that you will acquit you well; and now for the rest of our array. the enemy are halting for their own arrangements, but still we must lose no time." thus saving, he rode slowly along towards the wood, giving his orders as he went, and ranging his men for battle; while hugh de monthermer proceeded to execute the commands he had received. every post was soon filled up, and before two o'clock the adverse armies were completely arrayed facing each other; but, alas, that of prince edward outnumbering the force opposed to him in the proportion of two to one! nearly in the centre of de montfort's line was the earl of leicester, and at a little distance the weak and false king henry, cased in complete armour, and riding a strong black charger; for on both sides the royal standard was displayed, and in a brief consultation amongst the principal nobles, it had been judged necessary, as the king's name was used in all public acts by the lords commissioners, to let the soldiers see him actually in arms on their behalf. neither had henry himself appeared in the least unwilling to play this part, for although surrounded by a number of guards, he still entertained the hope of escaping in the hurry and confusion of battle. in the right of the same army was placed the gallant young henry de montfort, a godson of the king, and, like hugh de monthermer, a playfellow of prince edward; for in those dire civil wars, as is ever the case, all the sweet relationships of life were torn asunder, and the hearts that loved each other the best were frequently armed for each other's destruction. in the left wing was the banner of monthermer, and under it fought, not only the regular retainers of the house, but the yeomen and foresters of yorkshire and nottingham. the slingers, as usual, were thrown forward about a hundred and fifty yards before the rest of the army, closely supported by the lighter pikemen, and taking advantage of every bush and brake which might give them shelter, while they discharged their missiles at the enemy. behind them were some thousands of welsh foot, who had been engaged as auxiliaries by de montfort, and then came the lines of sturdy english archers and regular spear-men, supported by the men-at-arms. it was a fine array to look upon, and stern and firm seemed the front of de montfort's battle; but the vast superiority of the enemy's numbers cast a shadow, as it were, upon the spirits of the soldiery, while in the hearts of the leaders was nothing but the certainty of defeat and death. had it been any other body, perhaps, that opposed them but an english force, had any other generals commanded the adverse party but edward and gloucester, their confidence in their own courage and in their great leader might have taught them to look with hope even to the unequal struggle before them. the troops, however, by whom they were outnumbered were english soldiers, the chiefs who led the enemy were famous for their warlike skill and courage, and all were fresh from victory, and elated with recent success. upon the field of battle the banners which had been assumed to mislead de montfort were cast by, and those of the different leaders themselves displayed. the troops of mortimer and the lords marchers were on the right, the division of gloucester on the left, and the command of edward himself in the centre. in the army of the prince, hope and exultation were in every bosom, confidence was strong, and, amongst the foreign favourites of henry iii. who were ranged in that force, the burning thirst for revenge upon him who had overthrown their fortunes, and well-nigh driven them from the land, added fierceness to their courage, and a savage joy at the thought of the coming vengeance. after the array was complete, a stern and gloomy silence pervaded the whole line of de montfort. each man thought of to-morrow, of the home that he might never see again, the children left fatherless, the widowed wife, the promised bride, the sweet, warm relations of domestic life, soon to be torn by the bloody hand of war. yet none but the auxiliaries thought of flying: not one dreamt of avoiding the fate before him, for each man there arrayed came with a firm conviction of right and justice on his side; each believed that he was fighting for the deliverance of his country from foreign domination; each came ready to die for the liberty and the freedom of the people of england. they were determined, resolute, unshaken, but they were without hope, and therefore in stern silence they awaited the onset of the foe. on the other side, for some time, nothing was heard but cheerful sounds, the leaders' shouts, the repeated blasts of the clarion and the trumpet, till at length, amongst them also, a momentary solemn pause succeeded, giving notice that the battle was about to begin. they hung like a thunder-cloud upon the edge of the slope, and that temporary calm but preceded the breaking forth of the tempest. the heavy masses then, for a moment, seemed to tremble; and then a few men ran forward from the ranks, slinging, even from a distance at which no effect could be produced, large balls of stone or lead at the front of de montfort's line. others followed quick, in irregular masses; and then, moved on, somewhat more slowly, but in fine and soldierly order, the whole of edward's overpowering force. a pin might have been heard to drop in the host of de montfort, so still was the expectant silence with which they awaited the attack of the immense army which seemed not only about to assail them at once in front, but lapping over at both extremities, to crush either flank under the charge of its numerous cavalry. the skilful dispositions of the great earl, however, had secured them against that danger; and the wood on the right hand, which he had filled with archers and foot spearmen, defended one wing, while the hedges and low hawthorn trees, near which he had planted hugh de monthermer and the bowmen of sherwood, were a protection to the left. nevertheless, the latter point was one of considerable danger, and edward marked it as the weakest part of de montfort's line. scarcely had the first movement in the prince's army taken place, when a strong body of horse, following close upon a band of crossbowmen, was observed by hugh de monthermer marching straight against his post, headed by the banner of bigod earl of norfolk; and leaving his men-at-arms for a moment, he galloped to the spot where his friend robin stood, saying in a low voice, "here will they make their first attack, robin, in order to turn our flank." "let them come!" replied robin hood, "we will give a good account of them. we have planted stakes for their horses, my lord, so if you have to charge, mark well the gaps." "i see--i see!" cried hugh de monthermer, "but as it is a great object to put them in disarray, send them a flight from your bowstrings as soon as the arrows will tell." "ours will tell now!" said robin, and at the same time he raised his bow above his head as a signal to his men. at that instant a few balls dropping from the enemy's stingers, fell impotent along de montfort's line; but the next moment a hundred and fifty arrows shot into the air, scattered the crossbowmen in face of hugh de monthermer's band, and even caused considerable disarray amongst the men-at-arms, from norfolk. a whole flight from edward's army then darkened the air, but reached not the opposite host; and the earl of monthermer, distrusting his nephew's impetuosity, rode down to beg him on no account to charge till the battle had really begun. it was not long ere such was the case, however. onward, with increasing rapidity, came the force of the prince; the arrows and the quarrels on both sides began to work fearful havoc in the ranks; and the men-at-arms might be seen closing the barred aventaille, preparing to enter with each other into deadly strife. the arrows from the nottingham bows--unmatched throughout all england--did execution of a fearful kind amongst the crossbowmen opposed to them. one went down after another as they hurried forward; their ranks became thinner and more thin; and at length, the men-at-arms behind them, finding that the living as well as the dead and wounded encumbered without serving, called to them loudly to retire, that they themselves might advance to charge. before the retreat of the infantry could well be accomplished, the earl of norfolk gave the word; and with levelled lances the horsemen sushed on, though repeated arrows from an unerring hand struck every part of the earl's own armour as he approached. "at the horses!" cried the voice of robin hood, as the men-at-arms drew near; and in an instant another flight, point blank, rattled like hail amongst the advancing cavalry. five or six chargers instantly went down, and others, furious with pain, reeled and plunged, spreading disarray around. hugh de monthermer was now about to give the order to advance, in order to support the archers, and complete what they had done, but at that instant a cry of, "they fly--they fly!" came from the right; and, looking up the line, he perceived the whole body of welsh auxiliaries running from the field in rout and disarray. the panic of any large body of an army, we are told, generally communicates itself more or less, to the whole; but such was not the case upon the present occasion. a shout of indignant anger burst from the other troops as the welsh went by, for it was forgotten that they were not fighting for their country's safety or deliverance, like the rest of that host; but every one made way for them to pass, and, filling up the open space as fast as possible, presented a still sterner face than before to the advancing enemy. one of the chief defences of the centre, however, was now gone: it was like an outwork forced; and a charge of men at-arms taking place on both sides, the whole line was speedily engaged. from the firm front of the nottingham archers, and the terrible, unceasing shower of arrows they kept up, the bands of the earl of norfolk turned off in disorder, at the very moment he had led them up almost to the stakes. hugh de monthermer, charging while they were still in confusion, drove them back in complete rout; but the troops of mortimer sweeping up; changed the fortune of the parties, and hugh knowing the absolute necessity of keeping firm the post he occupied, retreated unwillingly to his first position. it was now that the yorkshire spearmen, with the young franklin at their head, did gallant service to the cause which they espoused. advancing with their long lances, they kept the enemy at bay, and, in spite of charge after charge, made by mortimer and others, maintained their ground against the whole force of the prince's right wing. in other parts of the field, however, numbers were gradually prevailing against all that courage and resolution, could do. the _mêlée_ had begun in all its fierceness, knight fought with knight, man opposed man, hurry and confusion were seen in all parts of the field, while the clang of arms, the blasts of the trumpet, the shouts of the combatants, the loud voice of the commanders, the galloping of horse, the groans of the dying, and the screams of men receiving agonizing wounds, offered to the ear of heaven a sound only fit for the darkest depth of hell. charge after charge was poured upon the left wing of de montfort's army; but mortimer, bigod, and the earl of pembroke, in vain led down their horse against the gallant band of spearmen and archers. each time they approached, they were driven back, either by the fierce flights of arrows, the long spears of pontefract, or the encounter of the men-at-arms. once only was the line, between the hedged field we have mentioned and the hawthorn trees, shaken for an instant by overpowering numbers; and then the old earl of monthermer, seeing his nephew's peril, galloped down, at the head of a strong band of men-at-arms, and aided to repel the enemy. he paused one moment by his nephew's side ere he left him, saying; "it will be very glorious, hugh, if we can maintain our ground till night. farewell, my dear boy; do your devoir, and, if we never meet again on earth, god bless you!" "i beseech you, sir," replied hugh, "take care of your own invaluable life; remember, you are as much aimed at by the enmity of the foreigners as even de montfort." "i will never fall alive into their hands," replied the old earl, "but i quit not this field, so long as there is light to wield the sword." thus saying, he rode away to a spot where the battle was thickening, round the banner of de montfort itself; and his presence there apparently aided to restore the field; for, shortly after, the whole force of prince edward withdrew for a short space, like a tiger that has been disappointed of its spring, and hung wavering upon the edge of the slope, as if collecting vigour for a new charge. at the same time, the sky overhead, which, as i have before said, had been threatening during the whole morning, grew darker and darker, so as to be more like that of a gloomy november evening; than the decline of a summer's day. the pause which had taken place seemed a part of edward's plan for breaking the firm line of his adversary, as it was more than once repeated during the battle; but it was never of long duration. the next instant his trumpets blew the charge, and down came the thundering cavalry, pouring at once upon every part of de montfort's army. on the earl's side, too, after a rapid flight of arrows from the archers, the men-at-arms advanced to meet the coming foe, and again the battle was urged hand to hand. it were vain to attempt a picture of the various deeds that were done that day in different parts of the field, for seldom in the annals of warfare has a combat taken place in which such acts of prowess and stern determination were displayed on either part. edward himself, mortimer, gloucester, the earl of ashby and his son, bigod, and valence, and a thousand others of noble birth and high renown fought, both as generals and soldiers, with personal exertions and valour, which could only be displayed in a chivalrous system of warfare; while on the other, de montfort, monthermer, le despenser, basset, st. john, beauchamp, de ros, put forth energies almost superhuman to counterbalance the disadvantage of numbers, and to wrest a victory from the hand of fate. in one place, humphrey de bohun was struck down by one of edward's men-at-arms; and a peasant with an oucin was preparing to dispatch him, ere he could rise, when william de york came to his rescue, and slew the foot soldier; but, even as de bohun rose and regained his horse, his deliverer was killed by a quarrel from a crossbow. in another part, the king himself was assailed, and wounded by one of his own son's followers, who had even shortened his lance to pin him to the earth, as he lay prostrate before him, when throwing back his aventaille, the monarch exclaimed, "out upon thee, traitor.--i am henry of winchester, thy king: where is my son?" as he spoke, a knight, taller, by a head, than any man around, and clothed from the crown to the heel in linked mail, sprang to the ground beside him, and thrusting the soldier fiercely back, raised the monarch from the ground, exclaiming, "mount, mount, my father, and away! come to the rear, and let your wound be searched.--give me your horse's rein.--you at least are free, and that is worth a victory." the king sprang on his horse, and edward led him by the bridle to the rear of his own army. almost at the same moment, on the left of de montfort's line, alured de ashby and hugh de monthermer met in full career; the former charging the well-known shield of monthermer with animosity only the more fierce, perhaps, because he knew that it was unjust; the latter meeting him unwillingly, though compelled by circumstances to do his knightly devoir. his very reluctance, however, made him more calm and thoughtful than his fiery assailant; and, aiming his lance right at the crest of his adversary, in order to cast him from his horse and make him prisoner, rather than kill him, he galloped on with a wary eye. the young lord of ashby's spear, charged well and steadily, struck full upon the shield of his opponent, pierced through the plate of steel and touched the hauberk; but stopped there, without even shaking him in the saddle, and broke off in splinters; while monthermer's lance, catching the steel casque just above the aventaille, hurled his adversary to the ground, bruised, but unwounded. several of monthermer's followers instantly ran up on foot to seize the discomfited knight, and make him prisoner; but a charge of fresh troops drove them back, and alured de ashby remounting his horse, rode away with no light addition to his former hatred for hugh de monthermer. the momentary retirement of edward from the field now caused another of those pauses in the battle, which have been already mentioned. his forces once more withdrew for a short space, slowly and sullenly, the archers on either side continuing to discharge their arrows, though with but little effect. about the same time, a flash somewhat faint, but blue and ghastly, came across the sky, and then the low muttering of distant thunder. "ha!" said robin hood, who was standing by the side of hugh de monthermer at the moment; "that trumpet will be but little attended to to-day. heaven's voice too rarely is." "too rarely, indeed!" replied hugh. "have you lost many men, robin?" "well-nigh two score, i fear," answered robin hood. "poor brown was rash, and ventured beyond the stakes with his little band of mansfield-men. they are all gone; but we have filled up the gap." "can you still maintain your post?" demanded hugh. "with god's will and the help of the blessed virgin, we shall do very well here," said robin; "but i fear, my lord, for the centre and the right. look up there, just in the second line, where there are so many gathering to one spot. some great man is hurt there." "my uncle was there a moment ago," exclaimed hugh; "i fear it is he!" "no, no, my lord!" replied an old knight of the house of monthermer, who was on his horse close by; "my lord, your uncle is safe. i have seen him since the last charge, though he seems resolved to lose his life." "i do beseech you, sir john hardy," said hugh, "if we lose the day, look to my uncle, and force him from the battle, should it be needful." "you stay on the field then, my lord, i suppose?" asked the old knight. "i do," answered hugh. "then, i stay too," replied sir john hardy. "nay, that is folly," cried robin hood. "let each man fight so long as fighting may avail; but when the day is clearly lost, the brave man, who would spill his best blood to win it, then saves the life that god gave him to do god service at another time. but, see--all the leaders are gathering to that point! you had better go, my lord, and bring us tidings. we will ensure the ground till your return." "command the troop then till i come back, sir john," said hugh, and riding along the front of the line, under a shower of arrows from the enemy, he approached the spot--where, sheltered from the sight of the adversary's lines by a thick phalanx of foot spearsmen and men-at-arms,--was collected a group of noblemen of the first rank, seeming to hold a council round the royal standard, which was there erected. when hugh came near, however, he saw that the occasion was a sadder one. his uncle, the lords of mandeville, basset, crespigny, beauchamp, and le despenser, were standing dismounted round the famous earl of leicester, who was stretched upon the ground, with his head and shoulders supported by the knee and arm of a monk. deep in his breast, piercing through and through the steel hauberk, was buried the head of a broken lance, and in his right was a cloth-yard arrow. he had just concluded, what seemed his confession, in extremis; and the good man was murmuring over him in haste the hurried absolution of the field of battle. his countenance was pale; the dull shadow of death was upon it; the lips were colourless and the nostrils widely expanded, as if it caused an agonizing effort to draw his breath; but the eye was still bright and clear, and--while the man of god repeated the last words--it rolled thoughtfully over the faces of all around, resting with an anxious gaze upon those with whom he was most familiar. "draw out the lance," he said, speaking to the surgeon of his household, who stood near. "if i do, my lord," replied the leech, "you cannot survive ten minutes." "that is long, enough," said de montfort. "my boy henry is gone; i saw him fall, and i would not be much behind him. draw it out, i say, i cannot breathe and i must needs speak to my friends. le despenser; make him draw it out; i shall have time enough for all i have to do." unwillingly, and not without a considerable effort, the surgeon tore the head of the lance out of the wound; but, contrary to his expectation; very little blood followed. the earl bled inwardly. he seemed to feel instant relief, however, saying--"ah, that is comfort! keep that steel, my friend, as the instrument that sent de montfort to heaven. now mark me, lords and nobles," he continued, in a firm voice--"mark me and never forget, that at his last hour, going to meet his saviour in judgment, de montfort declares that those who accuse him of ambition do belie him. i say now, as i have said ever, that my every act and every thought have been for my country's good. i may have been mistaken--doubtless, have been so often; but that my intentions have been pure, i do most fervently call heaven to witness. so much for that; and now, my friends, i am fast leaving you. my sun, like yonder orb, is setting rapidly: i for ever--he to rise again. he may yet shine brightly on the cause i can no longer support, but it must be upon another field, and upon another day. preserve yourselves for that time, my friends, i exhort, i beseech you! basset, monthermer, le despeuser, this battle is lost; but you may yet, as night is coming, effect your retreat in safety. it is no dishonour to quit a well-fought but unequal field. show, a firm face to the enemy; gather all our poor soldiers together; retire as orderly as may be till night covers you, then disperse, and each man make the best of his way to his own stronghold. monthermer, you shake your head!" "i have sworn, de montfort," said his old friend, kneeling down and grasping his hand, "not to quit this field so long as there is light in yonder sky to strike a stroke, and i must keep my vow." "you are going, my noble friend," said lord ralph basset--"you are going on a journey where you must have companions. i am with you, leicester, and that right soon." "good bye, de montfort," said lord le despenser. "go on; i will not make you wait. we shall meet again in half an hour." a faint smile came upon the lip of the dying man. "must it be so?" he asked. "well, then, range your men! upon them altogether! and let the traitors, who have betrayed their country, make such a field, that evesham plain shall be sung and talked of so long as liberty is dear to the hearts of englishmen.--hark, they are coming!" he continued, in a faint voice, with his eye rolling languidly from side to side. "no, my lord, that is thunder," said the surgeon. "ha!" replied de montfort, vacantly, "thunder!--i am very thirsty." some one ran and brought him a little water from the stream. it seemed to refresh him; and, raising himself for an instant upon his arm, he gazed around with a countenance, full of stern enthusiasm, exclaiming aloud, "do your devoir!" and with those words he fell back into the arms of the priest, a corpse. a dozen voices, replied, "we will!" and each man springing on his horse, regained the head of his band. just as edward's troops were once more in movement to advance, the word was given along the whole of the confederate line, the trumpets blew to the charge, and the army, which had held its firm position up to that hour, rushed forward to meet the adversary like a thunder-cloud rolling down a hill. the sun, at the same moment, touched the edge of the horizon, shining out beneath the edge of the stormy canopy that covered the greater part of the sky, and blending its red descending light with the thunder-drops which were now pattering large and thick upon the plain of evesham. the whole air seemed flooded with gore, and the clouds on the eastern side of the heavens, black and heavy as they were, assumed a lurid glare, harmonizing with the whole scene, except where part of a rainbow crossed the expanse, hanging the banner of hope, light, and peace, in the midst of strife, destruction, and despair. such was the scene at the moment when the two armies met in the dire shock of battle; and fierce and terrible was the encounter, as, soon broken into separate parties, they fought hand to hand, dispersed over the plain. in one of these confused groups, leading on a small body of archers, with robin hood by his side, was the young lord of monthermer. "my lord, my lord," said sir john hardy, riding up, "your uncle is down--wounded, but not dead!" "bear him from the field, sir john," replied hugh. "robin, i beseech you, look to him. bear him from the field--bear him from the field!" "what, ho! monthermer!" cried a loud voice, from a party of spearmen coining at full speed. "down with your lance; surrender to the prince!" "if the prince can take me!" replied hugh, charging his lance at edward's shield, and driving his spurs deep into his horse's sides. "hold back--hold back!" shouted edward to his own men. "hold back, every one, upon your lives!" and meeting the young lord in full career, both their lances were shivered in a moment, as if in some mock combat of the tilt-yard. hugh de monthermer's sword sprang from the sheath in a moment, while edward cried--"yield thee, hugh--yield thee!" but a number of men on foot had ran up; and, suddenly, the young knight received a violent blow from a mallet on the side of his head, while, at the same instant, his horse, gashed deep in the belly by the broad sword of a crossbowman, staggered and and fell prone upon the plain. a dozen spears were at his throat in a moment; but edward shouted once more, to stand back; and springing to the ground, he bent over the young knight, exclaiming, "now, hugh, rescue, or no rescue--do you surrender?" "i have no choice, my lord," replied the other; "i am in your hand." "take him to the rear," said edward; "but use him with all kindness, as your prince's friend. now, my lords," he continued, remounting his horse, "methinks the field is ours, and there is scarcely light to strike another blow. well has the fight been fought, and it is but justice to our enemies to say, that never was greater valour, conduct, and chivalry, displayed in any land than by them this day. some one said de montfort is dead. have the tidings been confirmed?" "they are certain, my lord," replied one of his attendants. "the lord de vesci, who is taken sorely wounded, saw him die." "he was a great man," said edward. "now spur on and clear the plain; but be merciful, my friends. remember, they are brave men and fellow-countrymen." thus speaking the prince advanced again, and having seen that no party remained in active contention with his forces, but that all were either dead, taken, or dispersed, he caused his standard to be pitched upon the banks of the little rivulet we mentioned, his trumpets to blow the recal--and thus ended the famous battle of evesham. chapter xxiii. how frequently in real life, as upon the mimic stage, the most opposite scenes that it is possible to conceive follow each other in quick succession. often, indeed, are they placed side by side, or only veiled from the eye of the spectator by a thin partition, which falls with a touch, and all is changed. while revelry haunts the saloons of life, anguish writhes in the garret, and misery tenants the cellar. pomp, and pageantry, and splendour occupy the one day; sorrow, destitution, and despair the next; and, as in some of our old tragedies, the laughter and merriment of the buffoon, appear alternately with tears and agony. if it be so with human life--if, in this fitful spring-day of our being, the storms and the sunshine tread upon the heels of each other, so must it be with everything that would truly represent existence--even with a tale like this. we must change the scene, then, and convey the reader far away from the sad field of evesham--without pausing to detail some of the barbarous horrors there committed on the bodies of the dead--at once to the splendid court of england, now triumphant over its enemies, and revelling in uncontrolled power. we may, indeed, stay for an instant to remark, that while joy and satisfaction spread through the various partisans of the court, while the foreign favourites of henry iii. displayed their rejoicing with indecent ostentation, and even the calmer and wiser adherents of his high-minded son could not refrain from triumphant exultation, consternation, dismay, and mourning spread throughout the middle and lower classes of the people, through the clergy of the real anglican church, and through the greater part of the barons who claimed a genuine english descent. the barrier was thrown down which had protected their rights and liberties; and most of those whose swords had been so long unsheathed in the popular cause, now lay weltering in their gore upon the field of evesham, leaving none but outlaws, and fugitives to mourn for them in secrecy and concealment, and poets and minstrels to sing the deeds of the gone. it was at the court of england,--not in the capital of the kingdom, but in the palace of eltham, then one of the most beautiful, if not most splendid of the residences of our kings--in a small chamber in the left wing of the building, rather more than a month after the scenes which we have lately commemorated, that there lay upon a couch, covered with a leopard's skin, a young knight, busily engaged in reading a manuscript written in a somewhat cramped and difficult hand. he was clad altogether in the garments of peace, but a deep gash upon his brow, a scarf bound tight round his arm, and a certain uneasy expression of countenance when he turned from side to side, showed that it was not long since he had been engaged in the fierce and bloody pursuits of war. hugh de monthermer had not passed through the battle of evesham unwounded; and though, as a point of chivalrous, courage, he had scorned to suffer the slightest sign of anguish to appear, yet the injuries he had received were long in being healed, and even for some days his life had been held in danger. asa prisoner taken by the prince's own hand, he had been brought in the train of the court to london, and then to eltham; and although no one word had been spoken of his future fate--no proposal made in regard to terms of liberation at the period when many other nobles were allowed to submit and receive letters of remission, yet he had been treated with constant care and kindness. scarcely a day had passed without his being visited by edward himself; but the subject of his actual situation had been studiously avoided by the prince; and hugh, impatient of farther restraint, now lay in his chamber waiting his coming, and resolved to make such inquiries as must lead to some definite reply. about half an hour later than his usual time, the firm step of edward was heard in the ante-room, and his voice bidding the page who followed stop at the door. the next instant the prince entered, bowing his lofty head as he passed through the low arched doorway. his countenance was somewhat grave; but his tone was full of kindness towards hugh de monthermer, and he took him by the hand inquiring after his health. "i am nearly well, my dear lord," replied hugh; "and, like your grace, when i found you in the castle of hereford, i only sigh for fresh air and liberty to use my cramped limbs." "but why do you not take exercise?" demanded the prince. "you should ride forth every day." "i did not know i had permission," answered hugh. "i fancied your grace might think that the lesson you gave upon the banks of the wye might not be lost upon your humble prisoner." "not after you had surrendered, rescue or no rescue, monthermer," said the prince. "i put no fetters upon you, my friend, but the fetters of your word. the great gates are as free to you as to myself; and, though i give you not your liberty, it is for your sake, not my own. my father's anger burns fierce against your house, monthermer. it is the only spark which i have not been able to quench. you, he will pardon, after a time; but i fear towards your uncle we shall never soften him.--he says that it was by his advice de montfort acted." edward put the last words in the tone of a question, or, perhaps, as an assertion which he wished to hear refuted; but hugh replied, gravely--"his majesty says true, my lord; it was by my uncle's advice. but your grace's words give relief to my mind. i have had no tidings of my uncle since that fatal field; and though i had hopes that he had escaped, yet those hopes were faint. i do beseech you, my good lord, tell me what you know for never son loved father more than i love him, under whose sword i have been brought up from youth." "i know little more than yourself," answered the prince; "all i can say, is, neither his body nor his arms were found amongst the dead; and so far is my father convinced of his having escaped, that he, with seven others, who have not yet made submission, have had sentence of outlawry proclaimed against them." hugh de monthermer mused with feelings very much divided between pleasure and pain; but the prince laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, saying--"come, old playfellow, prepare yourself for a ride, and join me in a minute in the court below. there are guests coming to the palace to-day, and perchance we may meet them." there was no slight delight to hugh de monthermer, as the reader may very well imagine, in the thought of using his limbs in wholesome exercise, and tasting again the free outward air; and dressing himself hastily for the expedition, he was soon by the prince's side. it often happens, however, that when we have looked forward with bright anticipations towards enjoyments from which we have been long debarred, and have thought that nothing but pleasure and refreshment can await us therein, a degree of melancholy falls upon us even in the very fruition of our wishes--a memory, a regret, is poured out from the heart to dilute the inebriating cup of joy. it was so with hugh de monthermer. the first breath of the free air felt to him like new life and the promises of hope; but, almost instantly, the thought of the many high and noble, good and wise companions, with whom not long before he had enjoyed the same gentle breeze, the same warm sunshine, and who could now taste them no more--the thought of his just and chivalrous uncle, wandering wounded and alone, an exile or an outlaw--the thought of the gallant and the brave who strewed the field of evesham, came across his mind, and dimmed all the happiness of the hour. he was gloomy, then, as he rode forth from the palace gates, and the merriment of many a young knight and gay esquire, who followed in edward's train, sounded harsh and unpleasant to his ear. they were absent for some two hours; but, as they returned, the look of hugh de monthermer was brightened, and his smile as cheerful as the rest. if the reader would know why, it is easy to tell. riding beside prince edward, were the earls of gloucester and ashby, and not far distant, a train of fair ladies and attendants, amongst whom was one whose soft dark eyes seemed ready to run over with bright drops whenever they turned towards the young knight, who, for his part, was by her side as often as the movements of the cavalcade would permit. it is true, that more than one of the gentlemen around, proud of being of the court party, and vain of any share they had taken in the late struggle, deemed it almost an act of insolence on the part of a captive and a rebel, as they chose to term him, to claim the attention of one of the fair guests of their sovereign, hugh de monthermer's renown as a knight, however, kept their saucy anger within due bounds; and, though they so contrived that no private word could pass between lucy de ashby and her lover, they could not cut him off from the enjoyment of her society. on arriving at the palace, more than one prepared himself to aid the lady in dismounting from her horse; but hugh de monthermer, feeling a title in her regard advanced as of right, and lifted the fair form of lucy from the saddle. in so doing, the only opportunity occurred of uttering a word to each other, unheard by those around. but it was lucy herself who took advantage of it. "i have something to say to you, hugh," she, whispered; "something that must be said." ere he could answer, however, the earl of ashby was by their side. he had hitherto taken no notice of his former friend and confederate, and perhaps might not have done so even now, had not his conversation with the prince been of a kind to show him that, in edward's eyes, hugh de monthermer was anything but a captive enemy. he held out his hand to him, then, with kindly greeting, and asked him after his health, adding--"now that these contentions are happily at an end, my young friend, let us forget any disputes in the past." hugh, as may be supposed, was not backward to accept his proferred hand, and good care did he take, not even by a look, to shew that he knew himself to be rather the injured than the injurer, in the dissensions which had taken place. a few brief questions and replies followed, while edward spoke in a low tone with the earl of gloucester, whose eyes, hugh de monthermer remarked, were fixed earnestly and somewhat sternly upon himself. at length the prince turned, and bending gracefully to lucy de ashby, and another lady who was with the party, told them that, though the queen was still absent in france, the princess eleanor waited for them in the hall. "she is a cousin of yours, you know, fair lady," he added, addressing lucy, and then turning to his prisoner, he said "we have a grand banquet to-night, monthermer, at which you must find strength to be present.--i have my father's commands to invite you." hugh bowed low, and as the guests passed on, he retired thoughtfully to his own chamber. it was still early in the day; the hour appointed for the banquet was late, and his first reveries were full of joy and love, but a discomfort of a trifling, yet annoying kind, crossed the young knight's thoughts from time to time. separated from all his attendants, kept a close prisoner up to that period, both by his wounds, and by his situation--he was totally without the means of appearing at the table of the king with that splendour which the customs of the day required.--the only suit he had was that which he then wore, the pourpoint, namely, over which at evesham he had borne his armour. some other necessaries had been supplied to him, as a kindness, by one of edward's attendants; but still--though resolved, at all events, not to be absent from the banquet--how could he appear in garments soiled and rent, where all the pomp and pageantry of england were sure to be displayed! "i will send to the prince," he thought, "and let him know the situation in which i am placed; but still, though doubtless, he will now give me means of sending to my own friends, both for money and apparel, the supply will come too late, for this day's necessities at least, and even if he himself furnishes me with gold for present need, where can i buy, in this lonely situation, any thing that i want?" while he was thus thinking, the sound of steps in his ante-room showed him that some one was approaching; and in a moment after, two of the inferior attendants of the court entered, bringing in between them, one of the long heavy cases of leather stretched upon a frame of wood, which were then used for carrying arms and clothing in the train of an army. "this was brought here last night, my lord, and left for you," said one of the servants. "the chief sewer opened it by mistake, and finding that it contained apparel, sent us with it." hugh smiled, thinking that it was a kindly stratagem of the prince to furnish him with what he needed; but ere the two men had quitted the ante-room, edward himself re-entered it, coming to offer the assistance of his purse or wardrobe, and taking blame to himself for not having thought before of his friend's need. hugh laughed, and pointing to the coffer, thanked him for what he had already sent; but the prince denied all knowledge of it, and on opening the case, which edward insisted on his doing before his eyes, he found that it was filled with apparel of his own, nearly new, which had been left behind him in yorkshire, in the early part of the year. "this must be the doings of the fairies, my lord," he said; "but as i cannot always count upon these nimble gentry thus attending to my wants, i will beseech your grace to let me send a messenger to enquire after my own poor friends and attendants who were scattered at evesham, and to bring me such a number of men and horses as i may be permitted to maintain while a prisoner, as well as some small supply of money." "if you will write," said edward, in reply, "i will send immediately. but let us understand each other completely, monthermer. i think on many accounts that it may be better for you to reside some few months at the court of england, and i believe, at all events, that you yourself will not be eager to quit it, while a certain bright lady remains with the princess. your being my captive is the only excuse that can be given for your prolonging your stay, where it is very needful you should remain; and this is the reason why i do not publicly set you free. but as in this changeful world," he continued, in a marked and significant manner, "one never can tell what the next day may bring forth, and as it may be necessary, either for your happiness or your safety, under some circumstances, to fly at a moment's notice--for i can neither trust the fierce mortimer, nor the cruel pembroke--i promise to fix your ransom whenever you require it; and, should need be, you may act upon this promise as if i had already given you liberty--i will justify you whenever it takes place. in the meantime, however, you must play the part of captive demurely, and make the best of your opportunities, my young friend; for i have learned from one of your enemies the state of your affections, and i doubt not that your lady love will willingly listen to your tale if you choose a fair hour for telling it.--nay, no thanks, monthermer! take what money you want from my purse till your own arrives; and now, adieu." hugh conducted the prince to the door of his ante-room, and then returned, proposing to examine more fully the wardrobe which had been so unexpectedly sent to him, thinking that perhaps he might find something to indicate from what hand it came. but before he did so, he sat down thoughtfully, and gazed out of the small casement of his chamber, while, strange to say, his spirit seemed oppressed. in every point his situation was happier and better than it had been a few hours previous; the storm cloud which had obscured his hopes was clearing away; his mind had been made more easy in regard to his uncle's safety; liberty appeared before him, and he was near to her he loved; but, nevertheless, he felt a sadness that he could not account for. as the first impression of the fresh air upon a person going out after a long sickness will give them a sensation of faintness, even while it revives them, so will the return to hope and happiness, after a long period of despair and sorrow, bring with it a touch of melancholy even on the wings of joy. chapter xxiv. it was in the great hall at eltham--that splendid hall which still remains, attesting, like many other monuments, the magnificent ideas of an age which we, perhaps justly, term barbarous, but which displayed, amongst many rude and uncivilized things, a grasp of conception and a power of execution in some of the arts, that we seldom if ever can attain even in these more generally cultivated times. in the great hall at eltham, about an hour after sunset, was laid out a banquet, which in profuse luxury and splendour as far exceeded any, even of our state repasts, in the present day as the hall that overhung it excelled the lumbering architecture of the eighteenth century. the table actually groaned under masses of quaint and curious plate,--many of the cups and dishes blazing with jewels, and an immense emerald, in the shape of a cross surrounded by wax tapers, surmounting and ornamenting the centre of the board. the dresses of the guests were of all those bright and glittering colours so universally affected by rich and poor in those days; and gold and precious stones were seen sparkling all around, not alone ornamenting the persons of the fairer sex, but decorating also the garments of the men. though the guests themselves only amounted to seventy, and the broad table at which they sat looked small in the centre of the hall, yet the number of attendants, carvers, cup-bearers, butlers, and sewers, was not less than two hundred, without including the harps, the trumpets, the minstrels and the spectators, who were admitted within certain limits. various and curious were the dishes set upon the table; the wine was of the choicest vintages of france and spain: and one may conceive how recklessly it was suffered to flow in those times, when we know that the consumption of a private nobleman's house was upon one occasion, three hundred and seventy pipes in the year, besides ale, metheglin, and hypocras. the banquet was somewhat strangely ordered, according to our present notions, for there was but one large silver plate assigned to each two persons; but as, with scrupulous exactness, the male and female guests had been restricted to an equal number, this arrangement permitted a display of the courteous gallantry of the times, each gentleman carving for his fair companion, and taking care that she was supplied with all she wished for before himself. opportunity was also thus offered for all those little signs and tokens of chivalrous love which but too often, it must be confessed, deviated into vice and folly. but of all the hearts at that table--and there were some which fluttered with gaiety and excitement, some that beat with calm satisfaction, some that palpitated with eager and not over-holy joy,--none throbbed with higher and purer delight than those of hugh de monthermer and lucy de ashby, as, sitting by side, they bent together over the same board and drank from the same cup. many a sweet-whispered word was there, while all was laughter and merriment around, and many an avowal of unchanged attachment, many a promise of future affection was spoken by the eyes when any pause in the general conversation might have betrayed the secret had it been intrusted to the lips. happy indeed was the young lover, happy indeed was she whom he loved, thus to commune with each other after so long a separation. but if anything could have added to lucy's joy in thus meeting hugh again, and sitting by his side, it would have been the terms with which edward had that night brought him forward to the king. "let me beseech you, sire," he had said, "for your favour towards the friend of my youth, who, though for some time separated from me by unhappy feuds, now at an end for ever, forgot not, in a time of need, our early regard." "his house have shown no great love for our throne," replied the king, looking coldly upon him; "but we welcome him for your sake, edward." "do so, my lord," answered the prince, "for while i was in prison he ever advocated my release, and when i was escaping, and he might have stayed me, he bade god speed me on my way." "then we welcome him for his own," replied the king, more warmly, and holding out his hand. hugh bent his head over it in silence, and retired. the merriment had somewhat waned, the lights had grown rather dim, the tapers were burning low, when, taking advantage of a momentary rise in the sounds around, lucy said, in a low voice, "i have still much to tell, hugh, of great importance." "can you not do so now?" demanded her lover, in the same tone. "i dare not, i dare not," whispered lucy, "and yet i would fain that it were soon." hugh looked around. "this revel cannot last long," he said, "at least you fair ladies will not stay much longer, lucy; i can find an excuse too, in my late wounds, to quit the board earlier than the rest, if we could but meet." lucy looked down and blushed, for though those were days of liberty, nay, of licence, when every lady held it little less than a duty to hear each tale of passion that was addressed to her,--ay, and to afford full opportunity for its being told,--yet still there was an inherent modesty in her nature, which made the warm blood rise into her cheek at the thought of meeting in secret the man which she loved best. "i would tell the princess," she replied, "and ask her advice and assistance, for she is as kind and as wise as ever woman was. but what i have to say no one must hear but you." "there is a row of cloisters," answered hugh, "just under the princess's apartments; i will go thither, lucy, as soon as i can steal away, and wait till all hope of seeing you be gone. come if you can, my beloved,--come if you can! you know you can trust to me." "oh, yes," replied lucy, in the same low voice; "i will come, hugh, i will, for it is better." the evil custom of men prolonging the song, the wine cup, and the revel, after the table has been quitted by those whose presence softens and refines our coarser nature is of a very old date in this our land of england, and though certainly more honoured in the breach than the observance, has only been abandoned by fits and starts from the period of the saxons till the present day. at the early meal, which was called dinner in those times, such was not often the case, for every one started up quickly to pursue his business or his rude sports in the light; but after supper, when no occupation called them from the table, the baronage of england would frequently indulge in long revels, ending usually, especially under the monarchs of the pure norman line, in scenes of the most frightful excess and disgusting licentiousness. henry i., though he did something to refine the people, and to soften the manners of his nobles, still tolerated every sort of vice in his court, and it was only with the sovereigns of the house of plantagenet--though they themselves were often corrupt enough--that a certain degree of decency and courteous refinement was introduced which put a stop to the coarse debaucheries of the norman race. under henry ii., richard, and john, amidst civil and foreign wars, a gradual improvement might be perceived, and even during the reign of the weak henry iii.--at least, by the time of which we speak--the high, pure character of his chivalrous son worked a vast change in the general tone of society. thus, though drinking and song, after the ladies of the court had withdrawn, generally succeeded to the evening banquet, yet the night never now terminated in those fearful orgies, to hide which altogether from the eyes of men, the second william had commanded that all lights should be suddenly extinguished in his palace at a certain hour. on the evening in question, not long after the few words which we have mentioned had passed between hugh and lucy, the princess eleanor, with the rest of the ladies present, rose and left the hall, taking their way under the high gallery and through the small door which communicated with the royal apartments. as the princess passed out she placed her hand gently upon lucy's arm, saying--"come with me, sweet cousin, i would fain speak with you;" and led the way towards her own chamber. all her own attendants were dismissed one by one; and then, seating herself in a large chair, eleanor beckoned her fair companion to take a place beside her. but lucy quietly, and with that exquisite grace which is beauty's crowning charm, and she pre-eminently possessed, sunk slowly down upon the stool at the princess's feet; and looked up in her face with a glance from which she strove hard to banish every trace of that impatience which was strong in her heart. eleanor gazed down upon her in return with a kindly and yet a thoughtful smile, keeping silence for nearly a minute, and then saying--"so you are very much in love, dear lucy de ashby?--nay, do not blush and cast down your eyes, as if you thought i could doubt it, after your telling me and every body else that it is so, some five times during supper." "nay--nay," cried lucy, turning round quickly with a look of alarm--"not so plainly as that!" "plainly enough for me to understand," replied the princess, "and that is all that is necessary to talk of now. edward told me something of this before, and i promised to ask if you knew what you were doing." lucy looked up again, but it was now with an arch smile; and she answered--"right well, dear lady." "i hope it is so," rejoined eleanor; "for methinks i see difficulties before you--thorns in your path; which i fear may wound those tender feet more than you dream of. you love and are beloved, that is clear, and that were simple enough to deal with, as most loves in this world go, for very often the wild god's dart gives but a scratch as it passes, and wounds not one heart deeply in a thousand. but for those who love as you two seem to do, there is a world of anxieties and cares upon the way. in our state of life, lucy, we cannot, like the happy country maid, give our hand at once where our heart is given, and seldom--seldom through ages, is it the lot of woman to find so happy a fate as mine, where the first lot i drew was the chief prize of the whole world--he whom alone my heart could ever love, and he who was destined to return it well.--he loves you, lucy, i think,--this young captive lord?" "i am sure of it, lady," replied lucy, earnestly. "indeed!" said the princess. "then doubtless you have spoken on this theme--are plighted and promised to each other!" lucy turned somewhat pale, but it was with indecision, and doubt, and the princess, marking her changing colour, added--"nay, let me not force your confidence from you. i would fain help you, if i could; but trust, like bounty, must be free, lucy, not extorted; and though your secret were as safe with me as in your own breast, yet let not the bird take wing if you fear its flight." her fair companion, turning round, sunk somewhat farther at the princess's feet, and hid her eyes upon her knee, saying--"my confidence shall be free!--we are plighted by every promise that can bind heart to heart but the last one at the altar; and now that i have told you so much, i will tell you all," she continued,--"even now, i fear he is waiting for my coming in the cloisters down below." "nay!" exclaimed eleanor, with a look of some surprise and disapprobation. lucy read her thoughts by the tone in which she spoke, and raising her head somewhat proudly, she replied--"you mistake me, i fear, dear lady; and do not know the purpose for which i go." "to fly with him, perhaps," said eleanor. "oh no!" answered lucy, "while my father lives i will never wed man without his blessing. no, lady--no! neither must you think--although i hold there might be circumstances in which, but for the sake of cheering and soothing him i love in captivity and sorrow, i might well grant him a poor hour of my company alone--neither must you think, i say, that i go to him now either to please my ear with hearing his dear voice, or to comfort him with aught i can say in return. i know i may trust you, lady--i know i may tell you why i go, and that you will neither repeat it, nor ask me any farther question. i have a message to him from one he loves and sorrows for. i have news from those he has wept as dead; and though there be no treason in it, lady," she added, with a smile, "i dare not give it to any other lips to deliver than my own." eleanor bent down her head and kissed her brow--"go--go, sweet lucy," she said, "i give you leave. ay, and even when your message is given, if you do linger out the hour, or, perhaps, even see him again by another clear moon like that, i will forgive and trust you both. the man that could sully such a thing as thou art, by prompting one wish--one act--one thought for which the pure heart would burn with grief hereafter, were somewhat worse than a fiend; and methinks," she added, laughing, "your lover does not look like one." "oh, no--no!" cried lucy, "like anything but that; but i fear he may be waiting for me." "some women would tell you to make him wait," replied the princess, "but i will not say so. i have heard my husband quote some latin words, which mean that he gives twice who quickly gives; and a frank favour to a kind heart must surely make more impression than a greater boon wrung from us by long soliciting. go, then, lucy--go! see if he be there; if not, come back to me, and go again. i would not let him know i waited for him, were i you; for the best child may be spoiled, lucy; but neither would i make him wait for me, lest ever the time should come when he might think he had waited long enough." lucy kissed the princess's hand, and after enquiring somewhat timidly her way, quitted the room and descended the narrow staircase which eleanor directed her to take. winding round and round till her head was almost giddy, and holding fast by the column, about which the small steps turned, lucy at length reached the little archway that led out into the cloister, and which, as usual, was wide open. the scene before her was the wide open park which surrounded the palace, and was then called eltham chase, and over it the moonlight was streaming peacefully, pouring in also under the cloister and paving it with silver, while across the glistening stones fell the dark shadows of the beautiful norman arches. lucy paused before she issued forth, seeing no one within the range of her eye at that moment; but there was the sound of a step, and the quick ear of love instantly recognised the well-known tread, which she had listened for, many a day in lindwell castle, ere the lover knew that he was loved in return. she still kept back, however, under the shadow of the doorway, that she might be quite sure; but in a moment or two after, the step turned and came nearer and nearer, till at length the tall, graceful form of hugh de monthermer, with his arms folded on his chest, and his eyes bent upon the ground, as if he expected to play the sentinel some time, appeared in the moonlight, and approached the place where she was standing. lucy was soon by his side; and it was not easy for hugh to find words to express his gratitude for her coming, and his joy at her presence. although she had resolved to stay with him but a short time, to give him the message that she had received, at once, and then to return to the princess as speedily as possible, it must be owned, that the thoughts of both herself and her lover dwelt upon those dear subjects, which naturally presented themselves on being thus alone with each other for the first time after a long separation, and that half an hour passed in the sweet dalliance of two young hearts, full of warm and tender affection. lucy felt almost grateful to hugh for having forced her to confess her love, it was so delightful, now that it was confessed, to dwell upon it, and to give it voice unrestrained. to hugh it seemed almost a dream, to have her there beside him in the calm moonlight, to hold that fair soft hand in his, to see those dark eyes raise their fringed curtains and pour their living light upon his face. who can wonder that they forgot the minutes in such joys as the human heart can know but once in life? at length, however, some accidental circumstance woke them from their dream of love and happiness. "i had forgot, hugh," cried lucy, disengaging her hand from his; "the princess expects me back again soon, and i had to tell you much that i have not told.--we have been at nottingham since i saw you, for they sent me to lindwell while the army lay at worcester. after that fatal battle, which i thought would have killed your poor lucy, too--for with a brother, and a father, and a lover there, ranked upon opposite sides, i had well-nigh died with fear and anxiety--after that battle of evesham, i used to listen eagerly for tidings, converse with every countryman i met, and glean even the lightest rumours that might tell me of the fate of those i loved. i could hear nothing of you or your uncle, however, till one day, as i was walking near the castle, and alone, i sat down beneath the shadow of an oak.--you remember the old oak within sight of the hall window, where once----" "where first i fancied that lucy might love me," answered hugh. lucy paused for a moment, and then replied; "you might have fancied it before, hugh; if your eyes had but been bright.--well, i was sitting beneath the shadow of that oak, when, suddenly, i heard something rustle-overhead, and in a moment, down from the branches like a falling acorn, dropped the strange boy, that accompanied us from the forest, on that sweet ride, which i shall never forget. at first, i was alarmed, and was going to run to the castle; but when i saw who it was, i lost my fear, and asked him what he wanted. he then told me more than i had ever heard before: that the battle had gone against the english party; that hugh de monthermer was wounded and prisoner; and also, that i was ere long to be called upon to join my father at derby, and go with him to london. 'and now,' said the dwarf, 'i am to charge you with a message. sooner, or later,' he continued, 'you will meet the young lord in the capital; tell him that his uncle lives, that he is nearly well of his wounds; but that, as he knows his life is forfeited, he dare not show himself. a report is rife, that he has escaped to france. such, however, is not the case, he is even now under the boughs of merry sherwood, and he would fain see his nephew there in secret. so, tell him, lady, when you find him; but tell him when he is quite alone, when there is no ear but yours and his to hear, for the lives of more than one good man and true, are trusted to your discretion.' such, dear hugh, was the message he bade me give you, and i willingly undertook to do so, though i knew not when i might have the means. but, i have a prayer to put, hugh--i have a boon to ask, which you must not refuse to lucy de ashby, if you be a true knight and a true lover." "ask it, dear lucy," he replied, "whatever it be, consistent with my honour, i will do it, were it to carry the cross from the top of the chapel into palestine, and make the sultan bow down and worship it." "nay--nay!" cried lucy, with a smile, though such strange vows were not uncommon then; "it is not so hard as that, hugh, it is but that you promise me, you will take no farther part in these secret conspiracies to levy war against the throne. the cause is lost, hugh, whether it was a good or a bad one; and if hugh de monthermer mingles with it more, he will but bring destruction upon himself, and misery upon lucy de ashby. see your noble uncle, dear hugh; but try and lead him to make submission. at all events, for my sake, promise to abstain yourself from any further efforts in an enterprise which is hopeless and past away." "you must ask another boon, lucy," said hugh. "what, will you not grant the first request i make?" cried lucy, quickly. "nay, not so," answered her lover; "it is, that this is no request at all, my lucy, for i have made the same promise to myself, beforehand. i can never bear arms more against edward plantagenet, let who will call me to the field. so wherever his banner floats, mine shall never be raised to oppose it. this makes me bid you ask another boon, dear lucy." "well, i will," said lucy; but ere she could, explain what it was, she was interrupted. during their conversation they had wandered backwards and forwards under the cloister, and at this time were pausing at the end farthest from the door leading to the apartments of the princess. it unfortunately happens but too often, that, not only love, but a lover is blind--blind to all external objects as well as to the faults of her he loves; and certainly such must have been the case with hugh de monthermer at that moment; otherwise he would have seen before, that while he turned hither and thither with lucy de ashby, the cloister did not remain untenanted, as he believed. more than once, two or three figures had come round the farther angle of the palace the moment his back was turned, and entering the cloister, had watched him and lucy with laughing, and yet malicious looks. at the very moment, however, that hugh de monthermer and the lady paused at the end of the southern front, a voice, coming from the dark arcade which ran along the western side of the building and joined that where they now stood, at a right angle, said in a low but distinct tone, as if the speaker were close to them, "you are watched--you are watched! go back, or you will be caught!" hugh's first impulse was to start forward to discover who it was that spoke; but lucy, terrified at the bare idea of being found there by any of the licentious minions of henry's court, sprang from him, crying, "let me fly, hugh--let me fly! adieu adieu!" and, darting along the cloister with the speed of a startled deer, she ran towards the doorway leading to the stairs. hugh de monthermer followed at a somewhat slower pace, thinking that on that side she was safe; but just when lucy was within a few yards of the arch to which her steps were directed, some three or four men came out from under the pillars, and advanced towards her with a shout of ribald laughter. with a bound like that of a sword-player, hugh de monthermer sprang forward, and was by her side before they could reach her. "halloo, halloo!" cried one; "we have started the game." "run it down--run it down!" exclaimed another; and a third, evidently bearing more wine than wit, added something still more offensive. another step brought the lovers close to the doorway, but one of the revellers cast himself in the way, as if to stop the passage. "stand back, sir guy de margan!" cried the young knight, sternly; "stand back, i say." but, finding that instead of doing as he was directed, the other spread wide his arms to catch lucy as he passed, hugh struck him one blow with his clenched hand which laid him prostrate on the pavement. lucy sprang through the doorway and ran up the steps like lightning; and her lover, folding his arms upon his chest, walked slowly onward through the midst of those opposed to him. they regarded him with frowning brow, and muttering voices, but suffered him to pass; and as he reached the gate which led towards his own chamber, he heard a sound of loud laughter, succeeding apparently to the anger which the blow he had struck had produced. chapter xxv. in one of the ante-rooms of the palace at eltham, on the morning following, sat five gentlemen, dressed with extravagant gaudiness, their hair curled, and in some instances plaited like that of women, and their persons adorned with innumerable rings and trinkets. "out upon it!--bear a blow?" cried one of them. "i will have revenge!" "how will you seek it, de margan?" asked another. "with a bodkin?" "nay, nay, let him alone," said the third, "he is a man of spirit, and will dare this proud knight to the field." "who will crack him there," rejoined the second speaker, "as the king cracks a crawfish!" "how is that?" inquired the first. "between his finger and thumb," replied the other. "this is all nonsense," joined in one who had not yet spoken. "monthermer is a prisoner and cannot underlie a defiance." "de margan will do better than defy him," said the fifth personage. "he knows that there are shrewder means of revenge in his power than that. tell them, de margan--tell them! and we will all go in with you and bear it out!" "ay!" cried sir guy de margan, "those two fair lovers would, i rather fancy, give each a finger of their right hand rather than have the earl of ashby know their secret moonlight meeting in the cloister. neither would the good earl much like to have the tale told of his fair daughter showering such favours on this good lord hugh; and alured de ashby, i have heard, hates these monthermers worse than a cat hates oil." "a goodly mess of venom if you stir it properly!" observed one of his companions. "that will i do most certainly," said the first. "i wait but the opening of the king's doors to tell the noble earl before the whole court that his daughter was somewhat less niggardly of her presence last night to hugh de monthermer than he dreamt of. then, you see, the old lord will chafe, the king will frown, and alured de ashby will be sent for----" "to do what guy de margan does not dare himself," said one of the gentlemen. what might have been the reply is difficult to say; for, although the personage he spoke to, had so much of the better part of valour as to refrain from measuring his strength against a man so much superior to himself as hugh de monthermer, yet he was by no means without courage where it was at all prudent to display it. but his answer, which seemed likely to be a fierce one, was stopped on his very lips; for the door of the king's chamber opened at that moment, and the well-known william de valence, earl of pembroke, came forth, bearing two or three sealed letters in his hand. "sir guy de margan," he said, presenting him with a packet, "i am directed by the king to command you immediately to set out for monmouth, where you will open these orders, execute them, and rejoin the court at nottingham. you, sir thomas le strange, will proceed on a similar mission to chester; and you, sir roger de leiburn, will go on before with these to derby. speed, gentlemen, speed!--there is no time to be lost. we have tidings of a threatened rising in the north, and the whole court sets out within two hours." "cannot i have audience of the king, my lord," said guy de margan; "if but for a moment, or with the earl de ashby?" "impossible!" replied william de valence; "the king, with the earls of ashby, mortimer, and gloucester, and the noble lord of audley, is arranging with the prince the measures which are to be pursued. it is impossible, sir guy! so quick away with you, gentlemen, and see whose spur is sharpest." all was bustle, hurry, and confusion at the court of eltham during the rest of the morning. the threatened rising in northumberland was indeed, not of a very serious nature, and edward was of opinion, that the few nobles who were about the court, with such troops as he could muster rapidly by the way, would be sufficient to overawe the malcontents, and nip the revolt in the bud. henry, however, ever fond of excitement and display, seized the pretext for making a royal progress into the north, knowing well that every great noble as he passed, especially at that particular period, would vie with his neighbour in entertaining his sovereign with luxury and splendour. edward looked grave, and evidently disapproved; but he did not venture to offer any opposition to his father's wishes; and towards two of the clock, in a fine day of the early autumn, preceded and followed by a strong band of soldiery, the whole court, comprising all who happened to be at eltham at the time, set out on its way towards nottingham. although there was indeed more than one horse-litter in the train, yet all the principal personages proceeded on their journey, as usual, upon horseback; and, even in their robes of travel, they formed a bright and glittering train, as ever was seen, comprising nearly two hundred persons. laughing, talking, jesting, they rode along, keeping no very compact order, and each person choosing his companions as his inclination prompted, or circumstances admitted. hugh de monthermer, as may well be supposed, sought the side of lucy de ashby; and it luckily so happened that an old knight of her father's household, so deaf that the blast of a trumpet was the only thing he could hear, took upon himself to act as esquire to the lady. in this capacity he occupied the post upon her left hand, talking all the while, and, with the fruitful imagination, which many deaf people have, fancying the replies that were never spoken. immediately behind, came the gay girls who waited upon their fair lady, with two or three pages and squires, all occupied with the usual subjects, which engrossed the attention of pages, squires, and handmaidens in those days. the earl of ashby himself kept near the presence of the king; but he seemed to entertain no objection to the attentions which hugh was evidently showing to his daughter; and throughout the whole of the progress, the princess eleanor, with that sympathy which a kind-hearted woman always feels for woman's love, favoured the lovers with opportunity, not indeed with bustling eagerness, not indeed even apparently, but with the calm and quiet tact of a refined mind, as well as a gentle heart. edward, too, though more occupied with other things than eleanor, showed every kindness to hugh de monthermer, and once or twice, in passing him while he was conversing with lucy de ashby, marked with a smile, the brightness of the lover's eye, and certainly gave no discouragement to his hopes. at huntingdon, the young knight was joined by a number of his own servants, and one or two of those who had been attached to his uncle. amongst the latter, was the stout yeoman, tom blawket; and upon questioning him, hugh discovered that all the tenants and retainers of the old earl were ignorant that their lord had survived the battle. the good fellow was evidently so deeply grieved at the supposed death of his noble master, that hugh felt a strong inclination to impart to him the fact of the earl being safe, and very reluctantly refrained, in the belief that it might be contrary to his uncle's wishes, so to do. money and horses reached him at the same time, and he was now enabled, in all things, to resume the appearance of his rank and station. health, too, and strength, were every day coming back more and more; and, though the prince's surgeon at eltham had shaken his head and prognosticated that the wound on his breast would never heal completely till he could obtain perfect repose, a certain balm that hugh carried with him--the balm of happiness--had closed it before he reached huntingdon, and had left nothing to be desired but the recovery of his former vigour. thus, as the reader may believe, the progress to nottingham was a joyful one to hugh de monthermer. he bore his sunshine with him, and mingled willingly in all the sports and pleasures prepared for the royal entertainment. it would be tedious to tell all the little incidents of the journey, to describe the pageant at this castle, the banquet at the other, the tournament that was prepared in one town, the grand procession that met the monarch at the gates of another city. suffice it, that all was feasting and revelry, merry-making, and rejoicing; and the populace, even in many of the places which had most strongly adhered to de montfort, during his days of prosperity, now met the monarch, whose oppression and exactions he had risen to curb, and the prince, before whose sword he had fallen, with the loudest shouts, and most cheerful acclamations. such is popularity!--he who counts upon it for an hour will find that he has trusted it too long, and he who relies upon it for support will learn that a bulrush is an oak to it. long before the royal party reached the north, the news of the king's march, and of the gathering together of considerable forces, ran on before, and, as edward had supposed, the very rumour crushed the insurrection in the egg. but henry still resolved to advance as far as nottingham, and promised the earl of ashby to spend some time with him at his castle of lindwell. the earl sent on messengers to prepare everything for the monarch's reception, and two days before the time named for entering nottinghamshire, the party of the king halted in the fair little town of mountsorrel. the castle was then in ruins; but in the priory below, the king, the prince, and several of the chief nobles in attendance on them, found lodging for the night, while the rest of the court were scattered in the houses round about. the good monks of mountsorrel, who since the beginning of of the century, when the castle was destroyed, had managed matters their own way, were celebrated for the excellence of their cheer; and their refectory certainly displayed, for the monarch's entertainment, a repast that night, which, in point of excellence of materials and skill in cookery, excelled all that he had met with on the road. the hour was late when the king arrived; and henry, who loved the pleasures of the table, sat long, tasting all the exquisite meats--partridges, which had been kept in a mew, and crammed with a spoon to make them fat--peacocks the flesh of which had been rendered as white as driven snow, by the method of feeding them--fish brought across the country from the sea, and others which had tenanted for years the tanks of the priory, nourished with especial care, and treated with a stream of running water conducted from the soar river to the pond, to render them fresh and healthy, together with a thousand other dainties under which the table groaned. nor did the king merely continue at the table himself, but he contrived to keep all his guests there likewise, conversing between the dishes with the prior, who knew well how to season meat with merriment, and had many a light and jesting tale for the monarch's not very scrupulous ear. while such things were proceeding at the priory, however, the rest of the royal party, broken into bodies of five or six, occupied, as we have said, three or four neighbouring houses, besides the small hostelry, making themselves as merry and as much at ease as men can do who care nothing for the comfort of their host, or the report he will make of them when their backs are turned. it was about ten o'clock at night when, in the best room of the inn, three gentlemen were sitting with the relics of their supper still before them--a fat capon and a venison pasty remaining almost uninjured, the one only having lost a leg in the conflict, and the other having a breach in its wall of not more than a couple of inches in diameter. this fact, however, did not by any means evince that the party had wanted appetite, but merely that various dishes had gone before, leaving no room for anything but wine in the stomachs of the well-fed guests. the red juice of the bordeaux grape was flowing profusely amongst them, and great was the merriment and uproar going on, when the sound of several horses' feet, coming rapidly down the street, and then stopping at the door, called their attention. whoever were the riders, nothing more was known of their proceedings for several minutes, at the end of which time a step was heard descending the little flight of stairs that led from the road into the parlour which was somewhat sunk below the level, of the ground. "we can have no more here," cried one of the gentlemen, starting up, resolved to defend the inviolability of their dining chamber--"whoever it is, must find a lodging elsewhere." but just as he spoke, the door, which was fastened with the happy old contrivance of a pulley and weight, was pushed sharply open, and a man, dressed in a riding costume, and muffled in a large loose gabardine above his pourpoint, appeared before them. the one who had been speaking, prepared, in a somewhat sharp tone, to enforce his objections to the admission of a new guest; but suddenly he seemed to recognise the new comer, and holding out his hand to him, he exclaimed--"richard de ashby, as i live! why who thought to see you here? we fancied that you were with your cousin, alured, keeping down the men of westmoreland. at all events, you are welcome, though, by my life, you will find the supper we have left you but scanty, and the wine barrel not so full as when we began." richard de ashby declared that there would be quite enough of both for him, and summoning the host to provide him with fresh wine, he proceeded with his meal, from time to time asking such questions as might best lead his companions to tell him all they knew of what was taking place at the english court. "gay doings, i find," he said,--"gay doings, i find, between eltham and leicester. why, the whole country rings with it!" "well may it ring," replied the other gentlemen; "well may it ring, and rejoice too, to see such sights. i have never beheld the like, since i followed the court of england. but during all that time, it is true, we have had nothing but civil wars, or the rule of grim de montfort; so it is no wonder things have gone sadly." "they will be merrier now, i trust," said richard de ashby. "it is high time, however, that my own affairs should go a little more merrily; and surely i have every right to expect it, for to me the prince owes his liberty. ay! and to me, they owe the first seeds of dissension sown amongst de montfort's people. it is but fair that my claim should be heard." "on my life," cried the gentleman to whom he spoke, while richard de ashby filled himself a cup of wine and drained it off; "on my life, our good king and prince seem fonder of their enemies than their friends. here is this young monthermer, one of the chief favourites of the court." a malevolent scowl passed over the dark face of richard de ashby, but as the host was coming in at that moment with more wine, he remained silent, hewing the meat before him with his knife, but without tasting it. when the landlord was gone, however, he composed his countenance, and exclaimed, with an affected laugh--"a pretty favourite, indeed!--but tell me what bright ladies follow the court? i hear there never was a fairer train." "you have heard true, sir richard," said the same gentleman who had hitherto spoken to him, the others being busily engaged in a conversation of their own--"you have heard true; a bevy of lovelier dames has seldom been seen. there is the countess of pembroke, and mortimer's wife; but she is ugly enough, heaven knows! then there is the young lady, de veux, and lord audley's daughter; and chief of all, hugh de monthermer's lady-love, your fair cousin, lucy de ashby." there was a certain touch of malice in his tone as he spoke, for it is wonderful how soon men discover any weak point in their fellow-men, and still more extraordinary how much pleasure they derive from saying things that may give pain to others, without producing the slightest benefit whatever to themselves. perhaps the courtier, sir harry grey, who now spoke with richard de ashby, had in view to provoke him to one of those outbursts of passion which to our corrupt hearts generally afford matter of merriment rather than commiseration; but if he did so, he was disappointed. a momentary expression of intense wrath convulsed the features of richard de ashby, but he uttered not a word in reply. he paused thoughtfully, filled another cup of wine, but did not drink it, gazed down upon the edge of his knife, and then turning round to his companion, said, "how warm it is! how can you all sit here with the casement closed?" "the boys of the village were staring in," answered sir harry grey, "looking at us like wild beasts in a cage, so we were forced to close the casement and draw the curtain. they are gone now--you can open it.--but you do not tell me what you think of this coming alliance. he is very wealthy, handsome, renowned; we all think it will answer very well. "do you?" said richard de ashby, drily. "why, i rather think, sir harry, it is no business either of yours or mine; although, to speak the truth, i believe you are mistaken, and that there is no such alliance toward." "oh, but it is the talk of the whole court!" cried the other. "he is ever with her, or with the lord of ashby, and besides, the earl has been known to say--" and he went on to repeat some twenty rumours of the day concerning the marriage of hugh de monthermer and lucy de ashby, not one of which contained a word of truth. still, however, richard de ashby remained unmoved--at least, to all appearance; and after merely asking who else was at the court, and receiving a somewhat lengthened answer, giving him the names of fifteen or sixteen ladies in whom he had no interest whatsoever, he arose, saying, "i must to bed, for i depart at daybreak to-morrow." "what! do you not visit the king?" demanded one of the other gentlemen, who had not yet spoken. "no, no," replied he, "i go on to nottingham to meet him. i have business of importance. good night--good night;" and he left the room. "you galled him, grey," said sir andrew geary--"you galled him hard about that marriage." "i know i did," answered sir harry grey; "once let me know a man's folly, and i will pink you him to the quick, if his skin be as thick and hard as a german gambesoon.--not that he thinks of marrying fair lucy himself; but it is his hatred to the monthermers touches him." "faith, you're mistaken," rejoined sir andrew geary, who was one of those keen-sighted men who seem intuitively to see into men's motives, under whatsoever specious disguises they may endeavour to conceal them--"faith, you are mistaken. this richard de ashby is one of more ambition than you believe. he knows right well, that in the many accidents of the day the good lord alured may find his way to the kingdom of heaven, and then--though he be now but the poor kinsman, treated not so well as many a worthy retainer of the house--he becomes heir presumptive to the title, though to none of the lands, except the small estate of ashby. it would suit him but little to see hugh of monthermer, as the husband of the heiress, sweep up the whole wealth of the house. what he will try," added sir andrew, musing, "i do not know; but be sure he will do something to break the marriage--if there be any truth in the story at all." "then monthermer will cut his throat," replied sir harry grey, "and there will be an end of it. but now what say you to the dice, geary? let us try a cast or two." "not i," answered sir andrew geary; "i am not in the mood. i am not well to-night, and shall betake me to my rest." "i will throw with you, grey," cried a young man from the other side of the room. "geary's wings are drooping like a sick hen's. don't you see? so let him go and carry himself to the isle of pipkins, and seek some stewed prunes for his queasy stomach. i am with you till cock crow, if your purse be long enough, and the wine good." chapter xxvi. richard de ashby mounted the stairs with a slow step, paused at the first landing-place and grasped his forehead with his extended hand, then turned upon his steps; and, descending to the kitchen, in which were seated an immense number of various classes, he beckoned to one of his servants, who was near the fire-place. the man started up, and came to him at the door, when his master said, in a low tone, "you must take your horse as soon as he is fed, and speed across the country as if for life and death, to bear a letter from me to the lord alured, in cumberland.--have every thing ready in an hour." "what! to-night, sir?" demanded the servant. "ay, to-night, villain!" replied his master; "to-night, i say!--do you grumble?" and without waiting for any further answer, he turned, and once more ascended the stairs. the inn was a rude old building, having a square court in the centre. it consisted of two stories above the ground-floor; and two ranges of open galleries ran round the whole yard, the chambers having no screen between them and the free air of heaven but the single door by which one entered or went out of each. it was to the highest of the galleries that richard de ashby now directed his steps, for arriving late, it had been with difficulty he had found lodging at all. he had no light with him; but finding his way by the dim glare of some lanterns in the court, he stopped at the last chamber on the right hand side: and, after another halt of more than a minute passed in stern meditation, he threw, open the door and went in. the room was a large one, forming the corner of the building, and having windows either way. there was a wide chimney, in which was a blazing log of wood, lighted to dispel the damp which the chamber might have contracted by disuse; and gazing at the changing aspect of the flame, sat fair, but unhappy, kate greenly, with her head resting on her hand, and her eyes full of deep and sorrowful thought. "get thee to bed," cried richard de ashby, in a rude and angry tone, as soon as he saw her; "did i not bid thee get to bed before?" "i have had many things to think of," answered the girl. "i wish thou hadst left me behind thee, richard. i love not going so near what was once my home." "it was my will," replied he; "that must be enough for thee. get thee to bed, i say.--i have to write and think." kate took a step away from him, but then looked round, and said, "tell me first, richard, art thou taking me back, wearied of her you used to love, to the once happy dwelling from which you brought me not six months ago?--if so, i will not go with you any farther." "thou wilt do what i order," he answered, sternly; "i am in no mood either for squabbling or jesting to-night.--thou wilt go no farther, ha! by heaven thou wouldst make me resolve to take thee back by force, or send thee with a billet like some packet of goods.--but no, i will not send thee," he added, "i will not take thee; and knowest thou why? not that i love thee--not that i care for thee more than for the flower that was yesterday in my breast, and is now cast away into the dust. but they have asked me to send thee back--they have ordered me; and therefore i will not! there is no power on earth shall tear thee from me; but i will take care to make thee serviceable, too. get thee to bed, i say, and importune me no more.--what! send thee back to please hugh de monthermer!" "he is a noble gentleman," answered kate, "and in good sooth wished me well, though i knew it not." "thou art a fool!" cried richard, violently; and, at the same moment, he took a step forward and struck her a blow on the cheek with his extended hand, adding, "get thee to bed, minion, and let me hear thy tongue no more." kate's flashing eyes glared at him as if she could have stabbed him where he stood; but the instant after she darted towards the bed, cast herself upon her knees beside it, and, hiding her weeping face upon the coverings, she murmured forth some rapid and eager words, which her base seducer neither heard nor cared to hear. seating himself by a table on which stood a lamp, he took forth the materials for writing from some large leathern bags which lay near; but ere he commenced the letter which he proposed to send, he passed a full half hour in deep meditation. once during the time he looked round, apparently to see if the poor girl he had treated so basely was still up; but she had retired to bed; and, hearing her breathing deep and slow, he concluded that, like a child, she had wept herself to sleep. he then turned himself to meditate again, and we must look into his bosom, and give the turbulent words which were uttered in his inmost heart as if they had been spoken aloud. "ay," he thought, "if alured had been here this mischief would not have occurred. the old fool is in his dotage! i wonder how it happened, when many a brave, strong man fell at evesham, ere the battle had raged half-an-hour, this feeble old wiseacre went through the whole day unwounded! had he been killed it might have made a mighty difference to me, and no great harm to any one." at that point his thoughts seemed to pause for several minutes, ruminating on the advantages which might have accrued to himself had the earl fallen at evesham. "and yet," he continued, "this bull-headed cousin of mine, alured, were nearly as great a stumbling-block in my way, even if the old man were removed. he would not be long, if left alone at the head of the house, ere he wedded some fair and fruitful lady, to exclude my claims for ever with a whole host of healthy white-headed children. i was in some hopes, if he sought out monthermer in the battle, as he said, our enemy's lance might have proved friendly to me, and sent my noble cousin to another world. but it was not to be, and i suppose i must go on the poor dependent all my life. "no," he continued, after another pause, "no, it shall not be so.--why should i fear for drivelling tales of other worlds told by the monks and priests, and invented by them also?--were alured once dead, 'twere an easy matter to remove that weak old man--and yet, perhaps, it were better to send him first to his account.--ha! i see, i see.--if one could manage it so as to cast suspicion on monthermer, alured would speedily accuse him of the deed; wager of battle must follow, and i were a fool if i could not contrive it so that alured's vain strength should go down before monthermer's skill and courage." "in such fields as those," he added, speaking, though in a low, thoughtful tone, "such men separate not with life.--methinks the matter were easily managed.--'tis no light prize one plays for!--the earldom of ashby, the broad lands, the parks, the woods, the fields--ay, and to crown the whole, the fair hand of lucy herself; for, her brother and her father dead, she must needs become my ward, and if my ward, my wife. it is worth striving for, and by heaven and hell, it shall be so,--ay, let what will stand in the way,--could i but breed a quarrel between this old dotard earl and the ancient enemy of our house, whom he is so ready to take to his bosom, i would soon accomplish the rest. but it shall be done,--it shall be done!" and leaning his dark brow upon his hands, he revolved the means for carrying his plan into execution. for several minutes he hesitated as to whether he should write to his cousin as he had proposed or not; but then again he thought--"i will not do it!--his presence would but embarrass me. in some chance encounter with this monthermer, with arms and weapons unprepared by me, he might prove the conqueror, and once having vanquished him, he would take him to his heart and give him half his fortune--the hand of lucy--anything. i know my vain-glorious cousin well! no, no, we will deal with the father first.--but i must on to nottingham, and seek the tools to work with. i will write to ellerby too, he is ready for any desperate work, and in his store of knowledge has always information where to find persons as fearless and as shrewd as himself." having thus made up his mind, richard de ashby rose, and once more sought out the kitchen of the inn, taking the lamp with him. revelry and merriment were still going on in all quarters of the house, and it was no unpalatable news to the groom, who was waiting below, ready to depart, that his master had changed his purpose, and would not send him as he had proposed, though he had orders to be prepared to set out by cock-crow. after having given this intimation, the earl's kinsman retired to his chamber again, and, sitting down at the table, wrote a few lines to the man whose unscrupulous assistance he required. it was not without long pauses of thought, however, that he did so, and in the end he put his hand to his head, saying, "i am tired." well indeed he might be so; for though the body had been still, the mind had struggled and laboured during the last few hours, with that eager and painful energy, which communicates afterwards to the corporeal frame itself no slight portion of the lassitude which follows great exertions. he next sought to seal the letter he had written, but he could find neither wax nor silk, and laying it down upon the table again, he said, aloud, "it must wait till to-morrow; but i must take care that no one comes in and sees it before i wake, for that were ruin indeed!" thus speaking, he turned to the door of the room and locked it; and then, after a few minutes more given to thought, he undressed himself, and, without prayer, lay down to rest.--without prayer!--he never prayed: the blessed influence even of an imperfect communion with heaven never fell like the summer rain upon his heart, softening and refreshing. the idea of his dependence upon providence, or his responsibility to god, would have been far too painful and cumbersome to be daily renewed and encouraged by prayer. he was one of the idolaters; and the god of his heart was himself. his cunning was the wisdom of his deity, his passions, his pleasures, his power, its other attributes; and to the moloch of self he was ready at any time to sacrifice all else that the world contained. he rose without asking a blessing on works that he knew were to be evil, he lay down supplicating no pardon for the offences of the day. ay! reader, and he slept, too, with sound, unbroken, heavy sleep. what between passions, and pleasures, and schemes, and exertions, his body and his mind were usually exhausted together; and throughout a long course of years he had slept each night, as he did now, with a slumber, deep, dreamless uninterrupted. the lamp remained unextinguished in the chamber; and for about an hour all was still, his heavy breathing being the only sound that made itself heard; except the occasional voices of revellers in other parts of the house, becoming more and more faint as the night advanced. at the end of that time, however, a female figure glided from between the curtains of the bed and approached the table. richard de ashby had left, lying across the letter which he had been writing, the dagger, with the pommel of which he had prepared to seal it, and kate greenly, with her teeth tight shut, and her brow knit, took up the weapon, drew it from the sheath, gazed upon the edge, and felt the sharp point. she then turned her head towards the bed, and strained her eyes upon it with a wild fierce look. the moment after, she thrust the blade back into its covering, and pressed her hand upon her brow, murmuring--"not now!--no, no, no!--not now!--the time may come, however--the time may come, richard!--but i will have thee in my power--at all events, i will have thee in my power! the worm thou treadest on may sting thy heel, oppressor.--thanks to the good priest who taught me to read and write!" she continued, taking up the letter and unfolding it. "would i had attended to his other teaching as well;" and bending over the lamp, she read:-- "come to me post haste, ellerby,"--so ran the letter--"i have a stag of ten for you to strike. my mind is made up, and i am resolved to throw down the screen that keeps me from the sun. if we succeed--and success is certain--your reward shall be in proportion to the deed: ten thousand sterlings to begin with. but you must not come alone, you must bring some three or four men with you, able and willing to perform a bold act; so make no delay, but quit all vain pastimes and idle pleasures, and hasten to certain fortune and success. "yours, as you shall use diligence, "r. a." kate greenly read the lines again and again, as if she wished to fix them indelibly on her mind; then folding up the letter again, she laid it down upon the table, placed the dagger across it, and remained musing for several minutes in deep thought. "no, no," she murmured, at length, "i will not believe it. no; he may wrong a poor girl like me; he may break his vows, oppress, and trample on the creature in his power; but murder--the murder of a kinsman?--no, no!--and yet," she added, "what can the words mean? they are strange--they are very strange! i will think of it no more--and yet i must think of it. i wish i had not seen that paper! but having seen it, i must see more.--i must watch--i must inquire. there shall be nothing kept from me now.--murder? it is very horrible.--but i will go to sleep." kate greenly crept quietly back to bed again; but the reader need not be told that she found there no repose. had her heart not been burdened even with her own sin, the dangerous knowledge she had acquired of the guilt of others would have been quite sufficient to banish sleep from her eyes. hour after hour she lay and thought over the words which she had read. she strove to find some other meaning for them; but, alas! she had, more than once before, heard muttered hints and dark longings for the possessions of others, which directed her mind ever to the same course, and ever to the same conclusion. the thought was agonizing to her; for, notwithstanding all her wrongs--notwithstanding anger and indignation--notwithstanding her knowledge that he was a villain--notwithstanding her certainty that he would cast her off whensoever it pleased him--ay, doom her to poverty, contempt, and disgrace--love for richard de ashby yet lingered in the heart of poor kate greenly. at length, just as the morning was growing grey, her heavy eyelids fell for a moment; and she was still asleep when her seducer rose and began his preparations for departure. he discovered not that the letter had been examined; but making her get up in haste to find some wax and silk, he sealed the epistle; and, after dispatching it by a messenger, set out himself for nottingham, carrying the unhappy girl with him, followed by only two attendants. chapter xxvii. "what seekest thou, fat friar?" said one of a party of three gentlemen, who were standing under the arch which gave entrance into the great court of nottingham castle. he was speaking to a large heavy-looking man, with round rosy face and double chin, who had been wandering hither and thither in the court for some time, but apparently without any very definite object--"what seekest thou, incarnation of the jolly god?" "i seek, my son," replied the friar, with a leer, "what you, perhaps, can show me, but which, nevertheless, it would be well, were you to seek it yourself." "nay, nay, no riddles, most jovial sphinx," replied sir william geary; "speak in plain language and i may help thee, but i am not inclined to play [oe]dipus for thy convenience. what is it thou meanest?" "i mean that i seek the right way," replied the priest. "but whither? whither?" asked sir william. "who, or what is it you want?" "i want to speak with the noble lord, hugh de monthermer," answered the friar, "who, i hear, comes in the king's train." "is brought, you mean," said sir harry grey; "for he comes as a prisoner. but to tell the truth, his captivity seems to captivate the whole court, for there is none now who receives any notice but hugh de monthermer." "the court must be getting wise in its old age," rejoined the friar. "methinks i shall follow it, too, as merit meets advancement. but, i beseech you, fair sir, tell me where the young lord makes abode; for though i find the doors of this castle as strait for, my fat sides as those of heaven, they are as many as those of the other place." "by my life, friar," replied sir william geary, "you will find him, if i judge rightly, with a lady, in the deep window of the great hall, taking thy trade over thy head; for, as i passed them, she seemed very much as if she were making confession." "she made the only one that was needful long ago," exclaimed sir harry grey; "for as i rode near them on the way from huntingdon, i heard her say, 'you know i do, hugh,'"--and he mimicked the tone of lucy's voice, adding, "what was wanting must have been--'love you'--of course." "nay, then, heaven forefend that i should interrupt confession," said the friar, with a laugh; "'tis contrary to the ordinance of holy church; but if you will show me, my son, which is his chamber, i will go thither and wait; for a small boy whom i met but now at the outer gate made a mock of me, and told me that if i took the third door, on the right hand, in the left hand corner, just beyond the fourth tower, after passing through the second gate, i should find a staircase which would lead me to the top of the castle; and when i had gone up, i might come down again. by my faith, if i could have reached him with my staff, i would have given him some wholesome correction; but he was too nimble for me; and my infirmities would not let me follow him." "your fat, you mean, friar," replied sir harry grey. "but tell me, how many casks of beer and butts of wine has it cost to complete that carcase of thine and paint that face?" "neither are finished yet, my son," answered the friar, "but when they are, i will sum up the items, and send thee in the bill. it will profit thee nothing, however, for thou, wilt never grow fat." "why not?" demanded the other, somewhat piqued. "show me the way, and i will tell thee," replied the friar. "well, then, go through that door under the arch," said sir harry, "and up the stairs, and the second door you come to leads to the lord hugh's chamber.--now, then, why shall i never get fat? by my faith, i am glad to hear such news." "didst never hear the old rhyme?" asked the friar-- "'a pleasant heart, a happy mind, that joy in all god's works can find, a conscience pure without a stain, a mind not envious nor vain, shall on man's head bring down god's benison, and fatten more than ale or venison.' heaven speed ye, gentlemen--thanks for your civil entertainment." thus saying, he rolled off with a low chuckle, and took his way through the door to which the courtier had directed him. one of the three gentlemen, as the reader may have observed, had taken no part in the conversation with the friar; he now, however, turned at once to sir william geary, asking--"do you know the scurvy knave?" "not i," answered sir william geary; "this is the first time i ever set eyes upon him; but he is evidently a shrewd and caustic villain, ready to make himself serviceable in many ways: do you know him, de margan, for you look mysterious?" "i have seen him within the last ten days," replied de margan, "but in a different part of england, and with companions from whom doubtless he brings messages to this noble lord hugh.--this matter must be watched, geary. i have some old scores of friendship to clear with hugh de monthermer; so let us mark well what follows this good priest's interview with him." "yes, i have heard of your adventure," said sir william geary, "and of your resolution to tell the old earl of certain moonlight meetings; but you may tell what you will, de margan, now, it will have no effect. why, the father seems as much in love with him as the daughter; and though the noble and right valiant old lord is now over at lindwell, preparing to eclipse all that has gone before, in his reception of the king, hugh de monthermer, each day since we have been here, has ridden over and spent the whole morning there, alone, i verily believe, with his lady-love." "i heard as much," answered guy de margan, impatiently--"i heard as much last night after my arrival; but i will find means, one way or another, to make this hugh de monthermer rue his braggart insolence." sir william geary paused for a moment with a thoughtful and somewhat bitter smile--"well, de margan," he said at length, drawing him aside from the rest, "if you want vengeance, methinks i know where there is a man to be found who will help you with his whole heart. no one knows of his being in nottingham but myself; but i have found him out, and will take you to him if you like to go." "who is he--who is he?" demanded the other. "no less a person than richard de ashby, the fair lady's cousin," answered geary. "he is possessed of a goodly hatred towards these monthermers, and, methinks, of no little love towards his bright cousin, lucy." de margan, however, scoffed at the idea--"what!" he cried, "a poverty-stricken beggarly dependant like that, to dare to lift his eyes to one so much above him!" "it may be to her dower he lifts his eyes," said sir william geary. "ambition is always a bold lover. but, however that may be, depend upon it, he will help you to your vengeance upon monthermer if you but concert your schemes together." "well--well!" replied sir guy; "i will go to him, geary. but let us first discover, if we can, something more regarding the errand of this friar. the man is a rank rebel, and a fautor of rebels. i saw him last with sir william lemwood, and all the rest of that crew, who were then hot for rebellion. i was sent to negotiate; but since then, that nest of treason has been suppressed, and doubtless he now comes to nottingham to hatch some new conspiracy if he prove strong enough. but we must watch him--we must watch him! and if hugh de monthermer do but trip, i will answer for it, he shall fall--ay, and heavily, too; so let him take care. i fear there is no chance of getting into some ante-chamber, and overhearing what passes?" "none--none!" cried his companion, "that is quite out of the question; but my room looks out upon the end of the staircase, whence we can easily see when this friar issues forth again." "we will watch him--we will watch him!" exclaimed de margan; "the very visit of such a man is in itself suspicious.--say you not so, geary?" "assuredly," answered sir william, with a bitter smile--"assuredly--to a suspicious mind;" and with this sarcasm, he turned, and led the way to his own apartment in the castle. whatever was the friar's errand with hugh de monthermer, he remained in his chamber more than an hour; and, when he issued forth, he was followed, not long after, by the young nobleman, who, on foot, and with a cloak of a sombre colour covering his gayer garments, took his way out into the town through the same gate by which the jolly cenobite had issued forth. "let us see where they go--let us see where they go!" cried guy de margan; and hurrying down, he and his companion also quitted the castle, and soon caught sight of the young nobleman. nottingham in those days was not so large a town as at present, but nevertheless, it was a place of very considerable importance; and then, as at present, its steep streets and rocky flights of steps running down the curious sort of cone on which it stands, gave one the idea of its being built upon a beehive. walking down the road which led from the castle, hugh de monthermer proceeded for some way, and then took the first flight of steps that he came to, descending towards the lower part of the town; but, as at the bottom there were two ways which he might pursue, the gentlemen who were fulfilling the honourable office of spy upon his actions, and both of whom knew nottingham well, separated for the time, appointing a spot to meet again, in order that he might not escape them. they had just rejoined each other in the lower part of the town, near the old gate, when hugh, of whom guy de margan had not lost sight, paused and looked round him, as if not quite certain of his way, causing his pursuers to draw back behind a booth which protruded into the street. the moment after, he proceeded again, directing his steps straight through the gate; and they, darting out, followed him so quickly that they had well-nigh come suddenly upon him, as he stopped by the side of the friar whom they had before seen. the worthy monk however, was no longer on foot, but mounted upon a strong, tall, vicious looking mule; and, at the same time, he held by the bridle a large bony horse, equipped as for a journey. hugh de. monthermer was at that moment putting his foot into the stirrup, and in an instant was upon the beast's back. "this looks very like a prisoner making his escape," said guy de margan. "shall i call upon the people to stop him?" "no--no!" replied geary, "he is not making his escape; and if he were, he would be gone before you could do anything. he has a thousand opportunities of escaping every day if he likes it. 'tis unlucky we have no horses with us." "he is going on no lawful errand, depend upon it," exclaimed guy de margan, "with that monk for a guide. i doubt not his journey will end in a meeting with some of the very rebels the king has come down to quell.--i will go and tell the prince what i have seen, and what i suspect likewise." "pshaw! never think of telling the prince," said geary, with his usual shrewd look and sarcastic turn of the lip, "that will never answer _your_ purpose, de margan. the prince is a sensible man; and, besides, you could not if you would. edward is away; he set out this morning with five hundred men for derby. tell the king--tell the king! you can make him believe anything you like.--your mother was a jewess, wasn't she?" guy de margan turned upon him with a furious look and his hand upon his dagger, for the words of his companion implied what in that day was the grossest insult which one gentleman could offer to another; but geary added, immediately, "an italian, i mean--an italian. what was i thinking of? you know a single drop of foreign blood in any one's veins is quite enough to secure the favour of the king. but come and see richard de ashby first; and concoct your scheme together. i will leave you with him; for i do not want to share your councils. it will be jest enough to see the result." the gibing spirit of sir william geary did not well accord with guy de margan's mood at the moment; and he was not at all sorry to find that he was soon to be delivered from his society. walking on through some of the narrow streets which then formed the lower part of the good town of nottingham, with the projecting gables of the upper stories shading them from the sun, and nearly meeting overhead, they at length reached a curiously carved and ornamented wooden house, small and sunk in amongst the others, so as scarcely to be seen by any one passing hurriedly along, like a modest and retiring man jostled back from observation by the obtrusive crowd. here sir william geary applied for admittance, but before it was granted a full observation was taken of his person, and that of his companion, by a servant looking through a small round window at the side. at length the door was opened, and after some difficulty sir guy de margan was permitted to enter, sir william geary leaving him as he went in. chapter xxviii. it was on the day following that which saw the visit of guy de margan to richard de ashby, that the two lovers stood together at the open casement of one of the magnificent rooms in lindwell castle, with joy in their hearts, such as they had never before known in life. they had thought, indeed, during the journey from eltham to nottingham, that it was hardly possible anything so bright and sweet could last as the dream-like and uncertain delight which they then enjoyed in each other's society, in the sort of toleration which their love received, and in the hopes to which that toleration gave rise. but now hugh de monthermer had come with happier tidings still; and, with his arm circling her he loved, her hand clasped in his, and her head leaning on his shoulder, he told her that her father had been with him for an hour that day, previous to his noon visit to the king, and had given his decided consent to their union. he had expressed some doubts, the lover said, as to her brother alured's view of the matter, but had promised to take upon himself the task of bringing his son's fiery and intractable spirit to reason; and certain it is that when the young nobleman left nottingham castle to proceed with his small train to lindwell, the earl of ashby had fully and entirely made up his mind to bestow his daughter's hand upon hugh de monthermer with as little delay as possible. nor was it merely caprice which had produced so favourable a change of feeling in the present instance, although he was by nature, it must be confessed, somewhat capricious and undecided. he had always liked the young knight, even when the two houses of ashby and monthermer were opposed to each other in former days. he had once or twice bestowed a caress upon the boy, when he had met him accidentally at the court of the king, and hugh had shown a degree of affection for him in return, which had produced one of those impressions in his favour that time strengthens rather than effaces. various circumstances had since caused him to vacillate, as we have seen; but when after the battle of evesham he found that hugh was in high favour with the gallant prince, who had just saved his father's throne, when he saw the way open before him to the brightest career at the court of his sovereign, and remembered at the same time that he must inevitably unite in his own person all the power and fortune of the two great branches of his noble house, he felt, that in a mere worldly point of view, a better alliance could not be found throughout the land. he was, therefore, but little inclined to throw any obstacle in the way; and during the progress down to nottingham,--a progress which in those times occupied sixteen or seventeen days--he perceived two facts which fixed his resolution: first, that his daughter whom he loved better than aught else on earth, had staked her happiness on a union with hugh de monthermer; and next, that it was the earnest desire of edward--though the prince did not make it a positive request, that no obstacle should be thrown in the way of his friend's marriage with her he loved. thus, he himself had, during that morning, led the way to a conversation which ended in his promising lucy's hand to hugh de monthermer; and it had been arranged that, as the king, at the end of two days, was to visit lindwell and be there entertained for a week, the announcement of the approaching marriage should be publicly made on the morning of the monarch's arrival. such were the happy tidings which hugh himself bore over to lucy, and they now stood at that window gazing over the fair scene before their eyes, with feelings in their hearts which can never be known but once in life--feelings, the same in their nature and their character in the bosom of each, though modified of course, by sex, by habits, and by disposition. it was all joy and expectation and the looking forward to the long bright days of mutual love; but with lucy that joy was timid, agitating, overpowering. all her gay and sparkling cheerfulness sunk beneath the weight of happy hopes, as one sometimes sees a bee so overloaded with honey that he can scarce carry his sweet burden home; and she had neither a jest to throw away upon herself or any one else, but, as we have said, stood quiet and subdued by hugh de monthermer's side, his arm half supporting her, and her head leaning on his shoulder. he, too, though always tender and kind towards her, seemed softened still more, by the circumstances in which he was placed. even the eager love within his bosom controlled itself, lest its ardour should alarm and agitate the gentle being, whom he now looked upon as all his own. he soothed her, he calmed her, his caresses were light and tender; and he even strove to win her thoughts away from the more agitating parts of the subject on which they rested, to those which would give her back firmness and tranquillity. he called her mind back to the day they had spent together in the forest, to the promises they had made, and to the restrictions she had placed upon hers. he acknowledged that it was better she had done so, but he added--"i may now ask you unhesitatingly, dear lucy, to pledge me here the vow that you will soon make at the altar, and to tell me that you are mine, and will be for ever mine." "oh, willingly, willingly, now!" answered lucy, withdrawing her hand for a moment, and then giving it back again. "yours i am, hugh, whatever betide--yours and none but yours,--yours through weal and woe, through life, till death--oh, yes, and after death!" and she hid her eyes for a moment on his bosom, with the sweet tears of happy emotion rising is them till they well-nigh over-ran the dark fringed lid. then, turning again to the view before their eyes, they both gazed forth in silence, with their hearts full and their minds busy. alas, poor lovers! they little knew that their fate was like the changeful autumn day, whose clouds and sunshine were sweeping rapidly over the wide forest scene on which they looked, now sparkling in the full glory of light, and the next moment, ere one could see the storm in its approach, dark and heavy with the raindrops rushing down, and tearing the brown leaves from the fading trees. one of those heavy showers had just cleared away, and the rays of the sun were sparkling again over the jewelled ground, when, about an hour after hugh's arrival, a large and splendid train was seen coming across the green slopes from nottingham, betokening the return of the earl. he rode on quickly, and lucy and her lover advanced into the richly carved stone balcony, to wave the hand and welcome him back with looks that spoke their gratitude and joy; but the earl did not raise his eyes, and both hugh and his fair companion perceived, as he approached, that in the train of the earl were several gentlemen not belonging to his own household. a moment or two after, steps were heard ascending, and as they were many, lucy darted away through a small door which led, by another staircase, to her own apartments, believing that her father was bringing some strangers to the castle, and wishing to remove the traces of recent agitation from her countenance before she met them. hugh de monthermer was not long left alone. lucy was scarcely gone when the voice of the earl of ashby was heard speaking to some of those who had accompanied him. "stay you here, gentlemen," he said, "he will return with you to the king--be not afraid; i will be his surety.--let me speak with him first;" and the next instant the earl entered the hall, with his eyes bent upon the ground and a cloud upon his brow. though conscious of perfect innocence, and knowing of no danger that was likely to befal him, the heart of hugh de monthermer sunk at the words which he heard the lord de ashby utter. they came upon his ear like the announcement of new misfortunes, of new obstacles between lucy and himself. it is true they might have meant a thousand other things, they might have referred even to some other person, but how often do we see a boy in the midst of a sunshiny holiday take alarm at the shadow of a light cloud, and fancy that a storm is coming on. hugh de monthermer was too brightly happy not to tremble lest his happiness should pass away like a dream. advancing, then, rapidly towards the earl, he said, with his usual frank and generous bearing, "what is the matter, my noble lord? you seem sad and downcast, though you were so gay and cheerful this morning." "everything has changed since this morning, sir," answered the earl, "and my mood with the rest. the king forbids your marriage with my daughter; and, as my consent was but conditional----" hugh's indignation would not bear restraint. "this is most unjust and tyrannical"--he replied aloud; "but i do believe some one has poisoned the king's mind against me, for until yesterday morning he was all favour and kindness. prince edward is now absent, and some villain has taken advantage thereof to abuse the monarch's ear." "of that i know nothing," answered the earl, coldly, "but at all events he has forbidden the marriage--and consequently i require you to give me back my plighted word that it should take place." "never!" exclaimed hugh de monthermer, vehemently, "never!--i will never be accessory to my own bitter and unjust disappointment.--you may, my lord, if you will--but i do not think you will--you may break your promise, you may withdraw your consent, but it shall be your own act and none of mine. i stand before you here, as honest and innocent of all offence as ever man was; and, if there was no cause this morning why you should refuse me your dear daughter's hand, there is none now." "there is--there is," cried the earl, sharply,--"the king's express command." "given upon some false showing," said hugh de monthermer. "i will go to him this moment. i will dare my accusers to bring forward their charge to my face. i will prove their falsehood upon them--first by show of witnesses, and next by arms--and bitterly shall they repent the day that they dared sully my name by a word. i know them,--i know who they are, and their contrivances, right well. i had a warning of their being near, last night.--i do beseech you, my lord, tell me, of what do they accuse me? and fear not that i will soon exculpate myself." "nay, i know not, accurately, hugh," replied the earl, in a kindlier tone than he had hitherto used. "i have heard, however, that there is a charge against you, a general charge of conspiring with those enemies of the state who have been striving to raise once more the standard of rebellion in the north and in the marches of wales." "it is false--it is as false as hell!" cried hugh; but then, after a moment, growing calmer, he took the old earl's hand, saying, "forgive me, my dear lord, if, in the heat of so bitter a disappointment, i have said anything that could pain or offend you. forgive me, i entreat you--and promise me two things." "what are they, my good lord?" demanded the earl. "i will, if they are meet and reasonable." hugh de monthermer lowered his voice from the tone in which he had before been speaking, and replied, "they are meet and reasonable, my lord, or i would not ask them. first, promise me that the moment i am gone you will write a letter to prince edward, telling him that his humble friend, hugh de monthermer, is accused of crimes which he declares he never dreamt of. beseech him to return with all speed to see justice done, and send the packet by a trusty messenger to derby, where the prince now lies." "i will--i will," answered the earl; "it shall be done within an hour. but what more, hugh--what more?" "this, my dear lord," replied the young nobleman,--"your messenger will reach derby to-night; and, if i know prince edward rightly, ere to-morrow's sun be an hour declined from high noon, he will be in nottingham. i will beseech the king to wait till that moment, to hear my full defence. what i ask then is, that you will meet me in the presence, and, if you cannot lay your hand upon your heart and say that you believe me guilty, you will renew your promise of dear lucy's hand, and urge the king with me to give his consent likewise." the old lord hesitated, but at length answered, "well!" "then now farewell, my lord," said hugh de monthermer. "i must not stay till your dear daughter comes. after the happy hour we passed but now together, 'twould well-nigh break my heart to see her under other circumstances." thus saying, he wrung the old man's hand, and strode towards the door, but turning for an instant before he quitted the chamber, he saw that the earl stood fixed in the midst of the hall, with a hesitating air; and he added, aloud, "you will not fail, my lord!" "no, no," replied the earl, "i will meet you at the hour you named.--fear not, i will not fail." there was a wide landing-place between the top of the stairs and the door of the hall; and hugh de monthermer found it crowded with gentlemen belonging to henry's court. the moment he appeared, sir guy de margan advanced towards him, saying, "lord hugh de monthermer, i am commanded by the king----" but hugh interrupted his address, frowning upon him sternly, "to summon me to his majesty's presence!" he said. "i go thither, at once, sir, and that is enough!--take care, sir guy de margan!" he added, seeing him still approaching him; "remember, i am not fond of your close presence!"--and he brought the hilt of his long sword nearer to his right hand, striding onward to the top of the staircase, as he did so; while the gentlemen who occupied the landing, not exactly liking the expression of his countenance, made way for him on either side, and guy de margan bit his lip with an angry frown, not daring to approach too closely. the young nobleman's horse, and the attendants who had accompanied him, were ready in the court; and springing into the saddle, without giving the slightest attention to those who followed, he shook his bridle rein, and galloped on towards nottingham. the others came after at full speed: and both parties entered the city, and passed the gates of the castle almost at the same moment. dismounting from his horse, hugh proceeded at once towards the royal apartments, leaving several of the pages and attendants behind him, unquestioned, on his way. in the ante-room of the audience chamber he met william de valence, for the time one of the prime favourites of the monarch; and stopping him, he asked, "can i speak with his majesty, my lord of pembroke? i find i have been accused wrongfully, and must clear myself." "his grace expects your lordship," answered the earl, with an icy look; "but he expects to see you in custody." "there was no need, sir," replied hugh; "i fear not to meet my king, and never need force to make me face my foes. will you bring me to the presence--that is all i require." "follow me, then," said the earl; and opening the door, he announced the arrival of the young knight to henry, who immediately ordered him to be brought in. the monarch was seated near a table, with the lord mortimer standing by him. they were apparently jesting upon some subject, for both were smiling when hugh de monthermer entered; but the moment the weak and tyrannical sovereign's eyes fell upon him, an angry scowl came upon his countenance, which brought king john strongly back to the minds of those who remembered that feeble and cold-blooded prince. "so, sir," said henry, "you have come of your accord, to meet the reward of your high merits!" "i come, your grace," replied hugh, bowing low, "to meet my accusers in your royal presence, and to give them the lie in their teeth, if they dare to charge me with any act contrary to my allegiance or my duty." "what!" said the king--"was consorting with de montfort, was fighting at evesham, not contrary to your allegiance?" "oh! my lord," answered hugh, "if the charge goes as far back as that, i must plead both your grace's special pardon, and your general amnesty to all who laid down their arms, made submission, and offended not again!" "but you have offended again," exclaimed the king; "that is the chief charge against you." "and whoever does make it," replied hugh de monthermer, "is a false and perjured traitor, and i will prove it upon him, either by investigation before your majesty, or by wager of battle--my body against his, with god for the judge." "nay--nay, sir," said henry, "we know your strength and skill in arms right well; and this is not a case where we will trust plain justice to be turned from its course by a strong arm and a bold but perverse heart. we ourselves will be your accuser, with whom there can be no wager of battle; and those we call to prove your crime shall be but witnesses." "my lord, that cannot be," replied hugh, boldly. "my king will never be judge and accuser, both in one." "then you shall have other judges," cried the monarch; "your peers shall judge you. but, if you be truly innocent, you will not scruple now to answer at once the charges made against you." "it is for that, i come," replied the young knight. "unprepared, not knowing what these charges are, i come to meet them as i may. i pray you, let me hear them." while he and the king had been speaking, a number of new faces had appeared in the audience chamber, comprising all those who had followed the young nobleman from lindwell; and henry, running his eye over them, exclaimed--"stand forth, guy de margan--and you, hugh fitzhugh--and you, sir william geary, come near also, and say of what you accuse lord hugh de monthermer." "'faith, sire," replied sir william geary, with his usual sarcastic grin, "i accuse the noble knight of nothing. i was at the pass of arms at northampton, my lord, when he unhorsed the four best lances in the field. now, i never was particularly strong in the knees, and, moreover, am getting somewhat rusty with years; so god forbid that i should accuse any man who talks of the wager of battle. when i heard it, i trembled almost as much as sir guy de margan here." "it is false! i trembled not!" exclaimed sir guy. "true--true," answered the other, "you only shook, and looked sickly." "sir william geary," cried the king, "this is no jesting matter! speak what it was you told me that you saw." "i saw a fat monk," replied sir william geary, whose inclination for a joke could hardly be restrained--"a jolly monk as ever my eyes rested upon, and this fat monk, sire," he continued, more seriously, seeing that the king was becoming angry, "stopped, and asked his way to the apartments of the noble lord. he jested as wittily with sir harry grey as a court fool does with a thick-headed country lad; but when he had gone on his way, sir guy de margan here, a very serious and reputable youth, as your majesty knows, told me, in mysterious secrecy, that the friar was a very treacherous piece of fat indeed--a traitor's messenger--a go-between of rebels--a personage whom he had himself known with sir william lemwood and the rest, in the marches of wales. so, inviting him sweetly into my chamber, we two watched together for the monk's going forth from this noble lord's apartments which was not for more than an hour. in the meanwhile, pious sir guy entertained me with his shrewd suspicions, of how the monk and the valiant knight were hatching treason together, which, as you know, sire, is a cockatrice's egg, laid by male fowls, and hatched by dragons looking at it. a very pretty allegory of a conspiracy, if we did but read fools for fowls--that by the way; but to return to my tale:--the monk at length appeared in the courtyard again, and shortly after the lord hugh de monthermer, him following. thereupon; one of those irresistible inclinations which set the legs in motion, whether man will or not, seized upon me and good sir guy; and drawn as if by that rock of adamant on which the earl is fixed, we pursued, without power of resistance, the path of knight and friar. just at the gate of the city we found our ascetic friend mounted on a mule, and holding a horse for his knightly acquaintance, on which we saw the gallant lord spring, and after that they rode away together. this is all i have to say, sire, and what i have said is true; but far be it from me to take any accusation against a knight who can squeeze a horse to death between his two knees, or stop a charger in full course by catching hold of an iron ring, and grasping the beast with his two legs." "what have you to answer, sir?" demanded the king, turning to hugh. "simply that i saw a monk yesterday, sire," replied the young nobleman, "and that he stayed with me nearly an hour, talking much of venison, and somewhat of hunting. he may, from his language, have committed the crime of taking a fat buck when he had no right to do so; but, by my faith, that is the only treason i should suspect him of, and not one word did he utter in my presence, either about risings, rebellions, or aught else that could move your royal displeasure." "ha! what say you to this, sir guy de margan?" asked the king. "tell us, who is this friar? is he a rebel, or is he not?" "notoriously so, my lord," replied guy de margan. "i found him with lemwood and the other traitors, to whom you, sire, sent me for the purpose of negotiation; and it would seem that he had come to comfort them with promises of assistance from the north." "but yet that does not prove," said mortimer, "that the lord hugh held any treasonable converse with him. his business with that good lord might have been of a very simple kind." malevolent injustice becomes most dangerous when it assumes the garb of equity; and mortimer, who knew the whole that was to come, only assumed the style of an impartial judge, that his after persecution of the young nobleman might seem dictated by a sense of justice. "it might have been so, indeed," replied guy de margan, "had it but been a visit from the friar to my lord of monthermer; but their setting forth together would seem strange; and the secrecy observed in the monk quitting the castle first, and the knight following at a little distance, renders it more strange still. perhaps lord hugh will condescend to explain why he went, and where." "methinks," answered hugh, "that the honourable spies who crept after my footsteps from the castle to the town gate, might have carried their inquiries a little farther, when they would have saved the necessity of such questions here." "in regard to one point," said hugh fitzhugh, a large, burly norman gentleman--"in regard to one point, i, at least, can give some explanation. what he went for i can but divine, but where he went i know right well. he rode out with all speed to the forest, for i saw him there with this same monk they mention. the truth is, i had somewhat missed my way; and coming through some of the by-paths of the wood, i suddenly chanced upon a party of five persons in deep and earnest conversation. three of them had vizards on their faces, too, and the two that were unmasked were hugh de monthermer and the friar we have heard of. now, my lord the king, unless he explain that, we have no explanation at all. but your wisdom will judge." "let him explain, if he will," said the king, "or rather, if he can. i doubt it much; but i am willing to hear." "my lord," replied hugh de monthermer, "for once in their lives these noble gentlemen have told the truth: i did go out after the priest; i did accompany him into the forest; i did meet three men there--but with no evil purpose; nor did one word transpire which any man could call treason." "who were the men you went to see?" demanded the king. "nay, sire," replied hugh, "you must forgive me, if i give not their names. my accusers, if they charge me with crime, must show that i have been guilty of it. now no such thing is even attempted to be proved. all that they assert is, that i spoke with a friar, rode out with a friar, and was seen conversing with three unknown persons in sherwood. if this be held as treason, god defend the innocent!" "but, my good lord," said mortimer, to whom the king turned his eyes, "it is shown that this friar, who took you forth to speak with three other men, is himself a notorious traitor, and you must show that the others were not so also, or the imputation will lie against you of consorting with, and concealing the counsel of, the king's enemies." "which is a high crime, my lord," added henry, sternly. hugh de monthermer gazed down thoughtfully on the ground for a moment, for he found that he was placed in a situation of much greater difficulty and danger than he imagined; but looking up at length, he answered, "my lord the king, i am here in this presence without friends or counsellors to aid or to assist me. i have come without forethought or preparation, as fast as my horse would hear me, to answer a charge, cunningly contrived beforehand by my enemies. i do beseech you, give me but four-and-twenty hours to consider well how i ought to act. if i may have any one to advise with me, i shall esteem it as a grace; but if not, at all events let me have time for thought myself. i know that i can prove my innocence, beyond all doubt, if i have time to do it." "you shall have time and counsel too," replied the king, "but it shall be under custody. my lord of mortimer, attach him in our name. let him be conveyed to his chamber; set a strong guard upon the door; and give access to any one of his servants, but not more, that he may have free leave to send for what counsellor he will; let that counsellor visit him; and as he asks for four-and-twenty hours, bring him before us again at this same time to-morrow." the earl of mortimer took a few steps forward, as if to attach the young nobleman for high treason, but hugh de monthermer bowed his head, saying, "i surrender myself willingly, my lord, and fixing my full reliance on the king's justice, await the event of to-morrow without fear." he then left the presence under the custody of mortimer, and was conducted to the chamber which he had occupied since his arrival at nottingham, and which comprised, as was usually the case with those assigned to noblemen of high rank, a bed-room for himself, and an ante-room, across the entrance of which one or two of his attendants usually slept, barring all dangerous access to their lord during the night. having beckoned some of the king's guard as they passed along, mortimer stationed two soldiers at the door of the ante-room, and took measures for their regular relief on the rounds. he then entered with his prisoner, and finding stout tom blawket in the ante-room, he asked whether the young nobleman would choose him as the attendant who was to be permitted to wait upon him, or would send for any other. "i should have asked for him, my lord, had i not found him here," replied hugh. "i thank you for your courtesy, however, and trust that the time may come when, having proved my innocence, i may repay it." "i hope to see you soon at liberty," rejoined mortimer, with a dark smile; and retiring from the chamber, he ordered another guard to be stationed at the foot of the staircase. no sooner was he gone, than hugh called the stout yeoman into the inner room, and bade him shut the door. "nay, look not downcast, blawket," he said, as the man entered with a sad and apprehensive look, "this storm will soon pass away. indeed, it would have been dissipated already, but that i was embarrassed by a matter which will be joyful tidings to you." "i know what you would say, my lord," replied the good yeoman, "for, since we have been here, i have heard of the noble earl. that urchin boy who served you some time at hereford, sprang up behind me one day when i was crossing the forest, and told me all about it." "well, then, blawket," continued hugh, "no time is to be lost; get to your horse's back with all speed, and ride along upon the east side of sherwood, taking the southwell road till you come to the _mere mark_--a tall post painted with red stripes--there turn into the wood for some five hundred yards, and sound three mots upon your horn, whoever comes to you, will lead you to my uncle. tell him i have been watched; that the man who passed while we were speaking together yesterday recognised me; and combining that fact with others, has given a face of truth to an accusation of treason against me. show him that i dare not say who it was i met, lest the forest should be searched and his retreat discovered. when twenty-four hours are over, however, i must speak, if i would save my head from the axe, for i see that there is a dark conspiracy against me, and i am without support. beseech him to put as many miles as may be between himself and nottingham, ere this hour to-morrow, for the king's wrath burns as fiercely against him as ever. away, good blawket--away!--should any one stop you, and ask you where you are going, say for master roger more, a clerk well skilled in the laws, and lose no time." "i will not spare the spur, my lord," replied blawket, and withdrew, leaving hugh de monthermer in meditations, which were sad and gloomy, notwithstanding all his efforts to convince himself that no real danger hung over him. chapter xxix. the wind was from the south, sighing softly through the trees--the sun had gone down about half an hour--the moon was rising, though not yet visible to the eye, except to the watchers on castle towers, or the lonely shepherd on the mountain. the night was as warm as midsummer, though the year had now waned far; and in the sky there were none but light and fleecy clouds, which scarcely dimmed the far twinkling stars as they shone out in the absence of the two great rulers of the night and day. it was one of those sweet evenings which we would choose to wander through some fair scene with the lady that we love, looking for the moon's rising from behind the old ivy-clad ruin, and re-peopling the shady recesses of wood and dale with the fairy beings of old superstition, though they have long given place to the harsher realities of a state of society which has become, to use rosalind's term, "a working-day world indeed." such was the night when, under the brown boughs of the wood, with yellow leaves overhead and long fern around, sat a party of some seven or eight stout men, dressed in the green garb which we have already described in another place. their bows rested against the trees close by, their swords hung in the baldrics by their side, some horses were heard snorting and champing at no great distance, and a large wallet lay in the midst, from which the long-armed dwarf, tangel, was drawing forth sundry articles of cold provision, together with two capacious leathern bottles and a drinking cup of horn. there were two persons there whom the reader already knows--the bold leader of the forest outlaws, and the old earl of monthermer--now, alas! an outlaw likewise. though his wounds had been severe, and he had suffered much both in body and in mind, the old knight's spirit seemed still unquenched. on the contrary, indeed, with no weighty matters pressing on his mind, with the fate and fortune of others, nay, of his country itself, no longer hanging on his advice, it seemed as if a load had been removed from his bosom; and as he half sat, half lay, upon the turf, he could jest with the men around him more lightly than in his stately hours of power and influence. "poor hunting, robin! poor hunting!" he said. "now i would not have this day's sport recorded against us, as true foresters, for very shame." "'tis no want of craft, my good lord," replied robin, "'tis the nearness of the court which drives all honest beasts away. we might have had bucks enough, but that they are rank just now." "like the age, robin--like the age!" answered the earl. "however, we must e'en make the best of our fate, and put in the bag what fortune chooses to send. there are hares enow, and a fine doe, though you were as tender of them as if they had been children." "i never love to wing an arrow at a doe," said robin hood. "i know not why, they always look to me like women, and often do i lie in the spring time and see them trip along with their dainty steps, their graceful heads moving to and fro, and their bright black eyes looking as conscious as a pretty maid's at a may-day festival; and i think there must be some truth in the old story of men's souls sometimes taking possession of a beast's body." "not so often, robin," rejoined the earl, "as a beast's soul taking possession of a man's body. i could pick you out as goodly a herd from the court of england as ever trooped through the shades of sherwood, or were driven out by the piping swineherd to eat acorns in the lanes by southwell." "doubtless, doubtless, my lord," replied robin; "men will make beasts of themselves in all places, while the honester four-legged things of the forest seem as if they wanted to gem up, manward. why, down by that very place, southwell, there is a fallow doe who knows me as well as if she were one of my band; she comes when i call her, if she be within hearing, and lets me rub her long hairy ears by the half-hour. then what long talks will we have together! i ask her all sorts of questions; and she contrives to answer one way or another, till, if i be too saucy with her about her antlered loves, she butts at me with her round hornless head, and stamps her tiny foot upon the ground. you would say 'twas a very woman, if you saw her." "'tis a wonder that she has escaped without an arrow in her side," replied the earl. "nay," cried robin; "there is not a man in sherwood or twenty miles round, who would pierce a hole in her brown bodice for all that he is worth. every one knows robin hood's doe; and foul befal him that hurts her. but come, tangel, what hast thou got there? 'tis so dark, i cannot see." "a huge hare pie," said tangel, "and bottles of stuff to baste it with; but the crust's as hard as the sole of a shoe, and unless thine anelace be somewhat sharper than thy wit, thou wilt go without thy supper, and be obliged to take the testament of the scotch tinker." "and what is that?" asked robin. "drink for all," replied the dwarf; "but i will light a torch, robin, lest thou shouldst cut thine invaluable thumb, and spoil thy shooting for the next month." a torch was soon lighted; and, seated round the great hare pasty, robin hood and his friends began their evening meal. but the horn cup had only gone once round when the outlaw held up his hand, crying, "silence!" and interrupting a burst of merriment which one of tangel's hard jests upon a forester opposite had just produced. all was silent in a moment amongst the little party; but no other sound reached their ears, and robin hood was again resuming the conversation, saying, "i thought i heard a horn," when the notes were repeated, but it was still far in the distance. "it is yockley, from the second mere," said the outlaw, starting up. "it must be your nephew, my lord, who sounded first. i expect no one from such a quarter to-night; but i must answer; and yockley will bring him hither." thus saying, he put his horn to his lips and blew a long blast upon it, very different from that which they had just heard, but well understood by all the foresters as indicating where their leader was to be found. "is it not dangerous, robin?" said the earl. "i expect not my nephew here, and we are but six." "we could soon call more," replied robin; "and our horses are near. but if there be any danger in the party, yockley will not bring them hither. now, take some more food, my lord, and send round the cup again. it must be the lord hugh, escaped from the revel of the castle, to take a ride in sherwood by the moon's light." no more was said in regard to the sounding of the horn; and the merry jest again went on, around the green table where their viands were spread. the torch, stuck in a hole in the ground, shed its light upon the various faces in the circle and upon the sylvan repast; and a song from one of the foresters cheered the minutes, till, at length, again the horn hastened much nearer, and robin again gave his accustomed reply. in about three minutes more the forms of a man on horseback and another on foot by his side, were seen coming through the trees, while the eyes of the whole party round the torch were turned towards them. "why, who is this?" exclaimed the earl; "my good yeoman, tom blawket, as i live! he has found his old lord out, even in sherwood." the eyes of blawket had not been idle as he came up; and though the earl was no longer habited as the high noble of a splendid and ostentatious age, the faithful servant singled him out instantly. springing from his horse, he kissed his master's hand with affectionate reverence, while a tear stood in his eye; but he could utter nothing except, "oh, my lord!" "well, blawket," replied the earl, laying his hand on the yeoman's shoulder, "i am glad to see thee, my good friend, though thy coming may be somewhat dangerous." "i come not without cause, my lord," said blawket, "and sad cause too, and i must give my message hastily, for there is no time to lose. your nephew, sir, has been arrested on suspicion of treason, being seen conversing with three masked men in the forest. he dared not say that one of them was yourself, my lord, because a price has been set upon your head; and the first word of your being near would send half the nobles of the court hunting you through sherwood." "let them come!" said robin hood, calmly; "we would entertain them well." "he refused to answer their questions," continued blawket, "and has gained some four and twenty hours--that is, till to-morrow at the hour of two or three, when they will be put to him again, he, in the meantime, remaining a close prisoner. he therefore prays you, my lord, to provide for your own safety with all speed, leaving this part of the forest, and betaking yourself to a distance from nottingham." "where is the prince?" demanded the old earl. "he is gone to derby, as i hear," replied the yeoman, "to put down some rough-handed clowns amongst the mountains there, who will not believe that the great earl of leicester is dead." "these are bad tidings, indeed," said robin hood; "we cannot storm nottingham castle, i fear, and set him free." "bad tidings, indeed," repeated the earl; "and i know not well whether to go at once to the king's court and justify poor hugh, or----" "nay, nay, my lord," cried robin hood, "that will not do. i have always found it best when one of sound discretion, whom we love, beseeches us for his sake to do this or that, not to aim at more than he requires, thinking that we can better his advice, but simply to perform his bidding if we can. otherwise, not knowing all the secret causes of his desire, we often break his purpose while we seek to mend it. he asks you to go, my lord; 'twere better to do so far. i will remain: nay, go nearer still to nottingham, this very night; and the castle walls will be thicker and stronger than they ever have been yet, if i hear not all that takes place within them. nay, more--should danger threaten the good young lord, we will find means to give him help. although, as the old song goes, 'the castle walls are strong and high,' yet there are means of leaping over them, if one have but a good will.--fear not, my lord--fear not! all that your nephew asks is to be enabled, by your absence in some place of safety, to acknowledge whom it was he met in the forest here, without danger to yourself. was it not so, tom?" "exactly so," replied the yeoman, "and he seemed no way cast down. but the king's people are eager enough after him, that is clear, for i found that they dogged me nearly to lambley haggard, which made me so long, otherwise i should have been down two hours ago, for i was forced to ride on, and then come back again. i found one of them still waiting near the mere; but, as he was teasing a pretty boy who seemed to have lost his way, i picked a quarrel with the vermin, and so belaboured him that he will dog no honest man again for some weeks to come, even if he can contrive to drag his bones back to nottingham to-night." "well done, yeoman--well done, tom!" cried several voices; and the old earl, who had been buried in thought while his servant spoke, now turned to his forest companion, saying, "send a quick messenger to the prince, robin. it is with him that hugh's safety rests. it seems that i ought to go hence, and therefore i will do so at once; but, blawket--you speed back to lord hugh, and tell him, that if need be, i am willing, at a moment's notice, to surrender myself into the prince's hand--ay, or the king's, though that, i know, were death--for the few days of my old life are worth nought compared with the long high course before him. speed you back, blawket, at once, while i will mount and away! robin, let me have one of your men with me. come, morton of the moor, you shall show me the way." a few words more passed between robin and the earl, ere the old nobleman departed; but, as soon as he was gone, the bold forester turned to blawket, who was already on his horse's back, exclaiming, "stay, tom, a moment! who was this boy you spoke of?--where have you left him?" "i know not, the boy," answered blawket, "and i left him with one of your people, upon assurance of safety and of freedom to come and go, for he was weary and seemed terrified." "he is with harry of mansfield," joined in yockley, who had accompanied the yeoman thither, "and we both promised that we would let him go when he liked, for it was of being kept he seemed most afraid. but he asked for you, robin, and so harry is bringing him along down the vert course and by the roe lane." "we must on, and meet them," said robin hood. "go you back, good blawket, speedily, and should anything new happen, come again to the second mere. you, yockley, go on to the lodge as fast as your legs can carry you, and bring up the people there to the royal-hart pond. lead on the horses,--i will afoot." thus saying, he walked on, with his arms folded on his broad chest and his eyes bent upon the ground. his countenance was seldom, if ever, gloomy, for serenity was one of its peculiar characteristics. sometimes it was grave indeed, and very often thoughtful, but the wrinkled frown had no place there, and even when the quick burst of anger crossed it, it showed itself only in the lightning of the eye and the expansion of the nostril. his face was now anxious, however, and as he walked along, his lips, as was very frequent with him, gave unwitting utterance to that which was passing in his heart. "we must not let him perish," he said. "i doubt this king--he is too weak to be honest. 'tis strange how near the fool and the rogue are akin. wisdom and goodness,--ay, wisdom and goodness,--they are brother and sister; the one somewhat gentler than the other, but of the same blood." the pace of a thoughtful man is generally slow, but it was not so with robin hood upon the present occasion; for while he thus meditated, and murmured broken sentences to himself, he strode on at a rapid rate, till, at the distance of about a mile from the spot where he had been seated with the earl, the sound of voices speaking met his ear, and pausing, he turned to one of those behind him, saying, "you must ride to derby, dickon; seek out the prince, say you bring him a message from the lord hugh de monthermer, and, when you see him, add that if he would save a friend's life, he must to nottingham with all speed. take one of the horses as far as beeston--it will carry you well so far; but you must use speed. so, knock up the merry miller, and bid him, for love of robin hood, to lend you his black mare to derby. away, with you, good dickon, and when in derby, tell good margery green, of the setting sun, to send me what tidings she has had out of cumberland,--here, bring forward the torch!--now, boy, what do you want with me?" these last words were addressed to a slight youth, dressed in a page's habit, but not such as we represent--upon the stage or in pictures--as the garb of a page of the middle ages. the upper garment which he wore was one of the loose cassocks then very generally is use, of a rich purple cloth, descending considerably below the knee, and somewhat longer indeed than the ordinary petticoat of the english peasant girl of the time. from underneath this, appeared a small foot, covered with long-toed riding boots; and a green hood with a trimming of grey squirrel fur, clasped round the neck with a gilt fermail or buckle, was brought far over the forehead, concealing the greater part of the face. over the right shoulder was slung a belt, holding a long dagger, underneath which appeared a wallet or pouch of velvet trimmed with fur. to judge from his size and general appearance, the boy might be some fourteen years of age, and apparently not of a very strong and hardy make. ere he answered, he shaded his eyes with his hand, somewhat dazzled it seemed by the light of the torch, and robin had to ask him again, "what want you with me, my good lad?" "i would speak with you alone," said the boy--"i would speak with you alone, and immediately; for the matter is of life and death." robin hood took the torch from the man that held it, and bade the rest stand back. then, fixing his eyes with a calm, searching gaze upon the part of the youth's countenance which was visible under the hood, he waited in silence to hear what the boy had to say. the page hesitated for a moment, and then murmured, "the lord hugh de monthermer----" "oh, we know about him!" cried robin hood. "stale news, young gentleman, if that be all!" the boy, who had seemed at first abashed and uncertain, now lifted his head with an angry toss, as if offended, replying boldly, "you are rash and hasty. hear before you answer, sir forester. the news is not stale, though you think yourself so wise. you know that the lord hugh is in prison, for you have had his man with you; but you know not that he is condemned to death, and that his head will be struck off in the castle-yard, to-morrow, at daybreak. do you know that?" "no, by the blessed virgin!" replied robin hood, "i do not know it; and i say that it shall not be, if i have power to help it!" "ay, there is the question," cried the boy. "have you the power?" "of that anon," replied robin hood; "first show me that the tidings are true." "there," said the page, "read that, if thou canst read. if not, i will for thee;" and he held out an open letter to the outlaw, who took it eagerly from his hand, and gazed at it by the light of the torch. the writing consisted of two parts, traced by different hands, the latter being evidently an answer to the former, scrawled down in haste at the bottom of the paper. the first was to the following effect:-- "to, my noble and well-beloved lord the earl of mortimer, greeting. these from the humblest and most devoted of his servants, richard de ashby. "if the time given, my good lord, till three to-morrow, be permitted to run on, the game will escape us, for i doubt not the prince is already informed; and be you sure that he will set off with all speed, and if he arrive in time, will save the criminal. i therefore send you up a man who is ready to swear that he heard the criminal say to the monk, as they passed through the gates together, that out of de montfort's ashes would soon rise up a ph[oe]nix to destroy his enemies. the fellow is well tutored in his tale, so that you shall not catch him tripping, and i do beseech you to make use of him before the king without delay, so that, if possible, there may be an axe between our enemy's head and his body before noon to-morrow. if the forfeited estates be divided between you and my good lord of pembroke, i would advise the one i love best to choose the northern ones. they are worth five hundred marks a year more than the others." all this was written in a fine and clerkly hand, while the letters below were rough and dashing, and somewhat difficult to read. the words, however, were as follows:-- "trusty friend,-- "the matter is settled. the king has called together all the barons on the spot--luckily, gloucester was away, and talbot's voice was drowned in the rest. he dies to-morrow at daybreak. i have the warrant under the king's hand. thanks for the hint. the northern estates are mine, and friends shall not go unrewarded by yours, "mortimer." "ha!" said robin hood, after he had read the letter and the reply--"ha! this is mighty good. why, what a nest of scorpions have we here; and this is the court of england! oh, de montfort!--noble de montfort! if thou didst want an advocate to plead thy cause and justify thy holy zeal to crush the venomous reptiles that infest the land, this paper has a tongue that would convince the dead. but we will see. may god so help me, as i am at this execution to-morrow--if we find not other means to stay it! and beware, my lord of mortimer, how you come within mark of the english yew--for thy breast must be cased in steel, indeed, if i drown not the peacock's feather in your heart's black blood!--do you hear them coming from the lodge, miller?" "not yet, robin," replied the man to whom he spoke. "tom is upon the hill--he will sound his horn." "we must give the youth warning what we are about to do," said robin hood, running his eye attentively over the form of the page before him--"we must give him warning.--ha! richard de ashby! so--so!--boy, this is news, indeed, you have brought me. have you aught else to tell?" "not now," answered the boy, "for i must be back to nottingham with all speed, lest i be missed. to-morrow will do for my other tidings--i cannot think he will be so hasty there." "nay--nay, if thou hast aught to tell," exclaimed robin; "tell it now. one never can say to-morrow's sun will rise. there are precipices at every rood on the highway of human life, over which our best intentions fall, and dash themselves to pieces. speak out--speak out! it will but take thee a spare minute." "well, then," replied the boy, "doubtless you love not much the earl of ashby?" "not much," answered robin hood, bluffly, "but his son much less." "it matters not," rejoined the page; "but i tell you the earl's life is in danger from secret foes. there is a man--a base, bad man--the betrayer of all that trust in him----" the boy paused, and seemed to gasp for breath. "he seeks the earl's death; ay, and that of his son also," he continued, "in order that--that--that he may wed the heiress of the house, and himself become its head. if i did know a friend of the earl, i would beseech him earnestly to watch the old man well; ay, to watch his food--to watch his steps--to have his wine tried before he drinks it--never to let him forth alone, if it be but to taste the morning air upon a sunny bank.--but you are his enemies." "yet we will act as friends," said robin hood. "he shall have warning, ay, and assistance at hand, in case of need.--and now," he added, in a low and soft tone, advancing a step, and taking the page's hand--"and now what is to become of thee, poor thing?--dost thou think i do not know thee, kate?" she shook terribly, and cast down her eyes, without reply. "'tis well," he continued, finding that she did not answer. "but listen to me, kate greenly--listen to one that speaks to thee kindly. thou hast done a good act this night; let it be balm to thy heart; nay, let it be more--let it be but as seed that thou hast sown, to bring forth still more plentiful fruit hereafter. cast off the villain, whom thy better nature hates; leave him to the deeds which will, ere long, bring down destruction on his head; let him receive the reward of his own wickedness, and then----" "die!" said kate greenly--"there is nothing else left for me to do. nay, speak not of my father--utter not his name, for it is worse than fire even to hear it mentioned. talk not to me of the cloister, where i might linger out long days of miserable memory. my life is near its close--my heart is broken--by my own act, i know; but all the more dreadful is the wound. there is no balm that can heal this--there is no time that can soothe it. he whom i trusted is a villain. me he might have injured, betrayed, cast off, trampled upon. i might have wept, or raved, and still lived on; but to find him a traitor--a murderer--a fiend--to be forced, as if for my punishment on earth, to betray him who has betrayed me, and to blast his schemes and his fame who has blasted my name and my happiness--this is the cup of death, i tell thee, and a bitter death it is!--but i must go back! thy people have promised that they will not stay me, and i must go back. whatever tidings i can give, you shall have; for i have sworn to unravel the dark clue--to frustrate the wicked scheme, and to bring down upon his head the punishment he merits. god will give me strength to tread this path where every step is agony; and, oh! when it is done, may he receive the broken heart and penitent spirit, for the sake of him who died to save us!" "amen!" said robin hood. "yet stay a moment, thou must have some one to guide thee back; thou art nearer the town than thou thinkest for.--i will speak a word with thee by the way." chapter xxx. it was an hour past midnight--the sentries had just been relieved upon the castle wall--and hugh de monthermer sat by the window, looking out into the depth of sight, and gazing at the far twinkling of the stars. the mind was occupied in the same manner as the body, for it was looking forth into the dark night of death, and marking the small bright shining lights from heaven, that tell of other worlds beyond. his fate had been announced to him--that he had been judged and condemned without his presence--and that the first ray of the morning sun was to witness his death. he had solemnly appealed against the sentence, telling lord pembroke, who had brought the announcement thereof, that such a deed was mere murder. neither had he left anything undone that behoved him to do, to check the base purposes of his enemies, by apprehensions of after retribution. but they scoffed at his threats, and heeded not his remonstrances, justifying the illegal course they pursued by declaring that he had been taken in the act of treason. all communication was denied him with the world without, and even the materials for writing were refused--perhaps to guard against the chance of his doom being made known to others who might interfere to stay the execution, or, perhaps, to prevent him from recording for after times the iniquity that was about to be committed. a priest eras promised him in the morning; but in the meanwhile he remained in solitude. he heard his good yeoman, blawket, driven back from the door by the guards; and, with nought but his own thoughts to comfort and console him, he sat preparing himself for the grave as best he might. how often had he met the abhorred enemy, death, in the battle-field? how often he staked life's bright jewel on the chances of an hour? how often had fate seemed near at hand in the burning march through the barren sands of the east, and in the deadly pestilence? but in all these shapes had the grim inevitable lord of the grave seemed less terrible than when waiting through the livelong night, with the certainty of being murdered, unresisting, on the morning. active exertion, gallant daring, the exercise of the high powers of the soul, set at nought the idea of annihilation; and when, with eager fire, man puts forth all his faculties in the moment of danger, their very possession tells him that he is immortal, and makes the open gate of the tomb appear but the portal of a better world. it is the cold, calm, slow approach of the dark hour of passage, when the mind has nought to work upon but that one idea, which smears the dart with all the venom that it is capable of bearing. then rise up all those dark doubts and apprehensions with which the evil spirit besieges the small garrison of faith. then come the sweet and lingering affections of the world--the loves, the hopes, the wishes, the prospects, the enjoyments. then speak the memories of dear things past, never to be again--of voices heard for the last time--of looks to be seen no more. oh! it is a terrible and an awful thing, even for the stoutest heart and best prepared spirit, to wait in silence and in solitude for the approach of the king of terrors! the young knight strove vigorously to repel all weakness; but he could not shut out regret. twelve hours had scarcely passed, since, in the pride of success and the vanity of hope, he had clasped her he loved in his arms, and fancied that fate itself could scarcely sever them--and now he was to lose her for ever. would she forget him when he was gone? would she give her hand to another? would the gay wedding train pass by, and the minstrel's song sound loud, and the laugh, and the smile, and the jest go round, and all be joyful in the halls of lindwell, and he lay mouldering in the cold earth hard by? but love, and trust, and confidence said, no; and, though it might be selfish, there was a balm in the belief that lucy would mourn for him when he was gone--ay, that she had promised to love him and be his even beyond the grave. of such things were his thoughts, as he gazed forth on that solemn night; but suddenly something, he knew not what, called his attention from himself; and he looked down from the window of his chamber upon the top of the wall below. the distance was some thirty feet, the night was dark, for the moon had gone early down, but, even in the dim obscurity, he thought he saw something like a man's head appear above the battlement. in a moment after, with a bound as if it had been thrown over by an engine, a human body sprang upon the top of the wall, ran forward to the tower in which he was confined, and struck the stonework with its arm. the next instant, without any apparent footing, he could perceive one leg stretched upwards, while the hand seemed to have obtained a grasp of the wall itself, and then the rest of the body ascended to the height of about four feet from the ground, sticking fast, like a squirrel swarming up a large beech tree. a long thin arm was then extended, far overhead, to a deep window, just beneath that at which the young knight stood, and by it the whole body was drawn up into the aperture of the wall, while a sentinel passed by with slow and measured steps. as soon as the soldier was gone, the arm was again stretched forth in the direction of the casement from which hugh was gazing down, and the hand struck once or twice against the wall, in different places, making a slight grating sound, as if it were armed with some metal instrument. at length it remained fixed, and then the head and shoulders were protruded from the opening of the window below, the feet resting upon the stonework. then came one of those extraordinary efforts of agility and pliability of limb which hugh had never witnessed but in one being on the earth. by that single hold which the fingers seemed to have of the wall, the body was again swung up till the knee and the hand met, and the left arm was stretched out towards the sill of the casement above. although the figure appeared to be humpbacked and, consequently, in that respect unlike the dwarf, tangel, hugh de monthermer could not doubt that it was he, and, reaching down as far as possible, he whispered, "take my hand, tangel!" in an instant the long, thin, monkey-like fingers of the dwarf clasped round his, as if they had been an iron vice, and with a bound that nearly threw the stout young soldier off his balance, tangel sprang through the window into the room. "ha, ha!" said he, in a low tone, "who can keep out tangel?" "no one, it seems, my good boy," answered hugh, "but what come you here for? i fear i cannot descend as you have mounted." "here, help me off with my burden," rejoined the boy, "and thou wilt soon see what i come for. but we must whisper like mice, for tyrants have sharper ears than hares, and keener eyes than cats. here's a priest's gown and a hood for thee, and a chorister's cope for tangel. thou art just the height of the king's confessor, and i shalt pass for his pouncet-bearer. here's a ladder, too, not much thicker than a spider's web, but strong enough to bear up the fat friar of barnesdale." the feelings of hugh de monthermer, at that moment, must be conceived by the reader, for i will not attempt to describe them. life, liberty, hope, were before him; and the transition was as great from despair to joy as it had lately been from happiness to grief. he caught the poor dwarf in his arms, saying, "if i live, boy, i will reward thee. if i die, thy heart must do it." "no thanks to me," replied tangel, in a somewhat trembling voice, "no thanks to me, good knight. it is all robin's doing, though i was glad enough to have finger in the pie, and he, great cart horse, could no more climb up that wall than he could leap over lincoln church. but, come, come, fix these hooks to the window--get the gown over thee, and then let us look out for the sentinel--he will pass again before we have all ready." "but there are sentries in the outer court, too," said hugh de monthermer. "how shall we manage, if we meet with any of them?" "give them the word," said tangel. "i waited, clinging as close to the wall as ivy to an old tower, till i heard the round pass, and the word given. it was 'the three leopards.' but there he goes now--let us away--quick!--he will soon be back again!" letting the ladder, made of silken rope, gently down from the window, hugh bade the dwarf go first, but tangel replied, "no, no, i will come after, and bring the ladder with me. i have got my own staircase on the four daggers that i fixed into the crevices. go down, holy father, go down, and if that book be a breviary take it with you." "it may serve as such," said hugh; "but, ere i go, let me leave them a message;" and, taking a piece of half-charred wood from the fire, he wrote a few words with it upon the wall. then approaching the window he issued forth, and descended easily and rapidly to the battlements. the dwarf seemed to have some difficulty in unfastening the hooks of the ladder, however, for he did not follow so quickly as hugh expected; and, whether the sentinel had turned before he got fully to the end of his beat, or his pace was more rapid than before, i know not, but, ere the boy began to descend, the soldier's steps were heard coming round from the other angle of the wall. hugh gave a quick glance up to the window in the tower, and saw that the dwarf was aware of the sentry's approach, and also that the ladder hung so close to the building as not to be perceptible without near examination. his mind was made up in an instant; and, folding his arms upon his chest, he drew the hood farther over his face, and walked on to meet the sentinel, with a slow pace, and his eyes bent upon the ground. the moment the soldier turned the angle, and saw him, he exclaimed, "who goes there? stand! give the word!" "the three leopards," replied hugh, in a calm tone. "pass," cried the sentinel. "your blessing, holy father! this is a dark night." "dominus vobiscum," replied hugh; "it is dark, indeed, my son. but no nights are dark to the eye of god;" and turning with the sentinel on his round, he added, in a loud tone, as they passed immediately under the window, "you did not see my boy upon your round, did you! he was to come hither with the books; but, marry, he is a truant knave, and is doubtless loitering with the pages in the king's ante-room." "i saw him not, holy father," said the soldier. "is the king still up?" "ay, is he," answered hugh, "and will be for this hour to come." and on he walked by the side of the man till they were out of sight of the window. "the boy is marvellous long in coming," observed the pretended priest. "shall we turn back and see, good father?" asked the soldier. "oh, no!" replied hugh; "this is the way he should come; for he has to pass round by the court, you know; unless, indeed, he goes up the steps at the other side." just as he spoke, the sound of quick feet following was heard, and the sentry turned sharply once more, exclaiming, "who goes there?" "the three leopards," said a childish voice, very unlike that of tangel, but tangel it proved to be, dressed in his white cope and hood, and bearing a small bundle beneath his arm. "thou hast been playing truant," cried the knight, "and shalt do penance for this." but he did not venture to carry far his pretended reprimand, lest some mistake between him and tangel might discover the deceit; and walking on by the side of the sentinel to the top of the flight of steps which led down into the great court close by another of the towers; he there wished him good night, giving him a blessing in a solemn tone. the guard at the bottom of the stone stairs heard the conversation between his comrade and the seeming priest above, and without even asking the word walked on beside the young knight and the dwarf, and passed them to the sentry at the gate. the large wooden door under the archway was ajar, while several of the soldiery were loitering without, telling rude tales of love to some of the fair girls of nottingham, who had ventured upon the drawbridge, even at that late hour, to lose their time and reputation (if they had any) with the men-at-arms; for human nature and its follies were the same, or very nearly the same then as now. at the end of the drawbridge, however, was a sentinel with his partizan in his hand, taking sufficient part in the merriment of the others, notwithstanding his being on duty, to make him start forward in alarm at the sound of a step, and show his alertness by lowering his weapon and fiercely demanding the word. hugh gave it at once; adding, in a quiet tone. "ought you not to be more upon your guard, my son, against those who come in than those who go out?" "pass on, and mind your own business, sir priest!" replied the sentry, who was not a very reverent son of the church. "these knaves in their black gowns," he murmured, "would have no one speak to a pretty lass but themselves." hugh had continued to advance, and he certainly did not now pause to discuss the question of duty with the soldier, but hastened into the town through a great part of which it was absolutely necessary to pass, and then through the dark streets of nottingham, descending the hill rapidly, and breathing lighter at every step. "hark!" he said at length, speaking to the boy in a low tone. "do you not hear people following!" "it is likely," replied the dwarf; "i am not alone in nottingham. we may have some difficulty at the gates, however; for the warder at the tower is as surly as a bear, and though we all know him well, yet it is a robe of cendal to a kersey jerkin he refuses to get up and turn the key." in another minute the question was put to the proof the boy running forward to the town gate, and knocking at the low door under the arch. at first there was no answer whatsoever, and the dwarf, after knocking again, shouted loudly. "ho, matthew pole! matthew pole! open the door for a reverend father, who is going forth to shrive a sick man." "to shrive a harlot, or a barrel of sack!" grumbled an angry voice from within. "i will get up for none of ye; and if i did, i could not open the gate wide enough at this hour of the night for the fat friar of barnesdale to roll his belly out." "'tis neither he of barnesdale nor tuck either," cried the boy, "but a holy priest come from the castle." "then he had better go back whence he came," replied the warder. "get you gone, or i will throw that over thee which will soil thy garments for many a day. get thee gone, i say, and let me sleep, till these foul revelling lords come down from the castle, who go out every night to lie at lamley." a noise of prancing horses, and of eager voices, was heard the moment after coming rapidly down the hill; and hugh de monthermer, putting his hand under his black robe, seized the hilt of the anelace, or sharp knife, which had been accidentally left with him when his sword was taken away. "i will sell my life dearly," he said, speaking to the dwarf. "stand in the dark," whispered tangel, "and they will not see you;--these are the lords who sleep out of the town." hugh de monthermer had scarcely time to draw back when a troop of horsemen, who had in fact left the castle before him, came down to the gate having followed the highway, while he had taken a shorter cut by some of the many flights of steps of which the good town of nottingham was full. "what ho!" cried a voice, which the young lord recognised right well. "open the gate. are you the warder's boy?" "no, please you, noble lord," replied tangel. "and i cannot make old surly matthew pole draw a bolt or turn a key, although he knows we are in haste." "what ho! open the gate," repeated the voice in a loud tone. "how know you that i am a noble lord, my man?" "because you sit your horse like the earl of mortimer," answered the boy. "you may say so, indeed," said the other, laughing. "but who is that under the arch?" "that is my uncle," replied tangel, "the good priest of pierrepont. he is going to shrive the man that fell over the rock, as your lordship knows, just at sun-down." "i know nothing about him," exclaimed mortimer; "but i do know, that if this warder come not forth, his thrift shall be a short one. go in, jenkin, and slit me his ears with thy knife till they be the shape of a cur's,--ha! here he comes at length. how now, warder! how dare you keep me waiting here? by the lord, i am minded to hang thee over the gate." the burly old man grumbled forth something about his lanthorn having gone out; and then added, in a louder tone, "i did not expect you, my lord, so soon, to-night. you are wont to be an hour later." "ay, but we have some sharp business at daybreak to-morrow," cried mortimer; "so we must be a-bed by times." slowly, and as if unwillingly, the warder drew down the large oak bar, saying, "you must give the word, my lord." "the three leopards," replied mortimer. "come, quick, open the gate, or, by my halidome, it shall be worse for you." with provoking slowness, however, the old man undid bolt after bolt, and then threw wide the heavy wooden valves; and, without further question, the train of mortimer rode out, his very robes brushing against hugh de monthermer as he passed. the young knight and the boy followed slowly; and before the gates could be closed again, coming rapidly from the neighbouring streets, several other men on foot issued forth in silence, without giving any word to the warder. "ah, you thieves!" said good matthew pole to the last of them, "if i chose to shut you in, there would be fine hanging to-morrow." "no, no," replied the man, "there would be one hung to-night, good matthew, and he would serve for all. you don't think we let the hanging begin without having the first hand in it?" a straggling house or two on the outside of the gate were passed in a few minutes; a lane amongst trees lay to the right and left, and a little stile presented itself in the hedge, formed of two broad stones laid perpendicularly, and two horizontal ones for steps. over these the boy sprang at a leap before hugh de monthermer, who followed quickly, though somewhat more deliberately. the moment he was past, a hand seized his arm, and a voice cried, "free, free, may good lord! by my fay, we shall have all the honest part of the court under the green boughs of sherwood ere long. taking the king's venison will become the only lawful resource of honest men; for if they don't strike at his deer, he will strike at their heads." "ah! robin, is that you?" said hugh. "this is all thy doing, i know; and i owe thee life." "faith, not mine," replied robin hood, "'tis the boy's--'tis the boy's! my best contrivance was to get into the castle court to-morrow, by one device or another; secure the gate, send an arrow into mortimer's heart, and another into the headsman's eye; make a general fight of it, while you were set free, and then run away as best we could. 'twas a bad scheme; but yet at that early hour we could have carried it through, while one half the world was asleep, and the other unarmed. but tangel declared that he could run up the wall like a cat, so we let him try, taking care to have men and ladders ready to bring him off safe if he were caught. so 'tis his doing, my lord; for you contrived to get the elf's love while he was with you." "and he has mine for ever," answered hugh. "but alas! my love can be of little benefit to any one now." "nay, nay, never think so," replied the outlaw; "as much benefit as ever, my good lord. cast off your courtly garments, take to the forest-green, with your own strong right hand defend yourself and your friends, set courts and kings at nought and defiance, and you will never want the means of doing a kind act to those who serve you. i ought not, perhaps, to boast, but robin hood, the king of sherwood, has not less power within his own domain than the third harry on the throne of england--but, by my faith, i hoped the blessed virgin has holpen scathelock and the miller with their band to get out of the gates, for they are long a coming, and there will be fine hunting in every hole of nottingham to-morrow morning--i came over the wall with hardy and pell." "they are safe enough--they are safe enough, reckless robin," cried tangel, "i heard the miller's long tongue, bandying words with surly old matthew pole, as if ever one bell stopped another. but hark! there are their steps, and we had better get on, for i have a call to sleep just now." "well, thou shalt sleep as long as thou wilt to-morrow," said robin, "for thy good service to-night; but by your leave, my lord, you and i must ride far, for it were as well to leave no trace of you in the neighbourhood of nottingham. here are strong horses nigh at hand, and if you follow my counsel, you will be five-and-twenty miles from the place where they expect to find you by daybreak. it will be better for us all to disperse, and to quit this part of the county; my men have their orders, and i am ready." the counsel was one that hugh de monthermer was very willing to follow, and ere many minutes more had passed, he and robin hood were riding through the dark shady roads of sherwood, as fast as the obscurity of the night would permit. chapter xxxi. it was in the small wooden house in the lower part of the town, to which we have seen sir william geary lead his worthy companion guy de margan, that unhappy kate greenly sat in the recess of a window which looked over the meadows, and through which a faint gleam of the autumnal sun was streaming in upon her. she was as beautiful as ever, perhaps more so, for her face was paler and more refined, and though she had lost the glow of rustic health, her countenance had gained a peculiar depth of expression which was fine, though sad to see. her eyes were fixed intently upon those autumnal fields, with a straining gaze, and a knitted brow; but it was not of them she thought--no, nor of any of the many things which they might recal to her mind. it was not of the happy days of innocence; it was not of the companions of her childhood; it was not of the sports of her youth; it was not of her father's house; it was not of the honest lover whose pure affection she had despised, whose generous heart she had well-nigh broken. no, no, it was of none of these things! it was of him who had wronged and betrayed her, it was of him who had trampled and despised, it was of him whom she now hated with a fierce and angry hate--ay, hated and feared, and yet loved--strange as it may seem to say so,--of him whom she had resolved to punish and destroy, and for whom she yet felt a yearning tenderness which made every act she did against him seem like plunging a knife into her own heart. oh! had richard de ashby then, even then, suffered his hard and cruel spirit to be softened towards the girl whom he had wronged, if he had soothed and tranquillized, and calmed her, if he had used but one tender word, one of all the arts which he had employed to seduce her, kate greenly would have poured forth her blood to serve him, and would have died ere she had followed out the stern course which she purposed to pursue. but he was all selfishness, and that selfishness was his destruction. hark, it is his step upon the stairs! but she no longer flies to meet him with the look of love and total devotion which marked her greeting in former days. the glance of fear and doubt crosses her countenance; she dare not let him see that she has been thoughtful; she snatches up the distaff and the wheel; she bends her head over the thread, and with a sickening heart she hears the coming of the foot, the tread of which was once music to her ear. he entered the room, with a red spot upon his brow, with his teeth hard set, with his lip drawn down. there was excited and angry passion in every line of his face, there was a fierceness in his very step which made her grieve she had not avoided him. it was too late, however; for though he scarcely seemed to see her, she could not quit the room without passing by him. he advanced as if coming direct towards her, but ere he had much passed the middle of the chamber, he stopped and stamped his foot, exclaiming--"curses upon it!" then turning to the unhappy girl, he cried--"get thee to thy chamber! what dost thou idling here, minion? prepare in a few days to go back to thy father--or, if thou likest it better," he added, with a contemptuous smile,--"to thy franklin lover; he may have thee cheaper now, and find thee a rare leman." kate stood and gazed at him for a moment; but for once passion did not master her, and she answered, well knowing that whatever seemed her wish would be rejected--"i am ready to go back to my father. i have made up my mind to it,--thou treatest me ill, richard de ashby, i will live with thee no longer. i will go at once." "no, by the lord, thou shalt not!" he cried, resolved not to lose the object of his tyranny. "get thee to thy chamber, i say; i will send thee back when i think fit--away! i expect others here!" and kate greenly, without reply, moved towards the door. as she passed, he felt a strong desire to strike her, for the angry passion that was in his heart at that moment, called loudly for some object on which to vent itself. she spoke not, however; she did not even look at him; so there was no pretext; and biting his lip and knitting his brow, he remained gazing at her as she moved along, with a vague impression of her beauty and grace sinking into his dark mind, and mingling one foul passion with another. when she was gone and the door was closed, richard de ashby clasped his hands together, and walked up and down the room, murmuring, "that idiot mortimer!--when he had him in his hand--to leave him in his chamber which any child could scale!--out upon the fool! with dungeons as deep as a well close by!--but he cares nought, so that he get the land. how is this step to be overleaped? ha! here they come!" in a moment or two after, the door of the room again opened, and four men came in; two dressed as noblemen of the court, and two as inferior persons. those, however, whose apparel taught one to expect that high and courteous demeanour for which the norman nobleman was remarkable, when not moved by the coarse passions to which the habits of the time gave full sway, were far from possessing anything like easy grace, or manly dignity. there was a saucy swaggering air, indeed, an affected indifference, mingled with a quick and anxious turn of the eye, a restless furtive glance, which bespoke the low bred and licentious man of crime and debauchery, uncertain of his position, doubtful of his safety, and though bold and fearless in moments of personal danger, yet ever watchful against the individual enmity or public vengeance which the acts of his life had well deserved. "well, dickon," cried the first who entered, "we have thought of the matter well.--but what makes thee look so dull? has the prior of st. peter's made love to thy paramour? or the king won thy money at cross and pile, or----" "pshaw! no nonsense, ellerby," exclaimed richard de ashby; "i am in a mood that will bear no jesting. what is the matter with me? by my faith, not a little matter. here, my bitterest enemy--you know hugh of monthermer.--he was in mortimer's hands, doomed to death, his head was to be struck off this morning at daybreak. mortimer and pembroke were to divide his lands; and i and guy de margan to have revenge for our share----" "i would have had a slice of the lands too," interrupted ellerby, "or a purse or two of the gold, had i been in your place.--well?" "well! ill i say," replied richard de ashby. "what would you? the fool mortimer, instead of plunging him into a dungeon where no escape was possible, leaves him in his chamber, thinking he cannot get out, because the window is some twenty or thirty feet from the top of the wall, with a sentry pacing underneath. of course the man who knows his life is gone if he stays, may well risk it to fly, and when the door is opened this morning, the prisoner is gone; while on the wall of the room, written with charcoal, one reads--'my lord the prince,--taking advantage of the permission you gave, in case the base falsehood of my enemies should prevail against me, and having been condemned to death unheard, ere you could return to defend me, i have escaped from this chamber, but am ever ready to prove my innocence in a lawful manner, either by trial in court, or by wager of battle against any of my accusers. let any one efface this ere the prince sees it, if he dare.'--with this brag he ended; and now guy de margan raves--but mortimer and pembroke laugh, believing that they shall still share the lands! i threw some salt into their mead, however, telling them that as they had left him with his head on, he had a tongue in it that would soon clear him at the prince's return, and as he had saved his life would save his lands, also.--is it not enough to drive one mad, to see such fools mar such well-laid schemes?" "no, no," replied the man who had followed ellerby, "nothing should drive one a whit madder than the drone of a bagpipe drives a turnspit dog.--give a howl and have done with it, sir richard." "i will tell you what, dighton," said richard de ashby; "you men wear away all your feelings as the edge of a knife on a grindstone----" "that sharpens," interrupted dighton. "ay, if held the right way," replied richard, "but you have never known hate such as i feel." "perhaps not," answered dighton, with a look of indifference, "for i always put a friend out of the way before i hate him heartily.--it is better never to let things get to a head. if on the first quarrel which you have with a man, you send him travelling upon the long road which has neither turning nor returning, you are sure never to have a difference with him again, and i have found that the best plan." "but suppose you cannot?" asked richard de ashby. "you may be weaker less skilful, may not have opportunity--suppose you cannot, i say?" "why then employ a friend who can!" replied the bravo. "there are numbers of excellent good gentlemen who are always ready, upon certain considerations, to take up any man's quarrel; and it is but from the folly of others who choose to deal with such things themselves, that they have not full employment. here is ellerby tolerably good, both at lance and broadsword; and i," he continued, looking down with a self-sufficient air at the swelling muscles of his leg and thigh--"and i do not often fail to remove an unpleasant companion from the way of a friend. then if secrecy be wanting, we are as wise as we are strong--are we not, ellerby?" "to be sure," answered ellerby, in the same swaggering manner, "we are perfect in everything, and fit for everything--as great statesmen as de montfort, as great soldiers as prince edward, as great generals as gloucester, as great friends as damon and pythias." "and as great rogues," added richard de ashby, who was not to be taken in by swagger--"and as great rogues, ellerby, as--but no, i will not insult you by a comparison. you are incomparable in that respect at least, or only to be compared to each other." "very complimentary, indeed," said ellerby, "especially when we come here to do you a favour." "not without your reward present and future," replied richard de ashby; "you come not to serve me without serving yourselves too." "well, well," cried dighton, who carried the daring of his villany to a somewhat impudent excess--"we must not fall out, lest certain other people should come by their own. there's an old proverb against it"--for the proverb was old even in his day. "but to overlook your matter of spleen, dearly beloved richard, and forgetting this monthermer affair, let us take the affair up where ellerby was beginning. we have thought well of the business you have in hand, and judge it very feasible indeed. we are willing to undertake it. if we can get the old man once to come out of sight of his people alone, we will ensure that he shall never walk back into lindwell gates on his own feet. however, there is a thing or two to be said upon other affairs;--but speak you, ellerby--speak! you are an orator. i, a mere man of action." "well, what is the matter?" asked richard de ashby; "if you can do the deed, the sooner it is done the better." "true," said ellerby, "but there is something more, my beloved friend. the doing the deed may be easier than getting the reward. when this old man is gone, there still stands between you and the fair lands of ashby a stout young bull-headed lord, called alured, who having ample fortune and fewer vices, is likely to outlive you by half a century, and bequeath the world a thriving race of younkers to succeed to his honours and his lands." "leave him to me," replied richard; "his bull-head, as you call it, will soon be run against some wall that will break it, as i shall arrange the matter." "but even if such be the case," rejoined ellerby, "how can we be sure that richard earl of ashby will not turn up his nose at us, his poor friends--as is much the mode with men in high station--refuse us all reward but that small sum in gold which he now gives, and dare us to do our worst, as we cannot condemn him without condemning ourselves likewise? we must have it under your hand, good richard, that you have prompted us to this deed, and promise us the two thousand pounds of silver as our reward." richard de ashby looked at him with a sneering smiles though his heart was full of wrath, and he answered-- "you must think me some boy, raw from the colleges, and ready to play against you with piped dice. no, no, dighton! ellerby, you are mistaken! being all of us of that kind and character of man who does not trust his neighbour, we must have mutual sureties, that is clear. now hear me:--i will make over to you by bond, this day, my castle in hereford, with all the land thereunto appertaining.--you know it well.--in the bond there shall be a clause of redemption; so that if i pay you two thousand pounds of silver before this day two years, the castle shall be mine again. such is what i propose. but, in the meantime, you shall give me a covenant, signed with your hand, to do the deed that we have agreed upon. then shall we all be in the power of each other." "and pray what are we to have?" asked one of the two inferior men, who had followed the others into the room, and who seemed to have been almost forgotten by the rest. "what you were promised," replied richard de ashby; "each of you fifty french crowns of gold this night, when the deed is done!" "ay," cried the spokesman; "but we must have a part of that two thousand pounds of silver." but dighton took him by the breast, in a joking manner, saying, "hold thy tongue, parson! i will settle with thee about that. if thou art not hanged before the money is paid, we will share as officer and soldier. you and dicky keen shall have a fourth part between you, and we two the rest." this promise appeared to satisfy perfectly his worthy coadjutor, who seemed to rely upon the old proverb, that "there is honour amongst thieves," for the performance of the engagement. such, however, was not the base with richard de ashby and the two superior cutthroats, who proceeded to draw up the two documents agreed upon for their mutual security. the bond of richard de ashby was soon prepared, and the only difficulty that presented itself regarded the written promise he had exacted from his two friends; for dighton boldly avowed that he could not write any word but his own name, and ellerby was very diffident of his own capacity, though either would have done mortal combat with any man who denied that they were gentlemen by birth and education. richard de ashby, for his part, positively declined to indite the document himself, even upon the promise of their signature; and at length ellerby, after much prompting and assistance, perpetrated the act with various curious processes of spelling and arrangement. "and now," said richard de ashby, when this was accomplished, "all that remains is to lure the old man from the castle, which we had better set about at once; for if alured were to return, our plan were marred." "but upon what pretence," asked dighton, "will you get him to come forth?" "i have one ready," answered richard de ashby; "one that will serve my purpose in other respects, too. but who we shall get, to bear the letter, is the question." "why not the woman you have with you?" said ellerby. "we could dress her up as a footboy." "no," replied richard de ashby, thoughtfully, "no!--i did buy her a page's dress to employ her in any little things that might require skill and concealment, for she is apt and shrewd enough; but in this matter i dare not trust her. when the old man and the note were found she would tell all.--she needs some further training yet, and she shall have it; but at present we must deal by other hands.--you must get some rude peasant boy as you go along, and only one of you must show himself even to him. but i will write the note and come along with you myself. there is no time to spare." richard de ashby then--who was, as we have hinted, a skilful scribe--sat down and composed the fatal letter to his kinsman which was to draw him from his home and give him to the hands of the murderers: and, knowing well the earl's character, he took care so to frame the epistle as to insure its full effect. the handwriting, too, he disguised as much as might be; though never having seen that of the person whose name he assumed, he endeavoured to make it as much like the hand of a clerk or copyist as possible. the note was to the following effect:-- "to the most noble and valiant lord the earl of ashby, greeting. "dear and well-beloved lord, "a false, cruel, and horrible accusation having been brought against me, and i having been doomed to death unheard by the ears of justice and clemency, have been compelled to seek my own safety by flight from the castle of nottingham, leaving my fair fame and character undefended. now i do adjure you, as one who has ever been held the mirror of chivalry, and the honour of arms and nobility, to meet me this day at the hour of three, by what is called the bull's hawthorn; which you, my lord, know well, and which is but one poor mile from your manor of lindwell. i will there give to you, my lord, the most undoubted proofs of my perfect innocence, beseeching you to become my advocate before the king and the prince, and to defend me as none but one so noble will venture to do. lest you should think that i seek to entangle you more on my behalf, i hereby give you back all promises made to me regarding the lady lucy, your daughter, and declare them null and void, unless at some future time you shall think fit to confirm them. it is needful, as i need not say, that you should come totally alone, for even the chattering of a page might do me to death. "hugh de monthermer." richard de ashby mentioned to none of his companions what the letter contained; but folding it, he tied it with a piece of yellow silk and sealed it, stamping it with the haft of ellerby's dagger. "now," he cried--"now all is ready; let us be gone.--are your horses below?" "they are at the back of the house," said dighton. "quick, then, to the saddle!" cried their companion. "i will get mine, and join you in a minute, to ride with you some way along the road; for i must have speedy tidings when the deed is done." "by my faith," said ellerby, walking towards the door, "you are growing a man of action, richard!--but keep us not waiting." "not longer than to come round," replied richard de ashby, descending the stairs with them; and in a minute after, the heavy door of the house banged to behind the party of assassins. scarcely were they gone, when poor kate greenly ran into the room, and snatched up a large brown wimple which lay in the window, casting it over her head as if to go forth. her eyes were wild and eager, her face pale, her lips bloodless, and her whole frame trembling. she seemed confused, too, as well as agitated, and muttered to herself, "oh, horrible! where can i find help?--what can i do?--i will seek these men; but it will be too late if i go afoot. i will take the page's dress again, and hire a horse." she paused, and thought for an instant, adding, "but the mere is far from lindwell,--'tis the other way. it will be too late! it will be too late!" her eyes fixed vacantly on the window, and a moment after she uttered a slight scream, for she saw a head gazing at her through the small panes. shaken and horrified, the least thing alarmed her, so that she caught at the back of a tall chair for support, keeping her eyes fixed, with a look of terror, upon the face before her, and asking herself whether it was real, or some frightful vision of her own imagination. "it is the boy!" she cried, at length, "it is the dwarf boy i saw with them in the wood!" and, running forward with an unsteady step, she undid the great bolt of the casement. tangel instantly forced himself through, and sprang in, exclaiming, "ha! ha! i watched them all out, and then climbed to tell you----" but, before he could end his sentence, kate greenly sank fainting upon the floor beside him. chapter xxxii. there was a low deserted house, standing far back from the road, in a piece of common ground skirting the forest between lindwell and nottingham. there were some trees before it, and some bushes, which screened all but the thatched roof from observation as the traveller passed along. there was a dull pond, too, covered with green weed, between it and the trees, which, exhaling unwholesome dews, covered the front of the miserable-looking place with yellow lichens, and filled the air with myriads of droning gnats: and there it stood, with the holes, where door and window had been, gaping vacantly, like the places of eyes and nose in a dead man's skull. all the woodwork had been carried away, and part even of the thatch, so that a more desolate and miserable place could not be met with, perhaps, in all the world, though, at that time, there was many a deserted house in england; and many a hearth, which had once blazed brightly amidst a circle of happy faces, was then dark and cold. it was a fit haunt for a murderer; and before the door appeared richard de ashby, a few moments after he had parted from his fell companions, sending them onward to perform the bloody task he had allotted them. his dark countenance was anxious and thoughtful. there was a look of uncertainty and hesitation about his face; ay, and his heart was quivering with that agony of doubt and fear which is almost sure to occupy some space between the scheme and the execution of crime. the ill deed in which he was now engaged was one that he was not used to. it was no longer some strong bad passion hurrying him on, step by step, from vice to vice, and sin to sin; but it was a headlong leap over one of those great barriers, raised up by conscience, and supported by law, divine and human, in order to stop the criminal on his course to death, destruction, and eternal punishment. he sprang from his horse at the door--he entered the cottage--he stood for a moment in the midst--he held his hands tightly clasped together, and then he strode towards the door again, murmuring, "i will call them back--i can overtake them yet." but then he thought of the bond that he had given--of the objects that he had in view--of rank, and wealth, and station--of lucy de ashby, and her beauty--of triumph over the hated monthermer. never, never, did satan, with all his wiles and artifices, more splendidly bring up before the eye of imagination all the inducements that could tempt a selfish, licentious, heartless man, to the commission of a great crime, than the fiend did then for the destruction of richard de ashby. he paused ere he re-crossed the threshold--he paused and hesitated. "it is too late," he thought, "they will but scoff at me. it is too late; the die is cast, and i must abide by what it turns up. this is but sorry firmness after all! did i not resolve on calm deliberation, and shall i regret now?" he paced up and down the chamber for a while, and then again murmured, "i wish i had brought kate with me. i might have toyed or teased away this dreary hour with her--but no, i could not trust her in such deeds as this.--they must be at the hawthorn by this time. i hope they will take care to conceal themselves well, or the old man will get frightened; he is of a suspicious nature. there's plenty of cover to hide them.--i will go tie the horse behind the house that no one may see him." his true motive was to occupy the time, for thought was very heavy upon him, and he contrived to spend some ten minutes in the task, speaking to the charger, and patting him; not that he was a kindly master, even to a beast, but for the time the animal was a companion to him, and that was the relief which he most desired. he then turned into the cottage again, and once more stood with his arms folded over his chest in the midst. "what if they fail?" he asked himself. "what if he suspect something, and come with help at hand? they might be taken, and my bond found upon them--they might confess, and, to save themselves, destroy me--'twere a deed well worthy of ellerby.--no, no, 'tis not likely--he will never suspect anything--hark! there is a horse! i will look out and see;" and, creeping round the pond to the side of the bushes, he peered through upon the road. but he was mistaken, there was no horse there. the sound was in his own imagination, and he returned to his place of shelter, feeling the autumnal air chilly, though the day was in no degree cold. it was that the blood in his own veins had, in every drop, the feverish thrill of anxiety and dreadful expectation. no words can tell the state of that miserable man's mind during the space of two hours, which elapsed while he remained in that cottage. remorse and fear had possession of him altogether--ay, fear; for although we have acknowledged that perhaps the only good quality he possessed was courage, yet as resolution is a very different thing from bravery, so were the terrors that possessed his mind at that moment of a very distinct character from those which seize the trembling coward on the battlefield. there was the dread of detection, shame, exposure, the hissing scorn of the whole world, everlasting infamy as well as punishment. death was the least part indeed of what he feared, and could he have been sure that means would be afforded him to terminate his own existence in case of failure, the chance of such a result would have lost half its terror. but there was remorse besides--remorse which he had stifled till it was too late. he saw his kinsman's white hair; he saw his countenance. he endeavoured in vain to call it up before his eyes, with some of those frowns or haughty looks upon it, which his own vices and follies had very often produced. there was nothing there now but the smile of kindness, but the look of generous satisfaction with which from time to time the old earl had bestowed upon him some favour, or afforded him some assistance. memory would not perform the task he wished to put upon it. she gave him up to the anguish of conscience, without even awakening the bad passions of the past to palliate the deeds of the present. he leaned on the dismantled window-frame with his heart scorched and seared, without a tear to moisten his burning lid, without one place on which the mind could rest in peace. the hell of the wicked always begins upon earth, and the foul fiend had already the spirit in his grasp, and revelled in the luxury of torture. at length there came a distant sound, and starting up, he ran forth to look out. his ears no longer deceived him, the noise increased each moment, it was horses' feet coming rapidly along the road. he gazed earnestly towards lindwell; but instead of those whom he expected to see, he beheld a large party of cavalry riding by at full speed, and as they passed on before him, galloping away towards nottingham, the towering form of prince edward rising by the full head above any of his train, caught the eye of the watcher, and explained their appearance there. the rapid tramp died away, and all was silent again. some twenty minutes more elapsed, and then there was a duller sound; but still it was like the footfalls of horses coming quick. once more he gazed forth, and now he beheld, much nearer than he expected, four mounted men approaching the cottage, but avoiding the hard road, and riding over the turf of the common. one of them seemed to be supporting another by the arm, who bent somewhat feebly towards his horse's head, and appeared ready to fall. in a minute they came round, and ellerby--springing to the ground, while the man they had called parson, held the rein of dighton's horse--aided the latter to dismount, and led him into the cottage. "it is done," said ellerby, in a low voice, "it is done, but dighton is badly hurt. the old man passed his sword through him, when first he struck him, and would have killed him outright, if i had not stabbed the savage old boar behind. we cast him into the little sandpit there--but poor dighton is bad, and can scarce sit his horse." "yes, yes, i can," said dighton, in a faint tone; "if i had a little wine i could get on." "i have some here in a bottle," cried one of the others. dighton drank, and it seemed to revive him. "i have had worse than this before now," he said, "i can go on now; and we had better make haste, for there were certainly people coming." "away, then," said richard de ashby, "away then to lenton, and then run down to bridgeford. if you could get to thorp to-night, you would be safe. i will to the castle, and be ready to console my fair cousin when the news reaches her." "she will have heard it before that," murmured dighton, "for i tell you there were certainly people coming," and taking another deep draught of the wine, he contrived to walk, almost unassisted, to the horse's side, and mount. there was a black look, however, under his eyes, a bloodless paleness about his face, and a livid hue in his lips, which told that his wound, though "not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door," to use the words of mercutio, "was enough." "fail not to give me tidings of you," said richard de ashby, speaking to ellerby; and going round to the back of the cottage, he mounted his horse--which by his pawing, seemed to show that the long delay had not been less tedious to himself than to his master--and galloped away to lindwell, anxious to reach the castle before the news. even at the rapid pace at which he went, he could not escape thought. black care was behind him; and eagerly he turned in his mind all the consequences of the deed that had been done. his own conduct was the first consideration, and a strange consideration it was. what was he to say? what was he to do? at every step he must act a part: ay, and--like the poor player, who sometimes, distressed in circumstances, pained in body, or grieved in mind, has to go laughing through the merry comedy--the character which richard de ashby had now to play, was the direct reverse of all the feelings of his heart. crime, however, produces an excitement of a certain kind independent of the very gratification obtained. we have, in our own day, seen murderers laugh and sing and make merry, with hands scarcely washed from the blood of their victim; and, strange to say, when richard de ashby resolved to assume a face of cheerful gaiety on arriving at lindwell castle, the only danger was that he would over-act the part. in truth, remorse, like a tiger, lay waiting to spring upon him the moment action ceased; but for the time his mind was much relieved, and more buoyant than it had been while watching in the cottage. doubt, hesitation, apprehensions regarding the failure of the deed, were all gone: it was done irretrievably. it was accomplished, not only without any mischance, but with a circumstance which promised to remove one of his accomplices, and that was no slight satisfaction. so smooth does one crime make the way for another, that he who had lately pondered with no small hesitation the very deed in which he was engaged, now felt glancing through his mind with satisfaction the thought of disposing of ellerby also by some similar means, and leaving none but the two inferior ruffians, whom he might easily attach to himself, and render serviceable in the future. crimes are gregarious beings, and are seldom, if ever, met with single. his horse was fleet; the distance was not great; and in the space of about a quarter of an hour, he saw the towers of lindwell rising over the woody slopes around. he then checked his speed, in some degree, going on at a quick, but still an easy canter, knowing that there was always some one on the watchtower, who might remark the furious gallop at which he came, unless he slackened his pace. he had soon reached the open space--he had soon mounted the hill. the drawbridge was down, the doors of the barbican were open, one of the warders sitting quietly on a bench in the sun, two or three stout yeomen and armed men were amusing themselves between the two gates, and all turned to salute their master's kinsman as he passed, without giving the slightest indication that anything was known amiss within the walls of lindwell. dismounting at the inner gate, and giving his horse to one of the grooms, richard de ashby was upon the point of asking for his cousin lucy, but recollecting his part again, he inquired if the earl were there, adding, "i thought to have met him between this and nottingham." "no, sir richard," replied the porter, moving slowly back the great gate of the hall; "my lord had ordered his horses and train to be ready for nottingham by noon, but news came from the city, which stopped him; and then the son of old ugtred, the swine-driver, brought a letter, on which my lord went out on foot and alone. he would not even have his page, but carried his sword himself." "methinks that was rash," said richard de ashby; "these are not times to trust to. can i speak with the lady lucy? know you where she is?" "in her own chamber, i fancy, poor lady," replied the porter. "go, ned, and tell her, that sir richard is in the hall, and would fain see her." richard de ashby was a hypocrite--he was a hypocrite in everything. though a man of strong passions and of fierce disposition, it was not when he seemed most furious or most angry that he really was so, any more than when, as on the present occasion, he seemed most gay and light-hearted, that he was in reality cheerful. while the page went to seek for his fair cousin, he walked up and down the hall, humming a light tune, and seemingly occupied with nothing but those dancing phantasms of imagination which serve a mind at ease to while away a few idle minutes. the only thing which, during the whole time he was kept waiting, could have betrayed even to eyes far more keen and scrutinizing than those which now rested upon him, that there were more deep and anxious thoughts within, was a sudden start that he gave on hearing some noise and several persons speaking loudly in the court; but the sounds quickly passed away, and the next minute lucy herself entered the hall. she was pale, and her countenance seemed thoughtful; but her demeanour was calm; and though she had never loved the man that stood before her, she addressed him in a kind tone, saying, "i give you good day, richard; we have not seen you for a long time." "no, fair cousin," he replied, "and i rode here in haste from nottingham, thinking i might be the bearer of good tidings to you; but i fancy from your look you have heard them already." "what may they be?" said lucy, the colour slightly tinging her cheek. "why," answered richard de ashby, "they are that a certain noble lord, a dearer friend of yours than mine, fair cousin, who lay in high peril in nottingham castle, has made his escape last night." "so i have heard," replied lucy, her eyes seeking the ground; "people tell me they had condemned him to death without hearing him." "not exactly so," said richard de ashby; "they heard him once, but then----" "oh, lady! oh, lady!" cried one of the servants, running into the hall, with a face as pale as ashes, and, a wild frightened look, "here's a yeoman from eastwood who says he has seen my lord lying murdered in the pit under the bull's hawthorn!" lucy gazed at the man for a moment or two, with her large dark eyes wide open, and a vacant look upon her countenance, as if her mind refused to comprehend the sudden and horrible news she heard; but the next moment she turned as pale as ashes, and fell like a corpse upon the pavement. "fool! you have killed her!" cried richard de ashby, really angry; "you should have told her more gently.--call her women hither." the man remarked not, in his own surprise and horror, that richard de ashby was less moved by the tidings he had given, than by the effect they produced upon lucy. all was now agitation and confusion, however; and in the midst of it, the poor girl was removed to her own chamber. the peasant, who had brought the news, was summoned to the presence of the murdered man's kinsman; and informed him that, in passing along, at the top of the bank, he had been startled by the sight of fresh blood, and at first thought some deer had been killed there, but, looking over the hedge, he had seen a human body lying under the bank, and, on getting down into the pit, had recognised the person of the earl. he was quite dead, the man, said, with a cut upon the head, and a dagger still remaining in a wound on his right side. instantly coming away for help to bear him home, he had found by the way, not far from the pit, the murdered man's sword, which he picked up and brought with him. on examination, the blade was found to be bloody, so that the earl had evidently used it with some effect, but the peasant had found no other traces of a conflict, and had come on with all speed for aid. one of the flat boards, which in that day, placed upon trestles, served as dining-tables in the castle hall, was now carried out by a large party of the earl's servants and retainers, in order to bring in the corpse. richard de ashby put himself at their head, and by his direction they all went well armed, lest, as he said, there should be some force of enemies near. it was now his part to assume grief and consternation; and as they advanced towards the well-known spot, he felt, it must be acknowledged, his heart sink, when he thought of the first look of the dead man's face. but he was resolute, and went on, preparing his mind to assume the appearance of passionate sorrow and horror, calculating every gesture and every word. the old hawthorn tree, which was a well-known rendezvous for various sylvan sports, was soon in sight, and a few steps more brought them to the bloody spot, near the edge of the pit, where both the green grass and the yellow sand were deeply stained with gore in several places. many an exclamation of grief and rage burst from the attendants, and richard de ashby, with a shudder, cried, "oh, this is terrible!" "hallo! but where's the body?" cried a man, who had advanced to the side of the pit. "don't you see it?" said the peasant who had brought the news, stepping forward to point it out. "by the lord, it is gone!" richard de ashby now became agitated indeed. "gone!" he exclaimed, looking down, "gone!--the murderers have come back to carry it off!" and, running round to a spot where a little path descended, after the manner of a rude flight of steps, into the sandpit, he made his way down, followed by the rest, and searched all around. the spot where the body had lain was plainly to be seen, marked, both by some blood which must have flowed after the fall from above, and also by a fragment of the earl's silken pourpoint, which had been caught and torn off by a black thornbush, as he fell. "they cannot be far off," said the peasant, "for the poor gentleman was a heavy man to carry, and there seemed nobody near when i was here." "pshaw!" cried richard de ashby, "there might have been a hundred amongst the bushes and trees without your seeing them. however," he continued, eagerly, "let us beat the ground all round. some one, run back to the castle for horses; if we pursue quickly, we may very likely find the murderers with the corpse in their hands." "it may be, sir richard," said one of the attendants, "that some of the neighbouring yeomen, or franklins, coming and going from eastwood to nottingham market, which falls today, may have chanced upon the body, and carried it to some house or cottage near." "well, we must discover it at all events," said richard de ashby, who feared that one-half of his purpose might be frustrated if the letter, which he had written under the name of hugh de monthermer, was not actually found upon the corpse. "spread round! spread round! let us follow up every path by which the body could be borne, shouting from time to time to each other, that we may not be altogether separated. but here come more men down from the castle; we shall have plenty now. let six or eight stay here till the horses arrive, then mount, and pursue each horse-road and open track for some two or three miles; they cannot have gone much farther." all efforts, however, were vain. not a trace could be found of the body, or of those who had taken it; and, although richard de ashby at first had entertained no doubt that they would find it in the hands of some of the neighbouring peasantry, and only feared that the important letter might be by any chance lost or destroyed, he soon became anxious, in no ordinary degree, to know what had become of the body itself. had it been found, he asked himself, by those bold tenants of sherwood, whose shrewdness, determination, and activity he well knew? and if so, might not the dagger, which ellerby had left in the wound, and with the haft of which he himself had sealed the letter, prove, at some after period, a clue to the real murderers? his heart was ill at ease. apprehension took possession of him again; and, towards nightfall, he returned to the castle, accompanied by a number of the men who by that time had rejoined him, with a spirit depressed and gloomy, and a heart ill at ease indeed. chapter xxxiii. the grey twilight hung over the world when richard de ashby re-entered the outer court of the castle at lindwell; but still he could perceive horses saddled and dusty, attendants running hither and thither, armed men standing in knots, as if resting themselves for a moment after a journey, and every indication of the arrival of some party having taken place during his absence. his first thought was, that the corpse must have been found and brought back by some of the small bodies of prince edward's troops, which were moving about in all directions; but he soon saw that such an event was impossible, as he himself, or some of those about him, must have met any party which had passed near the scene of the murder. the next instant, in going by one of the little groups of soldiers we have mentioned, he recognised the face of some of the retainers of the house of ashby, and exclaimed, "what! has the lord alured returned?" "not half an hour ago, sir richard," replied a soldier; and richard de ashby hurried like lightning into the hall. there was a coldness at his heart, indeed, as he thought of meeting the man whose father's blood was upon his hand, and against whose own life he was devising schemes as dark as those which had just been executed. but he was most anxious nevertheless to meet his cousin, ere he had conversed long with lucy, and to give those impressions regarding the causes of the bloody deed which best suited his purposes. alured de ashby was not in the great hall, but richard, without a moment's delay, mounted the great staircase to the upper chamber, where hugh de monthermer's last happy hour had been passed with lucy. there were voices speaking within, but the kinsman paused not a moment; and opening the door, he found the sister weeping in the arms of her brother. they had been sometime together; the first burst of sorrow, in speaking of their father's death, had passed away; an accidental word had caused them to converse of other things connected therewith, indeed, but not absolutely relating to that subject, and the first words that met richard de ashby's ear were spoken by the lord alured. "never, lucy," he was saying--"never! fear not, dear girl! i will never force your inclination. i will try to make you happy in your own way. as my poor father promised, so i promise too." their dark kinsman saw at once that the proud and stubborn heart of his hasty cousin was softened by the touch of grief, and that he had made a promise which no other circumstances would have drawn from him, but which--however much he might regret it at an after period--would never be retracted. lucy started on her cousin's entrance; and, why she knew not, but a shudder passed over her as she beheld him. he advanced towards them, however, with an assumption of frank and kindly sympathy, holding out a hand to each. but lucy avoided taking it, though not markedly, and saying in a low voice to her brother, "i cannot speak with any one, alured," she glided away through the door which led to her own apartments, leaving richard de ashby with all the bitter purposes of his heart only strengthened by what he had seen and heard. alured took his cousin's hand at once, asking, "have you brought in the body? where have you laid him?" in a rapid but clear manner, richard explained that the search had been ineffectual, and told all that had been done in vain for the discovery of the corpse. after some time spent in conjectures as to what could have become of the body, the peasant who had first discovered it was called in, and questioned strictly as to what he had seen, and his knowledge of the old lord's person. his replies, however, left no doubt in regard to the facts of the murder; and when he was dismissed, alured turned, with a frowning brow and a bewildered eye, to his cousin, asking, "who can have done this?" richard de ashby looked down in silence for a moment, as if almost unwilling to reply, and then answered, "i know of but one man whom he has offended." "who, who," demanded alured, sharply. "i know of none." "none, but hugh de monthermer," said richard de ashby. "hugh de monthermer!" cried the young earl.--"offended him! why he has loaded him with favour. 'twas his letter, telling me that he intended to give our lucy's hand to one of our old enemies, that brought me back with such speed. offended him! he is the last man that had cause of complaint." "you know not, alured--you know not all," cried his false cousin. "far be it from me to accuse hugh de monthermer behind his back. i have ever said what i have had to say of him boldly, and to his face; and all i wish to imply is, without making any accusation whatsoever, that i know of not one man on earth whom your poor father has offended but hugh de monthermer." "and how offended him?" asked the young earl. "by withdrawing his promise of your sister's hand," answered his cousin. "'tis but yesterday, upon some quarrel--i know not what--that he who is now dead retracted every rash engagement of the kind, and told him he should never have her. lucy will tell you the same." "ha!" cried alured, knitting his brows thoughtfully--"ha! but--no, no, no! to do him justice, monthermer is too noble ever, to draw his sword upon an old man like that. his name was never stained with any lowly act. he might be a proud enemy, but never a base one." "i dare say it is so;" answered richard; "though i have seen some mean things, too. did he not avoid meeting you in arms, on quarrel concerning my poor little paramour? but all this matters not; i bring no charge against him--'tis but suspicion, at the most. only when i recollect that yesterday your father crossed all his hopes, and that guy de margan, geary, and the rest who were with this poor earl, told me that there was a violent quarrel, with high and fierce words on both sides, i may well say that he was offended--and, as far as i know, he was the only one offended--by the good old man. lucy will tell you more, perhaps." "stay!" cried alured, "i will go and ask her." "nay," rejoined his cousin, "i must away with all speed to nottingham, to learn if aught has been heard of the body there. i will ask guy de margan and the others, what really passed when they were here yesterday, and let you know early to-morrow." "bring them with you--bring them with you said alured. "i will," replied richard; "but in the meantime, by your good leave, my lord. i will take some of your men with me, for i came alone, and am not well loved, as you know, of these monthermers." "take what men you will," said the young earl; "but yet i cannot think they have had a hand in this. good night, richard--good night!" so prone is the mind of man to suspicion, so intimately are we convinced in our own hearts of the fallibility of human nature at every point, that accusation often repeated will ever leave a doubt in the most candid mind. "be thou as cold as ice, as chaste as snow, thou shalt not 'scape calumny," cried shakspeare, addressing woman; and he might have said to the whole race of man--"armour thyself in the whole panoply of virtue, cover thee from head to foot in the triple steel of honour, honesty, and a pure heart, still the poisoned dart of malice shall pierce through and wound thee, if it do not destroy." in the heart of alured de ashby, there had never been a doubt that hugh de monthermer was, in every thought and in every deed, as high, as noble, and as true, as ever was man on earth; and yet--alas, that it should be so!--the words of a false, base man, whom he himself knew to be full of faults and detected in falsehoods, left a suspicion on his mind, in favour of which, his jealous hatred of the race of monthermer rose up with an angry and clamorous voice. it was with such feelings that he now strode away to his sister's chamber; but ere he knocked at the door he paused thoughtfully, remembering that she was already grieved and shaken by the sad events of that evening. he called to mind that he was her only protector, her only near relation, now; and a feeling of greater tenderness than he had ever before suffered to take possession of his heart rose out of their relative position to each other, and caused him to soften his tone and manner as far as possible. he knocked at the door, then, and went in, finding lucy with her maids; the latter following mechanically the embroidery--on which one half a woman's life was then spent,--the former sitting in the window, far from the lamp, with her cheek resting on her hand, and a handkerchief beside her to wipe away the tears that ever and anon broke from the dark shady well of her long-fringed eyes. as gently as was in his nature to do, alured sat down beside her, and questioned her as to what had passed on the preceding day. she answered very briefly; for his inquiries mingled one dark and terrible stream of thought with another scarcely less dreadful. she knew little, she said, as she had not been present. she was not aware why her father had so acted; but she acknowledged that he had withdrawn his consent to her union with the man she loved, and had spoken words concerning him which had wrung and pained her heart to hear. so far, the tale of richard de ashby was confirmed; and alured left her, with a moody and uncertain mind, hesitating between new-born suspicions and the confidence which the experience of years had forced upon him. he paced the hall that night for many an hour, ever and anon sending for various members of the household, and questioning them concerning the transactions of the day. but he gained no farther tidings; and in gloom and sadness the minutes slipped away--the gay merriment, the light jest, the tranquil enjoyment, all crushed out and extinct, and every part of the castle filled with an air of sorrow and anxiety; all feeling that a terrible deed had been done, and all inquiring--"what is to come next?" the last words of the young earl, ere he retired to rest, were, "let horses be prepared by nine in the morning. i will to nottingham myself. this must be sifted to the bottom." ere he set out, however, richard de ashby, accompanied by several gentlemen of the court, had reached lindwell, and were met by alured in the hall, booted and spurred for his departure. "ha! give you good day, sirs," he exclaimed, in his quick and impetuous manner, "i was about to seek you, if you had not come to me." "this is a sad affair, my lord the earl!" said sir guy de margan. "little did i think, when i rode over hither the day before yesterday with your noble father, that it was the last time i should see him living!" "sad, indeed, sir--sad, indeed!" replied the young earl. "but the question now is, 'who did this deed?'" "who shalt say that?" said sir guy de margan. alured de ashby paused, and crushed his glove in his hand, wishing any one to touch upon the subject of the suspicions which had been instilled into his mind, before he spoke upon them himself; but finding that guy de margan stopped short, he said, at length, "may i ask you, sir guy, to tell me the circumstances which took place here during your stay with my father yesterday? any act of his is of importance to throw light upon this dark affair." "i can tell you very little, my noble lord," replied sir guy. "when we arrived, we were told that the lord hugh de monthermer was in the upper hall with your fair sister, the lady lucy. we all went thither together; but, as we came to the lord hugh with a somewhat unpleasant summons to the presence of the king, your noble father, wishing to spare his feelings, desired us to wait without at the head of the stairs, while he went in to break the tidings. we soon, however, heard high words and very angry language on the part of the young lord. then there was much spoken in a lower tone; and then monthermer came nearer to the door, where he stopped, and said aloud, 'you will not fail, my lord?' your father answered, in a stern tone, 'i will meet you at the hour you named. fear not, i will not fail!'" alured de ashby turned his eyes upon his cousin with a meaning look, and richard de ashby raised his to heaven, and then let them sink to the earth again. "i heard those words myself," said sir william geary, "and thought it strange monthermer should appoint a meeting when he was aware he was going to a prison. it seems, however, that he well knew what he was about." "god send he met him not too surely!" burst forth alured de ashby, with his eyes flashing. "after all, we may be quite mistaken," observed richard, who knew that now, having sown the suspicions,--ay, and watered them, too,--it was his task to affect candour, and seem to repress them; as a man lops off branches from a tree to make it grow the stronger. "hugh de monthermer was always noble and true, and of a generous nature, as you well said last night, alured." "but you forget," said guy de margan, "he was at this very time under a strong suspicion of a base treason, and had been seen speaking secretly in the forest with three masked men unknown!" "ha!" cried alured de ashby, seizing the speaker by the arm, and gazing into his face, as if he would have read his soul. "ha! three masked men?" "it is true, upon my life!" replied guy de margan. "be calm--be calm, my dear cousin," exclaimed richard de ashby. "calm!" shouted the young earl--"calm! with my father's blood crying for vengeance from the earth, and my sword yet undrawn!" "but listen," said richard. "i have thought, as we came along, of a fact which may give us some insight into this affair. yesterday evening, on my arrival here, ere any of us knew aught of your father's death, the old hall porter told me, on my inquiring for him, that the earl had gone forth alone, having received a letter brought by some peasant boy. he mentioned the boy's name, for he seemed to know him, and therefore i ventured, as we passed the gates just now, to bid the warder speak with the old man, and have the boy sent for with all speed. 'tis but right that we should know who that note came from." "let the porter be sent for," cried alured--"let the porter be sent for." "i will call him," said richard, and left the ball. in a moment after, he returned with the old man, followed by a young clown of some thirteen years of age. the boy stayed near the door, but richard de ashby advanced with the porter, the latter bowing low to his lord as he came up. "who brought the letter given to my father just before he went out yesterday?" demanded the young earl, in a stern tone. "dickon, the son of ugtred, the swine-driver, my lord," replied the porter; "he lives hard by, and there he stands." "did he say aught when he delivered it?" asked richard de ashby. "nothing, sir richard," answered the porter, "but to give it to my lord directly." "come hither, boy," cried alured. "now speak truly; who gave you that letter?" "there were four of them, my lord," replied the boy; "but i never saw any one of them before." "were they masked?" demanded richard de ashby. the boy replied in the negative; but his wily questioner, having put suspicion upon the track, was satisfied, so far, and alured proceeded. "what did they say to you?" he asked. "they bade me take it to the castle," replied the boy, "and tell the people to give it to my noble lord the earl, as fast as possible." "did they say nothing more?" demanded alured de ashby. the boy looked round and began to whimper. "speak the truth, knave," cried the young earl, "speak the truth, and no harm shall happen to you; but hesitate a moment, and i'll hang you over the gate." "they told me," answered the boy, still crying, "that if i saw the earl, i might say it came from the lord hugh de monthermer, but not to say so to any one else." the whole party looked round in each other's faces, except richard de ashby, who gazed down upon the ground, as if distressed, though to say truth, his heart swelled with triumph, for the words the men had used had been suggested by him at the last moment before he left them. he would not look up, however, lest his satisfaction should appear; and alured set his teeth hard, saying, "this is enough!" "but one more question, my good lord," cried sir william geary, "do you know the lord hugh de monthermer, boy?" "yes, sir, very well," replied the boy; "i have seen him many a time with my lord and my lady." "and was he amongst them?" asked sir william geary. "oh, no," cried the boy, his face brightening up at once. "there was one of them as tall, and, mayhap, as strong, but then he was black about the mazzard; and the other who was well-nigh as tall, had a wrong looking eye." "this serves no farther purpose," said the young earl. "i must to nottingham at once. you, gentlemen, will forgive a son who has his father's death to avenge; but you must not quit my castle unrefreshed. richard will play the host's part while i am absent; so fare you well, with many thanks for your coming.--ho! are my horses ready, there?" chapter xxxiv. it was night; and in the castle of nottingham sat the princess eleanor, with one or two ladies working at their embroidery near. each had a silver lamp beside her; and while they plied the busy needle, they spoke in low tones, sometimes of the rumours of the day, sometimes of the colours of this or that flower, that grew up beneath their hands upon the frame. the princess was differently employed; for though an embroidery frame stood near her also, she had turned away from it, and by the light of a taper at her side was reading attentively a paper which she held in her hand. there was a pleased smile upon her countenance, the high and noble expression of which was seldom what may be called very cheerful, though rarely very sad; for as yet she never had cause for actual sadness; and even during the imprisonment of her beloved husband, amidst the wild chances of civil war, and the daily dangers of faction and strife, her heart had been lighted by high hope and confidence in the all-protecting hand of heaven. in every countenance that is at all capable of displaying what is passing in the mind--every countenance, except the dull, unlettered book, where mere animal desires appear written in their unvarying coarseness--there are two expressions; the one permanent, pervading every change and indicating the natural disposition--the inherent qualities of the spirit within; the other, altering with every affection of the mind, brightening with joy or hope, growing dark under sorrow and disappointment, but still receiving a peculiar character from the permanent expression, as the sunshine and the cloud cast different light and shade upon the brown masses of the wood and the wild waters of the sea. the permanent expression of eleanor's countenance was calm, and full of that thoughtfulness which approaches, in some degree, the bounds of melancholy; and yet the transient expression was often gay and happy in a very high degree; for that very thoughtfulness and sensibility of character which produced the former, enabled her to love, and hope, and enjoy, with the high zest which sparkled in the latter. and now, upon her countenance was a look of well-pleased relief, as if something had grieved her and was taken away; and after she had read the paper, she suffered her hand to drop over the arm of the chair, looking up, with her large, dark eyes, towards heaven, as noble minds generally do when the heart is busy with high and elevating thoughts. "i was sure," she murmured to herself--"i was sure that young man was not guilty of that crime with which they charged him; and i am convinced also that he is as little guilty of this that they now lay to his account." a page stood near the door, as if waiting for some reply, now fixing his eyes upon the ground, now stealing a furtive glance at the pretty faces bending over their embroidery. to him eleanor now beckoned, saying, "come hither; take the letter back to my dear lord, and say i thank him for the sight of it. tell him i would fain speak with him when his leisure serves; and that i beseech him, when the lady lucy comes, to send her to me, that i may accompany her to the presence of the king. she will need a friend beside her." the boy took the letter, bowed, and retired; and eleanor resumed her work, pausing, from time to time, as if to think, and then busying her hands again, though her mind went on with other things. in about a quarter of an hour the door opened, and edward entered, with a brow somewhat sad and gloomy. nor did that expression altogether pass away, though the accustomed smile cheered it for a moment, as he met her whom he so deeply loved. "she cannot be long," he said, after a few words of greeting. "this is a strange as well as a dark affair." "but you do not think him guilty?" demanded eleanor. "assuredly not," replied the prince; "but it has so happened--all has been so arranged, that i fear he will seem guilty though he be not. you read that letter, and you saw how easily he explained all that appeared suspicious in his former conduct; and yet a body of barons, mortimer amongst the rest, were ready enough to urge my father to put him to death, without those forms and circumstances of customary law which are the only safeguards of men's liberty." "do you think they would have executed him?" demanded eleanor. "they would have murdered him," replied the prince, "for such a death without law is murder." eleanor put her hands before her eyes, and after a moment's pause, added, "and yet he was innocent, clearly innocent--oh! i never doubted it, edward! i have seen him, when you knew it not, gaze upon the countenance of my noble prince; and in his face, as in a moving picture, rise up a thousand images of kindly thoughts within;--affection, gratitude, esteem, and admiration; and i could have sworn that he would never plot against your father's throne, however reckless be the men of this world, of faith and honesty." "i was sure also," answered edward, "for i know him well, and am convinced that when, with a mistaken zeal, he was once found in arms against us, 'twas that he thought duty and honour called him to do that which wounded his own heart even in the doing.--but 'twas not alone that conviction which made me think the late accusation false," he continued, in a lower tone, that the women near might not catch his words--"i knew the men who made it, eleanor: i knew mortimer to be cruel and treacherous; i knew pembroke to be cold, and hard, and selfish. and now i find," he added, with a smile, "they were to divide his lands between them. here was guy de margan, too--a thing so light and frail, one would scarce think that such a delicate vessel could hold strong passions and fierce hatreds; yet 'tis evident to me that there was no slight rancour there." "oh! i know, i know!" replied eleanor. "one night, when lucy and her lover--with my connivance, i will own--walked by the moonlight under the southern cloisters at eltham, this guy de margan, with some three or four other young idlers of the court, would have stopped her by force as she was returning to me, when the knight, whom she had just left, came up, and felled him with a blow. but hark! she is coming, edward. see if that be the lady lucy, alice." one of the ladies who sat near, rose, went to the door, and returned immediately, bringing lucy de ashby with her. she was pale and very sad, but not less beautiful than ever; and as she came forward to the princess, and knelt down upon the cushion at her feet to kiss her hand, she kept her dark eyes fixed upon the ground, as if she feared that, should she open them, the fountain of tears, which had so lately sprung up, would well over. "the king has sent for you, fair lady," said prince edward, after eleanor had spoken a few words of consolation to her--"the king has sent for you to ask you some questions with his own voice upon a matter very painful to you in all respects, i fear. but be comforted; the bitter loss you have sustained is one that every child who lives the ordinary length of life must undergo. the death of those we love is a salutary preparation for our own; and, as to the other cause of the anxiety and pain which may mingle with your feelings to-night, be assured that the noble lord who has fallen under some wrongful suspicion has now a friendly voice near to do him justice, and be raised in his behalf. we are confident of his innocence, and will maintain him to be guiltless till he can appear in person and defend his own cause." the prince paused, as if for an answer; but lucy would not trust her voice with many words, merely replying, "i thank you deeply, my most gracious lord." "i will go then to the king," continued edward, "who has been expecting your arrival for some time. the princess will accompany you to his presence, when he is ready to receive you. so be calm, dear lady, and firm; and, ever before you reply, think well what you are saying." the prince quitted the room, and eleanor proceeded to give that womanly comfort to her fair young friend which was better calculated to support and calm her than even the prince's encouraging tone; for whatever may be the wisdom and the strength of man's exhortations, there is a roughness in them far different from that soothing balm which was given to the lips of woman to enable her to tranquillize and console. but little time, however, was afforded them for conversation, a summons being almost immediately received for the lady lucy to appear before the king; and drawing the fair girl's arm through her own, eleanor led her to the hall where henry was seated. the first glance of the king's countenance shewed that he was in an irritable state of mind. weak and vacillating, as well as oppressive, he yielded, it is true, to the influence of his wiser and nobler son, but not without impatience and resistance. the prince was now standing on his right hand, a circle of nobles was formed in front, and next to edward appeared alured de ashby--his brows bent, his eyes cast down upon the ground, and his left hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. he gave no glance towards his sister as she entered, but remained stern and gloomy, without moving a feature or a muscle. the princess seated herself in a chair beside the king, but still holding lucy's hand, and drawing her gently close to her side. "lady," said henry, smoothing down his look, and affecting a tone of sadness, "we have been compelled to send for you, even though we thereby break in upon the sanctity of your sorrow; for it becomes necessary immediately, or at least as speedily as may be, to ascertain the author of a terrible crime, which has deprived you of a father, and us of a loving subject and faithful friend. speak, then, and tell us what you know of this matter." "sire, i know nothing," replied lucy, "but that my poor father left me in health some short time before the hour of three yesterday, and that long after, while i was speaking with my cousin richard, who had just arrived from nottingham, news came that my father was murdered." "nay," said the king, "we must hear what took place previously regarding the gentleman accused of this offence." "i know not who is accused, sire," replied lucy, looking up with an air of surprise; "i have not heard that the murderer was discovered." "the gentleman on whom strong suspicion lights," rejoined the king, in a stern tone, "is an escaped prisoner from this castle, hugh de monthermer." lucy clasped her hands with a start, and turned as pale as death. but the next instant, the blood rushed glowing into her face, and throwing back her head with a sparkling eye and a curling lip, she cried--"it is false! my lord the king--it is false!--i know whence this foul suspicion has arisen. ay, and perhaps art may have overdone itself. i have gained a light i never thought of till now, which may yet perhaps bring the felon to justice." the king seemed somewhat surprised at the sudden energy which had taken possession of the fair and gentle being before him. "pray tell me," he said, after gazing at her for a moment "whence you think this suspicion has arisen, since you say you know." "it has sprung, sire," replied lucy, in a calmer tone--"it has sprung from a letter which was given to my father shortly before his death. he was with me at the time. we were speaking of him who is now accused of a deed that he never dreamed of, and my father showed me the letter, saying, it came from him. i answered instantly that it was not his writing, which i have often seen. my father replied that he must have made some clerk write for him, as is so common. the explanation satisfied me, and i thought no more of it till this moment; but now i see that letter was a forgery to lure my poor father to his death." "you read the letter, then?" enquired the king. "i did," replied lucy. "can you repeat what it contained?" asked edward, with a look of keen anxiety. "the matter, not the words," answered lucy, her voice slightly faltering. "it told my father that hugh de monthermer, doomed to death unheard, though innocent, had escaped from the castle of nottingham, leaving behind his fair fame undefended; and it besought the earl to meet him alone at the place called the bull's hawthorn." "the very place where he was murdered," said a voice from the circle. "peace, sir guy de margan," cried prince edward, turning suddenly upon him; "you are a known enemy of the man accused." "i, my lord!" exclaimed guy de margan. "ay, sir," replied the prince, "we know more than you suppose. you hate him for chastising your insolence towards a lady; and we little doubt that you were well aware the friar whom you accused of carrying treasonable communications between him and sir john lemwood, had only been sent by the old earl of monthermer to beseech sir john not to risk the life and honour of his friends by hopeless rebellion. i have it, sir, under the knight's own hand, and have also reason to believe you knew it when you made the charge. let me not discover that you are bringing other false accusations, for there is a punishment for such offences." "go on, lady," said the king, as guy de margan shrunk back from the stern eye of the prince. "go on. what more did the letter say?" "i think it promised, sire," replied lucy, "to give my father full proof of the innocence of the lord hugh, and it besought him to come alone, not even bringing a page with him. but i assert now, my lord, that letter was a forgery of some one to decoy my poor father to his death." "may it not," asked the king, "have been the letter of an angry and disappointed man, seeking means to wreak his vengeance upon one who had denied him his daughter's hand, and disappointed his hopes? here it is proved, fair lady that your lover and your father quarrelled, and that the earl promised to meet him--wherefore, or when, no one knows,--and that as soon as this young stubborn lord makes his escape from this castle of nottingham, your father receives a letter from him, calling upon him to come alone to a secluded place. your father is there found murdered; the boy that bears the letter is bidden to tell no one that it comes from hugh de monthermer; it wants but the letter to be in his writing to make the whole case clear enough." "my lord," replied lucy, earnestly, "clear your mind from the false tales of deceitful men. hugh and my father did not quarrel; though natural disappointment regarding one whom he loved--though scarcely worthy of such love--might make the friend of your noble son speak loud and hasty words, even to the father of his promised wife. but they did not quarrel, sire. my father saw him go, in the full hope that he would prove his innocence before your majesty, and induce you to withdraw the bar you had placed against our union--he came and told me so, the moment hugh was gone. then, sire, as to the promised meeting, i can tell you, wherefore, and when, and where, from my dead parent's lips. it was to be here in this presence; it was to be at one hour after noon yesterday it was to hear him fully exculpate himself of the charge then made against him, not only in the presence of your majesty, but in the presence of prince edward also; and the noble prince himself knows that my father sent a messenger to him, calling him to nottingham with all speed, lest the voice of many enemies without one friend might prevail even with your majesty." "it is true," replied edward, "the messenger came, and had he not been kept from me somewhat foolishly, i should have been here shortly after noon this day." "he did wrong," said the king, "to suspect that we would not do him justice." the colour came into edward's cheek, and he bent down his eyes upon the ground, feeling the ridicule of his father talking of justice, when so gross an act as the late condemnation of hugh de monthermer had just been committed. but henry went on to cross-question poor lucy, to whom zeal and anxiety for her lover had given a temporary strength which was now failing rapidly. "you said, lady," he continued, "that the explanation which your father gave of this letter being written in another hand satisfied you completely at the time. what makes you think now that it is a forgery?--has love nothing to do with the defence?" the colour mounted into lucy's cheek, and eleanor was about to interpose, to shield her from such questions, before such an assembly. but the poor girl gained courage both from the depth and strength of her own feelings, and from the discourteous mockery of the king. she raised her eyes, bright and sparkling, to his face, and answered--"perhaps love has, my lord. but has hate no part in the accusation?--god in his mercy grant that it may have none in the judgment!" a dead silence succeeded for a moment to this bold reply; and then lucy, turning pale again and dropping her eyes, went on to say--"you asked me why i think it forged, my lord? because i now see a motive for the forgery, which i did not see before--because i perceive no cause why hugh de monthermer should not write with his own hand--because he could have had still, less to kill the father of her beloved--because he did not even sign the letter; for the name was not his writing--because not even the seal was, from his signet. these are strong reasons, sire--even," she added, with the tears rising into her eyes--"even if there were not a reason stronger still:--that he has ever been honest, honourable, and true; that no mean, dark act lies chronicled against him; that his whole life gives the lie to the accusation; and that he has never taken advantage of any opportunity to do a thing that he thought to be wrong, even when the opinion of the world might have extolled the act." she wiped the tears from her yes, for they were now running; over fast, and eleanor rose from her seat, saying, "i beseech you, sire, let her depart. she is grieved and faint--i see it." "one more question," rejoined henry, "and she shall go. you say, lady, that you see a motive for the forgery;--is it that you have any suspicion of another having done this deed?" lucy ran her eye round all the circle, suffering it to pause for a moment upon the face of richard de ashby, which turned pale under her glance. she carried it round to the other extreme, however, and then replied, "i have a strong suspicion, sire." "of whom?" demanded the king, eagerly. "forgive me, gracious lord," answered lucy; "though strong, it is but suspicion, and i, for one, will not make a charge upon suspicion alone. but let me warn my brother alured, who is too noble to doubt and too brave to be prudent, that those who have destroyed the father may not have any greater tenderness for the son." again her words were followed by a silent pause, and eleanor, taking advantage of it, drew lucy away, saying, "we have your leave, sire--is it not so?" the king bowed his head; and the moment the princess, her fair companion, and her attendants, had departed, a buzz ran round the room, while the prince and the king spoke in a low tone together. the young earl of ashby, let it be remarked, had not uttered one word during the whole of his sister's interrogation, and had scarcely moved a muscle from the time she entered, excepting changing his hand occasionally from the pommel of his sword to the hilt of his dagger. but he now stepped forward, as soon as edward raised his head, saying, "sire, this is a doubtful case, which, without farther evidence, cannot be tried by an ordinary court. perhaps lucy is right, and hugh de monthermer innocent. she loves him, and i love him not; but still i will do justice to him, and own that the case is not proved against him, so far as to warrant his peers in condemning him; but there is an eye that sees, though ours be blinded--there is a judge to decide, though mortal judges are debarred of proof. to that great judge i will appeal the cause, and my body against his try, under god's decision, whether this man be guilty or not guilty. a son must not sit quiet, even under a doubt concerning his father's murderer; and i do beseech you, sire, to cause proclamation to be made over the whole land, that hugh de monthermer stands charged with the murder of william, earl of ashby, and is bound to appear and clear himself within fourteen days of this time." "i must not refuse," replied the king; "the request is just and lawful." "i must, moreover, entreat you, my lord," continued the young earl, "not to proclaim the name of the accuser. i say it in no vanity, for, though my lance be a good one, there is not a better in all christendom than that of hugh de monthermer. but yet i doubt that he would meet me in the field, on such a quarrel as this. for his love's sake, he would not bar himself for ever from lucy's hand, by risking the death of her brother--that is to say, if he be innocent." "that is fair, too," replied the king; "lord pembroke, see such proclamation made!--and now to more cheerful thoughts! for, by my faith, our time passes here but gravely." chapter xxxv. the forest of sherwood, which we have already had so much occasion to notice, though at that time celebrated for its extent, and the thickness of the woody parts thereof, was not even then what it once had been, and vestiges of its former vastness were found for many miles beyond the spots where the royal meres, or forest boundaries, were then placed. a space of cultivated country would intervene; meadows and fields would stretch out, with nothing but a hawthorn or a beech overshadowing them here and there; but then suddenly would burst upon the traveller's eye a large patch of wood, of several miles in length, broken with the wild, irregular savannahs, dells, dingles, banks, and hills, which characterized the forest he had just left behind. this was especially the case to the north and east, but one of the largest tracts of woodland, beyond the actual meres, lay in the south-eastern part of yorkshire. it was separated by some three or four miles of ground irregularly cultivated, and broken by occasional clumps of old trees, and even small woods, from sherwood itself, and, being more removed from the highway between the southern portion of england and the northern border, was more wild and secluded than even the actual forest. in extent it was about five miles long, and from three to four broad, and had evidently, in former times, been a portion of the same vast woody region which occupied the whole of that part of england. no great towns lying in the country immediately surrounding it, and no lordly castle, belonging to any very powerful baron, this tract was without that constant superintendence which was exercised over the forest ground in the southern parts of the island; and the game was left open as an object of chase, alike to the yeomen of the lands around, the monks of a neighbouring priory, and some of the inferior nobles who held estates in that district. under a yellow sandy bank, then, upon the edge of this wood, with tall trees rising above, and the brown leaves of autumn rustling around, sat the old earl of monthermer, with his nephew, hugh, six or eight of his own retainers, and four of the band of the bold outlaw, finishing their forest meal, on a fine afternoon, some three days after the escape of the young nobleman from nottingham castle. the old earl and his own personal attendants had all donned the forest green, but hugh still remained in the same attire which he had worn at the court; and looking daily for the intelligence that prince edward had justified him with the king, and pleaded his cause with the old earl of ashby, he entertained not the slightest intention of taking upon him either the outlaw's life or garb. his uncle, indeed, was of a somewhat rougher school of chivalry than himself, and, from his earliest days till his hair had grown white with age, had known little but a life of adventure and privation, so that the calm and tranquil passing of peaceful hours seemed dull and wearisome to one whose corporeal vigour was but little decayed, and the wild sports of the forest, the mimic warfare of the chase, the constant change of circumstance, the very dangers of the outlaw's life, were to him as familiar things, pleasant as well as wholesome in their use. the old earl had never loved but once, and that had been in early days, but love had been followed by bitterness and regret; and fixing his hopes upon his brother's son, he had forsworn the bonds of domestic life, and had no tie in wife or children to make him regret the castle hall, when he was under the boughs of the forest. it was not so, however, with hugh; and, though it might be agreeable enough, for a day or two, to roam the country with a bold band of foresters, yet he looked forward anxiously to the day of his return to the court, from no great love to the court itself, but for the sake of lucy de ashby. uncle and nephew, however, and all around, saw cheerfully the sun sinking, growing of a brighter and a brighter yellow as he went down, and beginning to touch the tips of the hills of derbyshire and the clouds above them with purple and with gold. the merry song, the gay laugh, and jest passed round; and, if a memory of friends he had lost, and fortunes that were gone, and plans that were defeated, and expectations that were blasted, crossed the mind of the old earl, they shadowed him but for a moment; and, with the true philosophy of the old soldier, he thought--"i have done my best, i have won renown, i have fought for the liberty of my country, and as for the rest, 'twill be all the same a hundred years hence." with hugh, hope had risen up, as we have shewn, almost as bright as ever; for in the heart of truth and honour there is a spring of confidence which needs all the burdens of age, experience, and disappointment, to weigh it down for any length of time. "look there!" he cried, at length--"there are three horsemen coming hither by the green road! news from the court, i'll warrant.--a letter from prince edward, perhaps." "who are they, scathelock?" demanded the earl. "my eyes are dim, now-a-days; and yours are sharp enough." "the man that made the millstone," answered scathelock, "cannot see much further through it than another. and, good faith, my lord, they are still too far for me to tell who they are; though i do wish with all my heart you, my good lord, had trusted to my eyes some six months ago. we should have had no evesham, then." "how so?" demanded the earl, turning eagerly towards him. "why," replied scathelock, "i sent you word there was a traitor amongst you, and told you who he was; but i was not believed. and richard de ashby was left to snap asunder the ties between his house and the cause of the people, and to furnish the horse that bore prince edward from hereford. there is more venom yet in that viper's fangs--it were well they were drawn." "'tis robin himself!" cried another of the men, who had risen, and, shading his eyes from the setting sun, was gazing out over the grounds below, while the old earl had let his head droop at the memories which scathelock's speech called up, and sat looking sadly on the green blades of grass. "'tis robin himself! i see his broad shoulders and his little head. you will hear his horn anon." "by my faith, your eyes are keen!" cried scathelock, as the moment after, the mellow winding of the outlaw's horn came in round, soft notes, up the side of the hill. "'tis robin's own mots! there's none can bring such sounds out of the brass as he can. forgive me, my lord!" he continued, to the earl--"i have vexed you." "not so, not so, good fellow," answered the old man; "'twas but the memories of the past. i acted then as ever, scathelock--by what seemed best and noblest to be done; and that man's a fool, be his conduct what it will, who, having shaped it by the best light god gives, feels regret when he can lay his hand upon his breast, and say, 'my heart is pure!'--this, then, is robin coming? doubtless he brings good news." "to us, he is rarely an ill-omened bird," replied scathelock; "but, by my faith, the abbot of st. anne's, after he has skinned his poor tenants of a heavy donation, or a king's warden, full of fines and free gifts, or the sheriff of nottingham's bailiff and collector, would not think the sight of robin hood's nut head and brawny arms the pleasantest apparition he could meet with between nottingham and doncaster." "well, well," rejoined another, "if he frightens the purse-proud and the greedy, his footstep, on the threshold of the poor and the oppressed, has no ill sound, scathelock." "wind your horn, tim of the lane!" cried scathelock. "he cannot see us though we see him." in such conversation some ten minutes passed away; at the end of which time robin hood and two of his companions came round under the bank, and sprang to the ground in the midst of the little party there assembled. he greeted them all frankly and with cheerful speech; but although no frown wrinkled his brow, it was easy to perceive that his mood was not a gay one. "come," he said, after his first salutation to the two noblemen was over, "what have you here to eat? by my life, we three are hungry and thirsty too. a fat brawn's head and a bustard scarcely touched! by our lady, a supper for an emperor! why, my lord, it seems you have not finished yet?" "we had well-nigh ended," said the earl: "but in such an evening as this one loves to prolong the minutes with careless talk, good robin. there is rich store of the prior's wine, too, under the bank. scathelock, it seems, resolved to make us merry." "he is right, he is right," replied robin; "the king can make men rich and noble too; but not every one can make you merry for the nonce. i wish it were." "why, robin, you seem sad," observed hugh de monthermer, sitting down beside him. "if you bring me bad tidings, let me hear them quickly." "good or bad, as you take them," answered robin hood; "though some are foul enough for any ears." "well, then, speak, speak!" said hugh de monthermer. "the sting of bad tidings is suspense, robin. the burden is soon borne, when once it is taken up.--they do not believe my story;--is it so?" "no," answered robin hood; "the prince, as i hear, has done you justice. he came over from derby at once. i took care your letter should reach him instantly; and ere twelve hours from the time your head was to be struck off, the sentence was reversed, and you were declared innocent." "and this is the administration of the law under henry the third?" said the old earl. "the life of a peer of england is a king's plaything.--this will mend itself." "ha!" cried robin hood, with a degree of sorrowful impatience in his tone, "others have been making sport of peers' lives besides the king. has not that news reached you, that lindwell castle has a new lord?" hugh de monthermer started up, with a look of half incredulous surprise--"dead?" he exclaimed,--"the earl of ashby dead?" "ay, marry," answered robin hood.--"murdered! so they say, by the bull's hawthorn, under lindwell green, nor far from the skirt of thornywood--you know the place, my lord?" "right well," replied hugh de monthermer;--"but is it sure, robin?" "nothing is sure," answered robin hood--"nothing is sure in this world that i know of. but this news is all over the country; and as i came by southwell this morning, i heard proclamation made upon the green concerning this sad murder." "this is most strange," said hugh; "such things will make us infidels: while fools and villains reach to honours and renown, honest men are driven to herd in sherwood with the beasts of the forest, and good men murdered at their own castle-gate. who can have done this, robin?--do you know?" "i know right well," replied robin hood. "'tis richard de ashby has done it; and now the base beast--part wolf, part fox, part serpent--contrives to put the bloody deed upon another. but he shall find himself mistaken, if my advice is followed--i will see to it, i will see to it; for i am somewhat in fault in this matter. i was warned of the purpose, and might have stopped it; but in the hurry of other things, i forgot, and was too late." "yes," said hugh de monthermer, "it could be none other--the base villain! but can you bring him to punishment, robin?" "that must be your affair," replied robin hood, "i will prove his guilt; but you must punish him." "that will i, right willingly," cried hugh de monthermer, "i will accuse him of the deed, and dare him to show his innocence in arms." "nay, that is not needful," answered robin hood; "'tis he accuses you." "me? me?" asked hugh de monthermer. "what! my nephew," exclaimed the old earl--"a prisoner or a fugitive?" "even so," replied the outlaw, "ay, and with fair and specious showing, makes his case good; forges a letter, as i hear, and doubtless has hired witnesses, too. i have not been able to gather much of how this new plot has been framed; but, as i was going to tell you, my good lords: on southwell green this morning, as i passed, i saw a king's pursuivant with sundry men-at-arms, and stopping amongst the crowd, who laughed to see bold robin hood, the outlaw, the robber, the murderer, of much venison, stay and front the royal officers, i heard them make proclamation, saying, 'know all men that hugh monthermer, lord of amesbury and lenton, is accused, on strong suspicion, of traitorously and feloniously doing to death william earl of ashby, and that he is hereby summoned to appear before the king at nottingham, to purge himself of the said charge by trial, oath, ordeal, or wager of battle, at his choice, according to the laws of the realm and chivalry.'--those are the very words." "and strange ones, too," said the old earl. "the form is somewhat varied from the usual course, and the name of the accuser left unmentioned." "all is out of course now," answered robin hood, "and this not more than the rest. but it matters not--'twill come to the same in the end." hugh de monthermer, while this was passing, stood buried in thought, with his arms folded on his chest. "the villain!" he repeated, at length--"the villain! but he shall rue the day.--i will away at once, robin, and face him ere the world be a day older. if my right hand fail me against richard de ashby, my conscience must be worse than i believe it. i will away at once; i must not lie beneath such a charge an hour longer than needful." "nay, nay, my good lord," cried robin hood, "sit down and be ruled by me!--haste may spoil all. i have the clue fully in my hands; and although i do hope and trust to see your lance an arm's length through the traitor, or your good sword in his false throat, yet i promise, that you shall, moreover, have the means in your hand of proving to all men's conviction, not only that you are innocent, but that he himself is the doer of the deed. in the first place, then, you must not go to the court of england without a safe-conduct. methinks you should know better than that." "oh, but prince edward!" cried hugh de monthermer. "prince edward may be away again," interrupted the outlaw; "you must have a safe-conduct, and the time spent will not be lost. sit you down--sit you down, my lord, and take a cup of wine.--this news has shaken you.--i will arrange it all. the third day hence, you shall be at the english court; but even then you must contrive to delay the combat for a week. then, ere you go to the lists, you shall put the proofs which i will give you in the hand of the prince, to be opened when the fight is over. come, sit you down, and let us talk of it; i'll show you reasons for so doing. here, one of your own men shall ride to the prince, and ask for a safe-conduct.--he may be back by to-morrow night." hugh sat down beside him again, the old lord leaned upon the grass, his faithful followers and those of the bold forester made a circle at a little distance, passing the wine-cup round; and--as with the general world, in which mirth and gaiety and every-day idleness have their common course, while many a tragedy is acting in the houses near--while, in the one group the jest, and the laugh, and the song went on; in the other, was grave and deep thought, regret, and indignation, and that feeling of awe with which great crimes naturally inspire the mind of man. the golden sun went down, and a cold, clear, autumnal night succeeded. a fire was lighted of dry branches, serving the purpose of a torch likewise, and still those three sat discussing the subject which was uppermost in their thoughts with long and earnest debate. about an hour after nightfall a letter was written with materials which one or other of the forest party was seldom without; and, as soon as it was ready, it was dispatched to nottingham by an attendant of the old earl, who promised to return with all speed. still, however, the earl, his nephew, and the outlaw continued their conversation, while the stars came out bright and clear, and everything around was lost to the eye but the dim outlines of the trees. the wind whispered through the branches with a long, sighing sound, and every now and then, in the manifold long pauses that broke the conference, the rustling noise was heard of a withered leaf dropping upon its dead companions that once flourished green upon the same bough, but had fallen before it to the earth. it was as an image of the passing away of mortal life; and such, probably, as the rustle of that leaf, is the only sound that rises up to superior beings as, one by one, we drop into the tomb which has received before us the bright and beautiful we have known; an existence is extinguished, a state of being is over, and other things are ready to spring up from the mouldering remnants of our decay. at length, however, the quick ear of the outlaw caught something more: a creeping, quiet, but rapid noise--and exclaiming "hark!" he looked around, adding in a loud voice, "who goes there?" there was no answer, but the instant after, with a bound from the top of the bank, came down the dwarf tangel into the party below. "ha! robin--ha!" he exclaimed--"i never yet could discover whether thou art ass or hare." "how now, sirrah?" cried robin hood, striking him a light blow with his hand; "i pr'ythee find more savoury comparisons." "why one or the other thou must be," said tangel, "by thy long ears. do what i will, i cannot catch thee napping. but i think thou art most like a hare, which we see sitting with one long ear resting, while the other stands upright, like a sentinel upon the top of a mound. but i have come far, robin, to bring a lady's errand to a truant knight. here, runaway--here is a billet for thee!--it was sent for robin hood or any of his people--the messenger took me for a people, and so gave it to me, though, heaven knows, they might as well have taken me for a steeple, as far as the difference of size is concerned." as he spoke, he handed a small billet or note, to the outlaw, who stirred the fire into a blaze, and was opening it to read, when he remarked some words written on the outside, which ran--"to the lord hugh of monthermer, with speed, if he may be found--if not, for robin hood of sherwood." "'tis for you, my lord," said robin, handing it to hugh, who instantly tore it open, and ran his eye eagerly over the contents. when he had done so, he turned back again and read aloud, omitting one sentence at the beginning. "your accuser is richard de ashby,"--so ran the letter; "and i tremble when i tell you my suspicion lest it should be unjust. but i have marked it on his face,--i have seen it in his changing colour,--i have heard it in the very tone of his voice. there is an impression upon me which nothing can efface that this deed was his. i know not how to counsel or advise, but it is fitting that you should know this; your own wisdom must do the rest. i fear for you; i fear for my brother alured, too. there is but one between that man and the wealth and rank which he has long envied; he has gone too far to pause at any human means; and my apprehensions are very great for him who stands in the way." "thus it is," said the old earl--"thus it is with the wicked; they very often contrive to cloak their acts from the wise and prudent of this world, but to innocence and simplicity seems to be given light from heaven to detect them under any disguise." "give me a woman for finding out man's heart," cried robin hood; "that is, if she loves him not; for then all are fools.--but, come, my lord--let us seek a better place of shelter for the night; my blood is not very chilly, but still i feel it cold.--make much of tangel, merry men, and give him a leg of the bustard and a cup of wine; but look to the flask, look to the flask, with him. remember last christmas eve, tangel, when you mistook a stag-hound for a damsel in distress, and sagely wondered in your drunkenness how she came by such a beard." chapter xxxvi. in a dark small room, high up in the back part of one of the houses in the lower town of nottingham, with the wall covered on one side by rough oak planking, and having on the other the sharp slope of the roof; on a wretched truckle bed, with a small table and a lamp beside it, lay the tall and powerful form of a wounded man, with languor in his eyes, and burning fever in his cheek. on a stool at the other side sat richard de ashby, looking down upon him with a countenance which did not express much compassion, but on the contrary bore an angry and displeased look; and, while he gazed, his hand rested upon his dagger, with the fingers clutching, every now and then, at the hilt, as if with a strong inclination to terminate his companion's sufferings in the most speedy manner possible. "it was madness and folly," he said--"i repeat, it was madness and folly to bring you here into the very midst of dangers, when i showed you clearly how to shape your course." "we saw a party of horse upon the bridge, i tell you," replied dighton, for he it was who lay there, with the punishment of one of his evil deeds upon him, "and could not find a ford. but, in the name of the fiend, do not stand here talking about what is done and over; let me have 'tendance of some kind. send for a leech, or fetch one." "a leech!" cried richard de ashby, "the man's mad! there is none but the one at the court to be found here. would you have the whole story get abroad, and be put to death for the murder?" "as well that, as lie and die here," answered dighton. "why i tell thee, dickon, i feel as if there were a hot iron burning through me from my breast to my shoulder, and every throb of my heart seems to beat against it, and add to the fire. i must have some help, man!--if thou art not a devil, give we some water to drink. i am parched to death." richard de ashby walked thoughtfully across the room, and brought him a cup of water, pausing once as he did so, to gaze upon the floor and meditate. "i will, tell thee what, dighton," he said, "thou shalt have 'tendance. kate here, it seems, saw them bring thee in. she is a marvellous leech; and when i was wounded up by hereford at the time of the prince's escape, she was better than any surgeon to me. she shall look to thy wound; but mind you trust her not with a word of how you got it; for a woman's tongue is ever a false guardian, and hers is not more to be depended on than the rest." "well," answered the man, discontentedly, "anything's better than to lie here in misery, with nobody to say a word to; i dare say you would as soon see me die as live." "no," replied richard de ashby, with a bitter smile, "i should not know what to do with the corpse." "i thought so," said dighton, "for i expected every minute, just now, that your dagger would come out of the sheath. but i have strength enough still left, dickon, to dash your brains out against the wall, or to strangle you between my thumbs, as men do a partridge; and i do not intend to die yet, i can tell you. but come, send this girl quick; and bid her bring some healing salve with her. there is a quack-salver lives at the top of the high street; he will give her some simples to soften the wound and to take out the fire." "i will see to it--i will see to it," replied richard de ashby, "and send her to you presently. i cannot visit you again to-night, for i must away to the castle, but to-morrow i will come to you." thus saying, he quitted the wretched room, and closed the door after him. the wounded man heard the key turn in the lock, and murmured to himself--"the scoundrel! to leave me here a whole night and day without help or 'tendance; but if i get better, i'll pay him for his care--i'll break his neck, or bring him to the gallows. i surely shall live--i have been wounded often before, and have always recovered,--but i never felt anything like this, and my heart seems to fail me. i saw worms and serpents round me last night, and the face of the girl i threw into the thames up by the thicket,--it kept looking at me, blue and draggled as when she rose the last time. i heard the scream too!--oh yes, i shall live--'tis nothing of a wound! i have seen men with great gashes--twice as large. ha! there is some one coming!" and he started and listened as the lock was turned, and the door opened. the step was that of a woman, and the moment after, kate greenly approached his bed-side. her fair face was pale, her lips had lost their rosy red, her cheek had no longer the soft, round fulness of high health; and though her eye was as lustrous and as bright as ever, yet the light thereof was of a feverish, unsteady, restless kind. there was a sort of abstracted look, too, in them. it seemed as if some all-engrossing subject in her own heart called her thoughts continually back from external things, whenever she gave her mind to them for a moment. walking straight to the bed, and still holding the lamp in her hand, she gazed full and gravely upon dighton's face; but the brain was evidently busy with other matters than that on which her eyes rested; and it was not till the wounded man exclaimed, impatiently--"well, what do you stare at?" that she roused herself from her fit of abstraction. "he has sent me," she said, "to tend some wounds you have received, but i can do you little good. the priest of our parish indeed gave me some small skill in surgery; but methinks 'tis more a physician for the soul than for the body that you want." "that is no affair of thine," replied the man, sharply--"look to my wound, girl, and see if thou hast got any cooling thing that will take the fire out, for i burn, i burn!" "thou shalt burn worse hereafter," said kate, sitting down by his bed-side; "but show me the hurt, though methinks 'tis of little avail." "there," cried the man, tearing down the clothes, and exposing his brawny chest, "'tis nothing--a scratch--one may cover it with a finger; and yet how red it is around, and it burns inwardly, back to my very shoulder." kate stooped her head down, and held the lamp to the spot where the sword of the old earl of ashby had entered, and examined it attentively for a full minute. as the man had said, it was but a small and insignificant looking injury to overthrow the strength of that robust form, and lay those muscular limbs in prostrate misery upon a couch of sickness, as feeble as those of an infant. you might indeed have covered the actual spot with the point of a finger; but round about it for more than a hand's breadth on either side, was a space of a deep red colour, approaching to a bluish cast as it came near the wound. it was swollen; too, though not much, and one or two small white spots appeared in the midst of that fiery circle. when she had finished her examination, she raised her eyes to the man's face, and gazed on it again, with a look of grave and solemn thought. "art thou in great pain?" she said. "have i not told you," he answered, impatiently--"it is hell." "no," she replied, shaking her head, "no, 'tis nothing like hell, my friend. thou mayest some time long to be back again there, on that bed, writhing under ten such wounds as this, rather than what thou shalt then suffer. but thou wilt be easier soon. seest thou that small black spot upon the edge of the wound?" "ay," he answered, looking from the wound to her face with an inquiring glance--"what of that?--will that give me ease?" "yes," she replied, "as it spreads.--art thou a brave man? dost thou fear death?" "what do you mean, wench?" he cried, gazing eagerly in her face, "speak out--you would drive me mad!" "nay," she replied, "i would call you back to reason. you have been mad all your life, as well as i, and many another!--man, you are dying!" "dying!" he exclaimed, "dying!--i will not die! send for the surgeon--he shall have gold to save me.--i will not--i cannot die!" and he raised himself upon his elbow, as if he would have risen to fly from the fate that awaited him. he fell back again the moment after, however, with a groan; and then, looking anxiously in the girl's face, he said, "oh, save me--i cannot die--i will not die in this way! send for a surgeon--see what can be done!" "nothing!" replied kate. "if all the surgeons in england and france were here, they could do nothing for thee. the hand of death is upon thee, man!--the gangrene has begun. thou shalt never rise from that bed again--thou shalt never feel the fresh air more--thou art no longer thine own--thou art death's inheritance--thy body to the earth, thy spirit to god that gave it, there to render an account of all that thou hast done on earth.--think not i deceive thee!--ask thine own heart dost thou not feel that death is strong upon thee?" "i do," groaned the man, covering his eyes with his hand. "curses be upon my own folly for meddling with this scheme! curses be upon that foul fiend, dickon of ashby, for bringing me into it, and leaving me here till it is too late--till the gangrene has begun!--curses upon him!--and may the lowest pit of hell seize him for his villany!" "spare your curses," said kate, "they can only bring down fresh ones upon your own head. think upon yourself now, poor wretch!--think whether, even at this last hour, you may not yet do something to turn away the coming anger of god!" "god!" cried the man--"shall i see god?--god who knows all things--who has beheld all i have done--who was near when--oh! that is terrible--that is terrible, indeed!" "it is terrible, but true," replied kate; "but there is hope, if thou wilt seek it." "hope!" exclaimed the man, mistaking her--"hope! did you not tell me i must die?" "ay, your body," replied kate, "'tis your soul that i would save. a thief obtained pardon on the cross. god's mercy may be sued for till the last." "but how--how?" cried he, "i know naught of prayers and paternosters. 'tis twenty years since, when a beardless stripling, i got absolution for stealing the king's game;--and what have i not done since? no, no, there is no hope! i must die as i have lived! god will not take off his curse for aught i can say now! if i could live, indeed, to undo what i have done--to fast, and pray, and do penance--then, in truth, there might be a chance." "there is still hope," answered kate--"thou hast still time to make a great atonement. thou hast still time to save thy soul. god, as if by an especial mercy, has provided the means for you to cancel half your wickedness. i know all the tale: thou hast slain a poor old man, that never injured thee: but i tell thee that another is accused of his murder--an innocent man, who--" "i know! i know!" cried dighton, interrupting her, "'tis all his fiendish art!" and then, gazing in her face for a moment, he added, "but why talkest thou to me of repentance?--why preachest thou to me, girl, and dost not practise thine own preaching? art not thou a sinner, too, as well as i am, ha?--and do not they tell us that the soft sins damn as surely as the rough ones? why dost thou not repent and make atonement?" "i do," said kate, firmly; "at this very hour i am aiming at nought else. thinkest thou that i love that man? i tell thee that i hate him--that i abhor the very sight of his shadow, as it darkens the door--that the touch of his very hand is an abomination. but i abide with him still to frustrate his dark deeds--to protect those that are innocent from his fiendish devices--to give him to the arm of justice--and then to lay my own head in the grave, in the hope of god's mercy." "but who tells thee thou shalt find it?" asked dighton. "god's word," replied kate, "and a good priest of the holy church, both tell me that, if, sincerely repenting, i do my best to make up for all that i have done amiss--if, without fear and favour, i labour to defend the innocent even at the expense of the guilty, i shall surely obtain mercy myself in another world, though i wring my own heart in this." "did a priest say so?" demanded dighton, looking up, with a ray of hope breaking across his face--"send for that priest, good girl!--send for that priest!--quick! he may give me comfort!" kate paused for a moment, without reply, gazing down upon the ground, and then said, "'twould be hard to keep thee from the only hope of forgiveness, yet----" "yet what?" exclaimed he, impatiently. "in god's name, woman, i adjure thee----" "wilt thou do what the priest bids thee do?" demanded kate. "yes--yes!" cried he--"i will do all sorts of penance!" "even if he tells thee," continued kate, "to make such a confession----" "ay, ay," said the man, "that's what i want--i want to confess." "nay, but," replied kate greenly, "not a mere confession to the ear of the priest, buried for ever under his vow, but such a confession as may save the innocent--as may bring the guilty to justice--as may declare who was the murderer, and who instigated the murder?" "no," cried the man, "i will not betray ellerby. as to richard de ashby, if i could put a stone upon his head to sink him deeper into hell, i would do it,--but i wont betray my comrade." "well, then," said kate greenly, "you must even die as you have lived.--i can do nothing for you." "get thee gone, then, harlot!" cried the man. "if thou art not a fiend, send me a priest!" kate greenly's eye flashed for a moment at the coarse name he gave her, and her cheek burnt; but the next instant she cast down her gaze again, murmuring, "it is true!" then turning to the wounded man, she said, "i mind not thy harsh words; but it is needless for me to seek a man of god, unless thou wilt promise to do what i know he will require before he gives thee absolution. i promised to let no one see thee at all. to send for any one i must break my promise, and i will not do so for no purpose. wilt thou do what the priest tells thee, even if it be to make public confession of who did that deed?" "no," cried the man, "i will not betray him! get thee gone, if thou wilt!--curses upon you all!" kate moved towards the door, but turned ere she went, and said, "i am in the chamber beneath! think well what it is to go into the presence of god unrepenting and unabsolved--to meet all that thou hast injured, and all that thou hast slain, accusing thee at the high throne above, without the voice of a saviour to plead for thee! think of all this, i say; and if thy heart turn, and thou wilt resolve to do an act of atonement and repentance, strike on the ground with thy sword, it stands at thy bedhead; and i will come to thee with the best physician that thou cant now have. one that can cure the wounds of the spirit." the man glared at her without reply, and kate greenly passed out, closing and locking the door. she paused at the stairhead, and clasped her hands, murmuring, "what shall i do?--he must not die without confession.--he must have consolation--perhaps father mark might persuade him. but he will last till morning. 'tis now near eight; i will wait awhile--solitude is a great convincer of man's heart." and, descending the stairs, she entered the room below. half an hour passed without the least sound, and kate sat gazing into the fire, unable to occupy herself with any indifferent thing. the time seemed long; she began to fear that the murderer would remain obdurate, and she had risen, thinking it would be better to send for father mark at once. she had scarcely taken three steps towards the door, however, when there was a stroke or two upon the floor above, and then the clanging fall of some piece of metal, as if the heavy sword had dropped from the weak hands of the wounded man. kate ran up with a quick foot, descended again in a few minutes, and, ere half an hour was over, a venerable man, with silver hair, was sitting by the bed of death; and kate greenly kneeling with paper before her, writing down the tale of dighton's guilt from his own lips. chapter xxxvii. the king and prince edward stood in the great hall of nottingham castle, about to go forth on horseback. but few attendants, comparatively, were around them; and a good deal of unmeaning merriment was upon the king's countenance, as he jested with a horribly contorted humpback, who, tricked forth in outrageous finery, displayed upon his own deformed person more ribands, feathers, and lace, than all the rest of the court put together. full of malice, wit, and impudence, every tale of scandal, every scurvy jest and ribald story of the court, were familiar to him, and with these he entertained the leisure hours of the king, when the monarch was not seeking amusement in the society of his foreign favourites. the brow of edward, on the contrary, was somewhat stern and sad. many things had gone contrary to his wishes; his father seemed resolved not to perform any of the promises which he had made to the more patriotic noblemen who had supported the royal cause; and though edward carried filial respect and deference to an extent which his commanding mind, high purposes, and great achievements, might perhaps have justified him in stopping short of, yet he could not but suffer his countenance to show his disappointment and disapprobation. the king had descended from his apartments before his horses had been brought into the court; and when the door at the farther end of the hall opened, he took a few steps towards it, followed by the gentlemen who were with him, supposing that some of the attendants were coming to announce that all was ready. two or three of the royal officers did certainly appear, but in the midst was seen the tall and powerful form of hugh de monthermer, with an old knight, sir john hardy, on one side, and a page on the other. he advanced with a quick step up the hall, and, bowing reverently to the king and to the prince, he said-- "i have come, your grace, according to the tenour of the safe-conduct i have received, with one well known in feats of arms to be my god-father in chivalry, and with twenty-five attendants and no more, to meet my accuser face to face, to declare that his charge is false before god and man, and to do battle with him in this behalf--my body against his, according to the law of arms. i do beseech you, my lord, let me know my accuser." "'tis i," answered a voice from behind the king, and alured de ashby stepped forward to henry's side--"'tis i, alured de ashby, who do accuse you, hugh of monthermer, of feloniously and maliciously doing to death william de ashby, my noble father. i put myself on the decision of heaven, and god defend the right!" hugh of monthermer had turned very pale. his lip quivered, his eye grew anxious and haggard, and for a moment or two he remained in deep silence. at length, however, he replied-- "you do me bitter wrong, alured de ashby--you should know better." "how so?" demanded his opponent; "there is strong and dark suspicion against you." "which i can disperse in a moment," said hugh de monthermer, "like clouds scattered by a searching wind. but even were there suspicions ten times as strong, i say that you, of all men, should not receive them." "how pale he turns!" observed one of the noblemen near, loud enough for hugh to hear. "ay, sir, i do turn pale," replied the young nobleman, looking sternly at him "i turn pale to find that one against whom i would less willingly draw the sword than any man living, is he, who, by a false and baseless suspicion, forces me to do so. alured de ashby, you knew right well when you concealed the name of my accuser that no provocation would induce me to dip my hand in the blood of your sister's brother." "i did," replied alured de ashby; "that was the reason i concealed it." "then should you not have likewise known," demanded hugh, "that the same reason which makes me shrink from injuring her brother, would still more withhold my arm, if raised, to spill the blood of her father. you know it, alured de ashby--in your heart you know it well. nothing, so help me god, would have made me do one act to injure him, even if there had been quarrel or dispute between us, when, i call heaven to witness, there was none." "this is all vain," answered alured de ashby, with an unmoved countenance; "you, hugh de monthermer, underlie my challenge; you have accepted it, and i will make it good. there lies my glove!" and he cast it down before the king. sir john hardy instantly advanced and took it up, saying, "in the name of the most noble lord hugh de monthermer, baron of amesbury, i take your gage, alured, earl of ashby, and do promise on his behalf that he will do battle with you in his quarrel when and where the king shall appoint, on horse or foot, with the usual arms and equipments, according to the law of arms, and the customs of the court of england." hugh de monthermer folded his arms on his chest, and bent down his eyes upon the ground; and oh, how bitter were his feelings at that moment! the deed was done--the irretrievable engagement was made; he must either dip his hand in the kindred blood of her he loved best on earth, or he must abandon honour, and name, and station, for ever--ay, and remain gained with the imputation of a base and horrible act, which would equally put a barrier between him and the object of his long-cherished hopes. darkness was round him on every side, between two black alternatives, both equally menacing and fearful, he could but go on upon the course before him--upon the course to which he seemed driven by fate. he must meet his accuser in arms, he must do battle with him at outrance, he must conquer, he must slay him. he knew well his own powers and his own skill, and he doubted not that he should obtain the victory; but he also knew that alured de ashby was not one to be overthrown with ease, that he was not one whom he should be able to wound, disarm, or save. once in the field together, it was hand against hand, body against body, life against life, till one or the other was no more. death was the only warder that would part them after the barrier of the lists fell behind him. nor could he hesitate, nor could he spare his adversary, even though he were willing to risk or lose his own life rather than slay the brother of lucy de ashby; for with the accused, ignominy, and condemnation followed overthrow, and it was not alone death, but disgrace, that was the mead of the vanquished. no; his fate was sealed, his doom determined, with his own hand was he destined to destroy his own happiness, to tear the sweetest ties of the heart asunder, and to consign himself to grief, and disappointment, and solitude through life. as the last words broke from the lip of sir john hardy, the scene around him seemed to disappear from his eyes. he felt like one of those, who, on some bitter sorrow, forswear the world and the world's joys for the dark cell of the monastery, the living tomb of the heart. he felt like one of them, when the vow is pronounced, when their fate is sealed, and when all earth's things are given up for ever. the whole hall and all that it contained swam indistinctly before him, and he bent down his eyes lest their giddy vacancy should betray the intensity of his feelings to these who watched him. in the meanwhile henry and the prince conferred for a moment apart; and the king turned first to the accuser, then to the accused, saying, "my lords, we will name monday next for the decision of this wager of battle; the place to be the butts by the side of trent, below the bridge. we will take care that fitting lists be prepared; and, until the day of combat, we charge you both to keep the peace one towards the other, to live in tranquil amity, as noble knights and gallant gentlemen may do, although there be mortal quarrel between them, to be decided at a future time." thus speaking, the king turned to leave the hall, but edward paused a moment, and took hugh de monthermer's hand. "i grieve, hugh," he said, "most deeply that by some sad mistake--ay, and by some reckless conduct," he continued, aloud, "on the part of some gentlemen of this court, a false and wrongful charge was brought against you in the first instance, out of which this second accusation has in some degree arisen. of the first charge you have cleared yourself, to the satisfaction of the king and every honourable man; and of the second, i know you will clear yourself also as becomes you. in the meantime, you are my guest; one of the towers on the lower wall is prepared for you and your people, and as the day fixed is somewhat early for this trial, my armourer is at your command, to furnish you with such things as may be needful; for your own dwelling is too far distant to send for harness; and we know this gallant earl too well," he added, turning towards alured de ashby, "not to feel sure that his opponent in the lists must use every caution and defence which the law of arms permits." the young earl smiled proudly, and followed the king, who, together with his son and the rest of the court, quitted the hall, leaving hugh de monthermer standing in the midst, paying but little attention to anything but his own sad thoughts. "my lord, i have charge to show you your apartments," said an attendant, approaching with a simpering air. "the tower is very convenient, but the stables are not quite so good, and you must put six of your horses in the town. this way, my lord, if you so please." hugh de monthermer followed in silence, and the man led him accordingly across the court to one of the towers, which stood as an independent building, only connected with the rest of the castle by the walls. "this, sir," said the servant, entering with him, "is the hall for your people, who will be supplied by the king's purveyors with all they need. here are two sleeping chambers behind, and here a chamber for this gallant knight. now, up these steps, my lord--here is a vacant room for you to range your arms, and see that all be well prepared for man and horse; here is a pinion for your hood and chapel-de-fer, here are stays for your lances, and nowhere will you find better wood than in nottingham; a hook for your shield, and a block for the hauberk and other harness. this way is the ante-room, my lord, with truckle-beds for a yeoman and a page. that door leads direct through the wall to the apartments of the prince, and this to your bed-room." hugh gave him some money; and, saying, "largesse, my lord, largesse," the man withdrew, promising to send in the young nobleman's followers, and to show them where to stable their horses. "take heart, my lord--take heart," said sir john hardy, after the royal attendant was gone; "this is a bitter change of adversaries, it is true; but now 'tis done, it cannot be helped, and you must do your devoir against this earl, who will bring his fate upon his own head." "i thought him two hundred miles away," replied hugh; "but, as you say, i must do my devoir. see to all things necessary, hardy; for i have no heart to think of anything but one. a good plain harness is all i want: the horse that brought me hither will do as well as another." "nay, my lord, you must not be rash," answered the old. knight, "lest some misfortune happen." "the worst misfortune that life has in store for me is sure to befal," replied hugh de monthermer: "it is, to slay the brother of lucy de ashby, hardy; for he fights with a desperate man, one to whom all things on earth are indifferent--who must live, though life be hateful to him--who cannot die, as he would fain do, lest ignominy should cleave unto his name. i will trust all to you, hardy--i will trust all to you; but i cannot think or talk of anything at present, so i betake me to my chamber. if any one should come, tell them i am busy--busy enough, indeed, with dark and bitter fancies." thus saying, he retreated to the bed-room which had been assigned him, and casting himself down on a settle, he spread his arms upon the table, and buried his eyes in them. it were vain to attempt by any words of ours to depict the state of hugh de monthermer's heart, as he sat there, given up entirely to sad memories and gloomy expectations. oh, how his thoughts warred with one another--how the idea of flying from the task he had undertaken was met by the repugnance of an honourable spirit to disgrace and shame--how the image of lucy de ashby's brother dying beneath his blows, rose up before his sight, followed by the cold, averted look with which she would meet him ever after, the chilling tone of her voice, the shrinking horror of her demeanour, when she should see the destroyer of her nearest kinsman. then came the thought of what if he were to avoid the combat?--what would be the consequences then? would he not be considered recreant and coward? the time allowed was so short, too--but three brief days--that there was no hope of gaining proof of his own innocence, and of the guilt of another, before the period appointed. a week, a fortnight--often more, was allotted for the preparation; but in this instance the time had been curtailed as there were evil tidings from the isle of axholme, which were likely to call prince edward speedily from nottingham. he could send, indeed, to the forest; he could even make inquiries in person, if he liked--for his safe-conduct specified that he was free to come and go as he thought fit; but he had been especially warned, that the proofs against richard de ashby could not be produced for at least a week, and his own eagerness to meet the charge had led him to the court much sooner than the judgment of his forest friends warranted. thus, on every side he seemed shut in by difficulties, and nought was left him but to defend his innocence, to the utter extinction of all happiness for life. "would she could see me," he thought; "would that she could see the agony which distracts my heart, at the very idea of raising my hand against her brother!--however that may be," he continued, "that villain shall not escape. although i cannot dare him to the field, now that i underlie the challenge of another, yet i will publicly accuse him before i enter the lists; and, either by my lance or the hand of the executioner, he shall die the death he has deserved." he raised his head quickly and fiercely as he thus thought; the door opposite to him was slowly opening when he did so, and the face of prince edward appeared in the aperture. "i knocked," said the prince, "but you did not answer." "forgive me, my gracious lord," replied hugh, rising, "but my thoughts have been so sadly busy, that it would seem they close the doors of the ear lest they should be interrupted. i heard no one approach; but, god knows, your presence is the only thing that could give me comfort." "this is a sad business, indeed," said edward, seating himself. "come, sit, monthermer, and tell me how all this has happened." "good my lord, i know not," replied hugh. "you must have more information than i have; for here, in this neighbourhood, has the plot been concerted. here, in your father's court, where they contrived to have me doomed to death some time since, untried, unheard, undefended--here have they, when frustrated in that, devised a new scheme for my destruction." "nay," said edward, "it was not that i meant. i asked how it is you proposed this rash appeal to arms, when i expected that you would demand fair trial and judgment according to law?" "i have been deceived, my lord," replied hugh--"terribly deceived! even lucy herself supposed that richard de ashby was my accuser, and i never knew that alured had returned; otherwise, well aware of his quick and fiery spirit, i should have judged that he would make the quarrel his own, whether he believed the charge or not." "that richard is the real accuser, there can be no doubt," said the prince. "his cousin is but a screen for his malice; but yet you were rash, monthermer, and i know not now what can be done to help you.--who is there that can prove where you were, and how employed, upon the day that this dark deed was done?" "outlaws and banished men--none else, my lord," replied hugh de monthermer; "witnesses whose testimony cannot be given or received. but i will beseech you to let me know in what arises the suspicion that i had any share in this? i do not believe that there is a single act in all my life which could bring upon me even the doubt of such a crime." "the scheme has been well arranged," answered edward; "the proofs are plausible and various--but you shall hear the whole;" and he proceeded to tell him all that the reader already knows concerning the accusation brought against him. for a moment, hugh remained silent, confounded, and surprised; but gradually his own clear mind, though for an instant bewildered by the case made out against him, seized on the clue of the dark labyrinth with which they had surrounded him. "well arranged, indeed, my lord," he replied, "but too complicated even for its own purpose. villany never can arrive at the simplicity of truth. was there no one, sir, who, even out of such grounds as these, could find matter to defend me?" "yes," answered edward, "there was, and she was one you love. she stood forward to do you right--she swept away half of these suspicions from the minds even of your enemies--she showed that one half of the tale was false, the other more than doubtful." "dear, dear girl!" cried hugh de monthermer; and, gazing earnestly in edward's face, he asked, "and shall my hand spill her brother's blood?" "nay, more," continued the prince, without replying to what the young lord said, "she declared her belief that the real murderer had brought suspicion upon you to screen himself." "the scheme, my lord, is deeper still," answered hugh de monthermer--"the scheme is deeper still, or i am very blind. did this dear lady point at any one whom she believed the culprit?" "she would not say," replied edward, "she would not even hint, before the whole court, who was the object of her suspicions; but since, in private, the princess has drawn from her the secret of her doubts. we entertain the same.--have you, too, any cause to fix upon the murderer?" "cause, my lord!" cried hugh, "i know him as i know myself. _i_ have no doubts. mine are not suspicions. with me 'tis certainty, and full assurance.--were it not a fine and well-digested scheme, my lord--supposing that between you and high fortune and the hand of the loveliest lady in the land, there stood a father and a brother and a lover--to slay the old man secretly, and instigate his son to charge the daughter's promised husband with the deed--to make them meet in arms, in the good hope that the lover's well-known lance would remove from your path the sole remaining obstacle, by drowning out, in her brother's blood, the last hope of his marriage with the lady? thus, father, brother, lover would be all disposed of, the lands and lordship yours, and the lady almost at your mercy likewise. do you understand me, my lord?" "well!" answered the prince, "but who is the man?" "richard de ashby, my lord; and, if the day named for this sad combat had not been so soon, i was promised evidence, within a week, which would have proved upon the traitor's head his cunning villany." edward mused, and turned in his mind the possibility of postponing the event. but--though it may seem strange to the reader that such a state of things should ever have existed--a judicial combat of that day was a matter with which even so great and high-minded a prince as edward i. dared not meddle as he would. we know how far such interference, at an after-period, contributed to lose his crown to richard ii.; and edward saw no possibility of changing the day, or even hour, appointed for the trial by battle, unless some accidental circumstance were to occur which might afford a substantial motive for the alteration. otherwise, he knew that he would have the whole chivalry of europe crying out upon the deed; and that was a voice which even he durst not resist. "'tis unfortunate, indeed," he said, "most unfortunate; but my father having fixed it early, and at my request, too, it cannot be changed. but do you feel sure, quite sure, that within one week you could bring forward proofs to exculpate yourself, and to show the guilt of this wretched man?" "as surely as i live," replied hugh de monthermer. "i have the word of one who never failed me yet--of one who speaks not lightly, my good lord." "and who is he?" demanded edward. a faint smile came upon hugh de monthermer's countenance: "he is one of the king's outlaws," he answered; "but yet his word may be depended on." the prince mused for a moment or two without reply, and then rejoined--"it is probable these forest outlaws in our neighbourhood may know something of the matter. think you they had any share in it?" "what! in the murder?" cried hugh de monthermer. "oh, no, my lord, would to god you had as honest men in nottingham castle as under the boughs of sherwood!" "you are bitter, hugh," replied the prince, and then added--"i fear the day cannot be changed; and all that remains to be done is, to send to these friends of yours as speedily as may be, bidding them give you, without delay, whatever proofs may be in their hands. 'tis probable that other things may arise to strengthen our conviction. when we see what they can furnish us with, our course will be soon decided. if there be anything like fair evidence that richard de ashby has done this deed, i will stop the combat, and proclaim his guilt; but unless i am sure, i must not pretend to do so, lest i bring upon myself the charge of base ingratitude. he it was, hugh, who furnished me with the swift horse, whereon i fled from hereford; and though i own that i would have chosen any other man in all england to aid in my deliverance rather than him, yet i must not show myself thankless. and 'tis but yesterday that i moved my father to give him the lands of cottington as his reward." "the very act, my lord," replied hugh, "which merits your gratitude, was one of treachery to the party which he pretended to serve. for that i will not blame him, however; but he is a dark and deceitful man, and the proof can be made clear, i do not doubt. i will send instantly, as you direct. all that i gain in way of proof i will give into your hand, my lord, and let you rule and direct my conduct. it is so terrible a choice which lies before me, that my brain seems bewildered when i think of it." "it is sad, indeed!" replied edward. "i have put it to my heart, monthermer, how i should act, were i placed as you are, and i know how painful would be the decision. whatever happens in the lists--whoever lives, whoever dies--you must be the loser. if you are vanquished--if, by a hesitating heart or unwilling hand, you give the victory to your adversary, you lose not only renown, but honour and esteem with all men; you lose not only life but reputation. if you conquer--if you win honour, and maintain your innocence--your love and happiness is gone for ever. 'tis a hard fate, monthermer; and whatever can be done to avert it shall be done by me;--but i must leave you now. you will of course be present at the king's supper. bear, i beseech you, a calm and steady countenance, that your enemies may not triumph. your accuser is gone back to lindwell; and edward's friend must not seem cast down." thus saying, he rose to quit the chamber; but before he went, he bent his head, adding, in a lower voice, "doubtless you know your lady-love is here--ay, here, in nottingham castle, with the princess eleanor. of course, in these days of mourning, she mingles not with the court; but if it be possible, i will contrive that you shall see her. methinks the laws of chivalry require it should be so." "oh, yes!" exclaimed hugh, clasping his hands--"wherever she were, i would demand to see her; and no one bearing knightly sword and spur would venture to refuse me. have i not to tell her how my heart is wrung?--have i not to show her that this is no deed of mine?--have i not to prove to her that i am but a passive instrument in the hands of fate?--that the death which he calls upon his head, is her brother's own seeking; and that i am no more answerable for it than the lance that strikes him?--oh yes, my lord, i must see her!" "you shall, you shall," replied edward, "but it must not be to-night. farewell, for the present;" and thus saying, he quitted the room. chapter xxxviii. it was evening; but one day remained to pass away before the arrival of that appointed for the wager of battle; and all nottingham had been in hurry and confusion with the excitement of the approaching spectacle. the residence of the king in the castle had already filled the town fuller than it was ever known to be before; but now a still greater influx of people poured into it from all the country round, to witness a transaction, which combined all the splendor and display of one of the military pageants of the day with the interest of a deep tragedy. the citizens had flocked out of the town during the morning, to see the preparation of the lists; parties of pleasure had been made to the spot where the deadly struggle was to take place; and mirth and merriment had surrounded the scene, where two fellow-creatures were soon to appear armed for mutual destruction--where bright hopes and fair prospects were to be blighted, and death and sorrow to share the victory. no tidings had been received by hugh de monthermer from his forest friends. no circumstance had transpired which could aid him in proving his innocence, or could fix the guilt upon another. prince edward was evidently anxious and uneasy; and the only person who seemed pleased with the whole affair was the king himself, who, affecting a dignified grace and calmness and declaring that he assumed the young lord of monthermer to be innocent till he was proved guilty, treated him with courtesy, and even with distinction. it was the pampering of a gladiator before sending him into the arena; for the secret of henry's good humour was, that he was pleased at the excitement, and satisfied with those who contributed to it. not to show favour, however--as one of the most favourite-ridden monarchs that ever lived thought fit to term it, he sent expressly to invite the young earl of ashby to repair with his train to nottingham castle, and partake of the royal hospitality before the combat; and alured had already arrived, and taken possession of the apartments prepared for him. he had twice met with hugh de monthermer, once in the hall, when many others were present, and once in the court when they were nearly alone. their meeting had been watched by the frivolous and malicious, always so numerous in courts, who hoped and expected to see some outburst of angry feeling, which might afford amusement for the passing hour. but in this they were altogether disappointed--the two adversaries saluted each other with grave courtesy; and it was particularly remarked, that alured's fierce impetuosity and somewhat insolent pride were greatly softened down and moderated. nay, more, when his eyes lighted upon hugh de monthermer, the expression was more sad than stern, and some thought that there was hesitation in it also. "it is clear enough," said sir harry grey to sir william geary--"it is clear enough, he doubts the truth of the charge he has made--he does not think the monthermer guilty." "he knows that some one must be guilty," answered the other, "and that is generally enough for an ashby, to make him vent his rage upon the first thing near." "but what has become of his good cousin dickon?" demanded grey. "i have not seen him all day, nor yesterday either." "i suppose be keeps at lindwell," replied sir william geary, "or else has gone to his new manor of cottington. people look cold on him--i know not why." "there are two or three reasons why," said sir harry grey. "first, it is evident that this charge is of his hatching, and yet he puts the fighting part upon his cousin." "and very wise, too!" exclaimed sir william geary. "first, because hugh de monthermer would break his neck, as a man does a rabbit's with his little finger; next, because there is but one between him and the earldom of ashby, and a good lance and a fair field is very likely to diminish the number." "is it just possible," said grey, "that he may have taken means to diminish the number already?" sir william geary shrugged his shoulders significantly, but made no other answer, and the conversation dropped. such as it was, however, it was a fair specimen of many others that took place in nottingham that day. but richard de ashby heard them not, for he was many miles away, deep in conference with his companion, ellerby, who remained to watch the progress of events, hidden in the wild and mountainous parts of derbyshire. nevertheless, that night towards seven o'clock, when every one in nottingham had returned home from the sight-seeing and amusements of the day, and all was profoundly quiet, both in the castle and the town, two armourers, who sat burnishing a magnificent hauberk in the outer chamber of the young earl of ashby's apartments in nottingham castle, were interrupted by some one knocking at the door. in a loud voice they bade the visitor come in; and in a moment after, the brown face and head of an old woman were thrust into the room, asking to see the earl of ashby. the two men had been going on merrily with their work, giving no thought or heed to the bloody purposes which the weapons under their hands were to be applied to, nor of the danger that their lord ran, should that linked shirt of mail prove insufficient to repel the lance of an enemy. they looked up then as cheerfully as if the whole were a matter of sport, and one of them replied, "he will not receive you, good dame, seeing you are old and ugly. had you been young and pretty, by my faith, you would have found admission right soon.--what is it that you wish?" "i wish to tell him," answered the old woman, "that he is wanted immediately down at the house of sir richard de ashby." "well--well," cried the man, "i will tell him. get thee gone, and close the door after thee, for the night wind is cold." thus saying, he went on with his work, and seemed to have no inclination to break off, for the purpose of carrying any messages whatsoever. "come--come!" cried his companion, "you must tell my lord." "pooh, that will do an hour hence," he replied; "to-morrow morning will be time enough, if i like it. what should richard de ashby want with my lord:--borrow money, i dare say. some jew has got him by the throat, and wont let him go. there let him stay--nasty vermin!" "nay--nay, then i will go," said his brother armourer, rising, and proceeding into another chamber, where several yeomen and a page were sitting, to the latter of whom he delivered the message, and then returned to his work. the young earl of ashby was seated in an inner room, with but one companion, when the old woman's commission was at length executed. "ay! i am glad to hear he has returned," he said, as the page closed the door. "i wonder he comes not hither! but i will go and speak with him. my mind misgives me, sir guy--my mind misgives me! and what you say does not convince me. my sister knows better--lucy is truth itself. remember, sir, i have to swear that my quarrel is just--that i believe, so help, me, god! that my charge is true. i doubt it, guy de margan--i doubt it. if you can give new proof--speak! but 'tis useless to repeat over and over again what i have heard before, and what has been refuted." "it may be that your cousin, my lord, can furnish you with new proof," said guy de margan. "'tis on that account, perhaps, he has sent for you." "i will go directly," cried the earl, starting up--"i will go directly!--but where does he live in nottingham?--i thought he was in the castle with the rest, or at our lodging in the town.--down at the house of sir richard de ashby!--where may that be, i wonder?" "i can show you, my lord," answered guy do margan--"'tis half-a-mile hence or more." "tell me--tell me," replied the earl; "i will go by myself." "i will put you in the way, my lord," said his companion, "and leave you when you are in the street.--you will never find it by yourself." giving him but little thanks for his courtesy, the young earl strode into the ante-room; and with none but a page to carry his sword, and guy de margan by his side, issued forth into the court of the castle, and thence through the gates into the dark streets of nottingham. "had you not better have a torch, my lord?" said guy de margan. "no--no," replied the earl, "'tis but that our eyes are not accustomed to the obscurity, we have no time to wait for torches; the hour of supper will be here anon." "down the first flight of steps, my lord," said guy de margan, "let us not miss the mouth of the alley--oh, 'tis here!" and hurrying on with a quick step, the two gentlemen and their young attendant descended to the lower part of the town, and entered the street in which richard de ashby had hired the house we have so often mentioned. when they had proceeded some way down it, the young earl asked, with even more than his usual impatience--"are we not near it yet?" "yes, my good lord," replied guy de margan; "you can now find it for yourself, i doubt not. 'tis the first small house standing back between two large ones, with eaves shooting far over into the street." "i shall find it!--i shall find it!" cried alured de ashby, "good night, and thanks, sir guy. we shall meet again to-morrow." with this short adieu, he took his way forward, and in his quick, impetuous haste, had well-nigh passed the house which he was seeking, but the boy pulled him by the sleeve, saying, "this must be it, my lord;" and looking round, he plunged into the dark, retreating nook in which it stood, and feeling for the door, struck sharply upon it with the hilt of his dagger. for near a minute there was no sound, and the young earl was about to knock again, when a light, shining through the chinks, shewed him that somebody was coming. he drew back a step; and a moment after, the door was opened with a slow and deliberate hand, which suited ill with the young nobleman's impatient mood. the sight that he beheld, however, when his eyes recovered from the first glare of the light, struck him with surprise, and calmed him also, by the effect of gentler feelings than those which had lately agitated his bosom. it was the form of fair kate greenly that presented itself--it was her face that the rays of the lamp shone upon; but oh, what a change had been wrought in that face, even within the last three days! still more terrible was the alteration since the earl had last seen it, when he jested for a moment with his cousin's leman some months before in hereford. then it had been bright and blooming, full of life and eagerness, with much of the loveliness which then characterized it depending upon youth and high health. now, though beauty still lingered, and the fine line of the features could not be altered, yet the face was sharp and pale and worn, the lips bloodless; and the bright, dark eyes, though shining, with almost preternatural lustre, had a fixed, stern look, no longer wild and sparkling, but full of intense thought, and strong, yet painful purpose. the form, too, seemed shrunk and changed; the grace indeed remained, but the rounded contour of the limbs was withered and gone. "why, kate," exclaimed the earl--"why how now--what is this? you seem ill." "i seem what i am, my lord," replied kate greenly. "i am glad you are come; your presence is much wanted." "where?" demanded the earl. "what do you mean, my poor girl? some new mishap, i warrant you. where is my presence wanted, kate?" "i will show you, my lord," replied kate greenly, "if you will follow me;" and she led the way up the stairs. at the end of the first flight, the earl paused, saying, "is not dickon here, that he comes not forth?" kate gave him no direct answer, merely replying, "this way, my lord--this way, sir." "he must be ill," thought the earl, "and she, too, is ill, that is clear. 'tis some fever, belike. i have heard there is one in nottingham." at the top of the next flight, the girl laid her hand upon the latch of a rough door, formed of unsmoothed wood, holding the lamp so as to give the earl light in his ascent. the moment after, she opened the door and entered, leading the way towards the foot of a small bed, by which was burning a waxen taper. the earl followed, murmuring, "this is a poor place," but raised his eyes as he approached the foot of the bed, and to his surprise, beheld the ghastly face of a dead man, stretched out, with a sprig of holly resting on his breast. "good heaven!" he exclaimed.--"who is this?" "the murderer of your father!" replied kate greenly, without adding a word more. alured de ashby clasped his hands, with deep and terrible emotion. his mind at the moment paused not to inquire whether the tale were true or false; but flashing at once through, his heart and brain came the feeling of wrath, even at the inanimate mass before him, for the deed that had been done, mingled with grief and anxiety at having charged it upon another, and the memory of all the embarrassments which that charge must produce. "the murderer of my father!" he said, "the murderer of my father--is that the murderer of my father!--then monthermer is innocent!" "as innocent as yourself," replied kate greenly. "this is one of those who did the deed; but there were more than one, hugh de monthermer, however, was many a mile away, and there lies the man who struck the first blow. look here!" she cried, and partly drawing down the sheet, she pointed to the wound upon the dead man's breast, saying, "there entered your father's sword; for the old man died gallantly, and sent one at least to his account." "ay, i remember," replied the earl, thoughtfully, "they found his sword naked and bloody--but how is this?" he continued, turning towards kate, and gazing on her face. "you seem to know it all, as if you had been present.--now i perceive what makes you haggard and pale." "'tis seeing such sights as this," replied kate greenly--"ay, and many another sad cause besides. but you ask, how i know all this? i will tell you, earl of ashby: by taking down from that man's own lips, in his dying moments, the confession of his crime. the priest adjured him to make full avowal of the truth, not only to the ear of the confessor, which could but benefit his own soul, but for the ear of justice, that the innocent might not be punished for the guilty. such confession as he did make, i myself wrote down, he signed it with his dying hand, and i and father mark were the witnesses thereunto. here is the paper--read and satisfy yourself! the priest i have sent for--he will soon be here." alured de ashby took the paper, and, by the light of the lamp held by kate greenly, read the few words that it contained:-- "i do publicly acknowledge and confess," so ran the writing, which followed exactly the broken words of the dying man; "that i, ingelram dighton, did, on the afternoon of tuesday last, together with three others--no, i will not mention their names--who had come down with me the day before from the good city of london, lay wait for the earl of ashby, at a place called the bull's hawthorn. i struck at him first, but only wounded him; whereupon he drew his sword and plunged it into my side, from which i am now dying. the lord have mercy upon my soul! el----, but no, i will not mention his name--another man then stabbed him behind, and we threw him into the pit. the lord hugh de monthermer had nothing to do with the deed. we used his name, because the person that set us on wanted the charge to fall on him, and a letter was written, as if from him, asking the old earl to see him alone, at the place of the murder; but he never wrote it, or knew of it. i have never seen him or spoken to him in my life, but only heard that morning that he had escaped from prison. this has been read over to me now dying, at the house of sir richard de ashby; and i swear by the holy sacrament and all the saints, that it is true, so help me god!" it was signed, with a shaking hand, "ingelram dighton," and below were the names of kate greenly and the priest, as witnesses. the young earl read and re-read it, and then looking upon his companion somewhat sternly, he asked, "why did you not produce this before?" "for many reasons," replied kate greenly, calmly:--"first, because i had not the means. do you suppose that the cruel and deceitful villain into whose power i have fallen leaves me to roam whither i please? 'tis but when he is absent that i dare quit the house. in the next place, you were at lindwell; and in the next, i wished, ere i brought forward even so much as this, to have the whole in my hands; to be able not only to say, 'this man is innocent,' but also, 'that man is guilty!' i tell you, earl, i would not now have told you what i have, but that you must not risk your own life in a false quarrel, nor bring upon yourself the guilt of slaying another for deeds that he did not commit. knowing as much as you do now know, it is your task and duty to sift this matter to the bottom, and to discover the instigator of this murder; for he who now lies there, and his companions, were but tools. i am ready and willing to speak all i know, when the time and place is fitting. yet you must be neither too quick nor too slow: for if you are slow, i shall not be here--my days are numbered, and are flying fast; and if you are hasty, the guilty one will escape you." "and who is the guilty one?" demanded alured de ashby, bending his brows sternly upon her--"who is the guilty one? name him, girl, i adjure thee--name him! name him, if ever thou hast had the feelings of a child towards a father!" kate gave a low cry, as if from corporeal pain, and then, shaking her head mournfully, she said, "i have had the feelings of a child towards a father, earl of ashby; and for the sake of your false cousin, i tore those feelings from my heart in spite of all the agony--for his sake, i brought disgrace upon that father's house--for his sake, i strewed ashes upon a parent's head--for his sake, i poured coals of fire upon my own; and how has he repaid me! but you ask me, who is the man? i will not be his accuser till all other means fail. i must not be accuser and witness too. you have the clue in your hands; use it wisely and firmly, and you will soon discover all you seek to know." the earl gazed in her face for a minute with a keen and searching glance, then turned his look once more upon the corpse, took a step or two nearer, and examined the features attentively. "give me the lamp," he said; and taking it from her hand, he bent down his own head, and seemed to scan every lineament, as if to fix them on his mind for ever. but his thoughts were in reality turning to the past, not the future; and raising himself to his full height again; he added, aloud, "i have seen that face before, though where i cannot tell. the memory will return, however. how came he here?--who brought him here to die?" "those who took him hence to slay," answered kate greenly. "didst thou ever see him before that day?" demanded the earl. "twice," was the reply. "hark! there is the curfew," exclaimed the earl. "i must away." "stay till the priest comes!" cried kate, eagerly. "he will be here ere long." "i cannot," answered alured de ashby; "i am expected at the castle even now. but fear not that i will forget this business. i will find out the truth, even if i have to cut it from the hearts of those that would conceal it; and i will be calm, too--tranquil, and calm, and cautious." "go, then!" said kate. "yet tell me--but no, you will not dream of it!--you have no thought of meeting in arms an innocent and blameless man upon a false and unholy charge? promise me--promise me!" "i will make no promise!" answered the earl. "you seem to feel some deep interest in this monthermer?" "i never saw his face but twice!" replied kate, solemnly. "i never heard his voice but once--i have no interest in him; but, weak and fallen and disgraced as i am, i have still an interest in right and truth! neither would i see you fall before his lance--for fall assuredly you will, if you go forth to meet him! nay, look not proud, earl of ashby, before a dying girl, who knows nought of these haughty strifes, and can little tell whether you or he--if all were equal--would bear away the prize of chivalry. but, i say, all is not equal between you; and if you meet hugh de monthermer, you fall before his lance as sure as you now live: for he is armoured in high innocence, with a just quarrel, and an honest name to vindicate; you fight, weighed down with the consciousness of wrong upon your arm, a false oath upon your lips, and doubt and discouragement at your heart! were you twenty times the knight you are, that burden were enough to make you fall before a peasant's staff! one thing, however, i have a right to demand: you shall give that paper to prince edward, fully twelve hours before you go into the lists--this you must promise me to do, or i myself will go and cast myself--" "i have no right to refuse," interrupted the earl; "on my honour, as a knight, the prince shall have the paper. be you ready to prove that it is genuine?" "i am ever ready," answered kate; "and though i may shrink and quiver, like a wounded limb when a surgeon draws the arrow forth, yet i shall be glad when each step of my bitter task is begun, and the time of rest comes nearer. if they wish to remove this body?"--she added, as the earl walked towards the door, "let them do it," answered alured--"let them do it--they shall be watched!" thus saying, he left the room, and slowly descended the stairs, kate greenly lighting him down to the bottom. he went thoughtfully and sadly, with a heart full of gloom, anxiety, and strife; but there were kindly parts in his character, too; and when he reached the bottom step, he turned and looked once more in the face of his unhappy companion. then, taking her hand, he said, "poor girl, i am sorry for thee! can nought be done to save thee?" "nothing, my lord!" replied kate greenly, calmly; "i have but one saviour, and he is not of earth." chapter xxxix. "the king has sat down to supper, my good lord," said one of the young earl's attendants, meeting him at the door of his apartments, "and wondered that you were not there. a seat is kept for you, however." "is it near the prince?" demanded alured. "nay, my lord, the prince is gone," replied the man; "did you not know it?" "gone!" exclaimed the young nobleman. "gone, whither?" "to leicester, my lord," said the servant. "while you and sir guy de margan were conversing here, news came from leicester of a revolt amongst the peasants there; and the prince set out at once, with some fifty men--'tis not half an hour since." "why, he is to be the judge of the field the day after to-morrow!" cried the earl, in surprise and evident disappointment. "i heard film tell the king myself, my lord," replied the man, "that he would be back ere sunset to-morrow." "this is unfortunate," murmured alured--"this is most unfortunate; but it can't be helped!" and after making some slight change in his apparel, and giving some orders in a low but earnest voice, he hastened to the hall. henry, as soon as he appeared, greeted him with light merriment, saying, "you are late for the banquet, noble earl; but we forgive you, as we doubt not some fair lady held you in chains of dalliance not to be broken." "nay, sire," replied the earl, gravely, "my heart is too full of other things to think of levities. i was with a sick friend, and the time, though it passed heavily, was not noted." "a sick friend is as good an excuse as a fair lady," said the king, "and one that may be pleaded at all times." "nay, sire," replied mortimer, who was sitting near, "neither fair lady nor sick friend can be a moment's excuse for delay in day of battle, or even, i hold, of tournament." "a high question of chivalry," replied the king. "let some of our old knights decide it. what say you, sir john hardy?" "that the matter has been decided often, my liege," said the old soldier, who was placed some way down the table, and who spoke with grave deliberation on the subject which he considered all-important. "no excuse on earth can be received for the man who has touched a challenger's shield, or taken an accuser's glove, or received his leader's command to prepare for battle, if he be more than a quarter of an hour behind the time appointed. that space is given in case of accident, or men's judgment differing as to time. thus the trumpets may sound thrice, with five minutes between each blast; but if he comes not at the third call, he is held coward and recreant by all civilized men, and can plead nothing, unless it be the commands of his sovereign, as his excuse." "the honour of a knight," said another old soldier, in an authoritative and somewhat pedantic tone, "should be as bright as his shield, as clear and cutting as his sword, and as pointed and steady as his lance. what he has once asserted, that he should maintain to the death; for whatever cause there may be for retracting, an imputation on his courage will still lie, if he make a moment's delay in meeting an enemy in the field." hugh de monthermer remained calm and pale, but the cheek of alured de ashby flushed as if every word he heard was fire. as soon as possible after the banquet, he quitted the hall and sought his apartments, with a hurried and irregular step. he found the armourers still busy in their task, as he passed through the outer chamber; and, pausing at the bench where they were working, he gazed down upon the weapons under their hands with a thoughtful but abstracted look. then, with a sudden start, clenching his hand tight, he said, "see that all be firm and strong, mapleton, yet not too heavy." "fear not, my lord--fear not," replied the armourer, "there never was better steel in all the world; and these poylins are a rare invention for the defence of the elbows and knees. i have prepared a garland, too, my lord, for your neck. i know you love it not, but 'tis much safer, if you will but wear it, though it does spoil the look of the hauberk, it must be confessed. but very often i have known the blow of a lance right in the throat kill or disable a knight, though the spear went not through the rings--'tis a trick with the lord hugh, too, i hear, to aim at the throat. they say he killed two men so at evesham, and the soldan of egypt's brother, when he was in paynimrie." alured de ashby had long ceased to listen; but with his brow bent and his eyes fixed upon the arms, he stood thinking of other things, till the armourer ceased and looked up in his face; and then, turning away, he quitted the room without any reply. when in his own chamber, he closed the door, and for nearly two hours his foot might be heard, walking to and fro, sometimes, indeed, pausing for a minute or two, but still resuming its heavy tread. who can depict all the stormy passions that agitated him at that moment--the struggle that was taking place in his bosom, so different from that which had torn the heart of hugh de monthermer, though as violent in its degree, and proceeding from the same events. to fight in an unrighteous quarrel!--to go, solemnly appealing to heaven for the justice of his cause, and to feel that that cause was unjust!--deliberately to persist in charging an innocent man with a horrible crime, of which he knew him to be innocent!--it was a fearful contemplation for one in whom conscience had not been smothered under many evil deeds, notwithstanding the faults and follies which sometimes blinded his eyes to right and wrong. but yet, to retract the accusation he had made--to acknowledge that he had erred--to own that he had been rash and weak--to see hugh de monthermer triumph--all this was repugnant to the most powerful vices of his character--to jealous pride and irritable vanity. nevertheless, this he might have overcome; for, as we have shown, there was a high sense of honour in his nature, and the voice of conscience was strong enough, when the question was one of such mighty moment, to overpower the busy tongue of passion, and lead him to what was right; but, alas! there was another consideration. he feared the loss of renown! the very suspicion of any dread of his adversary was enough to put every good resolution to flight; and, unhappily, the laws of chivalry opposed a barrier to his pursuing the only course of rectitude, which would have been difficult enough to surmount even had his natural disposition been different from what it was. then came back the remembrance of the conversation which had taken place at the banquet. it seemed to him as if the two old knights, who had declared the rules of arms, had been sitting in judgment on the cause pleaded by the disputants in his own bosom. they had pronounced against the voice of conscience--they had given sentence in favour of that fantastic honour which was based more on personal courage than on truth. good heaven! he thought, that the world should suspect he was afraid to meet in arms the man he had accused! that _he_ should fear hugh de monthermer--that _he_ should take advantage of any new risen doubt to withdraw a charge which he had solemnly made, and shrink from a combat which he had himself provoked! how would men jeer at his name--how silent would the heralds stand, when he entered the court or the tilt-yard? he pictured to himself a thousand imaginary insults:--he saw knights refusing to break a lance with one who had shrunk from the wager of battle he had demanded; he saw ladies turning away their heads in scorn from the craven knight who had feared to meet an equal in the field. he could not--he would not do it!--and yet conscience still cried aloud; ay, and the voice of kate greenly rang in his ears, telling him that conscience was powerful to overthrow as well as to admonish; prophesying to him that he would fall before the lance of the man he knowingly injured, and that shame and defeat, as well as injustice and falsehood, would be his companions on that fatal field. "foul befal the girl!" he cried, "for putting such thoughts into my head; they hang upon me like a spell--they will cling to me in the hour of battle. many a man has fought in an unjust cause--ay, and many a one has fallen. in this ordeal, is the judgment of god shown, or is it not? is it possible to conceive that we can appeal to him, and call upon him to defend the right, and solemnly swear that our cause is just, all the time having a lie upon our lips, and that he will not punish? he were worse than the god of the moslemah, if he did not. what then shall i gain? for the first time in life, i shall soil my soul with an untruth--i shall take a false oath--i shall be defeated, disgraced, with the judgment of god pronouncing that i am perjured, and die, leaving a stained and blackened name behind.--and yet, to withdraw the charge is impossible!" he continued. "better disgraced, and hide me from contumely in the grave, than live and meet the scornful looks of every knight in europe! my only chance is in the prince--perhaps he may stop it. would he were here!--i would give him the paper now! yet i must show no desire to recant the accusation. i remember how his proud lip curled when that braggart, de poix, slunk from the mêlée at the northampton tournament, on pretence that his horse was lame. curses on my own precipitate haste!--but still deeper curses on that traitor, richard, who urged me on!--would i could know the truth.--oh! if i thought that it was so, i would tear his heart from his body, and trample it quivering in the dust.--the foul villain!--and my father so good to him!" such were some of the broken and disjointed thoughts which crossed the mind of alured de ashby, and from them the reader may form some idea of the agitated state of his feelings during that night. he slept scarcely at all till morning; but he then fell into a deep slumber, which lasted several hours, and from which he rose refreshed and calmer, but, nevertheless, stern and sad. he was restless, too, and the hesitating and undecided state of his mind on the most pressing subject before him, rendered him wavering in all his actions. in the morning, several of his servants, who had been out all night, according to orders he had given them, came in to make their report, and informed him, that though they had watched steadily at the spot which he had pointed out, no one had come out of the house but a priest and a little boy bearing a torch. he then sent for some of the old retainers of the family, who had been at lindwell when his father was slain, and on their arrival questioned them minutely on many points; and then he told his people that he was going to the apartments of his sister; but, when he came to the foot of the stairs, he paused, turned back again, and strode up and down the court for half an hour. his next proceeding was to order his horses instantly, and he set out the road to leicester. when he was about halfway there, however, he turned his charger's head, and reached the gates of nottingham just as night was falling. the city warder told him, in answer to his questions, that the prince had not returned, but that a messenger from him had arrived an hour before, and it was rumoured that edward would not be back until the following morning. the earl shook the bridle of his horse fiercely, and galloped up to the castle. before he reached it, however, the fit of angry impatience had passed away; and on dismounting, he proceeded direct to the apartments of the prince, and sent in a page to say he wished to see the lady lucy. he was instantly admitted to her chamber, where the sight of her fair face, bearing evident marks of tears, and full of deep and inconsolable sorrow, shook his purposes again, and added to all the bitterness of his feelings. alured kissed her tenderly, but he perceived that though she uttered not a word of reproach, she shrunk from him, and that was reproach enough. at his desire she sent away her maids, and then, sitting down beside her, he took her hand in his, saying, "lucy, i have come to see you--perhaps for the last time!" she cast down her eyes, and made no reply, and he went on--"it is not fit, lucy, that you and i should part with one cold feeling between us; and i come to ask forgiveness for any pain that i have caused you throughout life." "oh, alured!" exclaimed lucy, "the last and most dreadful pain may yet be avoided; but i know your stern and unchangeable heart too well to hope. you cannot but feel how horrible it is to see my brother and my promised husband armed against each other's life--meeting in lists, from which one or the other must be borne a corpse. you cannot but know, alured, that to me the misery is the same, whichever is the victor--that i have nothing to hope--that i have nothing to look for. if hugh de monthermer is vanquished, my brother is the murderer of him i love.--ay, murderer, alured!" she added, solemnly; "for you are well aware, that in your heart you believe him innocent. if you fall before hugh de monthermer's lance, the man i love becomes the butcher of my brother, and i can never see his face again." "stay, lucy, stay," said the earl; "it is on this account that i have come to you. i have had much and bitter thought, lucy. hugh de monthermer may be innocent--god only knows the heart of man, and he will decide; but if i die in the lists to-morrow, and he you love is proved to be innocent of my father's death, let my blood rest upon my own head; hold him guiltless of my fate, and wed him as if alured de ashby had not been." "oh, alured!" cried lucy, touched to the heart, casting her arms around him, at the same time, and weeping on his bosom. "no--no! that can never be." "yes, but it must, and shall be!" replied her brother. "i will not do you wrong, lucy, in my dying hour. here i have put down in a few brief words my resolution and my wishes. read, lucy.--what! your eyes are dim with tears!--well, i will read it. mark!--'i, alured de ashby, about to do battle with the lord hugh de monthermer, to whom the hand of my sister lucy was promised by my father before his decease--having lately had some cause to doubt the truth of the charge which i have brought against the said lord, of having compassed the death of my father--do hereby give my consent to the marriage of my sister with the said hugh de monthermer, if at any time he can prove fully, and clearly, that he is innocent of the deed; and i do beseech my sister--entreat, and require her, in that case, to give her hand to hugh de monthermer, whatever may have taken place between him and myself.'--there, girl--keep that paper, and use it when thou wilt.--now, art thou contented?" "contented, alured!" cried lucy, looking reproachfully in his face--"contented! do you think i can be contented, to know that either he or you must die? what you take from one scale you cast into the other. if my heart can be lightened respecting him by this generous act, how much more heavy the grief and terror that i feel for you. oh! alured, you say, that you now doubt his guilt. why not boldly, and at once, express that doubt?--why not----" "my honour, child--my honour, and renown!" cried alured de ashby. "but you will unman me, lucy. here, give this sealed packet to the prince whenever he returns." "perhaps he has returned," said lucy--"the princess told me he would be back ere nightfall." "he has changed his purpose," replied her brother, "and will not be in nottingham till to-morrow." "alas! alas!" exclaimed lucy, "that is unfortunate." "it cannot be helped!" answered the young earl--"but give it to the prince whenever he comes. tell him, that therein are contained the proofs which have lately made me doubt the justice of my charge against monthermer.--he must act as he thinks fit regarding them. but, remember, lucy, that if i fall, and you become monthermer's wife, he takes the retribution of blood upon him, and must pursue the murderers of our father till he approve their guilt upon them, and give them up to death.--and now, girl, fare thee well!" "nay, alured!" she cried, clinging to him. "listen to me yet one word. if you be so doubtful, can you swear----" "hush--hush!" he answered. "my mind is now made up beyond all alteration. i will do everything to clear me before god, and make my conscience easy; but i must never shrink from battle--i must never sully my renown--i must never bear the name of coward, or know that one man suspects i am such.--farewell, lucy, farewell--not one word more!" and kissing her tenderly, he unclasped the clinging arms that would have held him, and left her chamber. for a moment, lucy covered her eyes and wept, but the next instant, clasping her hands together, she cried, "i will go to hugh, and will beseech him! he is more tender; he has more trust in his own great renown. the victor at damietta, the conqueror of the lists at sidon, need fear no injurious suspicion. i will go to him. i will entreat him on my knees.--but first to the princess, with this packet. she must give it to her husband.--what does it contain, i wonder?" lacy gazed at it for a moment, and then at the other paper which her brother had given her. suddenly a light like that of joy broke upon her face, and she exclaimed, "he will! he will!--why should i fear? why should i doubt? he told me himself that in seven days he could prove his innocence.--he will, he will!---and with this before me, i need fear no shame. but now to the princess." and with a quick step she hurried to the apartments of eleanor, whom, for once, she found alone. she was too deeply agitated for courtly ceremony; and gliding in, she approached the princess as she sat reading, and knelt on the cushion at her feet. "what is it, my poor lucy?" said the princess, bending down her head, and kissing her fair forehead, with a look of tender compassion; "there seems some happiness mingled with the sorrow of your look." "'tis that i have hope!" replied lucy; and with rapid but with low words she related all that had passed between her brother and herself. she then put the packet into eleanor's hands, saying, "it will prove his innocence, i am sure; but the prince is absent, and i am afraid you will not open it." "nay," answered eleanor, "i must not venture on such an act as that. i am only bold where it is to show my love for him, but not to meddle in matters of which he alone can judge. neither is there occasion here, my lucy; he will be back ere long." "but alured thought not," replied her fair companion. "he had heard that the prince's journey from leicester was put off till to-morrow morning!" "not so, not so!" cried the princess; "'twas but delayed for an hour or two, and he sent lest i should fear the rebels had detained him. i expect him each minute, lucy. but in the meantime, tell me more clearly what caused that look of joy just now?" lucy hesitated. "'twas that a hope has crossed my mind," she said--"a hope that i might yet save them both; and surely, lady," she continued, raising her soft, dark eyes to eleanor's face--"and surely to save both the life of a brother and a lover; to spare them deeds that can never be atoned; to shield alured, not only from monthermer's lance, but from the more terrible fate of going to his god with a false charge upon his lips--a charge which he knows to be false,--a woman may well put on a boldness she would otherwise shrink from--ay, and do things which maiden modesty would forbid, were not the cause so great and overpowering." "certainly," rejoined eleanor, "so long as virtue and religion say not nay." "god forbid that i should sin against either!" replied lucy, eagerly. "that could never be, lady--but there be small forms, and prudent cautions, reserves, and cold proprieties, which, in the ordinary intercourse of life, are near akin to virtues, though separate. these surely may be laid aside, when the matter is to rescue from crime, from death, or from disgrace, beings so much beloved as these?" "assuredly!" exclaimed eleanor, "who can doubt it? to save my edward, what should stand in my way? nothing but that honour which i know he values more than all earthly things, or even life itself." "thanks, lady, thanks!" cried lucy; "you confirm me in my purpose." "but what is your purpose, my sweet cousin?" asked the princess. "i do not yet comprehend you." "will you promise me," said lucy, "that if i tell, you will let me have my will; that you will put no bar or hindrance in my way, nor inform any one of my scheme, but with my leave." eleanor smiled. "i may well promise that," she answered, "for if you please, you may conceal your scheme, and then i am powerless. no bar or hindrance will i place, dear lucy, but kind remonstrances, if i think you wrong. what is this plan of yours?" "this, this!" cried lucy. "here on this paper has my brother written down that he doubts hugh de monthermer's guilt; that he so much doubts the truth of the charge which he himself has made, as to require his sister to overlook the shedding of his blood, and unite her fate with the man who slays him, if he should fall in those fatal lists.--nay, lady, look you here; he puts no condition, but that hugh de monthermer should prove his innocence." "well," said eleanor, "i see he is kind and generous, and evidently believes the charge was rashly made, and is not just." "yet nought will keep him," replied lucy, "from sustaining that charge to-morrow at the lance's point, although he knows it to be false. tears, prayers, entreaties, appeals to conscience and to honour, are all in vain with him: he will die, but yield no jot of what he thinks his fame requires. he would not withdraw the accusation if an angel told him it were untrue. but hugh is not so stern and cruel, lady; he will listen to reason and to right. he told me himself that he would have laid down his battle hand, would but the king have named a few days later; for he is as sure as of his own life, to prove the guilt upon another man. oh, lady! in that long, sad interview, he was as much shaken as i, a poor weak girl. yet what could i say, what could i do, so long as my brother maintained the charge in all its virulence? now, however, now i will hie to him--ay, lady," she continued, "even to his chamber! i will beseech him, for mercy's sake, for my sake, for our love's sake, to avoid this unholy encounter; for the peace, for the comfort throughout life of the lady that he loves, to quit this place ere morning's dawn to-morrow." "he will not do it," answered eleanor, sadly; "you will but wring his heart, and break your own.--he will not do it." "i will soften him with my tears!" said lucy vehemently, "i will kneel to him on the ground; i will cover his hand with my kisses and water it with my eyes--" eleanor shook her head. "i will offer to go with him!" said lucy, in a low and thrilling tone, fixing her eyes, with a look of doubt and inquiry, on the princess's face. "ha!" cried eleanor, starting, while, for a moment, the colour mounted into her cheek. but the next instant she cast her arms round lucy, and bent her head towards her with a smile, saying--"and thou wilt conquer!--dear, devoted girl, i dare not altogether approve and sanction what you do; yet, i will add, hard were the heart, and discourteous were the lip, to blame thee. the object is a mighty one; no common means will reach it; and, surely, if thou dost succeed in saving thy brother both from a great crime and a great danger, and proving thy lover innocent, without risking his renown, thou shalt deserve high praise and honour, and no censure, even in this foul-tongued world in which we live. but stay yet awhile, edward will soon be here, and perchance this letter itself may render the trial needless. you say that it contains proofs of your lover's innocence?" "so my brother told me!" replied lucy--"proofs that have shaken even his stern spirit; but, lady, you must not betray my secret to the prince, for he will stop our departure." "if i tell him," answered eleanor, "my promise shall bind both; but, doubtless, the king, if there be any clear proofs here, in these papers, will order the wager of battle to be delayed. but go--get thee ready for thy task, dear lucy; when edward comes, i will send for thee again." chapter xl. about an hour before the return of the young earl of ashby from his ride towards leicester, his cousin richard had presented himself in his ante-chamber, expecting to find him within. he was no favourite of the servants of the house, and a feeling of doubt and distrust towards him had become general amongst them. a cold look from the armourers, and a saucy reply from a page--importing that the earl was absent, and that no one could tell when he would come back--was all the satisfaction which richard de ashby could obtain; and, returning into the court, he paced slowly across towards the gate where he had left his horses. sir william geary passed him just at that moment, but did not stop, merely saying, with his cold, supercilious look, "ha, dickon! thou art in the way to make a great man of thyself, it seems!" "stay, geary, stay!" cried sir richard, not very well pleased either with his tone or his look. but sir william walked on, replying, "i can't at present, dickon. for once in my life, i am busy." "they all look cold upon me," muttered richard de ashby, as he walked slowly on; "can anything have been discovered?" his heart sunk at the thought, and the idea of flying crossed his mind for a moment. but he was, as we have shown, not without a dogged sort of courage, and he murmured, "no, i will die at the stake sooner. i must find out, however, what has taken place, that i may be prepared." he somewhat quickened his pace, and had already put his foot in the stirrup, to mount his horse, when he heard a voice calling him by name, and turning round with a sudden start, he beheld guy de margan coming after him with rapid steps. "i saw you from my window," said the courtier, hastening up, "and have much matter for your ear. but let us go down by the back way into the town, and let your horses follow." in a moment, richard de ashby had banished from his countenance the look of anxiety and thought which it had just borne, not choosing that one, who was already somewhat more in his confidence than he liked, should see those traces of painful care, which might, perhaps, lead him, joined with the knowledge he already possessed, to a suspicion of those darker deeds which had not been communicated to him. "well, guy!" he said, as they walked on, "how flies the crow now? i find my noble cousin, the earl, has gone out to take an afternoon ride--not the way, methinks, that men usually spend the last few hours before a mortal encounter. but he does it for bravado; and, if he do not mind, his life and his renown will end together in to-morrow's field." "perhaps 'twere better they did," answered guy de margan, shortly; and then--replying to a look of affected wonder which richard de ashby turned upon him, he continued, "i know not your plans or secrets, dickon; but i fear you will find your cousin alured less easy to deal with than even hugh de monthermer. he doubts the truth of the charge he has brought!" "then he should not have brought it!" said richard de ashby. "what have i to do with that?" "nothing, perhaps," replied guy de margan, "but he loves not any of those whose reports induced him to make it. i found that, myself, while i was sitting with him last night. he was strangely uncivil to me; but you are foremost on the list, dickon!" "pooh!" cried the other. "let him but conquer in to-morrow's lists, and the pride of having done so will make him love us all dearly again. i know alured well, de margan, and there is no harm done, if that be all!" "but it is not all!" said guy de margan. "while i was sitting with him, an old woman--a withered old woman, the servants told me after--came up to call him to your house, bearing a message, as if from you." "'twas false! i was far away--did he go?" exclaimed richard de ashby, now moved indeed. "that did he immediately," answered his companion. "i walked down with him, and saw him in." "why, in the name of hell, did you not stop him?" cried richard de ashby. "old woman! i have no old woman there!" "perhaps he went to see the young one you have there," said guy de margan, in a careless tone. "curse her! if she have--" exclaimed richard de ashby; and then suddenly stopped himself, without finishing his sentence. "yes!" proceeded guy de margan, with the same affected indifference of tone; "yes, he did go down, and went in, and stayed for more than an hour, for i was at the king's banquet, and saw him come back; and i spoke with his henchman, peter, afterwards, who told me that he was mightily affected all that night, and brought with him, from your house, a paper, which he sealed carefully up. look to it, dickon--look to it!" they had now come to a flight of steps which led them down over one of the rocky descents which were then somewhat more steep than they are now in the good town of nottingham, and richard de ashby, pausing at the top, ordered the horses to go round, while he with guy de margan took the shorter way. he said nothing till he reached the bottom; but there, between two houses, neither of which had any windows on that side, he stopped suddenly, and grasping his companion's arm, regarded him face to face with a bent brow and searching eye. "what is it you mean, guy de margan?" he asked. "you either know or suspect something more than you say." "i know nothing," replied guy de margan, "and i wish to know nothing, my good friend. so tell me nothing. i am the least curious man in all the world. what i suspect is another affair. but now listen to me. the death of hugh de monthermer, sweet gentleman though he be, would not be unpleasant to me; the death of the earl, though you would have to wear mourning for your earldom, would not, i have reason to believe, be very inconvenient or unpleasant to you. now mark me, dickon; if these two men meet to-morrow, your cousin alured, doubting the justice of his cause, and shaken by foolish scruples, will fall before the lance of hugh de monthermer as sure as i live. every one of the court sees it, and knows it. that would suit your purpose well, you think? but you might be mistaken even there. nothing but dire necessity will drive monthermer to take the earl's life. the prince is to be judge of the field, and he will drop his warder on the very slightest excuse. thus you may be frustrated, and both you and i see our hopes marred in a minute.--but there is something more to be said: i do not choose that your purpose should be served, and not my own." "why, guy de margan," exclaimed his companion, in a bitter tone; "you do not think that i am tenderly anxious for monthermer's life?" "no, nor i for alured de ashby's," answered de margan; "but either both shall die or both shall live, richard de ashby. your cousin's mind is now in that state, that but three words from me, turning his suspicions in another channel, will make him retract his charge, and offer amends to him he has calumniated.--ay, and worse may come of it than that. now i will speak these words, richard de ashby, in plain terms--i will prevent this conflict, unless you assure me that both shall fall." "but how can i do that?" demanded richard de ashby, gazing upon him with evident alarm. "how is it possible for me to insure an event which is in the hand of fate alone?" "in the hand of fate!" cried guy de margan, with a scoff. "to hear thee speak, one would think that thou art as innocent as noe's dove. art thou not thy cousin's godfather in the list to-morrow?" "ay, so he said," replied richard de ashby. "then instruct him how to slay his adversary," rejoined guy de margan. "tell him not to aim at shield or helmet, but at any spot; his shoulder--his arm--his throat--his hip, where he can see the bare hauberk." "alured knows better," said richard. "he will drive straight upon him with his lance; and then the toughest wood--the firmest seat--the steadiest hand--the keenest eye, will give the victory." "nay, but tell him," answered guy de margan, in a lower tone, "that you know what is passing in his mind, the doubts, the hesitation, and that the conflict on foot is that wherein alone he can hope to win the day. ask him if he ever saw hugh de monthermer unhorsed by a straight-forward stroke of a lance whoever was his opponent? but show him that, by striking him at the side, and turning him in the saddle, he may be brought to the ground without a doubt." "but still what is this to me?" asked richard, impatiently; "the one or the other must win the day." "no--no!" cried guy de margan. "i will show you a means by which, if you can ensure that alured de ashby's lance dips but its point in hugh de monthermer's blood, it shall carry with it as certain a death as if it went through and through his heart; a scratch--a simple scratch--will do it.--when i was in the land of the old romans--now filled with priests and sluggards, who have nought on earth to do but to sit and debauch the peasant girls, and hatch means of ridding themselves of enemies--a good honest man, who took care that none should be long his foe, and was possessed of many excellent secrets, gave me, for weighty considerations, a powder of so balmy a quality, that either dropped into a cup or rubbed on a fresh wound, though the quantity be not bigger than will lie on a pin's-head, it will cure the most miserable man of all his sorrows, or within half an hour will take out the pain of the most terrible injury--for ever!" "i understand--i understand," said richard de ashby. "give me the powder; would i had had it long ago. but how can one fix it to the lance's point, so that in the shock of combat it is not brushed off?" "mix it with some gentle unguent," answered guy de margan; "'twill have the same effect." "i will, i will," replied his companion; "then with a thick glove i will feel the lance's point, to make sure that all is right, like a good cautious godfather in arms, first carefully trying the wood upon my knee, with every other seeming caution which the experienced in such matters use. no fear but alured, one way or other, will draw his blood. oh yes! and both shall go on the same road.--half an hour, say you?--will he have strength to end the combat? "fully," replied guy de margan; "for within two minutes of his death he will seem as strong as ever. i tried it on a hound--just scratched his hanging lip, then took him to the field, and on he went after the game, eager and strong and loud tongued; but in full cry down dropped he in a moment, quivering and panting, and after beating the air for some two minutes with his struggling paws, lay dead." "give it me--give it me!" cried richard de ashby, and then burst into a fit of laughter, as if it were the merriest joke that ever had been told. guy de margan put his hand into the small embroidered pouch he wore under his arm, and took forth an ivory box, not bigger than a large piece of money. "what, is this all?" exclaimed richard de ashby, taking the little case. "is this enough?" "to slay more men than fell at evesham," replied guy de margan; "but be careful how you mix it. remember, the slightest scratch upon your own hand sends you to the place appointed for you, if but a grain of that finds entrance." "i will take care--i will take care," said richard de ashby; "and now look upon the deed as done. ere this time to-morrow, you will have had your revenge--and i shall be earl of ashby." "ha! ha!" cried guy de margan, "is the truth out at length? well, good richard, fare thee well; we shall meet to-morrow in deep grief for the events of this sad field. in the meantime i will go to your cousin, the short-lived earl, and nerve him for this battle. i will inform him with mysterious looks that there is a plot afoot to delay the combat, and to make him believe his adversary innocent. you harp on the same string, when you see him; and i will tell him, too, that he shall have proof sufficient early to-morrow of monthermer's guilt. if we but get him to the field, the matter's done--he will not retract." "farewell, de margan--farewell!" said richard de ashby, "i will go home and make inquiries there;" and as he turned away, he murmured--"if this powder be so potent, there may be enough for you also, my good friend--but i shall have another to deal with first. kate greenly, my pretty lady, you have a secret too much to carry far; if you have not betrayed me already, i will take care that you shall not do so now." a few minutes brought him to the house he had hired in nottingham, and knocking hard, the door was almost instantly opened by a young lad whom he had left behind with his unhappy paramour. "where is the lady?" was the first question that the youth's master put to him. "in her own chamber?" "no, noble sir," replied the servant; "she went forth some time ago." "gone forth!" exclaimed his master--"gone forth, when i forbade her to cross the threshold!" "i could not stay her, sir," rejoined the youth, who had been brought up in no bad school for learning impudence, as well as other vices. "women will gad, sir, and who can stop them?" "hold thy saucy prate, knave!" cried the knight, "and answer me truly. who has been here since i went?" "nobody, sir," replied the boy--"nobody but the old priest." "what old priest?" demanded his master, with a bent and angry brow. "the old priest who was here before, noble sir," said the boy, in a more timid tone, for his lord's look frightened him. "he who was here the night you went to lindwell." "ha!" cried richard de ashby; "a priest here that night? 'tis well for him i caught him not!--when was he here again?" "twice, sir," replied the youth; "once in the morning; and last night she sent me for him again." "and no one else?" asked richard de ashby. "no one," answered the boy, firmly; and then added, in a more doubtful tone--"no one that i remember." "boy, 'tis a lie!" replied his master. "i see it on thy face: thou know'st thou liest!"--and as he spoke, he caught him by the breast, giving him a shake that made his breath come short. "who has been here? if thou speak'st not at a word, thou shalt have a taste of this!" and he laid his hand upon his dagger. "no one, indeed--no one that i know of," said the boy. "i may suspect----" "and who do you suspect?" asked richard de ashby. "why, noble sir, last night," replied the boy, "as i was going up the street to seek the priest, i saw two gentlemen come near the house; and one of them, who was the noble earl, your cousin, i am sure, went up as if to the door, and, i think, was let in; the other turned away." "did my cousin go in?" demanded richard. "say me but yea or nay.--did he go in, i say?" "i think so, sir," replied the youth--"i think so, but cannot be sure; there came a sudden light across the road as if the door opened, but by that time i was too far up the street to see." "'tis as de margan said," thought the knight; and striding up at once to the chamber where the corpse was laid, he found the door wide open, and the body fairly laid out and decked, as it was called. a crucifix and some sprigs of holly were on the breast; a small cup of holy water stood near; a lamp was burning, although the sun was not yet down, and everything gave plain indication that the man had not died without the succour of the church, and that the corpse had been watched by other eyes besides those of poor kate greenly. "i have been betrayed!" said richard de ashby to himself.--"i have been betrayed! yet if it be but the priest, there is no great harm done. the secret of confession, at all events, is safe. but where is the girl herself, and what has been her communication with alured? that must be known ere many hours be over--perhaps i shall know it soon enough.--and yet what can she tell, but that a wounded man died in my house, brought in by people who had once visited me, and that, too, while i was absent?--'tis my own conscience makes me fear. if ellerby would but betake himself to wales or france, or anywhere but here, all would be safe enough; but he keeps hovering about, like a moth round a candle. where are this man's clothes, i wonder?"--and taking up the lamp, for it was now rapidly growing dark, he sought carefully about the room; but neither clothes, nor sword, nor dagger were to be found. "there is a plot against me," he continued; "'tis evident enough now. she may have gained more information than i think; she may have overheard something. a paper!--what paper could she give to alured! perhaps the covenant that i foolishly gave to these men! he might have had it about him. ellerby may have forgotten it. that were damnation, indeed! perhaps 'twere better to fly, while there is yet time!--fly? no, never!--to be a wandering outcast upon the face of the earth, seeking my daily sustenance at the sword's point, or else by art and cunning, when the earldom of ashby is almost within my grasp! no, never! i will go face it at once, and woe to him that crosses me!--if i could but find that girl--hark, there is a noise below!" and with a nervous start he turned to listen, and soon heard that the sounds proceeded from the servants, whom he had sent round with his horses, talking with the lad in the hall. "i will go face it at once," he repeated to himself--"i will wait for him at his lodging, and soon find out what he knows: doubtless he has kept it to his own breast. alured is not one to cast a stain upon his race. no, no; he will not accuse one of the name of ashby!" thus saying, he descended the stairs; and bidding his servants keep good watch in the house till he returned, he took his way back to the castle on foot. on reaching the apartments of his cousin, he found a number of attendants in the outer room, apparently not long returned from a journey. some time had since passed, however, for they were eating and drinking merrily, and little did they seem disposed to interrupt their meal for their lord's poor kinsman. "my lord is out, sir richard," said one, "he is gone to the prince's lodging." "nonsense, ned!" cried another--"he's come back again; but he told peter that he did not wish to be disturbed by any one." "of course, he did not thereby mean me," replied richard de ashby, sternly. "go in, ned, and tell him i am here." the man obeyed, sullenly enough, and the moment after, the knight heard his cousin's voice, saying, in a hasty tone--"i want not to see him. tell him i am engaged--going out on matters, of moment. yet, stay, send him in." richard de ashby's eyes were fixed sternly upon the ground as he heard the bitter confirmation of his fears, and he muttered to himself--"aye, he has heard more than he should have known." when the servant returned, however, and bade him follow to his lord's presence, he cleared his brow, and went in with as satisfied an air as he could well assume. the table was laid for supper, and his cousin was standing at the end, in the act of setting down from his hand a drinking cup of jewelled agate, the contents of which he had half-drained. "i would not have disturbed you, alured," said the knight, "but as i am to go with you to the field, it is necessary that we should talk over our arrangements." "i have no arrangements to make," cried the young earl, looking at him askance, like a fiery horse half inclined to kick at the person who approaches. "i am going to fight--that is all. i have had a lance in my hand before now, and know how to use it." "yes," replied richard de ashby, "and you will use it right well, and to the destruction of your adversary. i am aware of that, alured; but still there may be many things to be said between us. when one knows one's opponent in the lists, consideration and skill may be employed to baffle his particular mode of fighting his art--his trick, call it what you will. now i have often seen hugh de monthermer run a course--you, i think, never have but once?" "i met him hand to hand at evesham," replied his cousin impatiently; "that is, enough for me. i want neither advice nor assistance, cousin mine; and more, as we are now upon the subject, you go not to the field with me--i will choose another godfather.--nay, no attitudes or flashing eyes. i tell thee, dickon, things have come to my knowledge which may touch your life, so make the most of the hint. the time is short, for as soon as the prince returns, he shall be made acquainted with all the facts." "but, alured, explain!" exclaimed richard de ashby. "no need of explanation," replied his cousin; "you will hear enough of it ere long, if you wait. let your conscience be your guide to stay or fly. at any rate, remain not here. i go for a moment to, shake hands with hugh de monthermer, ere i meet him to-morrow at the lance's point, and to tell him that i bear him no ill will, though honour compels me to appear in arms against him. i would not find you here when i return; and let me not see your face at to-morrow's lists, for it would bring down a curse upon me." thus saying, he strode out of the room without waiting for a reply, and richard de ashby, in the passion of the moment, writhed his fingers in his own hair, and tore it out by the roots. "a curse upon him!" he cried, "a curse upon him! well, let it fall! tell the prince? blast his own blood? stain the name of ashby for ever? bring me to the block? but i know better," he continued, suddenly recovering himself--"he shall never do that;" and looking anxiously round the room, he drew from his pouch the small box that guy de margan had given him, approached the door, which his cousin had left partly open, pushed it gently to, and then, returning to the table, he poured a small portion of the white, powder it contained into the drinking cup of alured de ashby. a triumphant smile lighted up his countenance as he saw the powder disappear in the wine which still remained in the cup. "he will drink again when he comes back," said the villain. "i know him, ha! ha! ha!--and he must tell his story soon to prince edward's ear, or his tongue may fail him, by chance.--on my life, i think he is a coward, and afraid to face this monthermer. but doubt and hesitation are past with me. kate greenly, 'tis your turn now. she is with the priest, doubtless--she is with the priest.--her tongue once silenced, and i earl of ashby, who will dare to accuse me then?--or if they do, why let them! i will unfurl my banner on my castle walls, call around me the scattered party of de montfort, and set edward at defiance, till, by a soft capitulation, i ensure the past from all inquiries. but now for the girl--she must see no more suns rise!" and thus saying, he quitted the room and castle with a hasty step. chapter xli. "the earl of ashby, my good lord, desires to speak with you," said stout tom blawket, addressing hugh de monthermer, as he sat at a table, writing. "admit him instantly," answered hugh. "is he alone?" "quite alone, my lord," replied the man, and retired. the burst of anger to which alured de ashby had given way, when irritated by his cousin's presence, had passed off; and he now entered the chamber of hugh de monthermer, grave and sad, but with feelings of a high and noble kind. he turned his eye back, as he passed the door towards the ante-room, where a page and some yeomen were seated; and hugh de monthermer, divining the meaning of the glance, bade blawket, as he ushered the earl in, clear the outer chamber and let no one remain there. the earl advanced at once towards his adversary, and with a frank though grave air, held out his hand. hugh took it and pressed it in his own, and seating themselves together, alured de ashby began upon the motive of his coming. "monthermer," he said, "i cannot meet you to-morrow in the field, as needs must be in consequence of my own rashness and the world's opinion, without saying a word or two to clear my conscience and relieve my heart. when i made the charge i did make, i was induced by artful men to believe you guilty. since then, however, reason and thought, and some accidental discoveries, have made me doubt the fact. "doubt?" exclaimed hugh de monthermer, in a tone of reproach. "well, well," said alured, "to believe that the charge is false. will that satisfy you?" "it must," replied hugh de monthermer. "am i then to suppose, that it is the world's opinion, the fear of an idle scoff alone, which makes you draw your sword against a friend, which makes you still urge--but i will not use a term that can pain you--which makes you risk your life and mine, a sister's happiness, and your own repose of mind for ever, all for an idle scoff?" "even so, monthermer, even so!" said alured de ashby, in a sad, but determined tone. "i know it all--all you could urge; but yet you and i are well matched in arms; both have some renown--yours, perhaps, higher than my own, from having fought in palestine--and it is impossible that, after having called you to the field, i can in aught retract, without drawing down upon myself a charge of fear, which must never rest upon my name. men would say i dared not meet you, and that must not be." hugh rose from his seat, and walked twice across the room, then shook his head with a grieved and sorrowful expression, replying, "ashby, you are wrong; but i, on my part, must say no word to shake your resolution. as you judge best, so must you act, but i go to the field with a heart free from wrong; sad, bitterly sad, that i am forced to draw the sword against a man whom i would fain take to my heart with love;--sad, bitterly sad, that whether i live or die, a charge i have not merited brings sorrow upon me. but, as i have said, i will urge no motive upon you to change your purpose; only hear me, alured, when i call god and all the holy saints to witness, that the thought of injuring your father by word or deed never could cross my mind--that i am, in short, as guiltless of his death as the babe unborn!" "i believe you--i do believe you, indeed," said the young earl. "well, then," replied hugh, "i have a charge to give you, alured. none can tell what the result of such a day as to-morrow may be. i go with my heart bent down with care and sorrow; your sister's love blunts my lance and rusts my sword--hatred of the task put upon me hangs heavy on my arm--and 'tis possible that, though mine be the righteous cause, yours the bad one, i may fall, and you may conquer. if so, there is a debt of justice which you owe me, and i charge you execute it--ay, as an act of penitence. proclaim with your own voice the innocence of the man you have slain, seek every proof to show he was not guilty, and bring the murderers to the block--even should you find them in your own house." the earl covered his eyes with his hands, and remained silent for a moment, but then looked up again, saying, "no, no; 'tis i that shall fall. the penalty of my own rashness at first, the penalty of my own weakness now--for it is a weakness--will be paid by myself, monthermer. i feel that my days are at an end; my death under your lance will clear you of the charge that i have brought against you, and yours will be the task to seek and punish the assassins of my father." "and your sister?" said hugh de monthermer. "i have seen her," replied her brother. "i have seen her, and told her my wishes and my will. of that no more; only remember, monthermer, that when to-morrow i call god to witness that my cause is just, the cause i mean is not my charge against you, but the defence of my own honour against the injurious suspicions of the world." hugh looked at him with a rueful smile. "alas, alured!" he said, "i fear the eye of heaven will not see the distinction. ask your confessor what he thinks of such a reservation. but if it must be so, so let it be!! yet 'tis a strange thing that two men, most unwilling to do each other wrong, should be doomed by one hasty word to slaughter each other against conscience." "ay, so goes the world, hugh," replied the earl, "and so it will go too, i fear, till the last day. we must all do our devoir as knights." hugh de monthermer remembered of his knightly oath and the true duties of chivalry, and he could not help thinking that the mere reputation of a lesser virtue was held to be of more importance than the great and leading characteristics of that noble institution. he said nothing, however; for he would not urge the earl to forego his purpose, and he knew that reproach would irritate, but not change him. "i grieve, alured," he said, "that you feel it so; but as you are the mover in all this, with you must it rest. i can but defend my innocence as best i may." the tone which the young knight assumed, the calmness, the kindness, the want of all bravado, touched alured de ashby's heart more than aught else on earth could have done, and wringing hugh de monthermer's hand, he said, "good bye, good bye! i believe you innocent, from my soul, monthermer, and i would give my right hand that you or i were a hundred miles hence this night." with these words he quitted the room, and turned his steps toward his own lodging. he had thought, by visiting his adversary, to satisfy those better feelings, which, under the pressure of dark and terrible circumstances, had arisen in his heart--he had thought to relieve his bosom of the load that sat upon it, to make his conscience feel light and easy, and to cast off the burden of regret. but the result had been very different: the bitterness in his heart was doubled; sorrow, shame, anxiety, were all increased; and yet not one word or look of him whom he had deeply injured, gave human nature the opportunity of rousing up anger to take the place of regret. he felt his heart burn within him, his eyeballs seemed on fire, his head ached, and, ere he entered the door which led to his apartments, he threw back his hood, and walked three or four times up and down the court. he was just about to go in, when another figure, coming across from the same side where his lodgings lay, approached and cut him off, as it were; and in a moment after, guy de margan was at his side. "give you good evening, my lord," he said. "good night," rejoined alured, advancing as if to pass him. "pray what is the matter with your cousin richard?" asked the other. "i met him hurrying through the gates but now like a madman." "i know not, sir," replied alured, impatiently; but, the moment after he continued, in a changed tone--"by the way, sir guy, i would fain speak with you. thou hast been a friend and companion of richard de ashby." "well, my lord!" exclaimed guy de margan. "thou hast aided him with all thy might, to fix the crime of my father's death on hugh de monthermer!" said the earl, and then paused, as if for a reply. none was made, however, and he went on. "the accusers may be the accused some day--so look to it! look to it!" and he turned hastily towards his lodging. guy de margan stayed for a moment in the middle of the court, and then darted after alured de ashby, exclaiming, "my lord--my lord! one word. do you mean to charge me with any share in your father's death? if you do, i demand, that this instant, before the king, you make it publicly. i know, too well, my lord, to dare you to arms upon such a quarrel; but if the earl of ashby thinks fit first to accuse one, and then another, i will put myself upon my trial by my peers, who will force you to prove your words." "out of my way, reptile!" cried the earl--"out of my way, or i will stamp upon thy head, and crush thee like a poisonous worm. who accused thee? i did not!" "i thought the earl of ashby might seek to avoid fighting his adversary," said guy de margan, drawing a step or two back, "and wish to do it at my expense--hugh de monthermer is a renowned knight, and no pleasant foe to meet at outrance." alured felt for the pommel of his sword, but he had left it on the table behind him; and springing at once upon guy de margan, he caught him by the throat before he could dart away, and hurled him backwards with tremendous force upon the pavement. stunned and bleeding, guy de margan lay without sense or motion; and the young earl, crying, "lie there, fox!" strode back to his apartments. passing hastily through the other rooms to his own chamber, he paused by the side of the table, in deep thought; and then, pronouncing the words, "a set of knaves and villains!" he filled the agate cup to the brim with wine, raised it to his lips, and drained it to the dregs. chapter xlii. some half hour after she had left the princess--and we will venture to hope that the reader has particularly marked at what precise moment of time each of the scenes which we have lately described were taking place in the castle of nottingham--some half-hour after she had left the princess, lucy de ashby, covered with one of those large gowns of grey cloth which were worn by the less strict orders of nuns, while travelling, with her fair head wrapped in a wimple, and a pilgrim's bag hung over shoulder, filled with a few trinkets and some other things which she thought necessary to take with her, leaned thoughtfully upon the table in the wide, oddly-shaped chamber, which had been appropriated to her in nottingham castle. near her stood one of the maids, whom we have seen with her before, and who now watched her mistress's countenance and the eager emotions that were passing over it, with a look of anxiety and affection. at length, with a sudden movement, as if she had long restrained herself, the girl burst forth, "let me go with thee, lady! "you know not where i go, claude," replied lucy; "you know not, indeed, that i am going anywhere!" "yes, yes," said the girl, "i am sure you are going somewhere; if not, why have you put on that disguise?" "but--but to see if it would do, in case of need," answered lucy. "here, take it off good girl! i should not recognise myself, much less would others!" "ay, lady, but still thou art going somewhere," said the girl, aiding her to pull off the wimple and gown. "i know not where, 'tis true, but i will go with thee, anywhere--neither distance nor danger will scare me; and i am sure i can help thee!" "well, be it as thou wilt!" replied lucy, after a moment's thought, "but it may be that we shall leave behind us courts and soft beds for ever, claude." "i care not--i care not!" cried the girl, "i would rather live with the bold foresters in the wood than at nottingham or lindwell either." lucy smiled, as the girl's words brought back the memory of one happy day, and with it the hopes that then were bright. "well, haste thee," she said, "haste thee to make ready; there are many here who know thee, claude, and we must both pass unrecognised." "oh!" answered her attendant, "i will transform me in a minute in such sort that my lover--if i had one--should refuse me at the altar, or else be forsworn! hark! there is some one knocks." "pull it off--pull it off!" cried lucy, disembarrassing herself of the gown. "now run, and see!" "the princess, madam, requires your instant presence," said the girl, after having spoken for a moment to some one at the door; and, with a quick step, and eager eye, lucy de ashby advanced along the corridor, following one of eleanor's ladies who had brought the message. the latter opened the door of the princess's chamber for her young companion to enter, but did not, as usual, go in herself; and lucy found eleanor and her husband alone. edward was clothed in arms, as he had come from leicester, dusty, and soiled with travelling, but his head was uncovered, except by the strong curling hair which waved round his lordly brow, while a small velvet bonnet and feather, in which he had been riding, was seen cast upon one of the settles near the door. he was walking, with a slow step, up and down the room, with his brows knit, and a glance of disappointment and even anger in his eye. eleanor, on the contrary, sat and gazed on him in silence, with a grave and tender look, as if waiting till the first ebullition of feeling was past and the moment for soothing or consolation arrived. "here she is, edward," said the princess, as soon as lucy entered; and those words showed her that the conversation of her two royal friends had been of herself, and made her fear that the evident anger of edward had been excited by something she had done. the timid and imploring look which she cast upon him, however, when he turned towards her instantly banished the frown from his brow; and taking her hand, he said, "be not afraid, dear lady; i am more angry perhaps than becomes me, but 'tis not with you or yours. when i came here, some twenty minutes since, my sweet wife gave me this paper, which tends to clear our poor friend hugh, and i instantly took it to the king to beseech him but to delay the combat for a week. judge of my surprise, when he refused me with an oath, and swore that either your brother should make good his charge or die. but 'tis not my father's fault, lady," he continued, seeing a look of horror, mingled somewhat with disgust, come upon lucy's face--"'tis not my father's fault, i can assure you. mortimer and pembroke, and some others who have his ear, have so prepossessed his mind, that for the moment all words or arguments are vain; and yet this combat must not take place, or one of two noble men will be murdered." "then let me try to stop it," answered lucy, "has the princess, my lord----" "yes--yes, she has," cried edward, "and you must try, sweet lucy; but i doubt that even your persuasions--i doubt that even the bribe of your fair hand will induce monthermer to fly and leave his name to ignominy even for a day." "nay--nay, he will," said eleanor; "certain of his own innocence, with the confession of her brother which lucy has, that he believes him guiltless----" "'tis but an expression of doubt," interrupted edward, "if you told me right." "nay, edward," asked the princess, rising and laying her hand upon his arm; "if the case were our own--if i besought you with tears and with entreaties, and every argument that she can use, would you not yield?" "'twere a hard case, dear lady mine," replied edward, kissing her--"'twere a hard case, in truth, yet i may doubt. his answer might be clear; with honour, innocence, and courage on his side, why should he fly?" "to save _my_ brother," said lucy, looking up in the prince's face. "ay, but his renown!" exclaimed edward.--"yet he must fly. some means must be found to persuade him." "cannot you, my most gracious lord?" asked lucy, "ay, that is the question," rejoined the prince, again walking up and down the room. "what will be said of me, if i interfere?--my father's anger, too.--to tell a knight to fly from his devoir!--yet it must be done.--hark ye, fair lady; go to him, as you have proposed, use prayers, entreaties, whatever may most move him--do all that you have proposed--offer to go with him and be his bride. he scarcely can refuse that, methinks;" and he turned a more smiling look towards eleanor. "but if all fails, tell him that i entreat--nay, that i command him--if he be so sure of shortly proving his innocence, that no man can even dream i have done this thing for favour--tell him i command him to fly this night, and that i will justify him--that i will avow 'twas done by my express command; and let me see the man in all my father's realms to blame it!" "will you, most gracious lord," said lucy--"will you give it me under your hand? if i have but words, hugh may think it is a woman's art to win him to her wishes." "is there an ink-horn there?" demanded edward, looking round. "here--here," said the princess, shewing him the materials for writing; and with a rapid hand edward traced a few words upon the paper, and then read them, but still held the order in his hand. "remember," he said, turning to lucy, and speaking in an earnest, almost a stern tone, "this is to be the last means you use, and not till every other has been tried in vain. 'tis a rash act, i fear, and somewhat an unwise one, that i do, though with a good intent, but i would fain it were never mentioned were it possible." "this makes all safe," said lucy, taking the paper; "he will go now, my lord, that his honour is secure. but i promise you no entreaties of mine shall be spared to make him go without it. i will forget that i have this precious thing, until he proves obdurate to all my prayers. even then, methinks, i may show some anger to find him go at any words of yours when he has scorned all mine.--but, good sooth, i shall be too grateful to god to see him go at all, to let anger have any part." "well--well, fair lady," said the prince, "may god send us safely and happily through this dark and sad affair! we are told not to do evil, that good may come of it; but here, methinks, i only choose between two duties, and follow the greater. i act against my father's will, 'tis true; but thereby i save the shedding of innocent blood, and i spare the king himself a deed which he would bitterly repent hereafter. god give it a good end, i say once more! for we act for the best." "fear not--fear not, my edward," said eleanor; "god will not fail those that trust in him. may he protect thee, lucy!" and as she spoke she kissed her young friend's forehead tenderly. "now tell me," she continued, "is all prepared for your expedition?" "all," replied lucy. "my girl claude has got me a grey sister's gown, which will conceal me fully." "is that all?" cried the prince. "where are the horses?--but leave that to me. if monthermer consents to go, bid him make no delay, nor stay for any preparation. he will find horses at the city gate--the northern gate, i mean. in half an hour they shall be there. know you the way to his lodging?" "not well," said lucy; "'tis, i think, the third door down the court;--but claude will find it quickly, i don't doubt." "there is a speedier way than that," replied the prince. "follow the passage running by your room, then down the steps, and you will see a door; if you knock there, you will find his page or some other servant, for it leads into his ante-room. it were better," he continued, thoughtfully, "that you made a servant carry the disguise, and not assume it till you are sure that he will go. were you to visit him in such a garb, fair lady," he added, taking her hand kindly, "and after to return unwedded, men might speak lightly of your reputation; and that which in holy purity of heart you did to avert a most needless combat, might turn to your discredit." the blood came warmly into lucy's cheek, but the moment after she looked up in the prince's face, replying, with an air of ingenuous candour, "you think me, doubtless, somewhat bold, my lord, and many men may censure me, but i have something here"--and she laid her hand upon her heart--"which blames me not, but bids me go, in innocence of purpose, and share his fate whatever it may be. god knows this is a sad and painful bridal, such as i never thought to see. a father's death, a brother's rashness, and a lover's danger, may well cloud it with sorrow. but there is a higher joy in thinking i am doing what is right,--in thinking that i, a poor weak girl, by scorning idle tongues, and the coarse jests of those who cannot feel as i can, have a power to save my brother's life, and to spare him i love the dreadful task of putting a bloody barrier 'twixt himself and me for ever.--judge me aright, my lord!" "i do--i do," replied edward; "and now, farewell. god speed you, lady, on your noble enterprise!" lucy kissed his hand, and without more ado returned to her own chamber. "quick, claude!" she cried; "are you ready?" "yes, madam," she answered. "will you not put on the gown?" "no," said lucy, still pausing at the door; "bring them with you, and follow quickly." the girl gathered up her lady's disguise and her own in haste, and lucy led the way along the passage as the prince had directed her. there were no doors on either side, and but a loophole every here and there, which showed that the corridor, along which they went, was practised in the wall. full of renewed hope, and eager to see her scheme put in execution, the lady descended the steps, and was about at once to knock at the door, when her raised hand was stayed by hearing some one speaking. she felt faint, and her heart beat quickly, for she recognised her brother's voice. lucy listened, and distinctly heard the words--"i believe you innocent, from my soul, monthermer; and i would give my right hand that you or i were a hundred miles hence this night." a smile came upon her countenance. "he is preparing the way for me!" she murmured to herself; and again she listened, but all was silent, save a retreating step and a closing door. "he is gone," said lucy, turning to her maid. "stay you here, claude, for a minute or two;" and without knocking, she gently opened the door and looked in. there was a small room before her, with a fire on the opposite side, and three stools near it, but no one there; and entering with a noiseless step, lucy gazed round. a door appeared on either hand: that on the right was closed, but through it she heard sounds of talking and laughter: that on the left was in a slight degree ajar, but all was silent within. gliding up to it with no noise but the light rustle of her garments, lucy approached, and pushed it gently with her hand--so gently that she saw before she was seen. nearly in the centre of the room stood he whom she loved, with his arms folded on his broad chest, his fine head bent, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and an expression both sorrowful and stern upon his lip and brow. as the door moved farther open, it roused him from his reverie, and he looked up; but what a sudden change came instantly upon his countenance. an expression mingled of joy, surprise, and anxiety, passed across his face, and exclaiming, "lucy, dearest lucy!" he sprang forward to meet her. drawing her gently into the room, he closed the door, and then held her for a moment to his bosom while both were silent; for the throbbing of her heart left lucy's tongue powerless, and hugh dared not speak lest it should dispel what seemed but too happy a dream. "dearest lucy," he said, at length, "even while i thank and bless you for coming, i must ask what brings you here? it was rash, dear girl--it was rash! if you had sent to me, i would have been with you in a moment. it is not a minute yet since your brother was here." "i know it," replied lucy--"i know it all, hugh. i know it was rash to come; but i am going to do everything that is rash to-night, and this is but the beginning. it is in general that you men sue to us women--till you are our masters, at least; now i come to sue to you." "oh, lucy!" cried hugh, with a sort of prescience of what she was about to say--"what is that you are going to ask? remember, lucy--remember my honour. if you love me, that honour ought to be dearer to you than my life. ask me nothing that may bring shame upon me." "listen to me--listen to me," she replied. "you must hear me, hugh, before you can judge. your honour _is_ dearer to me than your life; and oh, hugh! you have yet to learn how dear that is to lucy de ashby;" and as she spoke, the tears rose into her eyes, but she dashed them away, and went on. "yet it is not for your life i fear, dear as it is to me. oh, no! your heart is safe. panoplied in innocence and strength, you go but to conquer. it is for my brother that i fear--for my rash and hasty brother--ay, and guilty, if you will--for he who brings a false accusation against an innocent man is guilty. i tremble for him, hugh; i tremble for myself, too; i fear that hugh de monthermer will draw upon his hand my brother's blood; and a hand so stained can never clasp mine again." "i know it," said hugh; "but what can i do? i have no choice, lucy, but to live for misery or to die disgraced!" "yes," cried lucy, eagerly--"yes, you have. fly, hugh de monthermer! give no reason to any one why you go. you are sure, ere long, to establish your innocence.--appear not at the sound of the trumpet--appear not till you can prove his guilt upon the foul wretch who did the deed with which they charge you." "what!" exclaimed hugh de monthermer--"to be condemned, not only as a criminal, but as a coward and a recreant--to have my name pass from mouth to mouth throughout all europe as a byword--to have heralds say, when they would point out a craven and a traitor--'he is like hugh de monthermer!' oh, lucy, lucy! think of my honour--think of my renown!" "but your honour is safe, hugh," answered lucy, clinging to his arm. "alured himself admits your innocence. i heard him say but now----" "ay, in this room between him and me," replied hugh de monthermer; "but to-morrow he goes into the lists, and calls god to witness that his cause is just. to me he owns the falsehood of the charge, but to the world upholds that it is true." "not so!" cried lucy--"look here, monthermer--see what he says to me here!"--and she drew forth the paper which alured had given her. hugh read it eagerly; and as he saw her brother's wish expressed, that, if he fell, their hands might be united, he turned his eyes towards the sweet girl beside him, with a look of tenderness and love deep and unutterable; but then the moment after, waving his head with a melancholy air, he said, "he knows you not as i know you, lucy. his wish is kind and generous--noble--most noble, and atones for all. but would lucy follow it?" "no!" she replied, raising her head, firmly. "were i to waste away my life in hopeless regret and misery, my hand should never be given to him who sheds my brother's blood. i vow it, so help me god at my utmost need! but hear me; hugh," she continued, her cheek, which had been very pale during the last words, becoming crimson--"hear me, hugh! hear me, my beloved!--hear me, and ho, grant my request! as eagerly, as fondly as ever you have sued for this hand, i now beseech you to take it.--on my knees, hugh de monthermer," and she sunk upon her knees before him--"on my knees thus, bedewing your hand with my tears, i beseech you to make lucy de ashby your wife." "but how, dearest lucy!" he cried, stooping to raise her. "what--what do you mean? how--how is this to be!" "fly!" exclaimed lucy--"fly _with me_ this night! here is my brother's full consent--here, also, is your justification--here, at the very first, he proclaims your innocence!" "ah, no!" replied hugh de monthermer, shaking his head; "he says, but that he doubts my guilt. oh, lucy! you will drive me mad to give me such a precious sight in prospect, and then to sweep it all away. i tell thee, my beloved, there is not an honest man in all the realm that would not call me coward, if i fled." "is that all that stays you?" demanded lucy. "what, if i show you that, amongst the highest and most honourable of the land, there are those who will exculpate and defend you?" "you cannot do it, lucy," replied hugh. "you may think they would. they may have said some chance words--that 'twere better to fly--that i might avoid the combat for some days; but when the time came, their voices would be raised with all the rest against me. you can shew me no more than this, dear girl." "i can!" answered lucy. "there! read that; and if you hesitate a moment more, 'tis that hugh de monthermer loves not his promised bride, rejects her proffered hand, and scorns the rash and giddy girl, who for the sake of any ungrateful man cast from her every thought but one--the saving those she loves." hugh de monthermer held the paper in his hand for a moment without reading it, gazing upon the beautiful being beside him, as with her eyes full of lustre and light, her cheek glowing, her lip quivering, she addressed to him the only reproachful words which had ever fallen from her lips. "lucy," he said, "i will not merit that reproach. you yourself have told me that my honour is dearer to you than my life. let it be dearer than all other things, lucy, and then tell me whether i can go with honour. whether, if i do, men will not cry coward on me?--whether my renown will not suffer in the eyes of europe? if you say yes, oh, with what joy will i fly, with lucy for my companion! with what deep devotion will i strive through life to repay her generous self-devotion, and to show her what i think of that heart which could cast away all idle forms and ceremonies, set at nought empty opinion, and entertain, as you say, but the one thought--the saving those she loves." as he spoke, he clasped his arms around her, and lucy hid her eyes upon his bosom, for they were running over with tears. but after a moment, she raised them again, saying--"read--read, hugh, that will satisfy you!" hugh de monthermer approached nearer the lamp, and looking at the paper, exclaimed--"prince edward's writing! what is this?-- "'follow the plan of your fair lady, monthermer. fly with her as speedily as may be--she will tell you more; but fear not for your honour--i will be your warranty, and will say 'twas my command. you are my prisoner still, remember, and as such, cannot fight without the consent of "'edward'" "this changes all!" cried hugh de monthermer; "but why not give me this before, dear lucy?" "because the prince required me so to act," replied lucy--"only to use this as a last resource; and she went on to tell him briefly but clearly all that had occurred. "let us be quick," she said, "dear hugh! there will be horses down at the north gate by this time. my poor girl, claude, is waiting on the steps with a nun's gown for me, and some cunning disguise for herself. have you nothing that you could cast over these gay garments? for as you are about to travel by night with a poor grey sister, 'twere as well not to seem so much the courtly cavalier." poor lucy's heart, relieved from the burden that had rested on it, beat up high with renewed hope; but still the agitation which she suffered remained, like the flying clouds that follow a summer's storm, and filled her eyes with tears, while the jest was still upon her lips. hugh held her to his heart; and soothed her, and might have felt inclined to spend a few minutes more in such a sweet employment, but lucy reminded him of how quickly moved the wings of time. "remember, hugh," she said, "the minutes and my courage are not stable things, and both are ebbing fast. my heart beats strangely quick and fearfully, and i must not faint or lag behind till we have passed the gates." "nor there either!" cried hugh; "but your courage will rise, dear lucy, when the immediate danger is past. we had better not go quite alone, however, for we may yet have to use the strong hand by the way. i will send down blawket and another to the gate with horses for themselves." "but a disguise!" cried lucy--"a disguise for you. ere we quit the castle, all this gold and silk will send the tale abroad to every horse-boy in the place." "i have one ready," answered hugh; "the priest's gown, in which i escaped before, may answer well a second time. where is this girl of yours?" "upon the steps," replied lucy. "i will call her." "nay, let me," said hugh de monthermer; and, opening the door of the ante-room and then that which opened on the stairs, he whispered, "come in, my pretty maiden; bring the lamp with you--i will be back directly;" and passing on into the outer room, as soon as the maid was in his chamber and had shut the door, he called blawket aside and gave him orders. then sitting down at a table, he wrote a few words on a scrap of paper, which he entrusted to one of the armourers, saying, "do not disturb sir john hardy to-night, but give him that at day break to-morrow morning." "'twere a hard matter to disturb him, sir," answered the man; "for he's asleep by this time, and when once his eyes are shut, lightning will not make them wink for eight hours to come." "it matters not," rejoined hugh, "to-morrow will be soon enough--only be sure to give it;" and thus saying, he returned to his chamber, closing the doors carefully behind him. the young knight actually started when he beheld lucy in the grey gown and wimple, such was the change which it had made. "you see, hugh," she cried, smiling as she remarked his surprise--"you see what lucy's beauty is made of. it all disappears when you take away from her her gay apparel, and cover her with the dull stole of the nun." there might be a little coquetry in what she said, for hugh de monthermer could make but one answer, and he made it; but to say the truth, it was the coquetry of agitation, for lucy sought to cover her own fears, and prevent her mind from resting on them. no time was now lost, however; the black gown of the priest was speedily found and thrown over the other garments of the young knight; and then the question became how they were to go forth, without passing through the room in which the servants and followers of hugh de monthermer were sitting. "can we not return by the steps in the passage, madam?" asked claude. "close to the door of your room there is the little staircase which leads by the tower into the great court." "that will be the best way," said hugh. "draw the veil over your face, dear lucy. no one will know us in such a guise as this; and there is little chance that we shall meet any one." the plan proposed was adopted, and neither in the corridor nor on the staircase did they find a living creature, though, as they came near the apartments of the prince and princess, steps were heard going on before them, and then a door opened and shut at some little distance. they reached the court, too, in safety, and hugh de monthermer took a step or two forward to see that all was clear. a flash of light, however, proceeding from the main building, caused him instantly to draw back again under shelter of the doorway. "there are torches coming," he said. "does the king ascend by this staircase?" "never, that i know of," replied lucy. "never," said the girl claude--"never!" hugh de monthermer pushed the door partly to, but looked out through the remaining aperture to see what was passing. "there is a crucifix," he said, "and the host: they are carrying the sacrament to some one in extremis." "st. mary bless me!" cried the girl claude, as he mentioned the word crucifix, "i have forgot mine;" and away she ran up the stairs again, to seek her cross, which she had left behind. chapter xliii. richard de ashby smoothed his brow, and calmed his look, as he crossed from a tavern, where he had been making some inquiries, to a house on the opposite side of the street, not very far from the gates of the castle. it was a large stone building--close to an old church which then stood on that part of the hill--and as it contained several habitations, the entrance of the common staircase was, as usual in such circumstances, left open. ascending cautiously, guided by a rope, which passing through iron rings followed the tortuous course of the staircase, richard de ashby reached the first floor, and knocked at a small door on his right hand. nobody appeared, and after waiting for several minutes; he knocked again. this time he was more successful, the door was opened by a small strange-looking being, dressed in the garb of an old woman, with a brown and wrinkled face, and little, bright, grey eyes. she held a lamp in her hand, and gazing upon the countenance of the visitor with a keen and not very placable look, she asked--"what do you want?" "i want father mark," replied richard de ashby. "he is out visiting the sick," said the old dame.--"nay, now," she continued, in a petulant tone, "i will answer all your questions at once, before you can put them. they all run in the same round. father mark is out--i don't know where he is gone--i don't know when he'll come home.--if you want to see him here, you must come again--if you want him to come to any sick man, you must leave word where.--now you have it all." richard de ashby had some acquaintance with the world, and fancied that he knew perfectly the character of the person before him. drawing out, therefore, a small french piece of gold, called an aignel, he slipped it into the old woman's hand, who instantly held it to the lamp, crying, "what's this--what's this?--gold, as i live! mary mother! you are a civil gentleman, my son. what is it that you want?" "simply an answer to a question," said richard de ashby: "is there a young lady staying here--a pretty young lady--called kate greenly? you know her, methinks,--do you not?" "know her? to be sure i do," replied the old woman. "a blessing upon her pretty heart, she's been up here many a time, and i've carried a message for her before now; and she gave me some silver pieces, and a bodkin--i've got it somewhere about me now," and she began to feel in her bodice for poor kate greenly's gift. "then is she not here now?" said richard de ashby. "no, no," answered the old woman, "she was here an hour before sunset, but she went away again. oh, i know how it is!" she cried, as if a sudden thought had struck her--"you are the gentleman whom good father mark has been preaching to her to run away from, because you are living in a state of naughtiness. these friars are so hard upon young folks; and now you'd give another gold piece, like this, i'd swear, to know where she is, and get her to come back again." "ay, would i," replied richard de ashby, "two." "well, well," continued the old woman, "i know something, if i choose to say. she is not in nottingham, but not far off." "can you show me where she is?" demanded richard de ashby. "not to-night--not to-night!" cried the old woman. "sancta maria! i would not go out to-night all that way--not for a purse full of gold. why it is up, after you get out of the gates, through back lane, and down the thorny walk till you come to the edge of thorny wood, and then you turn to the right by old gaffer brown's cottage, and, round under the chapel, and along by the bank where the fountain is, and then up by the new planting, just between it and the fern hill; and then if you go straight on, and take the first to the left, and the fourth to the right, it brings you to old sweeting's hut, where she has gone to live with him, and his good dame." richard de ashby saw no possible means of discovering the way from the old lady's description, and he was about to propose some other means of arranging the affair, when, with a shrewd wink of the eye, she said--"i am going out to her in the grey of the morning myself, and if you have any message to send her, i can take it; or, if a gentleman chooses to wait at the gate, and walk into the country after an old woman, who can help it?--i mustn't go with you through the town, you know, for that would make a scandal." "i understand--i understand!" said richard; "and if by your means i get her back again, you shall have two gold pieces such as that." "oh, an open hand gets all it wants," replied the priest's maid--"a close fist keeps what it has got; an open hand gets all it wants. 'tis a true proverb, sir knight--'tis a true proverb. at the north gate, you know, in the grey of the morning. wait till you see me come out with my basket, and then don't say a word, but come after." "you are going to her, then?" asked richard de ashby. "yes, yes," said the old woman, impatiently; "i am going to carry her news, from the good father, of all that happens at the castle to-night. but go along, now--go along! i am afraid of his coming back and finding you here: then he might think something, you know. at the north gate in the grey of the morning." "i will not fail," replied richard de ashby, and turning away, he slowly descended the stairs. the old woman paused not to look after him, but closed the door, muttering and talking to herself. the life of richard de ashby had arrived at one of those moments so fearful, so terrible, in the career of wickedness, when one offence following another has accumulated scheme upon scheme, each implying new crimes, and new dangers, and each, though intended to guard the other, offering, like the weakened frontier of an over extended empire, but new points of peril, but fresh necessity of defence. "'tis unfortunate," he thought, as he turned from the door--"'tis unfortunate that i have not found her; but she is absent from the city, and that is one point gained." the moment, however, that his mind had thus cast off the thought of kate greenly, and the secret she possessed, it turned with maddening rapidity to all the other points of his situation. "what shall i do with the body?" he asked himself. "i cannot let it lie and rot there.--i wonder how fares my cousin alured? he has surely drank the wine. oh, yes; i know him, he has drank it, and more too.--if that man ellerby were not hovering round about, all might be secure still." the word _still_ showed better than any other the state of his mind, though he hid it from himself. he knew, in short, that he was anything but secure. over his head hung the awful cloud of coming detection and punishment. he saw it with his eyes, he felt it in his heart, that the tempest was about to descend; and, as those who, in a thunderstorm, gallop away from the flashing lightning, are said to draw it more surely on their own heads, so his desperate efforts to save himself, only called down more surely the approaching retribution. the next minute his mind reverted to the corpse again. "this carrion of dighton," he thought; "it were well, perhaps, to dare the thing openly--to give him a simple but a public funeral--to call the priests to aid, and pay them well. with them, one is always sure to get a good word for one's money.--'tis but to say he was brought to my house in my absence, and died there while i was away. what have i to do with his death? 'tis no affair of mine.--i will hie up to the castle, and spy what is going on. oh, that i could prove that alured has drank wine or broken bread in the room of hugh de monthermer!--that were a stroke indeed! but, at all events, he has been with him. who can tell how a man may be poisoned? 'tis at all events suspicious, that he should be with him just before his death.--i will not go into the court; i will just look through the gates, and speak with the warder for a moment or two. the gates are not closed till nine." and thus saying, he retrod his steps to the castle gate. when he reached it there was nobody there; but as he looked through the archway into the court, he saw the figures of the warder and several soldiers standing with their backs turned towards him, gazing towards the other side of the building. there was a bright light coming from that point; and taking a step farther forward, under the archway, he perceived a procession of priests and boys of the chapel, with torches and crucifixes borne before them, while a tall old man was seen carrying reverently the consecrated bread. the solemn train took its way direct towards the lodging of alured de ashby; and turning back with feelings in which were mingled, in a strange and indescribable manner, anguish and satisfaction, horror and relief, richard de ashby murmured--"it is done!--it is done!" and sped his way homeward with the quick but irregular footstep of crime and terror. it were painful to watch him through the progress of that night. sleep was banished from his eyelids--sleep, that will visit the couch of utter despair, came not near the troubled brain of doubt, and apprehension, and anxiety. he walked to and fro in his chamber--he laid not down his head upon his bed--he sat gloomily gazing on the pale untrimmed lamp--he rested his eyes upon his folded arms, while dizzy images of sorrow and distress, and dying men, and shame, and agony, and scorn, and anguish here, and punishment hereafter, whirled before his mental vision, from which no effort could shut them out. thus passed he the hours, till a faint blue light began to mingle with the glare of the expiring lamp; and then, starting up, he hastily threw on a hood and cloak, and, leaving his servants sleeping in the house, proceeded towards the north gate of the town. it had been an angry and a stormy night, and the rain, which was running off the rocky streets of nottingham, still hung upon the green blades of grass and the boughs of the trees, which in that day came almost up to the walls of the city. the clouds were clearing off, however, and blue patches were seen mingling with the mottled white and grey overhead, while to the right of the town a yellow gleam appeared in the sky, showing the rapid coming of the sun. such was the scene as richard de ashby looked through the gate of nottingham, which was thronged with peasantry, bringing in their wares to the market even at that early hour. it was a sight refreshing and bright to the eye, and might have soothed any other mind than his; but the fire that burnt internally, that throbbed in his heart and thrilled through his veins, made the cool air of the autumnal morning feel like the chill of fever where shivering cold spreads over the outer frame, while the intense heat remains unquelled within. one of the first objects that his eye lighted upon was the form of the old woman, standing without the gate, and looking back towards it; and hurrying on, he was at her side in a minute. "ha, ha!" she said, in her usual broken and tremulous voice, "you are a lie-a-bed--i thought you were not coming. well, let us speed on." and forward she walked, certainly not at the most rapid pace, while richard de ashby asked her many a question about old gaffer sweeting and his good dame--what was his age? whether he had any sons, and whether there were many cottages thereabout? the old woman answered querulously, but none the less satisfactorily. he was an old man of seventy-three, she said, and he had had two sons; but one had died in consequence of a fall from a tree, and another had been killed at lewes. "houses!" she exclaimed. "few houses, i trow. why; that's the very reason that good father mark sent the girl there. wherever there are houses or young men, there is temptation for us, poor women. but this place is quite a desert, like that where the eremites lived that he talks of. if you don't tempt her, i don't know who will, there." thus talking, she tottered on, leading the way through sundry lanes and hamlets; and explaining to her companion, at each new house they came to, that this was such a place which she had mentioned the night before, and that was another. very soon, however, the cottages grew less and less in number, for towns had not at that time such extensive undefended suburbs as they have acquired in more peaceful days and at length they came to the chapel which she had named, the bell of which was going as they approached. the good dame would needs turn in to say a prayer or two, and it was in vain that richard de. ashby urged her to go forward, for she seemed one of those who harden themselves in their own determinations, as soon as they see themselves in the slightest degree opposed. "no, no," she said, "you would not have me pass the chapel, and the bell going, would you? it's very well for you men, who have no religion at all--so, go on, go on, if you will, i will not be a minute. i have five aves, and a pater-nosier, and a credo to repeat, and that wont take me a minute. you can't miss the way. go on, i will soon overtake you." richard de ashby did not think that the usual rate of the old lady's progression would produce that result; but, as the idea of prayer, and all connected with it, was unpleasant to his mind, he strode gloomily on, for some hundred yards, from the chapel, revolving still the same painful images which had tormented him during the livelong night. in a shorter time than he had expected, however, the old woman came out of the chapel; and he again proceeded on the path, walking on before her, and losing all sight of human habitation, but following a small bye-way, along the sandy ground of which might be traced sundry footsteps, and the marks of a horse's hoofs. though his step was slow, the old woman did not overtake him for near three quarters of a mile, still keeping in sight and talking to herself as she came after. the trees soon grew thicker on the left hand, the country more wild and broken on the right; and, at length, about a hundred and fifty yards in front, appeared a small, low cottage, or rather hut, resting on the edge of the wood. the path now spread out into an open green space, a sort of rugged lane some forty yards broad, extending from the spot where richard de ashby first saw the cottage, to the low and shattered door; and the place looked so poor and miserable that he said to himself, "if this be the abode the priest has assigned to her, 'twill not be difficult to persuade her to come back to softer things. i will tell her i am going to take her with me to london, and to the gay things of the capital.--is this the cottage, good dame?" he continued, turning his head over his shoulder, and speaking aloud to the old woman, who was now not more than a couple of yards behind. "to be sure," replied she; "did i not tell you it was here?" richard de ashby took two or three steps more in advance, straining his eyes upon the hut; but then, he thought he saw first one figure and after that another dart from the wood, and disappear behind the cottage, with a rapidity of movement not like that of old age. a sudden fear came over him, and stopping short, he exclaimed, "what is this, old hag?--there are men there?" dropping the basket from her hand in an instant, with a bound like that of a wild beast, and a loud scream, unlike any tone of a human voice, the old woman sprang upon the shoulders of richard de ashby, and writhed her long thin arms through his, with tightening folds, like those of a large serpent. "ha, ha, ha!" she shouted. "come forth, my merry men!--come forth! tangel has got him!--tangel has got him! we'll eat his heart!--we'll eat his heart!--and roast him over a slow fire!" in vain richard de ashby writhed--in vain he struggled to cast off the grasp of the strange being who held him. with a suppleness and strength almost superhuman, tangel clung to him like the fatal garment of alcides, not to be torn away. his fingers seemed made of iron--his arms were as ropes; and richard de ashby, casting himself down, rolled over him upon the ground, struggled, and turned, and strove to break loose, without unclasping in the slightest degree the folds in which he held him. at the same time, the steps of men running fast reached his ear; his eye caught the figures of several persons hurrying from the cottage; and, when tangel at length relaxed his grasp, richard de ashby found himself a prisoner, bound hand and foot. chapter xliv. in a wide, open field, by the side of the trent, were erected the lists for a battle at _outrance_. all the usual preparations had been made--there was a pavilion for the king to keep his state; there were galleries for the ladies; there were tents for the challenger and the challenged; and there were numerous other booths, for the shelter and refreshment of any who might come from far to witness one of the most solemn acts of chivalry. before the hour of eleven, a great multitude had assembled, and every moment the crowd was increasing; for rumours of strange kinds had not only spread through nottingham, during the early morning, but had found their way to all the country around about, and every one was eager to see with his own eyes how the whole would end. in all parts of the field men might be seen, each inquiring what the other knew, and, for the most part, each acknowledging his own ignorance of the exact state of the case; although here, as everywhere else, persons were to be found, who pretended to know a great deal of subjects with which they were utterly unacquainted. all that seemed certain was, that the gates of the castle had been shut since the morning, and nobody had been suffered to issue forth, but one or two servants of the king and the prince, who, after delivering some brief message in the city, had returned immediately, answering no questions, and affording, even accidentally, no information. two or three people reported, indeed, that a body of some ten or twelve men had entered the castle, coming from the side of pontefract. they wore no armour, and did not seem soldiers, and, by the appearance of their dress and horses, it was judged that they had travelled all night. numerous other rumours, indeed, circulated round the lists, and the opinion was generally gaining ground that there would be no combat at all, when this supposition was at once done away by the appearance of heralds and pursuivants on the ground, examining it scrupulously, to ascertain that all was clear and fair, without pitfall, trap for the horse's foot, molehill, or inequality, which could give an undue advantage to one or other of the combatants. shortly after, these officers were followed by several of the king's pages and attendants, who first busied themselves in putting the pavilion prepared for him into neat and proper order, and then stood talking in the front, making great men of themselves, and fancying that they might be mistaken for some of the royal family. the blast of a trumpet was then heard at a short distance, and, coming at a quick pace, a body of men-at-arms appeared, and took up their station, in military array, at either end of the lists, keeping on the outside of the barriers. a pause of some five minutes ensued, and the people, watching and commenting upon all the arrangements, congratulated themselves on the certainty of seeing two fellow-creatures engage in mortal conflict, and began to speculate upon which would be the victor. many there present, merely guided by fancy or report, decided upon the chances of the field without ever having seen either of the two competitors. but there were many of the tenantry of lindwell, and peasantry from the neighbourhood of the earl of ashby's castle, who, of course, maintained the honour of their lord, and asserted that he would win the field from any knight in europe. it was remarked, however, that even their boldest statements regarding their young lord's prowess were coupled with an expression of their conviction that, "howsoever that might be, they were sure enough the young lord of monthermer had never killed the old earl. why should he?" hugh de monthermer, indeed, was not without his partisans amongst the people, for he was well known in that part of the country; and a very general feeling that he was both innocent and injured raised up in his favour that generous spirit which is almost always found, though strangely mingled with prejudices and passions, in the bosom of an englishman. about half-past eleven, a number of yeomen, dressed in their holiday clothes, mingled with the crowd. they were without bows, but each had his six arrows at his side, and his short sword and buckler. each, too, had many acquaintances amongst the crowd; and, with others, to whom they did not actually speak, a gay glance of recognition and familiar nod were interchanged as they made their way up to the lists. "what! miller," said one of the farmers, as a yeoman in the gay green passed him; "why have you brought your arrows with you? there are no butts here!" "there are butts everywhere, winken," replied the person addressed. "but you have no bow," rejoined the countryman. "bows wont be wanted, if we need them," answered the yeoman, and passed on. scarcely was this conversation concluded, when, slowly riding down from the side of nottingham, was seen a gallant train of gentlemen, and many a fair lady, too, it must be confessed, notwithstanding the bloody nature of the scene about to be performed. "the king!--the king!" shouted many voices; "the king and the prince! god bless prince edward!" but few added the monarch's name to the benediction. all that henry heard, however, was the shout of gratulation; and fancying himself popular, he bowed gracefully to the people, and rode on to the entrance of the pavilion prepared for him, which was soon filled with the lords and ladies of his court. to the surprise of most there present, the princess eleanor was seen upon the king's right hand, and many were the comments made upon her appearing, for the first time, to witness a judicial combat. in the meanwhile, prince edward, followed by several heralds in their brilliant tabards, and accompanied by two knights unarmed, rode on to the other end of the lists and entered the field. he himself was clothed in a shining hauberk of steel rings, with a hood of the same, but with his _chapel de fer_, shield, and lance, borne by esquires on foot. his face was thus completely seen, and it was gay and smiling. his princely carriage--his commanding height--his management of the strong fiery horse that bore him--his frank and noble expression of countenance--all had their effect upon the hearts of the people around; and loud and reiterated shouts of gratulation rent the sky as he rode along the lists. after he had spoken for a few minutes with the heralds and pursuivants, edward turned to one of the knights who had accompanied him, saying, "go to the earl of ashby's tent, and tell him, he is too weak to fight in this day's field.--the yeoman who first drank of the cup is dead, you say?" "he died very shortly after, my lord," replied the knight, "having scarce time to make confession, and to acknowledge that, when sir richard had left the earl's lodging, he went into the chamber, and finding the cup well-nigh full of wine, drank it off." "it must have been a subtle poison, indeed," rejoined the prince; "gadsden tells me it cost him all his skill to save the earl. but go to him, and say that he is too weak. if he will withdraw the charge, well--if not, let him put off the combat for a week. no dishonour shall follow in either case." the knight rode away, and edward, turning to the other who had accompanied him, demanded--"they have not found him yet?" "no, my lord," replied the other; "every place was searched in vain. there lay the dead body in the room above. it is that of a man called dighton. i knew his face at once, having seen him often with ellerby, and other such scurvy cattle, hanging about london and westminster." "sir john has got a short answer," said the prince, as looking towards a tent at the western corner of the lists he saw the knight he had sent away remounting his horse to return. "i have seldom seen a man so obstinate." in two minutes the messenger was by the prince's side again. "he will not bear of it, my lord," exclaimed the knight as he rode up; "he declares that men, indeed, would call him coward now, if for a few hours' sickness he should shirk the conflict." "well, then, it must go on," replied the prince, looking down; "he may find himself mistaken yet. go to the other tent, and speak with sir john hardy; see what he says." while the knight was absent, the prince rode round the lists, and approached the spot where henry and eleanor were seated. he spoke a few words to each; but as he was about to turn away, eleanor, whose look displayed some small anxiety, bent her head forward and asked, in a low voice, "are you quite sure, dear lord?" "i think so," answered the prince; "but yet i see no one appears. it will never be too late, however, to interpose myself.--the letter said they would be here before the time.--ha! here comes the challenger!" at the moment that he spoke his eyes were fixed upon the tent or pavilion of the young earl of ashby, from which was seen to issue forth a figure clothed in a complete suit of armour--consisting of the hauberk, or shirt of mail, the chausses of mail, and the casque of steel, with a crest and a moving visor, or avantaille of bars. he wore no pourpoint over his armour; and the only thing that distinguished him from the ordinary man at arms were the poylins, or joints of steel plates at the knees and arms of the hauberk, which were the first approximation to the plate armour which soon after came into use. all eyes were turned in that direction, as well as those of the prince; and every one remarked, that the young earl leaned, as he walked from the entrance of the tent to his horse's side, upon the arm of sir harry grey, who appeared in the field as his godfather. and as the rumour had become by this time general, that an attempt had been made to poison him on the preceding night, a loud murmur ran amongst the people of--"he's not fit! he's not fit!--don't let him fight!" but alured de ashby put his foot into the stirrup, and mounted his horse with apparent difficulty, but then sat firm and upright in the saddle. "well, beast," he cried, patting the charger's neck, "thou canst bear the arms that weary me." and moving onward to the other end of the lists, his attendants following with his lance and shield, he saluted the king and princess as he passed, and bowed his head lowly to the prince. "this is mere madness, my good lord," said edward, riding up to his side; "i really feel that, as judge of the field, i cannot let this go on." "i must do my devoir, fair sir," answered alured de ashby. "i am neither craven nor recreant; and here i stand in arms to defend my honour." edward was about to reply; but, at that moment, the knight he had sent to the other pavilion approached at a quick pace, and whispered something in the prince's ear. "that they are ready for the field!" said edward, in a tone of amazement. "what may this mean?--well, let the heralds make proclamation, then; and we will part the sun and wind." at a sign from the prince's truncheon, or warder, the trumpet sounded aloud, and a herald, spurring forward his horse, proclaimed that all persons were to quit the field but the knight challenger and his respondent, the heralds, and officers of arms, the judge of the combat, and his esquires. a momentary bustle and much confusion took place, for a number of persons, upon one pretence or another, were at this time within the lists. but all was soon clear, and alured de ashby being placed in the spot adjudged by the heralds to the challenger, braced on his shield, and took his lance in his hand, bearing it perpendicular with the steel in the air, and the other end resting on his foot. an esquire unarmed stood on each side, with two pages behind; and the field being clear, sir harry grey placed a purse of gold in the hands of the principal herald, saying, "that for the good knight's casque." the herald bowed his head, replying, "largesse! noble sir. is the combat both of lance and sword?" "that matters not," said sir harry grey; "he pays for the lance, and the lance covers the sword." the herald then spurred forward some twenty steps, followed by his pursuivants, and after a loud flourish of the trumpets, proclaimed that there stood alured, earl of ashby, ready to do battle against hugh of monthermer, lord of amesbury, on certain charges brought by him, alured, against the said hugh, having first made oath, according to the law of arms, that his quarrel was just and righteous, and was ready to wager his body on god's decision. "now, if the said hugh of monthermer," continued the herald, "will maintain that the said charge is false and groundless, and venture his body in that behalf, let him appear before the third sound of the trumpet, or if not, let him surrender himself into the hands of our lord the king, to be dealt with according to his demerits!--oyez! oyez! oyez! let no man, on pain of forfeiture of life or limb, according to the pleasure of the king, give any comfort or encouragement to either the said alured, earl of ashby, or hugh, lord of monthermer, by sign, word, or cry; and let god defend the right!--sound trumpets!" a long loud call of the trumpet succeeded, and all looks turned towards the other pavilion, before which appeared two horses fully caparisoned, the banner of the house of monthermer, and several pages and attendants. the pavilions themselves, it must be remarked, were encircled with rails, joining those of the lists, but separated from the actual field of combat by a small movable barricade. behind the tent, on which every one was now looking, and at the side of it farthest from the royal scaffolding, a good deal of bustle and confusion seemed to be taking place; and the space of time allotted after the first call of the trumpet passed away without any one appearing to answer the challenge. "sound again!" cried the herald, and again the blast of the trumpet was heard, upon which the hangings of the tent were almost immediately drawn back, and hugh de monthermer, armed, but bare headed, advanced towards the barrier. "this is not right," murmured the prince, when first his eyes fell upon him; but the next instant he saw more. on the right hand of hugh was sir john hardy, and on the left his uncle, the old earl of monthermer. two esquires bore the knight's lance and shield, a page between them carried his helmet; and in this guise the whole party advanced on foot towards the barrier, which was raised to give them admission into the lists. but close behind them came four men, bearing on their shoulders something like a bier, covered with a little tilt and curtains formed of some light cloth. a party of yeomen followed, guarding two men, who walked between them, with their arms tied. their hoods were turned back, exposing the whole head and face; and, as they advanced, the first of the two prisoners rolled his eyes fiercely round, with a look like that of a maniac; while the second bent his gaze steadfastly upon the ground, and never gave a glance on either side. "ha! what is this?" exclaimed alured de ashby. "what means all this?--ah! i see now!--'tis richard they have got--and the dead body in the bier, most like.--my lord, i guess the rest!" "and so do i," said edward; "let us ride on and see." both spurred forward quickly at the same moment, and reached the spot before the royal pavilion, just as hugh de monthermer paused there also. "now, hugh, now," cried the prince; "what is all this? but first, my good lord," he continued, extending his hand to the old earl, "welcome back to your duty, and to england. my lord the king, may not your son promise this gentleman grace and pardon?" it is probable that at any other time henry would not have yielded without much entreaty; but at this moment he was too eager for explanations to hesitate, and bowing his head, he replied, "well, be it so.--what now?" "my lord," said hugh, "i come before your grace to prove my innocence as may seem fit unto your grace to order, either in arms, according to the challenge given, or by still better proof, if so you will." "none can be better, sir," answered the king; "god's own decision must surely be more just than that of men." "well, sire," replied hugh de monthermer, with a smile; "be it as your grace pleases. alured," he continued, holding out his hand, "if i needs must fight with you, i must; but you will be compelled to seek some other cause than your good father's death. of that, at least, i am innocent, whatever i be guilty of.--here is a witness cannot lie.--draw back the curtains.--will you believe himself?" alured de ashby, already pale, turned for an instant paler still, but it seemed as if the blood had but withdrawn itself into the fountain of the heart to gush forth again, purified, renewed, invigorated. for a moment he was as white as the ashes of an extinguished fire, but the next his cheek glowed, his eyes sparkled, and springing from his horse, with a light bound, as if all sickness were departed, he cast himself upon his knees beside the litter, in which, lying on a soft bed, but partly raised upon his arm, appeared the old earl of ashby. the son dewed the father's hand with his tears; then starting up and casting his arms round hugh de monthermer, he pressed him to his mailed breast, exclaiming, "i have injured you!--forgive me, my good brother!" hugh wrung his hand, and said, "this is all joyful, alured; but there is something painful still behind. there stand the murderers!--the assassin and his tool! my lord the king, into your hands i give them, to be dealt with as in your high judgment you shall deem expedient. the one makes full confession of his crime, the other has not the daring to deny it; and indeed, it would be useless so to do; for, as the very consequences of our sins prove often by god's will their punishments, a poor unhappy girl, whom he seduced from virtue and her peaceful home, overheard in his house the foul conspiracy for murdering this good earl, and charging the crime on me. she told it to those she thought might best prevent it, who came not in time to stop the deed, but soon enough to find the earl, and staunch the bleeding of his wounds, before life was extinct. she is now ready, though her heart is broke, to give such evidence as leaves no doubt of these men's guilt, even if they still denied it." "oh, villain!" said alured de ashby, gazing on his cousin, who still looked fiercely from under his frowning brows upon him, "oh, villain! to bring such a stain upon our house!" "hush, alured, hush!" said the old earl, "i will beseech my lord the king to pardon him." "ay, pardon me! pardon me!" cried richard do ashby, darting forward. "king, i saved your son from bondage--i gave him means of flight!--but for me there had been no evesham--but for me de montfort had still ruled--but for me you had both been prisoners at this hour." "what say you, edward?" asked the king. "i beseech you, my lord, pardon him, pardon him," exclaimed mortimer and pembroke, in a breath. "my lord, i dare not speak," said edward, "for though justice calls for the death of the blackest villain i ever did yet know, gratitude ties my tongue. i must not speak." "untie his hands," cried the king, after a moment's pause. "we give him life, but banish him the realm for ever. if in ten days he be found within the seas, let him be put to death!" "thanks! my lord, thanks!" exclaimed richard de ashby, while the yeomen unwillingly loosed his arms from the cords. as soon as he was free, he passed his cousin and hugh de monthermer, as if to cut straight across the lists; but when he had taken two or three steps, he turned and shook his clenched fist at them, crying, "curses upon ye both!--but the time for vengeance may yet come!--i have not done with you!" even while he spoke there was a little movement amongst the crowd beyond the barriers; and as he turned again to pursue his way, a loud, clear, powerful voice, which was heard echoing over the whole field, exclaimed, in the english tongue, "this for the heart of the murderous traitor, richard de ashby!--whom kings spare, commons send to judgment!" none saw the man from whom the voice proceeded; but, the moment after, there came a sharp sound, like the twang of bowstring, the whistle of a shaft through the air, and then a dull stroke, such as an arrow makes when it hits a target. a shrill scream, like that of a wounded seabird, burst from the lips of richard de ashby, and casting up his arms in the air, as if in the effort to clutch at something for support, he fell back upon the grass. several persons ran up; but he was dead! the arrow had gone through and through his heart; and between the peacock feathers, that winged it on its way, was found written, "robin hood." almost at the same moment a tall, stout yeoman was seen to mount a white horse, at the other side of the lists, and ride away from the field. he proceeded, at no very quick pace, and, as he went, he hummed lightly to some old, long-forgotten air, "and this is the end of robin lythe and his knave gandelyne." the end. transcribed from the charles scribner's sons edition by david price, email ccx @pglaf.org the black arrow--a tale of the two roses critic on the hearth: no one but myself knows what i have suffered, nor what my books have gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and admirable pertinacity. and now here is a volume that goes into the world and lacks your _imprimatur_: a strange thing in our joint lives; and the reason of it stranger still! i have watched with interest, with pain, and at length with amusement, your unavailing attempts to peruse _the black arrow_; and i think i should lack humour indeed, if i let the occasion slip and did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book of mine that you have never read--and never will read. that others may display more constancy is still my hope. the tale was written years ago for a particular audience and (i may say) in rivalry with a particular author; i think i should do well to name him, mr. alfred r. phillips. it was not without its reward at the time. i could not, indeed, displace mr. phillips from his well-won priority; but in the eyes of readers who thought less than nothing of _treasure island_, _the black arrow_ was supposed to mark a clear advance. those who read volumes and those who read story papers belong to different worlds. the verdict on _treasure island_ was reversed in the other court; i wonder, will it be the same with its successor? _r. l. s._ saranac lake, april , . prologue--john amend-all on a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, the bell upon tunstall moat house was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. far and near, in the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in tunstall hamlet a group of poor country-folk stood wondering at the summons. tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old king henry vi., wore much the same appearance as it wears to-day. a score or so of houses, heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascending from the river. at the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on its way to the moat house, and further forth to holywood abbey. half-way up the village, the church stood among yews. on every side the slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening oak-trees of the forest. hard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the group had collected--half a dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet smock--discussing what the bell betided. an express had gone through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from sir daniel brackley to sir oliver oates, the parson, who kept the moat house in the master's absence. but now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young master richard shelton, sir daniel's ward. he, at the least, would know, and they hailed him and begged him to explain. he drew bridle willingly enough--a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of deer's leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head, and a steel cross-bow at his back. the express, it appeared, had brought great news. a battle was impending. sir daniel had sent for every man that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to kettley, under pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of where the battle was expected, dick knew nothing. sir oliver would come shortly himself, and bennet hatch was arming at that moment, for he it was who should lead the party. "it is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said. "if the barons live at war, ploughfolk must eat roots." "nay," said dick, "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and archers twelve." "if they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if they die, my master?" "they cannot better die than for their natural lord," said dick. "no natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock. "i followed the walsinghams; so we all did down brierly way, till two years ago, come candlemas. and now i must side with brackley! it was the law that did it; call ye that natural? but now, what with sir daniel and what with sir oliver--that knows more of law than honesty--i have no natural lord but poor king harry the sixt, god bless him!--the poor innocent that cannot tell his right hand from his left." "ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered dick, "to miscall your good master and my lord the king in the same libel. but king harry--praised be the saints!--has come again into his right mind, and will have all things peaceably ordained. and as for sir daniel, y' are very brave behind his back. but i will be no tale-bearer; and let that suffice." "i say no harm of you, master richard," returned the peasant. "y' are a lad; but when ye come to a man's inches, ye will find ye have an empty pocket. i say no more: the saints help sir daniel's neighbours, and the blessed maid protect his wards!" "clipsby," said richard, "you speak what i cannot hear with honour. sir daniel is my good master, and my guardian." "come, now, will ye read me a riddle?" returned clipsby. "on whose side is sir daniel?" "i know not," said dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had changed sides continually in the troubles of that period, and every change had brought him some increase of fortune. "ay," returned clipsby, "you, nor no man. for, indeed, he is one that goes to bed lancaster and gets up york." just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned and saw bennet hatch come galloping--a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body. he was a great man in these parts; sir daniel's right hand in peace and war, and at that time, by his master's interest, bailiff of the hundred. "clipsby," he shouted, "off to the moat house, and send all other laggards the same gate. bowyer will give you jack and salet. we must ride before curfew. look to it: he that is last at the lych-gate sir daniel shall reward. look to it right well! i know you for a man of naught. nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old appleyard up town?" "i'll warrant you," replied the woman. "in his field, for sure." so the group dispersed, and while clipsby walked leisurely over the bridge, bennet and young shelton rode up the road together, through the village and past the church. "ye will see the old shrew," said bennet. "he will waste more time grumbling and prating of harry the fift than would serve a man to shoe a horse. and all because he has been to the french wars!" the house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing alone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow rising towards the borders of the wood. hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the field, dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was digging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked voice, singing a snatch of song. he was all dressed in leather, only his hood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with scarlet; his face was like a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; but his old grey eye was still clear enough, and his sight unabated. perhaps he was deaf; perhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of agincourt to pay any heed to such disturbances; but neither the surly notes of the alarm bell, nor the near approach of bennet and the lad, appeared at all to move him; and he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very thin and shaky: "now, dear lady, if thy will be, i pray you that you will rue on me." "nick appleyard," said hatch, "sir oliver commends him to you, and bids that ye shall come within this hour to the moat house, there to take command." the old fellow looked up. "save you, my masters!" he said, grinning. "and where goeth master hatch?" "master hatch is off to kettley, with every man that we can horse," returned bennet. "there is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a reinforcement." "ay, verily," returned appleyard. "and what will ye leave me to garrison withal?" "i leave you six good men, and sir oliver to boot," answered hatch. "it'll not hold the place," said appleyard; "the number sufficeth not. it would take two score to make it good." "why, it's for that we came to you, old shrew!" replied the other. "who else is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a garrison?" "ay! when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned nick. "there is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for archery--st. michael! if old harry the fift were back again, he would stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthen a shoot!" "nay, nick, there's some can draw a good bow yet," said bennet. "draw a good bow!" cried appleyard. "yes! but who'll shoot me a good shoot? it's there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders. now, what might you call a long shoot, bennet hatch?" "well," said bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from here into the forest." "ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look over his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood staring. "why, what are you looking at?" asked bennet, with a chuckle. "do, you see harry the fift?" the veteran continued looking up the hill in silence. the sun shone broadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing; all was still but the distant jangle of the bell. "what is it, appleyard?" asked dick. "why, the birds," said appleyard. and, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder. "what of the birds?" said bennet. "ay!" returned appleyard, "y' are a wise man to go to war, master bennet. birds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line of battle. look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the wiser!" "why, old shrew," said hatch, "there be no men nearer us than sir daniel's, at kettley; y' are as safe as in london tower; and ye raise scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!" "hear him!" grinned appleyard. "how many a rogue would give his two crop ears to have a shoot at either of us? saint michael, man! they hate us like two polecats!" "well, sooth it is, they hate sir daniel," answered hatch, a little sobered. "ay, they hate sir daniel, and they hate every man that serves with him," said appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate bennet hatch and old nicholas the bowman. see ye here: if there was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and i stood fair for him--as, by saint george, we stand!--which, think ye, would he choose?" "you, for a good wager," answered hatch. "my surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old archer. "ye burned grimstone, bennet--they'll ne'er forgive you that, my master. and as for me, i'll soon be in a good place, god grant, and out of bow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their malices. i am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready. but for you, bennet, y' are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my years unhanged, the old true-blue english spirit will be dead." "y' are the shrewishest old dolt in tunstall forest," returned hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats. "get ye to your arms before sir oliver come, and leave prating for one good while. an ye had talked so much with harry the fift, his ears would ha' been richer than his pocket." an arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell forward on his face among the cabbages. hatch, with a broken cry, leapt into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house. and in the meanwhile dick shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had his crossbow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest. not a leaf stirred. the sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had settled. but there lay the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow standing in his back; and there were hatch holding to the gable, and dick crouching and ready behind the lilac bush. "d'ye see aught?" cried hatch. "not a twig stirs," said dick. "i think shame to leave him lying," said bennet, coming forward once more with hesitating steps and a very pale countenance. "keep a good eye on the wood, master shelton--keep a clear eye on the wood. the saints assoil us! here was a good shoot!" bennet raised the old archer on his knee. he was not yet dead; his face worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most horrible, ugly look of one in pain. "can ye hear, old nick?" asked hatch. "have ye a last wish before ye wend, old brother?" "pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a' mary's name!" gasped appleyard. "i be done with old england. pluck it out!" "master dick," said bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon the arrow. he would fain pass, the poor sinner." dick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it forth. a gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his feet, called once upon the name of god, and then fell dead. hatch, upon his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the passing spirit. but even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from which the shot had come. when he had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with terror. "ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next." "who hath done this, bennet?" richard asked, still holding the arrow in his hand. "nay, the saints know," said hatch. "here are a good two score christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and i. he has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere i pay mine. sir daniel driveth over-hard." "this is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his hand. "ay, by my faith!" cried bennet. "black, and black-feathered. here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say, bodes burial. and here be words written. wipe the blood away. what read ye?" "'_appulyaird fro jon amend-all_,'" read shelton. "what should this betoken?" "nay, i like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head. "john amend-all! here is a rogue's name for those that be up in the world! but why stand we here to make a mark? take him by the knees, good master shelton, while i lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his house. this will be a rare shog to poor sir oliver; he will turn paper colour; he will pray like a windmill." they took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his house, where he had dwelt alone. and there they laid him on the floor, out of regard for the mattress, and sought, as best they might, to straighten and compose his limbs. appleyard's house was clean and bare. there was a bed, with a blue cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table in the chimney corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier's armoury of bows and defensive armour. hatch began to look about him curiously. "nick had money," he said. "he may have had three score pounds put by. i would i could light upon't! when ye lose an old friend, master richard, the best consolation is to heir him. see, now, this chest. i would go a mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein. he had a strong hand to get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had appleyard the archer. now may god rest his spirit! near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever getting; but now he's on the broad of his back, poor shrew, and no more lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier, methinks, in heaven." "come, hatch," said dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes. would ye rob the man before his body? nay, he would walk!" hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural complexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any purpose. it would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate sounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and black robe. "appleyard"--the newcomer was saying, as he entered; but he stopped dead. "ave maria!" he cried. "saints be our shield! what cheer is this?" "cold cheer with appleyard, sir parson," answered hatch, with perfect cheerfulness. "shot at his own door, and alighteth even now at purgatory gates. ay! there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor candle." sir oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat down upon it, sick and white. "this is a judgment! o, a great stroke!" he sobbed, and rattled off a leash of prayers. hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and knelt down. "ay, bennet," said the priest, somewhat recovering, "and what may this be? what enemy hath done this?" "here, sir oliver, is the arrow. see, it is written upon with words," said dick. "nay," cried the priest, "this is a foul hearing! john amend-all! a right lollardy word. and black of hue, as for an omen! sirs, this knave arrow likes me not. but it importeth rather to take counsel. who should this be? bethink you, bennet. of so many black ill-willers, which should he be that doth so hardily outface us? simnel? i do much question it. the walsinghams? nay, they are not yet so broken; they still think to have the law over us, when times change. there was simon malmesbury, too. how think ye, bennet?" "what think ye, sir," returned hatch, "of ellis duckworth?" "nay, bennet, never. nay, not he," said the priest. "there cometh never any rising, bennet, from below--so all judicious chroniclers concord in their opinion; but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; and when dick, tom, and harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly to see what lord is profited thereby. now, sir daniel, having once more joined him to the queen's party, is in ill odour with the yorkist lords. thence, bennet, comes the blow--by what procuring, i yet seek; but therein lies the nerve of this discomfiture." "an't please you, sir oliver," said bennet, "the axles are so hot in this country that i have long been smelling fire. so did this poor sinner, appleyard. and, by your leave, men's spirits are so foully inclined to all of us, that it needs neither york nor lancaster to spur them on. hear my plain thoughts: you, that are a clerk, and sir daniel, that sails on any wind, ye have taken many men's goods, and beaten and hanged not a few. y' are called to count for this; in the end, i wot not how, ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched. but give me leave, sir oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards." "nay, bennet, y' are in the wrong. bennet, ye should be glad to be corrected," said sir oliver. "y' are a prater, bennet, a talker, a babbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears. mend it, bennet, mend it." "nay, i say no more. have it as ye list," said the retainer. the priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung about his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel. with these he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with sir daniel's arms, hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded, somewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse. "'tis time we were on the road, sir oliver," said hatch, as he held the priest's stirrup while he mounted. "ay; but, bennet, things are changed," returned the parson. "there is now no appleyard--rest his soul!--to keep the garrison. i shall keep you, bennet. i must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black arrows. 'the arrow that flieth by day,' saith the evangel; i have no mind of the context; nay, i am a sluggard priest, i am too deep in men's affairs. well, let us ride forth, master hatch. the jackmen should be at the church by now." so they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing the tails of the parson's cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. they had passed three of the scattered houses that make up tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn, they saw the church before them. ten or a dozen houses clustered immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the meadows. at the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in the saddle, some standing by their horses' heads. they were variously armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better men and the fair equipments were already with sir daniel in the field. "we have not done amiss, praised be the cross of holywood! sir daniel will be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the troop. "who goes? stand! if ye be true!" shouted bennet. a man was seen slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels for the forest. the men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the stranger's presence, woke and scattered. those who had dismounted began scrambling into the saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape them. hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in the dust. and though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a lead for any hope of capture. the wisest of all had been dick shelton. instead of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped his crossbow from his back, bent it, and set a quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned to bennet and asked if he should shoot. "shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence. "cover him, master dick," said bennet. "bring me him down like a ripe apple." the fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part of the meadow ran very steeply uphill; and the man ran slower in proportion. what with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. the quarrel sped. the man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from hatch and the pursuers. but they were counting their corn before the harvest. the man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood. "and the plague go with him!" cried bennet. "he has thieves' heels; he can run, by st banbury! but you touched him, master shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good i grudge him less!" "nay, but what made he by the church?" asked sir oliver. "i am shrewdly afeared there has been mischief here. clipsby, good fellow, get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews." clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned carrying a paper. "this writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the parson. "i found naught else, sir parson." "now, by the power of mother church," cried sir oliver, "but this runs hard on sacrilege! for the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the manor--well! but that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should fasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard; and men have burned for matters of less weight. but what have we here? the light falls apace. good master richard, y' have young eyes. read me, i pray, this libel." dick shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. it contained some lines of very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a gross character, and most uncouthly spelt. with the spelling somewhat bettered, this is how they ran: "i had four blak arrows under my belt, four for the greefs that i have felt, four for the nomber of ill menne that have opressid me now and then. one is gone; one is wele sped; old apulyaird is ded. one is for maister bennet hatch, that burned grimstone, walls and thatch. one for sir oliver oates, that cut sir harry shelton's throat. sir daniel, ye shull have the fourt; we shall think it fair sport. ye shull each have your own part, a blak arrow in each blak heart. get ye to your knees for to pray: ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay! "jon amend-all of the green wood, and his jolly fellaweship. "item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres of your following." "now, well-a-day for charity and the christian graces!" cried sir oliver, lamentably. "sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse. i will swear upon the cross of holywood i am as innocent of that good knight's hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened. neither was his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there still live credible witnesses to show." "it boots not, sir parson," said bennet. "here is unseasonable talk." "nay, master bennet, not so. keep ye in your due place, good bennet," answered the priest. "i shall make mine innocence appear. i will, upon no consideration, lose my poor life in error. i take all men to witness that i am clear of this matter. i was not even in the moat house. i was sent of an errand before nine upon the clock"-- "sir oliver," said hatch, interrupting, "since it please you not to stop this sermon, i will take other means. goffe, sound to horse." and while the tucket was sounding, bennet moved close to the bewildered parson, and whispered violently in his ear. dick shelton saw the priest's eye turned upon him for an instant in a startled glance. he had some cause for thought; for this sir harry shelton was his own natural father. but he said never a word, and kept his countenance unmoved. hatch and sir oliver discussed together for a while their altered situation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be reserved, not only to garrison the moat house, but to escort the priest across the wood. in the meantime, as bennet was to remain behind, the command of the reinforcement was given to master shelton. indeed, there was no choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age. although his youth had been spent in these rough, country places, the lad had been well taught in letters by sir oliver, and hatch himself had shown him the management of arms and the first principles of command. bennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who are cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly faithful and well willing to their friends; and now, while sir oliver entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, sir daniel brackley, bennet came up to his pupil to wish him god-speed upon his enterprise. "ye must go the long way about, master shelton," he said; "round by the bridge, for your life! keep a sure man fifty paces afore you, to draw shots; and go softly till y' are past the wood. if the rogues fall upon you, ride for 't; ye will do naught by standing. and keep ever forward, master shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love your life; there is no help in tunstall, mind ye that. and now, since ye go to the great wars about the king, and i continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of my life, and the saints alone can certify if we shall meet again below, i give you my last counsels now at your riding. keep an eye on sir daniel; he is unsure. put not your trust in the jack-priest; he intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is a hand-gun for sir daniel! get your good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it. and think ever a pater-noster-while on bennet hatch. there are worse rogues afoot than bennet. so, god-speed!" "and heaven be with you, bennet!" returned dick. "ye were a good friend to me-ward, and so i shall say ever." "and, look ye, master," added hatch, with a certain embarrassment, "if this amend-all should get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a gold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff with me in purgatory." "ye shall have your will of it, bennet," answered dick. "but, what cheer, man! we shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale than masses." "the saints so grant it, master dick!" returned the other. "but here comes sir oliver. an he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen, he would be a brave man-at-arms." sir oliver gave dick a sealed packet, with this superscription: "to my ryght worchypful master, sir daniel brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in haste." and dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set forth westward up the village. book i--the two lads chapter i--at the sign of the sun in kettley sir daniel and his men lay in and about kettley that night, warmly quartered and well patrolled. but the knight of tunstall was one who never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after midnight to squeeze poor neighbours. he was one who trafficked greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the king, procure unjust decisions in his favour; or, if that was too roundabout, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on his influence and sir oliver's cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched. kettley was one such place; it had come very lately into his clutches; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to overawe discontent that he had led his troops that way. by two in the morning, sir daniel sat in the inn room, close by the fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of kettley. by his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale. he had taken off his visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage resting on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak. at the lower end of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay asleep on benches; and somewhat nearer hand, a young lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched in a mantle on the floor. the host of the sun stood before the great man. "now, mark me, mine host," sir daniel said, "follow but mine orders, and i shall be your good lord ever. i must have good men for head boroughs, and i will have adam-a-more high constable; see to it narrowly. if other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost. for those that have paid rent to walsingham i shall take good measure--you among the rest, mine host." "good knight," said the host, "i will swear upon the cross of holywood i did but pay to walsingham upon compulsion. nay, bully knight, i love not the rogue walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight. give me a great lord like you. nay; ask me among the neighbours, i am stout for brackley." "it may be," said sir daniel, dryly. "ye shall then pay twice." the innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily. "bring up yon fellow, selden!" cried the knight. and one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen fever. "sirrah," said sir daniel, "your name?" "an't please your worship," replied the man, "my name is condall--condall of shoreby, at your good worship's pleasure." "i have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight. "ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y' are heavily suspicioned of the death of severals. how, fellow, are ye so bold? but i will bring you down." "right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is some hodge-podge, saving your good presence. i am but a poor private man, and have hurt none." "the under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight. "'seize me,' saith he, 'that tyndal of shoreby.'" "condall, my good lord; condall is my poor name," said the unfortunate. "condall or tyndal, it is all one," replied sir daniel, coolly. "for, by my sooth, y' are here and i do mightily suspect your honesty. if ye would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound." "for twenty pound, my good lord!" cried condall. "here is midsummer madness! my whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings." "condall or tyndal," returned sir daniel, grinning, "i will run my peril of that loss. write me down twenty, and when i have recovered all i may, i will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest." "alas! my good lord, it may not be; i have no skill to write," said condall. "well-a-day!" returned the knight. "here, then, is no remedy. yet i would fain have spared you, tyndal, had my conscience suffered. selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where i may see him at my riding. fare ye well, good master condall, dear master tyndal; y' are post-haste for paradise; fare ye then well!" "nay, my right pleasant lord," replied condall, forcing an obsequious smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, i will even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding." "friend," quoth sir daniel, "ye will now write two score. go to! y' are too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings. selden, see him write me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed." and sir daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in england, took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling. meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and looked about him with a scare. "hither," said sir daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright. "by the rood!" he cried, "a sturdy boy!" the lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his dark eyes. now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his age. his face looked somewhat older in expression, but it was as smooth as a young child's; and in bone and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of gait. "ye have called me, sir daniel," he said. "was it to laugh at my poor plight?" "nay, now, let laugh," said the knight. "good shrew, let laugh, i pray you. an ye could see yourself, i warrant ye would laugh the first." "well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer for the other. laugh while yet ye may!" "nay, now, good cousin," replied sir daniel, with some earnestness, "think not that i mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends. i will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go to! and cherish you exceedingly. i took you, indeed, roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth i shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. ye shall be mrs. shelton--lady shelton, by my troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. tut! ye will not shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy. they are no rogues who laugh, good cousin. good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, master john. sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat." "nay," said master john, "i will break no bread. since ye force me to this sin, i will fast for my soul's interest. but, good mine host, i pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; i shall be much beholden to your courtesy indeed." "ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight. "shalt be well shriven, by my faith! content you, then, and eat." but the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding. in an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn door, and richard shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon the threshold. "save you, sir daniel," he said. "how! dickie shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of dick's name the other lad looked curiously across. "what maketh bennet hatch?" "please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from sir oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered richard, presenting the priest's letter. "and please you farther, ye were best make all speed to risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my lord of risingham was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence." "how say you? sore bested?" returned the knight. "nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good richard. as the world goes in this poor realm of england, he that rides softliest rides surest. delay, they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men; mark it, dick. but let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought. selden, a link here at the door!" and sir daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops. he was an unpopular neighbour and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well-beloved by those who rode behind his pennant. his dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the soldiers' comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack and salet. "nay, by the rood!" he cried, "what poor dogs are these? here be some as crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear. friends, ye shall ride in the front of the battle; i can spare you, friends. mark me this old villain on the piebald! a two-year mutton riding on a hog would look more soldierly! ha! clipsby, are ye there, old rat? y' are a man i could lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull's eye painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; sirrah, ye shall show me the way." "i will show you any way, sir daniel, but the way to change sides," returned clipsby, sturdily. sir daniel laughed a guffaw. "why, well said!" he cried. "hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to! i will forgive you for that merry word. selden, see them fed, both man and brute." the knight re-entered the inn. "now, friend dick," he said, "fall to. here is good ale and bacon. eat, while that i read." sir daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened. when he had done he sat a little, musing. then he looked sharply at his ward. "dick," said he, "y' have seen this penny rhyme?" the lad replied in the affirmative. "it bears your father's name," continued the knight; "and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him." "he did most eagerly deny it," answered dick. "he did?" cried the knight, very sharply. "heed him not. he has a loose tongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow. some day, when i may find the leisure, dick, i will myself more fully inform you of these matters. there was one duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be got." "it befell at the moat house?" dick ventured, with a beating at his heart. "it befell between the moat house and holywood," replied sir daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at dick's face. "and now," added the knight, "speed you with your meal; ye shall return to tunstall with a line from me." dick's face fell sorely. "prithee, sir daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains! i beseech you let me to the battle. i can strike a stroke, i promise you." "i misdoubt it not," replied sir daniel, sitting down to write. "but here, dick, is no honour to be won. i lie in kettley till i have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror. cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king's name and custody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow. toss-pot and shuttle-wit run in, but my lord good-counsel sits o' one side, waiting." with that, sir daniel, turning his back to dick, and quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this business of the black arrow stuck sorely in his throat. meanwhile, young shelton was going on heartily enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear. "make not a sign, i do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your charity tell me the straight way to holywood. beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose." "take the path by the windmill," answered dick, in the same tone; "it will bring you to till ferry; there inquire again." and without turning his head, he fell again to eating. but with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called master john stealthily creeping from the room. "why," thought dick, "he is a young as i. 'good boy' doth he call me? an i had known, i should have seen the varlet hanged ere i had told him. well, if he goes through the fen, i may come up with him and pull his ears." half an hour later, sir daniel gave dick the letter, and bade him speed to the moat house. and, again, some half an hour after dick's departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my lord of risingham. "sir daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my sooth! the fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and scattered their right wing. only the main battle standeth fast. an we had your fresh men, we should tilt you them all into the river. what, sir knight! will ye be the last? it stands not with your good credit." "nay," cried the knight, "i was but now upon the march. selden, sound me the tucket. sir, i am with you on the instant. it is not two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger. what would ye have? spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger. bustle, boys!" by this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from all sides sir daniel's men poured into the main street and formed before the inn. they had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. the chief part were in sir daniel's livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their array. the best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before. sir daniel looked with pride along the line. "here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said. "they are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger. "it but augments my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier." "well," said the knight, "what would ye? the beginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir messenger;" and he mounted into his saddle. "why! how now!" he cried. "john! joanna! nay, by the sacred rood! where is she? host, where is that girl?" "girl, sir daniel?" cried the landlord. "nay, sir, i saw no girl." "boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight. "could ye not see it was a wench? she in the murrey-coloured mantle--she that broke her fast with water, rogue--where is she?" "nay, the saints bless us! master john, ye called him," said the host. "well, i thought none evil. he is gone. i saw him--her--i saw her in the stable a good hour agone; 'a was saddling a grey horse." "now, by the rood!" cried sir daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more." "sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of england is elsewhere being lost and won." "it is well said," replied sir daniel. "selden, fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down. i care not what it cost; but, at my returning, let me find her at the moat house. be it upon your head. and now, sir messenger, we march." and the troop broke into a good trot, and selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of kettley, with the staring villagers. chapter ii--in the fen it was near six in the may morning when dick began to ride down into the fen upon his homeward way. the sky was all blue; the jolly wind blew loud and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the willows over all the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn. he had been all night in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he rode right merrily. the path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks but kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and the extreme top of tunstall forest far before. on either hand there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray the traveller. the path lay almost straight through the morass. it was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant waters of the fen. about a mile from kettley, dick came to one such break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and confused the eye. the gap, besides, was more than usually long; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief; and dick bethought him, with something like a pang, of the lad whom he had so imperfectly directed. as for himself, one look backward to where the windmill sails were turning black against the blue of heaven--one look forward to the high ground of tunstall forest, and he was sufficiently directed and held straight on, the water washing to his horse's knees, as safe as on a highway. half-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still spasmodically struggling. instantly, as though it had divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly. it rolled, meanwhile, a blood-shot eye, insane with terror; and as it sprawled wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and buzzed about it in the air. "alack!" thought dick, "can the poor lad have perished? there is his horse, for certain--a brave grey! nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, i will do all man can to help thee. shalt not lie there to drown by inches!" and he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel through the creature's head. dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor in the way. "i would i had dared to tell him further," he thought; "for i fear he has miscarried in the slough." and just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the causeway side, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad's face peering from a clump of reeds. "are ye there?" he said, reining in. "ye lay so close among the reeds that i had passed you by. i saw your horse bemired, and put him from his agony; which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had done yourself. but come forth out of your hiding. here be none to trouble you." "nay, good boy, i have no arms, nor skill to use them if i had," replied the other, stepping forth upon the pathway. "why call me 'boy'?" cried dick. "y' are not, i trow, the elder of us twain." "good master shelton," said the other, "prithee forgive me. i have none the least intention to offend. rather i would in every way beseech your gentleness and favour, for i am now worse bested than ever, having lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. to have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit upon! and before all," he added, looking ruefully upon his clothes--"before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!" "tut!" cried dick. "would ye mind a ducking? blood of wound or dust of travel--that's a man's adornment." "nay, then, i like him better plain," observed the lad. "but, prithee, how shall i do? prithee, good master richard, help me with your good counsel. if i come not safe to holywood, i am undone." "nay," said dick, dismounting, "i will give more than counsel. take my horse, and i will run awhile, and when i am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier." so the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, dick with his hand upon the other's knee. "how call ye your name?" asked dick. "call me john matcham," replied the lad. "and what make ye to holywood?" dick continued. "i seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer. "the good abbot of holywood is a strong pillar to the weak." "and how came ye with sir daniel, master matcham?" pursued dick. "nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force! he hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed me till i could 'a' wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot! i was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely. nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!" "would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?" said dick. "'tis a valiant knight, and hath a hand of iron. an he guessed i had made or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with me." "ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y' are his ward, i know it. by the same token, so am i, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage--i wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by." "boy again!" said dick. "nay, then, shall i call you girl, good richard?" asked matcham. "never a girl for me," returned dick. "i do abjure the crew of them!" "ye speak boyishly," said the other. "ye think more of them than ye pretend." "not i," said dick, stoutly. "they come not in my mind. a plague of them, say i! give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. i never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men's clothes in spite of nature." master matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray. "what make ye?" dick inquired. "i pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled voice. "for a witch's spirit?" dick cried. "but pray for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in europe, was this joan of arc. old appleyard the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been mahoun. nay, she was a brave wench." "well, but, good master richard," resumed matcham, "an ye like maids so little, y' are no true natural man; for god made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man's hope and woman's comfort." "faugh!" said dick. "y' are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women. an ye think i be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, back-sword, or bow and arrow, i will prove my manhood on your body." "nay, i am no fighter," said matcham, eagerly. "i mean no tittle of offence. i meant but pleasantry. and if i talk of women, it is because i heard ye were to marry." "i to marry!" dick exclaimed. "well, it is the first i hear of it. and with whom was i to marry?" "one joan sedley," replied matcham, colouring. "it was sir daniel's doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, i have heard the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. it seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom." "well! marriage is like death, it comes to all," said dick, with resignation. "and she bemoaned herself? i pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me! do i bemoan myself? not i. an i be to marry, i will marry dry-eyed! but if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or foul? and is she shrewish or pleasant?" "nay, what matters it?" said matcham. "an y' are to marry, ye can but marry. what matters foul or fair? these be but toys. y' are no milksop, master richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow." "it is well said," replied shelton. "little i reck." "your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said matcham. "she shall have the lord heaven made her for," returned dick. "it trow there be worse as well as better." "ah, the poor wench!" cried the other. "and why so poor?" asked dick. "to wed a man of wood," replied his companion. "o me, for a wooden husband!" "i think i be a man of wood, indeed," said dick, "to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, i trow." "good dick, forgive me," cried the other. "nay, y' are the best heart in england; i but laughed. forgive me now, sweet dick." "nay, no fool words," returned dick, a little embarrassed by his companion's warmth. "no harm is done. i am not touchy, praise the saints." and at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of sir daniel's trumpeter. "hark!" said dick, "the tucket soundeth." "ay," said matcham, "they have found my flight, and now i am unhorsed!" and he became pale as death. "nay, what cheer!" returned dick. "y' have a long start, and we are near the ferry. and it is i, methinks, that am unhorsed." "alack, i shall be taken!" cried the fugitive. "dick, kind dick, beseech ye help me but a little!" "why, now, what aileth thee?" said dick. "methinks i help you very patently. but my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! and see ye here, john matcham--sith john matcham is your name--i, richard shelton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in holywood. the saints so do to me again if i default you. come, pick me up a good heart, sir white-face. the way betters here; spur me the horse. go faster! faster! nay, mind not for me; i can run like a deer." so, with the horse trotting hard, and dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman's hut. chapter iii--the fen ferry the river till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets. it was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful. the wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue. a creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman's hut lay snugly. it was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof. dick went to the door and opened it. within, upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man, but lean and shaken by the country fever. "hey, master shelton," he said, "be ye for the ferry? ill times, ill times! look to yourself. there is a fellowship abroad. ye were better turn round on your two heels and try the bridge." "nay; time's in the saddle," answered dick. "time will ride, hugh ferryman. i am hot in haste." "a wilful man!" returned the ferryman, rising. "an ye win safe to the moat house, y' have done lucky; but i say no more." and then catching sight of matcham, "who be this?" he asked, as he paused, blinking, on the threshold of his cabin. "it is my kinsman, master matcham," answered dick. "give ye good day, good ferryman," said matcham, who had dismounted, and now came forward, leading the horse. "launch me your boat, i prithee; we are sore in haste." the gaunt ferryman continued staring. "by the mass!" he cried at length, and laughed with open throat. matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and dick, with an angry countenance, put his hand on the lout's shoulder. "how now, churl!" he cried. "fall to thy business, and leave mocking thy betters." hugh ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and shoved it a little forth into the deep water. then dick led in the horse, and matcham followed. "ye be mortal small made, master," said hugh, with a wide grin; "something o' the wrong model, belike. nay, master shelton, i am for you," he added, getting to his oars. "a cat may look at a king. i did but take a shot of the eye at master matcham." "sirrah, no more words," said dick. "bend me your back." they were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up and down the river. everywhere it was enclosed with islands. clay banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and piping. there was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters. "my master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "i have a shrew guess that john-a-fenne is on the island. he bears me a black grudge to all sir daniel's. how if i turned me up stream and landed you an arrow-flight above the path? ye were best not meddle with john fenne." "how, then? is he of this company?" asked dick. "nay, mum is the word," said hugh. "but i would go up water, dick. how if master matcham came by an arrow?" and he laughed again. "be it so, hugh," answered dick. "look ye, then," pursued hugh. "sith it shall so be, unsling me your cross-bow--so: now make it ready--good; place me a quarrel. ay, keep it so, and look upon me grimly." "what meaneth this?" asked dick. "why, my master, if i steal you across, it must be under force or fear," replied the ferryman; "for else, if john fenne got wind of it, he were like to prove my most distressful neighbour." "do these churls ride so roughly?" dick inquired. "do they command sir daniel's own ferry?" "nay," whispered the ferryman, winking. "mark me! sir daniel shall down. his time is out. he shall down. mum!" and he bent over his oars. they pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and came softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank. then hugh held water in midstream. "i must land you here among the willows," he said. "here is no path but willow swamps and quagmires," answered dick. "master shelton," replied hugh, "i dare not take ye nearer down, for your own sake now. he watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow. all that go by and owe sir daniel goodwill, he shooteth down like rabbits. i heard him swear it by the rood. an i had not known you of old days--ay, and from so high upward--i would 'a' let you go on; but for old days' remembrance, and because ye had this toy with you that's not fit for wounds or warfare, i did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole. content you; i can no more, on my salvation!" hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong man breasting roughly through the wood. "a murrain!" cried hugh. "he was on the upper island all the while!" he pulled straight for shore. "threat me with your bow, good dick; threat me with it plain," he added. "i have tried to save your skins, save you mine!" the boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash. matcham, pale, but steady and alert, at a sign from dick, ran along the thwarts and leaped ashore; dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to follow, but what with the animal's bulk, and what with the closeness of the thicket, both stuck fast. the horse neighed and trampled; and the boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with violence. "it may not be, hugh; here is no landing," cried dick; but he still struggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal. a tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a long-bow in his hand. dick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow with a great effort, his face crimson with hurry. "who goes?" he shouted. "hugh, who goes?" "'tis master shelton, john," replied the ferryman. "stand, dick shelton!" bawled the man upon the island. "ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood! stand! back out, hugh ferryman." dick cried a taunting answer. "nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an arrow. the horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat capsized, and the next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the river. when dick came up, he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that instantly began to drag him forward. it was the riding-rod, that matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp. "by the mass!" cried dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life i owe you. i swim like a cannon-ball." and he turned instantly towards the island. midway over, hugh ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while john-a-fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to hurry. "come, jack," said shelton, "run for it! ere hugh can hale his barge across, or the pair of 'em can get it righted, we may be out of cry." and adding example to his words, he began to run, dodging among the willows, and in marshy places leaping from tussock to tussock. he had no time to look for his direction; all he could do was to turn his back upon the river, and put all his heart to running. presently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was still in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of solid turf, where elms began to mingle with the willows. but here matcham, who had been dragging far into the rear, threw himself fairly down. "leave me, dick!" he cried, pantingly; "i can no more." dick turned, and came back to where his companion lay. "nay, jack, leave thee!" he cried. "that were a knave's trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save my life. drowning, in sooth; for why i did not pull you in along with me, the saints alone can tell!" "nay," said matcham, "i would 'a' saved us both, good dick, for i can swim." "can ye so?" cried dick, with open eyes. it was the one manly accomplishment of which he was himself incapable. in the order of the things that he admired, next to having killed a man in single fight came swimming. "well," he said, "here is a lesson to despise no man. i promised to care for you as far as holywood, and, by the rood, jack, y' are more capable to care for me." "well, dick, we're friends now," said matcham. "nay, i never was unfriends," answered dick. "y' are a brave lad in your way, albeit something of a milksop, too. i never met your like before this day. but, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on. here is no place for chatter." "my foot hurts shrewdly," said matcham. "nay, i had forgot your foot," returned dick. "well, we must go the gentlier. i would i knew rightly where we were. i have clean lost the path; yet that may be for the better, too. an they watch the ferry, they watch the path, belike, as well. i would sir daniel were back with two score men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves. come, jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew. nay, y' are not tall enough. what age are ye, for a wager?--twelve?" "nay, i am sixteen," said matcham. "y' are poorly grown to height, then," answered dick. "but take my hand. we shall go softly, never fear. i owe you a life; i am a good repayer, jack, of good or evil." they began to go forward up the slope. "we must hit the road, early or late," continued dick; "and then for a fresh start. by the mass! but y' 'ave a rickety hand, jack. if i had a hand like that, i would think shame. i tell you," he went on, with a sudden chuckle, "i swear by the mass i believe hugh ferryman took you for a maid." "nay, never!" cried the other, colouring high. "a' did, though, for a wager!" dick exclaimed. "small blame to him. ye look liker maid than man; and i tell you more--y' are a strange-looking rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, jack, ye would be right fair--ye would. ye would be well favoured for a wench." "well," said matcham, "ye know right well that i am none." "nay, i know that; i do but jest," said dick. "ye'll be a man before your mother, jack. what cheer, my bully! ye shall strike shrewd strokes. now, which, i marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, jack? for knighted i shall be, or die for 't. 'sir richard shelton, knight': it soundeth bravely. but 'sir john matcham' soundeth not amiss." "prithee, dick, stop till i drink," said the other, pausing where a little clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a pocket. "and o, dick, if i might come by anything to eat!--my very heart aches with hunger." "why, fool, did ye not eat at kettley?" asked dick. "i had made a vow--it was a sin i had been led into," stammered matcham; "but now, if it were but dry bread, i would eat it greedily." "sit ye, then, and eat," said dick, "while that i scout a little forward for the road." and he took a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread and pieces of dry bacon, and, while matcham fell heartily to, struck farther forth among the trees. a little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where a streamlet soaked among dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown and stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of willow and elm. the continued tossing and pouring of the wind among the leaves sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was for the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for all that dick went cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking sharply about him as he went. suddenly a doe passed like a shadow through the underwood in front of him, and he paused, disgusted at the chance. this part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent before him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing farther, he turned him to the nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to climb. luck had served him well. the oak on which he had mounted was one of the tallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours by a fathom and a half; and when dick had clambered into the topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as kettley, and the till wandering among woody islets, and in front of him, the white line of high-road winding through the forest. the boat had been righted--it was even now midway on the ferry. beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught moving but the wind. he was about to descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit upon a string of moving points about the middle of the fen. plainly a small troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down the trunk and returned across the wood for his companion. chapter iv--a greenwood company matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of tunstall forest. the trees grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. the ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks. and with every step of the ascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the gusts like fishing-rods. they had just entered one of the clearings, when dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward towards the shelter of the grove. matcham, in great bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated his companion's course; and it was not until they had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain. for all reply, dick pointed with his finger. at the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky. for about fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like a column. at that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the fork, like a mast-headed seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide. the sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from side to side, with the regularity of a machine. the lads exchanged glances. "let us try to the left," said dick. "we had near fallen foully, jack." ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path. "here is a piece of forest that i know not," dick remarked. "where goeth me this track?" "let us even try," said matcham. a few yards further, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. at the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins of a house. "what may this be?" whispered matcham. "nay, by the mass, i know not," answered dick. "i am all at sea. let us go warily." with beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns. here and there, they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit trees and pot herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden. yet a little farther and they came forth before the ruins of the house. it had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. a dry ditch was dug deep about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen rafter. the two farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their empty windows; but the remainder of the building had collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire. already in the interior a few plants were springing green among the chinks. "now i bethink me," whispered dick, "this must be grimstone. it was a hold of one simon malmesbury; sir daniel was his bane! 'twas bennet hatch that burned it, now five years agone. in sooth, 'twas pity, for it was a fair house." down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still; and matcham, laying one hand upon dick's arm, held up a warning finger. "hist!" he said. then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. it was twice repeated ere they recognised its nature. it was the sound of a big man clearing his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing. "then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws: 'what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?' and gamelyn made answer--he looked never adown: 'o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!'" the singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then silence. the two lads stood looking at each other. whoever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin. and suddenly the colour came into matcham's face, and next moment he had crossed the fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of lumber that filled the interior of the roofless house. dick would have withheld him, had he been in time; as it was, he was fain to follow. right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church. into this the lads silently lowered themselves. there they were perfectly concealed, and through an arrow-loophole commanded a view upon the farther side. peering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their predicament. to retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe. upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt. plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear. a little further off, another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face. all this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme verge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer's carcase, hung upon a flowering hawthorn. presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring and singing. "'o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,'" he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it. "o, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do. but if we meet with the good king's deer to shoot a shaft into." still as he sang, he took from time to time, another spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced cook. at length, apparently, he judged the mess was ready; for taking the horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls. the other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and looked about him. "how now, brother?" he said. "dinner?" "ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner, too, with neither ale nor bread. but there is little pleasure in the greenwood now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set aside the rain and the white frosts; he had his heart's desire both of ale and wine. but now are men's spirits dead; and this john amend-all, save us and guard us! but a stuffed booby to scare crows withal." "nay," returned the other, "y' are too set on meat and drinking, lawless. bide ye a bit; the good time cometh." "look ye," returned the cook, "i have even waited for this good time sith that i was so high. i have been a grey friar; i have been a king's archer; i have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and i have been in greenwood before this, forsooth! and shot the king's deer. what cometh of it? naught! i were better to have bided in the cloister. john abbot availeth more than john amend-all. by 'r lady! here they come." one after another, tall, likely fellows began to stroll into the lawn. each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. they were very variously equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their sides. they came in the silence of hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to meat. there were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound of suppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and immediately after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher debauched upon the lawn. a tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear in his hand. "lads!" he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y' have sung this while on a dry whistle and lived at little ease. but what said i ever? abide fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift. and lo! here is her little firstling--even that good creature, ale!" there was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask. "and now haste ye, boys," the man continued. "there is work toward. a handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is their wear; they are our butts--they shall all taste arrows--no man of them shall struggle through this wood. for, lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us most foully wronged; for some they have lost lands, and some friends; and some they have been outlawed--all oppressed! who, then, hath done this evil? sir daniel, by the rood! shall he then profit? shall he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? shall he suck the bone he robbed us of? i trow not. he getteth him strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain--i have a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him." lawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of ale. he raised it, as if to pledge the speaker. "master ellis," he said, "y' are for vengeance--well it becometh you!--but your poor brother o' the greenwood, that had never lands to lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the profit of the thing. he had liever a gold noble and a pottle of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory." "lawless," replied the other, "to reach the moat house, sir daniel must pass the forest. we shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any battle. then, when he hath got to earth with such ragged handful as escapeth us--all his great friends fallen and fled away, and none to give him aid--we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the fall of him. 'tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner for us all." "ay," returned lawless, "i have eaten many of these dinners beforehand; but the cooking of them is hot work, good master ellis. and meanwhile what do we? we make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink." "y' are untrue, will lawless. ye still smell of the grey friars' buttery; greed is your undoing," answered ellis. "we took twenty pounds from appleyard. we took seven marks from the messenger last night. a day ago we had fifty from the merchant." "and to-day," said one of the men, "i stopped a fat pardoner riding apace for holywood. here is his purse." ellis counted the contents. "five score shillings!" he grumbled. "fool, he had more in his sandal, or stitched into his tippet. y' are but a child, tom cuckow; ye have lost the fish." but, for all that, ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance. he stood leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest. they, in various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally washed it down with ale. this was a good day; they were in luck; but business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating. the first-comers had by this time even despatched their dinner. some lay down upon the grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked together, or overhauled their weapons: and one, whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing: "here is no law in good green shaw, here is no lack of meat; 'tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, in summer, when all is sweet. come winter again, with wind and rain-- come winter, with snow and sleet, get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, and sit by the fire and eat." all this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only richard had unslung his cross-bow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or grappling-iron that he used to bend it. otherwise they had not dared to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a scene upon a theatre. but now there came a strange interruption. the tall chimney which over-topped the remainder of the ruins rose right above their hiding-place. there came a whistle in the air, and then a sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their ears. some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the chimney-top. matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and even dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his fingers. but to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an expected signal. they were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. ellis held up his hand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of his eyes shone in his sun-brown face. "lads," he said, "ye know your places. let not one man's soul escape you. appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table. i have three men whom i will bitterly avenge--harry shelton, simon malmesbury, and"--striking his broad bosom--"and ellis duckworth, by the mass!" another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns. "'tis not sir daniel!" he panted. "they are but seven. is the arrow gone?" "it struck but now," replied ellis. "a murrain!" cried the messenger. "methought i heard it whistle. and i go dinnerless!" in the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the black arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer's carcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been there. chapter v--"bloody as the hunter" the lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind. then they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint, clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter. matcham had picked up the windac and went first, dick following stiffly, with his cross-bow on his arm. "and now," said matcham, "forth to holywood." "to holywood!" cried dick, "when good fellows stand shot? not i! i would see you hanged first, jack!" "ye would leave me, would ye?" matcham asked. "ay, by my sooth!" returned dick. "an i be not in time to warn these lads, i will go die with them. what! would ye have me leave my own men that i have lived among. i trow not! give me my windac." but there was nothing further from matcham's mind. "dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to holywood. would ye be forsworn? would you desert me--a perjurer?" "nay, i sware for the best," returned dick. "i meant it too; but now! but look ye, jack, turn again with me. let me but warn these men, and, if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and i will on again to holywood and purge mine oath." "ye but deride me," answered matcham. "these men ye go to succour are the i same that hunt me to my ruin." dick scratched his head. "i cannot help it, jack," he said. "here is no remedy. what would ye? ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death. death!" he added. "think of it! what a murrain do ye keep me here for? give me the windac. saint george! shall they all die?" "richard shelton," said matcham, looking him squarely in the face, "would ye, then, join party with sir daniel? have ye not ears? heard ye not this ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own kindly blood and the father that men slew? 'harry shelton,' he said; and sir harry shelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven." "what would ye?" dick cried again. "would ye have me credit thieves?" "nay, i have heard it before now," returned matcham. "the fame goeth currently, it was sir daniel slew him. he slew him under oath; in his own house he shed the innocent blood. heaven wearies for the avenging on't; and you--the man's son--ye go about to comfort and defend the murderer!" "jack," cried the lad "i know not. it may be; what know i? but, see here: this man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men i have hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril--o, man, if i did that, i were stark dead to honour! nay, jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me to be base." "but your father, dick?" said matcham, somewhat wavering. "your father? and your oath to me? ye took the saints to witness." "my father?" cried shelton. "nay, he would have me go! if sir daniel slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay sir daniel; but neither him nor his will i desert in peril. and for mine oath, good jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. for the lives' sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free." "i, dick? never!" returned matcham. "an ye leave me, y' are forsworn, and so i shall declare it." "my blood heats," said dick. "give me the windac! give it me!" "i'll not," said matcham. "i'll save you in your teeth." "not?" cried dick. "i'll make you!" "try it," said the other. they stood, looking in each other's eyes, each ready for a spring. then dick leaped; and though matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds he was over-taken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, and dick stood across him, flushed and menacing, with doubled fist. matcham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of resistance. dick bent his bow. "i'll teach you!" he cried, fiercely. "oath or no oath, ye may go hang for me!" and he turned and began to run. matcham was on his feet at once, and began running after him. "what d'ye want?" cried dick, stopping. "what make ye after me? stand off!" "will follow an i please," said matcham. "this wood is free to me." "stand back, by 'r lady!" returned dick, raising his bow. "ah, y' are a brave boy!" retorted matcham. "shoot!" dick lowered his weapon in some confusion. "see here," he said. "y' have done me ill enough. go, then. go your way in fair wise; or, whether i will or not, i must even drive you to it." "well," said matcham, doggedly, "y' are the stronger. do your worst. i shall not leave to follow thee, dick, unless thou makest me," he added. dick was almost beside himself. it went against his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no other way to rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to think, perhaps untrue companion. "y' are mad, i think," he cried. "fool-fellow, i am hasting to your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, go i thither." "i care not, dick," replied the lad. "if y' are bound to die, dick, i'll die too. i would liever go with you to prison than to go free without you." "well," returned the other, "i may stand no longer prating. follow me, if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you, mark ye that. shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy." so saying, dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin of the thicket and looking briskly about him as he went. at a good pace he rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quarters of the wood. to the left a little eminence appeared, spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs. "i shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a heathy clearing. he had gone but a few yards, when matcham touched him on the arm, and pointed. to the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it were, a valley passing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following another, dick saw half a score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear, ellis duckworth in person. one after another gained the top, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the further side, until the last was gone. dick looked at matcham with a kindlier eye. "so y' are to be true to me, jack?" he asked. "i thought ye were of the other party." matcham began to sob. "what cheer!" cried dick. "now the saints behold us! would ye snivel for a word?" "ye hurt me," sobbed matcham. "ye hurt me when ye threw me down. y' are a coward to abuse your strength." "nay, that is fool's talk," said dick, roughly. "y' had no title to my windac, master john. i would 'a' done right to have well basted you. if ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come." matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that dick continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence and not so much as looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to run in turn. but the ground was very difficult and steep; dick had already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he had long since come to the summit, crawled forward through the firs, and ensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before matcham, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side. below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from tunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry. it was well beaten, and the eye followed it easily from point to point. here it was bordered by open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every hundred yards it ran beside an ambush. far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel salets, and from time to time, as the trees opened, selden and his men could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon sir daniel's mission. the wind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warning from the troubled conduct of the birds. "now, mark," dick whispered. "they be already well advanced into the wood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward. but see ye where this wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, these two score trees make like an island? there were their safety. an they but come sound as far as that, i will make shift to warn them. but my heart misgiveth me; they are but seven against so many, and they but carry cross-bows. the long-bow, jack, will have the uppermost ever." meanwhile, selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of their danger, and momently drew nearer hand. once, indeed, they paused, drew into a group, and seemed to point and listen. but it was something from far away across the plain that had arrested their attention--a hollow growl of cannon that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told of the great battle. it was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus become audible in tunstall forest, the fight must have rolled ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore against sir daniel and the lords of the dark rose. but presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single tongue of forest ran down to join the road. they were but just abreast of this, when an arrow shone flying. one of the men threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass. even from where the boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men's voices crying out; they could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dismount. a second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. the man who was dismounting lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing hoofs. the four who still kept the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road from tunstall. from every clump they passed an arrow sped. soon a horse fell, but the rider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a second shot despatched him. another man fell; then another horse; out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in different directions, the noise of the galloping of three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance. all this time not one of the assailants had for a moment shown himself. here and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain. the solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his fallen charger. he had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of timber, pointed out by dick. he was not, perhaps, five hundred yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expectation. but nothing came; and the man began to pluck up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow. at the same time, by something in his action, dick recognised selden. at this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the woods there went up the sound of laughter. a score of men, at least, for this was the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this cruel and untimely mirth. then an arrow glanced over selden's shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back. another dart struck quivering at his heel. he made for the cover. a third shaft leaped out right in his face, and fell short in front of him. and then the laughter was repeated loudly, rising and reechoing from different thickets. it was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse. the skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in green was already calmly gathering the arrows; and now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner in his torture. selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his cross-bow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood. chance favoured him, for a slight cry responded. then, throwing down his weapon, selden began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a straight line for dick and matcham. the companions of the black arrow now began to shoot in earnest. but they were properly served; their chance had past; most of them had now to shoot against the sun; and selden, as he ran, bounded from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim. best of all, by turning up the glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the confusion of the foresters' counsels soon became apparent. a whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice. it was repeated from another quarter. the woods on either side became full of the sound of people bursting through the underwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the thicket. selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but still would miss. it began to appear as if he might escape. dick had his bow armed, ready to support him; even matcham, forgetful of his interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts. he was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him and he fell. he was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction. dick leaped to his feet and waved to him. "here!" he cried. "this way! here is help! nay, run, fellow--run!" but just then a second arrow struck selden in the shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him, like a stone, to earth. "o, the poor heart!" cried matcham, with clasped hands. and dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery. ten to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were furious with themselves, and taken unawares by dick's appearance in the rear of their position--but instantly, out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of ellis duckworth. "hold!" it roared. "shoot not! take him alive! it is young shelton--harry's son." and immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was again taken up and repeated farther off. the whistle, it appeared, was john amend-all's battle trumpet, by which he published his directions. "ah, foul fortune!" cried dick. "we are undone. swiftly, jack, come swiftly!" and the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that covered the summit of the hill. chapter vi--to the day's end it was, indeed, high time for them to run. on every side the company of the black arrow was making for the hill. some, being better runners, or having open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were already close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side. dick plunged into the nearest cover. it was a tall grove of oaks, firm under foot and clear of underbrush, and as it lay down hill, they made good speed. there followed next a piece of open, which dick avoided, holding to his left. two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same course. thus it followed that, while the lads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the high road and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand, and running towards tunstall. the lads paused to breathe. there was no sound of pursuit. dick put his ear to the ground, and still there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure, still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain. "on again," said dick; and, tired as they were, and matcham limping with his injured foot, they pulled themselves together, and once more pelted down the hill. three minutes later, they were breasting through a low thicket of evergreen. high overhead, the tall trees made a continuous roof of foliage. it was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for the hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly swarded. on the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove. "stand!" cried a voice. and there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly drew an arrow to the head and covered them. matcham stopped with a cry; but dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as he went. the other, whether he was startled by the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot; he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, dick bounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf. the arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang. the disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and descended twice. then came a couple of groans, and then dick rose to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart. "on!" said dick; and he once more pelted forward, matcham trailing in the rear. to say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. matcham had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for dick, his knees were like lead. but they kept up the form of running with undiminished courage. presently they came to the end of the grove. it stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards before them, was the high road from risingham to shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest. at the sight dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder. it was at first like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon it became more definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. they rode as for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded; riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles. they were plainly fugitives from the great battle. the noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards shoreby, before fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter clattered down the road; this time a single rider and, by his splendid armour, a man of high degree. close after him there followed several baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses as if for life. these must have run early in the day; but their cowardice was not to save them. for just before they came abreast of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of a sword, began to cut the drivers down. some leaped from their places and plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human. all this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great, confused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the rout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road. dick stood sombre. he had meant to follow the highway till the turn for holywood, and now he had to change his plan. but above all, he had recognised the colours of earl risingham, and he knew that the battle had gone finally against the rose of lancaster. had sir daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of york, and was he forfeit to honour? it was an ugly choice. "come," he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk forward through the grove, with matcham limping in his rear. for some time they continued to thread the forest in silence. it was now growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond kettley; the tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow darker and the chill of the night to fall. "if there were anything to eat!" cried dick, suddenly, pausing as he spoke. matcham sat down and began to weep. "ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives, your heart was hard enough," said dick, contemptuously. "y' 'ave seven deaths upon your conscience, master john; i'll ne'er forgive you that." "conscience!" cried matcham, looking fiercely up. "mine! and ye have the man's red blood upon your dagger! and wherefore did ye slay him, the poor soul? he drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his hand, and spared you! 'tis as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that not defends himself." dick was struck dumb. "i slew him fair. i ran me in upon his bow," he cried. "it was a coward blow," returned matcham. "y' are but a lout and bully, master dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see you truckle at his boot! ye care not for vengeance, neither--for your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice. but if there come but a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!" dick was too furious to observe that "she." "marry!" he cried, "and here is news! of any two the one will still be stronger. the better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well served. ye deserve a belting, master matcham, for your ill-guidance and unthankfulness to meward; and what ye deserve ye shall have." and dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt. "here shall be your supper," he said, grimly. matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked dick steadily in the face, and never moved. dick took a step, swinging the belt. then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion. his courage began to subside. "say ye were in the wrong, then," he said, lamely. "nay," said matcham, "i was in the right. come, cruel! i be lame; i be weary; i resist not; i ne'er did thee hurt; come, beat me--coward!" dick raised the belt at this last provocation, but matcham winced and drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed him yet again. the strap fell by his side, and he stood irresolute, feeling like a fool. "a plague upon thee, shrew!" he said. "an ye be so feeble of hand, ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. but i'll be hanged before i beat you!" and he put on his belt again. "beat you i will not," he continued; "but forgive you?--never. i knew ye not; ye were my master's enemy; i lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y' 'ave called me a man o' wood, a coward, and a bully. nay, by the mass! the measure is filled, and runneth over. 'tis a great thing to be weak, i trow: ye can do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man's weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;--y' are weak, forsooth! nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and crieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through! tut! fool words!" "and yet ye beat me not," returned matcham. "let be," said dick--"let be. i will instruct you. y' 'ave been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and, beyond all question, saved me from the river. nay, i had forgotten it; i am as thankless as thyself. but, come, let us on. an we be for holywood this night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily." but though dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour, matcham had forgiven him nothing. his violence, the recollection of the forester whom he had slain--above all, the vision of the upraised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten. "i will thank you, for the form's sake," said matcham. "but, in sooth, good master shelton, i had liever find my way alone. here is a wide wood; prithee, let each choose his path; i owe you a dinner and a lesson. fare ye well!" "nay," cried dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with you!" each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel. but dick had not gone ten paces ere his name was called, and matcham came running after. "dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly. here is my hand, and my heart with it. for all that wherein you have so excellently served and helped me--not for the form, but from the heart, i thank you. fare ye right well." "well, lad," returned dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good speed to you, if speed you may. but i misdoubt it shrewdly. y' are too disputatious." so then they separated for the second time; and presently it was dick who was running after matcham. "here," he said, "take my cross-bow; shalt not go unarmed." "a cross-bow!" said matcham. "nay, boy, i have neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill to aim with it. it were no help to me, good boy. but yet i thank you." the night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read each other's face. "i will go some little way with you," said dick. "the night is dark. i would fain leave you on a path, at least. my mind misgiveth me, y' are likely to be lost." without any more words, he began to walk forward, and the other once more followed him. the blackness grew thicker and thicker. only here and there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars. in the distance, the noise of the rout of the lancastrian army still continued to be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the rear. at the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. it glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew. and here they paused and looked upon each other. "y' are weary?" dick said. "nay, i am so weary," answered matcham, "that methinks i could lie down and die." "i hear the chiding of a river," returned dick. "let us go so far forth, for i am sore athirst." the ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river, running among willows. here they threw themselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill. "dick," said matcham, "it may not be. i can no more." "i saw a pit as we came down," said dick. "let us lie down therein and sleep." "nay, but with all my heart!" cried matcham. the pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one hedge, and made a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten. and soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they rested peacefully. chapter vii--the hooded face they awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours. half starved and over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. and as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon their ears. "a bell!" said dick, sitting up. "can we be, then, so near to holywood?" a little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning. "nay, what should this betoken?" said dick, who was now broad awake. "it is some one walking," returned matcham, and "the bell tolleth ever as he moves." "i see that well," said dick. "but wherefore? what maketh he in tunstall woods? jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but i like not the hollow sound of it." "nay," said matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note. an the day were not come"-- but just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a space. "it is as though the bearer had run for a pater-noster while, and then leaped the river," dick observed. "and now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added matcham. "nay," returned dick--"nay, not so soberly, jack. 'tis a man that walketh you right speedily. 'tis a man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried business. see ye not how swift the beating draweth near?" "it is now close by," said matcham. they were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in. the daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of white footpath wandering among the gorse. it passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west. by the line of its course, dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the moat house. upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared. it paused a little, and seemed to look about; and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath. at every step the bell clanked. face, it had none; a white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death. "a leper!" said dick, hoarsely. "his touch is death," said matcham. "let us run." "not so," returned dick. "see ye not?--he is stone blind. he guideth him with a staff. let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by and hurt us not. alas, poor soul, and we should rather pity him!" "i will pity him when he is by," replied matcham. the blind leper was now about halfway towards them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his veiled face. he had been a tall man before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a vigorous step. the dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads' bosoms with dismay; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to desert them. as he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full upon the lads. "mary be my shield! he sees us!" said matcham, faintly. "hush!" whispered dick. "he doth but hearken. he is blind, fool!" the leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some seconds. then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. even dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected. but soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any farther hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods. "he saw us," said matcham. "i could swear it!" "tut!" returned dick, recovering some sparks of courage. "he but heard us. he was in fear, poor soul! an ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a bird cried 'peep.'" "dick, good dick, he saw us," repeated matcham. "when a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, dick. this was seeing; it was not hearing. he means foully. hark, else, if his bell be not stopped!" such was the case. the bell rang no longer. "nay," said dick, "i like not that. nay," he cried again, "i like that little. what may this betoken? let us go, by the mass!" "he hath gone east," added matcham. "good dick, let us go westward straight; i shall not breathe till i have my back turned upon that leper." "jack, y' are too cowardly," replied dick. "we shall go fair for holywood, or as fair, at least, as i can guide you, and that will be due north." they were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of the wood. the ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered. they were weary, besides, with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily and dragged their feet among the sand. presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. his bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees. next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket. the lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror-struck. "certain, he pursueth us," said dick--"certain! he held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound. now may the saints aid and guide us, for i have no strength to combat pestilence!" "what maketh he?" cried matcham. "what doth he want? who ever heard the like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates? hath he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him? dick, there is below this something deeper." "nay, i care not," moaned dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs are like water. the saints be mine assistance!" "would ye lie there idle?" cried matcham. "let us back into the open. we have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares." "not i," said dick. "my time is come, and peradventure he may pass us by." "bend me, then, your bow!" cried the other. "what! will ye be a man?" dick crossed himself. "would ye have me shoot upon a leper?" he cried. "the hand would fail me. nay, now," he added--"nay, now, let be! with sound men i will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers. which this is, i wot not. one or other, heaven be our protection!" "now," said matcham, "if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is man! but sith ye will do naught, let us lie close." then came a single, broken jangle on the bell. "he hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered matcham. "saints! how near he is!" but dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering. soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew. to their stretched senses, the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other's heart. suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran straight upon the lads. they, shrieking aloud, separated and began to run different ways. but their horrible enemy fastened upon matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner. the lad gave one scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor's arms. dick heard the cry and turned. he saw matcham fall; and on the instant his spirit and his strength revived; with a cry of pity and anger, he unslung and bent his arblast. but ere he had time to shoot, the leper held up his hand. "hold your shot, dickon!" cried a familiar voice. "hold your shot, mad wag! know ye not a friend?" and then laying down matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the features of sir daniel brackley. "sir daniel!" cried dick. "ay, by the mass, sir daniel!" returned the knight. "would ye shoot upon your guardian, rogue? but here is this"--and there he broke off, and pointing to matcham, asked: "how call ye him, dick?" "nay," said dick, "i call him master matcham. know ye him not? he said ye knew him!" "ay," replied sir daniel, "i know the lad;" and he chuckled. "but he has fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for! hey, dick? did i put the fear of death upon you?" "indeed, sir daniel, ye did that," said dick, and sighed again at the mere recollection. "nay, sir, saving your respect, i had as lief 'a' met the devil in person; and to speak truth, i am yet all a-quake. but what made ye, sir, in such a guise?" sir daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger. "what made i?" he said. "ye do well to mind me of it! what? i skulked for my poor life in my own wood of tunstall, dick. we were ill sped at the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout. where be all my good men-at-arms? dick, by the mass, i know not! we were swept down; the shot fell thick among us; i have not seen one man in my own colours since i saw three fall. for myself, i came sound to shoreby, and being mindful of the black arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly by the path for the moat house. there is no disguise to be compared with it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest; they would all turn pale to hear it. at length i came by you and matcham. i could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the finding you together. moreover, in the open, where i had to go slowly and tap with my staff, i feared to disclose myself. but see," he added, "this poor shrew begins a little to revive. a little good canary will comfort me the heart of it." the knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to another. "what cheer, jack!" said dick. "it was no leper, after all; it was sir daniel! see!" "swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight. "this will give you manhood. thereafter, i will give you both a meal, and we shall all three on to tunstall. for, dick," he continued, laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, "i will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks me sorely to be safe between four walls. not since i backed a horse have i been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood, and to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down. but i be not yet shent. some of my lads will pick me their way home. hatch hath ten fellows; selden, he had six. nay, we shall soon be strong again; and if i can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and undeserving lord of york, why, dick, we'll be a man again and go a-horseback!" and so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged his ward in dumb show. "selden," dick faltered--"selden"--and he paused again. sir daniel put down the wine untasted. "how!" he cried, in a changed voice. "selden? speak! what of selden?" dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre. the knight heard in silence; but as he listened, his countenance became convulsed with rage and grief. "now here," he cried, "on my right hand, i swear to avenge it! if that i fail, if that i spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither from my body! i broke this duckworth like a rush; i beggared him to his door; i burned the thatch above his head; i drove him from this country; and now, cometh he back to beard me? nay, but, duckworth, this time it shall go bitter hard!" he was silent for some time, his face working. "eat!" he cried, suddenly. "and you here," he added to matcham, "swear me an oath to follow straight to the moat house." "i will pledge mine honour," replied matcham. "what make i with your honour?" cried the knight. "swear me upon your mother's welfare!" matcham gave the required oath; and sir daniel re-adjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his bell and staff. to see him once more in that appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions. but the knight was soon upon his feet. "eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house." and with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the bell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up hill into the distance. "and so ye go to tunstall?" dick inquired. "yea, verily," said matcham, "when needs must! i am braver behind sir daniel's back than to his face." they ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs. two hours later, they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of tunstall house. "here," said matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend jack, whom y' are to see no more. come, dick, forgive him what he did amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you." "and wherefore so?" asked dick. "an we both go to tunstall, i shall see you yet again, i trow, and that right often." "ye'll never again see poor jack matcham," replied the other, "that was so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye'll not see him more, dick, by mine honour!" he held his arms open, and the lads embraced and kissed. "and, dick," continued matcham, "my spirit bodeth ill. y' are now to see a new sir daniel; for heretofore hath all prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now, methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us. he may be brave in battle, but he hath the liar's eye; there is fear in his eye, dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf! we go down into that house, saint mary guide us forth again!" and so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last before sir daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady, flanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied waters of the moat. even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the bridge lowered, and sir daniel himself, with hatch and the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them. book ii--the moat house chapter i--dick asks questions the moat house stood not far from the rough forest road. externally, it was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top. within, it enclosed a narrow court. the moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed by a single drawbridge. it was supplied with water by a trench, leading to a forest pool and commanded, through its whole length, from the battlements of the two southern towers. except that one or two tall and thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence. in the court, dick found a part of the garrison, busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege. some were making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but even as they worked, they shook their heads. twelve of sir daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to the moat house. but out of this dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at risingham in the disorder of the rout, one by john amend-all's marksmen as he crossed the forest. this raised the force of the garrison, counting hatch, sir daniel, and young shelton, to twenty-two effective men. and more might be continually expected to arrive. the danger lay not therefore in the lack of men. it was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed the spirits of the garrison. for their open foes of the party of york, in these most changing times, they felt but a far-away concern. "the world," as people said in those days, "might change again" before harm came. but for their neighbours in the wood, they trembled. it was not sir daniel alone who was a mark for hatred. his men, conscious of impunity, had carried themselves cruelly through all the country. harsh commands had been harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or barbarity. and now, by the fortune of war, sir daniel had become powerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours of battle, at which many of them had not been present, they had all become punishable traitors to the state, outside the buckler of the law, a shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect. at different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate. two were from selden's troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with sir daniel to the field. lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in, his spirit had departed; but by the words that he uttered in his agony, he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men. hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallour of anxiety; and when he had taken dick aside and learned the fate of selden, he fell on a stone bench and fairly wept. the others, from where they sat on stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion. "nay, master shelton," said hatch, at last--"nay, but what said i? we shall all go. selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to me. well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow! for what said their knave rhyme?--'a black arrow in each black heart.' was it not so it went? appleyard, selden, smith, old humphrey gone; and there lieth poor john carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest." dick gave ear. out of a low window, hard by where they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his ear. "lieth he there?" he asked. "ay, in the second porter's chamber," answered hatch. "we could not bear him further, soul and body were so bitterly at odds. at every step we lifted him, he thought to wend. but now, methinks, it is the soul that suffereth. ever for the priest he crieth, and sir oliver, i wot not why, still cometh not. 'twill be a long shrift; but poor appleyard and poor selden, they had none." dick stooped to the window and looked in. the little cell was low and dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet. "carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked. "master shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear light of heaven, bring the priest. alack, i am sped; i am brought very low down; my hurt is to the death. ye may do me no more service; this shall be the last. now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal gentleman, bestir you; for i have that matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep." he groaned, and dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or terror. just then sir daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall. he had a letter in one hand. "lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it? rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle. this old harry the sixt has had the undermost. wash we, then, our hands of him. i have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the lord of wensleydale. well, i have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future. doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. a prayer without gifts is like a song without music: i surfeit him with promises, boys--i spare not to promise. what, then, is lacking? nay, a great thing--wherefore should i deceive you?--a great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it. the woods--y' are not ignorant of that--lie thick with our ill-willers. haste is most needful; but without sleight and caution all is naught. which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear me it to my lord of wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?" one man instantly arose. "i will, an't like you," said he. "i will even risk my carcase." "nay, dicky bowyer, not so," returned the knight. "it likes me not. y' are sly indeed, but not speedy. ye were a laggard ever." "an't be so, sir daniel, here am i," cried another. "the saints forfend!" said the knight. "y' are speedy, but not sly. ye would blunder me headforemost into john amend-all's camp. i thank you both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be." then hatch offered himself, and he also was refused. "i want you here, good bennet; y' are my right hand, indeed," returned the knight; and then several coming forward in a group, sir daniel at length selected one and gave him the letter. "now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all depend. bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks, i will have purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. but mark it well, throgmorton: the matter is not easy. ye must steal forth under night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross till i know not, neither by the bridge nor ferry." "i can swim," returned throgmorton. "i will come soundly, fear not." "well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied sir daniel. "ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown ale." and with that he turned back into the hall. "sir daniel hath a wise tongue," said hatch, aside, to dick. "see, now, where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plainly to his company. here is a danger, 'a saith, and here difficulty; and jesteth in the very saying. nay, by saint barbary, he is a born captain! not a man but he is some deal heartened up! see how they fall again to work." this praise of sir daniel put a thought in the lad's head. "bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?" "ask me not that," replied hatch. "i had no hand nor knowledge in it; furthermore, i will even be silent, master dick. for look you, in a man's own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of common talk, not so. ask me sir oliver--ay, or carter, if ye will; not me." and hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving dick in a muse. "wherefore would he not tell me?" thought the lad. "and wherefore named he carter? carter--nay, then carter had a hand in it, perchance." he entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay groaning. at his entrance carter started eagerly. "have ye brought the priest?" he cried. "not yet awhile," returned dick. "y' 'ave a word to tell me first. how came my father, harry shelton, by his death?" the man's face altered instantly. "i know not," he replied, doggedly. "nay, ye know well," returned dick. "seek not to put me by." "i tell you i know not," repeated carter. "then," said dick, "ye shall die unshriven. here am i, and here shall stay. there shall no priest come near you, rest assured. for of what avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a hand in? and without penitence, confession is but mockery." "ye say what ye mean not, master dick," said carter, composedly. "it is ill threatening the dying, and becometh you (to speak truth) little. and for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less. stay, an ye please. ye will condemn my soul--ye shall learn nothing! there is my last word to you." and the wounded man turned upon the other side. now, dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his threat. but he made one more effort. "carter," he said, "mistake me not. i know ye were but an instrument in the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; i would not bear heavily on such an one. but i begin to learn upon many sides that this great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father. prithee, then, good carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure goodwill and honest penitence give me a word of help." the wounded man lay silent; nor, say what dick pleased, could he extract another word from him. "well," said dick, "i will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, i would not be willingly in fault to any, least of all to one upon the last change." again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans he had suppressed; and as dick turned and left the room, he was filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude. "and yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit? had his hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the secret louder than words. nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me. sir daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing." dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart. at that hour, in the ebb of sir daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of the black arrow and proscribed by the victorious yorkists, was dick, also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth? the necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel. "pray heaven he be innocent!" he said. and then steps sounded on the flagging, and sir oliver came gravely towards the lad. "one seeketh you earnestly," said dick. "i am upon the way, good richard," said the priest. "it is this poor carter. alack, he is beyond cure." "and yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered dick. "have ye seen him?" asked sir oliver, with a manifest start. "i do but come from him," replied dick. "what said he? what said he?" snapped the priest, with extraordinary eagerness. "he but cried for you the more piteously, sir oliver. it were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad. "i am straight for him," was the reply. "well, we have all our sins. we must all come to our latter day, good richard." "ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered dick. the priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried on. "he, too!" thought dick--"he, that taught me in piety! nay, then, what a world is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father's death? vengeance! alas! what a sore fate is mine, if i must be avenged upon my friends!" the thought put matcham in his head. he smiled at the remembrance of his strange companion, and then wondered where he was. ever since they had come together to the doors of the moat house the younger lad had disappeared, and dick began to weary for a word with him. about an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by sir oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner. it was a long, low apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a design of savage men and questing bloodhounds; here and there hung spears and bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the diners. neither sir daniel nor his lady made their appearance. sir oliver himself was absent, and here again there was no word of matcham. dick began to grow alarmed, to recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play had befallen him in that house. after dinner he found goody hatch, who was hurrying to my lady brackley. "goody," he said, "where is master matcham, i prithee? i saw ye go in with him when we arrived." the old woman laughed aloud. "ah, master dick," she said, "y' have a famous bright eye in your head, to be sure!" and laughed again. "nay, but where is he, indeed?" persisted dick. "ye will never see him more," she returned--"never. it is sure." "an i do not," returned the lad, "i will know the reason why. he came not hither of his full free will; such as i am, i am his best protector, and i will see him justly used. there be too many mysteries; i do begin to weary of the game!" but as dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. it was bennet hatch that had come unperceived behind him. with a jerk of his thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife. "friend dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moon-struck natural? an ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the salt sea than here in tunstall moat house. y' have questioned me; y' have baited carter; y' have frighted the jack-priest with hints. bear ye more wisely, fool; and even now, when sir daniel calleth you, show me a smooth face for the love of wisdom. y' are to be sharply questioned. look to your answers." "hatch," returned dick, "in all this i smell a guilty conscience." "an ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied bennet. "i do but warn you. and here cometh one to call you." and indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to summon dick into the presence of sir daniel. chapter ii--the two oaths sir daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire, awaiting dick's arrival. none was by except sir oliver, and he sat discreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary. "y' have sent for me, sir daniel?" said young shelton. "i have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight. "for what cometh to mine ears? have i been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to credit ill of me? or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit my party? by the mass, your father was not so! those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather. but you, dick, y' are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance." "an't please you, sir daniel, not so," returned dick, firmly. "i am grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due. and before more is said, i thank you, and i thank sir oliver; y' have great claims upon me both--none can have more; i were a hound if i forgot them." "it is well," said sir daniel; and then, rising into anger: "gratitude and faith are words, dick shelton," he continued; "but i look to deeds. in this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my destruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith? i have but a little company remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts with your insidious whisperings? save me from such gratitude! but, come, now, what is it ye wish? speak; we are here to answer. if ye have aught against me, stand forth and say it." "sir," replied dick, "my father fell when i was yet a child. it hath come to mine ears that he was foully done by. it hath come to mine ears--for i will not dissemble--that ye had a hand in his undoing. and in all verity, i shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear to help you, till i have certain resolution of these doubts." sir daniel sat down in a deep settle. he took his chin in his hand and looked at dick fixedly. "and ye think i would be guardian to the man's son that i had murdered?" he asked. "nay," said dick, "pardon me if i answer churlishly; but indeed ye know right well a wardship is most profitable. all these years have ye not enjoyed my revenues, and led my men? have ye not still my marriage? i wot not what it may be worth--it is worth something. pardon me again; but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness." "when i was lad of your years," returned sir daniel, sternly, "my mind had not so turned upon suspicions. and sir oliver here," he added, "why should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?" "nay, sir daniel," said dick, "but where the master biddeth there will the dog go. it is well known this priest is but your instrument. i speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies. even as i speak, so would i be answered. and answer get i none! ye but put more questions. i rede ye be ware, sir daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my doubts." "i will answer you fairly, master richard," said the knight. "were i to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, i were no honest man. but i will be just even in anger. come to me with these words when y' are grown and come to man's estate, and i am no longer your guardian, and so helpless to resent them. come to me then, and i will answer you as ye merit, with a buffet in the mouth. till then ye have two courses: either swallow me down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else--the door standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies--go." the spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they were accompanied, staggered dick; and yet he could not but observe that he had got no answer. "i desire nothing more earnestly, sir daniel, than to believe you," he replied. "assure me ye are free from this." "will ye take my word of honour, dick?" inquired the knight. "that would i," answered the lad. "i give it you," returned sir daniel. "upon my word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, and as i shall answer for my deeds hereafter, i had no hand nor portion in your father's death." he extended his hand, and dick took it eagerly. neither of them observed the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse. "ah," cried dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon me! i was a churl, indeed, to doubt of you. but ye have my hand upon it; i will doubt no more." "nay, dick," replied sir daniel, "y' are forgiven. ye know not the world and its calumnious nature." "i was the more to blame," added dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not directly at yourself, but at sir oliver." as he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of the last word. this tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when dick's eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and buried his face in his hands. sir daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the shoulder. at the same moment dick's suspicions reawakened. "nay," he said, "sir oliver may swear also. 'twas him they accused." "he shall swear," said the knight. sir oliver speechlessly waved his arms. "ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear," cried sir daniel, beside himself with fury. "here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground. "what! ye make me doubt you! swear, i say; swear!" but the priest was still incapable of speech. his terror of sir daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him. and just then, through the high, stained-glass window of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering, in the midst of the long table. sir oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the knight, followed by dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest corkscrew stair to the battlements. the sentries were all on the alert. the sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded hills of the forest which enclosed the view. there was no sign of a besieger. "whence came that shot?" asked the knight. "from yonder clump, sir daniel," returned a sentinel. the knight stood a little, musing. then he turned to dick. "dick," he said, "keep me an eye upon these men; i leave you in charge here. as for the priest, he shall clear himself, or i will know the reason why. i do almost begin to share in your suspicions. he shall swear, trust me, or we shall prove him guilty." dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to the hall. his first glance was for the arrow. it was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear. again there was some writing: one word--"earthed." "ay," he broke out, "they know i am home, then. earthed! ay, but there is not a dog among them fit to dig me out." sir oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet. "alack, sir daniel!" he moaned, "y' 'ave sworn a dread oath; y' are doomed to the end of time." "ay," returned the knight, "i have sworn an oath, indeed, thou chucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater. it shall be on the blessed cross of holywood. look to it; get the words ready. it shall be sworn to-night." "now, may heaven lighten you!" replied the priest; "may heaven incline your heart from this iniquity!" "look you, my good father," said sir daniel, "if y' are for piety, i say no more; ye begin late, that is all. but if y' are in any sense bent upon wisdom, hear me. this lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp. i have a need for him, for i would sell his marriage. but i tell you, in all plainness, if that he continue to weary me, he shall go join his father. i give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel. if that ye can swear your innocency with a good, solid oath and an assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and i will spare him. if that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the swearing, he will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die. there is for your thinking on." "the chamber above the chapel!" gasped the priest. "that same," replied the knight. "so if ye desire to save him, save him; and if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace! for an i had been a hasty man, i would already have put my sword through you, for your intolerable cowardice and folly. have ye chosen? say!" "i have chosen," said the priest. "heaven pardon me, i will do evil for good. i will swear for the lad's sake." "so is it best!" said sir daniel. "send for him, then, speedily. ye shall see him alone. yet i shall have an eye on you. i shall be here in the panel room." the knight raised the arras and let it fall again behind him. there was the sound of a spring opening; then followed the creaking of trod stairs. sir oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror and contrition. "nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my soul's cost, i must save him." three minutes later, dick, who had been summoned by another messenger, found sir oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale. "richard shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me. i might complain, i might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the past, and i will even content you as ye choose. by the true cross of holywood, i did not slay your father." "sir oliver," returned dick, "when first we read john amend-all's paper, i was convinced of so much. but suffer me to put two questions. ye did not slay him; granted. but had ye no hand in it?" "none," said sir oliver. and at the same time he began to contort his face, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to convey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound. dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at the empty hall. "what make ye?" he inquired. "why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance. "i make naught; i do but suffer; i am sick. i--i--prithee, dick, i must begone. on the true cross of holywood, i am clean innocent alike of violence or treachery. content ye, good lad. farewell!" and he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity. dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion, and amusement. gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. he raised his head, and, as he did so, violently started. high upon the wall there was the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. with one hand he held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear. his face was dark, for he was meant to represent an african. now, here was what had startled richard shelton. the sun had moved away from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings. in this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him with a white eyelid. he continued staring at the eye. the light shone upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was alive. again the white eyelid closed upon it for a fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone. there could be no mistake. the live eye that had been watching him through a hole in the tapestry was gone. the firelight no longer shone on a reflecting surface. and instantly dick awoke to the terrors of his position. hatch's warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him from the wall, ran together in his mind. he saw he had been put upon his trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of some miracle, he was lost. "if i cannot get me forth out of this house," he thought, "i am a dead man! and this poor matcham, too--to what a cockatrice's nest have i not led him!" he was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new chamber. "a new chamber?" he repeated. "wherefore so? what chamber?" "'tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger. "it hath stood long empty," said dick, musing. "what manner of room is it?" "nay, a brave room," returned the man. "but yet"--lowering his voice--"they call it haunted." "haunted?" repeated dick, with a chill. "i have not heard of it. nay, then, and by whom?" the messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "by the sacrist of st. john's," he said. "they had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning--whew!--he was gone. the devil had taken him, they said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before." dick followed the man with black forebodings. chapter iii--the room over the chapel from the battlements nothing further was observed. the sun journeyed westward, and at last went down; but, to the eyes of all these eager sentinels, no living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of tunstall house. when the night was at length fairly come, throgmorton was led to a room overlooking an angle of the moat. thence he was lowered with every precaution; the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief period; then a black figure was observed to land by the branches of a willow and crawl away among the grass. for some half hour sir daniel and hatch stood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet. the messenger had got away in safety. sir daniel's brow grew clearer. he turned to hatch. "bennet," he said, "this john amend-all is no more than a man, ye see. he sleepeth. we will make a good end of him, go to!" all the afternoon and evening, dick had been ordered hither and thither, one command following another, till he was bewildered with the number and the hurry of commissions. all that time he had seen no more of sir oliver, and nothing of matcham; and yet both the priest and the young lad ran continually in his mind. it was now his chief purpose to escape from tunstall moat house as speedily as might be; and yet, before he went, he desired a word with both of these. at length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment. it was large, low, and somewhat dark. the window looked upon the moat, and although it was so high up, it was heavily barred. the bed was luxurious, with one pillow of down and one of lavender, and a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses. all about the walls were cupboards, locked and padlocked, and concealed from view by hangings of dark-coloured arras. dick made the round, lifting the arras, sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards. he assured himself that the door was strong and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp upon a bracket, and once more looked all around. for what reason had he been given this chamber? it was larger and finer than his own. could it conceal a snare? was there a secret entrance? was it, indeed, haunted? his blood ran a little chilly in his veins. immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads. below him, he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was the hall. certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye that had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that. was it not more than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and, if so, that it had an opening in his room? to sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy. he made his weapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the door. if ill was intended, he would sell his life dear. the sound of many feet, the challenge, and the password, sounded overhead along the battlements; the watch was being changed. and just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it grew a little louder; then a whisper: "dick, dick, it is i!" dick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted matcham. he was very pale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other. "shut me the door," he whispered. "swift, dick! this house is full of spies; i hear their feet follow me in the corridors; i hear them breathe behind the arras." "well, content you," returned dick, "it is closed. we are safe for this while, if there be safety anywhere within these walls. but my heart is glad to see you. by the mass, lad, i thought ye were sped! where hid ye?" "it matters not," returned matcham. "since we be met, it matters not. but, dick, are your eyes open? have they told you of to-morrow's doings?" "not they," replied dick. "what make they to-morrow?" "to-morrow, or to-night, i know not," said the other, "but one time or other, dick, they do intend upon your life. i had the proof of it; i have heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me." "ay," returned dick, "is it so? i had thought as much." and he told him the day's occurrences at length. when it was done, matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the apartment. "no," he said, "there is no entrance visible. yet 'tis a pure certainty there is one. dick, i will stay by you. an y' are to die, i will die with you. and i can help--look! i have stolen a dagger--i will do my best! and meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could get opened, or any window that we might descend by, i will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with you." "jack," said dick, "by the mass, jack, y' are the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all england! give me your hand, jack." and he grasped the other's hand in silence. "i will tell you," he resumed. "there is a window, out of which the messenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber. 'tis a hope." "hist!" said matcham. both gave ear. there was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and then began again. "some one walketh in the room below," whispered matcham. "nay," returned dick, "there is no room below; we are above the chapel. it is my murderer in the secret passage. well, let him come; it shall go hard with him;" and he ground his teeth. "blow me the lights out," said the other. "perchance he will betray himself." they blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. the footfalls underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible. several times they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a lock, followed by a considerable silence. presently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner. it widened; a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. they could see the strong hand pushing it up; and dick raised his cross-bow, waiting for the head to follow. but now there came an interruption. from a distant corner of the moat house shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying aloud upon a name. this noise had plainly disconcerted the murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died away in the distance. here was a moment's respite. dick breathed deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack, and which was now rather increasing than diminishing. all about the moat house feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the voice of sir daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for "joanna." "joanna!" repeated dick. "why, who the murrain should this be? here is no joanna, nor ever hath been. what meaneth it?" matcham was silent. he seemed to have drawn further away. but only a little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the apartment, where the pair were, the darkness was complete. "jack," said dick, "i wot not where ye were all day. saw ye this joanna?" "nay," returned matcham, "i saw her not." "nor heard tell of her?" he pursued. the steps drew nearer. sir daniel was still roaring the name of joanna from the courtyard. "did ye hear of her?" repeated dick. "i heard of her," said matcham. "how your voice twitters! what aileth you?" said dick. "'tis a most excellent good fortune, this joanna; it will take their minds from us." "dick," cried matcham, "i am lost; we are both lost. let us flee if there be yet time. they will not rest till they have found me. or, see! let me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee. let me forth, dick--good dick, let me away!" she was groping for the bolt, when dick at last comprehended. "by the mass!" he cried, "y' are no jack; y' are joanna sedley; y' are the maid that would not marry me!" the girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. dick, too, was silent for a little; then he spoke again. "joanna," he said, "y' 'ave saved my life, and i have saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies--ay, and i took my belt to thrash you; and all that time i thought ye were a boy. but now death has me, and my time's out, and before i die i must say this: y' are the best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only i could live, i would marry you blithely; and, live or die, i love you." she answered nothing. "come," he said, "speak up, jack. come, be a good maid, and say ye love me!" "why, dick," she cried, "would i be here?" "well, see ye here," continued dick, "an we but escape whole we'll marry; and an we're to die, we die, and there's an end on't. but now that i think, how found ye my chamber?" "i asked it of dame hatch," she answered. "well, the dame's staunch," he answered; "she'll not tell upon you. we have time before us." and just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door. "here!" cried a voice. "open, master dick; open!" dick neither moved nor answered. "it is all over," said the girl; and she put her arms about dick's neck. one after another, men came trooping to the door. then sir daniel arrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise. "dick," cried the knight, "be not an ass. the seven sleepers had been awake ere now. we know she is within there. open, then, the door, man." dick was again silent. "down with it," said sir daniel. and immediately his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot and fist. solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would soon have given way; but once more fortune interfered. over the thunderstorm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard; it was followed by another; shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the wood. in the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the foresters were carrying the moat house by assault. and sir daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon dick's chamber, hurried to defend the walls. "now," cried dick, "we are saved." he seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in vain to move it. "help me, jack. for your life's sake, help me stoutly!" he cried. between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door. "ye do but make things worse," said joanna, sadly. "he will then enter by the trap." "not so," replied dick. "he durst not tell his secret to so many. it is by the trap that we shall flee. hark! the attack is over. nay, it was none!" it had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of stragglers from the defeat of risingham that had disturbed sir daniel. they had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been admitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements and arms, they were dismounting in the court. "he will return anon," said dick. "to the trap!" he lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room. the open chink through which some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, dick thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt. the trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. seizing it with their hands, the two young folk threw it back. it disclosed a few steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp. "now," said dick, "go first and take the lamp. i will follow to close the trap." so they descended one after the other, and as dick lowered the trap, the blows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door. chapter iv--the passage the passage in which dick and joanna now found themselves was narrow, dirty, and short. at the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the same door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking. heavy cobwebs hung from the roof; and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the lightest tread. beyond the door there were two branches, at right angles. dick chose one of them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow of the chapel roof. the top of the arched ceiling rose like a whale's back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. here and there were spyholes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down through one of these, dick saw the paved floor of the chapel--the altar, with its burning tapers--and stretched before it on the steps, the figure of sir oliver praying with uplifted hands. at the other end, they descended a few steps. the passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and presently they came to a round hole about the size of a man's eye, and dick, looking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some half a dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a venison pie. these were certainly some of the late arrivals. "here is no help," said dick. "let us try back." "nay," said joanna; "maybe the passage goeth farther." and she pushed on. but a few yards farther the passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side. they retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to explore the other branch. it was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little break-neck stairs, until even dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts. at length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats. "we must be in the dungeons," dick remarked. "and still there is no outlet," added joanna. "nay, but an outlet there must be!" dick answered. presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of steps. on the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs. it was immovable. "some one holdeth it," suggested joanna. "not so," said dick; "for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield a little. but this resisteth like dead rock. there is a weight upon the trap. here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good jack, we are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle bones. sit ye then down, and let us talk. after a while we shall return, when perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who knoweth? we may break out and stand a chance. but, in my poor opinion, we are as good as shent." "dick!" she cried, "alas the day that ever ye should have seen me! for like a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is i have led you hither." "what cheer!" returned dick. "it was all written, and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass. but tell me a little what manner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into sir daniel's hands; that will do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine." "i am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother," said joanna; "and for my great misfortune, dick, and hitherto for yours, i am a rich marriage. my lord foxham had me to ward; yet it appears sir daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid for it. so here was i, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which should marry me, and i still at nurse! well, then the world changed, and there was a new chancellor, and sir daniel bought the warding of me over the lord foxham's head. and then the world changed again, and lord foxham bought my marriage over sir daniel's; and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them. but still lord foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me. and at last i was to be married--or sold, if ye like it better. five hundred pounds lord foxham was to get for me. hamley was the groom's name, and to-morrow, dick, of all days in the year, was i to be betrothed. had it not come to sir daniel, i had been wedded, sure--and never seen thee, dick--dear dick!" and here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and dick drew her hand to him and did the like. "well," she went on, "sir daniel took me unawares in the garden, and made me dress in these men's clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, besides, they fit me not. he rode with me to kettley, as ye saw, telling me i was to marry you; but i, in my heart, made sure i would marry hamley in his teeth." "ay!" cried dick, "and so ye loved this hamley!" "nay," replied joanna, "not i. i did but hate sir daniel. and then, dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way compass it, i would marry you with right goodwill. and if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, still ye'll be dear to me. while my heart beats, it'll be true to you." "and i," said dick, "that never cared a straw for any manner of woman until now, i took to you when i thought ye were a boy. i had a pity to you, and knew not why. when i would have belted you, the hand failed me. but when ye owned ye were a maid, jack--for still i will call you jack--i made sure ye were the maid for me. hark!" he said, breaking off--"one cometh." and indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies. dick reconnoitred his position. the sudden turn gave him a post of vantage. he could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall. but it was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward, he set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to watch. presently, at the far end of the passage, bennet hove in sight. he seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which made him the better mark. "stand, bennet!" cried dick. "another step, and y' are dead." "so here ye are," returned hatch, peering forward into the darkness. "i see you not. aha! y' 'ave done wisely, dick; y' 'ave put your lamp before you. by my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave body, i do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons! and now, what make ye? what seek ye here? why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? and have ye the young gentlewoman there?" "nay, bennet, it is i should question and you answer," replied dick. "why am i in this jeopardy of my life? why do men come privily to slay me in my bed? why am i now fleeing in mine own guardian's strong house, and from the friends that i have lived among and never injured?" "master dick, master dick," said bennet, "what told i you? y' are brave, but the most uncrafty lad that i can think upon!" "well," returned dick, "i see ye know all, and that i am doomed indeed. it is well. here, where i am, i stay. let sir daniel get me out if he be able!" hatch was silent for a space. "hark ye," he began, "return to sir daniel, to tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me. but you, if ye are no fool, had best be gone ere i return." "begone!" repeated dick. "i would be gone already, an' i wist how. i cannot move the trap." "put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there," replied bennet. "throgmorton's rope is still in the brown chamber. fare ye well." and hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of the passage. dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint. at one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall. pushing his arm into the aperture, dick found an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. there followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed. they were free of the passage. a little exercise of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. a torch or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene. chapter v--how dick changed sides dick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way up-stairs and along the corridor. in the brown chamber the rope had been made fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed. it had not been detached, and dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night. joan stood by; but as the rope lengthened, and still dick continued to pay it out, extreme fear began to conquer her resolution. "dick," she said, "is it so deep? i may not essay it. i should infallibly fall, good dick." it was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke. dick started; the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a splash into the moat. instantly, from the battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, "who goes?" "a murrain!" cried dick. "we are paid now! down with you--take the rope." "i cannot," she cried, recoiling. "an ye cannot, no more can i," said shelton. "how can i swim the moat without you? do you desert me, then?" "dick," she gasped, "i cannot. the strength is gone from me." "by the mass, then, we are all shent!" he shouted, stamping with his foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to close it. before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon him from the other side. he struggled for a second; then, feeling himself overpowered, ran back to the window. the girl had fallen against the wall in the embrasure of the window; she was more than half insensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was limp and unresponsive. at the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold upon him. the first he poinarded at a blow, and the others falling back for a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip. the cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend; but so furious was dick's hurry, and so small his experience of such gymnastics, that he span round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against the rugged stonework of the wall. the air roared in his ears; he saw the stars overhead, and the reflected stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before the tempest. and then he lost hold, and fell, and soused head over ears into the icy water. when he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly lightened of his weight, was swinging wildly to and fro. there was a red glow overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of several torches and a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces. he saw the men's eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he was too far below, the light reached him not, and they looked in vain. and now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he began to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the moat, still keeping his head above water. in this way he got much more than halfway over; indeed the bank was almost within reach, before the rope began to draw him back by its own weight. taking his courage in both hands, he left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow that had already, that same evening, helped sir daniel's messenger to land. he went down, rose again, sank a second time, and then his hand caught a branch, and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and still half uncertain of his escape. but all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which had so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements. arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, thick like driving hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down--flared through the air in its swift passage--stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank, where it burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire--and then, in a good hour for dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, and was instantly extinguished. it had served its purpose. the marksmen had had time to see the willow, and dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang higher up the bank, and ran for his life, he was yet not quick enough to escape a shot. an arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his head. the pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had no sooner got upon the level than he took to his heels and ran straight before him in the dark, without a thought for the direction of his flight. for a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when at length he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way from the moat house, though he could still see the torches moving to and fro along its battlements. he leaned against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised, wounded, alone, and unarmed. for all that, he had saved his life for that bout; and though joanna remained behind in the power of sir daniel, he neither blamed himself for an accident that it had been beyond his power to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl herself. sir daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a young gentlewoman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him to account. it was more probable he would make haste to marry her to some friend of his own. "well," thought dick, "between then and now i will find me the means to bring that traitor under; for i think, by the mass, that i be now absolved from any gratitude or obligation; and when war is open, there is a fair chance for all." in the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight. for some little way farther he struggled forward through the forest; but what with the pain of his wounds, the darkness of the night, and the extreme uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became equally unable to guide himself or to continue to push through the close undergrowth, and he was fain at length to sit down and lean his back against a tree. when he awoke from something betwixt sleep and swooning, the grey of the morning had begun to take the place of night. a little chilly breeze was bustling among the trees, and as he still sat staring before him, only half awake, he became aware of something dark that swung to and fro among the branches, some hundred yards in front of him. the progressive brightening of the day and the return of his own senses at last enabled him to recognise the object. it was a man hanging from the bough of a tall oak. his head had fallen forward on his breast; but at every stronger puff of wind his body span round and round, and his legs and arms tossed, like some ridiculous plaything. dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and leaning on the tree-trunks as he went, drew near to this grim object. the bough was perhaps twenty feet above the ground, and the poor fellow had been drawn up so high by his executioners that his boots swung clear above dick's reach; and as his hood had been drawn over his face, it was impossible to recognise the man. dick looked about him right and left; and at last he perceived that the other end of the cord had been made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of the oak. with his dagger, which alone remained to him of all his arms, young shelton severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse fell in a heap upon the ground. dick raised the hood; it was throgmorton, sir daniel's messenger. he had not gone far upon his errand. a paper, which had apparently escaped the notice of the men of the black arrow, stuck from the bosom of his doublet, and dick, pulling it forth, found it was sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale. "come," thought he, "if the world changes yet again, i may have here the wherewithal to shame sir daniel--nay, and perchance to bring him to the block." and he put the paper in his own bosom, said a prayer over the dead man, and set forth again through the woods. his fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, his steps faltered, his mind at intervals failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of blood. doubtless he made many deviations from his true path, but at last he came out upon the high-road, not very far from tunstall hamlet. a rough voice bid him stand. "stand?" repeated dick. "by the mass, but i am nearer falling." and he suited the action to the word, and fell all his length upon the road. two men came forth out of the thicket, each in green forest jerkin, each with long-bow and quiver and short sword. "why, lawless," said the younger of the two, "it is young shelton." "ay, this will be as good as bread to john amend-all," returned the other. "though, faith, he hath been to the wars. here is a tear in his scalp that must 'a' cost him many a good ounce of blood." "and here," added greensheve, "is a hole in his shoulder that must have pricked him well. who hath done this, think ye? if it be one of ours, he may all to prayer; ellis will give him a short shrift and a long rope." "up with the cub," said lawless. "clap him on my back." and then, when dick had been hoisted to his shoulders, and he had taken the lad's arms about his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-grey friar added: "keep ye the post, brother greensheve. i will on with him by myself." so greensheve returned to his ambush on the wayside, and lawless trudged down the hill, whistling as he went, with dick, still in a dead faint, comfortably settled on his shoulders. the sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood and saw tunstall hamlet straggling up the opposite hill. all seemed quiet, but a strong post of some half a score of archers lay close by the bridge on either side of the road, and, as soon as they perceived lawless with his burthen, began to bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigilant sentries. "who goes?" cried the man in command. "will lawless, by the rood--ye know me as well as your own hand," returned the outlaw, contemptuously. "give the word, lawless," returned the other. "now, heaven lighten thee, thou great fool," replied lawless. "did i not tell it thee myself? but ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers. when i am in the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; and my word for this tide is: 'a fig for all mock soldiery!'" "lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the word, fool jester," said the commander of the post. "and if i had forgotten it?" asked the other. "an ye had forgotten it--as i know y' 'ave not--by the mass, i would clap an arrow into your big body," returned the first. "nay, an y' are so ill a jester," said lawless, "ye shall have your word for me. 'duckworth and shelton' is the word; and here, to the illustration, is shelton on my shoulders, and to duckworth do i carry him." "pass, lawless," said the sentry. "and where is john?" asked the grey friar. "he holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents as to the manner born!" cried another of the company. so it proved. when lawless got as far up the village as the little inn, he found ellis duckworth surrounded by sir daniel's tenants, and, by the right of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents, and giving written receipts in return for them. by the faces of the tenants, it was plain how little this proceeding pleased them; for they argued very rightly that they would simply have to pay them twice. as soon as he knew what had brought lawless, ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants, and, with every mark of interest and apprehension, conducted dick into an inner chamber of the inn. there the lad's hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by simple remedies, to consciousness. "dear lad," said ellis, pressing his hand, "y' are in a friend's hands that loved your father, and loves you for his sake. rest ye a little quietly, for ye are somewhat out of case. then shall ye tell me your story, and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all." a little later in the day, and after dick had awakened from a comfortable slumber to find himself still very weak, but clearer in mind and easier in body, ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside, begged him, in the name of his father, to relate the circumstance of his escape from tunstall moat house. there was something in the strength of duckworth's frame, in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness and shrewdness of his eyes, that moved dick to obey him; and from first to last the lad told him the story of his two days' adventures. "well," said ellis, when he had done, "see what the kind saints have done for you, dick shelton, not alone to save your body in so numerous and deadly perils, but to bring you into my hands that have no dearer wish than to assist your father's son. be but true to me--and i see y' are true--and betwixt you and me, we shall bring that false-heart traitor to the death." "will ye assault the house?" asked dick. "i were mad, indeed, to think of it," returned ellis. "he hath too much power; his men gather to him; those that gave me the slip last night, and by the mass came in so handily for you--those have made him safe. nay, dick, to the contrary, thou and i and my brave bowmen, we must all slip from this forest speedily, and leave sir daniel free." "my mind misgiveth me for jack," said the lad. "for jack!" repeated duckworth. "o, i see, for the wench! nay, dick, i promise you, if there come talk of any marriage we shall act at once; till then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like shadows at morning; sir daniel shall look east and west, and see none enemies; he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed awhile, and hath now awakened in his bed. but our four eyes, dick, shall follow him right close, and our four hands--so help us all the army of the saints!--shall bring that traitor low!" two days later sir daniel's garrison had grown to such a strength that he ventured on a sally, and at the head of some two score horsemen, pushed without opposition as far as tunstall hamlet. not an arrow flew, not a man stirred in the thicket; the bridge was no longer guarded, but stood open to all corners; and as sir daniel crossed it, he saw the villagers looking timidly from their doors. presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward, and with the lowliest salutations, presented a letter to the knight. his face darkened as he read the contents. it ran thus: _to the most untrue and cruel gentylman_, _sir daniel brackley_, _knyght_, _these_: i fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first. ye have my father's blood upon your hands; let be, it will not wasshe. some day ye shall perish by my procurement, so much i let you to wytte; and i let you to wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed to any other the gentylwoman, mistresse joan sedley, whom that i am bound upon a great oath to wed myself, the blow will be very swift. the first step therinne will be thy first step to the grave. ric. shelton. book iii--my lord foxham chapter i--the house by the shore months had passed away since richard shelton made his escape from the hands of his guardian. these months had been eventful for england. the party of lancaster, which was then in the very article of death, had once more raised its head. the yorkists defeated and dispersed, their leader butchered on the field, it seemed,--for a very brief season in the winter following upon the events already recorded, as if the house of lancaster had finally triumphed over its foes. the small town of shoreby-on-the-till was full of the lancastrian nobles of the neighbourhood. earl risingham was there, with three hundred men-at-arms; lord shoreby, with two hundred; sir daniel himself, high in favour and once more growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of his own, on the main street, with three-score men. the world had changed indeed. it was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week of january, with a hard frost, a high wind, and every likelihood of snow before the morning. in an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the harbour, three or four men sat drinking ale and eating a hasty mess of eggs. they were all likely, lusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; and though they wore plain tabards, like country ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might have looked twice before he sought a quarrel in such company. a little apart before the huge fire sat a younger man, almost a boy, dressed in much the same fashion, though it was easy to see by his looks that he was better born, and might have worn a sword, had the time suited. "nay," said one of the men at the table, "i like it not. ill will come of it. this is no place for jolly fellows. a jolly fellow loveth open country, good cover, and scarce foes; but here we are shut in a town, girt about with enemies; and, for the bull's-eye of misfortune, see if it snow not ere the morning." "'tis for master shelton there," said another, nodding his head towards the lad before the fire. "i will do much for master shelton," returned the first; "but to come to the gallows for any man--nay, brothers, not that!" the door of the inn opened, and another man entered hastily and approached the youth before the fire. "master shelton," he said, "sir daniel goeth forth with a pair of links and four archers." dick (for this was our young friend) rose instantly to his feet. "lawless," he said, "ye will take john capper's watch. greensheve, follow with me. capper, lead forward. we will follow him this time, an he go to york." the next moment they were outside in the dark street, and capper, the man who had just come, pointed to where two torches flared in the wind at a little distance. the town was already sound asleep; no one moved upon the streets, and there was nothing easier than to follow the party without observation. the two link-bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose long cloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear was brought up by the four archers, each with his bow upon his arm. they moved at a brisk walk, threading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the shore. "he hath gone each night in this direction?" asked dick, in a whisper. "this is the third night running, master shelton," returned capper, "and still at the same hour and with the same small following, as though his end were secret." sir daniel and his six men were now come to the outskirts of the country. shoreby was an open town, and though the lancastrian lords who lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the open country. the lane which sir daniel had been following came to an abrupt end. before him there was a stretch of rough down, and the noise of the sea-surf was audible upon one hand. there were no guards in the neighbourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town. dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their chase, and presently, as they came forth from between the houses and could see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another torch drawing near from another direction. "hey," said dick, "i smell treason." meanwhile, sir daniel had come to a full halt. the torches were stuck into the sand, and the men lay down, as if to await the arrival of the other party. this drew near at a good rate. it consisted of four men only--a pair of archers, a varlet with a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their midst. "is it you, my lord?" cried sir daniel. "it is i, indeed; and if ever true knight gave proof i am that man," replied the leader of the second troop; "for who would not rather face giants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching cold?" "my lord," returned sir daniel, "beauty will be the more beholden, misdoubt it not. but shall we forth? for the sooner ye have seen my merchandise, the sooner shall we both get home." "but why keep ye her here, good knight?" inquired the other. "an she be so young, and so fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth among her mates? ye would soon make her a good marriage, and no need to freeze your fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at such untimely seasons in the dark." "i have told you, my lord," replied sir daniel, "the reason thereof concerneth me only. neither do i purpose to explain it farther. suffice it, that if ye be weary of your old gossip, daniel brackley, publish it abroad that y' are to wed joanna sedley, and i give you my word ye will be quit of him right soon. ye will find him with an arrow in his back." meantime the two gentlemen were walking briskly forward over the down; the three torches going before them, stooping against the wind and scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up by the six archers. close upon the heels of these, dick followed. he had, of course, heard no word of this conversation; but he had recognised in the second of the speakers old lord shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputation, whom even sir daniel affected, in public, to condemn. presently they came close down upon the beach. the air smelt salt; the noise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden, there stood a small house of two storeys, with stables and other offices. the foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and after the whole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on the other side. dick and his men were thus excluded from any farther following, unless they should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap. they sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. the red glow of the torches moved up and down and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the link bearers steadily patrolled the garden. twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party issued forth again upon the down; and sir daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation, separated and turned severally homeward, each with his own following of men and lights. as soon as the sound of their steps had been swallowed by the wind, dick got to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching with the cold. "capper, ye will give me a back up," he said. they advanced, all three, to the wall; capper stooped, and dick, getting upon his shoulders, clambered on to the cope-stone. "now, greensheve," whispered dick, "follow me up here; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be the less seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand if i fall foully on the other side." and so saying he dropped into the garden. it was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house. the wind whistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach; there was no other sound. cautiously dick footed it forth, stumbling among bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise of gravel underfoot told him that he had struck upon an alley. here he paused, and taking his crossbow from where he kept it concealed under his long tabard, he prepared it for instant action, and went forward once more with greater resolution and assurance. the path led him straight to the group of buildings. all seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of the house were secured by crazy shutters; the stables were open and empty; there was no hay in the hay-loft, no corn in the corn-box. any one would have supposed the place to be deserted. but dick had good reason to think otherwise. he continued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all the windows. at length he came round to the sea-side of the house, and there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper windows. he stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement of a shadow on the wall of the apartment. then he remembered that, in the stable, his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, and he returned with all despatch to bring it. the ladder was very short, but yet, by standing on the topmost round, he could bring his hands as high as the iron bars of the window; and seizing these, he raised his body by main force until his eyes commanded the interior of the room. two persons were within; the first he readily knew to be dame hatch; the second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroidered dress--could that be joanna sedley? his old wood-companion, jack, whom he had thought to punish with a belt? he dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of amazement. he had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a being, and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffidence. but he had little opportunity for thought. a low "hist!" sounded from close by, and he hastened to descend the ladder. "who goes?" he whispered. "greensheve," came the reply, in tones similarly guarded. "what want ye?" asked dick. "the house is watched, master shelton," returned the outlaw. "we are not alone to watch it; for even as i lay on my belly on the wall i saw men prowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the other." "by my sooth," said dick, "but this is passing strange! were they not men of sir daniel's?" "nay, sir, that they were not," returned greensheve; "for if i have eyes in my head, every man-jack of them weareth me a white badge in his bonnet, something chequered with dark." "white, chequered with dark," repeated dick. "faith, 'tis a badge i know not. it is none of this country's badges. well, an that be so, let us slip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an evil posture for defence. beyond all question there are men of sir daniel's in that house, and to be taken between two shots is a beggarman's position. take me this ladder; i must leave it where i found it." they returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the place where they had entered. capper had taken greensheve's position on the cope, and now he leaned down his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up. cautiously and silently, they dropped again upon the other side; nor did they dare to speak until they had returned to their old ambush in the gorse. "now, john capper," said dick, "back with you to shoreby, even as for your life. bring me instantly what men ye can collect. here shall be the rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at hand before they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the entering in of the town. greensheve and i lie here to watch. speed ye, john capper, and the saints aid you to despatch. and now, greensheve," he continued, as soon as capper had departed, "let thou and i go round about the garden in a wide circuit. i would fain see whether thine eyes betrayed thee." keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting by every height and hollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing. on the third side the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the distance necessary to their purpose, they had to go some way down upon the sands. although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf was so high, and the sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of froth and water came careering over the expanse, and dick and greensheve made this part of their inspection wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep as to the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the german ocean. suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like a faint chinese shadow, violently signalling with both arms. as he dropped again to the earth, another arose a little farther on and repeated the same performance. and so, like a silent watch word, these gesticulations made the round of the beleaguered garden. "they keep good watch," dick whispered. "let us back to land, good master," answered greensheve. "we stand here too open; for, look ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there behind us, they shall see us plainly against the foam." "ye speak sooth," returned dick. "ashore with us, right speedily." chapter ii--a skirmish in the dark thoroughly drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their position in the gorse. "i pray heaven that capper make good speed!" said dick. "i vow a candle to st. mary of shoreby if he come before the hour!" "y' are in a hurry, master dick?" asked greensheve. "ay, good fellow," answered dick; "for in that house lieth my lady, whom i love, and who should these be that lie about her secretly by night? unfriends, for sure!" "well," returned greensheve, "an john come speedily, we shall give a good account of them. they are not two score at the outside--i judge so by the spacing of their sentries--and, taken where they are, lying so widely, one score would scatter them like sparrows. and yet, master dick, an she be in sir daniel's power already, it will little hurt that she should change into another's. who should these be?" "i do suspect the lord of shoreby," dick replied. "when came they?" "they began to come, master dick," said greensheve, "about the time ye crossed the wall. i had not lain there the space of a minute ere i marked the first of the knaves crawling round the corner." the last light had been already extinguished in the little house when they were wading in the wash of the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at what moment the lurking men about the garden wall might make their onslaught. of two evils, dick preferred the least. he preferred that joanna should remain under the guardianship of sir daniel rather than pass into the clutches of lord shoreby; and his mind was made up, if the house should be assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the besieged. but the time passed, and still there was no movement. from quarter of an hour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall, as if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his scattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of the little house lay undisturbed. presently dick's reinforcements began to arrive. the night was not yet old before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse. separating these into two bodies, he took the command of the smaller himself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of greensheve. "now, kit," said he to this last, "take me your men to the near angle of the garden wall upon the beach. post them strongly, and wait till that ye hear me falling on upon the other side. it is those upon the sea front that i would fain make certain of, for there will be the leader. the rest will run; even let them. and now, lads, let no man draw an arrow; ye will but hurt friends. take to the steel, and keep to the steel; and if we have the uppermost, i promise every man of you a gold noble when i come to mine estate." out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined peasantry, whom duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of his revenge, some of the boldest and the most experienced in war had volunteered to follow richard shelton. the service of watching sir daniel's movements in the town of shoreby had from the first been irksome to their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble loudly and threaten to disperse. the prospect of a sharp encounter and possible spoils restored them to good humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle. their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore bonnets strengthened by iron plates; and, for offensive armour, swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them in a posture to engage even regular feudal troops. the bows, quivers, and tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set resolutely forward. dick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took position himself a few paces in front. then they all shouted with one voice, and closed upon the enemy. these, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided. before they had time to get their courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout of onslaught sounded in their ears from the far side of the enclosure. thereupon they gave themselves up for lost and ran. in this way the two small troops of the men of the black arrow closed upon the sea front of the garden wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it were, between two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran for their lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the darkness. for all that, the fight was but beginning. dick's outlaws, although they had the advantage of the surprise, were still considerably outnumbered by the men they had surrounded. the tide had flowed, in the meanwhile; the beach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field, between the surf and the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious, and deadly contest. the strangers were well armed; they fell in silence upon their assailants; and the affray became a series of single combats. dick, who had come first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut down at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him, hotly, he was fain to give ground before their onset. one of these two was a huge fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword, which he brandished like a switch. against this opponent, with his reach of arm and the length and weight of his weapon, dick and his bill were quite defenceless; and had the other continued to join vigorously in the attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen. this second man, however, less in stature and slower in his movements, paused for a moment to peer about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds of the battle. the giant still pursued his advantage, and still dick fled before him, spying for his chance. then the huge blade flashed and descended, and the lad, leaping on one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwards with his bill. a roar of agony responded, and, before the wounded man could raise his formidable weapon, dick, twice repeating his blow, had brought him to the ground. the next moment he was engaged, upon more equal terms, with his second pursuer. here there was no great difference in size, and though the man, fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, dick more than made it up by his greater agility on foot. neither at first gained any obvious advantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; and presently dick found that they had crossed the whole width of the beach, and were now fighting above the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. here his own superior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or less at the discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon his own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adversary was bent upon drawing him farther and farther away. dick ground his teeth. he determined to decide the combat instantly; and when the wash of the next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in, caught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his opponent. the man went down backwards, with dick still upon the top of him; and the next wave, speedily succeeding to the last, buried him below a rush of water. while he was still submerged, dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and rose to his feet, victorious. "yield ye!" he said. "i give you life." "i yield me," said the other, getting to his knees. "ye fight, like a young man, ignorantly and foolhardily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight bravely!" dick turned to the beach. the combat was still raging doubtfully in the night; over the hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and cries of pain and the shout of battle resounded. "lead me to your captain, youth," said the conquered knight. "it is fit this butchery should cease." "sir," replied dick, "so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the poor gentleman who here addresses you is he." "call off your dogs, then, and i will bid my villains hold," returned the other. there was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late opponent, and dick instantly dismissed all fears of treachery. "lay down your arms, men!" cried the stranger knight. "i have yielded me, upon promise of life." the tone of the stranger was one of absolute command, and almost instantly the din and confusion of the mellay ceased. "lawless," cried dick, "are ye safe?" "ay," cried lawless, "safe and hearty." "light me the lantern," said dick. "is not sir daniel here?" inquired the knight. "sir daniel?" echoed dick. "now, by the rood, i pray not. it would go ill with me if he were." "ill with _you_, fair sir?" inquired the other. "nay, then, if ye be not of sir daniel's party, i profess i comprehend no longer. wherefore, then, fell ye upon mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very fiery friend? to what earthly purpose? and, to make a clear end of questioning, to what good gentleman have i surrendered?" but before dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close by. dick could see the speaker's black and white badge, and the respectful salute which he addressed to his superior. "my lord," said he, "if these gentlemen be unfriends to sir daniel, it is pity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were tenfold greater that either they or we should linger here. the watchers in the house--unless they be all dead or deaf--have heard our hammering this quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town; and unless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, both of us, by a fresh foe." "hawksley is in the right," added the lord. "how please ye, sir? whither shall we march?" "nay, my lord," said dick, "go where ye will for me. i do begin to suspect we have some ground of friendship, and if, indeed, i began our acquaintance somewhat ruggedly, i would not churlishly continue. let us, then, separate, my lord, you laying your right hand in mine; and at the hour and place that ye shall name, let us encounter and agree." "y' are too trustful, boy," said the other; "but this time your trust is not misplaced. i will meet you at the point of day at st. bride's cross. come, lads, follow!" the strangers disappeared from the scene with a rapidity that seemed suspicious; and, while the outlaws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead bodies, dick made once more the circuit of the garden wall to examine the front of the house. in a little upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light set; and as it would certainly be visible in town from the back windows of sir daniel's mansion, he doubted not that this was the signal feared by hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the knight of tunstall would arrive upon the scene. he put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to him as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from townward. back to the beach he went hurrying. but the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already wading seaward to commit it to the mercies of the deep. a few minutes later, when there debauched out of the nearest lanes of shoreby some two score horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop of their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea was entirely silent and deserted. meanwhile, dick and his men had returned to the ale-house of the goat and bagpipes to snatch some hours of sleep before the morning tryst. chapter iii--st. bride's cross st. bride's cross stood a little way back from shoreby, on the skirts of tunstall forest. two roads met: one, from holywood across the forest; one, that road from risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. here the two joined issue, and went on together down the hill to shoreby; and a little back from the point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the ancient and weather-beaten cross. here, then, about seven in the morning, dick arrived. it was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoarfrost, and the day began to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange. dick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides. he had not long to wait. down the road from holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid charger. twenty yards behind him followed a clump of lances; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to advance alone. his visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and dignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms. and it was with some confusion of manner that dick arose from the cross and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner. "i thank you, my lord, for your exactitude," he said, louting very low. "will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?" "are ye here alone, young man?" inquired the other. "i was not so simple," answered dick; "and, to be plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on their weapons." "y' 'ave done wisely," said the lord. "it pleaseth me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a salvage saracen lunatic than any christian warrior. but it becomes not me to complain that had the undermost." "ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell," returned dick; "but had the waves not holpen me, it was i that should have had the worst. ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger marks, which i still carry. and in fine, my lord, methinks i had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that little blind-man's mellay on the beach." "y' are shrewd enough to make light of it, i see," returned the stranger. "nay, my lord, not shrewd," replied dick, "in that i shoot at no advantage to myself. but when, by the light of this new day, i see how stout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the darkness, and the surf--and how easily the battle had gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic as myself--think it not strange, my lord, if i feel confounded with my victory." "ye speak well," said the stranger. "your name?" "my name, an't like you, is shelton," answered dick. "men call me the lord foxham," added the other. "then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye are guardian to the sweetest maid in england," replied dick; "and for your ransom, and the ransom of such as were taken with you on the beach, there will be no uncertainty of terms. i pray you, my lord, of your goodwill and charity, yield me the hand of my mistress, joan sedley; and take ye, upon the other part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, and (if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till i die." "but are ye not ward to sir daniel? methought, if y' are harry shelton's son, that i had heard it so reported," said lord foxham. "will it please you, my lord, to alight? i would fain tell you fully who i am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands. beseech you, my lord, take place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and judge me with allowance." and so saying, dick lent a hand to lord foxham to dismount; led him up the knoll to the cross; installed him in the place where he had himself been sitting; and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner, related the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening before. lord foxham listened gravely, and when dick had done, "master shelton," he said, "ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what fortune y' 'ave had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye have noways deserved. be of a good cheer; for ye have made a friend who is devoid neither of power nor favour. for yourself, although it fits not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, i must own ye are both brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in peace; a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing. for your estates, ye will never see them till the world shall change again; so long as lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall sir daniel enjoy them for his own. for my ward, it is another matter; i had promised her before to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one hamley; the promise is old--" "ay, my lord, and now sir daniel hath promised her to my lord shoreby," interrupted dick. "and his promise, for all it is but young, is still the likelier to be made good." "'tis the plain truth," returned his lordship. "and considering, moreover, that i am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my bare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other hands, i will so far consent. aid me with your good fellows"-- "my lord," cried dick, "they are these same outlaws that ye blame me for consorting with." "let them be what they will, they can fight," returned lord foxham. "help me, then; and if between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly honour, she shall marry you!" dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leaping up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son. "come," he said, "an y' are to marry joan, we must be early friends." chapter iv--the good hope an hour thereafter, dick was back at the goat and bagpipes, breaking his fast, and receiving the report of his messengers and sentries. duckworth was still absent from shoreby; and this was frequently the case, for he played many parts in the world, shared many different interests, and conducted many various affairs. he had founded that fellowship of the black arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money; and yet among those who knew him best, he was thought to be the agent and emissary of the great king-maker of england, richard, earl of warwick. in his absence, at any rate, it fell upon richard shelton to command affairs in shoreby; and, as he sat at meat, his mind was full of care, and his face heavy with consideration. it had been determined, between him and the lord foxham, to make one bold stroke that evening, and, by brute force, to set joanna free. the obstacles, however, were many; and as one after another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more discomfortable news. sir daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night before. he had increased the garrison of the house in the garden; but not content with that, he had stationed horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that he might have instant word of any movement. meanwhile, in the court of his mansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, armed at every point, awaited but the signal to ride. the adventure of the night appeared more and more difficult of execution, till suddenly dick's countenance lightened. "lawless!" he cried, "you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?" "master dick," replied lawless, "if ye would back me, i would agree to steal york minster." presently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour. it was a considerable basin, lying among sand hills, and surrounded with patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the town. many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor, or had been drawn up on the beach. a long duration of bad weather had driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the great trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one another, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind, promised no improvement but rather threatened a more serious storm in the immediate future. the seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part slunk ashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns. many of the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the day wore on, and the weather offered no appearance of improvement, the number was continually being augmented. it was to these deserted ships, and, above all, to those of them that lay far out, that lawless directed his attention; while dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns in the agreeable recollection of lord foxham's promise. he was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. it was lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering swell. a pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the vessel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in this momentary glitter dick could see a couple of men hauling the skiff alongside. "there, sir," said lawless, "mark ye it well! there is the ship for to-night." presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore. lawless turned to a loiterer. "how call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel. "they call her the good hope, of dartmouth," replied the loiterer. "her captain, arblaster by name. he pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff." this was all that lawless wanted. hurriedly thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading. there he took up his position, and as soon as they were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the good hope. "what! gossip arblaster!" he cried. "why, ye be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood! and is that the good hope? ay, i would know her among ten thousand!--a sweet shear, a sweet boat! but marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? i have come into mine estate which doubtless ye remember to have heard on. i am now rich; i have left to sail upon the sea; i do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale. come, fellow; thy hand upon 't! come, drink with an old shipfellow!" skipper arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious amazement and distrust. but the name of an estate, and a certain air of tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which lawless very well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable grasp. "nay," he said, "i cannot mind you. but what o' that? i would drink with any man, gossip, and so would my man tom. man tom," he added, addressing his follower, "here is my gossip, whose name i cannot mind, but no doubt a very good seaman. let's go drink with him and his shore friend." lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less crowded than those nearer to the centre of the port. it was but a shed of timber, much like a blockhouse in the backwoods of to-day, and was coarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and boards set upon barrels to play the part of tables. in the middle, and besieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood blazed and vomited thick smoke. "ay, now," said lawless, "here is a shipman's joy--a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring in the roof! here's to the good hope! may she ride easy!" "ay," said skipper arblaster, "'tis good weather to be ashore in, that is sooth. man tom, how say ye to that? gossip, ye speak well, though i can never think upon your name; but ye speak very well. may the good hope ride easy! amen!" "friend dickon," resumed lawless, addressing his commander, "ye have certain matters on hand, unless i err? well, prithee be about them incontinently. for here i be with the choice of all good company, two tough old shipmen; and till that ye return i will go warrant these brave fellows will bide here and drink me cup for cup. we are not like shore-men, we old, tough tarry-johns!" "it is well meant," returned the skipper. "ye can go, boy; for i will keep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew--ay, and by st. mary, till the sun get up again! for, look ye, when a man hath been long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and let him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched." thus encouraged upon all hands, dick rose, saluted his company, and going forth again into the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to the goat and bagpipes. thence he sent word to my lord foxham that, so soon as ever the evening closed, they would have a stout boat to keep the sea in. and then leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had some experience of the sea, he returned himself to the harbour and the little sandy creek. the skiff of the good hope lay among many others, from which it was easily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility. indeed, when dick and his two men had taken their places, and begun to put forth out of the creek into the open harbour, the little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point of sinking. the good hope, as we have said, was anchored far out, where the swell was heaviest. no other vessel lay nearer than several cables' length; those that were the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather further concealed the movements of the outlaws from all possible espial. in a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and the skiff was dancing at the stern. the good hope was captured. she was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and amidships, but open in the stern. she carried one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a lugger. it would seem that skipper arblaster had made an excellent venture, for the hold was full of pieces of french wine; and in the little cabin, besides the virgin mary in the bulkhead which proved the captain's piety, there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which showed him to be rich and careful. a dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, furiously barked and bit the heels of the boarders; but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door shut upon his just resentment. a lamp was lit and fixed in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the shore; one of the wine pieces in the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent gascony emptied to the adventure of the evening; and then, while one of the outlaws began to get ready his bow and arrows and prepare to hold the ship against all comers, the other hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held on, waiting for dick. "well, jack, keep me a good watch," said the young commander, preparing to follow his subordinate. "ye will do right well." "why," returned jack, "i shall do excellent well indeed, so long as we lie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the harbour--see, there she trembles! nay, the poor shrew heard the words, and the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs. but look, master dick! how black the weather gathers!" the darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. great billows heaved up out of the blackness, one after another; and one after another the good hope buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the further side. a thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the deck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging. "in sooth, it looketh evilly," said dick. "but what cheer! 'tis but a squall, and presently it will blow over." but, in spite of his words, he was depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the good hope and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed of oars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recommended to heaven the lives of all who should adventure on the sea. at the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the outlaws. to these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark without delay. a little further up the beach dick found lord foxham hurrying in quest of him, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour covered by a long russet mantle of a poor appearance. "young shelton," he said, "are ye for sea, then, truly?" "my lord," replied richard, "they lie about the house with horsemen; it may not be reached from the land side without alarum; and sir daniel once advertised of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good end than, saving your presence, we could ride upon the wind. now, in going round by sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much outweighteth all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and bear off the maid." "well," returned lord foxham, "lead on. i will, in some sort, follow you for shame's sake; but i own i would i were in bed." "here, then," said dick. "hither we go to fetch our pilot." and he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to a portion of his men. some of these he found lingering round the door outside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near as possible to where they saw their comrade, gathered close about lawless and the two shipmen. these, to judge by the distempered countenance and cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; and as richard entered, closely followed by lord foxham, they were all three tuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the gale. the young leader cast a rapid glance about the shed. the fire had just been replenished, and gave forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was difficult to see clearly in the further corners. it was plain, however, that the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests. satisfied upon this point, in case of any failure in the operation of his plan, dick strode up to the table and resumed his place upon the bench. "hey?" cried the skipper, tipsily, "who are ye, hey?" "i want a word with you without, master arblaster," returned dick; "and here is what we shall talk of." and he showed him a gold noble in the glimmer of the firelight. the shipman's eyes burned, although he still failed to recognise our hero. "ay, boy," he said, "i am with you. gossip, i will be back anon. drink fair, gossip;" and, taking dick's arm to steady his uneven steps, he walked to the door of the alehouse. as soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and bound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to another, and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and crop into a neighbouring hay-barn. presently, his man tom, similarly secured, was tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth reflections for the night. and now, as the time for concealment had gone by, lord foxham's followers were summoned by a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly taking possession of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the ship. long before the last man had climbed to the deck of the good hope, the sound of furious shouting from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs. but it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge. out of some forty fighting men now mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, and could play the part of mariners. with the aid of these, a slice of sail was got upon her. the cable was cut. lawless, vacillating on his feet, and still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller in his hands: and the good hope began to flit forward into the darkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour bar. richard took his place beside the weather rigging. except for the ship's own lantern, and for some lights in shoreby town, that were already fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit. only from time to time, as the good hope swooped dizzily down into the valley of the rollers, a crest would break--a great cataract of snowy foam would leap in one instant into being--and, in an instant more, would stream into the wake and vanish. many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick, and had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo. and what with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continued drunken bravado of lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest heart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the result. but lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the ship across the breakers, struck the lee of a great sandbank, where they sailed for awhile in smooth water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude, stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay ducking and grinding in the dark. chapter v--the good hope (continued) the pier was not far distant from the house in which joanna lay; it now only remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a strong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive. they might then regard themselves as done with the good hope; it had placed them on the rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater measure of hope in the direction of the forest and my lord foxham's reserve. to get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick, all were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of the night had cowed their spirits. they made a rush upon the pier; my lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in front; and this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case. when some degree of order had been restored, dick, with a few chosen men, set forth in advance. the darkness on shore, by contrast with the flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the howling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise. he had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a lull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of horses and the clash of arms. checking his immediate followers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon the down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and horses moving. a strong discouragement assailed him. if their enemies were really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the shoreward end of the pier, he and lord foxham were taken in a posture of very poor defence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow causeway. he gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon. it proved to be a signal far more than he desired. instantly there fell, through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain. in this first discharge, lord foxham was struck down; hawksley had him carried on board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) without guidance. that was perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow. at the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, dick held his own with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the twinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship. someone cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. "on board, lads, for your lives!" cried another. a third, with the true instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats: "we are betrayed!" and in a moment the whole mass of men went surging and jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry. one coward thrust off the ship's stern, while another still held her by the bows. the fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell back and perished in the sea. some were cut down upon the pier by the pursuers. many were injured on the ship's deck in the blind haste and terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on both. at last, and whether by design or accident, the bows of the good hope were liberated; and the ever-ready lawless, who had maintained his place at the helm through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper tack. the ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its scuppers running blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and struggling in the dark. thereupon, lawless sheathed his dagger, and turning to his next neighbour, "i have left my mark on them, gossip," said he, "the yelping, coward hounds." now, while they were all leaping and struggling for their lives, the men had not appeared to observe the rough shoves and cutting stabs with which lawless had held his post in the confusion. but perhaps they had already begun to understand somewhat more clearly, or perhaps another ear had overheard, the helmsman's speech. panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, as if to wipe out the memory of their fault, will sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordination. so it was now; and the same men who had thrown away their weapons and been hauled, feet foremost, into the good hope, began to cry out upon their leaders, and demand that someone should be punished. this growing ill-feeling turned upon lawless. in order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had put the head of the good hope to seaward. "what!" bawled one of the grumblers, "he carrieth us to seaward!" "'tis sooth," cried another. "nay, we are betrayed for sure." and they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abominable oaths bade lawless go about-ship and bring them speedily ashore. lawless, grinding his teeth, continued in silence to steer the true course, guiding the good hope among the formidable billows. to their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, between drink and dignity he scorned to make reply. the malcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, "crowing for courage." presently they would be fit for any extremity of injustice or ingratitude. dick began to mount by the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got beforehand. "lads," he began, "y' are right wooden heads, i think. for to get back, by the mass, we must have an offing, must we not? and this old lawless--" someone struck the speaker on the mouth, and the next moment, as a fire springs among dry straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under the feet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions. at this the wrath of lawless rose and broke. "steer yourselves," he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the result, he left the helm. the good hope was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell. she subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side. a wave, like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with a staggering blow, she plunged headforemost through that liquid hill. the green water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a man's knees; the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a beast that has been deadly wounded. six or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and as for the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to bellow to the saints and wail upon lawless to come back and take the tiller. nor did lawless wait to be twice bidden. the terrible result of his fling of just resentment sobered him completely. he knew, better than any one on board, how nearly the good hope had gone bodily down below their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the sea, that the peril was by no means over. dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose wading to his knees in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the old helmsman's side. "lawless," he said, "we do all depend on you; y' are a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in the management of ships; i shall put three sure men to watch upon your safety." "bootless, my master, bootless," said the steersman, peering forward through the dark. "we come every moment somewhat clearer of these sandbanks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and for all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs. for, my master, 'tis a right mystery, but true, there never yet was a bad man that was a good shipman. none but the honest and the bold can endure me this tossing of a ship." "nay, lawless," said dick, laughing, "that is a right shipman's byword, and hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind. but, prithee, how go we? do we lie well? are we in good case?" "master shelton," replied lawless, "i have been a grey friar--i praise fortune--an archer, a thief, and a shipman. of all these coats, i had the best fancy to die in the grey friar's, as ye may readily conceive, and the least fancy to die in john shipman's tarry jacket; and that for two excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man suddenly; and second, for the horror of that great, salt smother and welter under my foot here"--and lawless stamped with his foot. "howbeit," he went on, "an i die not a sailor's death, and that this night, i shall owe a tall candle to our lady." "is it so?" asked dick. "it is right so," replied the outlaw. "do ye not feel how heavy and dull she moves upon the waves? do ye not hear the water washing in her hold? she will scarce mind the rudder even now. bide till she has settled a bit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like a twist of string." "ye speak with a good courage," returned dick. "ye are not then appalled?" "why, master," answered lawless, "if ever a man had an ill crew to come to port with, it is i--a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on't. well, ye may wonder, but i keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that i be to drown, i will drown with a bright eye, master shelton, and a steady hand." dick returned no answer; but he was surprised to find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, and fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set forth upon his quest for three sure men. the great bulk of the men had now deserted the deck, which was continually wetted with the flying sprays, and where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind. they had gathered, instead, into the hold of the merchandise, among the butts of wine, and lighted by two swinging lanterns. here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in arblaster's gascony wine. but as the good hope continued to tear through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in air and deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions diminished with every moment and with every lurch. many sat apart, tending their hurts, but the majority were already prostrated with sickness, and lay moaning in the bilge. greensheve, cuckow, and a young fellow of lord foxham's whom dick had already remarked for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however, both fit to understand and willing to obey. these dick set, as a body-guard, about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look at the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin, whither lord foxham had been carried by his servants. chapter vi--the good hope (concluded) the moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing of the ship's dog. the poor animal, whether he was merely sick at heart to be separated from his friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above the roar of wave and weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, in these sounds, the knell of the good hope. lord foxham had been laid in a berth upon a fur cloak. a little lamp burned dim before the virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer dick could see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man. "i am sore hurt," said he. "come near to my side, young shelton; let there be one by me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having lived nobly and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that i should get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls." "nay, my lord," said dick, "i pray rather to the saints that ye will recover you of your hurt, and come soon and sound ashore." "how!" demanded his lordship. "come sound ashore? there is, then, a question of it?" "the ship laboureth--the sea is grievous and contrary," replied the lad; "and by what i can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do well, indeed, if we come dryshod to land." "ha!" said the baron, gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the passage of my soul! sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes! howbeit, i have that upon my mind that must not be delayed. we have no priest aboard?" "none," replied dick. "here, then, to my secular interests," resumed lord foxham: "ye must be as good a friend to me dead, as i found you a gallant enemy when i was living. i fall in an evil hour for me, for england, and for them that trusted me. my men are being brought by hamley--he that was your rival; they will rendezvous in the long holm at holywood; this ring from off my finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and i shall write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding hamley yield to you the damsel. will he obey? i know not." "but, my lord, what orders?" inquired dick. "ay," quoth the baron, "ay--the orders;" and he looked upon dick with hesitation. "are ye lancaster or york?" he asked, at length. "i shame to say it," answered dick, "i can scarce clearly answer. but so much i think is certain: since i serve with ellis duckworth, i serve the house of york. well, if that be so, i declare for york." "it is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well. for, truly, had ye said lancaster, i wot not for the world what i had done. but sith ye are for york, follow me. i came hither but to watch these lords at shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, richard of gloucester, { } prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them. i have made me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and these i was to deliver to my young lord on sunday, an hour before noon, at st. bride's cross beside the forest. this tryst i am not like to keep, but i pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from the hour and place, for the welfare of england lieth upon this cast." "i do soberly take this up on me," said dick. "in so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be done." "it is good," said the wounded man. "my lord duke shall order you farther, and if ye obey him with spirit and good will, then is your fortune made. give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that i write these words for you." he wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, sir john hamley;" and then a second, which he-left without external superscripture. "this is for the duke," he said. "the word is 'england and edward,' and the counter, 'england and york.'" "and joanna, my lord?" asked dick. "nay, ye must get joanna how ye can," replied the baron. "i have named you for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for yourself, boy. i have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my life. more could no man do." by this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and dick, putting the precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him to repose. the day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of snow. close under the lee of the good hope, the coast lay in alternate rocky headlands and sandy bays; and further inland the wooded hill-tops of tunstall showed along the sky. both the wind and the sea had gone down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves. lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhospitable coast. "are we going ashore?" asked dick. "ay," said lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom." and just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, that dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the arm. "by the mass!" cried dick, as the bows of the good hope reappeared above the foam, "i thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my throat." in the waist, greensheve, hawksley, and the better men of both companies were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these dick joined himself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament. but, even as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of her dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death. presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below a promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above that, again, a house appeared, crowning a down. inside the bay the seas ran gayly, raised the good hope upon their foam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman, and in a moment dropped her, with a great concussion, on the sand, and began to break over her half-mast high, and roll her to and fro. another great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in; and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more dangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank. "now, boys," cried lawless, "the saints have had a care of us, indeed. the tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge." a barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter they could find from the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around, and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits. dick, meanwhile, returned to lord foxham, who lay in great perplexity and fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of the blow. "my lord," said young shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly for us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet." it was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the ebbing sea; and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly before them through a veil of driving snow. upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals. "they might draw near and offer us some comfort," dick remarked. "well, an' they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said hawksley. "the sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed the better for my poor lord." but they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock, before the men, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company. "back! back!" cried his lordship. "beware, in heaven's name, that ye reply not." "nay," cried greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack. "we are in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, and three-parts frozen; but, for the love of old england, what aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?" "they take us to be french pirates," answered lord foxham. "in these most troublesome and degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores of england; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do now range at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning. it is the pity and reproach of this poor land." the men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed upward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sand-hills; for a mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign, to pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was only when, striking at length upon a firm high-road, dick began to call his men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the coast of england silently disappeared among the snow. they had done what they desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own families and cattle; and their private interest being thus secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the frenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm of england. book iv--the disguise chapter i--the den the place where dick had struck the line of a high-road was not far from holywood, and within nine or ten miles of shoreby-on-the-till; and here, after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies separated. lord foxham's followers departed, carrying their wounded master towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and dick, as he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder of his troop of volunteers. some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders. dick emptied his purse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way, either severally or in pairs, to shoreby and the goat and bagpipes. for his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the good hope, he chose lawless to be his companion on the walk. the snow was falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation. there was great danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among dangers. about a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks. even in the narrow horizon of the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be recognised; and lawless evidently recognised it with particular delight. "now, master richard," said he, "an y' are not too proud to be the guest of a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good christian, i can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the marrow in your frozen bones." "lead on, will," answered dick. "a cup of wine and a good fire! nay, i would go a far way round to see them." lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that had now drifted a quarter full of snow. on the verge, a great beech-tree hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth. the beech had, in some violent gale, been half-uprooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of turf and it was under this that old lawless had dug out his forest hiding-place. the roots served him for rafters, the turf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the earth. rude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the presence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron, showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a digging beast. though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of this earth cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze and crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of comfort and of home. with a sigh of great contentment, lawless spread his broad hands before the fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke. "here, then," he said, "is this old lawless's rabbit-hole; pray heaven there come no terrier! far i have rolled hither and thither, and here and about, since that i was fourteen years of mine age and first ran away from mine abbey, with the sacrist's gold chain and a mass-book that i sold for four marks. i have been in england and france and burgundy, and in spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea, which is no man's country. but here is my place, master shelton. this is my native land, this burrow in the earth! come rain or wind--and whether it's april, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my bed--or whether it's winter, and i sit alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin red breast twitters in the woods--here, is my church and market, and my wife and child. it's here i come back to, and it's here, so please the saints, that i would like to die." "'tis a warm corner, to be sure," replied dick, "and a pleasant, and a well hid." "it had need to be," returned lawless, "for an they found it, master shelton, it would break my heart. but here," he added, burrowing with his stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine cellar; and ye shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo." sure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern bottle of about a gallon, nearly three-parts full of a very heady and sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire had been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm. "master shelton," observed the outlaw, "y' 'ave had two mischances this last while, and y' are like to lose the maid--do i take it aright?" "aright!" returned dick, nodding his head. "well, now," continued lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all! ye go too much on other people's errands, master dick. ye go on ellis's; but he desireth rather the death of sir daniel. ye go on lord foxham's; well--the saints preserve him!--doubtless he meaneth well. but go ye upon your own, good dick. come right to the maid's side. court her, lest that she forget you. be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the saddle-bow." "ay, but, lawless, beyond doubt she is now in sir daniel's own mansion." answered dick. "thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw. dick stared at him. "nay, i mean it," nodded lawless. "and if y' are of so little faith, and stumble at a word, see here!" and the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest, and dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a friar's robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, heavy enough to be counted as a weapon. "here," he said, "is for you. on with them!" and then, when dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise, lawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cunning, to disguise his face. the eyebrows he thickened and produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a like service; while, by a few lines around the eye, he changed the expression and increased the apparent age of this young monk. "now," he resumed, "when i have done the like, we shall make as bonny a pair of friars as the eye could wish. boldly to sir daniel's we shall go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of mother church." "and how, dear lawless," cried the lad, "shall i repay you?" "tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "i do naught but for my pleasure. mind not for me. i am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself. when that i lack, i have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell--i do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, i do most usually take." the old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although dick was displeased to lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet unable to restrain his mirth. with that, lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly disguised; but, below his gown, dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of black arrows. "wherefore do ye that?" asked the lad. "wherefore arrows, when ye take no bow?" "nay," replied lawless, lightly, "'tis like there will be heads broke--not to say backs--ere you and i win sound from where we're going to; and if any fall, i would our fellowship should come by the credit on't. a black arrow, master dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth you who writ the bill." "an ye prepare so carefully," said dick, "i have here some papers that, for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better left behind than found upon my body. where shall i conceal them, will?" "nay," replied lawless, "i will go forth into the wood and whistle me three verses of a song; meanwhile, do you bury them where ye please, and smooth the sand upon the place." "never!" cried richard. "i trust you, man. i were base indeed if i not trusted you." "brother, y' are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and turning his face upon dick from the threshold of the den. "i am a kind old christian, and no traitor to men's blood, and no sparer of mine own in a friend's jeopardy. but, fool, child, i am a thief by trade and birth and habit. if my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, i would rob you, dear child, as sure as i love, honour, and admire your parts and person! can it be clearer spoken? no." and he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers. dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the inconsistencies of his companion's character, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his papers. one only he reserved to carry along with him, since it in nowise compromised his friends, and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against sir daniel. that was the knight's own letter to lord wensleydale, sent by throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at risingham, and found next day by dick upon the body of the messenger. then, treading down the embers of the fire, dick left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. each looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the disguise. "yet i would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw, "that i might see myself in the mirror of a pool. there be many of sir daniel's men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might be two words for you, brother, but as for me, in a paternoster while, i should be kicking in a rope's-end." thus they set forth together along the road to shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near along the margin or the forest, coming forth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor folks' houses and small farms. presently at sight of one of these, lawless pulled up. "brother martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to his monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners. _pax vobiscum_! ay," he added, in his own voice, "'tis as i feared; i have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good master shelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before that i risk my fat neck by entering sir daniel's. but look ye a little, what an excellent thing it is to be a jack-of-all-trades! an i had not been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the good hope; an i had not been a thief, i could not have painted me your face; and but that i had been a grey friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at the board, i could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us out and barked at us for shams." he was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in. "nay," he cried, "better and better. we shall here try our false faces with a vengeance, and have a merry jest on brother capper to boot." and so saying, he opened the door and led the way into the house. three of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating. their daggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing looks which they continued to shower upon the people of the house, proved that they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour. on the two monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the farm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment; and one--it was john capper in person--who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and rudely ordered them away. "we want no beggars here!" he cried. but another--although he was as far from recognising dick and lawless--inclined to more moderate counsels. "not so," he cried. "we be strong men, and take; these be weak, and crave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we below. mind him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a benediction." "y' are men of a light mind, carnal, and accursed," said the monk. "now, may the saints forbid that ever i should drink with such companions! but here, for the pity i bear to sinners, here i do leave you a blessed relic, the which, for your soul's interest, i bid you kiss and cherish." so far lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with these words he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board in front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same instant, and, taking dick along with him, was out of the room and out of sight among the falling snow before they had time to utter a word or move a finger. "so," he said, "we have proved our false faces, master shelton. i will now adventure my poor carcase where ye please." "good!" returned richard. "it irks me to be doing. set we on for shoreby!" chapter ii--"in mine enemies' house" sir daniel's residence in shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of thatch. to the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees, alleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from the far end by the tower of the abbey church. the house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person than sir daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub. the court rang with arms and horseshoe-iron; the kitchens roared with cookery like a bees'-hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of tumblers, sounded from the hall. sir daniel, in his profusion, in the gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with lord shoreby, and eclipsed lord risingham. all guests were made welcome. minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes, and enchantments, and along with these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards of the long dining-hall. on the afternoon following the wreck of the good hope, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to sir daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue, partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time. the snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter. wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal. to the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a festive season. two monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed. a mixed crowd surrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these the elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged so many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily increased in number. the younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised dick shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself away. he listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by the grave expression of his countenance, he made but little account of his companion's pleasantries. at last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession entering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction. two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were followed by a pair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms. the next moment they had disappeared within the house; and dick, slipping through the crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit. "the taller of these twain was lady brackley," he thought; "and where lady brackley is, joan will not be far." at the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and the ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no better escort than that of the two waiting-women. dick followed close behind. it was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the darkness of the night had almost come. on the stair-landings, torches flared in iron holders; down the long, tapestried corridors, a lamp burned by every door. and where the door stood open, dick could look in upon arras-covered walls and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light of the wood fires. two floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of the two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk. he, keeping his eyes lowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had but seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention. and now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady continuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids, descending the corridor to the right. dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth his head and followed the three women with his eyes. without turning or looking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor. "it is right well," thought dick. "let me but know my lady brackley's chamber, and it will go hard an i find not dame hatch upon an errand." and just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant. he was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly seized, the short young lady in the furs. she, on her part, was shocked and terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp. "madam," said dick, releasing her, "i cry you a thousand pardons; but i have no eyes behind, and, by the mass, i could not tell ye were a maid." the girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion. dick, who could read these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that hostile house. "fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand, in token ye forgive my roughness, and i will even go." "y' are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him both boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first astonishment hath somewhat passed away, i can spy the layman in each word you utter. what do ye here? why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked out? come ye in peace or war? and why spy ye after lady brackley like a thief?" "madam," quoth dick, "of one thing i pray you to be very sure: i am no thief. and even if i come here in war, as in some degree i do, i make no war upon fair maids, and i hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to leave me be. for, indeed, fair mistress, cry out--if such be your pleasure--cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman before you is merely a dead man. i cannot think ye would be cruel," added dick; and taking the girl's hand gently in both of his, he looked at her with courteous admiration. "are ye, then, a spy--a yorkist?" asked the maid. "madam," he replied, "i am indeed a yorkist, and, in some sort, a spy. but that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for me the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of york nor lancaster. i will wholly put my life in your discretion. i am a lover, and my name--" but here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon dick's mouth, looked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast clear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence, up-stairs. "hush!" she said, "and come! shalt talk hereafter." somewhat bewildered, dick suffered himself to be pulled up-stairs, bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth. "now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there and attend my sovereign good pleasure. i have life and death over you, and i will not scruple to abuse my power. look to yourself; y' 'ave cruelly mauled my arm. he knew not i was a maid, quoth he! had he known i was a maid, he had ta'en his belt to me, forsooth!" and with these words, she whipped out of the room and left dick gaping with wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake. "ta'en my belt to her!" he repeated. "ta'en my belt to her!" and the recollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, and he once more saw matcham's wincing body and beseeching eyes. and then he was recalled to the dangers of the present. in the next room he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which sounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet once more began. as he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the wall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided, and, lamp in hand, joanna sedley entered the apartment. she was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit the winter and the snow. upon her head, her hair had been gathered together and became her as a crown. and she, who had seemed so little and so awkward in the attire of matcham, was now tall like a young willow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of walking. without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the young monk. "what make ye here, good brother?" she inquired. "ye are doubtless ill-directed. whom do ye require? and she set her lamp upon the bracket. "joanna," said dick; and then his voice failed him. "joanna," he began again, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool i, but i believed it!" "dick!" she cried. "dick!" and then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him a hundred kisses all in one. "oh, the fool fellow!" she cried. "oh, dear dick! oh, if ye could see yourself! alack!" she added, pausing. "i have spoilt you, dick! i have knocked some of the paint off. but that can be mended. what cannot be mended, dick--or i much fear it cannot!--is my marriage with lord shoreby." "is it decided, then?" asked the lad. "to-morrow, before noon, dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "john matcham and joanna sedley both shall come to a right miserable end. there is no help in tears, or i could weep mine eyes out. i have not spared myself to pray, but heaven frowns on my petition. and, dear dick--good dick--but that ye can get me forth of this house before the morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye." "nay," said dick, "not i; i will never say that word. 'tis like despair; but while there's life, joanna, there is hope. yet will i hope. ay, by the mass, and triumph! look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did i not follow--did i not rouse good men--did i not stake my life upon the quarrel? and now that i have seen you for what ye are--the fairest maid and stateliest of england--think ye i would turn?--if the deep sea were there, i would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, i would scatter them like mice." "ay," she said, dryly, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!" "nay, joan," protested dick, "'tis not alone the robe. but, lass, ye were disguised. here am i disguised; and, to the proof, do i not cut a figure of fun--a right fool's figure?" "ay, dick, an' that ye do!" she answered, smiling. "well, then!" he returned, triumphant. "so was it with you, poor matcham, in the forest. in sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at. but now!" so they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have continued all night long. but presently there was a noise behind them; and they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her lips. "saints!" she cried, "but what a noise ye keep! can ye not speak in compass? and now, joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give your gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?" joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily. "and you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?" "madam," said dick, "i would fain offer to pay you in the same money." "come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you." but dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand. "what ails ye at my face, fair sir?" she inquired, curtseying to the very ground; and then, when dick had at length and most tepidly embraced her, "joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backward under your eyes; but i warrant you, when first we met he was more ready. i am all black and blue, wench; trust me never, if i be not black and blue! and now," she continued, "have ye said your sayings? for i must speedily dismiss the paladin." but at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so early. "and supper?" asked the young lady. "must we not go down to supper?" "nay, to be sure!" cried joan. "i had forgotten." "hide me, then," said dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so that i may be here on your return. indeed, fair lady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bested, and may never look upon each other's face from this night forward till we die." at this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell summoned sir daniel's household to the board, dick was planted very stiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry permitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room. he had not been long in this position, when he was somewhat strangely disturbed. the silence, in that upper storey of the house, was only broken by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in the chimney; but presently, to dick's strained hearing, there came the sound of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the door opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in lord shoreby's colours, pushed first his head, and then his crooked body, into the chamber. his mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes, which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro. he went round and round the room, striking here and there upon the hangings; but dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice. then he looked below the furniture, and examined the lamp; and, at last, with an air of cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had come, when down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes on the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt. dick's heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign delight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to his master, the baron. he was half-tempted to throw aside the arras, fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the telltale token. and while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was added. a voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible from the stair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and heavy footsteps sounded without along the passage. "what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?" sang the voice. "what make ye here? hey! sots, what make ye here?" it added, with a rattle of drunken laughter; and then, once more breaking into song: "if ye should drink the clary wine, fat friar john, ye friend o' mine-- if i should eat, and ye should drink, who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?" lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations. dick inwardly raged. the spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from richard's eyes. what was to be done? if he lost touch of lawless for the night, he was left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth joanna's rescue. if, on the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue. it was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that dick decided. slipping from behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a warning hand upraised. lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer. at last he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of dick's imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name. dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously. "beast!" he hissed--"beast and no man! it is worse than treachery to be so witless. we may all be shent for thy sotting." but lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young shelton on the back. and just then dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras. he leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging had been torn down, and dick and the spy were sprawling together in its folds. over and over they rolled, grappling for each other's throat, and still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury. but dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe. chapter iii--the dead spy throughout this furious and rapid passage, lawless had looked on helplessly, and even when all was over, and dick, already re-arisen to his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring on the face of the dead man. "it is well," said dick, at length; "they have not heard us, praise the saints! but, now, what shall i do with this poor spy? at least, i will take my tassel from his wallet." so saying, dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter addressed to lord wensleydale, and sealed with my lord shoreby's seal. the name awoke dick's recollection; and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. it was short, but, to dick's delight, it gave evident proof that lord shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the house of york. the young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him, and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able to write these words upon a corner of the paper: my lord of shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is ded? but let me rede you, marry not. jon amend-all. he laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then lawless, who had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. the sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from young shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed. "nay, i will have the credit for mine order," he hiccupped. "my jolly boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother;" and then, shutting his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to thunder, in a formidable voice: "if ye should drink the clary wine"-- "peace, sot!" cried dick, and thrust him hard against the wall. "in two words--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than wit in him--in two words, and, a-mary's name, begone out of this house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me also! faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, i may forget that i am in some sort your captain and in some your debtor! go!" the sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his intelligence; and the ring in dick's voice, and the glitter in dick's eye, stamped home the meaning of his words. "by the mass," cried lawless, "an i be not wanted, i can go;" and he turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder down-stairs, lurching against the wall. so soon as he was out of sight, dick returned to his hiding-place, resolutely fixed to see the matter out. wisdom, indeed, moved him to be gone; but love and curiosity were stronger. time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras. the fire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to smoke. and still there was no word of the return of any one to these upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the supper party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of the snow, shoreby town lay silent upon every side. at length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair; and presently after several of sir daniel's guests arrived upon the landing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the body of the spy. some ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud. at the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from every direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult. soon a way was cleared, and sir daniel came forth in person, followed by the bridegroom of the morrow, my lord shoreby. "my lord," said sir daniel, "have i not told you of this knave black arrow? to the proof, behold it! there it stands, and, by the rood, my gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!" "in good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied lord shoreby, hanging back. "i would i had more such. he was keen as a beagle and secret as a mole." "ay, gossip, truly?" asked sir daniel, keenly. "and what came he smelling up so many stairs in my poor mansion? but he will smell no more." "an't please you, sir daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon with some matter, pinned upon his breast." "give it me, arrow and all," said the knight. and when he had taken into his hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a sullen musing. "ay," he said, addressing lord shoreby, "here is a hate that followeth hard and close upon my heels. this black stick, or its just likeness, shall yet bring me down. and, gossip, suffer a plain knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee! 'tis like a sickness--it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs. but let us see what they have written. it is as i thought, my lord; y' are marked, like an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the axe. but what wrote ye in a letter?" lord shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it between his hands, and, overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto withheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the body and eagerly groped in the wallet. he rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance. "gossip," he said, "i have indeed lost a letter here that much imported; and could i lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should incontinently grace a halter. but let us, first of all, secure the issues of the house. here is enough harm already, by st. george!" sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and yet another about the bonfire in the shed. sir daniel's followers were supplemented by lord shoreby's; there was thus no lack of men or weapons to make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be there. meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow and deposited in the abbey church. it was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew richard shelton from his place of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed. he, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous discovery, and speedy end. joanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall. "it will avail but little," she said. "i shall be wed to-morrow, in the morning, after all!" "what!" cried her friend. "and here is our paladin that driveth lions like mice! ye have little faith, of a surety. but come, friend lion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold counsels." dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words; but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly. "truly," said he, "we are in straits. yet, could i but win out of this house for half an hour, i do honestly tell myself that all might still go well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented." "and for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven." "i crave your excuse," said dick. "i speak not now in any boasting humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if i get not forth of this house and through these sentinels, i can do less than naught. take me, i pray you, rightly." "why said ye he was rustic, joan?" the girl inquired. "i warrant he hath a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure. what would ye more?" "nay," sighed joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend dick, 'tis sure enough. when i beheld him, he was rough indeed. but it matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and i must still be lady shoreby!" "nay, then," said dick, "i will even make the adventure. a friar is not much regarded; and if i found a good fairy to lead me up, i may find another belike to carry me down. how call they the name of this spy?" "rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him by. but how mean ye, lion-driver? what is in your mind to do?" "to offer boldly to go forth," returned dick; "and if any stop me, to keep an unchanged countenance, and say i go to pray for rutter. they will be praying over his poor clay even now." "the device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold." "nay," said young shelton, "it is no device, but mere boldness, which serveth often better in great straits." "ye say true," she said. "well, go, a-mary's name, and may heaven speed you! ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that is most heartily your friend. be wary, for their sakes, and make not shipwreck of your safety." "ay," added joanna, "go, dick. ye run no more peril, whether ye go or stay. go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!" dick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the fellow merely figeted and stared; but at the second landing the man carried his spear across and bade him name his business. "_pax vobiscum_," answered dick. "i go to pray over the body of this poor rutter." "like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted you." he leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill. "one cometh!" he cried; and then motioned dick to pass. at the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of the post ordered four men out to accompany him to the church. "let him not slip, my lads," he said. "bring him to sir oliver, on your lives!" the door was then opened; one of the men took dick by either arm, another marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on the string, brought up the rear. in this order they proceeded through the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey church. at the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with the snow; and it was not until dick's conductors had exchanged a word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of the sacred edifice. the church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private chapels of illustrious families. in the midst of the choir the dead spy lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier. a hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the choir, and on the steps of the high altar a priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass. upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him to the church. out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge, empty building caught up their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles. "a monk!" returned sir oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the report of the archer. "my brother, i looked not for your coming," he added, turning to young shelton. "in all civility, who are ye? and at whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?" dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to sir oliver to move a pace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done so, "i cannot hope to deceive you, sir," he said. "my life is in your hands." sir oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a space he was silent. "richard," he said, "what brings you here, i know not; but i much misdoubt it to be evil. nevertheless, for the kindness that was, i would not willingly deliver you to harm. ye shall sit all night beside me in the stalls: ye shall sit there till my lord of shoreby be married, and the party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no evil, in the end ye shall go whither ye will. but if your purpose be bloody, it shall return upon your head. amen!" and the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the altar. with that, he spoke a few words more to the soldiers, and taking dick by the hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions. his mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering. three of the soldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that they had done so by sir oliver's command. here, then, he was trapped. here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in the morning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before his eyes. but, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built himself up in patience to await the issue. chapter iv--in the abbey church in shoreby abbey church the prayers were kept up all night without cessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon the bell. rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. there he lay, meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning. once only, in the course of the hours, sir oliver leaned across to his captive. "richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, i will certify, on my soul's welfare, ye design upon an innocent man. sinful in the eye of heaven i do declare myself; but sinful as against you i am not, neither have been ever." "my father," returned dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, i design nothing; but as for your innocence, i may not forget that ye cleared yourself but lamely." "a man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest. "he may be set blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope. so it was with me. i did decoy your father to his death; but as heaven sees us in this sacred place, i knew not what i did." "it may be," returned dick. "but see what a strange web ye have woven, that i should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge; that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. methinks, if ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would neither thus fear nor thus detest me. and now to your prayers. i do obey you, since needs must; but i will not be burthened with your company." the priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man borne down below a weight of care. he joined no longer in the psalms; but dick could hear the beads rattle through his fingers and the prayers a-pattering between his teeth. yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to struggle through the painted casements of the church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the tapers. the light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently through the south-eastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the walls. the storm was over; the great clouds had disburdened their snow and fled farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry winter landscape sheathed in white. a bustle of church officers followed; the bier was carried forth to the deadhouse, and the stains of blood were cleansed from off the tiles, that no such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of lord shoreby. at the same time, the very ecclesiastics who had been so dismally engaged all night began to put on morning faces, to do honour to the merrier ceremony which was about to follow. and further to announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town began to assemble and fall to prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the confessionals. favoured by this stir, it was of course easily possible for any man to avoid the vigilance of sir daniel's sentries at the door; and presently dick, looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than will lawless, still in his monk's habit. the outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his leader, and privily signed to him with hand and eye. now, dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him in his own predicament; and he signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to begone. lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a pillar, and dick breathed again. what, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked by the sleeve and to find the old robber installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to all appearance, plunged in his devotions! instantly sir oliver arose from his place, and, gliding behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle. if the priest's suspicions had been so lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and lawless a prisoner in the church. "move not," whispered dick. "we are in the plaguiest pass, thanks, before all things, to thy swinishness of yestereven. when ye saw me here, so strangely seated where i have neither right nor interest, what a murrain i could ye not smell harm and get ye gone from evil?" "nay," returned lawless, "i thought ye had heard from ellis, and were here on duty." "ellis!" echoed dick. "is ellis, then, returned? "for sure," replied the outlaw. "he came last night, and belted me sore for being in wine--so there ye are avenged, my master. a furious man is ellis duckworth! he hath ridden me hot-spur from craven to prevent this marriage; and, master dick, ye know the way of him--do so he will!" "nay, then," returned dick, with composure, "you and i, my poor brother, are dead men; for i sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was to answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar. i had a fair choice, by the rood! to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life! well, the cast is thrown--it is to be my life." "by the mass," cried lawless, half arising, "i am gone!" but dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder. "friend lawless, sit ye still," he said. "an ye have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the chancel arch; see ye not that, even upon the motion of your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept you? yield ye, friend. ye were bold aboard ship, when ye thought to die a sea-death; be bold again, now that y' are to die presently upon the gallows." "master dick," gasped lawless, "the thing hath come upon me somewhat of the suddenest. but give me a moment till i fetch my breath again; and, by the mass, i will be as stout-hearted as yourself." "here is my bold fellow!" returned dick. "and yet, lawless, it goes hard against the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing, wherefore whine?" "nay, that indeed!" chimed lawless. "and a fig for death, at worst! it has to be done, my master, soon or late. and hanging in a good quarrel is an easy death, they say, though i could never hear of any that came back to say so." and so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back in his stall, folded his arms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and unconcern. "and for the matter of that," dick added, "it is yet our best chance to keep quiet. we wot not yet what duckworth purposes; and when all is said, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it." now that they ceased talking, they were aware of a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music which steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier. the bells in the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, and a greater and greater concourse of people to crowd into the church, shuffling the snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing in their hands. the western door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of the morning; and in short, it became plain by every sign that lord shoreby desired to be married very early in the day, and that the wedding-train was drawing near. some of lord shoreby's men now cleared a passage down the middle aisle, forcing the people back with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the portal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing near over the frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet in the face with lusty blowing, the drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a wager. these, as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on either side, and, marking time to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the snow. as they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was the variety and gaiety of their attire, such the display of silks and velvet, fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a wall. first came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as winter, clinging to sir daniel's arm, and attended, as brides-maid, by the short young lady who had befriended dick the night before. close behind, in the most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot; and as he passed the threshold of the sacred building and doffed his hat, his bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion. and now came the hour of ellis duckworth. dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward, and eyes and arms uplifted. following these signs, he beheld three or four men with bent bows leaning from the clerestory gallery. at the same instant they delivered their discharge, and before the clamour and cries of the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ear, they had flitted from their perch and disappeared. the nave was full of swaying heads and voices screaming; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased, and though the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even to the chamber where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and they also desisted from their merry labours. right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows. the bride had fainted. sir daniel stood, towering above the crowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft quivering in his left forearm, and his face streaming blood from another which had grazed his brow. long before any search could be made for them, the authors of this tragic interruption had clattered down a turnpike stair and decamped by a postern door. but dick and lawless still remained in pawn; they had, indeed, arisen on the first alarm, and pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with the narrowness of the stalls and the crowding of terrified priests and choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed their places. and now, pale with horror, sir oliver rose to his feet and called upon sir daniel, pointing with one hand to dick. "here," he cried, "is richard shelton--alas the hour!--blood guilty! seize him!--bid him be seized! for all our lives' sakes, take him and bind him surely! he hath sworn our fall." sir daniel was blinded by anger--blinded by the hot blood that still streamed across his face. "where?" he bellowed. "hale him forth! by the cross of holywood, but he shall rue this hour!" the crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid rough hands on dick, dragged him head-foremost from the stall, and thrust him by the shoulders down the chancel steps. lawless, on his part, sat as still as a mouse. sir daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared blinkingly upon his captive. "ay," he said, "treacherous and insolent, i have thee fast; and by all potent oaths, for every drop of blood that now trickles in mine eyes, i will wring a groan out of thy carcase. away with him!" he added. "here is no place! off with him to my house. i will number every joint of thy body with a torture." but dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his voice. "sanctuary!" he shouted. "sanctuary! ho, there, my fathers! they would drag me from the church!" "from the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy," added a tall man, magnificently dressed. "on what probation?" cried dick. "they do accuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have not proved one tittle. i was, in truth, a suitor for this damsel's hand; and she, i will be bold to say it, repaid my suit with favour. but what then? to love a maid is no offence, i trow--nay, nor to gain her love. in all else, i stand here free from guiltiness." there was a murmur of approval among the bystanders, so boldly dick declared his innocence; but at the same time a throng of accusers arose upon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in sir daniel's house, how he wore a sacrilegious disguise; and in the midst of the babel, sir oliver indicated lawless, both by voice and gesture, as accomplice to the fact. he, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and set beside his leader. the feelings of the crowd rose high on either side, and while some dragged the prisoners to and fro to favour their escape, others cursed and struck them with their fists. dick's ears rang and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in the eddies of a furious river. but the tall man who had already answered dick, by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence and order in the mob. "search them," he said, "for arms. we may so judge of their intentions." upon dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his favour, until one man officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it still uncleansed of the blood of rutter. at this there was a great shout among sir daniel's followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture and an imperious glance. but when it came to the turn of lawless, there was found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had been shot. "how say ye now?" asked the tall man, frowningly, of dick. "sir," replied dick, "i am here in sanctuary, is it not so? well, sir, i see by your bearing that ye are high in station, and i read in your countenance the marks of piety and justice. to you, then, i will yield me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advantage of this holy place. but rather than to be yielded into the discretion of that man--whom i do here accuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my natural father and the unjust retainer of my lands and revenues--rather than that, i would beseech you, under favour, with your own gentle hand, to despatch me on the spot. your own ears have heard him, how before that i was proven guilty he did threaten me with torments. it standeth not with your own honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and old oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that i be guilty indeed, to slay me mercifully." "my lord," cried sir daniel, "ye will not hearken to this wolf? his bloody dagger reeks him the lie into his face." "nay, but suffer me, good knight," returned the tall stranger; "your own vehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself." and here the bride, who had come to herself some minutes past and looked wildly on upon this scene, broke loose from those that held her, and fell upon her knees before the last speaker. "my lord of risingham," she cried, "hear me, in justice. i am here in this man's custody by mere force, reft from mine own people. since that day i had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the face of man--but from him only--richard shelton--whom they now accuse and labour to undo. my lord, if he was yesternight in sir daniel's mansion, it was i that brought him there; he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no hurt. while yet sir daniel was a good lord to him, he fought with them of the black arrow loyally; but when his foul guardian sought his life by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul's sake, out of that bloody house, whither was he to turn--he, helpless and penniless? or if he be fallen among ill company, whom should ye blame--the lad that was unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust?" and then the short young lady fell on her knees by joanna's side. "and i, my good lord and natural uncle," she added, "i can bear testimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this maiden saith is true. it was i, unworthy, that did lead the young man in." earl risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased, he still stood silent for a space. then he gave joanna his hand to arise, though it was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who had called herself his niece. "sir daniel," he said, "here is a right intricate affair, the which, with your good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust. content ye, then; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and in the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have your hurts attended. the air is shrewd, and i would not ye took cold upon these scratches." he made a sign with his hand; it was passed down the nave by obsequious servants, who waited there upon his smallest gesture. instantly, without the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal archers and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the colours and wearing the badge of lord risingham, began to file into the church, took dick and lawless from those who still detained them, and, closing their files about the prisoners, marched forth again and disappeared. as they were passing, joanna held both her hands to dick and cried him her farewell; and the bridesmaid, nothing downcast by her uncle's evident displeasure, blew him a kiss, with a "keep your heart up, lion-driver!" that for the first time since the accident called up a smile to the faces of the crowd. chapter v--earl risingham earl risingham, although by far the most important person then in shoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the extreme outskirts of the town. nothing but the armed men at the doors, and the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced the temporary residence of a great lord. thus it was that, from lack of space, dick and lawless were clapped into the same apartment. "well spoken, master richard," said the outlaw; "it was excellently well spoken, and, for my part, i thank you cordially. here we are in good hands; we shall be justly tried, and, some time this evening, decently hanged on the same tree." "indeed, my poor friend, i do believe it," answered dick. "yet have we a string to our bow," returned lawless. "ellis duckworth is a man out of ten thousand; he holdeth you right near his heart, both for your own and for your father's sake; and knowing you guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and heaven to bear you clear." "it may not be," said dick. "what can he do? he hath but a handful. alack, if it were but to-morrow--could i but keep a certain tryst an hour before noon to-morrow--all were, i think, otherwise. but now there is no help." "well," concluded lawless, "an ye will stand to it for my innocence, i will stand to it for yours, and that stoutly. it shall naught avail us; but an i be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing." and then, while dick gave himself over to his reflections, the old rogue curled himself down into a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, and composed himself to sleep. soon he was loudly snoring, so utterly had his long life of hardship and adventure blunted the sense of apprehension. it was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door was opened and dick taken forth and led up-stairs to where, in a warm cabinet, earl risingham sat musing over the fire. on his captive's entrance he looked up. "sir," he said, "i knew your father, who was a man of honour, and this inclineth me to be the more lenient; but i may not hide from you that heavy charges lie against your character. ye do consort with murderers and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have carried war against the king's peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye are found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy's house; a man is slain that very evening--" "an it like you, my lord," dick interposed, "i will at once avow my guilt, such as it is. i slew this fellow rutter; and to the proof"--searching in his bosom--"here is a letter from his wallet." lord risingham took the letter, and opened and read it twice. "ye have read this?" he inquired. "i have read it," answered dick. "are ye for york or lancaster?" the earl demanded. "my lord, it was but a little while back that i was asked that question, and knew not how to answer it," said dick; "but having answered once, i will not vary. my lord, i am for york." the earl nodded approvingly. "honestly replied," he said. "but wherefore, then, deliver me this letter?" "nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides arrayed?" cried dick. "i would they were, young gentleman," returned the earl; "and i do at least approve your saying. there is more youth than guile in you, i do perceive; and were not sir daniel a mighty man upon our side, i were half-tempted to espouse your quarrel. for i have inquired, and it appears ye have been hardly dealt with, and have much excuse. but look ye, sir, i am, before all else, a leader in the queen's interest; and though by nature a just man, as i believe, and leaning even to the excess of mercy, yet must i order my goings for my party's interest, and, to keep sir daniel, i would go far about." "my lord," returned dick, "ye will think me very bold to counsel you; but do ye count upon sir daniel's faith? methought he had changed sides intolerably often." "nay, it is the way of england. what would ye have?" the earl demanded. "but ye are unjust to the knight of tunstall; and as faith goes, in this unfaithful generation, he hath of late been honourably true to us of lancaster. even in our last reverses he stood firm." "an it pleased you, then," said dick, "to cast your eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change your thought of him;" and he handed to the earl sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale. the effect upon the earl's countenance was instant; he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. "ye have read this also?" he asked. "even so," said dick. "it is your lordship's own estate he offers to lord wensleydale?" "it is my own estate, even as ye say!" returned the earl. "i am your bedesman for this letter. it hath shown me a fox's hole. command me, master shelton; i will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with, york or lancaster, true man or thief, i do now set you at freedom. go, a mary's name! but judge it right that i retain and hang your fellow, lawless. the crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some open punishment should follow." "my lord, i make it my first suit to you to spare him also," pleaded dick. "it is an old, condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, master shelton," said the earl. "he hath been gallows-ripe this score of years. and, whether for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after, where is the great choice?" "yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither," answered dick, "and i were churlish and thankless to desert him." "master shelton, ye are troublesome," replied the earl, severely. "it is an evil way to prosper in this world. howbeit, and to be quit of your importunity, i will once more humour you. go, then, together; but go warily, and get swiftly out of shoreby town. for this sir daniel (whom may the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to have your blood." "my lord, i do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some brief date to pay you some of it in service," replied dick, as he turned from the apartment. chapter vi--arblaster again when dick and lawless were suffered to steal, by a back way, out of the house where lord risingham held his garrison, the evening had already come. they paused in shelter of the garden wall to consult on their best course. the danger was extreme. if one of sir daniel's men caught sight of them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and butchered instantly. and not only was the town of shoreby a mere net of peril for their lives, but to make for the open country was to run the risk of the patrols. a little way off, upon some open ground, they spied a windmill standing; and hard by that, a very large granary with open doors. "how if we lay there until the night fall?" dick proposed. and lawless having no better suggestion to offer, they made a straight push for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door among some straw. the daylight rapidly departed; and presently the moon was silvering the frozen snow. now or never was their opportunity to gain the goat and bagpipes unobserved and change their tell-tale garments. yet even then it was advisable to go round by the outskirts, and not run the gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the concourse of people, they stood the more imminent peril to be recognised and slain. this course was a long one. it took them not far from the house by the beach, now lying dark and silent, and brought them forth at last by the margin of the harbour. many of the ships, as they could see by the clear moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky, proceeded for more distant parts; answerably to this, the rude alehouses along the beach (although in defiance of the curfew law, they still shone with fire and candle) were no longer thronged with customers, and no longer echoed to the chorus of sea-songs. hastily, half-running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee, they plunged through the deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine lumber; and they were already more than half way round the harbour when, as they were passing close before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened and let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures. instantly they stopped, and made believe to be engaged in earnest conversation. three men, one after another, came out of the ale-house, and the last closed the door behind him. all three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood wavering in the moonlight, like men who knew not what they would be after. the tallest of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice. "seven pieces of as good gascony as ever a tapster broached," he was saying, "the best ship out o' the port o' dartmouth, a virgin mary parcel-gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money--" "i have bad losses, too," interrupted one of the others. "i have had losses of mine own, gossip arblaster. i was robbed at martinmas of five shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing." dick's heart smote him at what he heard. until that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss of the good hope; so careless, in those days, were men who wore arms of the goods and interests of their inferiors. but this sudden encounter reminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill-ending of his enterprise; and both he and lawless turned their heads the other way, to avoid the chance of recognition. the ship's dog had, however, made his escape from the wreck and found his way back again to shoreby. he was now at arblaster's heels, and suddenly sniffing and pricking his ears, he darted forward and began to bark furiously at the two sham friars. his master unsteadily followed him. "hey, shipmates!" he cried. "have ye ever a penny pie for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed by pirates? i am a man that would have paid for you both o' thursday morning; and now here i be, o' saturday night, begging for a flagon of ale! ask my man tom, if ye misdoubt me. seven pieces of good gascon wine, a ship that was mine own, and was my father's before me, a blessed mary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt, and thirteen pounds in gold and silver. hey! what say ye? a man that fought the french, too; for i have fought the french; i have cut more french throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails out of dartmouth. come, a penny piece." neither dick nor lawless durst answer him a word, lest he should recognise their voices; and they stood there as helpless as a ship ashore, not knowing where to turn nor what to hope. "are ye dumb, boy?" inquired the skipper. "mates," he added, with a hiccup, "they be dumb. i like not this manner of discourtesy; for an a man be dumb, so be as he's courteous, he will still speak when he was spoken to, methinks." by this time the sailor, tom, who was a man of great personal strength, seemed to have conceived some suspicion of these two speechless figures; and being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly before him, took lawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that he held his tongue. to this the outlaw, thinking all was over, made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand, and, calling upon dick to follow him, took to his heels among the lumber. the affair passed in a second. before dick could run at all, arblaster had him in his arms; tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one foot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above his head. it was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance, that now bowed down the spirits of young shelton; it was the profound humiliation to have escaped sir daniel, convinced lord risingham, and now fall helpless in the hands of this old, drunken sailor; and not merely helpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him when it was too late, actually guilty--actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he had stolen and lost. "bring me him back into the alehouse, till i see his face," said arblaster. "nay, nay," returned tom; "but let us first unload his wallet, lest the other lads cry share." but though he was searched from head to foot, not a penny was found upon him; nothing but lord foxham's signet, which they plucked savagely from his finger. "turn me him to the moon," said the skipper; and taking dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his head into the air. "blessed virgin!" he cried, "it is the pirate!" "hey!" cried tom. "by the virgin of bordeaux, it is the man himself!" repeated arblaster. "what, sea-thief, do i hold you?" he cried. "where is my ship? where is my wine? hey! have i you in my hands? tom, give me one end of a cord here; i will so truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot together, like a basting turkey--marry, i will so bind him up--and thereafter i will so beat--so beat him!" and so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about dick's limbs with the dexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull. when he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands--as helpless as the dead. the skipper held him at arm's length, and laughed aloud. then he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him about, and furiously kicked and kicked him. anger rose up in dick's bosom like a storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped him all his length upon the sand and turned to consult with his companions, he instantly regained command of his temper. here was a momentary respite; ere they began again to torture him, he might have found some method to escape from this degrading and fatal misadventure. presently, sure enough, and while his captors were still discussing what to do with him, he took heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, addressed them. "my masters," he began, "are ye gone clean foolish? here hath heaven put into your hands as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman had--such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not find again--and, by the mass i what do ye? beat me?--nay; so would an angry child! but for long-headed tarry-johns, that fear not fire nor water, and that love gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise." "ay," said tom, "now y' are trussed ye would cozen us." "cozen you!" repeated dick. "nay, if ye be fools, it would be easy. but if ye be shrewd fellows, as i trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your interest lies. when i took your ship from you, we were many, we were well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that array? one incontestably that hath much gold. and if he, being already rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face of storms--bethink you once more--shall there not be a treasure somewhere hidden?" "what meaneth he?" asked one of the men. "why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine," continued dick, "forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather buckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make or mar you for ever. but take me up from where i lie, and let us go somewhere near at hand and talk across a flagon, for i am sore and frozen, and my mouth is half among the snow." "he seeks but to cozen us," said tom, contemptuously. "cozen! cozen!" cried the third man. "i would i could see the man that could cozen me! he were a cozener indeed! nay, i was not born yesterday. i can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for my part, gossip arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man. shall we go hear him, indeed? say, shall we go hear him?" "i would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good master pirret," returned arblaster. "how say ye, tom? but then the wallet is empty." "i will pay," said the other--"i will pay. i would fain see this matter out; i do believe, upon my conscience, there is gold in it." "nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!" cried tom. "gossip arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too much liberty," returned master pirret. "would ye be led by a hired man? fy, fy!" "peace, fellow!" said arblaster, addressing tom. "will ye put your oar in? truly a fine pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper!" "well, then, go your way," said tom; "i wash my hands of you." "set him, then, upon his feet," said master pirret. "i know a privy place where we may drink and discourse." "if i am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at liberty," said dick, when he had been once more planted upright like a post. "he saith true," laughed pirret. "truly, he could not walk accoutred as he is. give it a slit--out with your knife and slit it, gossip." even arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his companion continued to insist, and dick had the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference of expression, and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied his prisoner's feet and legs. not only did this enable dick to walk; but the whole network of his bonds being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back begin to move more freely, and could hope, with time and trouble, to entirely disengage it. so much he owed already to the owlish silliness and greed of master pirret. that worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted them to the very same rude alehouse where lawless had taken arblaster on the day of the gale. it was now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, radiating the most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the landlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both pirret and arblaster stretched forth their legs and squared their elbows like men bent upon a pleasant hour. the table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a pair of barrels; and each of the four curiously-assorted cronies sat at one side of the square, pirret facing arblaster, and dick opposite to the common sailor. "and now, young man," said pirret, "to your tale. it doth appear, indeed, that ye have somewhat abused our gossip arblaster; but what then? make it up to him--show him but this chance to become wealthy--and i will go pledge he will forgive you." so far dick had spoken pretty much at random; but it was now necessary, under the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the all-important signet. to squander time was the first necessity. the longer his stay lasted, the more would his captors drink, and the surer should he be when he attempted his escape. well, dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much the tale of ali baba, with shoreby and tunstall forest substituted for the east, and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than diminished. as the reader is aware, it is an excellent story, and has but one drawback--that it is not true; and so, as these three simple shipmen now heard it for the first time, their eyes stood out of their faces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger's. pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while dick was still artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed the second. here was the position of the parties towards the end: arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his stool. even tom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated in proportion. meanwhile, dick had gradually wormed his right arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to risk all. "and so," said pirret, "y' are one of these?" "i was made so," replied dick, "against my will; but an i could but get a sack or two of gold coin to my share, i should be a fool indeed to continue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a soldier. here be we four; good! let us, then, go forth into the forest to-morrow ere the sun be up. could we come honestly by a donkey, it were better; but an we cannot, we have our four strong backs, and i warrant me we shall come home staggering." pirret licked his lips. "and this magic," he said--"this password, whereby the cave is opened--how call ye it, friend?" "nay, none know the word but the three chiefs," returned dick; "but here is your great good fortune, that, on this very evening, i should be the bearer of a spell to open it. it is a thing not trusted twice a year beyond the captain's wallet." "a spell!" said arblaster, half awakening, and squinting upon dick with one eye. "aroint thee! no spells! i be a good christian. ask my man tom, else." "nay, but this is white magic," said dick. "it doth naught with the devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets." "ay, ay," said pirret; "'tis but white magic, gossip. there is no sin therein, i do assure you. but proceed, good youth. this spell--in what should it consist?" "nay, that i will incontinently show you," answered dick. "have ye there the ring ye took from my finger? good! now hold it forth before you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm's-length, and over against the shining of these embers. 'tis so exactly. thus, then, is the spell." with a haggard glance, dick saw the coast was clear between him and the door. he put up an internal prayer. then whipping forth his arm, he made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman tom. he, poor soul, went down bawling under the ruins; and before arblaster understood that anything was wrong, or pirret could collect his dazzled wits, dick had run to the door and escaped into the moonlit night. the moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the open ground about the harbour bright as day; and young shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber, was a conspicuous figure from afar. tom and pirret followed him with shouts; from every drinking-shop they were joined by others whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole fleet of sailors was in full pursuit. but jack ashore was a bad runner, even in the fifteenth century, and dick, besides, had a start, which he rapidly improved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane, he even paused and looked laughingly behind him. upon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen of shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and tailing out rearward in isolated clumps. every man was shouting or screaming; every man was gesticulating with both arms in air; some one was continually falling; and to complete the picture, when one fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of him. the confused mass of sound which they rolled up as high as to the moon was partly comical and partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were hunting. in itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman in the port could run him down. but the mere volume of noise, in so far as it must awake all the sleepers in shoreby and bring all the skulking sentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the front. so, spying a dark doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into it, and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all red with hurry and white with tumbles in the snow. it was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion of the town by the harbour came to an end, and it was long before silence was restored. for long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting through the streets in all directions and in every quarter of the town. quarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than one dead body remained behind upon the snow. when, a full hour later, the last seaman returned grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was absolutely sure that he had now forgotten. by next morning there were many strange stories flying; and a little while after, the legend of the devil's nocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the lads of shoreby. but the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, set free young shelton from his cold imprisonment in the doorway. for some time after, there was a great activity of patrols; and special parties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or other of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually broken. the night was already well spent before dick ventured from his hiding-place and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the goat and bagpipes. as the law required, there was neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders, and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost in slumber. book v--crookback chapter i--the shrill trumpet very early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, dick arose, changed his garments, armed himself once more like a gentleman, and set forth for lawless's den in the forest. there, it will be remembered, he had left lord foxham's papers; and to get these and be back in time for the tryst with the young duke of gloucester could only be managed by an early start and the most vigorous walking. the frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril. the moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear and cheerful. there was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least temptation to delay. dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between shoreby and the forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred yards below the cross of st. bride, when, through the stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he thought he had never heard the match of it for audibility. it was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time; and then the clash of steel succeeded. at this young shelton pricked his ears, and drawing his sword, ran forward up the hill. presently he came in sight of the cross, and was aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road before it. there were seven or eight assailants, and but one to keep head against them; but so active and dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge and scatter his opponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the whole in check. still, it was by a miracle that he continued his defence, and at any moment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life would be a forfeit. "hold ye well, sir! here is help!" cried richard; and forgetting that he was alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular, "to the arrow! to the arrow!" he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants. these were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at this surprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon dick. four against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; the sparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell--in the stir of the fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the head, and though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill sail. meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced trumpet that began the alarm. next moment, indeed, his foes were on him, and he was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to his knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand, with the same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed. but that ear-piercing summons had been heard at last. there was a muffled rushing in the snow; and in a good hour for dick, who saw the sword-points glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or his sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to speak, a passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after another from their perches, and had presently doubled the array. the original assailants; seeing themselves outnumbered and surrounded, threw down their arms without a word. "seize me these fellows!" said the hero of the trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he drew near to dick and looked him in the face. dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find in one who had displayed such strength, skill and energy, a lad no older than himself--slightly deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance. { } the eyes, however, were very clear and bold. "sir," said this lad, "ye came in good time for me, and none too early." "my lord," returned dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence of a great personage, "ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman that i believe ye had managed them single-handed. howbeit, it was certainly well for me that your men delayed no longer than they did." "how knew ye who i was?" demanded the stranger. "even now, my lord," dick answered, "i am ignorant of whom i speak with." "is it so?" asked the other. "and yet ye threw yourself head first into this unequal battle." "i saw one man valiantly contending against many," replied dick, "and i had thought myself dishonoured not to bear him aid." a singular sneer played about the young nobleman's mouth as he made answer: "these are very brave words. but to the more essential--are ye lancaster or york?" "my lord, i make no secret; i am clear for york," dick answered. "by the mass!" replied the other, "it is well for you." and so saying, he turned towards one of his followers. "let me see," he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones--"let me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen. truss me them up." there were but five survivors of the attacking party. archers seized them by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each placed below a tree of suitable dimension; the rope was adjusted; an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead; and before a minute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five men were swinging by the neck. "and now," cried the deformed leader, "back to your posts, and when i summon you next, be readier to attend." "my lord duke," said one man, "beseech you, tarry not here alone. keep but a handful of lances at your hand." "fellow," said the duke, "i have forborne to chide you for your slowness. cross me not, therefore. i trust my hand and arm, for all that i be crooked. ye were backward when the trumpet sounded; and ye are now too forward with your counsels. but it is ever so; last with the lance and first with tongue. let it be reversed." and with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he waved them off. the footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different directions, under the cover of the forest. the day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade. the first grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young men, who now turned once more to face each other. "here," said the duke, "ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready. but i would not have you, for all christendom, suppose me thankless. you that came to my aid with a good sword and a better courage--unless that ye recoil from my misshapenness--come to my heart." and so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace. in the bottom of his heart dick already entertained a great terror and some hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so worded that it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, to refuse or hesitate; and he hastened to comply. "and now, my lord duke," he said, when he had regained his freedom, "do i suppose aright? are ye my lord duke of gloucester?" "i am richard of gloucester," returned the other. "and you--how call they you?" dick told him his name, and presented lord foxham's signet, which the duke immediately recognised. "ye come too soon," he said; "but why should i complain? ye are like me, that was here at watch two hours before the day. but this is the first sally of mine arms; upon this adventure, master shelton, shall i make or mar the quality of my renown. there lie mine enemies, under two old, skilled captains--risingham and brackley--well posted for strength, i do believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the sea, the harbour, and the river. methinks, shelton, here were a great blow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly." "i do think so, indeed," cried dick, warming. "have ye my lord foxham's notes?" inquired the duke. and then, dick, having explained how he was without them for the moment, made himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own knowledge. "and for mine own part, my lord duke," he added, "an ye had men enough, i would fall on even at this present. for, look ye, at the peep of day the watches of the night are over; but by day they keep neither watch nor ward--only scour the outskirts with horsemen. now, then, when the night watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their morning cup--now were the time to break them." "how many do ye count?" asked gloucester. "they number not two thousand," dick replied. "i have seven hundred in the woods behind us," said the duke; "seven hundred follow from kettley, and will be here anon; behind these, and further, are four hundred more; and my lord foxham hath five hundred half a day from here, at holywood. shall we attend their coming, or fall on?" "my lord," said dick, "when ye hanged these five poor rogues ye did decide the question. churls although they were, in these uneasy, times they will be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given. therefore, my lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a surprise, ye have not, in my poor opinion, one whole hour in front of you." "i do think so indeed," returned crookback. "well, before an hour, ye shall be in the thick on't, winning spurs. a swift man to holywood, carrying lord foxham's signet; another along the road to speed my laggards! nay, shelton, by the rood, it may be done!" therewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips and blew. this time he was not long kept waiting. in a moment the open space about the cross was filled with horse and foot. richard of gloucester took his place upon the steps, and despatched messenger after messenger to hasten the concentration of the seven hundred men that lay hidden in the immediate neighbourhood among the woods; and before a quarter of an hour had passed, all his dispositions being taken, he put himself at their head, and began to move down the hill towards shoreby. his plan was simple. he was to seize a quarter of the town of shoreby lying on the right hand of the high road, and make his position good there in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed. if lord risingham chose to retreat, richard would follow upon his rear, and take him between two fires; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he would be shut in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force of numbers. there was but one danger, but that was imminent and great--gloucester's seven hundred might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first encounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to make the surprise of their arrival as complete as possible. the footmen, therefore, were all once more taken up behind the riders, and dick had the signal honour meted out to him of mounting behind gloucester himself. for as far as there was any cover the troops moved slowly, and when they came near the end of the trees that lined the highway, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre. the sun was now well up, shining with a frosty brightness out of a yellow halo, and right over against the luminary, shoreby, a field of snowy roofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning smoke. gloucester turned round to dick. "in that poor place," he said, "where people are cooking breakfast, either you shall gain your spurs and i begin a life of mighty honour and glory in the world's eye, or both of us, as i conceive it, shall fall dead and be unheard of. two richards are we. well, then, richard shelton, they shall be heard about, these two! their swords shall not ring more loudly on men's helmets than their names shall ring in people's ears." dick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, expressed with so great vehemence of voice and language, and he answered very sensibly and quietly, that, for his part, he promised he would do his duty, and doubted not of victory if everyone did the like. by this time the horses were well breathed, and the leader holding up his sword and giving rein, the whole troop of chargers broke into the gallop and thundered, with their double load of fighting men, down the remainder of the hill and across the snow-covered plain that still divided them from shoreby. chapter ii--the battle of shoreby the whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile. but they had no sooner debauched beyond the cover of the trees than they were aware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy meadows upon either hand. almost at the same moment a great rumour began to arise, and spread and grow continually louder in the town; and they were not yet halfway to the nearest house before the bells began to ring backward from the steeple. the young duke ground his teeth together. by these so early signals of alarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a footing in the town, he knew that his small party would soon be broken and exterminated in the open. in the town, however, the lancastrians were far from being in so good a posture. it was as dick had said. the night-guard had already doffed their harness; the rest were still hanging--unlatched, unbraced, all unprepared for battle--about their quarters; and in the whole of shoreby there were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers ready to be mounted. the beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran about the streets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short space at least two score out of that half hundred. these got speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and contrary, galloped in different directions. thus it befell that, when richard of gloucester reached the first house of shoreby, he was met in the mouth of the street by a mere handful of lances, whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases the bark. a hundred paces into the town, dick shelton touched the duke's arm; the duke, in answer, gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his mouth, and blowing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out of the direct advance. swerving like a single rider, his whole command turned after him, and, still at the full gallop of the chargers, swept up the narrow bye-street. only the last score of riders drew rein and faced about in the entrance; the footmen, whom they carried behind them, leapt at the same instant to the earth, and began, some to bend their bows, and others to break into and secure the houses upon either hand. surprised at this sudden change of direction, and daunted by the firm front of the rear-guard, the few lancastrians, after a momentary consultation, turned and rode farther into town to seek for reinforcements. the quarter of the town upon which, by the advice of dick, richard of gloucester had now seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and ill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying open towards the back. the five streets being each secured by a good guard, the reserve would thus occupy the centre, out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever it was needed. such was the poorness of the neighbourhood that none of the lancastrian lords, and but few of their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the inhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, squalling, along the streets or over garden walls. in the centre, where the five ways all met, a somewhat ill-favoured alehouse displayed the sign of the chequers; and here the duke of gloucester chose his headquarters for the day. to dick he assigned the guard of one of the five streets. "go," he said, "win your spurs. win glory for me: one richard for another. i tell you, if i rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder. go," he added, shaking him by the hand. but, as soon as dick was gone, he turned to a little shabby archer at his elbow. "go, dutton, and that right speedily," he added. "follow that lad. if ye find him faithful, ye answer for his safety, a head for a head. woe unto you, if ye return without him! but if he be faithless--or, for one instant, ye misdoubt him--stab him from behind." in the meanwhile dick hastened to secure his post. the street he had to guard was very narrow, and closely lined with houses, which projected and overhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, since it opened upon the market-place of the town, the main issue of the battle would probably fall to be decided on that spot. the market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in disorder; but there was as yet no sign of any foeman ready to attack, and dick judged he had some time before him to make ready his defence. the two houses at the end stood deserted, with open doors, as the inhabitants had left them in their flight, and from these he had the furniture hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of the lane. a hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of these he threw the more part into the houses, where they might lie in shelter and deliver their arrows from the windows. with the rest, under his own immediate eye, he lined the barricade. meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had continued to prevail throughout the town; and what with the hurried clashing of bells, the sounding of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the cries of the commanders, and the shrieks of women, the noise was almost deafening to the ear. presently, little by little, the tumult began to subside; and soon after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers began to assemble and form in line of battle in the market-place. a large portion of this body were in murrey and blue, and in the mounted knight who ordered their array dick recognised sir daniel brackley. then there befell a long pause, which was followed by the almost simultaneous sounding of four trumpets from four different quarters of the town. a fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and at the same moment the files began to move, and a shower of arrows rattled about the barricade, and sounded like blows upon the walls of the two flanking houses. the attack had begun, by a common signal, on all the five issues of the quarter. gloucester was beleaguered upon every side; and dick judged, if he would make good his post, he must rely entirely on the hundred men of his command. seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other, and in the very thick of the discharges dick was touched from behind upon the arm, and found a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with bright plates of mail. "it is from my lord of gloucester," said the page. "he hath observed, sir richard, that ye went unarmed." dick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, got to his feet and, with the assistance of the page, donned the defensive coat. even as he did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third struck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet. meantime the whole body of the enemy had been steadily drawing nearer across the market-place; and by this time were so close at hand that dick gave the order to return their shot. immediately, from behind the barrier and from the windows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows sped, carrying death. but the lancastrians, as if they had but waited for a signal, shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run upon the barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with visors lowered. then followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, hand to hand. the assailants, wielding their falchions with one hand, strove with the other to drag down the structure of the barricade. on the other side, the parts were reversed; and the defenders exposed themselves like madmen to protect their rampart. so for some minutes the contest raged almost in silence, friend and foe falling one upon another. but it is always the easier to destroy; and when a single note upon the tucket recalled the attacking party from this desperate service, much of the barricade had been removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to half its height, and tottered to a general fall. and now the footmen in the market-place fell back, at a run, on every side. the horsemen, who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled suddenly, and made their flank into their front; and as swift as a striking adder, the long, steel-clad column was launched upon the ruinous barricade. of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, and was ridden down by his companions. the second leaped clean upon the summit of the rampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance. almost in the same instant he was dragged from the saddle and his horse despatched. and then the full weight and impetus of the charge burst upon and scattered the defenders. the men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen comrades, and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed through dick's broken line and poured thundering up the lane beyond, as a stream bestrides and pours across a broken dam. yet was the fight not over. still, in the narrow jaws of the entrance, dick and a few survivors plied their bills like woodmen; and already, across the width of the passage, there had been formed a second, a higher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men and disembowelled horses, lashing in the agonies of death. baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the cavalry fell back; and as, at the sight of this movement, the flight of arrows redoubled from the casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment, almost degenerated into flight. almost at the same time, those who had crossed the barricade and charged farther up the street, being met before the door of the chequers by the formidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the yorkists, began to come scattering backward, in the excess of disarray and terror. dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured out of the houses; a cruel blast of arrows met the fugitives full in the face, while gloucester was already riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute and a half there was no living lancastrian in the street. then, and not till then, did dick hold up his reeking blade and give the word to cheer. meanwhile gloucester dismounted from his horse and came forward to inspect the post. his face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in his head like some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse and broken with the exultation of battle and success. he looked at the rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now approach without precaution, so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of death, and at the sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one side. "despatch these horses," he said; "they keep you from your vantage. richard shelton," he added, "ye have pleased me. kneel." the lancastrians had already resumed their archery, and the shafts fell thick in the mouth of the street; but the duke, minding them not at all, deliberately drew his sword and dubbed richard a knight upon the spot. "and now, sir richard," he continued, "if that ye see lord risingham, send me an express upon the instant. were it your last man, let me hear of it incontinently. i had rather venture the post than lose my stroke at him. for mark me, all of ye," he added, raising his voice, "if earl risingham fall by another hand than mine, i shall count this victory a defeat." "my lord duke," said one of his attendants, "is your grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneedfully? why tarry we here?" "catesby," returned the duke, "here is the battle, not elsewhere. the rest are but feigned onslaughts. here must we vanquish. and for the exposure--if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you upon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory worth a life. howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other posts. sir richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry, where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. him can we trust. but mark it, sir richard, ye are not yet done. the worst is yet to ward. sleep not." he came right up to young shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and taking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the blood had nearly spurted. dick quailed before his eyes. the insane excitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein filled him with dismay about the future. this young duke's was indeed a gallant spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in the days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it was to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of death. chapter iii--the battle of shoreby (concluded) dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him. the arrow-shot had somewhat slackened. on all sides the enemy were falling back; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered all over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered arrows. on his own side the loss had been cruel. the jaws of the little street and the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and out of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not seventy left who could still stand to arms. at the same time, the day was passing. the first reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any moment; and the lancastrians, already shaken by the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an ill temper to support a fresh invader. there was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and this, in the frosty winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon. dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant archer, binding a cut in his arm. "it was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge us twice." "sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought right well for york, and better for yourself. never hath man in so brief space prevailed so greatly on the duke's affections. that he should have entrusted such a post to one he knew not is a marvel. but look to your head, sir richard! if ye be vanquished--ay, if ye give way one foot's breadth--axe or cord shall punish it; and i am set if ye do aught doubtful, i will tell you honestly, here to stab you from behind." dick looked at the little man in amaze. "you!" he cried. "and from behind!" "it is right so," returned the archer; "and because i like not the affair i tell it you. ye must make the post good, sir richard, at your peril. o, our crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior; but, whether in cold blood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to his commandment. if any fail or hinder, they shall die the death." "now, by the saints!" cried richard, "is this so? and will men follow such a leader?" "nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the other; "for if he be exact to punish, he is most open-handed to reward. and if he spare not the blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the first front of battle, still the last to sleep. he will go far, will crookback dick o' gloucester!" the young knight, if he had before been brave and vigilant, was now all the more inclined to watchfulness and courage. his sudden favour, he began to perceive, had brought perils in its train. and he turned from the archer, and once more scanned anxiously the market-place. it lay empty as before. "i like not this quietude," he said. "doubtless they prepare us some surprise." and, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began once more to advance against the barricade, and the arrows to fall thick. but there was something hesitating in the attack. they came not on roundly, but seemed rather to await a further signal. dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden danger. and sure enough, about half way up the little street, a door was suddenly opened from within, and the house continued, for some seconds, and both by door and window, to disgorge a torrent of lancastrian archers. these, as they leaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, bent their bows, and proceeded to pour upon dick's rear a flight of arrows. at the same time, the assailants in the market-place redoubled their shot, and began to close in stoutly upon the barricade. dick called down his whole command out of the houses, and facing them both ways, and encouraging their valour both by word and gesture, returned as best he could the double shower of shafts that fell about his post. meanwhile house after house was opened in the street, and the lancastrians continued to pour out of the doors and leap down from the windows, shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon dick's rear was almost equal to the number in his face. it was plain that he could hold the post no longer; what was worse, even if he could have held it, it had now become useless; and the whole yorkist army lay in a posture of helplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster. the men behind him formed the vital flaw in the general defence; and it was upon these that dick turned, charging at the head of his men. so vigorous was the attack, that the lancastrian archers gave ground and staggered, and, at last, breaking their ranks, began to crowd back into the houses from which they had so recently and so vaingloriously sallied. meanwhile the men from the market-place had swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell on hotly upon the other side; and dick must once again face about, and proceed to drive them back. once again the spirit of his men prevailed; they cleared the street in a triumphant style, but even as they did so the others issued again out of the houses, and took them, a third time, upon the rear. the yorkists began to be scattered; several times dick found himself alone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several times he was conscious of a hurt. and meanwhile the fight swayed to and fro in the street without determinate result. suddenly dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the town. the war-cry of york began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many and triumphant voices. and at the same time the men in front of him began to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon the market-place. some one gave the word to fly. trumpets were blown distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge. it was plain that a great blow had been struck, and the lancastrians were thrown, at least for the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic. and then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of shoreby battle. the men in front of richard turned tail, like a dog that has been whistled home, and fled like the wind. at the same moment there came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing, the lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the yorkists riding them down at the point of the lance. conspicuous in the mellay, dick beheld the crookback. he was already giving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way across the ranks of war, which, years afterwards upon the field of bosworth, and when he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes of the day and the destiny of the english throne. evading, striking, riding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly defended himself, and so liberally scattered death to his opponents, that he was now far ahead of the foremost of his knights, hewing his way, with the truncheon of a bloody sword, to where lord risingham was rallying the bravest. a moment more and they had met; the tall, splendid, and famous warrior against the deformed and sickly boy. yet shelton had never a doubt of the result; and when the fight next opened for a moment, the figure of the earl had disappeared; but still, in the first of the danger, crookback dick was launching his big horse and plying the truncheon of his sword. thus, by shelton's courage in holding the mouth of the street against the first attack, and by the opportune arrival of his seven hundred reinforcements, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the execration of posterity under the name of richard iii., had won his first considerable fight. chapter iv--the sack of shoreby there was not a foe left within striking distance; and dick, as he looked ruefully about him on the remainder of his gallant force, began to count the cost of victory. he was himself, now that the danger was ended, so stiff and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, above all, so utterly exhausted by his desperate and unremitting labours in the fight, that he seemed incapable of any fresh exertion. but this was not yet the hour for repose. shoreby had been taken by assault; and though an open town, and not in any manner to be charged with the resistance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be not less rough now that the fight was over, and that the more horrid part of war would fall to be enacted. richard of gloucester was not the captain to protect the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and even if he had the will, it might be questioned if he had the power. it was, therefore, dick's business to find and to protect joanna; and with that end he looked about him at the faces of his men. the three or four who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drew aside; and promising them a rich reward and a special recommendation to the duke, led them across the market-place, now empty of horsemen, and into the streets upon the further side. every here and there small combats of from two to a dozen still raged upon the open street; here and there a house was being besieged, the defenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants. the snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but except for these partial combats the streets were deserted, and the houses, some standing open, and some shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased to give out smoke. dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led his followers briskly in the direction of the abbey church; but when he came the length of the main street, a cry of horror broke from his lips. sir daniel's great house had been carried by assault. the gates hung in splinters from the hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and out through the entrance, seeking and carrying booty. meanwhile, in the upper storeys, some resistance was still being offered to the pillagers; for just as dick came within eyeshot of the building, a casement was burst open from within, and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and resisting, was forced through the embrasure and tossed into the street below. the most sickening apprehension fell upon dick. he ran forward like one possessed, forced his way into the house among the foremost, and mounted without pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had last parted from joanna. it was a mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, the cupboards broken open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arras lay smouldering on the embers of the fire. dick, almost without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, and then stood bewildered. sir daniel, sir oliver, joanna, all were gone; but whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from shoreby, who should say? he caught a passing archer by the tabard. "fellow," he asked, "were ye here when this house was taken?" "let be," said the archer. "a murrain! let be, or i strike." "hark ye," returned richard, "two can play at that. stand and be plain." but the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck dick upon the shoulder with one hand, while with the other he twitched away his garment. thereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst from his control. he seized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed him on the plates of his mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him at arm's length, he bid him speak as he valued life. "i pray you mercy!" gasped the archer. "an i had thought ye were so angry i would 'a' been charier of crossing you. i was here indeed." "know ye sir daniel?" pursued dick. "well do i know him," returned the man. "was he in the mansion?" "ay, sir, he was," answered the archer; "but even as we entered by the yard gate he rode forth by the garden." "alone?" cried dick. "he may 'a' had a score of lances with him," said the man. "lances! no women, then?" asked shelton. "troth, i saw not," said the archer. "but there were none in the house, if that be your quest." "i thank you," said dick. "here is a piece for your pains." but groping in his wallet, dick found nothing. "inquire for me to-morrow," he added--"richard shelt--sir richard shelton," he corrected, "and i will see you handsomely rewarded." and then an idea struck dick. he hastily descended to the courtyard, ran with all his might across the garden, and came to the great door of the church. it stood wide open; within, every corner of the pavement was crowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded by their families and laden with the most precious of their possessions, while, at the high altar, priests in full canonicals were imploring the mercy of god. even as dick entered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the vaulted roofs. he hurried through the groups of refugees, and came to the door of the stair that led into the steeple. and here a tall churchman stepped before him and arrested his advance. "whither, my son?" he asked, severely. "my father," answered dick, "i am here upon an errand of expedition. stay me not. i command here for my lord of gloucester." "for my lord of gloucester?" repeated the priest. "hath, then, the battle gone so sore?" "the battle, father, is at an end, lancaster clean sped, my lord of risingham--heaven rest him!--left upon the field. and now, with your good leave, i follow mine affairs." and thrusting on one side the priest, who seemed stupefied at the news, dick pushed open the door and rattled up the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or stumble, till he stepped upon the open platform at the top. shoreby church tower not only commanded the town, as in a map, but looked far, on both sides, over sea and land. it was now near upon noon; the day exceeding bright, the snow dazzling. and as dick looked around him, he could measure the consequences of the battle. a confused, growling uproar reached him from the streets, and now and then, but very rarely, the clash of steel. not a ship, not so much as a skiff remained in harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails and row-boats laden with fugitives. on shore, too, the surface of the snowy meadows was broken up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their way towards the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of the yorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating them back upon the town. over all the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen men and horses, clearly defined upon the snow. to complete the picture, those of the foot soldiers as had not found place upon a ship still kept up an archery combat on the borders of the port, and from the cover of the shoreside taverns. in that quarter, also, one or two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high in the frosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous folds. already close upon the margin of the woods, and somewhat in the line of holywood, one particular clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention of the young watcher on the tower. it was fairly numerous; in no other quarter of the field did so many lancastrians still hold together; thus they had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, and dick was able to trace them step by step from where they had left the town. while dick stood watching them, they had gained, unopposed, the first fringe of the leafless forest, and, turning a little from their direction, the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it was relieved against the dusky wood. "murrey and blue!" cried dick. "i swear it--murrey and blue!" the next moment he was descending the stairway. it was now his business to seek out the duke of gloucester, who alone, in the disorder of the forces, might be able to supply him with a sufficiency of men. the fighting in the main town was now practically at an end; and as dick ran hither and thither, seeking the commander, the streets were thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with more booty than they could well stagger under, others shouting drunk. none of them, when questioned, had the least notion of the duke's whereabouts; and, at last, it was by sheer good fortune that dick found him, where he sat in the saddle directing operations to dislodge the archers from the harbour side. "sir richard shelton, ye are well found," he said. "i owe you one thing that i value little, my life; and one that i can never pay you for, this victory. catesby, if i had ten such captains as sir richard, i would march forthright on london. but now, sir, claim your reward." "freely, my lord," said dick, "freely and loudly. one hath escaped to whom i owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom i owe love and service. give me, then, fifty lances, that i may pursue; and for any obligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean discharged." "how call ye him?" inquired the duke. "sir daniel brackley," answered richard. "out upon him, double-face!" cried gloucester. "here is no reward, sir richard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to me, a fresh debt upon my conscience. catesby, get him these lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit it shall be mine to give you." just then the yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns, swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its defenders. crookback dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and pushing his horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners. there were four or five of them--two men of my lord shoreby's and one of lord risingham's among the number, and last, but in dick's eyes not least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober, and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels. the young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review. "good," he said. "hang them." and he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight. "my lord," said dick, "so please you, i have found my reward. grant me the life and liberty of yon old shipman." gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face. "sir richard," he said, "i make not war with peacock's feathers, but steel shafts. those that are mine enemies i slay, and that without excuse or favour. for, bethink ye, in this realm of england, that is so torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or a friend upon the other party. if, then, i did begin to grant these pardons, i might sheathe my sword." "it may be so, my lord; and yet i will be overbold, and at the risk of your disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied dick. richard of gloucester flushed. "mark it right well," he said, harshly. "i love not mercy, nor yet mercymongers. ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune. if ye oppose to me my word, which i have plighted, i will yield. but, by the glory of heaven, there your favour dies! "mine is the loss," said dick. "give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turned his back upon young shelton. dick was nor glad nor sorry. he had seen too much of the young duke to set great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his own favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence. one thing alone he feared--that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer of the lances. but here he did justice neither to gloucester's honour (such as it was) nor, above all, to his decision. if he had once judged dick to be the right man to pursue sir daniel, he was not one to change; and he soon proved it by shouting after catesby to be speedy, for the paladin was waiting. in the meanwhile, dick turned to the old shipman, who had seemed equally indifferent to his condemnation and to his subsequent release. "arblaster," said dick, "i have done you ill; but now, by the rood, i think i have cleared the score." but the old skipper only looked upon him dully and held his peace. "come," continued dick, "a life is a life, old shrew, and it is more than ships or liquor. say ye forgive me; for if your life be worth nothing to you, it hath cost me the beginnings of my fortune. come, i have paid for it dearly; be not so churlish." "an i had had my ship," said arblaster, "i would 'a' been forth and safe on the high seas--i and my man tom. but ye took my ship, gossip, and i'm a beggar; and for my man tom, a knave fellow in russet shot him down. 'murrain!' quoth he, and spake never again. 'murrain' was the last of his words, and the poor spirit of him passed. 'a will never sail no more, will my tom.'" dick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; he sought to take the skipper's hand, but arblaster avoided his touch. "nay," said he, "let be. y' have played the devil with me, and let that content you." the words died in richard's throat. he saw, through tears, the poor old man, bemused with liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head, across the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at his heels, and for the first time began to understand the desperate game that we play in life; and how a thing once done is not to be changed or remedied, by any penitence. but there was no time left to him for vain regret. catesby had now collected the horsemen, and riding up to dick he dismounted, and offered him his own horse. "this morning," he said, "i was somewhat jealous of your favour; it hath not been of a long growth; and now, sir richard, it is with a very good heart that i offer you this horse--to ride away with." "suffer me yet a moment," replied dick. "this favour of mine--whereupon was it founded?" "upon your name," answered catesby. "it is my lord's chief superstition. were my name richard, i should be an earl to-morrow." "well, sir, i thank you," returned dick; "and since i am little likely to follow these great fortunes, i will even say farewell. i will not pretend i was displeased to think myself upon the road to fortune; but i will not pretend, neither, that i am over-sorry to be done with it. command and riches, they are brave things, to be sure; but a word in your ear--yon duke of yours, he is a fearsome lad." catesby laughed. "nay," said he, "of a verity he that rides with crooked dick will ride deep. well, god keep us all from evil! speed ye well." thereupon dick put himself at the head of his men, and giving the word of command, rode off. he made straight across the town, following what he supposed to be the route of sir daniel, and spying around for any signs that might decide if he were right. the streets were strewn with the dead and the wounded, whose fate, in the bitter frost, was far the more pitiable. gangs of the victors went from house to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes singing together as they went. from different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds of violence and outrage came to young shelton's ears; now the blows of the sledge-hammer on some barricaded door, and now the miserable shrieks of women. dick's heart had just been awakened. he had just seen the cruel consequences of his own behaviour; and the thought of the sum of misery that was now acting in the whole of shoreby filled him with despair. at length he reached the outskirts, and there, sure enough, he saw straight before him the same broad, beaten track across the snow that he had marked from the summit of the church. here, then, he went the faster on; but still, as he rode, he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men and horses that lay beside the track. many of these, he was relieved to see, wore sir daniel's colours, and the faces of some, who lay upon their back, he even recognised. about half-way between the town and the forest, those whom he was following had plainly been assailed by archers; for the corpses lay pretty closely scattered, each pierced by an arrow. and here dick spied among the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was somehow hauntingly familiar to him. he halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad's head. as he did so, the hood fell back, and a profusion of long brown hair unrolled itself. at the same time the eyes opened. "ah! lion driver!" said a feeble voice. "she is farther on. ride--ride fast!" and then the poor young lady fainted once again. one of dick's men carried a flask of some strong cordial, and with this dick succeeded in reviving consciousness. then he took joanna's friend upon his saddlebow, and once more pushed toward the forest. "why do ye take me?" said the girl. "ye but delay your speed." "nay, mistress risingham," replied dick. "shoreby is full of blood and drunkenness and riot. here ye are safe; content ye." "i will not be beholden to any of your faction," she cried; "set me down." "madam, ye know not what ye say," returned dick. "y' are hurt"-- "i am not," she said. "it was my horse was slain." "it matters not one jot," replied richard. "ye are here in the midst of open snow, and compassed about with enemies. whether ye will or not, i carry you with me. glad am i to have the occasion; for thus shall i repay some portion of our debt." for a little while she was silent. then, very suddenly, she asked: "my uncle?" "my lord risingham?" returned dick. "i would i had good news to give you, madam; but i have none. i saw him once in the battle, and once only. let us hope the best." chapter v--night in the woods: alicia risingham it was almost certain that sir daniel had made for the moat house; but, considering the heavy snow, the lateness of the hour, and the necessity under which he would lie of avoiding the few roads and striking across the wood, it was equally certain that he could not hope to reach it ere the morrow. there were two courses open to dick; either to continue to follow in the knight's trail, and, if he were able, to fall upon him that very night in camp, or to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself between sir daniel and his destination. either scheme was open to serious objection, and dick, who feared to expose joanna to the hazards of a fight, had not yet decided between them when he reached the borders of the wood. at this point sir daniel had turned a little to his left, and then plunged straight under a grove of very lofty timber. his party had then formed to a narrower front, in order to pass between the trees, and the track was trod proportionally deeper in the snow. the eye followed it under the leafless tracery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; the trees stood over it, with knotty joints and the great, uplifted forest of their boughs; there was no sound, whether of man or beast--not so much as the stirring of a robin; and over the field of snow the winter sun lay golden among netted shadows. "how say ye," asked dick of one of the men, "to follow straight on, or strike across for tunstall?" "sir richard," replied the man-at-arms, "i would follow the line until they scatter." "ye are, doubtless, right," returned dick; "but we came right hastily upon the errand, even as the time commanded. here are no houses, neither for food nor shelter, and by the morrow's dawn we shall know both cold fingers and an empty belly. how say ye, lads? will ye stand a pinch for expedition's sake, or shall we turn by holywood and sup with mother church? the case being somewhat doubtful, i will drive no man; yet if ye would suffer me to lead you, ye would choose the first." the men answered, almost with one voice, that they would follow sir richard where he would. and dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more to go forward. the snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, and the pursuers had thus a great advantage over the pursued. they pushed on, indeed, at a round trot, two hundred hoofs beating alternately on the dull pavement of the snow, and the jingle of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a warlike noise along the arches of the silent wood. presently, the wide slot of the pursued came out upon the high road from holywood; it was there, for a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it once more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, dick was surprised to see it narrower and lighter trod. plainly, profiting by the road, sir daniel had begun already to scatter his command. at all hazards, one chance being equal to another, dick continued to pursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour's riding, in which it led into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting shell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of the compass. dick drew bridle in despair. the short winter's day was near an end; the sun, a dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the leafless thickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit cruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam of the horses mounted in a cloud. "well, we are outwitted," dick confessed. "strike we for holywood, after all. it is still nearer us than tunstall--or should be by the station of the sun." so they wheeled to their left, turning their backs on the red shield of sun, and made across country for the abbey. but now times were changed with them; they could no longer spank forth briskly on a path beaten firm by the passage of their foes, and for a goal to which that path itself conducted them. now they must plough at a dull pace through the encumbering snow, continually pausing to decide their course, continually floundering in drifts. the sun soon left them; the glow of the west decayed; and presently they were wandering in a shadow of blackness, under frosty stars. presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hilltops, and they might resume their march. but till then, every random step might carry them wider of their march. there was nothing for it but to camp and wait. sentries were posted; a spot of ground was cleared of snow, and, after some failures, a good fire blazed in the midst. the men-at-arms sat close about this forest hearth, sharing such provisions as they had, and passing about the flask; and dick, having collected the most delicate of the rough and scanty fare, brought it to lord risingham's niece, where she sat apart from the soldiery against a tree. she sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, and stared straight before her at the firelit scene. at the offer of food she started, like one wakened from a dream, and then silently refused. "madam," said dick, "let me beseech you, punish me not so cruelly. wherein i have offended you, i know not; i have, indeed, carried you away, but with a friendly violence; i have, indeed, exposed you to the inclemency of night, but the hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the preservation of another, who is no less frail and no less unfriended than yourself. at least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for hunger, then for strength." "i will eat nothing at the hands that slew my kinsman," she replied. "dear madam," dick cried, "i swear to you upon the rood i touched him not." "swear to me that he still lives," she returned. "i will not palter with you," answered dick. "pity bids me to wound you. in my heart i do believe him dead." "and ye ask me to eat!" she cried. "ay, and they call you 'sir!' y' have won your spurs by my good kinsman's murder. and had i not been fool and traitor both, and saved you in your enemy's house, ye should have died the death, and he--he that was worth twelve of you--were living." "i did but my man's best, even as your kinsman did upon the other party," answered dick. "were he still living--as i vow to heaven i wish it!--he would praise, not blame me." "sir daniel hath told me," she replied. "he marked you at the barricade. upon you, he saith, their party foundered; it was you that won the battle. well, then, it was you that killed my good lord risingham, as sure as though ye had strangled him. and ye would have me eat with you--and your hands not washed from killing? but sir daniel hath sworn your downfall. he 'tis that will avenge me!" the unfortunate dick was plunged in gloom. old arblaster returned upon his mind, and he groaned aloud. "do ye hold me so guilty?" he said; "you that defended me--you that are joanna's friend?" "what made ye in the battle?" she retorted. "y' are of no party; y' are but a lad--but legs and body, without government of wit or counsel! wherefore did ye fight? for the love of hurt, pardy!" "nay," cried dick, "i know not. but as the realm of england goes, if that a poor gentleman fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight upon the other. he may not stand alone; 'tis not in nature." "they that have no judgment should not draw the sword," replied the young lady. "ye that fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher? war is but noble by the cause, and y' have disgraced it." "madam," said the miserable dick, "i do partly see mine error. i have made too much haste; i have been busy before my time. already i stole a ship--thinking, i do swear it, to do well--and thereby brought about the death of many innocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man whose face this very day hath stabbed me like a dagger. and for this morning, i did but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, and, behold! i have brought about the death of your dear kinsman that was good to me. and what besides, i know not. for, alas! i may have set york upon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, and may do hurt to england. o, madam, i do see my sin. i am unfit for life. i will, for penance sake and to avoid worse evil, once i have finished this adventure, get me to a cloister. i will forswear joanna and the trade of arms. i will be a friar, and pray for your good kinsman's spirit all my days." it appeared to dick, in this extremity of his humiliation and repentance, that the young lady had laughed. raising his countenance, he found her looking down upon him, in the fire-light, with a somewhat peculiar but not unkind expression. "madam," he cried, thinking the laughter to have been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from her changed looks, hoping to have touched her heart, "madam, will not this content you? i give up all to undo what i have done amiss; i make heaven certain for lord risingham. and all this upon the very day that i have won my spurs, and thought myself the happiest young gentleman on ground." "o boy," she said--"good boy!" and then, to the extreme surprise of dick, she first very tenderly wiped the tears away from his cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden impulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed him. a pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded dick. "but come," she said, with great cheerfulness, "you that are a captain, ye must eat. why sup ye not?" "dear mistress risingham," replied dick, "i did but wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say truth, penitence will no longer suffer me to endure the sight of food. i were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray." "call me alicia," she said; "are we not old friends? and now, come, i will eat with you, bit for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neither will i; but if ye eat hearty, i will dine like a ploughman." so there and then she fell to; and dick, who had an excellent stomach, proceeded to bear her company, at first with great reluctance, but gradually, as he entered into the spirit, with more and more vigour and devotion: until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, and most heartily repaired the expenses of his day of labour and excitement. "lion-driver," she said, at length, "ye do not admire a maid in a man's jerkin?" the moon was now up; and they were only waiting to repose the wearied horses. by the moon's light, the still penitent but now well-fed richard beheld her looking somewhat coquettishly down upon him. "madam"--he stammered, surprised at this new turn in her manners. "nay," she interrupted, "it skills not to deny; joanna hath told me, but come, sir lion-driver, look at me--am i so homely--come!" and she made bright eyes at him. "ye are something smallish, indeed"--began dick. and here again she interrupted him, this time with a ringing peal of laughter that completed his confusion and surprise. "smallish!" she cried. "nay, now, be honest as ye are bold; i am a dwarf, or little better; but for all that--come, tell me!--for all that, passably fair to look upon; is't not so?" "nay, madam, exceedingly fair," said the distressed knight, pitifully trying to seem easy. "and a man would be right glad to wed me?" she pursued. "o, madam, right glad!" agreed dick. "call me alicia," said she. "alicia," quoth sir richard. "well, then, lion-driver," she continued, "sith that ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, ye owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye not?" "i do, madam," said dick. "although, upon my heart, i do hold me but partially guilty of that brave knight's blood." "would ye evade me?" she cried. "madam, not so. i have told you; at your bidding, i will even turn me a monk," said richard. "then, in honour, ye belong to me?" she concluded. "in honour, madam, i suppose"--began the young man. "go to!" she interrupted; "ye are too full of catches. in honour do ye belong to me, till ye have paid the evil?" "in honour, i do," said dick. "hear, then," she continued; "ye would make but a sad friar, methinks; and since i am to dispose of you at pleasure, i will even take you for my husband. nay, now, no words!" cried she. "they will avail you nothing. for see how just it is, that you who deprived me of one home, should supply me with another. and as for joanna, she will be the first, believe me, to commend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends, what matters it with which of us ye wed? not one whit!" "madam," said dick, "i will go into a cloister, an ye please to bid me; but to wed with anyone in this big world besides joanna sedley is what i will consent to neither for man's force nor yet for lady's pleasure. pardon me if i speak my plain thoughts plainly; but where a maid is very bold, a poor man must even be the bolder." "dick," she said, "ye sweet boy, ye must come and kiss me for that word. nay, fear not, ye shall kiss me for joanna; and when we meet, i shall give it back to her, and say i stole it. and as for what ye owe me, why, dear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that great battle; and even if york be on the throne, it was not you that set him there. but for a good, sweet, honest heart, dick, y' are all that; and if i could find it in my soul to envy your joanna anything, i would even envy her your love." chapter vi--night in the woods (concluded): dick and joan the horses had by this time finished the small store of provender, and fully breathed from their fatigues. at dick's command, the fire was smothered in snow; and while his men got once more wearily to saddle, he himself, remembering, somewhat late, true woodland caution, chose a tall oak and nimbly clambered to the topmost fork. hence he could look far abroad on the moonlit and snow-paven forest. on the south-west, dark against the horizon, stood those upland, heathy quarters where he and joanna had met with the terrifying misadventure of the leper. and there his eye was caught by a spot of ruddy brightness no bigger than a needle's eye. he blamed himself sharply for his previous neglect. were that, as it appeared to be, the shining of sir daniel's camp-fire, he should long ago have seen and marched for it; above all, he should, for no consideration, have announced his neighbourhood by lighting a fire of his own. but now he must no longer squander valuable hours. the direct way to the uplands was about two miles in length; but it was crossed by a very deep, precipitous dingle, impassable to mounted men; and for the sake of speed, it seemed to dick advisable to desert the horses and attempt the adventure on foot. ten men were left to guard the horses; signals were agreed upon by which they could communicate in case of need; and dick set forth at the head of the remainder, alicia risingham walking stoutly by his side. the men had freed themselves of heavy armour, and left behind their lances; and they now marched with a very good spirit in the frozen snow, and under the exhilarating lustre of the moon. the descent into the dingle, where a stream strained sobbing through the snow and ice, was effected with silence and order; and on the further side, being then within a short half mile of where dick had seen the glimmer of the fire, the party halted to breathe before the attack. in the vast silence of the wood, the lightest sounds were audible from far; and alicia, who was keen of hearing, held up her finger warningly and stooped to listen. all followed her example; but besides the groans of the choked brook in the dingle close behind, and the barking of a fox at a distance of many miles among the forest, to dick's acutest hearkening, not a breath was audible. "but yet, for sure, i heard the clash of harness," whispered alicia. "madam," returned dick, who was more afraid of that young lady than of ten stout warriors, "i would not hint ye were mistaken; but it might well have come from either of the camps." "it came not thence. it came from westward," she declared. "it may be what it will," returned dick; "and it must be as heaven please. reck we not a jot, but push on the livelier, and put it to the touch. up, friends--enough breathed." as they advanced, the snow became more and more trampled with hoof-marks, and it was plain that they were drawing near to the encampment of a considerable force of mounted men. presently they could see the smoke pouring from among the trees, ruddily coloured on its lower edge and scattering bright sparks. and here, pursuant to dick's orders, his men began to open out, creeping stealthily in the covert, to surround on every side the camp of their opponents. he himself, placing alicia in the shelter of a bulky oak, stole straight forth in the direction of the fire. at last, through an opening of the wood, his eye embraced the scene of the encampment. the fire had been built upon a heathy hummock of the ground, surrounded on three sides by thicket, and it now burned very strong, roaring aloud and brandishing flames. around it there sat not quite a dozen people, warmly cloaked; but though the neighbouring snow was trampled down as by a regiment, dick looked in vain for any horse. he began to have a terrible misgiving that he was out-manoeuvred. at the same time, in a tall man with a steel salet, who was spreading his hands before the blaze, he recognised his old friend and still kindly enemy, bennet hatch; and in two others, sitting a little back, he made out, even in their male disguise, joanna sedley and sir daniel's wife. "well," thought he to himself, "even if i lose my horses, let me get my joanna, and why should i complain?" and then, from the further side of the encampment, there came a little whistle, announcing that his men had joined, and the investment was complete. bennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere he had time to spring upon his arms, dick hailed him. "bennet," he said--"bennet, old friend, yield ye. ye will but spill men's lives in vain, if ye resist." "'tis master shelton, by st. barbary!" cried hatch. "yield me? ye ask much. what force have ye?" "i tell you, bennet, ye are both outnumbered and begirt," said dick. "caesar and charlemagne would cry for quarter. i have two score men at my whistle, and with one shoot of arrows i could answer for you all." "master dick," said bennet, "it goes against my heart; but i must do my duty. the saints help you!" and therewith he raised a little tucket to his mouth and wound a rousing call. then followed a moment of confusion; for while dick, fearing for the ladies, still hesitated to give the word to shoot, hatch's little band sprang to their weapons and formed back to back as for a fierce resistance. in the hurry of their change of place, joanna sprang from her seat and ran like an arrow to her lover's side. "here, dick!" she cried, as she clasped his hand in hers. but dick still stood irresolute; he was yet young to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the thought of old lady brackley checked the command upon his tongue. his own men became restive. some of them cried on him by name; others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and at the first discharge poor bennet bit the dust. then dick awoke. "on!" he cried. "shoot, boys, and keep to cover. england and york!" but just then the dull beat of many horses on the snow suddenly arose in the hollow ear of the night, and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer and swelled louder. at the same time, answering tuckets repeated and repeated hatch's call. "rally, rally!" cried dick. "rally upon me! rally for your lives!" but his men--afoot, scattered, taken in the hour when they had counted on an easy triumph--began instead to give ground severally, and either stood wavering or dispersed into the thickets. and when the first of the horsemen came charging through the open avenues and fiercely riding their steeds into the underwood, a few stragglers were overthrown or speared among the brush, but the bulk of dick's command had simply melted at the rumour of their coming. dick stood for a moment, bitterly recognising the fruits of his precipitate and unwise valour. sir daniel had seen the fire; he had moved out with his main force, whether to attack his pursuers or to take them in the rear if they should venture the assault. his had been throughout the part of a sagacious captain; dick's the conduct of an eager boy. and here was the young knight, his sweetheart, indeed, holding him tightly by the hand, but otherwise alone, his whole command of men and horses dispersed in the night and the wide forest, like a paper of pins in a bay barn. "the saints enlighten me!" he thought. "it is well i was knighted for this morning's matter; this doth me little honour." and thereupon, still holding joanna, he began to run. the silence of the night was now shattered by the shouts of the men of tunstall, as they galloped hither and thither, hunting fugitives; and dick broke boldly through the underwood and ran straight before him like a deer. the silver clearness of the moon upon the open snow increased, by contrast, the obscurity of the thickets; and the extreme dispersion of the vanquished led the pursuers into wildly divergent paths. hence, in but a little while, dick and joanna paused, in a close covert, and heard the sounds of the pursuit, scattering abroad, indeed, in all directions, but yet fainting already in the distance. "an i had but kept a reserve of them together," dick cried, bitterly, "i could have turned the tables yet! well, we live and learn; next time it shall go better, by the rood." "nay, dick," said joanna, "what matters it? here we are together once again." he looked at her, and there she was--john matcham, as of yore, in hose and doublet. but now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly dress, she smiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was transported with joy. "sweetheart," he said, "if ye forgive this blunderer, what care i? make we direct for holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my better friend, lord foxham. there shall we be wed; and whether poor or wealthy, famous or unknown, what, matters it? this day, dear love, i won my spurs; i was commended by great men for my valour; i thought myself the goodliest man of war in all broad england. then, first, i fell out of my favour with the great; and now have i been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. there was a downfall for conceit! but, dear, i care not--dear, if ye still love me and will wed, i would have my knighthood done away, and mind it not a jot." "my dick!" she cried. "and did they knight you?" "ay, dear, ye are my lady now," he answered, fondly; "or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow--will ye not?" "that will i, dick, with a glad heart," she answered. "ay, sir? methought ye were to be a monk!" said a voice in their ears. "alicia!" cried joanna. "even so," replied the young lady, coming forward. "alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to life again, and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know!" "i'll not believe it," cried joanna. "dick!" "dick!" mimicked alicia. "dick, indeed! ay, fair sir, and ye desert poor damsels in distress," she continued, turning to the young knight. "ye leave them planted behind oaks. but they say true--the age of chivalry is dead." "madam," cried dick, in despair, "upon my soul i had forgotten you outright. madam, ye must try to pardon me. ye see, i had new found joanna!" "i did not suppose that ye had done it o' purpose," she retorted. "but i will be cruelly avenged. i will tell a secret to my lady shelton--she that is to be," she added, curtseying. "joanna," she continued, "i believe, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold fellow in a fight, but he is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-hearted simpleton in england. go to--ye may do your pleasure with him! and now, fool children, first kiss me, either one of you, for luck and kindness; and then kiss each other just one minute by the glass, and not one second longer; and then let us all three set forth for holywood as fast as we can stir; for these woods, methinks, are full of peril and exceeding cold." "but did my dick make love to you?" asked joanna, clinging to her sweetheart's side. "nay, fool girl," returned alicia; "it was i made love to him. i offered to marry him, indeed; but he bade me go marry with my likes. these were his words. nay, that i will say: he is more plain than pleasant. but now, children, for the sake of sense, set forward. shall we go once more over the dingle, or push straight for holywood?" "why," said dick, "i would like dearly to get upon a horse; for i have been sore mauled and beaten, one way and another, these last days, and my poor body is one bruise. but how think ye? if the men, upon the alarm of the fighting, had fled away, we should have gone about for nothing. 'tis but some three short miles to holywood direct; the bell hath not beat nine; the snow is pretty firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how if we went even as we are?" "agreed," cried alicia; but joanna only pressed upon dick's arm. forth, then, they went, through open leafless groves and down snow-clad alleys, under the white face of the winter moon; dick and joanna walking hand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and their light-minded companion, her own bereavements heartily forgotten, followed a pace or two behind, now rallying them upon their silence, and now drawing happy pictures of their future and united lives. still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders of tunstall might be heard urging their pursuit; and from time to time cries or the clash of steel announced the shock of enemies. but in these young folk, bred among the alarms of war, and fresh from such a multiplicity of dangers, neither fear nor pity could be lightly wakened. content to find the sounds still drawing farther and farther away, they gave up their hearts to the enjoyment of the hour, walking already, as alicia put it, in a wedding procession; and neither the rude solitude of the forest, nor the cold of the freezing night, had any force to shadow or distract their happiness. at length, from a rising hill, they looked below them on the dell of holywood. the great windows of the forest abbey shone with torch and candle; its high pinnacles and spires arose very clear and silent, and the gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered brightly in the moon. all about it, in the open glade, camp-fires were burning, and the ground was thick with huts; and across the midst of the picture the frozen river curved. "by the mass," said richard, "there are lord foxham's fellows still encamped. the messenger hath certainly miscarried. well, then, so better. we have power at hand to face sir daniel." but if lord foxham's men still lay encamped in the long holm at holywood, it was from a different reason from the one supposed by dick. they had marched, indeed, for shoreby; but ere they were half way thither, a second messenger met them, and bade them return to their morning's camp, to bar the road against lancastrian fugitives, and to be so much nearer to the main army of york. for richard of gloucester, having finished the battle and stamped out his foes in that district, was already on the march to rejoin his brother; and not long after the return of my lord foxham's retainers, crookback himself drew rein before the abbey door. it was in honour of this august visitor that the windows shone with lights; and at the hour of dick's arrival with his sweetheart and her friend, the whole ducal party was being entertained in the refectory with the splendour of that powerful and luxurious monastery. dick, not quite with his good will, was brought before them. gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat leaning upon one hand his white and terrifying countenance; lord foxham, half recovered from his wound, was in a place of honour on his left. "how, sir?" asked richard. "have ye brought me sir daniel's head?" "my lord duke," replied dick, stoutly enough, but with a qualm at heart, "i have not even the good fortune to return with my command. i have been, so please your grace, well beaten." gloucester looked upon him with a formidable frown. "i gave you fifty lances, { } sir," he said. "my lord duke, i had but fifty men-at-arms," replied the young knight. "how is this?" said gloucester. "he did ask me fifty lances." "may it please your grace," replied catesby, smoothly, "for a pursuit we gave him but the horsemen." "it is well," replied richard, adding, "shelton, ye may go." "stay!" said lord foxham. "this young man likewise had a charge from me. it may be he hath better sped. say, master shelton, have ye found the maid?" "i praise the saints, my lord," said dick, "she is in this house." "is it even so? well, then, my lord the duke," resumed lord foxham, "with your good will, to-morrow, before the army march, i do propose a marriage. this young squire--" "young knight," interrupted catesby. "say ye so, sir william?" cried lord foxham. "i did myself, and for good service, dub him knight," said gloucester. "he hath twice manfully served me. it is not valour of hands, it is a man's mind of iron, that he lacks. he will not rise, lord foxham. 'tis a fellow that will fight indeed bravely in a mellay, but hath a capon's heart. howbeit, if he is to marry, marry him in the name of mary, and be done!" "nay, he is a brave lad--i know it," said lord foxham. "content ye, then, sir richard. i have compounded this affair with master hamley, and to-morrow ye shall wed." whereupon dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but he was not yet clear of the refectory, when a man, but newly alighted at the gate, came running four stairs at a bound, and, brushing through the abbey servants, threw himself on one knee before the duke. "victory, my lord," he cried. and before dick had got to the chamber set apart for him as lord foxham's guest, the troops in the holm were cheering around their fires; for upon that same day, not twenty miles away, a second crushing blow had been dealt to the power of lancaster. chapter vii--dick's revenge the next morning dick was afoot before the sun, and having dressed himself to the best advantage with the aid of the lord foxham's baggage, and got good reports of joan, he set forth on foot to walk away his impatience. for some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting to arms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of torches; but gradually he strolled further afield, and at length passed clean beyond the outposts, and walked alone in the frozen forest, waiting for the sun. his thoughts were both quiet and happy. his brief favour with the duke he could not find it in his heart to mourn; with joan to wife, and my lord foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily upon the future; and in the past he found but little to regret. as he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning grew more clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a little scathing wind blew up the frozen snow. he turned to go home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind, a tree. "stand!" he cried. "who goes?" the figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person. it was arrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but dick, in an instant, recognised sir daniel. he strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his hand in his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his approach. "well, dickon," said sir daniel, "how is it to be? do ye make war upon the fallen?" "i made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "i was your true friend until ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it greedily." "nay--self-defence," replied the knight. "and now, boy, the news of this battle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine own wood, have broken me beyond all help. i go to holywood for sanctuary; thence overseas, with what i can carry, and to begin life again in burgundy or france." "ye may not go to holywood," said dick. "how! may not?" asked the knight. "look ye, sir daniel, this is my marriage morn," said dick; "and yon sun that is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone for me. your life is forfeit--doubly forfeit, for my father's death and your own practices to meward. but i myself have done amiss; i have brought about men's deaths; and upon this glad day i will be neither judge nor hangman. an ye were the devil, i would not lay a hand on you. an ye were the devil, ye might go where ye will for me. seek god's forgiveness; mine ye have freely. but to go on to holywood is different. i carry arms for york, and i will suffer no spy within their lines. hold it, then, for certain, if ye set one foot before another, i will uplift my voice and call the nearest post to seize you." "ye mock me," said sir daniel. "i have no safety out of holywood." "i care no more," returned richard. "i let you go east, west, or south; north i will not. holywood is shut against you. go, and seek not to return. for, once ye are gone, i will warn every post about this army, and there will be so shrewd a watch upon all pilgrims that, once again, were ye the very devil, ye would find it ruin to make the essay." "ye doom me," said sir daniel, gloomily. "i doom you not," returned richard. "if it so please you to set your valour against mine, come on; and though i fear it be disloyal to my party, i will take the challenge openly and fully, fight you with mine own single strength, and call for none to help me. so shall i avenge my father, with a perfect conscience." "ay," said sir daniel, "y' have a long sword against my dagger." "i rely upon heaven only," answered dick, casting his sword some way behind him on the snow. "now, if your ill-fate bids you, come; and, under the pleasure of the almighty, i make myself bold to feed your bones to foxes." "i did but try you, dickon," returned the knight, with an uneasy semblance of a laugh. "i would not spill your blood." "go, then, ere it be too late," replied shelton. "in five minutes i will call the post. i do perceive that i am too long-suffering. had but our places been reversed, i should have been bound hand and foot some minutes past." "well, dickon, i will go," replied sir daniel. "when we next meet, it shall repent you that ye were so harsh." and with these words, the knight turned and began to move off under the trees. dick watched him with strangely-mingled feelings, as he went, swiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye upon the lad who had spared him, and whom he still suspected. there was upon one side of where he went a thicket, strongly matted with green ivy, and, even in its winter state, impervious to the eye. herein, all of a sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music. an arrow flew, and with a great, choked cry of agony and anger, the knight of tunstall threw up his hands and fell forward in the snow. dick bounded to his side and raised him. his face desperately worked; his whole body was shaken by contorting spasms. "is the arrow black?" he gasped. "it is black," replied dick, gravely. and then, before he could add one word, a desperate seizure of pain shook the wounded man from head to foot, so that his body leaped in dick's supporting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his spirit fled in silence. the young man laid him back gently on the snow and prayed for that unprepared and guilty spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a bound, and the robins began chirping in the ivy. when he rose to his feet, he found another man upon his knees but a few steps behind him, and, still with uncovered head, he waited until that prayer also should be over. it took long; the man, with his head bowed and his face covered with his hands, prayed like one in a great disorder or distress of mind; and by the bow that lay beside him, dick judged that he was no other than the archer who had laid sir daniel low. at length he, also, rose, and showed the countenance of ellis duckworth. "richard," he said, very gravely, "i heard you. ye took the better part and pardoned; i took the worse, and there lies the clay of mine enemy. pray for me." and he wrung him by the hand. "sir," said richard, "i will pray for you, indeed; though how i may prevail i wot not. but if ye have so long pursued revenge, and find it now of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well to pardon others? hatch--he is dead, poor shrew! i would have spared a better; and for sir daniel, here lies his body. but for the priest, if i might anywise prevail, i would have you let him go." a flash came into the eyes of ellis duckworth. "nay," he said, "the devil is still strong within me. but be at rest; the black arrow flieth nevermore--the fellowship is broken. they that still live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in heaven's good time, for me; and for yourself, go where your better fortune calls you, and think no more of ellis." chapter viii--conclusion about nine in the morning, lord foxham was leading his ward, once more dressed as befitted her sex, and followed by alicia risingham, to the church of holywood, when richard crookback, his brow already heavy with cares, crossed their path and paused. "is this the maid?" he asked; and when lord foxham had replied in the affirmative, "minion," he added, "hold up your face until i see its favour." he looked upon her sourly for a little. "ye are fair," he said at last, "and, as they tell me, dowered. how if i offered you a brave marriage, as became your face and parentage?" "my lord duke," replied joanna, "may it please your grace, i had rather wed with sir richard." "how so?" he asked, harshly. "marry but the man i name to you, and he shall be my lord, and you my lady, before night. for sir richard, let me tell you plainly, he will die sir richard." "i ask no more of heaven, my lord, than but to die sir richard's wife," returned joanna. "look ye at that, my lord," said gloucester, turning to lord foxham. "here be a pair for you. the lad, when for good services i gave him his choice of my favour, chose but the grace of an old, drunken shipman. i did warn him freely, but he was stout in his besottedness. 'here dieth your favour,' said i; and he, my lord, with a most assured impertinence, 'mine be the loss,' quoth he. it shall be so, by the rood!" "said he so?" cried alicia. "then well said, lion-driver!" "who is this?" asked the duke. "a prisoner of sir richard's," answered lord foxham; "mistress alicia risingham." "see that she be married to a sure man," said the duke. "i had thought of my kinsman, hamley, an it like your grace," returned lord foxham. "he hath well served the cause." "it likes me well," said richard. "let them be wedded speedily. say, fair maid, will you wed?" "my lord duke," said alicia, "so as the man is straight"--and there, in a perfect consternation, the voice died on her tongue. "he is straight, my mistress," replied richard, calmly. "i am the only crookback of my party; we are else passably well shapen. ladies, and you, my lord," he added, with a sudden change to grave courtesy, "judge me not too churlish if i leave you. a captain, in the time of war, hath not the ordering of his hours." and with a very handsome salutation he passed on, followed by his officers. "alack," cried alicia, "i am shent!" "ye know him not," replied lord foxham. "it is but a trifle; he hath already clean forgot your words." "he is, then, the very flower of knighthood," said alicia. "nay, he but mindeth other things," returned lord foxham. "tarry we no more." in the chancel they found dick waiting, attended by a few young men; and there were he and joan united. when they came forth again, happy and yet serious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the long files of the army were already winding forward up the road; already the duke of gloucester's banner was unfolded and began to move from before the abbey in a clump of spears; and behind it, girt by steel-clad knights, the bold, black-hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved on towards his brief kingdom and his lasting infamy. but the wedding party turned upon the other side, and sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast. the father cellarer attended on their wants, and sat with them at table. hamley, all jealousy forgotten, began to ply the nowise loth alicia with courtship. and there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, dick and joan sat side by side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever growing affection, in each other's eyes. thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by. they dwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love began. two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity and peace, and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine, in tunstall hamlet. one had been all his life a shipman, and continued to the last to lament his man tom. the other, who had been a bit of everything, turned in the end towards piety, and made a most religious death under the name of brother honestus in the neighbouring abbey. so lawless had his will, and died a friar. footnotes: { } at the date of this story, richard crookback could not have been created duke of gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader's leave, he shall so be called. { } richard crookback would have been really far younger at this date. { } technically, the term "lance" included a not quite certain number of foot soldiers attached to the man-at-arms. highwayman of the void by dirk wylie ironic destiny had brought outlaw steve nolan across the star lanes to icy pinto and tangled his life again with the man he had sworn to kill. once more he was trapped in a maze of galactic intrigue that reached far back into his past--and forward to his death. [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from planet stories fall . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] steve nolan was three years dead, pyro-burned in the black space off luna when a prison break failed. but nolan had a job to do. nolan came back. where the avalon trail bends across annihilation range, a thousand icy miles from pluto's northern stem, nolan stopped and closed the intake valve of his helmet. count five seconds, and he unhooked the exhausted tank of oxygen; count ten more and it was spinning away, end over end over pluto's frozen surface, and a new tank was already in place. he slipped the pressure valve and inhaled deeply of the new air. he'd come ten miles by the phosphorescent figures on the nightstone markers beside the trail. fifteen more miles to go. his cold black eyes stared absently at the east, where the pseudo-life of the great plutonian crystals rolled in a shifting, tinkling sea. he noted the water-avid crystals, and noted the three crablike crawlers that munched a solitary clump of metallic grass. you don't walk, talk and breathe after a tri-planet lawman has declared you dead unless you note everything around you and react to what may be dangerous. but he was looking beyond the familiar plutonian drear, to the eastern horizon where faint lights gleamed in the dark. that was port avalon. that was where steve nolan was bound. woller was in avalon. the alan woller who had made him an outlaw, roaming the star trails from pluto to the satellites, never daring to return to the inner worlds where tri-planet kept order. there was a slow pulse mounting in nolan's throat as he walked on, savagely kicking a crab-shelled crawler from his path. he'd seen the newssheet, months old, in a rickety old port on one of the satellites--io? ganymede?--when he was down to forty credits and a friendly bartender. it hadn't been much of an item. the kind a country editor throws into his finance column when he unexpectedly loses an ad and has to fill space. "the new shipping company, which expects to do much for improving commercial relations with the outer planets, is headed by alan woller, formerly with the interplanetary telenews company. woller is remembered as the prosecution's star witness in the trial of steve nolan, the junta agent indicted for treason three years ago. nolan, sentenced to life imprisonment in luna cave, was killed while attempting to escape. "the new company is capitalized at over a billion dollars, and has already taken options on bases in...." the drink had drained out of steve nolan when he saw that. and the bartender had been too friendly for his own good. he'd been a soft touch for five hundred credits. that had been rocket fare to pluto for nolan. * * * * * he felt the drumming with the soles of his feet, a hard, grinding sensation against his metal boots. he jumped off the trail quickly and whirled to watch for the approaching skid. it was moving slowly, chugging along on a single jet. _clogged feeders_, nolan thought as he felt the uneven vibrations. _if he doesn't watch out he'll have a backblast._ the skid faltered past him, no faster than he could run. he looked away from the incandescent flare of the one tail jet, then that stopped too. tall as a man, a dozen feet long, the skid lay waiting on the trail. waiting for steve nolan? anything was better than walking. nolan walked up to the skid, not fast, and kicked solidly at the entrance. it slid open with a creaking noise and he was in the tank, sealing the outer door behind him. the inner door didn't open. a female voice from a speaker said, "who are you?" steve waited till he saw the pressure and temperature gauges shoot up to normal, then swung open his faceplate. "matthews is the name," he lied easily, out of three long years of practice. "i thought you were waiting for me. say the word and i'll get out again if i was wrong." "oh, no." the girl's voice hesitated a second. "what are you doing out here?" "i'm on my way to avalon, out of aylette. a skid bus took me across the ice plains, then i caught a lift on a prospector's skid. he turned off ten miles back and i decided to walk the rest of the way." "do you know anything about skids? mine isn't working very well. i'll pay you if you can--" "i'm not a mechanic," nolan said wearily. "oh. then you can't fix it." "i didn't say that. you can't pay me for it. i'll take a lift to avalon, though." "a lift? but i don't know you from adam." nolan sighed. "lady, i don't know you either. believe me, all i want is a ride. it'll take me four hours to walk to avalon. i can't spare the time if i can help it." he waited a second. no answer. he shrugged and finished his speech. "i'll make you a proposition. let me in and i'll fix your jets. we'll be in avalon in twenty minutes, i'll get out and we'll never see each other again. don't let me in and i'll tear these ignition wires right out of the lock. then we'll both hitchhike." the girl's voice came with controlled anger. "you win," she said. "come in." there was a soft click, and the inner door yielded under nolan's hand. he stepped in. "no hard feelings," he said mildly. "i really wanted the ride. one thing you might remember in the future, though--there are no ignition wires in an air lock." * * * * * she was pretty, she was small, she was blue-eyed and brunette. but she didn't say a word to him. she kept to her seat at the controls, watching him lift the top off the distributing chamber, prod around in the gummy mess inside for a second, then replace it and nod. "you can start it up now, lady," he said. he glanced over her shoulder through the plastic panel, to where avalon's lights were glowing. where woller was. "and the quicker," he said, "the better." the girl looked at him curiously but said nothing. she turned and fingered the controls. the song of power that came out of the skid's jets brought a quick, slight smile to her lips. nolan caught a glimpse of her eyes reflected back at him from the plastic panel. appreciative eyes. he averted his look. would there be another time when he could meet the gaze of a decent girl and answer it? _when woller's dead_, his subconscious answered him. _until then you're not a man, nolan. you're a weapon!_ the skid was climbing, hugging the side of one of the vast foothills to annihilation range itself, a hundred-foot chasm on one side and the cliff on the other. nolan watched the girl's hands for a sharp second, then relaxed. she knew what she was doing. unerringly the skid split the center of the trail, following its many turns as though on a track. but-- a sudden high sound escaped her lips. her foot trod hard on the back-jet pedal. the skid slewed crazily, its side crunching against the cliff as it halted. "what the--" snarled nolan, hand leaping to the concealed pyro he wore under his shirt. then he saw. ahead of them was an immense rounded bulk, dome-shaped, black as the frozen night. a crawler ... but what a crawler! its horny shell was half again the height of a man, filling the trail from cliff to chasm brink. there was no passing that beast. no wonder there had been no traffic from avalon! mutely the girl turned to nolan. he grinned sourly, then clambered into the heat suit he'd just put off. he eyed the girl for a second. "i'm going to have to trust you. i have to get to avalon, so i have to get this misbegotten monstrosity out of my way. and i have to leave the skid to do it. that gives you a fair, clear chance." the girl shook her head. "i'll take you to avalon. i owe you that much. but--but how--" "watch," nolan said curtly, and climbed into the tank. before he closed the door a thought struck him. he poked his head out at her. "if anything should go wrong," he said, "and i find myself scattered all over that valley down there, you'd better stay put. keep the crawler away with the brake jet. and wait for someone to come along. you're not the skidster to back this crate all the way down the trail, with just a brake jet." then he slammed the inner door, sealed his helmet, pushed his way out. the crawler was even bigger than he'd thought. standing within ten feet of it, he felt tiny and weak, a toy before this massive brute. like ancient earth dinosaurs, the crawlers kept growing as long as they lived. tiny as the palm of a man's hand, foot-high creatures like those nolan had kicked out of his way an hour before or monstrosities like the one before him--all three types existed side by side. only seldom did they grow as great as this. invulnerable though they were, they perished of starvation, when their bulk grew too much for their thousands of tiny legs to carry. out of the ebon hulk of the thing came poking a minute head, goggle-eyed, with a luminous halo of green tendrils surrounding it. it blinked weakly at nolan. he waited patiently. if the thing was convinced he was harmless. it was. recovering from the shock of the skid's arrival it began to prepare for motion again. the head poked out toward the skid on a long, scrawny neck, examined it minutely. the big carapace shivered and rose slightly off the ground as the multitude of tiny legs took up the task of carrying it forward. nolan stood motionless. the creature moved ponderously toward him, ignoring him. in the dull mind of the creature an object as tiny as a man was nothing. even the skid was merely another sort of boulder, against which it could lean, send it hurtling over to destruction, out of its way. it moved forward till the hard horn almost touched him. then nolan leaped. this was the moment of decision. he circled the long neck with one lashing arm, clamped on it all the pressure he could bring to bear. it was the one sensitive spot the creature had--and protected, normally, by armor battleship-thick. nolan strained the muscles of his arm, cursing the cushion of air inside his suit that made a pillow for the beast. the slippery flesh coiled and writhed in his grip; the beast exhaled a great, whistling screech of agony and the snakelike neck curved around. the popeyed head darted in at him, tiny mouth distended to show raw, red flesh inside. it battered ineffectually against the heavy plastic faceplate of his suit. the crawler vented its whistling sigh again and staggered drunkenly away. away from the remorseless pressure on its sore spot, away from the agonizing weight of him. its tiny legs carried it rocking sidewise. then abruptly they tried to halt it, gave sharp warning to the tiny brain. it was too late. the scrambling legs flailed for a foothold and found vacuum. nolan gave a final heave, felt the thing slide away from him, leaped back. just in time. he himself was teetering on the brink of the chasm as the crawler, tiny head darting frantically, soundlessly around, slid over and disappeared. he didn't look down. the clattering and crashing vibrations from below told what happened. he turned, shook himself and headed for the skid. the girl was waiting for him. nolan was mildly surprised. she looked at him curiously as he entered. "a dirty job," she offered tentatively. he shrugged. "yes," he said. "let's get moving." she turned without a word. all the way back to avalon, her back was a silent reproach. friendship, it said, had been offered--and rebuffed. nolan had his private thoughts, and dwelt in them. except for the muffled blast of the rockets there was no sound in the skid until they'd jetted into the great cargo lock in avalon's crystal dome and the handlers had come to slide the skid into a parking space. then, as they got out, she smiled suddenly. she said, "i guess i misjudged you, mr. matthews. i'm sorry i was discourteous, but a girl can't be too careful. let me take you to dinner for an apology." nolan paused and stared at her soberly. then, "no, thanks," he said. "i meant it when i said i wasn't interested in you. i have things on my mind already." he ignored her outstretched hand, turned to leave, then stopped. "oh, yes," he said. "thanks for the ride." he walked cumbrously over to a storage cubicle without looking back. he stripped off his heat suit and checked it with a stout man in pluto-city green. it was time to plan his next move. there was a pilot's hangout, he remembered, a saloon called the golden ray. he took a worn notebook from his shirt pocket, thumbed it to the forgotten address and held the page up for the checking attendant to see. "how do i get there?" the man's eyes widened a fraction as he took the address in. he shrugged imperceptibly. "any slidewalk going north," he said. "get off at the hub and you'll be within a couple blocks of it." * * * * * nolan nodded and headed for a moving sidewalk. the notebook went back into the pocket of his open-necked black shirt, and the hand that put it there paused a second to touch reassuringly the weight of a slim-barreled pyro that swung beneath his armpit, out of sight. it was nice to know it was there, even though he didn't need it--yet. he paused in a robot restaurant to eat. saloons like the golden ray don't sell much food--particularly to those who have tasted it once. it was getting on toward night. the slidewalks were fast, and the first man he stopped at the hub told him all he needed to know to find the saloon. once he got within a block of it, it all began to come back. it had been years since he'd been there, but the place hadn't changed. a blast of sound struck him as he clawed his way through thick tobacco smoke and sweet martian hop-incense fumes to the bar. he nodded his head, and the short motion yanked a fat bartender to him. the man's slitted eyes peeped surprisedly through the surrounding tallow. "gunner!" he whispered, amiable but hoarse. "thought you were somewhere around jupe. what'll it be?" "it'll be nothing right now," nolan said. "i thought petersen might be here. i want to see him." "oh, sure," the bartender said. "he's dealin' red-dog at one o' the tables in the back." nolan was called "gunner" by those who knew him by his alias--he'd never taken the trouble to think up a first name for "matthews." he nodded and stepped away. it wasn't hard to find petersen when you knew his habits. the wrinkled little man always sat in the noisiest spot he could find. this time it was a table right behind the four-piece orchestra, pride of the proprietor's heart. nolan stood silently for a moment behind the little man's chair to watch the play. he marveled at the ease with which petersen's gnarled fingers handled the flying pasteboards. as usual, petersen's pile of chips was low, and the set of his back was discouraged. nolan grinned. it was part of petersen's stock-in-trade to look like the tail end of a losing streak. the sucker trade stays away from a winning gambler. but they flocked to petersen--and his pockets were always clinking. petersen's gambler's sixth sense was functioning. he twitched his shoulders uncomfortably, then turned around, glaring up. "say," he began, "who the hell are--oh, gunner!" nolan nodded. "hey there, peter," he said. petersen grinned and blinked. he looked with regret at his top card, then at nolan. "no?" he asked wistfully. nolan shook his head. "no." the little man shrugged and flipped his cards away. "okay," he said cheerfully, shoveling his chips into his clanking pockets. "lead on, gunner." nolan led on, to a more secluded corner where the clamor of the alleged orchestra was less deafening. he sent a waiter off for a bottle of sealed terrestrial scotch, then turned to petersen. "where's woller?" he asked. petersen scowled. "listen, steve," he begged, "stay out of trouble. woller's big here." "don't call me steve," nolan said mildly. two living men knew that nolan and matthews were the same. petersen was one of them--nolan himself the other. "i manage my own affairs. i want to see woller." "okay," petersen groaned. "he's at the elena. the big hotel near south lock." nolan nodded. "good enough," he said. "i'll take care of my business with him right away." the greasy-aproned waiter came back with the scotch. nolan inspected the seal critically, then broke it and poured two generous slugs. "how!" he said. "what've you been doing with yourself, pete?" petersen swallowed his scotch, grimaced non-committally. "following the prospectors," he said. "making money and losing it. it's been a long time since you were here." nolan ignored the implied question. "pretty long," he agreed. "i wasn't figuring on coming, but i heard woller was here." petersen nodded his head sadly. "you're aching for trouble," he observed. "woller's no man to buck up against. he's got money behind him." "whose money?" "i dunno. some martian syndicate, they say. he's come a long way since he was your boss at telenews." "not so long i couldn't follow him." petersen cocked an eyebrow, then poured another round. "you followed him into a bad spot," he said slowly. "this whole town is be-jittered. he's doing about what he likes and nobody says boo." "why?" petersen frowned. "'cause they're scared, it looks. scared of the junta. talk is there are junta men around. i wouldn't have to remind you, i guess, of what woller can say about you if he sees you." nolan nodded. "he won't see me--in time for it to do him any good." petersen shivered. "you're building up trouble," he repeated. "woller's pretty near running this place." "'a louse,'" nolan quoted, "'enthroned in luxury, will still a loathsome insect be.' that's woller." petersen's wizened little troll-face gaped at him. "lice bite," he said succinctly. nolan said soberly, "live ones do. after tonight woller may not be able to bite anybody. dead lice have no friends." ii steve nolan was deceptively slender in his open-necked, black military shirt and trim khaki slacks. in the half-hearted illumination thrown by avalon's old gasglow lights, he looked almost boyish. but he didn't look like the pale youth he'd been three years before. the good-natured roundness of his face had contracted to show the hard bone underneath. there was the ghost of a scar close to an eye, and the seared mark of a pyro burn where neck joined his right shoulder. the long fingers that once had twirled the toggles of a field newscaster's walky-talky now were better acquainted with the groves of a pyro butt. "for the last time," he said, "you're better off home in bed. i think there may be trouble." petersen looked sour. "good thinking," he said. "i have a hunch that way, too. i'm going to stick around." nolan shrugged. he eyed the hotel elena, towering almost up to the crystal dome, directly across the street from him. "it's your neck," he said. "you can catch me when i fly out." he glanced quickly at a wrist-chrono. "a quarter after four," he said. "if i'm not out in half an hour don't wait up. i may be detained." before petersen could answer he was crossing the street, entering the hotel. the elena was large, and the night clerk couldn't be expected to know every guest. he glanced up as nolan entered, then went back to nodding over his magazine. nolan walked to the grav-well and stepped in. nolan let the curiously soothing grav-currents flow over him, carrying him up till he'd ascended twelve floors. that was where woller was, by the best information petersen had been able to give him. he reached out a hand and swung himself out of the flow, into a silent corridor. not quite silent. nolan listened and smiled. there was a party somewhere overhead; a vise-box blared briefly in one of the rooms on this corridor as a sleepless guest hunted music. from the grav-well came the low humming of the generators. that was fine. if it were necessary to make any noise it might be confused with the vise-box, or the singing from overhead. woller's door was locked, of course. nolan bent over the keyhole for a second. there was a tinny, springy _click_, and the door drifted open under the slow pressure of his hand. the room was large and empty. a library, perhaps, as well as he could judge by the intermittent blood-tinted light that filtered in from an advertising stereolume across the street. nolan flipped his cigarette lighter out, held it aloft and pressed the button. in the dim glow it shed he saw twin doors. after a moment's hesitation, he chose one, opened it gently, slipped through into a bedroom. a night light glowed softly on the wall, revealing nothing. nolan sniffed the air curiously, then wrinkled his nose. perfume! woller had added a new vice to his character. nolan grimaced contemptuously, then moved toward the indistinct figure on the bed. his right hand dipped inside his shirt, came away with the slim pyro protruding from his fist. "woller," he said. "wake up. you've got company." * * * * * there was a rustle from the bed, a gasp, a metallic click. nolan jumped back, cursing. he flung an arm over his head as the overhead lumes burst into blinding light. but he'd caught a quick, stunning glimpse of what was on the bed and, quicker than starflight, his pyro jutted toward the lumes, flared wickedly. all lights died as the blast shorted the wires. it had been a girl in the bed, blinking up sleepily, mouth a taut line of surprise. _the_ girl--the one from the skid, the one he'd encountered in annihilation range! she had no more of a look at him than he at her, and she had been sleep-dazed, staring up at the light. perhaps she hadn't recognized him-- "hold still," he hissed--there is no personality to a whisper. "where's alan woller?" "who are you?" the girl's voice came, a trifle unsteady. good--she hadn't recognized him! nolan laughed voicelessly. "i'm the man with the gun," he replied. "i ask the questions. where's woller?" "none of your business," the girl said. there was a note of confidence in her voice, and suddenly nolan felt a furtive movement from the bed. was there an alarm--a bell to summon servants? "hold it!" he whispered sharply. "one wrong move and i'll kill you. i mean business--and i want an answer." the girl's voice was even now. "i won't give one." nolan's brows drew down over his eyes. what was this girl to woller? whatever the connection was, by rights he should take no chances. the girl was a danger to him--and the life of no woman on woller's string should be permitted to stand between him and the chance for vengeance on the man who had framed him. "i'll give you ten seconds," he whispered harshly. but already he was stepping silently backward, concealed in the abyss-black gloom of the chamber. he reached noiselessly behind him for the knob of the door. he was being a fool and he knew it. but he had seen honesty in her eyes, back on the skid, and even the yearning for revenge couldn't make him blot that out with pyro-flame. he opened the door, slid out, closed it softly behind him. the girl said nothing, perhaps had not known he had gone. nolan cast a quick longing glance at the other door, but there was no time. in seconds the girl would discover she was alone. there would be an alarm, surely. a dim thread of light showed him the door to the hall. catlike he crossed to it, then halted, petrified. men were coming down the hall, several of them by the voices. he caught a snatch of a rasping complaint: "_old man woller's tin soldiers, that's us. who the hell does he--_" nolan swore lividly under his breath. the end of the trail had come. but he stepped back a pace and stood there, pyro up-tilted and ready. he would have a split-second's advantage. if only there were no more than two or three of them-- * * * * * and then the sound was drowned out. a sharp, moaning screech came from outside. a harsh metallic wail that climbed for the frigid heavens above, louder than the screaming trumpets of ragnarök. the alarm sirens! there was a break in the crystal dome that held the life of avalon! meteorite, accident or simple fatigue--the dome had cracked. air and heat would vanish. death would tenant the city. there was a sudden, sharp babble from the men outside, then the pounding of footsteps, halting as they dove into the grav-shaft. nolan's chance! but he froze in his tracks, then whirled. he ran to the door behind him and wrenched it open. "get a heat suit!" he bawled to the girl on the bed. "dome's cracked! you've got maybe twenty minutes--less, if it's a bad break!" his voice was a bellow--there was no time for whispers. no time, and perhaps no need. if the dome had gone, avalon might be a city of corpses, heat suits or none, before help could arrive with fresh oxygen tanks from far-away aylette. disguise would hardly matter then. but he wasted no time in thought. he was out the door, down the hall and dropping into the cushioning grav-web of the descending shaft in seconds. guests were waking in their rooms. the corridors were filling with shouting men and women. the shriek of emergency trucks filtered in from the street, and the hoarse bellow of the alarm sirens multiplied the havoc done to the peace of the night. if he could get to a ship--? but the slidewalks would be jammed with panicky humans, all with the same thought. a heat suit was his only chance. and the nearest ones he knew of were at south lock, at the base of the dome itself! he swung himself out of the shaft, raced across the lobby, which was already beginning to fill with people intent on escape. he was out the door with the van of them, racing across a still empty street toward south lock. a slim, pale figure darted across in front of him. he moved to dodge past, then slowed momentarily as he saw who it was. "steve!" only one man knew that name--petersen! "pete! what are you waiting for? come on--get a suit!" petersen sighed, touched nolan's shoulder to halt him. "there's no hurry, pal," he said mildly. "no hurry! the dome alarm--" petersen shook his head. "forget it," he said. "i turned the alarm in myself." * * * * * toward what passed for morning in avalon, the confusion died down. the emergency cars were off the streets, the sirens had long since stopped wailing and the last irate citizen had retired for what remained of a night's sleep. petersen came back from the window of his shabby little one-room apartment and reported on progress to nolan. "all quiet," he said. "sure you won't change your mind and lie down for a while? you'll be needing sleep pretty soon." nolan swallowed the rest of his coffee, stubbed out a cigarette and shook his head. "no time," he said. he glanced at his chrono. "i figure on leaving in twenty minutes. you're sure woller's going to be on that ship?" petersen grinned. "pretty sure," he said. "i have my ways." "you looked good on the deal last night," nolan said. "you and your hammy ideas. i would have got out without all that." petersen was serious. "not alive, no. when i saw those apes coming down the street i was pretty sure something was up. so i got on a phone--i got a friend works for woller's company, and he reads the boss' mail--and that's what he told me. woller has to get back to the inner planets in a hurry. he's sent a bunch of his company guards to pick up some stuff at his apartment. the only thing i could think of was to turn in the alarm and hope you'd get out in the confusion. you're a smart boy, but you ain't dead-eye dick, friend. you couldn't of fought it out with five of woller's finest." nolan inclined his head. "maybe you're right. you say something big seems to be up?" "what else? he gets a red-hot sealed teleflash from aylette. sealed, mind you--my friend can't listen in. he cancels the orders of the only ship his new company has in avalon--cancels all the cargo contracts--and takes off in it in the middle of the night for aylette. he'll be back here this morning, they say, to pick up those papers. then they're off again, deep space, this time. the clearance says mars." nolan nodded. his face was impassive, but a slight crinkling of the lines around his lean nose showed thought. what was woller up to? it was curiously difficult to concentrate on woller. absently, he found himself saying. "and you don't know who the girl was?" "my information don't go that far," petersen admitted. "he has a daughter some place, but she ain't supposed to be here now. but what's your guess about this she?" "my guess is you're right," nolan agreed reluctantly. there was something about soft blue eyes and silk-fine black hair that did not fit in the same picture with woller. petersen was looking at him shrewdly, with a dim light of understanding glowing in his eyes and a hint of pity. as nolan looked at him, petersen looked away, began fumbling inside his waist-band. "what're you doing?" nolan asked curiously. "you'll need money," said petersen. he finished unbuckling and dragged out an oiled-silk money belt. without opening it, he tossed it to nolan. "here. you'll have to bid high to get passage on woller's ship. this'll help." nolan nodded. "thanks," he said. "look, i--" petersen waved a hand airily. "forget it. as long as there's enough radium on pluto for prospectors to find, i'll have plenty money." "sure," said nolan. "but the thanks still goes." he closed his eyes for a second, rubbed them. then he blinked rapidly, took out his pyro and checked it. full clip, save the one shell he'd used on the light last night. twenty-three shots. he deftly slipped another cartridge in to make the full two dozen, then replaced the gun in its shoulder holster. "you're going to get into trouble with that thing," petersen prophesied. nolan shrugged. "i've got a name to live up to. a gunner has to have a gun--and i kind of think i'm going to need this one." he glanced at the chrono again and stood up, stretching. "well, good-by," he said casually. "i owe you a bunch of favors. you won't have to remind me." "course not," petersen agreed. "wouldn't do much good. but i'll sort of mention it to your heirs." * * * * * at the operations lock of the avalon spaceport nolan opened the money belt petersen had given him for the first time. he peered inside and whistled. the cards had been with petersen, all right. the little man had carried a young fortune around with him. he tucked the belt in a pocket with a mental resolve to pay it back some day, if he lived long enough, and went into the observation room. through the crystal dome he could see the ship, the only one on the field. it was a beauty--brand-new and glistening. by the look of her, she was the latest type. pure gravity drive, the rocket jets used only for landing. it had a name, limned phosphorescent on a dark panel in the glittering hull: _dragonfly_. he turned and walked over to the port clearance officer. "i have to get to mars," he said. "i hear this ship's bound there. who do i see about booking passage?" the port official scratched his bony head. "it's an unscheduled run," he said, "and i dunno if they're taking any passengers. but over there--" he waved a hand--"is the second mate. he might help you." "thanks." nolan walked over, eyeing the pallid, short-bodied venusian indicated. the man was staring glumly out of the observation panel. "you the second on the ship out there?" nolan asked. the man turned slowly and looked him up and down. "yeah," he said finally. "what about it?" nolan allowed his eyes to narrow conspiratorially. "i hear you're bound for mars," he said, lowering his voice. "any chance of taking a passenger?" "no." nolan tapped a pocket. "listen," he said, "it isn't just that i want a ride. i have to get to mars. i'll pay." the venusian laughed sharply and nolan thought, not for the first time, how superior environment is to heredity. the venusians, like most of the system's intelligent life, were descended from earthmen all right, but the adjective that described them best was "fishy." the second said, "pay? you haven't got enough money to get you into the lock of that ship." "oh, i don't know," nolan said easily. he took the money belt out of his pocket, flashed the contents for a second. "i meant it," he said. "i have to get to mars. name your price--i've got it." the venusian's eyes widened. nolan saw, from the corner of his eye, a skid rocketing across the field. it halted by the _dragonfly_, and the ship's lock opened. two bulky, heat-suited figures hurried out of the skid, into the ship. "what do you say?" nolan persisted, accelerated by the sight of the figures. one of them would be woller's thug with the apparently vital papers. that would be the big one--the smaller might be a clerk from his office. "okay," the mate capitulated. "tell you what. it'll cost you ten thousand credits. if it's worth that to you, all right." nolan shrugged wryly. "it's worth my neck," he grinned confidentially. the venusian grinned moistly back. "payable in advance," he specified. "now. give it to me and i'll go out and arrange the deal with the captain." _keeping a percentage of course_, nolan thought; but he only nodded and silently counted out the money. the venusian grabbed it without checking the count. he said, "okay, i'll be back in a minute," and left. nolan watched him struggle into his suit and clamber across the frigid soil of the field. the lock opened for him, then closed again. nolan sensed a sudden uneasiness. he almost jumped when the port officer came up behind him and said: "wouldn't take you, huh?" nolan turned. "sure," he said. "he had to go arrange it with the captain. i'll go out with him when he comes back for his clearance papers." "clearance papers!" the official barked. "good lord, man, they've had those for hours. that man isn't coming back!" iii nolan, swearing incandescently, flung his heat-suit voucher at the officer, grabbed the first suit in the rack and was in the main lock, waiting for the inner door to close, before he put it on. he had already sealed the suit and stepped out on the field when he noticed what the excited hammering of the port official on the lock door should have told him. the suit had only a single oxygen tank in its clip--and the gauge showed "empty"! he hesitated only a moment. his eye caught a glimpse of the _dragonfly_, etched sharply against the black horizon by the field's blazing floodlights. its smooth lines were suddenly blurred and indistinct. the grav-web was building up around it. in a moment it would be gone! "damn!" yelled nolan, to the sole detriment of his own eardrums. already the slight amount of air in his suit was nearly used up. but as soon as the web reached full focus the _dragonfly_ would blast off and woller would be beyond reach for a long time! nolan swore fervently, then sealed his writhing lips to save air. he set off in a slow, heavy trot for the shimmering spaceship. he was breathing pure carbon dioxide and staggering nicely by the time he pushed his way through the thickening resistance of the grav-web to the massive outer door of the lock. his bulging eyes caught the lever that opened the lock, guarded by a scoop-shaped streamshield. he yanked it blindly, saw the heavy panel roll aside, stumbled in. some member of the crew must have been watching--someone with compassion, unexpected enough in a ship of woller's. the lock door clanged shut behind him and clean air hissed in. nolan tore frantically at his faceplate and gulped deeply, dizzyingly. the metal flooring shuddered. he felt an intolerable weight drag at his water-weak body as the ship took off. he hadn't made it by much, at that. a couple of seconds more and he would have been left. "boy!" nolan gasped. "somebody sure doesn't want me along on this ride." the inner door was sliding open. nolan stepped out into a well lit corridor, almost colliding with the flabby bulk of the venusian. the mate glared at him darkly, the hand on his waist poised suggestively above the butt of a pyro. before he could speak, nolan said mildly, "you're a thieving louse. but i'm on the ship, and i won't hold it against you. only--don't try that again." the mate flushed. "the captain didn't want to take you," he mumbled. "i was going to send your dough back soon's we touched ground." "sure," nolan agreed. "having my full name and address the way you do, it'd be easy. well, skip it. where's my cabin?" you wouldn't call it exactly hospitable, the way the mate stalled as long as he could, obviously trying to cudgel his feeble venusian brain into some plan for getting rid of the unwanted passenger. but nolan finally got his cabin. * * * * * it was the smallest and worst on the ship, of course, but the ship was a beauty. nolan smiled in real appreciation when he saw the room. the furniture was glow-tinted plastic; the bed was covered with earth silk. "beat it," he told the mate, and watched the door close behind him. then he sat down to chart a course. woller might recognize him. that was the first danger. true, nolan had been reported dead and woller knew nothing to the contrary. it was only a miracle that nolan wasn't dead, in fact. only the incredible chance of his being picked up in midspace, where he floated helplessly, one shoulder brutally pyro-scarred and half the air gone from his suit, had saved him then. that had been one miracle, for even the ranging, avid patrol boats hadn't been able to find him after his mad leap from a lock of the ship that was carrying him to the moon. but that miracle had occurred. and the second miracle was that the pleasure craft that saved him was piloted by a man who lived outside the law but had an iron-clad code of honesty--who wouldn't turn nolan in for the bounty money on fugitives. pete petersen's scrawny shoulders bore no wings, but he'd seemed like an angel to nolan that desolate day, when he'd seen the flare of nolan's desperate signal rocket and swung round in a wide arc to pick him up, eventually to take him to the lawless safety of the belt. to everyone but petersen, steve nolan was dead. and the little shots of gray now running through nolan's dark hair, the scar that crossed one tanned cheek, gave him a new personality. he looked slender and dangerous as a lunging rapier, and every bit as cold. but woller would have good cause to remember nolan. woller had sat there in the courtroom, back on earth. he'd sat there the whole dragging week of the trial, with nolan's eyes on him every minute. he looked directly at nolan, even while he was in the chair, telling the lies that linked nolan with the junta--the secret, revolutionary group of outer-planet malcontents that sought to overthrow tri-planet law's peace and order. nolan's lips contorted savagely as he recalled that. a traitor! his sole crime had been that he knew too much about woller, his boss! woller had been clever about it. the law itself had removed nolan, a menace to his lawless schemes. when nolan, on his own initiative, had talked and bribed his way into seeing a confessed and condemned saboteur of the junta for an interview, he'd found to his sick astonishment that the man was one he had seen in woller's own office, not two months before. he'd been childishly simple about it, had confronted woller and demanded an explanation. woller had put on his friendliest face and promised one--later.... and then woller had turned the dogs loose. within an hour nolan was in jail for the bribery of the prison officials. the next morning came the incredible indictment: sabotage for the junta! nolan grimaced, recalled the careful, hideous network of lies and forgeries, the distorted evidence, the perjuries. but he had been one man, and woller represented vast power. then abruptly there was a knock on the door. jolted out of his thoughts, nolan started, then called: "just a minute." this was the moment--and he had no plan. his pyro slid out into his hand. he broke it, stared at the twenty-four potent heat charges. they would be plan enough for him, if he got a clear shot at woller. but if he should be disarmed, if woller should suspect. a moment later, the pyro hidden beneath his shirt again, he opened the door. it was the venusian second, as before. "captain wants to see you," he growled. "come on." the _dragonfly_ was a single-deck craft, the captain's cabin located topside of the deck and amidships. nolan looked around curiously, despite his internal tension, as he followed the venusian along. the plastic keel panel underfoot showed an infinity of stars. there was one, large and bright, outstanding among the lesser stars. nolan recognized it--the sun, parent star to the farflung planet they'd just left. now it was dim and feeble, but by the time they got within sight of the inner worlds it would be a ravenous thing, reaching out to destroy them with lethal radiations. out of curiosity, he asked. "when are you going to opaque?" "huh?" the venusian looked startled for a second; then his blubber-drowned little eyes became shrewd. "oh, about orbit saturn, i guess." * * * * * nolan suppressed a sudden frown. he asked carefully, "say, how do you do it on these new-type ships anyhow? all the ones i've been on, you had to have the panels filter-shuttered before they lifted gravs." "paint," the mate said curtly. "okay, here we are." he stood aside, pointed to a door with a glowing golden star embossed on it. nolan nodded and entered, but his thoughts were racing. paint the panels! it would take the whole crew, and they'd never get it off. if they opaqued with paint the ship would be blind for weeks. the filter shutters--great strips of polarized colloid--were the only solution to the problem of keeping out the worst of the sun's dread radiations, but admitting enough light to guide the ship. but they had to be put on externally, before the ship took off. mars? this ship, ports transparent as they were, would never dare approach the sun's blinding energies closer than jupiter! _no wonder they didn't want me_, nolan thought grimly. _they're not going within a hundred million miles of mars!_ the thought froze in nolan's mind as he entered the captain's cabin. first he saw the captain, a tall, demon-black martio-terrestrial, standing before his own desk. then his eyes flicked past, toward the florid-faced man who sat behind the desk, fumbling with a cigarette lighter. and then, for the first time in three years, he was face to face with alan woller. nolan might have showed a flicker of emotion in his face. heaven knows, the blast of iron hatred that surged up through his body was powerful enough. but woller was lighting a cigarette. the second that it took him to finish it and look up was time enough for nolan to freeze. "vincennes is my name," the captain was saying. "what's yours?" "matthews. i'm sorry to have forced my way onto your ship, but i had to get to mars." woller looked up then, and a sudden trace of consternation flashed into his eyes. it died away, but a doubt remained. he stared intently at nolan, then said: "why?" nolan smiled easily. "a lot of reasons--all of them personal. who are you?" woller stood up. "i own this ship," he said coldly. "i didn't ask you aboard. now that you're here, you'll answer my question or get off." the time for a showdown had arrived. _well_, nolan thought, _it had to come some time._ he was strangely relaxed. he shrugged. "you've got a point there," he admitted. "well--" he frowned and raised his hand as though to scratch his head, changed the motion in mid-air. and with the speed of a hopped-up _narcophene_ smoker, the thin-snouted pyro was in his fist, slowly traversing a lethal arc that covered both men. his voice was taut as he spoke. "it's your ship, woller, but i'm taking it over. woller--alan woller--look at me. _do you know who i am?_" woller stared deep into the icy eyes confronting him. the doubt flared again in his own. his jaw dropped slack. his brows lifted and he whispered, "nolan!" nolan didn't bother to nod. he said grimly, "your hands--hold them where they are. you, too, vincennes. i've come a long way for this and i don't mind killing. you taught me that, woller. a man's life is nothing. mine was nothing to you, when it endangered the dirty little treacheries you were working." the life seemed to have gone out of woller and left only a hulking, pallid carcass, propped up by the internal pressure of its own fear. there was murky horror crawling in his eyes. * * * * * steve nolan looked at him and his thin lips curled into a snarling grin. but those were only his lips. strangely, there was no triumph in his heart, none of the fierce pleasure he'd dreamed of all those dreary years. there was only dull disgust, and the hint of a long-dead hope for rest again. rest, and the common things of life on the earth which was forbidden to him. woller could die before him now, and he would be avenged. but woller alive could say the words that would wipe out the banishment, would return him to the green star that was home. woller could be made to confess-- "i ought to blast you now," he said in a soft, chill tone that was like a whip to woller, jerking him upright. "i ought to, and i will if i must. but you can live if you want to." woller was licking his lips, his face a mask, only his panic-stricken eyes alive. "you can live," nolan repeated. "a full statement about the junta frame, in writing. write it out and thumbprint it, and we'll telestat it to the nearest tpl station. then you can have the lifeboat, woller, and as much of a start as tpl gives you. are you willing to pay that much for your life, woller?" woller's lips were stiff but he forced the words through. "go to hell." nolan nodded, and the deadly weariness settled down over him again. "i see your point, of course," he said slowly. "tri-planet doesn't come out here much and a man is reasonably safe from them. but you, woller--power's your life blood. and a man on the run can't have much power. i know." his finger curled on the trigger of the pyro and woller, staring avidly, desperately, whitened at the mouth. his lips moved as though about to form words-- nolan's trigger-sharp senses caught a hint of movement behind him. _fool!_ he thought desperately. _the door!_ he tried to hurl his body aside, out of the way of the door that opened behind him. but he couldn't do that and keep the pyro leveled on the two men at the desk. he saw woller, exultant hatred leaping into his purpled face, plunging for a drawer of the desk; saw the door opening and someone stepping through. then, just as he was leveling the gun on woller again, he saw the flashing swing of the other man in the room. forgotten vincennes--with a heavy nightstone paperweight held bludgeon-like in his hand, leaping in at him. he had no chance even to try to turn. the weight was coming down on the side of his head. all he could do was try to roll with it. but the momentum was immense and the heavy weight struck him down to the floor, drove him headlong into unconsciousness.... * * * * * somebody was kicking him. nolan groaned once, then compressed his lips as he remembered where he was. he opened his eyes and rolled over. the blubbery venusian second was standing over him, face sullen but eyes glinting with perverse pleasure. he raised his heavy spaceman's boot again-- "hold it," said woller from the desk. they were still in the cabin. woller got up, came over, looking down at nolan. his bearing was confident again; he exuded an aura of brutal power. "you should have killed me, nolan," he said. "you only get the one chance, you see." nolan silently pushed himself erect. his ribs were agonized where the second had booted them, and a blinding throb in the skull reminded him of the captain's blow. he was conscious that his armpit holster hung light. the pyro was gone. vincennes had left. only woller and the venusian second were in the cabin with him. "my only doubt," woller was saying, "is whether to blast you now or save you for a little later, when i'll have more time." "sure," said nolan tonelessly. "if you want my vote, it's for now. get it over with." woller nodded. "that would be much pleasanter for you. i think i'll save you." he nodded slowly. then, to the mate, "take him below!" back down the corridor, the mocking stars still bright through the crystal underfoot. back and down, till they came to the gray room, where the pulsing, whining generators spun their web of anti-gravitational power. "we don't have a brig," the mate apologized. "but i think this will hold you in." eyes warily on nolan, he circled him and opened a round metal door. it was an unused storeroom, bare except for rows of vacant metal shelves. "in you go," said the venusian, and nolan complied. the door slammed behind him and was bolted. there was a whine in the air, he noticed. the singing of the grav-generators. it was not unpleasant ... at least, not unbearable, he corrected himself. but how it persisted! it was constant as the keening of a jammed frequency-modulator, high as the wail of a banshee. he let his aching body slip to the floor, lay there without even trying to think. he raised his head for a searching second, but there was nothing to see. bare walls, bare shelves. he was helpless. his chance might come when the second let him out. till then, he would sleep. when had he slept last? save for the few minutes of unconsciousness, it was easily thirty hours. he pillowed his head on his arm.... he moved his head uncomfortably, burrowed his ear deeper into his biceps. that damned keening! he shifted restlessly, stopped his exposed ear with his other hand. that movement racked the beaten ribs, but the shrilling, soft and remorseless, kept on. it was enough to drive a man mad! it was-- he sat bolt upright, eyes flaring angrily. that was what woller had planned! it was torture--subtle, undramatic, simple. but pure, horrid torture. nolan's face was gray with strain. it was incredible that a sound, a noise, could become a threat. he'd heard the same sound a million times before, though never at such close range, or from such titanic generators. but now-- he began trying to fill his mind with other things, but there was no room for thought in a brain that was brimming with naked sound. snatches of school-days poetry, long columns of multiplication tables--they jumbled in his brain. the lines ran together and muddled, were drowned out by the wail of the generators. he gave up and sat there, forcing himself to be still, while the sound hovered in the atmosphere all around him, his jaw muscles taut enough to bite through steel, a great pulse pounding in his temples.... flesh could stand only so much. after a while--he didn't know when--he was mercifully unconscious. * * * * * a volcano erupted under him and awoke. his whole body was a mass of flame now, head throbbing like the jets of a twenty-ton freight skid, chest and ribs as sore as though they were flayed. a sickening weight held him crushed against the metal floor. the roaring from without was the sound of the rockets, loud enough to drown out the whine that had nearly killed him. the ship was landing. and at once there was a gentle jar, then a dizzying vertigo as the grav-web was cut off abruptly. the rockets died down and were silent. everything was silent. the change was fantastic, a dream. nolan, lying there, thought the silence was the finest thing he had ever heard. it didn't last. there were footsteps outside, and the venusian second mate entered. "on your feet," he said curtly. "the boss is ready for you." nolan stood up cautiously. his feet were shaky, but he could use them. he stepped over the rounded sill and followed the venusian's directions. there were men in the corridor, some of them in heat suits. nolan wondered where they were. neptune was on the other side of the sun--could they be as far in as uranus? how long had he been unconscious! "get moving," repeated the second, and nolan moved. the blessed stillness! he was grinning to himself as he walked along the corridor, listening for the lethal whine that wasn't there any more. when they got to where woller, space-suited and bloated, was directing a crew of men in the moving of a bulky object, woller noted the grin. he was not pleased. "enjoying yourself, nolan?" he asked, unsmiling. "that will have to stop." a grin stayed on nolan's face, but it was not the same one. it was a savage threat. woller looked at it, and looked hastily away. "stand him over in the corner," he said to the venusian second. "i'll attend to him right away. business first." the second jerked a thumb at the corner formed by the airlock door and the wall of the corridor. nolan looked in the direction indicated, and a sudden tic in his brows showed a thought that had come to him. the red signal light winked out as he watched; the inner door had closed. he stared through the transparency at what was beyond. darkness was all he could see--darkness, and the light-dotted outline of buildings in the distance. just beyond the lock was something that looked like a skid, with men's figures around it. his forehead puckered, and his eyes returned to the signal light, now dark-- the venusian second watched nolan limp slowly over to the indicated position. his eyes narrowed. "hey, what's the matter?" he asked surlily. nolan shook his head. "something in my shoe," he said. he halted and balanced himself on one foot, poking into the offending footgear. "a button, i guess," he said as drew out, concealed, something that he knew quite well was _not_ a button. he breathed a silent prayer, and it was answered. the venusian grunted and turned away. nolan walked quickly over to the wall, by the lock light, turned and stood surveying the scene without interest. his hands apparently were linked idly behind him--but behind his back they were moving swiftly, dexterously. a _clink_ of glass sounded, and nolan winced as a sharp sliver cut his thumb. then he stood motionless, waiting. the men were shock-wrapping a long, casket-like object. to judge by the care they were using, the contents were delicate and the handling would be rough, nolan noted absently. explosives, perhaps? the last loop of elastic webbing went around it, and the venusian second pulled it taut. "all right," he grunted. "take it away." "lock!" bawled woller as the men picked up the bundle. that was nolan's signal. as slowly as he could manage he stepped idly away from the lock, away from the signal light, hugging the wall. a deckhand, not troubling to look at the warning light across the corridor--nolan mentally thanked his gods--touched the release that opened the lock door. and-- ravenous flame lashed out from the wall. iv nolan was in motion before the incandescent gases had died. the half-dozen men who had been in the corridor were either down on the floor or blindly reeling about. even without a proton-reflector behind it to focus its fierce energies, a pyro charge exploded on unarmored men can do a lot of damage. nolan blessed the hunch that had warned of trouble, the remembrance of an old spacer's trick that had led him to hide a pyro charge in his shoe, back there in the stateroom. still it had been luck, pure and simple, that gave him the chance to open the signal light socket, take out the lume and put the pyro pellet between the contacts. when he'd got out of range and the automatic warning as the lock opened had touched it off-- catastrophe. he'd known when to close his eyes, where to stand for safety. the others hadn't. and so the others were blind. he grabbed a pyro from a writhing wretch on the floor--there was horror in him as he saw the seared face that had once been that of the venusian second. he picked a heat suit out of the cubby, and was into it and in the lock before the blinded men who had escaped the full flare could recover themselves. the lock doors took an eternity to work, but at last he was out in the cold, black open. a hasty glance at the landscape told him nothing. uranus or pluto--it had to be one of them. that was all. a man was just coming out of the skid, perhaps twenty feet away. nolan clicked on his radio, waited for the inevitable question--but it didn't come. the man's transparent faceplate merely turned incuriously to nolan for a second, then bent to examination of the fastenings of the skid's lock. nolan turned calmly and strode off along the side of the ship. when he rounded the stern he broke into a run, heading straight out across charred earth to a chain of hummocks that promised shelter. how long would pursuit be delayed? late or soon, it would come. nolan realized that he had no plan. but he had life, and freedom. he topped the first of the hummocks, scrambled down into the trough behind it. he was relatively safe there, as he cautiously elevated his head to examine the ship and what lay behind it. already--it had been scant minutes since the carnage in the lock corridor--the search for him had begun. he saw a perfectly round spot of brilliance fall on the side of the ship, then dance away. through the ice-clear plutonian night he could make out the figure of a man with a hand light scanning the belly of the ship, looking to see if nolan had hidden himself there. they would quickly learn the answer to that--and know what he had done. beyond the ship were a few dim lights, distorted by a crystal dome. it was another city--or not quite a city, but a domed settlement out here in the wilderness. without warning a sun blossomed on the side of the ship. nolan stood frozen for a split second, then dropped, cursing. they'd seen him, somehow, had turned the ship's powerful landing beam on him. but how? a soundless bolt of lightning that splashed against a higher hill behind him drove speculation out of his mind. nolan frowned. the ship was armed--he hadn't known that. installation of pyros in interplanetary craft was the most forbidden thing of the starways. but there was no time for wonder. as another blast sheared off the crest of a hill, nolan, keeping low, scuttled away behind the shelter of the hummocks. his only safety was in flight. armor he had none. the frozen gases that comprised the hummocks would never stop the dread thrust of a properly-aimed pyro. he fled a hundred yards, then waited. silence. he risked a quick look, saw nothing, retired behind the shelter of the hill to consider. they'd suspended fire--did they think him dead? did they know he had escaped? or was there a hidden danger in this? it might be a ruse. they could be waiting for him to move, to show himself.... nolan shivered, and absently turned up the heat control of his suit. he felt suddenly hopeless. one man against--what? his thoughts, unbidden, reverted to the girl he had left in avalon, and to the sordid fear that she might be what she seemed. nolan's cheek muscles drew tight, and his face hardened. woller, partly protected by his heat suit, undoubtedly had lived through the instant inferno when the pyro charge went off. that was one more thing against him--the girl. nolan sighed. and a faint reverberation on the soles of his feet brought him stark upright, staring frantically over the sheltering mound of ice. a skid was racing down on him. before he could move its light flared out, spotted him. and a tiny voice within his helmet said, "don't move, nolan. you can't get away now. you'll die if you try. next time you play hide-and-seek with me, nolan--don't leave your helmet radio on!" * * * * * if woller had burned with rage before, now he was frozen. he was a blind man there before nolan, his eyes swathed in thick white bandages. but the hulking earthman with the pyro who stood by his side, and lean black captain vincennes at the controls, were eyes enough for him. "but i wish i could see you myself," woller said softly, his fingers drumming idly against the wide fabric arm of his cushioned passenger's chair. "the ship's surgeon says it may be weeks before i see again. if i could afford to keep you alive that long--" he sighed regretfully. "no, i can't afford it," he concluded. "there are more important things, though nothing--" his voice shook but kept its chill calm--"that would give me more pleasure than to see you die." "we could save him, woller," vincennes said. "pickle him in a sleep-box like--" "be still, vincennes!" woller's voice was sharp. "i'll ask for advice when i want it!" a sleep-box--nolan remembered suddenly what they were. small coffins, large enough for a man, equipped with an atomic-powered generator that kept the occupant in a sort of half-death, not breathing or able to move, but capable of existing almost indefinitely without food. nolan wondered absently what they were doing with sleep-boxes, then gave it up. it didn't matter. he cursed the carelessness that had led him to leave the radio on in his suit. it had been simple for the _dragonfly's_ radio-man to tune in on its carrier wave, get a radio fix on his position. the skid swerved abruptly in a sloppy turn, and the surly earth man at the controls halted it and looked around. "okay," he grunted. "here we are." woller nodded. "take me out," he ordered. "nolan, too." nolan peered out the window. absorbed in self-recrimination, he hadn't paid attention to their trip. he was surprised to find gleaming metal all around the skid. they were in a heat lock--they had come to the domed settlement. the martian vincennes went first. as soon as the pressure gauge showed he was safely outside the earthman gestured to nolan. he wedged himself wearily into the air chamber, closed the door. he was ready for a break when the outer portal opened ... but there was no break. not with vincennes and his ready pyro there. woller, stumbling and cursing, followed, and the earthman. vincennes opened the main lock and they went into the dome. there were two great ships inside, dimly lighted by a string of pale lumes overhead. nolan looked at the mass of them, at the rodlike projections clustered around the nose, and knew them for what they were. warships! scaffolding was still around them. they were not yet ready for launching, not ready for whatever mission of treason woller had planned them for. but by the look of them the day was close. and nolan was--awaiting execution. one look at woller's iron countenance under the tape showed that. vincennes' hand, tight-knuckled around the butt of his gun, was ample confirmation. but the moment had not yet come. woller said, "are they waiting?" vincennes' glance sped to a lighted door at the far side of the hangar. "looks that way," he said. "shall i attend to nolan first? he's tricky--" woller laughed softly. "he's used up all his tricks. we'll take him with us, alive. he might come in handy. he's been out of sight for three years now. i'm just a bit curious where he's been. perhaps it's somewhere we should know about." he groped for vincennes' arm, found it. "let's go," he said. "we can't keep the chief waiting." * * * * * nolan was first through the door. he was in a small room where four or five ordinary-looking people were siting around at ease. one was in uniform, the others the perfect example of quite successful businessmen. "is he here yet?" whispered woller. the martian looked around the room before he answered. "not yet. cafferty--lieutenant brie--searle--vremczyk. that's all." the dumpling-shaped soldier in the gray-green of pluto's militia stared at woller. "what the devil's the matter with your face?" he spluttered. woller answered before vincennes could. "i had an accident, brie," he snapped. "keep your fat nose out of it." the dumpling turned purple. but he said nothing, and nolan realized woller's importance in this gathering. this gathering of--what? nolan looked around quickly, and the answer raced to his brain. an officer of pluto's defense forces--two or three well-dressed men, apparently wealthy, with something about them that shrieked "politico"--and woller, once overlord of the system's greatest news-dissemination agency, still a man of vast influence. it looked like the back room of a political convention--or the gathering of a cabal. _the junta!_ it had to be the junta. what they were saying began to make sense. a tall man in dove gray was speaking. "we're not satisfied, candidly," he was saying. "woller, you've had more money than our resources can afford. everything you've asked for you got. and what have you to show for it? three ships--not one of them fit to fly." woller laughed contemptuously. "candidly, cafferty," he mimicked, "i don't care how you feel. my money's gone right along with yours. warships cost money." "so do thousand-acre martian estates," shot the little lieutenant. "how much of your money is in these ships--and how much of ours is in your pockets?" woller turned his blind eyes toward the lieutenant and stood motionless for a second. then, softly, "once again, brie--keep your fat face shut. you are not indispensable." the pudgy soldier glared and opened his mouth to speak--but an interruption halted the quarrel. the door opened without warning, and another man entered. what he looked like nolan could not guess. he wore a heat suit with the helmet down. the polar-plastic faceplate was set for one-way vision. even his voice was muffled and distorted as he spoke. "are we all here?" he asked. the others seemed to note nothing odd about his incognito--did he always disguise himself, nolan wondered? "where's orlando?" brie answered. "he was on mars, on the other side of the sun. he's on his way." the mirror-faced helmet bobbed as its owner nodded. then it turned toward nolan. "what's this?" he asked, advancing. vincennes gestured with the pyro. "his name is nolan," he said. "he tried to get rough with mr. woller. he's dangerous." "dangerous!" the blurred voice was angry. "then why is he here? we have enough danger as it is. give me that pyro!" this was it, nolan knew, and he tensed his body for the leap he had to attempt, though he knew it was useless. the man in the heat suit reached for vincennes' pyro. in the moment while the gun was passing from hand to hand there might be a chance.... there were shouts from outside, and the sound of running feet. the man in the heat suit whirled. "bolt that door!" he shouted. "bolt it! now!" brie, dazed for a second, sprang to obey. then he turned, his plump, pale face damp with sudden sweat. "what is this, chief?" he asked. "are we--is there trouble?" _chief!_ thought nolan. so this hooded stranger was the leader of the conspiracy. masked, disguised like the bandit chief of a flamboyant operetta. the chief was laughing. "lots of trouble," he answered. the dull shouting from outside continued, rising to a crescendo as whoever was without pounded against the door and found it locked. then abruptly it subsided. the huge telescreen on the desk buzzed sharply. the solid little man seated beside it automatically clicked the switch that turned it on. "turn it off!" bellowed the man in the heat suit. but it was already working. the prismatic flare on the screen showed no vision impulses were coming in, showed that whoever was calling was using a sound transmitter only--a portable set like those in a heat suit. a voice said sharply: "attention, junta! the man who claims to be the chief is a masquerader. kill him! this is the chief speaking now!" v doubt sprang into the eyes of every man present. it lasted only a second--for the masquerader's action proved the charge against him. he grappled the pyro from dazed vincennes, sprang back, fired a warning blast that smashed the telescreen. "don't move, anybody!" he ordered. "nolan--take their guns!" nolan threw questions to the winds, sped to obey. he found a business-like little heat pencil in the inner pockets of the chunky man, a pearl-handled burlesque of the service pyro in the gaudy gemmed holster lieutenant brie dangled from his belt. nothing else--and his search was thorough. "all set," he reported. "good enough. searle--are there heat suits in this room?" the chunky man looked stricken. he nodded. "in that locker," he said dizzily, pointing to the wall. "get them out, nolan. give one to every man and put one on yourself. those outside will take their chances." nolan raced to comply. the stillness outside the door was menacing. while he was dragging the suits out, throwing them at the men, while they were putting them on, the man called searle was staring at the masquerader with dawning comprehension. "what are you going to do?" he whispered. "are you--" the man in the heat suit laughed sharply. "get your suit on," he said. "you know what i'm going to do. all set?" every man was garbed, helmets down. "ten seconds to seal them. one, two, three--" he counted slowly and nolan watched him with fascination. at _five_ the gauntleted left hand came up to the butt of the pyro, worked the tiny chambering lever half a dozen times. nolan gasped in spite of himself. there were seven lethal pyro charges in the chamber of that gun--enough to blast down a mountain! the count was finished. through nolan's helmet radio, automatically turned on, the man's calm voice ordered, "all right, nolan. open the door and let them in!" nolan moved. as his hand was on the lock, just as it turned and the door swung loosely inward-- _blam!_ the impostor swung and fired the massive charge in his pyro at the thin wall that kept air and life in the dome! they were running over icy ground. at most there was a minute or so of advantage--less, if the men they'd left in the room had other weapons concealed somewhere. and still nolan didn't know who his savior was. "all right, now," he panted over the helmet phone. "give. who are you?" the answer was a chuckle, mixed with gasping as the smaller man strove to match his speed. "tell you later," he panted. "hold it!" nolan broke in, suddenly recalling the oversight that had been so disastrous before. "don't tell me. show me--and turn off your radio. they've got tracers." * * * * * there was a snort of sudden comprehension from the phone, then silence. nolan looked to see the figure spurt into the lead, gesture ahead. they were rounding the dome. the bulk of the _dragonfly_ appeared, with a big cargo skid drawn up beside it. the gesticulating arm of the other man pointed directly at it. nolan glanced around. there was no one following--yet. the men hadn't had weapons, then--and those who had been outside would not be pursuing anybody. he tried to thrust from his mind the recollection of what had happened when the sucking rush of escaping air had thrown wide open the door he had unlocked, and the tug of naked vacuum gripped the men behind it. a dozen of them there had been, hulking brutes from the flight sheds of a system's blowsiest ports, and one man in a heat suit, faceplate mirrored like that of the man nolan ran beside. it is not pleasant to see a strong man try to shriek in agony, and fail because the air has bubbled from his lungs. the outer door of the skid was open, and the impostor trotted in. when nolan was beside him he leaned on the lock control. ever so slowly, the outer door closed; slowly the inner opened. they burst into a chamber where a man was just rising from a telescreen, face contorted with consternation and hate, hand bringing up a pyro from a drawer in the chart table. the pseudo-chief's gun spoke first, and the head and shoulders of the other disappeared in a burst of flame and sickening smoke. there was no time for delicacy. ruthlessly shoving the seared corpse away, the stranger dove for the controls, touched the jet keys. the ungainly skid shuddered, then drove forward. the stranger opened all jets to the limits of their power. creaking and groaning, the skid responded. the dial of the speed indicator showed mounting acceleration, far beyond what the ship was designed for. nolan, clinging with one arm to a floor-bolted chair, threw back his helmet and yelled: "i'm ready any time! what's the story? who the devil are you?" the impostor waved a hand impatiently. his muffled voice came: "take a look in there. there may be more aboard!" nolan grimaced and nodded. he picked his way over the jolting floor, blaster out, to the threshold. his groping hand encountered the lume switch, flooded the cargo hatch with light. it was almost empty. a few crates, the long casket-like object he had seen in the ship. nothing behind which a man could hide. nolan turned to see the masquerader unzipping the folds of his heat suit with one hand while he guided the careening skid with the other. he brought out a tiny black box, opened it to show a key and a lever. he thumbed the lever open, braced the box between his knees, began tapping the key rhythmically. a curious shrill staccato came from the box. _dee dideedeedit didideedit deedeedit deedeedee didee didididit_-- after a second he stopped, waited. then faintly an answer came back from the box. _deedeedee dideedidit_-- and silence. satisfied, the man closed the box, slowed the skid to a point where its guidance no longer required complete attention. they had reached the ring of ice hummocks that surrounded woller's dome. the skid bounded over the first rise, zoomed through that trough and the next; then the man kicked the rudder jets. it spun along the trough to where the hummocks were highest; then he cut the jets. he turned to nolan, threw back his helmet. "my god," gasped nolan. "pete!" * * * * * petersen grinned. "you called it, boy," he admitted. "don't i get around though?" nolan closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the back of his chair. "the story," he said. "quick." petersen shrugged. "how can i tell it quick? it's long.... maybe if i tell you one thing you can fill in the details." "what's the one thing?" "i work for tpl." tpl--tri-planet law! that explained-- nolan exhaled slowly. "i begin to see," he said. "i always did think you knew too much for a guy that made his living at cards." petersen laughed. "my biggest trouble," he said wryly. "i can't win at cards. whatever i do. it's been quite a drawback to my career. you can see how people would get suspicious of a professional gambler who always loses. i had to keep on the move." nolan's brain was beginning to work again. "but listen," he said. "how come you didn't turn me in when you picked me up--right after i escaped? if you worked for the law--" petersen's face grew serious. "boy," he said, "you gave us a lot of trouble. you and your escapes. we weren't planning to keep you in jail, steve. any fool could see you were being framed--fixed court, semi-pro witnesses. but tpl couldn't step in, out in the open. we didn't know enough for a showdown. so you were going to be summoned to mars for further questioning. when we found out all you knew you were to be taken care of some way or other. given a new identity, kept undercover until we were ready to move." "and i jumped the gun." petersen nodded. "i was in the neighborhood, heading for earth. the tpl man on the ship called earth base; they called me. the ship had you spotted, but they decided not to pick you up. base figured that if you thought you were being hunted you'd keep yourself under cover and we wouldn't have to bother. and if i picked you up i could pump you myself." nolan grinned. "how did you do?" "fine. you talked more than a ventriloquist with a two-tongued dummy.... then you turn up on pluto, just when things are getting hot." "after three years of hiding in third-grade ratholes for fear of the law." there was no bitterness in nolan's voice. just a calm statement of an unpleasant fact. petersen's voice was level, too, but his eyes were alert as he watched nolan. "that couldn't be helped, steve. you know what was at stake." abruptly the grin returned. "the whole damned system, that's all," nolan said a little proudly. "well ... go ahead with your story." petersen shrugged. he looked a little relieved as he spoke. "you know most of it. oh--one part you don't know. woller's daughter--her name's ailse--knew about what he was doing. she just found out about it. we had a maid working in her home in aylette--she didn't generally stay with woller; they didn't get along." nolan's brows lifted. "oh?" "yep. ailse was worried silly. she even talked to the maid--not much, just enough that we could figure out what was happening. it seemed she was going to confront woller with what she knew, try to talk him out of treason." "a real good idea," nolan remarked. "knowing woller--" "that's how we knew where this base was. she told the maid. oh, you do know where you are, don't you? on pluto. the wildest section there is, north of annihilation range." "how about this cockeyed disguise of yours? who is this chief you were supposed to be?" * * * * * petersen frowned. "don't know, exactly," he admitted. "there are three men it could be--they're all connected with the junta, we're pretty sure. they're all on saturn, and we got word that they were rendezvousing here. we knew the boss kept his identity hidden by wearing this get-up, so i was detailed to cut in." nolan nodded. then, his thoughts reverting, he said. "where's the--where's ailse now?" petersen looked unhappy. "uh--i don't know. after you left we sent for her, just to see what she knew that might help. the maid went after her--and couldn't find her. she'd gone out of town, wasn't expected back for some time. we couldn't wait. all the leaders of the junta meeting here--it was too big a chance." nolan said, "well, what are we doing about it? they're all there, and they're warned. and we're out here, parked on the edge of nowhere, waiting for them to get up a scout party and grab us." petersen turned to look out the window in the direction of the dome. he scanned the skies carefully, then pursed his lips. "well, no, steve," he said, pointing. "take a look." arrowing lines of fire were swooping down from far into the blackness. three trails of white flame showed where three ships were plummeting to the surface. nolan turned to petersen with a startled question in his eyes. "watch," petersen advised. "this'll be worth seeing!" down and down they drove, faster than meteor ever fell. a mile above the ground the jets behind died, and yellow flame burst ahead of them, flaring quickly to white. they slowed, poised, and then, in perfect unison, spun off to one side. they came around in a great circle and dived at the ground again. and repeated the operation, over and over. and abruptly nolan saw what was happening. he was witnessing the systematic annihilation of the domed settlement! immense bursts of fire from ship-sized pyros were blazing into the ground. the hummocks prevented a dear view, but nolan could see from the reflected glare on the mountainsides behind that the destruction was frightful. "i called them," petersen said softly. "you saw me call them. that black box--it's a telesonde." nolan didn't turn, fascinated by the sight. "what's a telesonde?" he asked absently. "a radio that carries neither voice nor vision. only one note short or long depending on how long the key is held down. your great-great-grandfather knew about it. it was the first method of wireless communication. now it's so completely forgotten that when tpl researchers dug it up it was adopted as the most secret method of communication available." nolan nodded his head. the ships came around again, and down. this time the forward jets were delayed. when they flared out they persisted, while the ships dropped gently out of sight. they were landing. the destruction of the dome was complete. nolan turned away. "quite a sight," he said slowly. "they deserved to die, of course...." "steve." nolan's eyes narrowed suddenly. he looked at petersen. "yes?" * * * * * petersen, for once, seemed almost at a loss for words. he licked his lips before he spoke. "steve--there are one or two other things. did you know that ailse wasn't woller's daughter by blood?" nolan looked at him unbelievingly. "not his daughter?" petersen shook his head. "woller married a widow. a wealthy one, with a daughter. they didn't get along too well. the woman died. some people thought it might be suicide." the quick joy flooded up in nolan. petersen saw it and his face grew somber. "that's one of the things, steve," he said. "the other one--hell, this is hard to say." nolan stood up and the joy was gone from his face. "damn you, pete," he said emotionlessly. "don't break things gently to me." petersen shrugged. "ailse wasn't anywhere we could find her--and we know a lot of places to look in. the ship left to come here. she was at woller's home till just before then. woller sent men to bring something from his apartment to the ship. i thought it was papers at the time--but it could have been a girl. so--where does that leave ailse?" where? nolan stood rocklike as the thought trickled through the automatic barrier his mind had set up. where did it leave ailse? a charred fragment of what had once been beauty. a castoff target for tpl's searching pyros. "i'll say it again, steve. you know what was at stake. if the junta had time--well, we didn't know what kind of weapons they had there. that was one reason why i was sent ahead in that crazy disguise. if i had had time to scout around it might have been possible to do things less bloodily. i didn't have time. we couldn't take chances." there was no anger in nolan, no room for it. he sat there, waiting for petersen to start the jets and send them back to the dome. he knew how he would scour the ashes, hoping against hope. and he knew what he would find. it would have been better, he thought, almost to have died under woller's pyro, or the tpl ships'. if he'd stayed behind--if woller had put him in the sleep-box as vincennes had suggested, and he had shared obliteration with her.... the sleep-box! the casket! * * * * * it took petersen a full second to recover from his surprise when the frozen face of nolan suddenly glowed with hope, when he leaped up and dashed into the cargo hatch. it took him minutes to follow him. minutes spent in making the difficult decision of whether or not he should prevent a man from taking his own life. the decision was wasted, he found. behind the scattered boxes of pyro shells, wedged into a corner of the hold, nolan knelt beside a long, narrow casket. fiber shock-wrapping was scattered about. nolan's fumbling fingers were working the latch of the casket, lifting the lid.... the shout that left his lips was deafening in the small hold. petersen looked closer, tiptoed up-- and all the way back to the waiting ships of the tpl petersen was grinning to himself. though his hands guided the ship skillfully as ever, though his gaze was outward at the flowing terrain beneath, he saw but one thing. the tableau as he had approached the casket and seen nolan, face indescribably tender, shutting off the sleep currents, reaching for the ampoule of stimulant that would revive the unconscious dark-haired girl within. [illustration: bookcover] [illustration: spines] rob roy by sir walter scott volume two [illustration: helen macgregor--frontispiece] chapter first and hurry, hurry, off they rode, as fast as fast might be; hurra, hurra, the dead can ride, dost fear to ride with me? burger. there is one advantage in an accumulation of evils, differing in cause and character, that the distraction which they afford by their contradictory operation prevents the patient from being overwhelmed under either. i was deeply grieved at my separation from miss vernon, yet not so much so as i should have been, had not my father's apprehended distresses forced themselves on my attention; and i was distressed by the news of mr. tresham, yet less so than if they had fully occupied my mind. i was neither a false lover nor an unfeeling son; but man can give but a certain portion of distressful emotions to the causes which demand them; and if two operate at once, our sympathy, like the funds of a compounding bankrupt, can only be divided between them. such were my reflections when i gained my apartment--it seems, from the illustration, they already began to have a twang of commerce in them. i set myself seriously to consider your father's letter. it was not very distinct, and referred for several particulars to owen, whom i was entreated to meet with as soon as possible at a scotch town called glasgow; being informed, moreover, that my old friend was to be heard of at messrs. macvittie, macfin, and company, merchants in the gallowgate of the said town. it likewise alluded to several letters,--which, as it appeared to me, must have miscarried or have been intercepted, and complained of my obdurate silence, in terms which would have, been highly unjust, had my letters reached their purposed destination. i was amazed as i read. that the spirit of rashleigh walked around me, and conjured up these doubts and difficulties by which i was surrounded, i could not doubt for one instant; yet it was frightful to conceive the extent of combined villany and power which he must have employed in the perpetration of his designs. let me do myself justice in one respect. the evil of parting from miss vernon, however distressing it might in other respects and at another time have appeared to me, sunk into a subordinate consideration when i thought of the dangers impending over my father. i did not myself set a high estimation on wealth, and had the affectation of most young men of lively imagination, who suppose that they can better dispense with the possession of money, than resign their time and faculties to the labour necessary to acquire it. but in my father's case, i knew that bankruptcy would be considered as an utter and irretrievable disgrace, to which life would afford no comfort, and death the speediest and sole relief. my mind, therefore, was bent on averting this catastrophe, with an intensity which the interest could not have produced had it referred to my own fortunes; and the result of my deliberation was a firm resolution to depart from osbaldistone hall the next day and wend my way without loss of time to meet owen at glasgow. i did not hold it expedient to intimate my departure to my uncle, otherwise than by leaving a letter of thanks for his hospitality, assuring him that sudden and important business prevented my offering them in person. i knew the blunt old knight would readily excuse ceremony; and i had such a belief in the extent and decided character of rashleigh's machinations, that i had some apprehension of his having provided means to intercept a journey which was undertaken with a view to disconcert them, if my departure were publicly announced at osbaldistone hall. i therefore determined to set off on my journey with daylight on the ensuing morning, and to gain the neighbouring kingdom of scotland before any idea of my departure was entertained at the hall. but one impediment of consequence was likely to prevent that speed which was the soul of my expedition. i did not know the shortest, nor indeed any road to glasgow; and as, in the circumstances in which i stood, despatch was of the greatest consequence, i determined to consult andrew fairservice on the subject, as the nearest and most authentic authority within my reach. late as it was, i set off with the intention of ascertaining this important point, and after a few minutes' walk reached the dwelling of the gardener. andrew's dwelling was situated at no great distance from the exterior wall of the garden--a snug comfortable northumbrian cottage, built of stones roughly dressed with the hammer, and having the windows and doors decorated with huge heavy architraves, or lintels, as they are called, of hewn stone, and its roof covered with broad grey flags, instead of slates, thatch, or tiles. a jargonelle pear-tree at one end of the cottage, a rivulet and flower-plot of a rood in extent in front, and a kitchen-garden behind; a paddock for a cow, and a small field, cultivated with several crops of grain, rather for the benefit of the cottager than for sale, announced the warm and cordial comforts which old england, even at her most northern extremity, extends to her meanest inhabitants. as i approached the mansion of the sapient andrew, i heard a noise, which, being of a nature peculiarly solemn, nasal, and prolonged, led me to think that andrew, according to the decent and meritorious custom of his countrymen, had assembled some of his neighbours to join in family exercise, as he called evening devotion. andrew had indeed neither wife, child, nor female inmate in his family. "the first of his trade," he said, "had had eneugh o'thae cattle." but, notwithstanding, he sometimes contrived to form an audience for himself out of the neighbouring papists and church-of-englandmen--brands, as he expressed it, snatched out of the burning, on whom he used to exercise his spiritual gifts, in defiance alike of father vaughan, father docharty, rashleigh, and all the world of catholics around him, who deemed his interference on such occasions an act of heretical interloping. i conceived it likely, therefore, that the well-disposed neighbours might have assembled to hold some chapel of ease of this nature. the noise, however, when i listened to it more accurately, seemed to proceed entirely from the lungs of the said andrew; and when i interrupted it by entering the house, i found fairservice alone, combating as he best could, with long words and hard names, and reading aloud, for the purpose of his own edification, a volume of controversial divinity. "i was just taking a spell," said he, laying aside the huge folio volume as i entered, "of the worthy doctor lightfoot." "lightfoot!" i replied, looking at the ponderous volume with some surprise; "surely your author was unhappily named." "lightfoot was his name, sir; a divine he was, and another kind of a divine than they hae now-adays. always, i crave your pardon for keeping ye standing at the door, but having been mistrysted (gude preserve us!) with ae bogle the night already, i was dubious o' opening the yett till i had gaen through the e'ening worship; and i had just finished the fifth chapter of nehemiah--if that winna gar them keep their distance, i wotna what will." "trysted with a bogle!" said i; "what do you mean by that, andrew?" "i said mistrysted," replied andrew; "that is as muckle as to say, fley'd wi' a ghaist--gude preserve us, i say again!" "flay'd by a ghost, andrew! how am i to understand that?" "i did not say flay'd," replied andrew, "but _fley'd,_--that is, i got a fleg, and was ready to jump out o' my skin, though naebody offered to whirl it aff my body as a man wad bark a tree." "i beg a truce to your terrors in the present case, andrew, and i wish to know whether you can direct me the nearest way to a town in your country of scotland, called glasgow?" "a town ca'd glasgow!" echoed andrew fairservice. "glasgow's a ceety, man.--and is't the way to glasgow ye were speering if i ken'd?--what suld ail me to ken it?--it's no that dooms far frae my ain parish of dreepdaily, that lies a bittock farther to the west. but what may your honour be gaun to glasgow for?" "particular business," replied i. "that's as muckle as to say, speer nae questions, and i'll tell ye nae lees.--to glasgow?"--he made a short pause--"i am thinking ye wad be the better o' some ane to show you the road." "certainly, if i could meet with any person going that way." "and your honour, doubtless, wad consider the time and trouble?" "unquestionably--my business is pressing, and if you can find any guide to accompany me, i'll pay him handsomely." "this is no a day to speak o' carnal matters," said andrew, casting his eyes upwards; "but if it werena sabbath at e'en, i wad speer what ye wad be content to gie to ane that wad bear ye pleasant company on the road, and tell ye the names of the gentlemen's and noblemen's seats and castles, and count their kin to ye?" "i tell you, all i want to know is the road i must travel; i will pay the fellow to his satisfaction--i will give him anything in reason." "onything," replied andrew, "is naething; and this lad that i am speaking o' kens a' the short cuts and queer by-paths through the hills, and"-- "i have no time to talk about it, andrew; do you make the bargain for me your own way." "aha! that's speaking to the purpose," answered andrew.--"i am thinking, since sae be that sae it is, i'll be the lad that will guide you mysell." "you, andrew?--how will you get away from your employment?" "i tell'd your honour a while syne, that it was lang that i hae been thinking o' flitting, maybe as lang as frae the first year i came to osbaldistone hall; and now i am o' the mind to gang in gude earnest--better soon as syne--better a finger aff as aye wagging." "you leave your service, then?--but will you not lose your wages?" "nae doubt there will be a certain loss; but then i hae siller o' the laird's in my hands that i took for the apples in the auld orchyard--and a sair bargain the folk had that bought them--a wheen green trash--and yet sir hildebrand's as keen to hae the siller (that is, the steward is as pressing about it) as if they had been a' gowden pippins--and then there's the siller for the seeds--i'm thinking the wage will be in a manner decently made up.--but doubtless your honour will consider my risk of loss when we win to glasgow--and ye'll be for setting out forthwith?" "by day-break in the morning," i answered. "that's something o' the suddenest--whare am i to find a naig?--stay--i ken just the beast that will answer me." "at five in the morning, then, andrew, you will meet me at the head of the avenue." "deil a fear o' me (that i suld say sae) missing my tryste," replied andrew, very briskly; "and if i might advise, we wad be aff twa hours earlier. i ken the way, dark or light, as weel as blind ralph ronaldson, that's travelled ower every moor in the country-side, and disna ken the colour of a heather-cowe when a's dune." i highly approved of andrew's amendment on my original proposal, and we agreed to meet at the place appointed at three in the morning. at once, however, a reflection came across the mind of my intended travelling companion. "the bogle! the bogle! what if it should come out upon us?--i downa forgather wi' thae things twice in the four-and-twenty hours." "pooh! pooh!" i exclaimed, breaking away from him, "fear nothing from the next world--the earth contains living fiends, who can act for themselves without assistance, were the whole host that fell with lucifer to return to aid and abet them." with these words, the import of which was suggested by my own situation, i left andrew's habitation, and returned to the hall. i made the few preparations which were necessary for my proposed journey, examined and loaded my pistols, and then threw myself on my bed, to obtain, if possible, a brief sleep before the fatigue of a long and anxious journey. nature, exhausted by the tumultuous agitations of the day, was kinder to me than i expected, and i stink into a deep and profound slumber, from which, however, i started as the old clock struck two from a turret adjoining to my bedchamber. i instantly arose, struck a light, wrote the letter i proposed to leave for my uncle, and leaving behind me such articles of dress as were cumbrous in carriage, i deposited the rest of my wardrobe in my valise, glided down stairs, and gained the stable without impediment. without being quite such a groom as any of my cousins, i had learned at osbaldistone hall to dress and saddle my own horse, and in a few minutes i was mounted and ready for my sally. as i paced up the old avenue, on which the waning moon threw its light with a pale and whitish tinge, i looked back with a deep and boding sigh towards the walls which contained diana vernon, under the despondent impression that we had probably parted to meet no more. it was impossible, among the long and irregular lines of gothic casements, which now looked ghastly white in the moonlight, to distinguish that of the apartment which she inhabited. "she is lost to me already," thought i, as my eye wandered over the dim and indistinguishable intricacies of architecture offered by the moonlight view of osbaldistone hall--"she is lost to me already, ere i have left the place which she inhabits! what hope is there of my maintaining any correspondence with her, when leagues shall lie between?" while i paused in a reverie of no very pleasing nature, the "iron tongue of time told three upon the drowsy ear of night," and reminded me of the necessity of keeping my appointment with a person of a less interesting description and appearance--andrew fairservice. at the gate of the avenue i found a horseman stationed in the shadow of the wall, but it was not until i had coughed twice, and then called "andrew," that the horticulturist replied, "i'se warrant it's andrew." "lead the way, then," said i, "and be silent if you can, till we are past the hamlet in the valley." andrew led the way accordingly, and at a much brisker pace than i would have recommended.--and so well did he obey my injunctions of keeping silence, that he would return no answer to my repeated inquiries into the cause of such unnecessary haste. extricating ourselves by short cuts, known to andrew, from the numerous stony lanes and by-paths which intersected each other in the vicinity of the hall, we reached the open heath and riding swiftly across it, took our course among the barren hills which divide england from scotland on what are called the middle marches. the way, or rather the broken track which we occupied, was a happy interchange of bog and shingles; nevertheless, andrew relented nothing of his speed, but trotted manfully forward at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour. i was both surprised and provoked at the fellow's obstinate persistence, for we made abrupt ascents and descents over ground of a very break-neck character, and traversed the edge of precipices, where a slip of the horse's feet would have consigned the rider to certain death. the moon, at best, afforded a dubious and imperfect light; but in some places we were so much under the shade of the mountain as to be in total darkness, and then i could only trace andrew by the clatter of his horse's feet, and the fire which they struck from the flints. at first, this rapid motion, and the attention which, for the sake of personal safety, i was compelled to give to the conduct of my horse, was of service, by forcibly diverting my thoughts from the various painful reflections which must otherwise have pressed on my mind. but at length, after hallooing repeatedly to andrew to ride slower, i became seriously incensed at his impudent perseverance in refusing either to obey or to reply to me. my anger was, however, quite impotent. i attempted once or twice to get up alongside of my self-willed guide, with the purpose of knocking him off his horse with the butt-end of my whip; but andrew was better mounted than i, and either the spirit of the animal which he bestrode, or more probably some presentiment of my kind intentions towards him, induced him to quicken his pace whenever i attempted to make up to him. on the other hand, i was compelled to exert my spurs to keep him in sight, for without his guidance i was too well aware that i should never find my way through the howling wilderness which we now traversed at such an unwonted pace. i was so angry at length, that i threatened to have recourse to my pistols, and send a bullet after the hotspur andrew, which should stop his fiery-footed career, if he did not abate it of his own accord. apparently this threat made some impression on the tympanum of his ear, however deaf to all my milder entreaties; for he relaxed his pace upon hearing it, and, suffering me to close up to him, observed, "there wasna muckle sense in riding at sic a daft-like gate." "and what did you mean by doing so at all, you self-willed scoundrel?" replied i; for i was in a towering passion,--to which, by the way, nothing contributes more than the having recently undergone a spice of personal fear, which, like a few drops of water flung on a glowing fire, is sure to inflame the ardour which it is insufficient to quench. "what's your honour's wull?" replied andrew, with impenetrable gravity. "my will, you rascal?--i have been roaring to you this hour to ride slower, and you have never so much as answered me--are you drunk or mad to behave so?" "an it like your honour, i am something dull o' hearing; and i'll no deny but i might have maybe taen a stirrup-cup at parting frae the auld bigging whare i hae dwelt sae lang; and having naebody to pledge, nae doubt i was obliged to do mysell reason, or else leave the end o' the brandy stoup to thae papists--and that wad be a waste, as your honour kens." this might be all very true,--and my circumstances required that i should be on good terms with my guide; i therefore satisfied myself with requiring of him to take his directions from me in future concerning the rate of travelling. andrew, emboldened by the mildness of my tone, elevated his own into the pedantic, conceited octave, which was familiar to him on most occasions. "your honour winna persuade me, and naebody shall persuade me, that it's either halesome or prudent to tak the night air on thae moors without a cordial o' clow-gilliflower water, or a tass of brandy or aquavitae, or sic-like creature-comfort. i hae taen the bent ower the otterscrape-rigg a hundred times, day and night, and never could find the way unless i had taen my morning; mair by token that i had whiles twa bits o' ankers o' brandy on ilk side o' me."-- "in other words, andrew," said i, "you were a smuggler--how does a man of your strict principles reconcile yourself to cheat the revenue?" "it's a mere spoiling o' the egyptians," replied andrew; "puir auld scotland suffers eneugh by thae blackguard loons o' excisemen and gaugers, that hae come down on her like locusts since the sad and sorrowfu' union; it's the part of a kind son to bring her a soup o' something that will keep up her auld heart,--and that will they nill they, the ill-fa'ard thieves!" upon more particular inquiry, i found andrew had frequently travelled these mountain-paths as a smuggler, both before and after his establishment at osbaldistone hall--a circumstance which was so far of importance to me, as it proved his capacity as a guide, notwithstanding the escapade of which he had been guilty at his outset, even now, though travelling at a more moderate pace, the stirrup-cup, or whatever else had such an effect in stimulating andrew's motions, seemed not totally to have lost its influence. he often cast a nervous and startled look behind him; and whenever the road seemed at all practicable, showed symptoms of a desire to accelerate his pace, as if he feared some pursuit from the rear. these appearances of alarm gradually diminished as we reached the top of a high bleak ridge, which ran nearly east and west for about a mile, with a very steep descent on either side. the pale beams of the morning were now enlightening the horizon, when andrew cast a look behind him, and not seeing the appearance of a living being on the moors which he had travelled, his hard features gradually unbent, as he first whistled, then sung, with much glee and little melody, the end of one of his native songs-- "jenny, lass! i think i hae her ower the muir amang the heather, all their clan shall never get her." he patted at the same time the neck of the horse which had carried him so gallantly; and my attention being directed by that action to the animal, i instantly recognised a favourite mare of thorncliff osbaldistone. "how is this, sir?" said i sternly; "that is mr. thorncliff's mare!" "i'll no say but she may aiblins hae been his honour's squire thorncliff's in her day--but she's mine now." "you have stolen her, you rascal." "na, na, sir--nae man can wyte me wi' theft. the thing stands this gate, ye see. squire thorncliff borrowed ten punds o' me to gang to york races--deil a boddle wad he pay me back again, and spake o' raddling my banes, as he ca'd it, when i asked him but for my ain back again;--now i think it will riddle him or he gets his horse ower the border again--unless he pays me plack and bawbee, he sall never see a hair o' her tail. i ken a canny chield at loughmaben, a bit writer lad, that will put me in the way to sort him. steal the mear! na, na, far be the sin o' theft frae andrew fairservice--i have just arrested her _jurisdictionis fandandy causey._ thae are bonny writer words--amaist like the language o' huz gardeners and other learned men--it's a pity they're sae dear;--thae three words were a' that andrew got for a lang law-plea and four ankers o' as gude brandy as was e'er coupit ower craig--hech, sirs! but law's a dear thing." "you are likely to find it much dearer than you suppose, andrew, if you proceed in this mode of paying yourself, without legal authority." "hout tout, we're in scotland now (be praised for't!) and i can find baith friends and lawyers, and judges too, as weel as ony osbaldistone o' them a'. my mither's mither's third cousin was cousin to the provost o' dumfries, and he winna see a drap o' her blude wranged. hout awa! the laws are indifferently administered here to a' men alike; it's no like on yon side, when a chield may be whuppit awa' wi' ane o' clerk jobson's warrants, afore he kens where he is. but they will hae little enough law amang them by and by, and that is ae grand reason that i hae gi'en them gude-day." i was highly provoked at the achievement of andrew, and considered it as a hard fate, which a second time threw me into collision with a person of such irregular practices. i determined, however, to buy the mare of him, when he should reach the end of our journey, and send her back to my cousin at osbaldistone hall; and with this purpose of reparation i resolved to make my uncle acquainted from the next post-town. it was needless, i thought, to quarrel with andrew in the meantime, who had, after all, acted not very unnaturally for a person in his circumstances. i therefore smothered my resentment, and asked him what he meant by his last expressions, that there would be little law in northumberland by and by? "law!" said andrew, "hout, ay--there will be club-law eneugh. the priests and the irish officers, and thae papist cattle that hae been sodgering abroad, because they durstna bide at hame, are a' fleeing thick in northumberland e'enow; and thae corbies dinna gather without they smell carrion. as sure as ye live, his honour sir hildebrand is gaun to stick his horn in the bog--there's naething but gun and pistol, sword and dagger, amang them--and they'll be laying on, i'se warrant; for they're fearless fules the young osbaldistone squires, aye craving your honour's pardon." this speech recalled to my memory some suspicions that i myself had entertained, that the jacobites were on the eve of some desperate enterprise. but, conscious it did not become me to be a spy on my uncle's words and actions, i had rather avoided than availed myself of any opportunity which occurred of remarking upon the signs of the times.-- andrew fairservice felt no such restraint, and doubtless spoke very truly in stating his conviction that some desperate plots were in agitation, as a reason which determined his resolution to leave the hall. "the servants," he stated, "with the tenantry and others, had been all regularly enrolled and mustered, and they wanted me to take arms also. but i'll ride in nae siccan troop--they little ken'd andrew that asked him. i'll fight when i like mysell, but it sall neither be for the hure o' babylon, nor any hure in england." chapter second. where longs to fall yon rifted spire, as weary of the insulting air,-- the poet's thoughts, the warrior's fire, the lover's sighs, are sleeping there. langhorne. at the first scotch town which we reached, my guide sought out his friend and counsellor, to consult upon the proper and legal means of converting into his own lawful property the "bonny creature," which was at present his own only by one of those sleight-of-hand arrangements which still sometimes took place in that once lawless district. i was somewhat diverted with the dejection of his looks on his return. he had, it seems, been rather too communicative to his confidential friend, the attorney; and learned with great dismay, in return for his unsuspecting frankness, that mr. touthope had, during his absence, been appointed clerk to the peace of the county, and was bound to communicate to justice all such achievements as that of his friend mr. andrew fairservice. there was a necessity, this alert member of the police stated, for arresting the horse, and placing him in bailie trumbull's stable, therein to remain at livery, at the rate of twelve shillings (scotch) per diem, until the question of property was duly tried and debated. he even talked as if, in strict and rigorous execution of his duty, he ought to detain honest andrew himself; but on my guide's most piteously entreating his forbearance, he not only desisted from this proposal, but made a present to andrew of a broken-winded and spavined pony, in order to enable him to pursue his journey. it is true, he qualified this act of generosity by exacting from poor andrew an absolute cession of his right and interest in the gallant palfrey of thorncliff osbaldistone--a transference which mr. touthope represented as of very little consequence, since his unfortunate friend, as he facetiously observed, was likely to get nothing of the mare excepting the halter. andrew seemed woeful and disconcerted, as i screwed out of him these particulars; for his northern pride was cruelly pinched by being compelled to admit that attorneys were attorneys on both sides of the tweed; and that mr. clerk touthope was not a farthing more sterling coin than mr. clerk jobson. "it wadna hae vexed him half sae muckle to hae been cheated out o' what might amaist be said to be won with the peril o' his craig, had it happened amang the inglishers; but it was an unco thing to see hawks pike out hawks' e'en, or ae kindly scot cheat anither. but nae doubt things were strangely changed in his country sin' the sad and sorrowfu' union;" an event to which andrew referred every symptom of depravity or degeneracy which he remarked among his countrymen, more especially the inflammation of reckonings, the diminished size of pint-stoups, and other grievances, which he pointed out to me during our journey. for my own part, i held myself, as things had turned out, acquitted of all charge of the mare, and wrote to my uncle the circumstances under which she was carried into scotland, concluding with informing him that she was in the hands of justice, and her worthy representatives, bailie trumbull and mr. clerk touthope, to whom i referred him for farther particulars. whether the property returned to the northumbrian fox-hunter, or continued to bear the person of the scottish attorney, it is unnecessary for me at present to say. we now pursued our journey to the north-westward, at a rate much slower than that at which we had achieved our nocturnal retreat from england. one chain of barren and uninteresting hills succeeded another, until the more fertile vale of clyde opened upon us; and, with such despatch as we might, we gained the town, or, as my guide pertinaciously termed it, the city, of glasgow. of late years, i understand, it has fully deserved the name, which, by a sort of political second sight, my guide assigned to it. an extensive and increasing trade with the west indies and american colonies, has, if i am rightly informed, laid the foundation of wealth and prosperity, which, if carefully strengthened and built upon, may one day support an immense fabric of commercial prosperity; but in the earlier time of which i speak, the dawn of this splendour had not arisen. the union had, indeed, opened to scotland the trade of the english colonies; but, betwixt want of capital, and the national jealousy of the english, the merchants of scotland were as yet excluded, in a great measure, from the exercise of the privileges which that memorable treaty conferred on them. glasgow lay on the wrong side of the island for participating in the east country or continental trade, by which the trifling commerce as yet possessed by scotland chiefly supported itself. yet, though she then gave small promise of the commercial eminence to which, i am informed, she seems now likely one day to attain, glasgow, as the principal central town of the western district of scotland, was a place of considerable rank and importance. the broad and brimming clyde, which flows so near its walls, gave the means of an inland navigation of some importance. not only the fertile plains in its immediate neighbourhood, but the districts of ayr and dumfries regarded glasgow as their capital, to which they transmitted their produce, and received in return such necessaries and luxuries as their consumption required. the dusky mountains of the western highlands often sent forth wilder tribes to frequent the marts of st. mungo's favourite city. hordes of wild shaggy, dwarfish cattle and ponies, conducted by highlanders, as wild, as shaggy, and sometimes as dwarfish, as the animals they had in charge, often traversed the streets of glasgow. strangers gazed with surprise on the antique and fantastic dress, and listened to the unknown and dissonant sounds of their language, while the mountaineers, armed, even while engaged in this peaceful occupation, with musket and pistol, sword, dagger, and target, stared with astonishment on the articles of luxury of which they knew not the use, and with an avidity which seemed somewhat alarming on the articles which they knew and valued. it is always with unwillingness that the highlander quits his deserts, and at this early period it was like tearing a pine from its rock, to plant him elsewhere. yet even then the mountain glens were over-peopled, although thinned occasionally by famine or by the sword, and many of their inhabitants strayed down to glasgow--there formed settlements--there sought and found employment, although different, indeed, from that of their native hills. this supply of a hardy and useful population was of consequence to the prosperity of the place, furnished the means of carrying on the few manufactures which the town already boasted, and laid the foundation of its future prosperity. the exterior of the city corresponded with these promising circumstances. the principal street was broad and important, decorated with public buildings, of an architecture rather striking than correct in point of taste, and running between rows of tall houses, built of stone, the fronts of which were occasionally richly ornamented with mason-work--a circumstance which gave the street an imposing air of dignity and grandeur, of which most english towns are in some measure deprived, by the slight, insubstantial, and perishable quality and appearance of the bricks with which they are constructed. in the western metropolis of scotland, my guide and i arrived on a saturday evening, too late to entertain thoughts of business of any kind. we alighted at the door of a jolly hostler-wife, as andrew called her,--the ostelere of old father chaucer,--by whom we were civilly received. on the following morning the bells pealed from every steeple, announcing the sanctity of the day. notwithstanding, however, what i had heard of the severity with which the sabbath is observed in scotland, my first impulse, not unnaturally, was to seek out owen; but on inquiry i found that my attempt would be in vain, "until kirk time was ower." not only did my landlady and guide jointly assure me that "there wadna be a living soul either in the counting-house or dwelling-house of messrs. macvittie, macfin, and company," to which owen's letter referred me, but, moreover, "far less would i find any of the partners there. they were serious men, and wad be where a' gude christians ought to be at sic a time, and that was in the barony laigh kirk."* * [the laigh kirk or crypt of the cathedral of glasgow served for more * than two centuries as the church of the barony parish, and, for a time, was * converted into a burial-place. in the restorations of this grand building * the crypt was cleared out, and is now admired as one of the richest specimens * of early english architecture existing in scotland.] andrew fairservice, whose disgust at the law of his country had fortunately not extended itself to the other learned professions of his native land, now sung forth the praises of the preacher who was to perform the duty, to which my hostess replied with many loud amens. the result was, that i determined to go to this popular place of worship, as much with the purpose of learning, if possible, whether owen had arrived in glasgow, as with any great expectation of edification. my hopes were exalted by the assurance, that if mr. ephraim macvittie (worthy man) were in the land of life, he would surely honour the barony kirk that day with his presence; and if he chanced to have a stranger within his gates, doubtless he would bring him to the duty along with him. this probability determined my motions, and under the escort of my faithful andrew, i set forth for the barony kirk. on this occasion, however, i had little need of his guidance; for the crowd, which forced its way up a steep and rough-paved street, to hear the most popular preacher in the west of scotland, would of itself have swept me along with it. on attaining the summit of the hill, we turned to the left, and a large pair of folding doors admitted us, amongst others, into the open and extensive burying-place which surrounds the minster or cathedral church of glasgow. the pile is of a gloomy and massive, rather than of an elegant, style of gothic architecture; but its peculiar character is so strongly preserved, and so well suited with the accompaniments that surround it, that the impression of the first view was awful and solemn in the extreme. i was indeed so much struck, that i resisted for a few minutes all andrew's efforts to drag me into the interior of the building, so deeply was i engaged in surveying its outward character. situated in a populous and considerable town, this ancient and massive pile has the appearance of the most sequestered solitude. high walls divide it from the buildings of the city on one side; on the other it is bounded by a ravine, at the bottom of which, and invisible to the eye, murmurs a wandering rivulet, adding, by its gentle noise, to the imposing solemnity of the scene. on the opposite side of the ravine rises a steep bank, covered with fir-trees closely planted, whose dusky shade extends itself over the cemetery with an appropriate and gloomy effect. the churchyard itself had a peculiar character; for though in reality extensive, it is small in proportion to the number of respectable inhabitants who are interred within it, and whose graves are almost all covered with tombstones. there is therefore no room for the long rank grass, which, in most cases, partially clothes the surface of those retreats where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest. the broad flat monumental stones are placed so close to each other, that the precincts appear to be flagged with them, and, though roofed only by the heavens, resemble the floor of one of our old english churches, where the pavement is covered with sepulchral inscriptions. the contents of these sad records of mortality, the vain sorrows which they preserve, the stern lesson which they teach of the nothingness of humanity, the extent of ground which they so closely cover, and their uniform and melancholy tenor, reminded me of the roll of the prophet, which was "written within and without, and there was written therein lamentations and mourning and woe." the cathedral itself corresponds in impressive majesty with these accompaniments. we feel that its appearance is heavy, yet that the effect produced would be destroyed were it lighter or more ornamental. it is the only metropolitan church in scotland, excepting, as i am informed, the cathedral of kirkwall, in the orkneys, which remained uninjured at the reformation; and andrew fairservice, who saw with great pride the effect which it produced upon my mind, thus accounted for its preservation--"ah! it's a brave kirk--nane o' yere whig-maleeries and curliewurlies and opensteek hems about it--a' solid, weel-jointed mason-wark, that will stand as lang as the warld, keep hands and gunpowther aff it. it had amaist a douncome lang syne at the reformation, when they pu'd doun the kirks of st. andrews and perth, and thereawa', to cleanse them o' papery, and idolatry, and image worship, and surplices, and sic like rags o' the muckle hure that sitteth on seven hills, as if ane wasna braid eneugh for her auld hinder end. sae the commons o' renfrew, and o' the barony, and the gorbals and a' about, they behoved to come into glasgow no fair morning, to try their hand on purging the high kirk o' popish nick-nackets. but the townsmen o' glasgow, they were feared their auld edifice might slip the girths in gaun through siccan rough physic, sae they rang the common bell, and assembled the train-bands wi' took o' drum. by good luck, the worthy james rabat was dean o' guild that year--(and a gude mason he was himself, made him the keener to keep up the auld bigging)--and the trades assembled, and offered downright battle to the commons, rather than their kirk should coup the crans as others had done elsewhere. it wasna for luve o' paperie--na, na!--nane could ever say that o' the trades o' glasgow--sae they sune came to an agreement to take a' the idolatrous statues of sants (sorrow be on them) out o' their neuks--and sae the bits o' stane idols were broken in pieces by scripture warrant, and flung into the molendinar burn, and the auld kirk stood as crouse as a cat when the flaes are kaimed aff her, and a' body was alike pleased. and i hae heard wise folk say, that if the same had been done in ilka kirk in scotland, the reform wad just hae been as pure as it is e'en now, and we wad hae mair christian-like kirks; for i hae been sae lang in england, that naething will drived out o' my head, that the dog-kennel at osbaldistone hall is better than mony a house o' god in scotland." thus saying, andrew led the way into the place of worship. chapter third. --it strikes an awe and terror on my aching sight; the tombs and monumental caves of death look cold, and shoot a chillness to the trembling heart. mourning bride. notwithstanding the impatience of my conductor, i could not forbear to pause and gaze for some minutes on the exterior of the building, rendered more impressively dignified by the solitude which ensued when its hitherto open gates were closed, after having, as it were, devoured the multitude which had lately crowded the churchyard, but now, enclosed within the building, were engaged, as the choral swell of voices from within announced to us, in the solemn exercises of devotion. the sound of so many voices united by the distance into one harmony, and freed from those harsh discordances which jar the ear when heard more near, combining with the murmuring brook, and the wind which sung among the old firs, affected me with a sense of sublimity. all nature, as invoked by the psalmist whose verses they chanted, seemed united in offering that solemn praise in which trembling is mixed with joy as she addressed her maker. i had heard the service of high mass in france, celebrated with all the _e'clat_ which the choicest music, the richest dresses, the most imposing ceremonies, could confer on it; yet it fell short in effect of the simplicity of the presbyterian worship. the devotion in which every one took a share seemed so superior to that which was recited by musicians as a lesson which they had learned by rote, that it gave the scottish worship all the advantage of reality over acting. as i lingered to catch more of the solemn sound, andrew, whose impatience became ungovernable, pulled me by the sleeve--"come awa', sir--come awa'; we maunna be late o' gaun in to disturb the worship; if we bide here the searchers will be on us, and carry us to the guard-house for being idlers in kirk-time." thus admonished, i followed my guide, but not, as i had supposed, into the body of the cathedral. "this gate--this gate, sir," he exclaimed, dragging me off as i made towards the main entrance of the building--"there's but cauldrife law-work gaun on yonder--carnal morality, as dow'd and as fusionless as rue leaves at yule--here's the real savour of doctrine." so saying, we entered a small low-arched door, secured by a wicket, which a grave-looking person seemed on the point of closing, and descended several steps as if into the funeral vaults beneath the church. it was even so; for in these subterranean precincts,--why chosen for such a purpose i knew not,--was established a very singular place of worship. conceive, tresham, an extensive range of low-browed, dark, and twilight vaults, such as are used for sepulchres in other countries, and had long been dedicated to the same purpose in this, a portion of which was seated with pews, and used as a church. the part of the vaults thus occupied, though capable of containing a congregation of many hundreds, bore a small proportion to the darker and more extensive caverns which yawned around what may be termed the inhabited space. in those waste regions of oblivion, dusky banners and tattered escutcheons indicated the graves of those who were once, doubtless, "princes in israel." inscriptions, which could only be read by the painful antiquary, in language as obsolete as the act of devotional charity which they employed, invited the passengers to pray for the souls of those whose bodies rested beneath. surrounded by these receptacles of the last remains of mortality, i found a numerous congregation engaged in the act of prayer. the scotch perform this duty in a standing instead of a kneeling posture--more, perhaps, to take as broad a distinction as possible from the ritual of rome than for any better reason; since i have observed, that in their family worship, as doubtless in their private devotions, they adopt, in their immediate address to the deity, that posture which other christians use as the humblest and most reverential. standing, therefore, the men being uncovered, a crowd of several hundreds of both sexes, and all ages, listened with great reverence and attention to the extempore, at least the unwritten, prayer of an aged clergyman,* who was very popular in the city. * i have in vain laboured to discover this gentleman's name, and the period of his incumbency. i do not, however, despair to see these points, with some others which may elude my sagacity, satisfactorily elucidated by one or other of the periodical publications which have devoted their pages to explanatory commentaries on my former volumes; and whose research and ingenuity claim my peculiar gratitude, for having discovered many persons and circumstances connected with my narratives, of which i myself never so much as dreamed. educated in the same religious persuasion, i seriously bent my mind to join in the devotion of the day; and it was not till the congregation resumed their seats, that my attention was diverted to the consideration of the appearance of all around me. at the conclusion of the prayer, most of the men put on their hats or bonnets, and all who had the happiness to have seats sate down. andrew and i were not of this number, having been too late of entering the church to secure such accommodation. we stood among a number of other persons in the same situation, forming a sort of ring around the seated part of the congregation. behind and around us were the vaults i have already described; before us the devout audience, dimly shown by the light which streamed on their faces through one or two low gothic windows, such as give air and light to charnel-houses. by this were seen the usual variety of countenances which are generally turned towards a scotch pastor on such occasions, almost all composed to attention, unless where a father or mother here and there recalls the wandering eyes of a lively child, or disturbs the slumbers of a dull one. the high-boned and harsh countenance of the nation, with the expression of intelligence and shrewdness which it frequently exhibits, is seen to more advantage in the act of devotion, or in the ranks of war, than on lighter and more cheerful occasions of assemblage. the discourse of the preacher was well qualified to call forth the various feelings and faculties of his audience. age and infirmities had impaired the powers of a voice originally strong and sonorous. he read his text with a pronunciation somewhat inarticulate; but when he closed the bible, and commenced his sermon, his tones gradually strengthened, as he entered with vehemence into the arguments which he maintained. they related chiefly to the abstract points of the christian faith,--subjects grave, deep, and fathomless by mere human reason, but for which, with equal ingenuity and propriety, he sought a key in liberal quotations from the inspired writings. my mind was unprepared to coincide in all his reasoning, nor was i sure that in some instances i rightly comprehended his positions. but nothing could be more impressive than the eager enthusiastic manner of the good old man, and nothing more ingenious than his mode of reasoning. the scotch, it is well known, are more remarkable for the exercise of their intellectual powers, than for the keenness of their feelings; they are, therefore, more moved by logic than by rhetoric, and more attracted by acute and argumentative reasoning on doctrinal points, than influenced by the enthusiastic appeals to the heart and to the passions, by which popular preachers in other countries win the favour of their hearers. among the attentive group which i now saw, might be distinguished various expressions similar to those of the audience in the famous cartoon of paul preaching at athens. here sat a zealous and intelligent calvinist, with brows bent just as much as to indicate profound attention; lips slightly compressed; eyes fixed on the minister with an expression of decent pride, as if sharing the triumph of his argument; the forefinger of the right hand touching successively those of the left, as the preacher, from argument to argument, ascended towards his conclusion. another, with fiercer and sterner look, intimated at once his contempt of all who doubted the creed of his pastor, and his joy at the appropriate punishment denounced against them. a third, perhaps belonging to a different congregation, and present only by accident or curiosity, had the appearance of internally impeaching some link of the reasoning; and you might plainly read, in the slight motion of his head, his doubts as to the soundness of the preacher's argument. the greater part listened with a calm, satisfied countenance, expressive of a conscious merit in being present, and in listening to such an ingenious discourse, although perhaps unable entirely to comprehend it. the women in general belonged to this last division of the audience; the old, however, seeming more grimly intent upon the abstract doctrines laid before them; while the younger females permitted their eyes occasionally to make a modest circuit around the congregation; and some of them, tresham (if my vanity did not greatly deceive me), contrived to distinguish your friend and servant, as a handsome young stranger and an englishman. as to the rest of the congregation, the stupid gaped, yawned, or slept, till awakened by the application of their more zealous neighbours' heels to their shins; and the idle indicated their inattention by the wandering of their eyes, but dared give no more decided token of weariness. amid the lowland costume of coat and cloak, i could here and there discern a highland plaid, the wearer of which, resting on his basket-hilt, sent his eyes among the audience with the unrestrained curiosity of savage wonder; and who, in all probability, was inattentive to the sermon for a very pardonable reason--because he did not understand the language in which it was delivered. the martial and wild look, however, of these stragglers, added a kind of character which the congregation could not have exhibited without them. they were more numerous, andrew afterwards observed, owing to some cattle-fair in the neighbourhood. such was the group of countenances, rising tier on tier, discovered to my critical inspection by such sunbeams as forced their way through the narrow gothic lattices of the laigh kirk of glasgow; and, having illuminated the attentive congregation, lost themselves in the vacuity of the vaults behind, giving to the nearer part of their labyrinth a sort of imperfect twilight, and leaving their recesses in an utter darkness, which gave them the appearance of being interminable. i have already said that i stood with others in the exterior circle, with my face to the preacher, and my back to those vaults which i have so often mentioned. my position rendered me particularly obnoxious to any interruption which arose from any slight noise occurring amongst these retiring arches, where the least sound was multiplied by a thousand echoes. the occasional sound of rain-drops, which, admitted through some cranny in the ruined roof, fell successively, and splashed upon the pavement beneath, caused me to turn my head more than once to the place from whence it seemed to proceed, and when my eyes took that direction, i found it difficult to withdraw them; such is the pleasure our imagination receives from the attempt to penetrate as far as possible into an intricate labyrinth, imperfectly lighted, and exhibiting objects which irritate our curiosity, only because they acquire a mysterious interest from being undefined and dubious. my eyes became habituated to the gloomy atmosphere to which i directed them, and insensibly my mind became more interested in their discoveries than in the metaphysical subtleties which the preacher was enforcing. my father had often checked me for this wandering mood of mind, arising perhaps from an excitability of imagination to which he was a stranger; and the finding myself at present solicited by these temptations to inattention, recalled the time when i used to walk, led by his hand, to mr. shower's chapel, and the earnest injunctions which he then laid on me to redeem the time, because the days were evil. at present, the picture which my thoughts suggested, far from fixing my attention, destroyed the portion i had yet left, by conjuring up to my recollection the peril in which his affairs now stood. i endeavoured, in the lowest whisper i could frame, to request andrew to obtain information, whether any of the gentlemen of the firm of macvittie & co. were at present in the congregation. but andrew, wrapped in profound attention to the sermon, only replied to my suggestion by hard punches with his elbow, as signals to me to remain silent. i next strained my eyes, with equally bad success, to see if, among the sea of up-turned faces which bent their eyes on the pulpit as a common centre, i could discover the sober and business-like physiognomy of owen. but not among the broad beavers of the glasgow citizens, or the yet broader brimmed lowland bonnets of the peasants of lanarkshire, could i see anything resembling the decent periwig, starched ruffles, or the uniform suit of light-brown garments appertaining to the head-clerk of the establishment of osbaldistone and tresham. my anxiety now returned on me with such violence as to overpower not only the novelty of the scene around me, by which it had hitherto been diverted, but moreover my sense of decorum. i pulled andrew hard by the sleeve, and intimated my wish to leave the church, and pursue my investigation as i could. andrew, obdurate in the laigh kirk of glasgow as on the mountains of cheviot, for some time deigned me no answer; and it was only when he found i could not otherwise be kept quiet, that he condescended to inform me, that, being once in the church, we could not leave it till service was over, because the doors were locked so soon as the prayers began. having thus spoken in a brief and peevish whisper, andrew again assumed the air of intelligent and critical importance, and attention to the preacher's discourse. while i endeavoured to make a virtue of necessity, and recall my attention to the sermon, i was again disturbed by a singular interruption. a voice from behind whispered distinctly in my ear, "you are in danger in this city."--i turned round, as if mechanically. one or two starched and ordinary-looking mechanics stood beside and behind me,--stragglers, who, like ourselves, had been too late in obtaining entrance. but a glance at their faces satisfied me, though i could hardly say why, that none of these was the person who had spoken to me. their countenances seemed all composed to attention to the sermon, and not one of them returned any glance of intelligence to the inquisitive and startled look with which i surveyed them. a massive round pillar, which was close behind us, might have concealed the speaker the instant he uttered his mysterious caution; but wherefore it was given in such a place, or to what species of danger it directed my attention, or by whom the warning was uttered, were points on which my imagination lost itself in conjecture. it would, however, i concluded, be repeated, and i resolved to keep my countenance turned towards the clergyman, that the whisperer might be tempted to renew his communication under the idea that the first had passed unobserved. my plan succeeded. i had not resumed the appearance of attention to the preacher for five minutes, when the same voice whispered, "listen, but do not look back." i kept my face in the same direction. "you are in danger in this place," the voice proceeded; "so am i--meet me to-night on the brigg, at twelve preceesely--keep at home till the gloaming, and avoid observation." here the voice ceased, and i instantly turned my head. but the speaker had, with still greater promptitude, glided behind the pillar, and escaped my observation. i was determined to catch a sight of him, if possible, and extricating myself from the outer circle of hearers, i also stepped behind the column. all there was empty; and i could only see a figure wrapped in a mantle, whether a lowland cloak, or highland plaid, i could not distinguish, which traversed, like a phantom, the dreary vacuity of vaults which i have described. i made a mechanical attempt to pursue the mysterious form, which glided away and vanished in the vaulted cemetery, like the spectre of one of the numerous dead who rested within its precincts. i had little chance of arresting the course of one obviously determined not to be spoken with; but that little chance was lost by my stumbling and falling before i had made three steps from the column. the obscurity which occasioned my misfortune, covered my disgrace; which i accounted rather lucky, for the preacher, with that stern authority which the scottish ministers assume for the purpose of keeping order in their congregations, interrupted his discourse, to desire the "proper officer" to take into custody the causer of this disturbance in the place of worship. as the noise, however, was not repeated, the beadle, or whatever else he was called, did not think it necessary to be rigorous in searching out the offender, so that i was enabled, without attracting farther observation, to place myself by andrew's side in my original position. the service proceeded, and closed without the occurrence of anything else worthy of notice. as the congregation departed and dispersed, my friend andrew exclaimed, "see, yonder is worthy mr. macvittie, and mrs. macvittie, and miss alison macvittie, and mr. thamas macfin, that they say is to marry miss alison, if a' bowls row right--she'll hae a hantle siller, if she's no that bonny." my eyes took the direction he pointed out. mr. macvittie was a tall, thin, elderly man, with hard features, thick grey eyebrows, light eyes, and, as i imagined, a sinister expression of countenance, from which my heart recoiled. i remembered the warning i had received in the church, and hesitated to address this person, though i could not allege to myself any rational ground of dislike or suspicion. i was yet in suspense, when andrew, who mistook my hesitation for bashfulness, proceeded to exhort me to lay it aside. "speak till him--speak till him, mr. francis--he's no provost yet, though they say he'll be my lord neist year. speak till him, then--he'll gie ye a decent answer for as rich as he is, unless ye were wanting siller frae him--they say he's dour to draw his purse." it immediately occurred to me, that if this merchant were really of the churlish and avaricious disposition which andrew intimated, there might be some caution necessary in making myself known, as i could not tell how accounts might stand between my father and him. this consideration came in aid of the mysterious hint which i had received, and the dislike which i had conceived at the man's countenance. instead of addressing myself directly to him, as i had designed to have done, i contented myself with desiring andrew to inquire at mr. macvittie's house the address of mr. owen, an english gentleman; and i charged him not to mention the person from whom he received the commission, but to bring me the result to the small inn where we lodged. this andrew promised to do. he said something of the duty of my attending the evening service; but added with a causticity natural to him, that "in troth, if folk couldna keep their legs still, but wad needs be couping the creels ower through-stanes, as if they wad raise the very dead folk wi' the clatter, a kirk wi' a chimley in't was fittest for them." chapter fourth. on the rialto, every night at twelve, i take my evening's walk of meditation: there we two will meet. venice preserved. full of sinister augury, for which, however, i could assign no satisfactory cause, i shut myself up in my apartment at the inn, and having dismissed andrew, after resisting his importunity to accompany him to st. enoch's kirk,* where, he said, "a soul-searching divine was to haud forth," i set myself seriously to consider what were best to be done. * this i believe to be an anachronism, as saint enoch's church was not built at the date of the story. [it was founded in , and has since been rebuilt.] i never was what is properly called superstitious; but i suppose that all men, in situations of peculiar doubt and difficulty, when they have exercised their reason to little purpose, are apt, in a sort of despair, to abandon the reins to their imagination, and be guided altogether by chance, or by those whimsical impressions which take possession of the mind, and to which we give way as if to involuntary impulses. there was something so singularly repulsive in the hard features of the scotch trader, that i could not resolve to put myself into his hands without transgressing every caution which could be derived from the rules of physiognomy; while, at the same time, the warning voice, the form which flitted away like a vanishing shadow through those vaults, which might be termed "the valley of the shadow of death," had something captivating for the imagination of a young man, who, you will farther please to remember, was also a young poet. if danger was around me, as the mysterious communication intimated, how could i learn its nature, or the means of averting it, but by meeting my unknown counsellor, to whom i could see no reason for imputing any other than kind intentions. rashleigh and his machinations occurred more than once to my remembrance;--but so rapid had my journey been, that i could not suppose him apprised of my arrival in glasgow, much less prepared to play off any stratagem against my person. in my temper also i was bold and confident, strong and active in person, and in some measure accustomed to the use of arms, in which the french youth of all kinds were then initiated. i did not fear any single opponent; assassination was neither the vice of the age nor of the country; the place selected for our meeting was too public to admit any suspicion of meditated violence. in a word, i resolved to meet my mysterious counsellor on the bridge, as he had requested, and to be afterwards guided by circumstances. let me not conceal from you, tresham, what at the time i endeavoured to conceal from myself--the subdued, yet secretly-cherished hope, that diana vernon might--by what chance i knew not--through what means i could not guess--have some connection with this strange and dubious intimation conveyed at a time and place, and in a manner so surprising. she alone--whispered this insidious thought--she alone knew of my journey; from her own account, she possessed friends and influence in scotland; she had furnished me with a talisman, whose power i was to invoke when all other aid failed me; who then but diana vernon possessed either means, knowledge, or inclination, for averting the dangers, by which, as it seemed, my steps were surrounded? this flattering view of my very doubtful case pressed itself upon me again and again. it insinuated itself into my thoughts, though very bashfully, before the hour of dinner; it displayed its attractions more boldly during the course of my frugal meal, and became so courageously intrusive during the succeeding half-hour (aided perhaps by the flavour of a few glasses of most excellent claret), that, with a sort of desperate attempt to escape from a delusive seduction, to which i felt the danger of yielding, i pushed my glass from me, threw aside my dinner, seized my hat, and rushed into the open air with the feeling of one who would fly from his own thoughts. yet perhaps i yielded to the very feelings from which i seemed to fly, since my steps insensibly led me to the bridge over the clyde, the place assigned for the rendezvous by my mysterious monitor. although i had not partaken of my repast until the hours of evening church-service were over,--in which, by the way, i complied with the religious scruples of my landlady, who hesitated to dress a hot dinner between sermons, and also with the admonition of my unknown friend, to keep my apartment till twilight,--several hours had still to pass away betwixt the time of my appointment and that at which i reached the assigned place of meeting. the interval, as you will readily credit, was wearisome enough; and i can hardly explain to you how it passed away. various groups of persons, all of whom, young and old, seemed impressed with a reverential feeling of the sanctity of the day, passed along the large open meadow which lies on the northern bank of the clyde, and serves at once as a bleaching-field and pleasure-walk for the inhabitants, or paced with slow steps the long bridge which communicates with the southern district of the county. all that i remember of them was the general, yet not unpleasing, intimation of a devotional character impressed on each little party--formally assumed perhaps by some, but sincerely characterising the greater number--which hushed the petulant gaiety of the young into a tone of more quiet, yet more interesting, interchange of sentiments, and suppressed the vehement argument and protracted disputes of those of more advanced age. notwithstanding the numbers who passed me, no general sound of the human voice was heard; few turned again to take some minutes' voluntary exercise, to which the leisure of the evening, and the beauty of the surrounding scenery, seemed to invite them: all hurried to their homes and resting-places. to one accustomed to the mode of spending sunday evenings abroad, even among the french calvinists, there seemed something judaical, yet, at the same time striking and affecting, in this mode of keeping the sabbath holy. insensibly i felt my mode of sauntering by the side of the river, and crossing successively the various persons who were passing homeward, and without tarrying or delay, must expose me to observation at least, if not to censure; and i slunk out of the frequented path, and found a trivial occupation for my mind in marshalling my revolving walk in such a manner as should least render me obnoxious to observation. the different alleys lined out through this extensive meadow, and which are planted with trees, like the park of st. james's in london, gave me facilities for carrying into effect these childish manoeuvres. as i walked down one of these avenues, i heard, to my surprise, the sharp and conceited voice of andrew fairservice, raised by a sense of self-consequence to a pitch somewhat higher than others seemed to think consistent with the solemnity of the day. to slip behind the row of trees under which i walked was perhaps no very dignified proceeding; but it was the easiest mode of escaping his observation, and perhaps his impertinent assiduity, and still more intrusive curiosity. as he passed, i heard him communicate to a grave-looking man, in a black coat, a slouched hat, and geneva cloak, the following sketch of a character, which my self-love, while revolting against it as a caricature, could not, nevertheless, refuse to recognise as a likeness. "ay, ay, mr. hammorgaw, it's e'en as i tell ye. he's no a'thegither sae void o' sense neither; he has a gloaming sight o' what's reasonable--that is anes and awa'--a glisk and nae mair; but he's crack-brained and cockle-headed about his nipperty-tipperty poetry nonsense--he'll glowr at an auld-warld barkit aik-snag as if it were a queezmaddam in full bearing; and a naked craig, wi' a bum jawing ower't, is unto him as a garden garnisht with flowering knots and choice pot-herbs. then he wad rather claver wi' a daft quean they ca' diana vernon (weel i wet they might ca' her diana of the ephesians, for she's little better than a heathen--better? she's waur--a roman, a mere roman)--he'll claver wi' her, or any ither idle slut, rather than hear what might do him gude a' the days of his life, frae you or me, mr. hammorgaw, or ony ither sober and sponsible person. reason, sir, is what he canna endure--he's a' for your vanities and volubilities; and he ance tell'd me (puir blinded creature!) that the psalms of david were excellent poetry! as if the holy psalmist thought o' rattling rhymes in a blether, like his ain silly clinkum-clankum things that he ca's verse. gude help him!--twa lines o' davie lindsay would ding a' he ever clerkit." while listening to this perverted account of my temper and studies, you will not be surprised if i meditated for mr. fairservice the unpleasant surprise of a broken pate on the first decent opportunity. his friend only intimated his attention by "ay, ay!" and "is't e'en sae?" and suchlike expressions of interest, at the proper breaks in mr. fairservice's harangue, until at length, in answer to some observation of greater length, the import of which i only collected from my trusty guide's reply, honest andrew answered, "tell him a bit o'my mind, quoth ye? wha wad be fule then but andrew? he's a red-wad deevil, man--he's like giles heathertap's auld boar;--ye need but shake a clout at him to make him turn and gore. bide wi' him, say ye?--troth, i kenna what for i bide wi' him mysell. but the lad's no a bad lad after a'; and he needs some carefu' body to look after him. he hasna the right grip o' his hand--the gowd slips through't like water, man; and it's no that ill a thing to be near him when his purse is in his hand, and it's seldom out o't. and then he's come o' guid kith and kin--my heart warms to the poor thoughtless callant, mr. hammorgaw--and then the penny fee"-- in the latter part of this instructive communication, mr. fairservice lowered his voice to a tone better beseeming the conversation in a place of public resort on a sabbath evening, and his companion and he were soon beyond my hearing. my feelings of hasty resentment soon subsided, under the conviction that, as andrew himself might have said, "a harkener always hears a bad tale of himself," and that whoever should happen to overhear their character discussed in their own servants'-hall, must prepare to undergo the scalpel of some such anatomist as mr. fairservice. the incident was so far useful, as, including the feelings to which it gave rise, it sped away a part of the time which hung so heavily on my hand. evening had now closed, and the growing darkness gave to the broad, still, and deep expanse of the brimful river, first a hue sombre and uniform--then a dismal and turbid appearance, partially lighted by a waning and pallid moon. the massive and ancient bridge which stretches across the clyde was now but dimly visible, and resembled that which mirza, in his unequalled vision, has described as traversing the valley of bagdad. the low-browed arches, seen as imperfectly as the dusky current which they bestrode, seemed rather caverns which swallowed up the gloomy waters of the river, than apertures contrived for their passage. with the advancing night the stillness of the scene increased. there was yet a twinkling light occasionally seen to glide along by the stream, which conducted home one or two of the small parties, who, after the abstinence and religious duties of the day, had partaken of a social supper--the only meal at which the rigid presbyterians made some advance to sociality on the sabbath. occasionally, also, the hoofs of a horse were heard, whose rider, after spending the sunday in glasgow, was directing his steps towards his residence in the country. these sounds and sights became gradually of more rare occurrence; at length they altogether ceased, and i was left to enjoy my solitary walk on the shores of the clyde in solemn silence, broken only by the tolling of the successive hours from the steeples of the churches. but as the night advanced my impatience at the uncertainty of the situation in which i was placed increased every moment, and became nearly ungovernable. i began to question whether i had been imposed upon by the trick of a fool, the raving of a madman, or the studied machinations of a villain, and paced the little quay or pier adjoining the entrance to the bridge, in a state of incredible anxiety and vexation. at length the hour of twelve o'clock swung its summons over the city from the belfry of the metropolitan church of st. mungo, and was answered and vouched by all the others like dutiful diocesans. the echoes had scarcely ceased to repeat the last sound, when a human form--the first i had seen for two hours--appeared passing along the bridge from the southern shore of the river. i advanced to meet him with a feeling as if my fate depended on the result of the interview, so much had my anxiety been wound up by protracted expectation. all that i could remark of the passenger as we advanced towards each other, was that his frame was rather beneath than above the middle size, but apparently strong, thick-set, and muscular; his dress a horseman's wrapping coat. i slackened my pace, and almost paused as i advanced in expectation that he would address me. but to my inexpressible disappointment he passed without speaking, and i had no pretence for being the first to address one who, notwithstanding his appearance at the very hour of appointment, might nevertheless be an absolute stranger. i stopped when he had passed me, and looked after him, uncertain whether i ought not to follow him. the stranger walked on till near the northern end of the bridge, then paused, looked back, and turning round, again advanced towards me. i resolved that this time he should not have the apology for silence proper to apparitions, who, it is vulgarly supposed, cannot speak until they are spoken to. "you walk late, sir," said i, as we met a second time. "i bide tryste," was the reply; "and so i think do you, mr. osbaldistone." "you are then the person who requested to meet me here at this unusual hour?" "i am," he replied. "follow me, and you shall know my reasons." "before following you, i must know your name and purpose," i answered. "i am a man," was the reply; "and my purpose is friendly to you." "a man!" i repeated;--"that is a very brief description." "it will serve for one who has no other to give," said the stranger. "he that is without name, without friends, without coin, without country, is still at least a man; and he that has all these is no more." "yet this is still too general an account of yourself, to say the least of it, to establish your credit with a stranger." "it is all i mean to give, howsoe'er; you may choose to follow me, or to remain without the information i desire to afford you." "can you not give me that information here?" i demanded. "you must receive it from your eyes, not from my tongue--you must follow me, or remain in ignorance of the information which i have to give you." there was something short, determined, and even stern, in the man's manner, not certainly well calculated to conciliate undoubting confidence. "what is it you fear?" he said impatiently. "to whom, think ye, is your life of such consequence, that they should seek to bereave ye of it?" "i fear nothing," i replied firmly, though somewhat hastily. "walk on--i attend you." we proceeded, contrary to my expectation, to re-enter the town, and glided like mute spectres, side by side, up its empty and silent streets. the high and gloomy stone fronts, with the variegated ornaments and pediments of the windows, looked yet taller and more sable by the imperfect moonshine. our walk was for some minutes in perfect silence. at length my conductor spoke. "are you afraid?" "i retort your own words," i replied: "wherefore should i fear?" "because you are with a stranger--perhaps an enemy, in a place where you have no friends and many enemies." "i neither fear you nor them; i am young, active, and armed." "i am not armed," replied my conductor: "but no matter, a willing hand never lacked weapon. you say you fear nothing; but if you knew who was by your side, perhaps you might underlie a tremor." "and why should i?" replied i. "i again repeat, i fear nought that you can do." "nought that i can do?--be it so. but do you not fear the consequences of being found with one whose very name whispered in this lonely street would make the stones themselves rise up to apprehend him--on whose head half the men in glasgow would build their fortune as on a found treasure, had they the luck to grip him by the collar--the sound of whose apprehension were as welcome at the cross of edinburgh as ever the news of a field stricken and won in flanders?" "and who then are you, whose name should create so deep a feeling of terror?" i replied. "no enemy of yours, since i am conveying you to a place, where, were i myself recognised and identified, iron to the heels and hemp to the craig would be my brief dooming." i paused and stood still on the pavement, drawing back so as to have the most perfect view of my companion which the light afforded me, and which was sufficient to guard against any sudden motion of assault. "you have said," i answered, "either too much or too little--too much to induce me to confide in you as a mere stranger, since you avow yourself a person amenable to the laws of the country in which we are--and too little, unless you could show that you are unjustly subjected to their rigour." as i ceased to speak, he made a step towards me. i drew back instinctively, and laid my hand on the hilt of my sword. "what!" said he--"on an unarmed man, and your friend?" "i am yet ignorant if you are either the one or the other," i replied; "and to say the truth, your language and manner might well entitle me to doubt both." "it is manfully spoken," replied my conductor; "and i respect him whose hand can keep his head.--i will be frank and free with you--i am conveying you to prison." "to prison!" i exclaimed--"by what warrant or for what offence?--you shall have my life sooner than my liberty--i defy you, and i will not follow you a step farther." "i do not," he said, "carry you there as a prisoner; i am," he added, drawing himself haughtily up, "neither a messenger nor sheriff's officer. i carry you to see a prisoner from whose lips you will learn the risk in which you presently stand. your liberty is little risked by the visit; mine is in some peril; but that i readily encounter on your account, for i care not for risk, and i love a free young blood, that kens no protector but the cross o' the sword." while he spoke thus, we had reached the principal street, and were pausing before a large building of hewn stone, garnished, as i thought i could perceive, with gratings of iron before the windows. "muckle," said the stranger, whose language became more broadly national as he assumed a tone of colloquial freedom--"muckle wad the provost and bailies o' glasgow gie to hae him sitting with iron garters to his hose within their tolbooth that now stands wi' his legs as free as the red-deer's on the outside on't. and little wad it avail them; for an if they had me there wi' a stane's weight o' iron at every ankle, i would show them a toom room and a lost lodger before to-morrow--but come on, what stint ye for?" as he spoke thus, he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered by a sharp voice, as of one awakened from a dream or reverie,--"fa's tat?--wha's that, i wad say?--and fat a deil want ye at this hour at e'en?--clean again rules--clean again rules, as they ca' them." the protracted tone in which the last words were uttered, betokened that the speaker was again composing himself to slumber. but my guide spoke in a loud whisper--"dougal, man! hae ye forgotten ha nun gregarach?" "deil a bit, deil a bit," was the ready and lively response, and i heard the internal guardian of the prison-gate bustle up with great alacrity. a few words were exchanged between my conductor and the turnkey in a language to which i was an absolute stranger. the bolts revolved, but with a caution which marked the apprehension that the noise might be overheard, and we stood within the vestibule of the prison of glasgow,--a small, but strong guard-room, from which a narrow staircase led upwards, and one or two low entrances conducted to apartments on the same level with the outward gate, all secured with the jealous strength of wickets, bolts, and bars. the walls, otherwise naked, were not unsuitably garnished with iron fetters, and other uncouth implements, which might be designed for purposes still more inhuman, interspersed with partisans, guns, pistols of antique manufacture, and other weapons of defence and offence. at finding myself so unexpectedly, fortuitously, and, as it were, by stealth, introduced within one of the legal fortresses of scotland, i could not help recollecting my adventure in northumberland, and fretting at the strange incidents which again, without any demerits of my own, threatened to place me in a dangerous and disagreeable collision with the laws of a country which i visited only in the capacity of a stranger. chapter fifth. look round thee, young astolpho: here's the place which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in; rude remedy, i trow, for sore disease. within these walls, stifled by damp and stench, doth hope's fair torch expire; and at the snuff, ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and way-ward, the desperate revelries of wild despair, kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds that the poor captive would have died ere practised, till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. the prison, _scene iii. act i._ at my first entrance i turned an eager glance towards my conductor; but the lamp in the vestibule was too low in flame to give my curiosity any satisfaction by affording a distinct perusal of his features. as the turnkey held the light in his hand, the beams fell more full on his own scarce less interesting figure. he was a wild shock-headed looking animal, whose profusion of red hair covered and obscured his features, which were otherwise only characterised by the extravagant joy that affected him at the sight of my guide. in my experience i have met nothing so absolutely resembling my idea of a very uncouth, wild, and ugly savage, adoring the idol of his tribe. he grinned, he shivered, he laughed, he was near crying, if he did not actually cry. he had a "where shall i go?--what can i do for you?" expression of face; the complete, surrendered, and anxious subservience and devotion of which it is difficult to describe, otherwise than by the awkward combination which i have attempted. the fellow's voice seemed choking in his ecstasy, and only could express itself in such interjections as "oigh! oigh!--ay! ay!--it's lang since she's seen ye!" and other exclamations equally brief, expressed in the same unknown tongue in which he had communicated with my conductor while we were on the outside of the jail door. my guide received all this excess of joyful gratulation much like a prince too early accustomed to the homage of those around him to be much moved by it, yet willing to requite it by the usual forms of royal courtesy. he extended his hand graciously towards the turnkey, with a civil inquiry of "how's a' wi' you, dougal?" "oigh! oigh!" exclaimed dougal, softening the sharp exclamations of his surprise as he looked around with an eye of watchful alarm--"oigh! to see you here--to see you here!--oigh!--what will come o' ye gin the bailies suld come to get witting--ta filthy, gutty hallions, tat they are?" my guide placed his finger on his lip, and said, "fear nothing, dougal; your hands shall never draw a bolt on me." "tat sall they no," said dougal; "she suld--she wad--that is, she wishes them hacked aff by the elbows first--but when are ye gaun yonder again? and ye'll no forget to let her ken--she's your puir cousin, god kens, only seven times removed." "i will let you ken, dougal, as soon as my plans are settled." "and, by her sooth, when you do, an it were twal o' the sunday at e'en, she'll fling her keys at the provost's head or she gie them anither turn, and that or ever monday morning begins--see if she winna." my mysterious stranger cut his acquaintance's ecstasies short by again addressing him, in what i afterwards understood to be the irish, earse, or gaelic, explaining, probably, the services which he required at his hand. the answer, "wi' a' her heart--wi' a' her soul," with a good deal of indistinct muttering in a similar tone, intimated the turnkey's acquiescence in what he proposed. the fellow trimmed his dying lamp, and made a sign to me to follow him. "do you not go with us?" said i, looking to my conductor. "it is unnecessary," he replied; "my company may be inconvenient for you, and i had better remain to secure our retreat." "i do not suppose you mean to betray me to danger," said i. "to none but what i partake in doubly," answered the stranger, with a voice of assurance which it was impossible to mistrust. i followed the turnkey, who, leaving the inner wicket unlocked behind him, led me up a _turnpike_ (so the scotch call a winding stair), then along a narrow gallery--then opening one of several doors which led into the passage, he ushered me into a small apartment, and casting his eye on the pallet-bed which occupied one corner, said with an under voice, as he placed the lamp on a little deal table, "she's sleeping." "she!--who?--can it be diana vernon in this abode of misery?" i turned my eye to the bed, and it was with a mixture of disappointment oddly mingled with pleasure, that i saw my first suspicion had deceived me. i saw a head neither young nor beautiful, garnished with a grey beard of two days' growth, and accommodated with a red nightcap. the first glance put me at ease on the score of diana vernon; the second, as the slumberer awoke from a heavy sleep, yawned, and rubbed his eyes, presented me with features very different indeed--even those of my poor friend owen. i drew back out of view an instant, that he might have time to recover himself; fortunately recollecting that i was but an intruder on these cells of sorrow, and that any alarm might be attended with unhappy consequences. meantime, the unfortunate formalist, raising himself from the pallet-bed with the assistance of one hand, and scratching his cap with the other, exclaimed in a voice in which as much peevishness as he was capable of feeling, contended with drowsiness, "i'll tell you what, mr. dug-well, or whatever your name may be, the sum-total of the matter is, that if my natural rest is to be broken in this manner, i must complain to the lord mayor." "shentlemans to speak wi' her," replied dougal, resuming the true dogged sullen tone of a turnkey, in exchange for the shrill clang of highland congratulation with which he had welcomed my mysterious guide; and, turning on his heel, he left the apartment. it was some time before i could prevail upon the unfortunate sleeper awakening to recognise me; and when he did so, the distress of the worthy creature was extreme, at supposing, which he naturally did, that i had been sent thither as a partner of his captivity. "o, mr. frank, what have you brought yourself and the house to?--i think nothing of myself, that am a mere cipher, so to speak; but you, that was your father's sum-total--his omnium,--you that might have been the first man in the first house in the first city, to be shut up in a nasty scotch jail, where one cannot even get the dirt brushed off their clothes!" he rubbed, with an air of peevish irritation, the once stainless brown coat, which had now shared some of the impurities of the floor of his prison-house,--his habits of extreme punctilious neatness acting mechanically to increase his distress.--"o heaven be gracious to us!" he continued. "what news this will be on 'change! there has not the like come there since the battle of almanza, where the total of the british loss was summed up to five thousand men killed and wounded, besides a floating balance of missing--but what will that be to the news that osbaldistone and tresham have stopped!" i broke in on his lamentations to acquaint him that i was no prisoner, though scarce able to account for my being in that place at such an hour. i could only silence his inquiries by persisting in those which his own situation suggested; and at length obtained from him such information as he was able to give me. it was none of the most distinct; for, however clear-headed in his own routine of commercial business, owen, you are well aware, was not very acute in comprehending what lay beyond that sphere. the sum of his information was, that of two correspondents of my father's firm at glasgow, where, owing to engagements in scotland formerly alluded to, he transacted a great deal of business, both my father and owen had found the house of macvittie, macfin, and company, the most obliging and accommodating. they had deferred to the great english house on every possible occasion; and in their bargains and transactions acted, without repining, the part of the jackall, who only claims what the lion is pleased to leave him. however small the share of profit allotted to them, it was always, as they expressed it, "enough for the like of them;" however large the portion of trouble, "they were sensible they could not do too much to deserve the continued patronage and good opinion of their honoured friends in crane alley." the dictates of my father were to macvittie and macfin the laws of the medes and persians, not to be altered, innovated, or even discussed; and the punctilios exacted by owen in their business transactions, for he was a great lover of form, more especially when he could dictate it _ex cathedra,_ seemed scarce less sanctimonious in their eyes. this tone of deep and respectful observance went all currently down with owen; but my father looked a little closer into men's bosoms, and whether suspicious of this excess of deference, or, as a lover of brevity and simplicity in business, tired with these gentlemen's long-winded professions of regard, he had uniformly resisted their desire to become his sole agents in scotland. on the contrary, he transacted many affairs through a correspondent of a character perfectly different--a man whose good opinion of himself amounted to self-conceit, and who, disliking the english in general as much as my father did the scotch, would hold no communication but on a footing of absolute equality; jealous, moreover; captious occasionally; as tenacious of his own opinions in point of form as owen could be of his; and totally indifferent though the authority of all lombard street had stood against his own private opinion. as these peculiarities of temper rendered it difficult to transact business with mr. nicol jarvie,--as they occasioned at times disputes and coldness between the english house and their correspondent, which were only got over by a sense of mutual interest,--as, moreover, owen's personal vanity sometimes suffered a little in the discussions to which they gave rise, you cannot be surprised, tresham, that our old friend threw at all times the weight of his influence in favour of the civil, discreet, accommodating concern of macvittie and macfin, and spoke of jarvie as a petulant, conceited scotch pedlar, with whom there was no dealing. it was also not surprising, that in these circumstances, which i only learned in detail some time afterwards, owen, in the difficulties to which the house was reduced by the absence of my father, and the disappearance of rashleigh, should, on his arrival in scotland, which took place two days before mine, have recourse to the friendship of those correspondents, who had always professed themselves obliged, gratified, and devoted to the service of his principal. he was received at messrs. macvittie and macfin's counting-house in the gallowgate, with something like the devotion a catholic would pay to his tutelar saint. but, alas! this sunshine was soon overclouded, when, encouraged by the fair hopes which it inspired, he opened the difficulties of the house to his friendly correspondents, and requested their counsel and assistance. macvittie was almost stunned by the communication; and macfin, ere it was completed, was already at the ledger of their firm, and deeply engaged in the very bowels of the multitudinous accounts between their house and that of osbaldistone and tresham, for the purpose of discovering on which side the balance lay. alas! the scale depressed considerably against the english firm; and the faces of macvittie and macfin, hitherto only blank and doubtful, became now ominous, grim, and lowering. they met mr. owen's request of countenance and assistance with a counter-demand of instant security against imminent hazard of eventual loss; and at length, speaking more plainly, required that a deposit of assets, destined for other purposes, should be placed in their hands for that purpose. owen repelled this demand with great indignation, as dishonourable to his constituents, unjust to the other creditors of osbaldistone and tresham, and very ungrateful on the part of those by whom it was made. the scotch partners gained, in the course of this controversy, what is very convenient to persons who are in the wrong, an opportunity and pretext for putting themselves in a violent passion, and for taking, under the pretext of the provocation they had received, measures to which some sense of decency, if not of conscience, might otherwise have deterred them from resorting. owen had a small share, as i believe is usual, in the house to which he acted as head-clerk, and was therefore personally liable for all its obligations. this was known to messrs. macvittie and macfin; and, with a view of making him feel their power, or rather in order to force him, at this emergency, into those measures in their favour, to which he had expressed himself so repugnant, they had recourse to a summary process of arrest and imprisonment,--which it seems the law of scotland (therein surely liable to much abuse) allows to a creditor, who finds his conscience at liberty to make oath that the debtor meditates departing from the realm. under such a warrant had poor owen been confined to durance on the day preceding that when i was so strangely guided to his prison-house. thus possessed of the alarming outline of facts, the question remained, what was to be done and it was not of easy determination. i plainly perceived the perils with which we were surrounded, but it was more difficult to suggest any remedy. the warning which i had already received seemed to intimate, that my own personal liberty might be endangered by an open appearance in owen's behalf. owen entertained the same apprehension, and, in the exaggeration of his terror, assured me that a scotchman, rather than run the risk of losing a farthing by an englishman, would find law for arresting his wife, children, man-servant, maidservant, and stranger within his household. the laws concerning debt, in most countries, are so unmercifully severe, that i could not altogether disbelieve his statement; and my arrest, in the present circumstances, would have been a _coup-de-grace_ to my father's affairs. in this dilemma, i asked owen if he had not thought of having recourse to my father's other correspondent in glasgow, mr. nicol jarvie? "he had sent him a letter," he replied, "that morning; but if the smooth-tongued and civil house in the gallowgate* had used him thus, what was to be expected from the cross-grained crab-stock in the salt-market? * [a street in the old town of glasgow.] you might as well ask a broker to give up his percentage, as expect a favour from him without the _per contra._ he had not even," owen said, "answered his letter though it was put into his hand that morning as he went to church." and here the despairing man-of-figures threw himself down on his pallet, exclaiming,--"my poor dear master! my poor dear master! o mr. frank, mr. frank, this is all your obstinacy!--but god forgive me for saying so to you in your distress! it's god's disposing, and man must submit." my philosophy, tresham, could not prevent my sharing in the honest creature's distress, and we mingled our tears,--the more bitter on my part, as the perverse opposition to my father's will, with which the kind-hearted owen forbore to upbraid me, rose up to my conscience as the cause of all this affliction. in the midst of our mingled sorrow, we were disturbed and surprised by a loud knocking at the outward door of the prison. i ran to the top of the staircase to listen, but could only hear the voice of the turnkey, alternately in a high tone, answering to some person without, and in a whisper, addressed to the person who had guided me hither--"she's coming--she's coming," aloud; then in a low key, "o hon-a-ri! o hon-a-ri! what'll she do now?--gang up ta stair, and hide yourself ahint ta sassenach shentleman's ped.--she's coming as fast as she can.--ahellanay! it's my lord provosts, and ta pailies, and ta guard--and ta captain's coming toon stairs too--got press her! gang up or he meets her.--she's coming--she's coming--ta lock's sair roosted." while dougal, unwillingly, and with as much delay as possible, undid the various fastenings to give admittance to those without, whose impatience became clamorous, my guide ascended the winding stair, and sprang into owen's apartment, into which i followed him. he cast his eyes hastily round, as if looking for a place of concealment; then said to me, "lend me your pistols--yet it's no matter, i can do without them--whatever you see, take no heed, and do not mix your hand in another man's feud--this gear's mine, and i must manage it as i dow; but i have been as hard bested, and worse, than i am even now." as the stranger spoke these words, he stripped from his person the cumbrous upper coat in which he was wrapt, confronted the door of the apartment, on which he fixed a keen and determined glance, drawing his person a little back to concentrate his force, like a fine horse brought up to the leaping-bar. i had not a moment's doubt that he meant to extricate himself from his embarrassment, whatever might be the cause of it, by springing full upon those who should appear when the doors opened, and forcing his way through all opposition into the street;--and such was the appearance of strength and agility displayed in his frame, and of determination in his look and manner, that i did not doubt a moment but that he might get clear through his opponents, unless they employed fatal means to stop his purpose. it was a period of awful suspense betwixt the opening of the outward gate and that of the door of the apartment, when there appeared--no guard with bayonets fixed, or watch with clubs, bills, or partisans, but a good-looking young woman, with grogram petticoats, tucked up for trudging through the streets, and holding a lantern in her hand. this female ushered in a more important personage, in form, stout, short, and somewhat corpulent; and by dignity, as it soon appeared, a magistrate, bob-wigged, bustling, and breathless with peevish impatience. my conductor, at his appearance, drew back as if to escape observation; but he could not elude the penetrating twinkle with which this dignitary reconnoitered the whole apartment. "a bonny thing it is, and a beseeming, that i should be kept at the door half an hour, captain stanchells," said he, addressing the principal jailor, who now showed himself at the door as if in attendance on the great man, "knocking as hard to get into the tolbooth as onybody else wad to get out of it, could that avail them, poor fallen creatures!--and how's this?--how's this?--strangers in the jail after lock-up hours, and on the sabbath evening!--i shall look after this, stanchells, you may depend on't--keep the door locked, and i'll speak to these gentlemen in a gliffing--but first i maun hae a crack wi' an auld acquaintance here.-- mr. owen, mr. owen, how's a' wi' ye, man?" "pretty well in body, i thank you, mr. jarvie," drawled out poor owen, "but sore afflicted in spirit." "nae doubt, nae doubt--ay, ay--it's an awfu' whummle--and for ane that held his head sae high too--human nature, human nature--ay ay, we're a' subject to a downcome. mr. osbaldistone is a gude honest gentleman; but i aye said he was ane o' them wad make a spune or spoil a horn, as my father the worthy deacon used to say. the deacon used to say to me, 'nick--young nick' (his name was nicol as weel as mine; sae folk ca'd us in their daffin', young nick and auld nick)--'nick,' said he, 'never put out your arm farther than ye can draw it easily back again.' i hae said sae to mr. osbaldistone, and he didna seem to take it a'thegither sae kind as i wished--but it was weel meant--weel meant." this discourse, delivered with prodigious volubility, and a great appearance of self-complacency, as he recollected his own advice and predictions, gave little promise of assistance at the hands of mr. jarvie. yet it soon appeared rather to proceed from a total want of delicacy than any deficiency of real kindness; for when owen expressed himself somewhat hurt that these things should be recalled to memory in his present situation, the glaswegian took him by the hand, and bade him "cheer up a gliff! d'ye think i wad hae comed out at twal o'clock at night, and amaist broken the lord's day, just to tell a fa'en man o' his backslidings? na, na, that's no bailie jarvie's gate, nor was't his worthy father's the deacon afore him. why, man! it's my rule never to think on warldly business on the sabbath, and though i did a' i could to keep your note that i gat this morning out o' my head, yet i thought mair on it a' day, than on the preaching--and it's my rule to gang to my bed wi' the yellow curtains preceesely at ten o'clock--unless i were eating a haddock wi' a neighbour, or a neighbour wi' me--ask the lass-quean there, if it isna a fundamental rule in my household; and here hae i sitten up reading gude books, and gaping as if i wad swallow st. enox kirk, till it chappit twal, whilk was a lawfu' hour to gie a look at my ledger, just to see how things stood between us; and then, as time and tide wait for no man, i made the lass get the lantern, and came slipping my ways here to see what can be dune anent your affairs. bailie jarvie can command entrance into the tolbooth at ony hour, day or night;--sae could my father the deacon in his time, honest man, praise to his memory." although owen groaned at the mention of the ledger, leading me grievously to fear that here also the balance stood in the wrong column; and although the worthy magistrate's speech expressed much self-complacency, and some ominous triumph in his own superior judgment, yet it was blended with a sort of frank and blunt good-nature, from which i could not help deriving some hopes. he requested to see some papers he mentioned, snatched them hastily from owen's hand, and sitting on the bed, to "rest his shanks," as he was pleased to express the accommodation which that posture afforded him, his servant girl held up the lantern to him, while, pshawing, muttering, and sputtering, now at the imperfect light, now at the contents of the packet, he ran over the writings it contained. seeing him fairly engaged in this course of study, the guide who had brought me hither seemed disposed to take an unceremonious leave. he made a sign to me to say nothing, and intimated, by his change of posture, an intention to glide towards the door in such a manner as to attract the least possible observation. but the alert magistrate (very different from my old acquaintance, mr. justice inglewood) instantly detected and interrupted his purposes. "i say, look to the door, stanchells--shut and lock it, and keep watch on the outside." the stranger's brow darkened, and he seemed for an instant again to meditate the effecting his retreat by violence; but ere he had determined, the door closed, and the ponderous bolt revolved. he muttered an exclamation in gaelic, strode across the floor, and then, with an air of dogged resolution, as if fixed and prepared to see the scene to an end, sate himself down on the oak table, and whistled a strathspey. mr. jarvie, who seemed very alert and expeditious in going through business, soon showed himself master of that which he had been considering, and addressed himself to mr. owen in the following strain:-- "weel, mr. owen, weel--your house are awin' certain sums to messrs. macvittie and macfin (shame fa' their souple snouts! they made that and mair out o' a bargain about the aik-woods at glen-cailziechat, that they took out atween my teeth--wi' help o' your gude word, i maun needs say, mr. owen--but that makes nae odds now)--weel, sir, your house awes them this siller; and for this, and relief of other engagements they stand in for you, they hae putten a double turn o' stanchells' muckle key on ye.-- weel, sir, ye awe this siller--and maybe ye awe some mair to some other body too--maybe ye awe some to myself, bailie nicol jarvie." "i cannot deny, sir, but the balance may of this date be brought out against us, mr. jarvie," said owen; "but you'll please to consider"-- "i hae nae time to consider e'enow, mr. owen--sae near sabbath at e'en, and out o' ane's warm bed at this time o' night, and a sort o' drow in the air besides--there's nae time for considering--but, sir, as i was saying, ye awe me money--it winna deny--ye awe me money, less or mair, i'll stand by it. but then, mr. owen, i canna see how you, an active man that understands business, can redd out the business ye're come down about, and clear us a' aff--as i have gritt hope ye will--if ye're keepit lying here in the tolbooth of glasgow. now, sir, if you can find caution _judicio sisti,_--that is, that ye winna flee the country, but appear and relieve your caution when ca'd for in our legal courts, ye may be set at liberty this very morning." "mr. jarvie," said owen, "if any friend would become surety for me to that effect, my liberty might be usefully employed, doubtless, both for the house and all connected with it." "aweel, sir," continued jarvie, "and doubtless such a friend wad expect ye to appear when ca'd on, and relieve him o' his engagement." "and i should do so as certainly, bating sickness or death, as that two and two make four." "aweel, mr. owen," resumed the citizen of glasgow, "i dinna misdoubt ye, and i'll prove it, sir--i'll prove it. i am a carefu' man, as is weel ken'd, and industrious, as the hale town can testify; and i can win my crowns, and keep my crowns, and count my crowns, wi' onybody in the saut market, or it may be in the gallowgate. and i'm a prudent man, as my father the deacon was before me;--but rather than an honest civil gentleman, that understands business, and is willing to do justice to all men, should lie by the heels this gate, unable to help himsell or onybody else--why, conscience, man! i'll be your bail myself--but ye'll mind it's a bail _judicio sisti,_ as our town-clerk says, not _judicatum solvi;_ ye'll mind that, for there's muckle difference." mr. owen assured him, that as matters then stood, he could not expect any one to become surety for the actual payment of the debt, but that there was not the most distant cause for apprehending loss from his failing to present himself when lawfully called upon. "i believe ye--i believe ye. eneugh said--eneugh said. we'se hae your legs loose by breakfast-time.--and now let's hear what thir chamber chiels o' yours hae to say for themselves, or how, in the name of unrule, they got here at this time o' night." [illustration: rob roy in prison-- ] chapter sixth. hame came our gudeman at e'en, and hame came he, and there he saw a man where a man suldna be. "how's this now, kimmer? how's this?" quo he,-- "how came this carle here without the leave o' me?" old song. the magistrate took the light out of the servant-maid's hand, and advanced to his scrutiny, like diogenes in the street of athens, lantern-in-hand, and probably with as little expectation as that of the cynic, that he was likely to encounter any especial treasure in the course of his researches. the first whom he approached was my mysterious guide, who, seated on a table as i have already described him, with his eyes firmly fixed on the wall, his features arranged into the utmost inflexibility of expression, his hands folded on his breast with an air betwixt carelessness and defiance, his heel patting against the foot of the table, to keep time with the tune which he continued to whistle, submitted to mr. jarvie's investigation with an air of absolute confidence and assurance which, for a moment, placed at fault the memory and sagacity of the acute investigator. "ah!--eh!--oh!" exclaimed the bailie. "my conscience!--it's impossible!--and yet--no!--conscience!--it canna be!--and yet again--deil hae me, that i suld say sae!--ye robber--ye cateran--ye born deevil that ye are, to a' bad ends and nae gude ane!--can this be you?" "e'en as ye see, bailie," was the laconic answer. "conscience! if i am na clean bumbaized--_you_, ye cheat-the-wuddy rogue--_you_ here on your venture in the tolbooth o' glasgow?--what d'ye think's the value o' your head?" "umph!--why, fairly weighed, and dutch weight, it might weigh down one provost's, four bailies', a town-clerk's, six deacons', besides stent-masters'"-- "ah, ye reiving villain!" interrupted mr. jarvie. "but tell ower your sins, and prepare ye, for if i say the word"-- "true, bailie," said he who was thus addressed, folding his hands behind him with the utmost _nonchalance,_ "but ye will never say that word." "and why suld i not, sir?" exclaimed the magistrate--"why suld i not? answer me that--why suld i not?" "for three sufficient reasons, bailie jarvie.--first, for auld langsyne; second, for the sake of the auld wife ayont the fire at stuckavrallachan, that made some mixture of our bluids, to my own proper shame be it spoken! that has a cousin wi' accounts, and yarn winnles, and looms and shuttles, like a mere mechanical person; and lastly, bailie, because if i saw a sign o' your betraying me, i would plaster that wa' with your harns ere the hand of man could rescue you!" "ye're a bauld desperate villain, sir," retorted the undaunted bailie; "and ye ken that i ken ye to be sae, and that i wadna stand a moment for my ain risk." "i ken weel," said the other, "ye hae gentle bluid in your veins, and i wad be laith to hurt my ain kinsman. but i'll gang out here as free as i came in, or the very wa's o' glasgow tolbooth shall tell o't these ten years to come." "weel, weel," said mr. jarvie, "bluid's thicker than water; and it liesna in kith, kin, and ally, to see motes in ilka other's een if other een see them no. it wad be sair news to the auld wife below the ben of stuckavrallachan, that you, ye hieland limmer, had knockit out my harns, or that i had kilted you up in a tow. but ye'll own, ye dour deevil, that were it no your very sell, i wad hae grippit the best man in the hielands." "ye wad hae tried, cousin," answered my guide, "that i wot weel; but i doubt ye wad hae come aff wi' the short measure; for we gang-there-out hieland bodies are an unchancy generation when you speak to us o' bondage. we downa bide the coercion of gude braid-claith about our hinderlans, let a be breeks o' free-stone, and garters o' iron." "ye'll find the stane breeks and the airn garters--ay, and the hemp cravat, for a' that, neighbour," replied the bailie. "nae man in a civilised country ever played the pliskies ye hae done--but e'en pickle in your ain pock-neuk--i hae gi'en ye wanting." "well, cousin," said the other, "ye'll wear black at my burial." "deil a black cloak will be there, robin, but the corbies and the hoodie-craws, i'se gie ye my hand on that. but whar's the gude thousand pund scots that i lent ye, man, and when am i to see it again?" "where it is," replied my guide, after the affectation of considering for a moment, "i cannot justly tell--probably where last year's snaw is." "and that's on the tap of schehallion, ye hieland dog," said mr. jarvie; "and i look for payment frae you where ye stand." "ay," replied the highlander, "but i keep neither snaw nor dollars in my sporran. and as to when you'll see it--why, just when the king enjoys his ain again, as the auld sang says." "warst of a', robin," retorted the glaswegian,--"i mean, ye disloyal traitor--warst of a'!--wad ye bring popery in on us, and arbitrary power, and a foist and a warming-pan, and the set forms, and the curates, and the auld enormities o' surplices and cerements? ye had better stick to your auld trade o' theft-boot, black-mail, spreaghs, and gillravaging--better stealing nowte than ruining nations." "hout, man--whisht wi' your whiggery," answered the celt; "we hae ken'd ane anither mony a lang day. i'se take care your counting-room is no cleaned out when the gillon-a-naillie* come to redd up the glasgow buiths, and clear them o' their auld shop-wares. * the lads with the kilts or petticoats. and, unless it just fa' in the preceese way o' your duty, ye maunna see me oftener, nicol, than i am disposed to be seen." "ye are a dauring villain, rob," answered the bailie; "and ye will be hanged, that will be seen and heard tell o'; but i'se ne'er be the ill bird and foul my nest, set apart strong necessity and the skreigh of duty, which no man should hear and be inobedient. and wha the deevil's this?" he continued, turning to me--"some gillravager that ye hae listed, i daur say. he looks as if he had a bauld heart to the highway, and a lang craig for the gibbet." "this, good mr. jarvie," said owen, who, like myself, had been struck dumb during this strange recognition, and no less strange dialogue, which took place betwixt these extraordinary kinsmen--"this, good mr. jarvie, is young mr. frank osbaldistone, only child of the head of our house, who should have been taken into our firm at the time mr. rashleigh osbaldistone, his cousin, had the luck to be taken into it"--(here owen could not suppress a groan)--"but howsoever"-- "oh, i have heard of that smaik," said the scotch merchant, interrupting him; "it is he whom your principal, like an obstinate auld fule, wad make a merchant o', wad he or wad he no,--and the lad turned a strolling stage-player, in pure dislike to the labour an honest man should live by. weel, sir, what say you to your handiwork? will hamlet the dane, or hamlet's ghost, be good security for mr. owen, sir?" "i don't deserve your taunt," i replied, "though i respect your motive, and am too grateful for the assistance you have afforded mr. owen, to resent it. my only business here was to do what i could (it is perhaps very little) to aid mr. owen in the management of my father's affairs. my dislike of the commercial profession is a feeling of which i am the best and sole judge." "i protest," said the highlander, "i had some respect for this callant even before i ken'd what was in him; but now i honour him for his contempt of weavers and spinners, and sic-like mechanical persons and their pursuits." "ye're mad, rob," said the bailie--"mad as a march hare--though wherefore a hare suld be mad at march mair than at martinmas, is mair than i can weel say. weavers! deil shake ye out o' the web the weaver craft made. spinners! ye'll spin and wind yourself a bonny pirn. and this young birkie here, that ye're hoying and hounding on the shortest road to the gallows and the deevil, will his stage-plays and his poetries help him here, dye think, ony mair than your deep oaths and drawn dirks, ye reprobate that ye are?--will _tityre tu patulae,_ as they ca' it, tell him where rashleigh osbaldistone is? or macbeth, and all his kernes and galla-glasses, and your awn to boot, rob, procure him five thousand pounds to answer the bills which fall due ten days hence, were they a' rouped at the cross,--basket-hilts, andra-ferraras, leather targets, brogues, brochan, and sporrans?" "ten days," i answered, and instinctively drew out diana vernon's packet; and the time being elapsed during which i was to keep the seal sacred, i hastily broke it open. a sealed letter fell from a blank enclosure, owing to the trepidation with which i opened the parcel. a slight current of wind, which found its way through a broken pane of the window, wafted the letter to mr. jarvie's feet, who lifted it, examined the address with unceremonious curiosity, and, to my astonishment, handed itto his highland kinsman, saying, "here's a wind has blown a letter to its right owner, though there were ten thousand chances against its coming to hand." the highlander, having examined the address, broke the letter open without the least ceremony. i endeavoured to interrupt his proceeding. "you must satisfy me, sir," said i, "that the letter is intended for you before i can permit you to peruse it." "make yourself quite easy, mr. osbaldistone," replied the mountaineer with great composure.--"remember justice inglewood, clerk jobson, mr. morris--above all, remember your vera humble servant, robert cawmil, and the beautiful diana vernon. remember all this, and doubt no longer that the letter is for me." i remained astonished at my own stupidity.--through the whole night, the voice, and even the features of this man, though imperfectly seen, haunted me with recollections to which i could assign no exact local or personal associations. but now the light dawned on me at once; this man was campbell himself. his whole peculiarities flashed on me at once,--the deep strong voice--the inflexible, stern, yet considerate cast of features--the scottish brogue, with its corresponding dialect and imagery, which, although he possessed the power at times of laying them aside, recurred at every moment of emotion, and gave pith to his sarcasm, or vehemence to his expostulation. rather beneath the middle size than above it, his limbs were formed upon the very strongest model that is consistent with agility, while from the remarkable ease and freedom of his movements, you could not doubt his possessing the latter quality in a high degree of perfection. two points in his person interfered with the rules of symmetry; his shoulders were so broad in proportion to his height, as, notwithstanding the lean and lathy appearance of his frame, gave him something the air of being too square in respect to his stature; and his arms, though round, sinewy, and strong, were so very long as to be rather a deformity. i afterwards heard that this length of arm was a circumstance on which he prided himself; that when he wore his native highland garb, he could tie the garters of his hose without stooping; and that it gave him great advantage in the use of the broad-sword, at which he was very dexterous. but certainly this want of symmetry destroyed the claim he might otherwise have set up, to be accounted a very handsome man; it gave something wild, irregular, and, as it were, unearthly, to his appearance, and reminded me involuntarily of the tales which mabel used to tell of the old picts who ravaged northumberland in ancient times, who, according to her tradition, were a sort of half-goblin half-human beings, distinguished, like this man, for courage, cunning, ferocity, the length of their arms, and the squareness of their shoulders. when, however, i recollected the circumstances in which we formerly met, i could not doubt that the billet was most probably designed for him. he had made a marked figure among those mysterious personages over whom diana seemed to exercise an influence, and from whom she experienced an influence in her turn. it was painful to think that the fate of a being so amiable was involved in that of desperadoes of this man's description;--yet it seemed impossible to doubt it. of what use, however, could this person be to my father's affairs?--i could think only of one. rashleigh osbaldistone had, at the instigation of miss vernon, certainly found means to produce mr. campbell when his presence was necessary to exculpate me from morris's accusation--was it not possible that her influence, in like manner, might prevail on campbell to produce rashleigh? speaking on this supposition, i requested to know where my dangerous kinsman was, and when mr. campbell had seen him. the answer was indirect. "it's a kittle cast she has gien me to play; but yet it's fair play, and i winna baulk her. mr. osbaldistone, i dwell not very far from hence--my kinsman can show you the way--leave mr. owen to do the best he can in glasgow--do you come and see me in the glens, and it's like i may pleasure you, and stead your father in his extremity. i am but a poor man; but wit's better than wealth--and, cousin" (turning from me to address mr. jarvie), "if ye daur venture sae muckle as to eat a dish of scotch collops, and a leg o' red-deer venison wi' me, come ye wi' this sassenach gentleman as far as drymen or bucklivie,--or the clachan of aberfoil will be better than ony o' them,--and i'll hae somebody waiting to weise ye the gate to the place where i may be for the time--what say ye, man? there's my thumb, i'll ne'er beguile thee." "na, na, robin," said the cautious burgher, "i seldom like to leave the gorbals;* i have nae freedom to gang among your wild hills, robin, and your kilted red-shanks--it disna become my place, man." * [the _gorbals_ or "suburbs" are situate on the south side of the river.] "the devil damn your place and you baith!" reiterated campbell. "the only drap o' gentle bluid that's in your body was our great-grand-uncle's that was justified* at dumbarton, and you set yourself up to say ye wad derogate frae your place to visit me! * [executed for treason.] hark thee, man--i owe thee a day in harst--i'll pay up your thousan pund scots, plack and bawbee, gin ye'll be an honest fallow for anes, and just daiker up the gate wi' this sassenach." "hout awa' wi' your gentility," replied the bailie; "carry your gentle bluid to the cross, and see what ye'll buy wi't. but, if i _were_ to come, wad ye really and soothfastly pay me the siller?" "i swear to ye," said the highlander, "upon the halidome of him that sleeps beneath the grey stane at inch-cailleach."* * inch-cailleach is an island in lochlomond, where the clan of macgregor were wont to be interred, and where their sepulchres may still be seen. it formerly contained a nunnery: hence the name of inch-cailleach, or the island of old women. "say nae mair, robin--say nae mair--we'll see what may be dune. but ye maunna expect me to gang ower the highland line--i'll gae beyond the line at no rate. ye maun meet me about bucklivie or the clachan of aberfoil,--and dinna forget the needful." "nae fear--nae fear," said campbell; "i'll be as true as the steel blade that never failed its master. but i must be budging, cousin, for the air o' glasgow tolbooth is no that ower salutary to a highlander's constitution." "troth," replied the merchant, "and if my duty were to be dune, ye couldna change your atmosphere, as the minister ca's it, this ae wee while.--ochon, that i sud ever be concerned in aiding and abetting an escape frae justice! it will be a shame and disgrace to me and mine, and my very father's memory, for ever." "hout tout, man! let that flee stick in the wa'," answered his kinsman; "when the dirt's dry it will rub out--your father, honest man, could look ower a friend's fault as weel as anither." "ye may be right, robin," replied the bailie, after a moment's reflection; "he was a considerate man the deacon; he ken'd we had a' our frailties, and he lo'ed his friends--ye'll no hae forgotten him, robin?" this question he put in a softened tone, conveying as much at least of the ludicrous as the pathetic. "forgotten him!" replied his kinsman--"what suld ail me to forget him?--a wapping weaver he was, and wrought my first pair o' hose.--but come awa', kinsman, come fill up my cap, come fill up my cann, come saddle my horses, and call up my man; come open your gates, and let me gae free, i daurna stay langer in bonny dundee." "whisht, sir!" said the magistrate, in an authoritative tone--"lilting and singing sae near the latter end o' the sabbath! this house may hear ye sing anither tune yet--aweel, we hae a' backslidings to answer for--stanchells, open the door." the jailor obeyed, and we all sallied forth. stanchells looked with some surprise at the two strangers, wondering, doubtless, how they came into these premises without his knowledge; but mr. jarvie's "friends o' mine, stanchells--friends o' mine," silenced all disposition to inquiries. we now descended into the lower vestibule, and hallooed more than once for dougal, to which summons no answer was returned; when campbell observed with a sardonic smile, "that if dougal was the lad he kent him, he would scarce wait to get thanks for his ain share of the night's wark, but was in all probability on the full trot to the pass of ballamaha"-- "and left us--and, abune a', me, mysell, locked up in the tolbooth a' night!" exclaimed the bailie, in ire and perturbation. "ca' for forehammers, sledge-hammers, pinches, and coulters; send for deacon yettlin, the smith, an let him ken that bailie jarvie's shut up in the tolbooth by a highland blackguard, whom he'll hang up as high as haman"-- "when ye catch him," said campbell, gravely; "but stay--the door is surely not locked." indeed, on examination, we found that the door was not only left open, but that dougal in his retreat had, by carrying off the keys along with him, taken care that no one should exercise his office of porter in a hurry. "he has glimmerings o' common sense now, that creature dougal," said campbell.--"he ken'd an open door might hae served me at a pinch." we were by this time in the street. "i tell you, robin," said the magistrate, "in my puir mind, if ye live the life ye do, ye suld hae ane o' your gillies door-keeper in every jail in scotland, in case o' the warst." "ane o' my kinsmen a bailie in ilka burgh will just do as weel, cousin nicol--so, gude-night or gude-morning to ye; and forget not the clachan of aberfoil." and without waiting for an answer, he sprung to the other side of the street, and was lost in darkness. immediately on his disappearance, we heard him give a low whistle of peculiar modulation, which was instantly replied to. "hear to the hieland deevils," said mr. jarvie; "they think themselves on the skirts of benlomond already, where they may gang whewingand whistling about without minding sunday or saturday." here he was interrupted by something which fell with a heavy clash on the street before us--"gude guide us what's this mair o't?--mattie, haud up the lantern--conscience if it isna the keys!--weel, that's just as weel--they cost the burgh siller, and there might hae been some clavers about the loss o' them. o, an bailie grahame were to get word o' this night's job, it would be a sair hair in my neck!" as we were still but a few steps from the tolbooth door, we carried back these implements of office, and consigned them to the head jailor, who, in lieu of the usual mode of making good his post by turning the keys, was keeping sentry in the vestibule till the arrival of some assistant, whom he had summoned in order to replace the celtic fugitive dougal. having discharged this piece of duty to the burgh, and my road lying the same way with the honest magistrate's, i profited by the light of his lantern, and he by my arm, to find our way through the streets, which, whatever they may now be, were then dark, uneven, and ill-paved. age is easily propitiated by attentions from the young. the bailie expressed himself interested in me, and added, "that since i was nane o' that play-acting and play-ganging generation, whom his saul hated, he wad be glad if i wad eat a reisted haddock or a fresh herring, at breakfast wi' him the morn, and meet my friend, mr. owen, whom, by that time, he would place at liberty." "my dear sir," said i, when i had accepted of the invitation with thanks, "how could you possibly connect me with the stage?" "i watna," replied mr. jarvie;--"it was a bletherin' phrasin' chield they ca' fairservice, that cam at e'en to get an order to send the crier through the toun for ye at skreigh o' day the morn. he tell't me whae ye were, and how ye were sent frae your father's house because ye wadna be a dealer, and that ye mightna disgrace your family wi' ganging on the stage. ane hammorgaw, our precentor, brought him here, and said he was an auld acquaintance; but i sent them both away wi' a flae in their lug for bringing me sic an errand, on sic a night. but i see he's a fule-creature a'thegither, and clean mistaen about ye. i like ye, man," he continued; "i like a lad that will stand by his friends in trouble--i aye did it mysell, and sae did the deacon my father, rest and bless him! but ye suldna keep ower muckle company wi' hielandmen and thae wild cattle. can a man touch pitch and no be defiled?--aye mind that. nae doubt, the best and wisest may err--once, twice, and thrice have i backslidden, man, and dune three things this night--my father wadna hae believed his een if he could hae looked up and seen me do them." he was by this time arrived at the door of his own dwelling. he paused, however, on the threshold, and went on in a solemn tone of deep contrition,--"firstly, i hae thought my ain thoughts on the sabbath--secondly, i hae gi'en security for an englishman--and, in the third and last place, well-a-day! i hae let an ill-doer escape from the place of imprisonment--but there's balm in gilead, mr. osbaldistone-- mattie, i can let mysell in--see mr. osbaldistone to luckie flyter's, at the corner o' the wynd.--mr. osbaldistone"--in a whisper--"ye'll offer nae incivility to mattie--she's an honest man's daughter, and a near cousin o' the laird o' limmerfield's." chapter seventh. "will it please your worship to accept of my poor service? i beseech that i may feed upon your bread, though it be the brownest, and drink of your drink, though it be of the smallest; for i will do your worship as much service for forty shillings as another man shall for three pounds." greene's _tu quoque._ i remembered the honest bailie's parting charge, but did not conceive there was any incivility in adding a kiss to the half-crown with which i remunerated mattie's attendance;--nor did her "fie for shame, sir!" express any very deadly resentment of the affront. repeated knocking at mrs. flyter's gate awakened in due order, first, one or two stray dogs, who began to bark with all their might; next two or three night-capped heads, which were thrust out of the neighbouring windows to reprehend me for disturbing the solemnity of the sunday night by that untimely noise. while i trembled lest the thunders of their wrath might dissolve in showers like that of xantippe, mrs. flyter herself awoke, and began, in a tone of objurgation not unbecoming the philosophical spouse of socrates, to scold one or two loiterers in her kitchen, for not hastening to the door to prevent a repetition of my noisy summons. these worthies were, indeed, nearly concerned in the fracas which their laziness occasioned, being no other than the faithful mr. fairservice, with his friend mr. hammorgaw, and another person, whom i afterwards found to be the town-crier, who were sitting over a cog of ale, as they called it (at my expense, as my bill afterwards informed me), in order to devise the terms and style of a proclamation to be made through the streets the next day, in order that "the unfortunate young gentleman," as they had the impudence to qualify me, might be restored to his friends without farther delay. it may be supposed that i did not suppress my displeasure at this impertinent interference with my affairs; but andrew set up such ejaculations of transport at my arrival, as fairly drowned my expressions of resentment. his raptures, perchance, were partly political; and the tears of joy which he shed had certainly their source in that noble fountain of emotion, the tankard. however, the tumultuous glee which he felt, or pretended to feel, at my return, saved andrew the broken head which i had twice destined him;--first, on account of the colloquy he had held with the precentor on my affairs; and secondly, for the impertinent history he had thought proper to give of me to mr. jarvie. i however contented myself with slapping the door of my bedroom in his face as he followed me, praising heaven for my safe return, and mixing his joy with admonitions to me to take care how i walked my own ways in future. i then went to bed, resolving my first business in the morning should be to discharge this troublesome, pedantic, self-conceited coxcomb, who seemed so much disposed to constitute himself rather a preceptor than a domestic. accordingly in the morning i resumed my purpose, and calling andrew into my, apartment, requested to know his charge for guiding and attending me as far as glasgow. mr. fairservice looked very blank at this demand, justly considering it as a presage to approaching dismission. "your honour," he said, after some hesitation, "wunna think--wunna think"-- "speak out, you rascal, or i'll break your head," said i, as andrew, between the double risk of losing all by asking too much, or a part, by stating his demand lower than what i might be willing to pay, stood gasping in the agony of doubt and calculation. out it came with a bolt, however, at my threat; as the kind violence of a blow on the back sometimes delivers the windpipe from an intrusive morsel.--"aughteen pennies sterling per diem--that is, by the day--your honour wadna think unconscionable." "it is double what is usual, and treble what you merit, andrew; but there's a guinea for you, and get about your business." "the lord forgi'e us! is your honour mad?" exclaimed andrew. "no; but i think you mean to make me so--i give you a third above your demand, and you stand staring and expostulating there as if i were cheating you. take your money, and go about your business." "gude safe us!" continued andrew, "in what can i hae offended your honour? certainly a' flesh is but as the flowers of the field; but if a bed of camomile hath value in medicine, of a surety the use of andrew fairservice to your honour is nothing less evident--it's as muckle as your life's worth to part wi' me." "upon my honour," replied i, "it is difficult to say whether you are more knave or fool. so you intend then to remain with me whether i like it or no?" "troth, i was e'en thinking sae," replied andrew, dogmatically; "for if your honour disna ken when ye hae a gude servant, i ken when i hae a gude master, and the deil be in my feet gin i leave ye--and there's the brief and the lang o't besides i hae received nae regular warning to quit my place." "your place, sir!" said i;--"why, you are no hired servant of mine,--you are merely a guide, whose knowledge of the country i availed myself of on my road." "i am no just a common servant, i admit, sir," remonstrated mr. fairservice; "but your honour kens i quitted a gude place at an hour's notice, to comply wi' your honour's solicitations. a man might make honestly, and wi' a clear conscience, twenty sterling pounds per annum, weel counted siller, o' the garden at osbaldistone hall, and i wasna likely to gi'e up a' that for a guinea, i trow--i reckoned on staying wi' your honour to the term's end at the least o't; and i account my wage, board-wage, fee and bountith,--ay, to that length o't at the least." "come, come, sir," replied i, "these impudent pretensions won't serve your turn; and if i hear any more of them, i shall convince you that squire thorncliff is not the only one of my name that can use his fingers." while i spoke thus, the whole matter struck me as so ridiculous, that, though really angry, i had some difficulty to forbear laughing at the gravity with which andrew supported a plea so utterly extravagant. the rascal, aware of the impression he had made on my muscles, was encouraged to perseverance. he judged it safer, however, to take his pretensions a peg lower, in case of overstraining at the same time both his plea and my patience. "admitting that my honour could part with a faithful servant, that had served me and mine by day and night for twenty years, in a strange place, and at a moment's warning, he was weel assured," he said, "it wasna in my heart, nor in no true gentleman's, to pit a puir lad like himself, that had come forty or fifty, or say a hundred miles out o' his road purely to bear my honour company, and that had nae handing but his penny-fee, to sic a hardship as this comes to." i think it was you, will, who once told me, that, to be an obstinate man, i am in certain things the most gullable and malleable of mortals. the fact is, that it is only contradiction which makes me peremptory, and when i do not feel myself called on to give battle to any proposition, i am always willing to grant it, rather than give myself much trouble. i knew this fellow to be a greedy, tiresome, meddling coxcomb; still, however, i must have some one about me in the quality of guide and domestic, and i was so much used to andrew's humour, that on some occasions it was rather amusing. in the state of indecision to which these reflections led me, i asked fairservice if he knew the roads, towns, etc., in the north of scotland, to which my father's concerns with the proprietors of highland forests were likely to lead me. i believe if i had asked him the road to the terrestrial paradise, he would have at that moment undertaken to guide me to it; so that i had reason afterwards to think myself fortunate in finding that his actual knowledge did not fall very much short of that which he asserted himself to possess. i fixed the amount of his wages, and reserved to myself the privilege of dismissing him when i chose, on paying him a week in advance. i gave him finally a severe lecture on his conduct of the preceding day, and then dismissed him rejoicing at heart, though somewhat crestfallen in countenance, to rehearse to his friend the precentor, who was taking his morning draught in the kitchen, the mode in which he had "cuitled up the daft young english squire." agreeable to appointment, i went next to bailie nicol jarvie's, where a comfortable morning's repast was arranged in the parlour, which served as an apartment of all hours, and almost all work, to that honest gentleman. the bustling and benevolent magistrate had been as good as his word. i found my friend owen at liberty, and, conscious of the refreshments and purification of brush and basin, was of course a very different person from owen a prisoner, squalid, heart-broken, and hopeless. yet the sense of pecuniary difficulties arising behind, before, and around him, had depressed his spirit, and the almost paternal embrace which the good man gave me, was embittered by a sigh of the deepest anxiety. and when he sate down, the heaviness in his eye and manner, so different from the quiet composed satisfaction which they usually exhibited, indicated that he was employing his arithmetic in mentally numbering up the days, the hours, the minutes, which yet remained as an interval between the dishonour of bills and the downfall of the great commercial establishment of osbaldistone and tresham. it was left to me, therefore, to do honour to our landlord's hospitable cheer--to his tea, right from china, which he got in a present from some eminent ship's-husband at wapping--to his coffee, from a snug plantation of his own, as he informed us with a wink, called saltmarket grove, in the island of jamaica--to his english toast and ale, his scotch dried salmon, his lochfine herrings, and even to the double-damask table-cloth, "wrought by no hand, as you may guess," save that of his deceased father the worthy deacon jarvie. having conciliated our good-humoured host by those little attentions which are great to most men, i endeavoured in my turn to gain from him some information which might be useful for my guidance, as well as for the satisfaction of my curiosity. we had not hitherto made the least allusion to the transactions of the preceding night, a circumstance which made my question sound somewhat abrupt, when, without any previous introduction of the subject, i took advantage of a pause when the history of the table-cloth ended, and that of the napkins was about to commence, to inquire, "pray, by the by, mr. jarvie, who may this mr. robert campbell be, whom we met with last night?" the interrogatory seemed to strike the honest magistrate, to use the vulgar phrase, "all of a heap," and instead of answering, he returned the question--"whae's mr. robert campbell?--ahem! ahay! whae's mr. robert campbell, quo' he?" "yes," said i, "i mean who and what is he?" "why, he's--ahay!--he's--ahem!--where did ye meet with mr. robert campbell, as ye ca' him?" "i met him by chance," i replied, "some months ago in the north of england." "ou then, mr. osbaldistone," said the bailie, doggedly, "ye'll ken as muckle about him as i do." "i should suppose not, mr. jarvie," i replied;--"you are his relation, it seems, and his friend." "there is some cousin-red between us, doubtless," said the bailie reluctantly; "but we hae seen little o' ilk other since rob gae tip the cattle-line o' dealing, poor fallow! he was hardly guided by them might hae used him better--and they haena made their plack a bawbee o't neither. there's mony ane this day wad rather they had never chased puir robin frae the cross o' glasgow--there's mony ane wad rather see him again at the tale o' three hundred kyloes, than at the head o' thirty waur cattle." "all this explains nothing to me, mr. jarvie, of mr. campbell's rank, habits of life, and means of subsistence," i replied. "rank?" said mr. jarvie; "he's a hieland gentleman, nae doubt--better rank need nane to be;--and for habit, i judge he wears the hieland habit amang the hills, though he has breeks on when he comes to glasgow;--and as for his subsistence, what needs we care about his subsistence, sae lang as he asks naething frae us, ye ken? but i hae nae time for clavering about him e'en now, because we maun look into your father's concerns wi' all speed." so saying, he put on his spectacles, and sate down to examine mr. owen's states, which the other thought it most prudent to communicate to him without reserve. i knew enough of business to be aware that nothing could be more acute and sagacious than the views which mr. jarvie entertained of the matters submitted to his examination; and, to do him justice, it was marked by much fairness, and even liberality. he scratched his ear indeed repeatedly on observing the balance which stood at the debit of osbaldistone and tresham in account with himself personally. "it may be a dead loss," he observed; "and, conscience! whate'er ane o' your lombard street goldsmiths may say to it, it's a snell ane in the saut-market* o' glasgow. it will be a heavy deficit--a staff out o' my bicker, i trow. * [the saltmarket. this ancient street, situate in the heart of glasgow, has of late been almost entirely renovated.] but what then?--i trust the house wunna coup the crane for a' that's come and gane yet; and if it does, i'll never bear sae base a mind as thae corbies in the gallowgate--an i am to lose by ye, i'se ne'er deny i hae won by ye mony a fair pund sterling--sae, an it come to the warst, i'se een lay the head o' the sow to the tail o' the grice."* * _anglice,_ the head of the sow to the tail of the pig. i did not altogether understand the proverbial arrangement with which mr. jarvie consoled himself, but i could easily see that he took a kind and friendly interest in the arrangement of my father's affairs, suggested several expedients, approved several plans proposed by owen, and by his countenance and counsel greatly abated the gloom upon the brow of that afflicted delegate of my father's establishment. as i was an idle spectator on this occasion, and, perhaps, as i showed some inclination more than once to return to the prohibited, and apparently the puzzling subject of mr. campbell, mr. jarvie dismissed me with little formality, with an advice to "gang up the gate to the college, where i wad find some chields could speak greek and latin weel--at least they got plenty o' siller for doing deil haet else, if they didna do that; and where i might read a spell o' the worthy mr. zachary boyd's translation o' the scriptures--better poetry need nane to be, as he had been tell'd by them that ken'd or suld hae ken'd about sic things." but he seasoned this dismission with a kind and hospitable invitation "to come back and take part o' his family-chack at ane preceesely--there wad be a leg o' mutton, and, it might be, a tup's head, for they were in season;" but above all, i was to return at "ane o'clock preceesely--it was the hour he and the deacon his father aye dined at--they pat it off for naething nor for naebody." chapter eighth. so stands the thracian herdsman with his spear full in the gap, and hopes the hunted bear; and hears him in the rustling wood, and sees his course at distance by the bending trees, and thinks--here comes my mortal enemy, and either he must fall in fight, or i. palamon and arcite. i took the route towards the college, as recommended by mr. jarvie, less with the intention of seeking for any object of interest or amusement, than to arrange my own ideas, and meditate on my future conduct. i wandered from one quadrangle of old-fashioned buildings to another, and from thence to the college-yards, or walking ground, where, pleased with the solitude of the place, most of the students being engaged in their classes, i took several turns, pondering on the waywardness of my own destiny. i could not doubt, from the circumstances attending my first meeting with this person campbell, that he was engaged in some strangely desperate courses; and the reluctance with which mr. jarvie alluded to his person or pursuits, as well as all the scene of the preceding night, tended to confirm these suspicions. yet to this man diana vernon had not, it would seem, hesitated to address herself in my behalf; and the conduct of the magistrate himself towards him showed an odd mixture of kindness, and even respect, with pity and censure. something there must be uncommon in campbell's situation and character; and what was still more extraordinary, it seemed that his fate was doomed to have influence over, and connection with, my own. i resolved to bring mr. jarvie to close quarters on the first proper opportunity, and learn as much as was possible on the subject of this mysterious person, in order that i might judge whether it was possible for me, without prejudice to my reputation, to hold that degree of farther correspondence with him to which he seemed to invite. while i was musing on these subjects, my attention was attracted by three persons who appeared at the upper end of the walk through which i was sauntering, seemingly engaged in very earnest conversation. that intuitive impression which announces to us the approach of whomsoever we love or hate with intense vehemence, long before a more indifferent eye can recognise their persons, flashed upon my mind the sure conviction that the midmost of these three men was rashleigh osbaldistone. to address him was my first impulse;--my second was, to watch him until he was alone, or at least to reconnoitre his companions before confronting him. the party was still at such distance, and engaged in such deep discourse, that i had time to step unobserved to the other side of a small hedge, which imperfectly screened the alley in which i was walking. it was at this period the fashion of the young and gay to wear, in their morning walks, a scarlet cloak, often laced and embroidered, above their other dress, and it was the trick of the time for gallants occasionally to dispose it so as to muffle a part of the face. the imitating this fashion, with the degree of shelter which i received from the hedge, enabled me to meet my cousin, unobserved by him or the others, except perhaps as a passing stranger. i was not a little startled at recognising in his companions that very morris on whose account i had been summoned before justice inglewood, and mr. macvittie the merchant, from whose starched and severe aspect i had recoiled on the preceding day. a more ominous conjunction to my own affairs, and those of my father, could scarce have been formed. i remembered morris's false accusation against me, which he might be as easily induced to renew as he had been intimidated to withdraw; i recollected the inauspicious influence of macvittie over my father's affairs, testified by the imprisonment of owen;--and i now saw both these men combined with one, whose talent for mischief i deemed little inferior to those of the great author of all ill, and my abhorrence of whom almost amounted to dread. when they had passed me for some paces, i turned and followed them unobserved. at the end of the walk they separated, morris and macvittie leaving the gardens, and rashleigh returning alone through the walks. i was now determined to confront him, and demand reparation for the injuries he had done my father, though in what form redress was likely to be rendered remained to be known. this, however, i trusted to chance; and flinging back the cloak in which i was muffled, i passed through a gap of the low hedge, and presented myself before rashleigh, as, in a deep reverie, he paced down the avenue. rashleigh was no man to be surprised or thrown off his guard by sudden occurrences. yet he did not find me thus close to him, wearing undoubtedly in my face the marks of that indignation which was glowing in my bosom, without visibly starting at an apparition so sudden and menacing. "you are well met, sir," was my commencement; "i was about to take a long and doubtful journey in quest of you." "you know little of him you sought then," replied rashleigh, with his usual undaunted composure. "i am easily found by my friends--still more easily by my foes;--your manner compels me to ask in which class i must rank mr. francis osbaldistone?" "in that of your foes, sir," i answered--"in that of your mortal foes, unless you instantly do justice to your benefactor, my father, by accounting for his property." "and to whom, mr. osbaldistone," answered rashleigh, "am i, a member of your father's commercial establishment, to be compelled to give any account of my proceedings in those concerns, which are in every respect identified with my own?--surely not to a young gentleman whose exquisite taste for literature would render such discussions disgusting and unintelligible." "your sneer, sir, is no answer; i will not part with you until i have full satisfaction concerning the fraud you meditate--you shall go with me before a magistrate." "be it so," said rashleigh, and made a step or two as if to accompany me; then pausing, proceeded--"were i inclined to do so as you would have me, you should soon feel which of us had most reason to dread the presence of a magistrate. but i have no wish to accelerate your fate. go, young man! amuse yourself in your world of poetical imaginations, and leave the business of life to those who understand and can conduct it." his intention, i believe, was to provoke me, and he succeeded. "mr. osbaldistone," i said, "this tone of calm insolence shall not avail you. you ought to be aware that the name we both bear never submitted to insult, and shall not in my person be exposed to it." "you remind me," said rashleigh, with one of his blackest looks, "that it was dishonoured in my person!--and you remind me also by whom! do you think i have forgotten the evening at osbaldistone hall when you cheaply and with impunity played the bully at my expense? for that insult--never to be washed out but by blood!--for the various times you have crossed my path, and always to my prejudice--for the persevering folly with which you seek to traverse schemes, the importance of which you neither know nor are capable of estimating,--for all these, sir, you owe me a long account, for which there shall come an early day of reckoning." "let it come when it will," i replied, "i shall be willing and ready to meet it. yet you seem to have forgotten the heaviest article--that i had the pleasure to aid miss vernon's good sense and virtuous feeling in extricating her from your infamous toils." i think his dark eyes flashed actual fire at this home-taunt, and yet his voice retained the same calm expressive tone with which he had hitherto conducted the conversation. "i had other views with respect to you, young man," was his answer: "less hazardous for you, and more suitable to my present character and former education. but i see you will draw on yourself the personal chastisement your boyish insolence so well merits. follow me to a more remote spot, where we are less likely to be interrupted." i followed him accordingly, keeping a strict eye on his motions, for i believed him capable of the very worst actions. we reached an open spot in a sort of wilderness, laid out in the dutch taste, with clipped hedges, and one or two statues. i was on my guard, and it was well with me that i was so; for rashleigh's sword was out and at my breast ere i could throw down my cloak, or get my weapon unsheathed, so that i only saved my life by springing a pace or two backwards. he had some advantage in the difference of our weapons; for his sword, as i recollect, was longer than mine, and had one of those bayonet or three-cornered blades which are now generally worn; whereas mine was what we then called a saxon blade--narrow, flat, and two-edged, and scarcely so manageable as that of my enemy. in other respects we were pretty equally matched: for what advantage i might possess in superior address and agility, was fully counterbalanced by rashleigh's great strength and coolness. he fought, indeed, more like a fiend than a man--with concentrated spite and desire of blood, only allayed by that cool consideration which made his worst actions appear yet worse from the air of deliberate premeditation which seemed to accompany them. his obvious malignity of purpose never for a moment threw him off his guard, and he exhausted every feint and stratagem proper to the science of defence; while, at the same time, he meditated the most desperate catastrophe to our rencounter. on my part, the combat was at first sustained with more moderation. my passions, though hasty, were not malevolent; and the walk of two or three minutes' space gave me time to reflect that rashleigh was my father's nephew, the son of an uncle, who after his fashion had been kind to me, and that his falling by my hand could not but occasion much family distress. my first resolution, therefore, was to attempt to disarm my antagonist--a manoeuvre in which, confiding in my superiority of skill and practice, i anticipated little difficulty. i found, however, i had met my match; and one or two foils which i received, and from the consequences of which i narrowly escaped, obliged me to observe more caution in my mode of fighting. by degrees i became exasperated at the rancour with which rashleigh sought my life, and returned his passes with an inveteracy resembling in some degree his own; so that the combat had all the appearance of being destined to have a tragic issue. that issue had nearly taken place at my expense. my foot slipped in a full lounge which i made at my adversary, and i could not so far recover myself as completely to parry the thrust with which my pass was repaid. yet it took but partial effect, running through my waistcoat, grazing my ribs, and passing through my coat behind. the hilt of rashleigh's sword, so great was the vigour of his thrust, struck against my breast with such force as to give me great pain, and confirm me in the momentary belief that i was mortally wounded. eager for revenge, i grappled with my enemy, seizing with my left hand the hilt of his sword, and shortening my own with the purpose of running him through the body. our death-grapple was interrupted by a man who forcibly threw himself between us, and pushing us separate from each other, exclaimed, in a loud and commanding voice, "what! the sons of those fathers who sucked the same breast shedding each others bluid as it were strangers'!--by the hand of my father, i will cleave to the brisket the first man that mints another stroke!" i looked up in astonishment. the speaker was no other than campbell. he had a basket-hilted broadsword drawn in his hand, which he made to whistle around his head as he spoke, as if for the purpose of enforcing his mediation. rashleigh and i stared in silence at this unexpected intruder, who proceeded to exhort us alternately:--"do you, maister francis, opine that ye will re-establish your father's credit by cutting your kinsman's thrapple, or getting your ain sneckit instead thereof in the college-yards of glasgow?--or do you, mr rashleigh, think men will trust their lives and fortunes wi' ane, that, when in point of trust and in point of confidence wi' a great political interest, gangs about brawling like a drunken gillie?--nay, never look gash or grim at me, man--if ye're angry, ye ken how to turn the buckle o' your belt behind you." "you presume on my present situation," replied rashleigh, "or you would have hardly dared to interfere where my honour is concerned." [illustration: rob roy parting the duelists-- ] "hout! tout! tout!--presume? and what for should it be presuming?--ye may be the richer man, mr. osbaldistone, as is maist likely; and ye may be the mair learned man, whilk i dispute not: but i reckon ye are neither a prettier man nor a better gentleman than mysell--and it will be news to me when i hear ye are as gude. and _dare_ too? muckle daring there's about it--i trow, here i stand, that hae slashed as het a haggis as ony o' the twa o' ye, and thought nae muckle o' my morning's wark when it was dune. if my foot were on the heather as it's on the causeway, or this pickle gravel, that's little better, i hae been waur mistrysted than if i were set to gie ye baith your ser'ing o't." rashleigh had by this time recovered his temper completely. "my kinsman," he said, "will acknowledge he forced this quarrel on me. it was none of my seeking. i am glad we are interrupted before i chastised his forwardness more severely." "are ye hurt, lad?" inquired campbell of me, with some appearance of interest. "a very slight scratch," i answered, "which my kind cousin would not long have boasted of had not you come between us." "in troth, and that's true, maister rashleigh," said campbell; "for the cauld iron and your best bluid were like to hae become acquaint when i mastered mr. frank's right hand. but never look like a sow playing upon a trump for the luve of that, man--come and walk wi' me. i hae news to tell ye, and ye'll cool and come to yourself, like macgibbon's crowdy, when he set it out at the window-bole." "pardon me, sir," said i. "your intentions have seemed friendly to me on more occasions than one; but i must not, and will not, quit sight of this person until he yields up to me those means of doing justice to my father's engagements, of which he has treacherously possessed himself." "ye're daft, man," replied campbell; "it will serve ye naething to follow us e'enow; ye hae just enow o' ae man--wad ye bring twa on your head, and might bide quiet?" "twenty," i replied, "if it be necessary." i laid my hand on rashleigh's collar, who made no resistance, but said, with a sort of scornful smile, "you hear him, macgregor! he rushes on his fate--will it be my fault if he falls into it?--the warrants are by this time ready, and all is prepared." the scotchman was obviously embarrassed. he looked around, and before, and behind him, and then said--"the ne'er a bit will i yield my consent to his being ill-guided for standing up for the father that got him--and i gie god's malison and mine to a' sort o' magistrates, justices, bailies., sheriffs, sheriff-officers, constables, and sic-like black cattle, that hae been the plagues o' puir auld scotland this hunder year.--it was a merry warld when every man held his ain gear wi' his ain grip, and when the country side wasna fashed wi' warrants and poindings and apprizings, and a' that cheatry craft. and ance mair i say it, my conscience winna see this puir thoughtless lad ill-guided, and especially wi' that sort o' trade. i wad rather ye fell till't again, and fought it out like douce honest men." "your conscience, macgregor!" said rashleigh; "you forget how long you and i have known each other." "yes, my conscience," reiterated campbell, or macgregor, or whatever was his name; "i hae such a thing about me, maister osbaldistone; and therein it may weel chance that i hae the better o' you. as to our knowledge of each other,--if ye ken what i am, ye ken what usage it was made me what i am; and, whatever you may think, i would not change states with the proudest of the oppressors that hae driven me to tak the heather-bush for a beild. what _you_ are, maister rashleigh, and what excuse ye hae for being _what_ you are, is between your ain heart and the lang day.--and now, maister francis, let go his collar; for he says truly, that ye are in mair danger from a magistrate than he is, and were your cause as straight as an arrow, he wad find a way to put you wrang--so let go his craig, as i was saying." he seconded his words with an effort so sudden and unexpected, that he freed rashleigh from my hold, and securing me, notwithstanding my struggles, in his own herculean gripe, he called out--"take the bent, mr. rashleigh--make ae pair o' legs worth twa pair o' hands; ye hae dune that before now." "you may thank this gentleman, kinsman," said rashleigh, "if i leave any part of my debt to you unpaid; and if i quit you now, it is only in the hope we shall soon meet again without the possibility of interruption." he took up his sword, wiped it, sheathed it, and was lost among the bushes. the scotchman, partly by force, partly by remonstrance, prevented my following him; indeed i began to be of opinion my doing so would be to little purpose. "as i live by bread," said campbell, when, after one or two struggles in which he used much forbearance towards me, he perceived me inclined to stand quiet, "i never saw sae daft a callant! i wad hae gien the best man in the country the breadth o' his back gin he had gien me sic a kemping as ye hae dune. what wad ye do?--wad ye follow the wolf to his den? i tell ye, man, he has the auld trap set for ye--he has got the collector-creature morris to bring up a' the auld story again, and ye maun look for nae help frae me here, as ye got at justice inglewood's;--it isna good for my health to come in the gate o' the whigamore bailie bodies. now gang your ways hame, like a gude bairn--jouk and let the jaw gae by--keep out o' sight o' rashleigh, and morris, and that macvittie animal--mind the clachan of aberfoil, as i said before, and by the word of a gentleman, i wunna see ye wranged. but keep a calm sough till we meet again--i maun gae and get rashleigh out o' the town afore waur comes o't, for the neb o' him's never out o' mischief--mind the clachan of aberfoil." he turned upon his heel, and left me to meditate on the singular events which had befallen me. my first care was to adjust my dress and reassume my cloak, disposing it so as to conceal the blood which flowed down my right side. i had scarcely accomplished this, when, the classes of the college being dismissed, the gardens began to be filled with parties of the students. i therefore left them as soon as possible; and in my way towards mr. jarvie's, whose dinner hour was now approaching, i stopped at a small unpretending shop, the sign of which intimated the indweller to be christopher neilson, surgeon and apothecary. i requested of a little boy who was pounding some stuff in a mortar, that he would procure me an audience of this learned pharmacopolist. he opened the door of the back shop, where i found a lively elderly man, who shook his head incredulously at some idle account i gave him of having been wounded accidentally by the button breaking off my antagonist's foil while i was engaged in a fencing match. when he had applied some lint and somewhat else he thought proper to the trifling wound i had received, he observed--"there never was button on the foil that made this hurt. ah! young blood! young blood!--but we surgeons are a secret generation--if it werena for hot blood and ill blood, what wad become of the twa learned faculties?" with which moral reflection he dismissed me; and i experienced very little pain or inconvenience afterwards from the scratch i had received. chapter ninth. an iron race the mountain-cliffs maintain, foes to the gentler genius of the plain. ******* who while their rocky ramparts round they see, the rough abode of want and liberty, as lawless force from confidence will grow, insult the plenty of the vales below. gray. "what made ye sae late?" said mr. jarvie, as i entered the dining-parlour of that honest gentleman; "it is chappit ane the best feek o' five minutes by-gane. mattie has been twice at the door wi' the dinner, and weel for you it was a tup's head, for that canna suffer by delay. a sheep's head ower muckle boiled is rank poison, as my worthy father used to say--he likit the lug o' ane weel, honest man." i made a suitable apology for my breach of punctuality, and was soon seated at table, where mr. jarvie presided with great glee and hospitality, compelling, however, owen and myself to do rather more justice to the scottish dainties with which his board was charged, than was quite agreeable to our southern palates. i escaped pretty well, from having those habits of society which enable one to elude this species of well-meant persecution. but it was ridiculous enough to see owen, whose ideas of politeness were more rigorous and formal, and who was willing, in all acts of lawful compliance, to evince his respect for the friend of the firm, eating with rueful complaisance mouthful after mouthful of singed wool, and pronouncing it excellent, in a tone in which disgust almost overpowered civility. when the cloth was removed, mr. jarvie compounded with his own hands a very small bowl of brandy-punch, the first which i had ever the fortune to see. "the limes," he assured us, "were from his own little farm yonder-awa" (indicating the west indies with a knowing shrug of his shoulders), "and he had learned the art of composing the liquor from auld captain coffinkey, who acquired it," he added in a whisper, "'as maist folk thought, among the buccaniers. but it's excellent liquor," said he, helping us round; "and good ware has aften come frae a wicked market. and as for captain coffinkey, he was a decent man when i kent him, only he used to swear awfully--but he's dead, and gaen to his account, and i trust he's accepted--i trust he's accepted." we found the liquor exceedingly palatable, and it led to a long conversation between owen and our host on the opening which the union had afforded to trade between glasgow and the british colonies in america and the west indies, and on the facilities which glasgow possessed of making up sortable cargoes for that market. mr. jarvie answered some objection which owen made on the difficulty of sorting a cargo for america, without buying from england, with vehemence and volubility. "na, na, sir, we stand on our ain bottom--we pickle in our ain pock-neuk--we hae our stirling serges, musselburgh stuffs, aberdeen hose, edinburgh shalloons, and the like, for our woollen or worsted goods--and we hae linens of a' kinds better and cheaper than you hae in lunnon itsell--and we can buy your north o' england wares, as manchester wares, sheffield wares, and newcastle earthenware, as cheap as you can at liverpool--and we are making a fair spell at cottons and muslins--na, na! let every herring hing by its ain head, and every sheep by its ain shank, and ye'll find, sir, us glasgow folk no sae far ahint but what we may follow.--this is but poor entertainment for you, mr. osbaldistone" (observing that i had been for some time silent); "but ye ken cadgers maun aye be speaking about cart-saddles." i apologised, alleging the painful circumstances of my own situation, and the singular adventures of the morning, as the causes of my abstraction and absence of mind. in this manner i gained what i sought--an opportunity of telling my story distinctly and without interruption. i only omitted mentioning the wound i had received, which i did not think worthy of notice. mr. jarvie listened with great attention and apparent interest, twinkling his little grey eyes, taking snuff, and only interrupting me by brief interjections. when i came to the account of the rencounter, at which owen folded his hands and cast up his eyes to heaven, the very image of woeful surprise, mr. jarvie broke in upon the narration with "wrang now--clean wrang--to draw a sword on your kinsman is inhibited by the laws o' god and man; and to draw a sword on the streets of a royal burgh is punishable by fine and imprisonment--and the college-yards are nae better privileged--they should be a place of peace and quietness, i trow. the college didna get gude l a year out o' bishops' rents (sorrow fa' the brood o' bishops and their rents too!), nor yet a lease o' the archbishopric o' glasgow the sell o't, that they suld let folk tuilzie in their yards, or the wild callants bicker there wi' snaw-ba's as they whiles do, that when mattie and i gae through, we are fain to make a baik and a bow, or run the risk o' our harns being knocked out--it suld be looked to.*--but come awa'wi' your tale--what fell neist?" * the boys in scotland used formerly to make a sort of saturnalia in a snow-storm, by pelting passengers with snowballs. but those exposed to that annoyance were excused from it on the easy penalty of a baik (courtesy) from a female, or a bow from a man. it was only the refractory who underwent the storm. on my mentioning the appearance of mr. campbell, jarvie arose in great surprise, and paced the room, exclaiming, "robin again!--robert's mad--clean wud, and waur--rob will be hanged, and disgrace a' his kindred, and that will be seen and heard tell o'. my father the deacon wrought him his first hose--od, i am thinking deacon threeplie, the rape-spinner, will be twisting his last cravat. ay, ay, puir robin is in a fair way o' being hanged--but come awa', come awa'--let's hear the lave o't." i told the whole story as pointedly as i could; but mr. jarvie still found something lacking to make it clear, until i went back, though with considerable reluctance, on the whole story of morris, and of my meeting with campbell at the house of justice inglewood. mr. jarvie inclined a serious ear to all this, and remained silent for some time after i had finished my narrative. "upon all these matters i am now to ask your advice, mr. jarvie, which, i have no doubt, will point out the best way to act for my father's advantage and my own honour." "ye're right, young man--ye're right," said the bailie. "aye take the counsel of those who are aulder and wiser than yourself, and binna like the godless rehoboam, who took the advice o' a wheen beardless callants, neglecting the auld counsellors who had sate at the feet o' his father solomon, and, as it was weel put by mr. meiklejohn, in his lecture on the chapter, were doubtless partakers of his sapience. but i maun hear naething about honour--we ken naething here but about credit. honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street; but credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame and makes the pat play." "assuredly, mr. jarvie," said our friend owen, "credit is the sum total; and if we can but save that, at whatever discount"-- "ye are right, mr. owen--ye are right; ye speak weel and wisely; and i trust bowls will row right, though they are a wee ajee e'enow. but touching robin, i am of opinion he will befriend this young man if it is in his power. he has a gude heart, puir robin; and though i lost a matter o' twa hundred punds wi' his former engagements, and haena muckle expectation ever to see back my thousand punds scots that he promises me e'enow, yet i will never say but what robin means fair by men." "i am then to consider him," i replied, "as an honest man?" "umph!" replied jarvie, with a precautionary sort of cough--"ay, he has a kind o' hieland honesty--he's honest after a sort, as they say. my father the deacon used aye to laugh when he tauld me how that by-word came up. ane captain costlett was cracking crouse about his loyalty to king charles, and clerk pettigrew (ye'll hae heard mony a tale about him) asked him after what manner he served the king, when he was fighting again him at wor'ster in cromwell's army; and captain costlett was a ready body, and said that he served him _after a sort._ my honest father used to laugh weel at that sport--and sae the by-word came up." "but do you think," i said, "that this man will be able to serve me after a sort, or should i trust myself to this place of rendezvous which he has given me?" "frankly and fairly, it's worth trying. ye see yourself there's some risk in your staying here. this bit body morris has gotten a custom-house place doun at greenock--that's a port on the firth doun by here; and tho' a' the world kens him to be but a twa-leggit creature, wi' a goose's head and a hen's heart, that goes about on the quay plaguing folk about permits, and cockits, and dockits, and a' that vexatious trade, yet if he lodge an information--ou, nae doubt a man in magisterial duty maun attend to it, and ye might come to be clapped up between four wa's, whilk wad be ill-convenient to your father's affairs." "true," i observed; "yet what service am i likely to render him by leaving glasgow, which, it is probable, will be the principal scene of rashleigh's machinations, and committing myself to the doubtful faith of a man of whom i know little but that he fears justice, and has doubtless good reasons for doing so; and that, for some secret, and probably dangerous purpose, he is in close league and alliance with the very person who is like to be the author of our ruin?" "ah, but ye judge rob hardly," said the bailie, "ye judge him hardly, puir chield; and the truth is, that ye ken naething about our hill country, or hielands, as we ca' them. they are clean anither set frae the like o' huz;--there's nae bailie-courts amang them--nae magistrates that dinna bear the sword in vain, like the worthy deacon that's awa', and, i may say't, like mysell and other present magistrates in this city--but it's just the laird's command, and the loon maun loup; and the never another law hae they but the length o' their dirks--the broadsword's pursuer, or plaintiff, as you englishers ca' it, and the target is defender; the stoutest head bears langest out;--and there's a hieland plea for ye." owen groaned deeply; and i allow that the description did not greatly increase my desire to trust myself in a country so lawless as he described these scottish mountains. "now, sir," said jarvie, "we speak little o' thae things, because they are familiar to oursells; and where's the use o' vilifying ane's country, and bringing a discredit on ane's kin, before southrons and strangers? it's an ill bird that files its ain nest." "well, sir, but as it is no impertinent curiosity of mine, but real necessity, that obliges me to make these inquiries, i hope you will not be offended at my pressing for a little farther information. i have to deal, on my father's account, with several gentlemen of these wild countries, and i must trust your good sense and experience for the requisite lights upon the subject." this little morsel of flattery was not thrown out in vain. "experience!" said the bailie--"i hae had experience, nae doubt, and i hae made some calculations--ay, and to speak quietly amang oursells, i hae made some perquisitions through andrew wylie, my auld clerk; he's wi' macvittie & co. now--but he whiles drinks a gill on the saturday afternoons wi' his auld master. and since ye say ye are willing to be guided by the glasgow weaver-body's advice, i am no the man that will refuse it to the son of an auld correspondent, and my father the deacon was nane sic afore me. i have whiles thought o' letting my lights burn before the duke of argyle, or his brother lord ilay (for wherefore should they be hidden under a bushel?), but the like o' thae grit men wadna mind the like o' me, a puir wabster body--they think mair o' wha says a thing, than o' what the thing is that's said. the mair's the pity--mair's the pity. not that i wad speak ony ill of this maccallum more--'curse not the rich in your bedchamber,' saith the son of sirach, 'for a bird of the air shall carry the clatter, and pint-stoups hae lang lugs.'" i interrupted these prolegomena, in which mr. jarvie was apt to be somewhat diffuse, by praying him to rely upon mr. owen and myself as perfectly secret and safe confidants. "it's no for that," he replied, "for i fear nae man--what for suld i?--i speak nae treason--only thae hielandmen hae lang grips, and i whiles gang a wee bit up the glens to see some auld kinsfolks, and i wadna willingly be in bad blude wi' ony o' their clans. howsumever, to proceed--ye maun understand i found my remarks on figures, whilk as mr. owen here weel kens, is the only true demonstrable root of human knowledge." owen readily assented to a proposition so much in his own way, and our orator proceeded. "these hielands of ours, as we ca' them, gentlemen, are but a wild kind of warld by themsells, full of heights and howes, woods, caverns, lochs, rivers, and mountains, that it wad tire the very deevil's wings to flee to the tap o' them. and in this country, and in the isles, whilk are little better, or, to speak the truth, rather waur than the mainland, there are about twa hunder and thirty parochines, including the orkneys, where, whether they speak gaelic or no i wotna, but they are an uncivilised people. now, sirs, i sall haud ilk parochine at the moderate estimate of eight hunder examinable persons, deducting children under nine years of age, and then adding one-fifth to stand for bairns of nine years auld, and under, the whole population will reach to the sum of--let us add one-fifth to to be the multiplier, and being the multiplicand"-- "the product," said mr. owen, who entered delightedly into these statistics of mr. jarvie, "will be , ." "right, sir--perfectly right; and the military array of this hieland country, were a' the men-folk between aughteen and fifty-six brought out that could bear arms, couldna come weel short of fifty-seven thousand five hundred men. now, sir, it's a sad and awfu' truth, that there is neither wark, nor the very fashion nor appearance of wark, for the tae half of thae puir creatures; that is to say, that the agriculture, the pasturage, the fisheries, and every species of honest industry about the country, cannot employ the one moiety of the population, let them work as lazily as they like, and they do work as if a pleugh or a spade burnt their fingers. aweel, sir, this moiety of unemployed bodies, amounting to"-- "to one hundred and fifteen thousand souls," said owen, "being the half of the above product." "ye hae't, mr. owen--ye hae't--whereof there may be twenty-eight thousand seven hundred able-bodied gillies fit to bear arms, and that do bear arms, and will touch or look at nae honest means of livelihood even if they could get it--which, lack-a-day! they cannot." "but is it possible," said i, "mr. jarvie, that this can be a just picture of so large a portion of the island of britain?" "sir, i'll make it as plain as peter pasley's pike-staff. i will allow that ilk parochine, on an average, employs fifty pleughs, whilk is a great proportion in sic miserable soil as thae creatures hae to labour, and that there may be pasture enough for pleugh-horses, and owsen, and forty or fifty cows; now, to take care o' the pleughs and cattle, we'se allow seventy-five families of six lives in ilk family, and we'se add fifty mair to make even numbers, and ye hae five hundred souls, the tae half o' the population, employed and maintained in a sort o' fashion, wi' some chance of sour-milk and crowdie; but i wad be glad to ken what the other five hunder are to do?" "in the name of god!" said i, "what _do_ they do, mr. jarvie? it makes me shudder to think of their situation." "sir," replied the bailie, "ye wad maybe shudder mair if ye were living near hand them. for, admitting that the tae half of them may make some little thing for themsells honestly in the lowlands by shearing in harst, droving, hay-making, and the like; ye hae still mony hundreds and thousands o' lang-legged hieland gillies that will neither work nor want, and maun gang thigging and sorning* about on their acquaintance, or live by doing the laird's bidding, be't right or be't wrang. * _thigging_ and _sorning_ was a kind of genteel begging, or rather something between begging and robbing, by which the needy in scotland used to extort cattle, or the means of subsistence, from those who had any to give. and mair especially, mony hundreds o' them come down to the borders of the low country, where there's gear to grip, and live by stealing, reiving, lifting cows, and the like depredations--a thing deplorable in ony christian country!--the mair especially, that they take pride in it, and reckon driving a spreagh (whilk is, in plain scotch, stealing a herd of nowte) a gallant, manly action, and mair befitting of pretty* men (as sic reivers will ca' themselves), than to win a day's wage by ony honest thrift. * the word _pretty_ is or was used in scotch, in the sense of the german _prachtig,_ and meant a gallant, alert fellow, prompt and ready at his weapons. and the lairds are as bad as the loons; for if they dinna bid them gae reive and harry, the deil a bit they forbid them; and they shelter them, or let them shelter themselves, in their woods and mountains, and strongholds, whenever the thing's dune. and every ane o' them will maintain as mony o' his ane name, or his clan, as we say, as he can rap and rend means for; or, whilk's the same thing, as mony as can in ony fashion, fair or foul, mainteen themsells. and there they are wi' gun and pistol, dirk and dourlach, ready to disturb the peace o' the country whenever the laird likes; and that's the grievance of the hielands, whilk are, and hae been for this thousand years by-past, a bike o' the maist lawless unchristian limmers that ever disturbed a douce, quiet, god-fearing neighbourhood, like this o' ours in the west here." "and this kinsman of yours, and friend of mine, is he one of those great proprietors who maintain the household troops you speak of?" i inquired. "na, na," said bailie jarvie; "he's nane o' your great grandees o' chiefs, as they ca' them, neither. though he is weel born, and lineally descended frae auld glenstrae--i ken his lineage--indeed he is a near kinsman, and, as i said, of gude gentle hieland blude, though ye may think weel that i care little about that nonsense--it's a' moonshine in water--waste threads and thrums, as we say--but i could show ye letters frae his father, that was the third aff glenstrae, to my father deacon jarvie (peace be wi' his memory!) beginning, dear deacon, and ending, your loving kinsman to command,--they are amaist a' about borrowed siller, sae the gude deacon, that's dead and gane, keepit them as documents and evidents--he was a carefu' man." "but if he is not," i resumed, "one of their chiefs or patriarchal leaders, whom i have heard my father talk of, this kinsman of yours has, at least, much to say in the highlands, i presume?" "ye may say that--nae name better ken'd between the lennox and breadalbane. robin was ance a weel-doing, painstaking drover, as ye wad see amang ten thousand--it was a pleasure to see him in his belted plaid and brogues, wi' his target at his back, and claymore and dirk at his belt, following a hundred highland stots, and a dozen o' the gillies, as rough and ragged as the beasts they drave. and he was baith civil and just in his dealings; and if he thought his chapman had made a hard bargain, he wad gie him a luck-penny to the mends. i hae ken'd him gie back five shillings out o' the pund sterling." "twenty-five per cent," said owen--"a heavy discount." "he wad gie it though, sir, as i tell ye; mair especially if he thought the buyer was a puir man, and couldna stand by a loss. but the times cam hard, and rob was venturesome. it wasna my faut--it wasna my faut; he canna wyte me--i aye tauld him o't--and the creditors, mair especially some grit neighbours o' his, gripped to his living and land; and they say his wife was turned out o' the house to the hill-side, and sair misguided to the boot. shamefu'! shamefu'!--i am a peacefu' man and a magistrate, but if ony ane had guided sae muckle as my servant quean, mattie, as it's like they guided rob's wife, i think it suld hae set the shabble* that my father the deacon had at bothwell brig a-walking again. * cutlass. weel, rob cam hame, and fand desolation, god pity us! where he left plenty; he looked east, west, south, north, and saw neither hauld nor hope--neither beild nor shelter; sae he e'en pu'd the bonnet ower his brow, belted the broadsword to his side, took to the brae-side, and became a broken man."* * an outlaw. the voice of the good citizen was broken by his contending feelings. he obviously, while he professed to contemn the pedigree of his highland kinsman, attached a secret feeling of consequence to the connection, and he spoke of his friend in his prosperity with an overflow of affection, which deepened his sympathy for his misfortunes, and his regret for their consequences. "thus tempted and urged by despair," said i, seeing mr. jarvie did not proceed in his narrative, "i suppose your kinsman became one of those depredators you have described to us?" "no sae bad as that," said the glaswegian,--"no a'thegither and outright sae bad as that; but he became a levier of black-mail, wider and farther than ever it was raised in our day, a through the lennox and menteith, and up to the gates o' stirling castle." "black-mail?--i do not understand the phrase," i remarked. "ou, ye see, rob soon gathered an unco band o' blue-bonnets at his back, for he comes o' a rough name when he's kent by his ain, and a name that's held its ain for mony a lang year, baith again king and parliament, and kirk too, for aught i ken--an auld and honourable name, for as sair as it has been worried and hadden down and oppressed. my mother was a macgregor--i carena wha kens it--and rob had soon a gallant band; and as it grieved him (he said) to see sic _hership_ and waste and depredation to the south o' the hieland line, why, if ony heritor or farmer wad pay him four punds scots out of each hundred punds of valued rent, whilk was doubtless a moderate consideration, rob engaged to keep them scaithless;--let them send to him if they lost sae muckle as a single cloot by thieving, and rob engaged to get them again, or pay the value--and he aye keepit his word--i canna deny but he keepit his word--a' men allow rob keeps his word." "this is a very singular contract of assurance," said mr. owen. "it's clean again our statute law, that must be owned," said jarvie, "clean again law; the levying and the paying black-mail are baith punishable: but if the law canna protect my barn and byre, whatfor suld i no engage wi' a hieland gentleman that can?--answer me that." "but," said i, "mr. jarvie, is this contract of black-mail, as you call it, completely voluntary on the part of the landlord or farmer who pays the insurance? or what usually happens, in case any one refuses payment of this tribute?" "aha, lad!" said the bailie, laughing, and putting his finger to his nose, "ye think ye hae me there. troth, i wad advise ony friends o' mine to gree wi' rob; for, watch as they like, and do what they like, they are sair apt to be harried* when the lang nights come on. * plundered. some o' the grahame and cohoon gentry stood out; but what then?--they lost their haill stock the first winter; sae maist folks now think it best to come into rob's terms. he's easy wi' a' body that will be easy wi' him; but if ye thraw him, ye had better thraw the deevil." "and by his exploits in these vocations," i continued, "i suppose he has rendered himself amenable to the laws of the country?" "amenable?--ye may say that; his craig wad ken the weight o' his hurdies if they could get haud o' rob. but he has gude friends amang the grit folks; and i could tell ye o' ae grit family that keeps him up as far as they decently can, to be a them in the side of another. and then he's sic an auld-farran lang-headed chield as never took up the trade o' cateran in our time; mony a daft reik he has played--mair than wad fill a book, and a queer ane it wad be--as gude as robin hood, or william wallace--a' fu' o' venturesome deeds and escapes, sic as folk tell ower at a winter ingle in the daft days. it's a queer thing o' me, gentlemen, that am a man o' peace mysell, and a peacefu man's son--for the deacon my father quarrelled wi' nane out o the town-council--it's a queer thing, i say, but i think the hieland blude o' me warms at thae daft tales, and whiles i like better to hear them than a word o' profit, gude forgie me! but they are vanities--sinfu' vanities--and, moreover, again the statute law--again the statute and gospel law." i now followed up my investigation, by inquiring what means of influence this mr. robert campbell could possibly possess over my affairs, or those of my father. "why, ye are to understand," said mr. jarvie in a very subdued tone--"i speak amang friends, and under the rose--ye are to understand, that the hielands hae been keepit quiet since the year aughty-nine--that was killiecrankie year. but how hae they been keepit quiet, think ye? by siller, mr. owen--by siller, mr. osbaldistone. king william caused breadalbane distribute twenty thousand oude punds sterling amang them, and it's said the auld hieland earl keepit a lang lug o't in his ain sporran. and then queen anne, that's dead, gae the chiefs bits o' pensions, sae they had wherewith to support their gillies and caterans that work nae wark, as i said afore; and they lay by quiet eneugh, saying some spreagherie on the lowlands, whilk is their use and wont, and some cutting o' thrapples amang themsells, that nae civilised body kens or cares onything anent.--weel, but there's a new warld come up wi' this king george (i say, god bless him, for ane)--there's neither like to be siller nor pensions gaun amang them; they haena the means o' mainteening the clans that eat them up, as ye may guess frae what i said before; their credit's gane in the lowlands; and a man that can whistle ye up a thousand or feifteen hundred linking lads to do his will, wad hardly get fifty punds on his band at the cross o' glasgow--this canna stand lang--there will be an outbreak for the stuarts--there will be an outbreak--they will come down on the low country like a flood, as they did in the waefu' wars o' montrose, and that will be seen and heard tell o' ere a twalmonth gangs round." "yet still," i said, "i do not see how this concerns mr. campbell, much less my father's affairs." "rob can levy five hundred men, sir, and therefore war suld concern him as muckle as maist folk," replied the bailie; "for it is a faculty that is far less profitable in time o' peace. then, to tell ye the truth, i doubt he has been the prime agent between some o' our hieland chiefs and the gentlemen in the north o' england. we a' heard o' the public money that was taen frae the chield morris somewhere about the fit o' cheviot by rob and ane o' the osbaldistone lads; and, to tell ye the truth, word gaed that it was yoursell mr. francis,--and sorry was i that your father's son suld hae taen to sic practices--na, ye needna say a word about it--i see weel i was mistaen; but i wad believe onything o' a stage-player, whilk i concluded ye to be. but now, i doubtna, it has been rashleigh himself or some other o' your cousins--they are a' tarred wi' the same stick--rank jacobites and papists, and wad think the government siller and government papers lawfu' prize. and the creature morris is sic a cowardly caitiff, that to this hour he daurna say that it was rob took the portmanteau aff him; and troth he's right, for your custom-house and excise cattle are ill liket on a' sides, and rob might get a back-handed lick at him, before the board, as they ca't, could help him." "i have long suspected this, mr. jarvie," said i, "and perfectly agree with you. but as to my father's affairs"-- "suspected it?--it's certain--it's certain--i ken them that saw some of the papers that were taen aff morris--it's needless to say where. but to your father's affairs--ye maun think that in thae twenty years by-gane, some o' the hieland lairds and chiefs hae come to some sma' sense o' their ain interest--your father and others hae bought the woods of glen-disseries, glen kissoch, tober-na-kippoch, and mony mair besides, and your father's house has granted large bills in payment,--and as the credit o' osbaldistone and tresham was gude--for i'll say before mr. owen's face, as i wad behind his back, that, bating misfortunes o' the lord's sending, nae men could be mair honourable in business--the hieland gentlemen, holders o' thae bills, hae found credit in glasgow and edinburgh--(i might amaist say in glasgow wholly, for it's little the pridefu' edinburgh folk do in real business)--for all, or the greater part of the contents o' thae bills. so that--aha! d'ye see me now?" i confessed i could not quite follow his drift. "why," said he, "if these bills are not paid, the glasgow merchant comes on the hieland lairds, whae hae deil a boddle o' siller, and will like ill to spew up what is item a' spent--they will turn desperate--five hundred will rise that might hae sitten at hame--the deil will gae ower jock wabster--and the stopping of your father's house will hasten the outbreak that's been sae lang biding us." "you think, then," said i, surprised at this singular view of the case, "that rashleigh osbaldistone has done this injury to my father, merely to accelerate a rising in the highlands, by distressing the gentlemen to whom these bills were originally granted?" "doubtless--doubtless--it has been one main reason, mr. osbaldistone. i doubtna but what the ready money he carried off wi' him might be another. but that makes comparatively but a sma' part o' your father's loss, though it might make the maist part o' rashleigh's direct gain. the assets he carried off are of nae mair use to him than if he were to light his pipe wi' them. he tried if macvittie & co. wad gie him siller on them--that i ken by andro wylie--but they were ower auld cats to draw that strae afore them--they keepit aff, and gae fair words. rashleigh osbaldistone is better ken'd than trusted in glasgow, for he was here about some jacobitical papistical troking in seventeen hundred and seven, and left debt ahint him. na, na--he canna pit aff the paper here; folk will misdoubt him how he came by it. na, na--he'll hae the stuff safe at some o' their haulds in the hielands, and i daur say my cousin rob could get at it gin he liked." "but would he be disposed to serve us in this pinch, mr. jarvie?" said i. "you have described him as an agent of the jacobite party, and deeply connected in their intrigues: will he be disposed for my sake, or, if you please, for the sake of justice, to make an act of restitution, which, supposing it in his power, would, according to your view of the case, materially interfere with their plans?" "i canna preceesely speak to that: the grandees among them are doubtfu' o' rob, and he's doubtfu' o' them.--and he's been weel friended wi' the argyle family, wha stand for the present model of government. if he was freed o' his hornings and captions, he would rather be on argyle's side than he wad be on breadalbane's, for there's auld ill-will between the breadalbane family and his kin and name. the truth is, that rob is for his ain hand, as henry wynd feught*--he'll take the side that suits him best; if the deil was laird, rob wad be for being tenant; and ye canna blame him, puir fallow, considering his circumstances. * two great clans fought out a quarrel with thirty men of a side, in presence ot the king, on the north inch of perth, on or about the year ; a man was amissing on one side, whose room was filled by a little bandy-legged citizen of perth. this substitute, henry wynd--or, as the highlanders called him, _gow chrom,_ that is, the bandy-legged smith--fought well, and contributed greatly to the fate of the battle, without knowing which side he fought on;--so, "to fight for your own hand, like henry wynd," passed into a proverb. [this incident forms a conspicuous part of the subsequent novel, "the fair maid of perth."] but there's ae thing sair again ye--rob has a grey mear in his stable at hame." "a grey mare?" said i. "what is that to the purpose?" "the wife, man--the wife,--an awfu' wife she is. she downa bide the sight o' a kindly scot, if he come frae the lowlands, far less of an inglisher, and she'll be keen for a' that can set up king james, and ding down king george." "it is very singular," i replied, "that the mercantile transactions of london citizens should become involved with revolutions and rebellions." "not at a', man--not at a'," returned mr. jarvie; "that's a' your silly prejudications. i read whiles in the lang dark nights, and i hae read in baker's chronicle* that the merchants o'london could gar the bank of genoa break their promise to advance a mighty sum to the king o' spain, whereby the sailing of the grand spanish armada was put aff for a haill year--what think you of that, sir?" * [_the chronicle of the kings of england,_ by sir richard baker, with continuations, passed through several editions between and . whether any of them contain the passage alluded to is doubtful.] "that the merchants did their country golden service, which ought to be honourably remembered in our histories." "i think sae too; and they wad do weel, and deserve weal baith o' the state and o' humanity, that wad save three or four honest hieland gentlemen frae louping heads ower heels into destruction, wi' a' their puir sackless* followers, just because they canna pay back the siller they had reason to count upon as their ain--and save your father's credit--and my ain gude siller that osbaldistone and tresham awes me into the bargain. * sackless, that is, innocent. i say, if ane could manage a' this, i think it suld be done and said unto him, even if he were a puir ca'-the-shuttle body, as unto one whom the king delighteth to honour." "i cannot pretend to estimate the extent of public gratitude," i replied; "but our own thankfulness, mr. jarvie, would be commensurate with the extent of the obligation." "which," added mr. owen, "we would endeavour to balance with a _per contra,_ the instant our mr. osbaldistone returns from holland." "i doubtna--i doubtna--he is a very worthy gentleman, and a sponsible, and wi' some o' my lights might do muckle business in scotland--weel, sir, if these assets could be redeemed out o' the hands o' the philistines, they are gude paper--they are the right stuff when they are in the right hands, and that's yours, mr. owen. and i'se find ye three men in glasgow, for as little as ye may think o' us, mr. owen--that's sandie steenson in the trade's-land, and john pirie in candleriggs, and another that sall be nameless at this present, sall advance what soums are sufficient to secure the credit of your house, and seek nae better security." owen's eyes sparkled at this prospect of extrication; but his countenance instantly fell on recollecting how improbable it was that the recovery of the assets, as he technically called them, should be successfully achieved. "dinna despair, sir--dinna despair," said mr. jarvie; "i hae taen sae muckle concern wi' your affairs already, that it maun een be ower shoon ower boots wi' me now. i am just like my father the deacon (praise be wi' him!) i canna meddle wi' a friend's business, but i aye end wi' making it my ain--sae, i'll e'en pit on my boots the morn, and be jogging ower drymen muir wi' mr. frank here; and if i canna mak rob hear reason, and his wife too, i dinna ken wha can--i hae been a kind freend to them afore now, to say naething o' ower-looking him last night, when naming his name wad hae cost him his life--i'll be hearing o' this in the council maybe frae bailie grahame. and macvittie, and some o' them. they hae coost up my kindred to rob to me already--set up their nashgabs! i tauld them i wad vindicate nae man's faults; but set apart what he had done again the law o' the country, and the hership o' the lennox, and the misfortune o' some folk losing life by him, he was an honester man than stood on ony o' their shanks--and whatfor suld i mind their clavers? if rob is an outlaw, to himsell be it said--there is nae laws now about reset of inter-communed persons, as there was in the ill times o' the last stuarts--i trow i hae a scotch tongue in my head--if they speak, i'se answer." it was with great pleasure that i saw the bailie gradually surmount the barriers of caution, under the united influence of public spirit and good-natured interest in our affairs, together with his natural wish to avoid loss and acquire gain, and not a little harmless vanity. through the combined operation of these motives, he at length arrived at the doughty resolution of taking the field in person, to aid in the recovery of my father's property. his whole information led me to believe, that if the papers were in possession of this highland adventurer, it might be possible to induce him to surrender what he could not keep with any prospect of personal advantage; and i was conscious that the presence of his kinsman was likely to have considerable weight with him. i therefore cheerfully acquiesced in mr. jarvie's proposal that we should set out early next morning. that honest gentleman was indeed as vivacious and alert in preparing to carry his purpose into execution, as he had been slow and cautious in forming it. he roared to mattie to "air his trot-cosey, to have his jack-boots greased and set before the kitchen-fire all night, and to see that his beast be corned, and a' his riding gear in order." having agreed to meet him at five o'clock next morning, and having settled that owen, whose presence could be of no use to us upon this expedition, should await our return at glasgow, we took a kind farewell of this unexpectedly zealous friend. i installed owen in an apartment in my lodgings, contiguous to my own, and, giving orders to andrew fairservice to attend me next morning at the hour appointed, i retired to rest with better hopes than it had lately been my fortune to entertain. chapter tenth. far as the eye could reach no tree was seen, earth, clad in russet, scorned the lively green; no birds, except as birds of passage flew; no bee was heard to hum, no dove to coo; no streams, as amber smooth-as amber clear, were seen to glide, or heard to warble here. prophecy of famine. it was in the bracing atmosphere of a harvest morning, that i met by appointment fairservice, with the horses, at the door of mr. jarvie's house, which was but little space distant from mrs. flyter's hotel. the first matter which caught my attention was, that whatever were the deficiencies of the pony which mr. fairservice's legal adviser, clerk touthope, generously bestowed upon him in exchange for thorncliff's mare, he had contrived to part with it, and procure in its stead an animal with so curious and complete a lameness, that it seemed only to make use of three legs for the purpose of progression, while the fourth appeared as if meant to be flourished in the air by way of accompaniment. "what do you mean by bringing such a creature as that here, sir? and where is the pony you rode to glasgow upon?" were my very natural and impatient inquiries. "i sell't it, sir. it was a slink beast, and wad hae eaten its head aff, standing at luckie flyter's at livery. and i hae bought this on your honour's account. it's a grand bargain--cost but a pund sterling the foot--that's four a'thegither. the stringhalt will gae aff when it's gaen a mile; it's a weel-ken'd ganger; they call it souple tam." "on my soul, sir," said i, "you will never rest till my supple-jack and your shoulders become acquainted, if you do not go instantly and procure the other brute, you shall pay the penalty of your ingenuity." andrew, notwithstanding my threats, continued to battle the point, as he said it would cost him a guinea of rue-bargain to the man who had bought his pony, before he could get it back again. like a true englishman, though sensible i was duped by the rascal, i was about to pay his exaction rather than lose time, when forth sallied mr. jarvie, cloaked, mantled, hooded, and booted, as if for a siberian winter, while two apprentices, under the immediate direction of mattie, led forth the decent ambling steed which had the honour on such occasions to support the person of the glasgow magistrate. ere he "clombe to the saddle," an expression more descriptive of the bailie's mode of mounting than that of the knights-errant to whom spenser applies it, he inquired the cause of the dispute betwixt my servant and me. having learned the nature of honest andrew's manoeuvre he instantly cut short all debate, by pronouncing, that if fairservice did not forthwith return the three-legged palfrey, and produce the more useful quadruped which he had discarded, he would send him to prison, and amerce him in half his wages. "mr. osbaldistone," said he, "contracted for the service of both your horse and you--twa brutes at ance--ye unconscionable rascal!--but i'se look weel after you during this journey." "it will be nonsense fining me," said andrew, doughtily, "that hasna a grey groat to pay a fine wi'--it's ill taking the breeks aff a hielandman." "if ye hae nae purse to fine, ye hae flesh to pine," replied the bailie, "and i will look weel to ye getting your deserts the tae way or the tither." to the commands of mr. jarvie, therefore, andrew was compelled to submit, only muttering between his teeth, "ower mony maisters,--ower mony maisters, as the paddock said to the harrow, when every tooth gae her a tig." apparently he found no difficulty in getting rid of supple tam, and recovering possession of his former bucephalus, for he accomplished the exchange without being many minutes absent; nor did i hear further of his having paid any smart-money for breach of bargain. we now set forward, but had not reached the top of the street in which mr. jarvie dwelt, when a loud hallooing and breathless call of "stop, stop!" was heard behind us. we stopped accordingly, and were overtaken by mr. jarvie's two lads, who bore two parting tokens of mattie's care for her master. the first was conveyed in the form of a voluminous silk handkerchief, like the mainsail of one of his own west-indiamen, which mrs. mattie particularly desired he would put about his neck, and which, thus entreated, he added to his other integuments. the second youngster brought only a verbal charge (i thought i saw the rogue disposed to laugh as he delivered it) on the part of the housekeeper, that her master would take care of the waters. "pooh! pooh! silly hussy," answered mr. jarvie; but added, turning to me, "it shows a kind heart though--it shows a kind heart in sae young a quean--mattie's a carefu' lass." so speaking, he pricked the sides of his palfrey, and we left the town without farther interruption. while we paced easily forward, by a road which conducted us north-eastward from the town, i had an opportunity to estimate and admire the good qualities of my new friend. although, like my father, he considered commercial transactions the most important objects of human life, he was not wedded to them so as to undervalue more general knowledge. on the contrary, with much oddity and vulgarity of manner,--with a vanity which he made much more ridiculous by disguising it now and then under a thin veil of humility, and devoid as he was of all the advantages of a learned education, mr. jarvie's conversation showed tokens of a shrewd, observing, liberal, and, to the extent of its opportunities, a well-improved mind. he was a good local antiquary, and entertained me, as we passed along, with an account of remarkable events which had formerly taken place in the scenes through which we passed. and as he was well acquainted with the ancient history of his district, he saw with the prospective eye of an enlightened patriot, the buds of many of those future advantages which have only blossomed and ripened within these few years. i remarked also, and with great pleasure, that although a keen scotchman, and abundantly zealous for the honour of his country, he was disposed to think liberally of the sister kingdom. when andrew fairservice (whom, by the way, the bailie could not abide) chose to impute the accident of one of the horses casting his shoe to the deteriorating influence of the union, he incurred a severe rebuke from mr. jarvie. "whisht, sir!--whisht! it's ill-scraped tongues like yours, that make mischief atween neighbourhoods and nations. there's naething sae gude on this side o' time but it might hae been better, and that may be said o' the union. nane were keener against it than the glasgow folk, wi' their rabblings and their risings, and their mobs, as they ca' them now-a-days. but it's an ill wind blaws naebody gude--let ilka ane roose the ford as they find it--i say let glasgow flourish! whilk is judiciously and elegantly putten round the town's arms, by way of by-word.--now, since st. mungo catched herrings in the clyde, what was ever like to gar us flourish like the sugar and tobacco trade? will onybody tell me that, and grumble at the treaty that opened us a road west-awa' yonder?" andrew fairservice was far from acquiescing in these arguments of expedience, and even ventured to enter a grumbling protest, "that it was an unco change to hae scotland's laws made in england; and that, for his share, he wadna for a' the herring-barrels in glasgow, and a' the tobacco-casks to boot, hae gien up the riding o' the scots parliament, or sent awa' our crown, and our sword, and our sceptre, and mons meg,* to be keepit by thae english pock-puddings in the tower o' lunnon. * note g. mons meg. what wad sir william wallace, or auld davie lindsay, hae said to the union, or them that made it?" the road which we travelled, while diverting the way with these discussions, had become wild and open, as soon as we had left glasgow a mile or two behind us, and was growing more dreary as we advanced. huge continuous heaths spread before, behind, and around us, in hopeless barrenness--now level and interspersed with swamps, green with treacherous verdure, or sable with turf, or, as they call them in scotland, peat-bogs,--and now swelling into huge heavy ascents, which wanted the dignity and form of hills, while they were still more toilsome to the passenger. there were neither trees nor bushes to relieve the eye from the russet livery of absolute sterility. the very heath was of that stinted imperfect kind which has little or no flower, and affords the coarsest and meanest covering, which, as far as my experience enables me to judge, mother earth is ever arrayed in. living thing we saw none, except occasionally a few straggling sheep of a strange diversity of colours, as black, bluish, and orange. the sable hue predominated, however, in their faces and legs. the very birds seemed to shun these wastes, and no wonder, since they had an easy method of escaping from them;--at least i only heard the monotonous and plaintive cries of the lapwing and curlew, which my companions denominated the peasweep and whaup. at dinner, however, which we took about noon, at a most miserable alehouse, we had the good fortune to find that these tiresome screamers of the morass were not the only inhabitants of the moors. the goodwife told us, that "the gudeman had been at the hill;" and well for us that he had been so, for we enjoyed the produce of his _chasse_ in the shape of some broiled moor-game,--a dish which gallantly eked out the ewe-milk cheese, dried salmon, and oaten bread, being all besides that the house afforded. some very indifferent two-penny ale, and a glass of excellent brandy, crowned our repast; and as our horses had, in the meantime, discussed their corn, we resumed our journey with renovated vigour. i had need of all the spirits a good dinner could give, to resist the dejection which crept insensibly on my mind, when i combined the strange uncertainty of my errand with the disconsolate aspect of the country through which it was leading me. our road continued to be, if possible, more waste and wild than that we had travelled in the forenoon. the few miserable hovels that showed some marks of human habitation, were now of still rarer occurrence; and at length, as we began to ascend an uninterrupted swell of moorland, they totally disappeared. the only exercise which my imagination received was, when some particular turn of the road gave us a partial view, to the left, of a large assemblage of dark-blue mountains stretching to the north and north-west, which promised to include within their recesses a country as wild perhaps, but certainly differing greatly in point of interest, from that which we now travelled. the peaks of this screen of mountains were as wildly varied and distinguished, as the hills which we had seen on the right were tame and lumpish; and while i gazed on this alpine region, i felt a longing to explore its recesses, though accompanied with toil and danger, similar to that which a sailor feels when he wishes for the risks and animation of a battle or a gale, in exchange for the insupportable monotony of a protracted calm. i made various inquiries of my friend mr. jarvie respecting the names and positions of these remarkable mountains; but it was a subject on which he had no information, or did not choose to be communicative. "they're the hieland hills--the hieland hills--ye'll see and hear eneugh about them before ye see glasgow cross again--i downa look at them--i never see them but they gar me grew. it's no for fear--no for fear, but just for grief, for the puir blinded half-starved creatures that inhabit them--but say nae mair about it--it's ill speaking o' hielandmen sae near the line. i hae ken'd mony an honest man wadna hae ventured this length without he had made his last will and testament--mattie had ill-will to see me set awa' on this ride, and grat awee, the sillie tawpie; but it's nae mair ferlie to see a woman greet than to see a goose gang barefit." i next attempted to lead the discourse on the character and history of the person whom we were going to visit; but on this topic mr. jarvie was totally inaccessible, owing perhaps in part to the attendance of mr. andrew fairservice, who chose to keep so close in our rear that his ears could not fail to catch every word which was spoken, while his tongue assumed the freedom of mingling in our conversation as often as he saw an opportunity. for this he occasionally incurred mr. jarvie's reproof. "keep back, sir, as best sets ye," said the bailie, as andrew pressed forward to catch the answer to some question i had asked about campbell. --"ye wad fain ride the fore-horse, an ye wist how.--that chield's aye for being out o' the cheese-fat he was moulded in.--now, as for your questions, mr. osbaldistone, now that chield's out of ear-shot, i'll just tell you it's free to you to speer, and it's free to me to answer, or no--gude i canna say muckle o' rob, puir chield; ill i winna say o' him, for, forby that he's my cousin, we're coming near his ain country, and there may be ane o' his gillies ahint every whin-bush, for what i ken--and if ye'll be guided by my advice, the less ye speak about him, or where we are gaun, or what we are gaun to do, we'll be the mair likely to speed us in our errand. for it's like we may fa' in wi' some o' his unfreends--there are e'en ower mony o' them about--and his bonnet sits even on his brow yet for a' that; but i doubt they'll be upsides wi' rob at the last--air day or late day, the fox's hide finds aye the flaying knife." "i will certainly," i replied, "be entirely guided by your experience." "right, mr. osbaldistone--right. but i maun speak to this gabbling skyte too, for bairns and fules speak at the cross what they hear at the ingle-side.--d'ye hear, you, andrew--what's your name?--fairservice!" andrew, who at the last rebuff had fallen a good way behind, did not choose to acknowledge the summons. "andrew, ye scoundrel!" repeated mr. jarvie; "here, sir here!" "here is for the dog." said andrew, coming up sulkily. "i'll gie you dog's wages, ye rascal, if ye dinna attend to what i say t'ye--we are gaun into the hielands a bit"-- "i judged as muckle," said andrew. "haud your peace, ye knave, and hear what i have to say till ye--we are gaun a bit into the hielands"-- "ye tauld me sae already," replied the incorrigible andrew. "i'll break your head," said the bailie, rising in wrath, "if ye dinna haud your tongue." "a hadden tongue," replied andrew, "makes a slabbered mouth." it was now necessary i should interfere, which i did by commanding andrew, with an authoritative tone, to be silent at his peril. "i am silent," said andrew. "i'se do a' your lawfu' bidding without a nay-say. my puir mother used aye to tell me, be it better, be it worse, be ruled by him that has the purse. sae ye may e'en speak as lang as ye like, baith the tane and the tither o' you, for andrew." mr. jarvie took the advantage of his stopping after quoting the above proverb, to give him the requisite instructions. "now, sir, it's as muckle as your life's worth--that wad be dear o' little siller, to be sure--but it is as muckle as a' our lives are worth, if ye dinna mind what i sae to ye. in this public whar we are gaun to, and whar it is like we may hae to stay a' night, men o' a' clans and kindred--hieland and lawland--tak up their quarters--and whiles there are mair drawn dirks than open bibles amang them, when the usquebaugh gets uppermost. see ye neither meddle nor mak, nor gie nae offence wi' that clavering tongue o' yours, but keep a calm sough, and let ilka cock fight his ain battle." "muckle needs to tell me that," said andrew, contemptuously, "as if i had never seen a hielandman before, and ken'd nae how to manage them. nae man alive can cuitle up donald better than mysell--i hae bought wi' them, sauld wi' them, eaten wi' them, drucken wi' them"-- "did ye ever fight wi' them?" said mr. jarvie. "na, na," answered andrew, "i took care o' that: it wad ill hae set me, that am an artist and half a scholar to my trade, to be fighting amang a wheen kilted loons that dinna ken the name o' a single herb or flower in braid scots, let abee in the latin tongue." "then," said mr. jarvie, "as ye wad keep either your tongue in your mouth, or your lugs in your head (and ye might miss them, for as saucy members as they are), i charge ye to say nae word, gude or bad, that ye can weel get by, to onybody that may be in the clachan. and ye'll specially understand that ye're no to be bleezing and blasting about your master's name and mine, or saying that this is mr. bailie nicol jarvie o' the saut market, son o' the worthy deacon nicol jarvie, that a' body has heard about; and this is mr. frank osbaldistone, son of the managing partner of the great house of osbaldistone and tresham, in the city." "eneueh said," answered andrew--"eneueh said. what need ye think i wad be speaking about your names for?--i hae mony things o' mair importance to speak about, i trow." "it's thae very things of importance that i am feared for, ye blethering goose; ye maunna speak ony thing, gude or bad, that ye can by any possibility help." "if ye dinna think me fit," replied andrew, in a huff, "to speak like ither folk, gie me my wages and my board-wages, and i'se gae back to glasgow--there's sma' sorrow at our parting, as the auld mear said to the broken cart." finding andrew's perverseness again rising to a point which threatened to occasion me inconvenience, i was under the necessity of explaining to him, that he might return if he thought proper, but that in that case i would not pay him a single farthing for his past services. the argument _ad crumenam,_ as it has been called by jocular logicians, has weight with the greater part of mankind, and andrew was in that particular far from affecting any trick of singularity. he "drew in his horns," to use the bailie's phrase, on the instant, professed no intention whatever to disoblige, and a resolution to be guided by my commands, whatever they might be. concord being thus happily restored to our small party, we continued to pursue our journey. the road, which had ascended for six or seven english miles, began now to descend for about the same space, through a country which neither in fertility nor interest could boast any advantage over that which we had passed already, and which afforded no variety, unless when some tremendous peak of a highland mountain appeared at a distance. we continued, however, to ride on without pause and even when night fell and overshadowed the desolate wilds which we traversed, we were, as i understood from mr. jarvie, still three miles and a bittock distant from the place where we were to spend the night. chapter eleventh. baron of bucklivie, may the foul fiend drive ye, and a' to pieces rive ye, for building sic a town, where there's neither horse meat, nor man's meat, nor a chair to sit down. scottish popular rhymes on a bad inn. the night was pleasant, and the moon afforded us good light for our journey. under her rays, the ground over which we passed assumed a more interesting appearance than during the broad daylight, which discovered the extent of its wasteness. the mingled light and shadows gave it an interest which naturally did not belong to it; and, like the effect of a veil flung over a plain woman, irritated our curiosity on a subject which had in itself nothing gratifying. the descent, however, still continued, turned, winded, left the more open heaths, and got into steeper ravines, which promised soon to lead us to the banks of some brook or river, and ultimately made good their presage. we found ourselves at length on the bank of a stream, which rather resembled one of my native english rivers than those i had hitherto seen in scotland. it was narrow, deep, still, and silent; although the imperfect light, as it gleamed on its placid waters, showed also that we were now among the lofty mountains which formed its cradle. "that's the forth," said the bailie, with an air of reverence, which i have observed the scotch usually pay to their distinguished rivers. the clyde, the tweed, the forth, the spey, are usually named by those who dwell on their banks with a sort of respect and pride, and i have known duels occasioned by any word of disparagement. i cannot say i have the least quarrel with this sort of harmless enthusiasm. i received my friend's communication with the importance which he seemed to think appertained to it. in fact, i was not a little pleased, after so long and dull a journey, to approach a region which promised to engage the imagination. my faithful squire, andrew, did not seem to be quite of the same opinion, for he received the solemn information, "that is the forth," with a "umph!--an he had said that's the public-house, it wad hae been mair to the purpose." the forth, however, as far as the imperfect light permitted me to judge, seemed to merit the admiration of those who claimed an interest in its stream. a beautiful eminence of the most regular round shape, and clothed with copsewood of hazels, mountain-ash, and dwarf-oak, intermixed with a few magnificent old trees, which, rising above the underwood, exposed their forked and bared branches to the silver moonshine, seemed to protect the sources from which the river sprung. if i could trust the tale of my companion, which, while professing to disbelieve every word of it, he told under his breath, and with an air of something like intimidation, this hill, so regularly formed, so richly verdant, and garlanded with such a beautiful variety of ancient trees and thriving copsewood, was held by the neighbourhood to contain, within its unseen caverns, the palaces of the fairies--a race of airy beings, who formed an intermediate class between men and demons, and who, if not positively malignant to humanity, were yet to be avoided and feared, on account of their capricious, vindictive, and irritable disposition.* * note h. fairy superstition. "they ca' them," said mr. jarvie, in a whisper, "_daoine schie,_--whilk signifies, as i understand, men of peace; meaning thereby to make their gudewill. and we may e'en as weel ca' them that too, mr. osbaldistone, for there's nae gude in speaking ill o' the laird within his ain bounds." but he added presently after, on seeing one or two lights which twinkled before us, "it's deceits o' satan, after a', and i fearna to say it--for we are near the manse now, and yonder are the lights in the clachan of aberfoil." i own i was well pleased at the circumstance to which mr. jarvie alluded; not so much that it set his tongue at liberty, in his opinion, with all safety to declare his real sentiments with respect to the _daoine schie,_ or fairies, as that it promised some hours' repose to ourselves and our horses, of which, after a ride of fifty miles and upwards, both stood in some need. we crossed the infant forth by an old-fashioned stone bridge, very high and very narrow. my conductor, however, informed me, that to get through this deep and important stream, and to clear all its tributary dependencies, the general pass from the highlands to the southward lay by what was called the fords of frew, at all times deep and difficult of passage, and often altogether unfordable. beneath these fords, there was no pass of general resort until so far east as the bridge of stirling; so that the river of forth forms a defensible line between the highlands and lowlands of scotland, from its source nearly to the firth, or inlet of the ocean, in which it terminates. the subsequent events which we witnessed led me to recall with attention what the shrewdness of bailie jarvie suggested in his proverbial expression, that "forth bridles the wild highlandman." about half a mile's riding, after we crossed the bridge, placed us at the door of the public-house where we were to pass the evening. it was a hovel rather worse than better than that in which we had dined; but its little windows were lighted up, voices were heard from within, and all intimated a prospect of food and shelter, to which we were by no means indifferent. andrew was the first to observe that there was a peeled willow-wand placed across the half-open door of the little inn. he hung back and advised us not to enter. "for," said andrew, "some of their chiefs and grit men are birling at the usquebaugh in by there, and dinna want to be disturbed; and the least we'll get, if we gang ramstam in on them, will be a broken head, to learn us better havings, if we dinna come by the length of a cauld dirk in our wame, whilk is just as likely." i looked at the bailie, who acknowledged, in a whisper, "that the gowk had some reason for singing, ance in the year." meantime a staring half-clad wench or two came out of the inn and the neighbouring cottages, on hearing the sound of our horses' feet. no one bade us welcome, nor did any one offer to take our horses, from which we had alighted; and to our various inquiries, the hopeless response of "ha niel sassenach," was the only answer we could extract. the bailie, however, found (in his experience) a way to make them speak english. "if i gie ye a bawbee," said he to an urchin of about ten years old, with a fragment of a tattered plaid about him, "will you understand sassenach?" "ay, ay, that will i," replied the brat, in very decent english. "then gang and tell your mammy, my man, there's twa sassenach gentlemen come to speak wi' her." the landlady presently appeared, with a lighted piece of split fir blazing in her hand. the turpentine in this species of torch (which is generally dug from out the turf-bogs) makes it blaze and sparkle readily, so that it is often used in the highlands in lieu of candles. on this occasion such a torch illuminated the wild and anxious features of a female, pale, thin, and rather above the usual size, whose soiled and ragged dress, though aided by a plaid or tartan screen, barely served the purposes of decency, and certainly not those of comfort. her black hair, which escaped in uncombed elf-locks from under her coif, as well as the strange and embarrassed look with which she regarded us, gave me the idea of a witch disturbed in the midst of her unlawful rites. she plainly refused to admit us into the house. we remonstrated anxiously, and pleaded the length of our journey, the state of our horses, and the certainty that there was not another place where we could be received nearer than callander, which the bailie stated to be seven scots miles distant. how many these may exactly amount to in english measurement, i have never been able to ascertain, but i think the double _ratio_ may be pretty safely taken as a medium computation. the obdurate hostess treated our expostulation with contempt. "better gang farther than fare waur," she said, speaking the scottish lowland dialect, and being indeed a native of the lennox district--"her house was taen up wi' them wadna like to be intruded on wi' strangers. she didna ken wha mair might be there--red-coats, it might be, frae the garrison." (these last words she spoke under her breath, and with very strong emphasis.) "the night," she said, "was fair abune head--a night amang the heather wad caller our bloods--we might sleep in our claes, as mony a gude blade does in the scabbard--there wasna muckle flowmoss in the shaw, if we took up our quarters right, and we might pit up our horses to the hill, naebody wad say naething against it." "but, my good woman," said i, while the bailie groaned and remained undecided, "it is six hours since we dined, and we have not taken a morsel since. i am positively dying with hunger, and i have no taste for taking up my abode supperless among these mountains of yours. i positively must enter; and make the best apology you can to your guests for adding a stranger or two to their number. andrew, you will see the horses put up." the hecate looked at me with surprise, and then ejaculated--"a wilfu' man will hae his way--them that will to cupar maun to cupar!--to see thae english belly-gods! he has had ae fu' meal the day already, and he'll venture life and liberty, rather than he'll want a het supper! set roasted beef and pudding on the opposite side o' the pit o' tophet, and an englishman will mak a spang at it--but i wash my hands o't--follow me sir" (to andrew), "and i'se show ye where to pit the beasts." i own i was somewhat dismayed at my landlady's expressions, which seemed to be ominous of some approaching danger. i did not, however, choose to shrink back after having declared my resolution, and accordingly i boldly entered the house; and after narrowly escaping breaking my shins over a turf back and a salting tub, which stood on either side of the narrow exterior passage, i opened a crazy half-decayed door, constructed not of plank, but of wicker, and, followed by the bailie, entered into the principal apartment of this scottish caravansary. the interior presented a view which seemed singular enough to southern eyes. the fire, fed with blazing turf and branches of dried wood, blazed merrily in the centre; but the smoke, having no means to escape but through a hole in the roof, eddied round the rafters of the cottage, and hung in sable folds at the height of about five feet from the floor. the space beneath was kept pretty clear by innumerable currents of air which rushed towards the fire from the broken panel of basket-work which served as a door--from two square holes, designed as ostensible windows, through one of which was thrust a plaid, and through the other a tattered great-coat--and moreover, through various less distinguishable apertures in the walls of the tenement, which, being built of round stones and turf, cemented by mud, let in the atmosphere at innumerable crevices. at an old oaken table, adjoining to the fire, sat three men, guests apparently, whom it was impossible to regard with indifference. two were in the highland dress; the one, a little dark-complexioned man, with a lively, quick, and irritable expression of features, wore the trews, or close pantaloons wove out of a sort of chequered stocking stuff. the bailie whispered me, that "he behoved to be a man of some consequence, for that naebody but their duinhe'wassels wore the trews--they were ill to weave exactly to their highland pleasure." the other mountaineer was a very tall, strong man, with a quantity of reddish hair, freckled face, high cheek-bones, and long chin--a sort of caricature of the national features of scotland. the tartan which he wore differed from that of his companion, as it had much more scarlet in it, whereas the shades of black and dark-green predominated in the chequers of the other. the third, who sate at the same table, was in the lowland dress,--a bold, stout-looking man, with a cast of military daring in his eye and manner, his riding-dress showily and profusely laced, and his cocked hat of formidable dimensions. his hanger and a pair of pistols lay on the table before him. each of the highlanders had their naked dirks stuck upright in the board beside him,--an emblem, i was afterwards informed, but surely a strange one, that their computation was not to be interrupted by any brawl. a mighty pewter measure, containing about an english quart of usquebaugh, a liquor nearly as strong as brandy, which the highlanders distil from malt, and drink undiluted in excessive quantities, was placed before these worthies. a broken glass, with a wooden foot, served as a drinking cup to the whole party, and circulated with a rapidity, which, considering the potency of the liquor, seemed absolutely marvellous. these men spoke loudly and eagerly together, sometimes in gaelic, at other times in english. another highlander, wrapt in his plaid, reclined on the floor, his head resting on a stone, from which it was only separated by a wisp of straw, and slept or seemed to sleep, without attending to what was going on around him, he also was probably a stranger, for he lay in full dress, and accoutred with the sword and target, the usual arms of his countrymen when on a journey. cribs there were of different dimensions beside the walls, formed, some of fractured boards, some of shattered wicker-work or plaited boughs, in which slumbered the family of the house, men, women, and children, their places of repose only concealed by the dusky wreaths of vapour which arose above, below, and around them. our entrance was made so quietly, and the carousers i have described were so eagerly engaged in their discussions, that we escaped their notice for a minute or two. but i observed the highlander who lay beside the fire raise himself on his elbow as we entered, and, drawing his plaid over the lower part of his face, fix his look on us for a few seconds, after which he resumed his recumbent posture, and seemed again to betake himself to the repose which our entrance had interrupted, we advanced to the fire, which was an agreeable spectacle after our late ride, during the chillness of an autumn evening among the mountains, and first attracted the attention of the guests who had preceded us, by calling for the landlady. she approached, looking doubtfully and timidly, now at us, now at the other party, and returned a hesitating and doubtful answer to our request to have something to eat. "she didna ken," she said, "she wasna sure there was onything in the house," and then modified her refusal with the qualification--"that is, onything fit for the like of us." i assured her we were indifferent to the quality of our supper; and looking round for the means of accommodation, which were not easily to be found, i arranged an old hen-coop as a seat for mr. jarvie, and turned down a broken tub to serve for my own. andrew fairservice entered presently afterwards, and took a place in silence behind our backs. the natives, as i may call them, continued staring at us with an air as if confounded by our assurance, and we, at least i myself, disguised as well as we could, under an appearance of indifference, any secret anxiety we might feel concerning the mode in which we were to be received by those whose privacy we had disturbed. at length, the lesser highlander, addressing himself to me said, in very good english, and in a tone of great haughtiness, "ye make yourself at home, sir, i see." "i usually do so," i replied, "when i come into a house of public entertainment." "and did she na see," said the taller man, "by the white wand at the door, that gentlemans had taken up the public-house on their ain business?" "i do not pretend to understand the customs of this country but i am yet to learn," i replied, "how three persons should be entitled to exclude all other travellers from the only place of shelter and refreshment for miles round." "there's nae reason for't, gentlemen," said the bailie; "we mean nae offence--but there's neither law nor reason for't; but as far as a stoup o' gude brandy wad make up the quarrel, we, being peaceable folk, wad be willing." "damn your brandy, sir!" said the lowlander, adjusting his cocked hat fiercely upon his head; "we desire neither your brandy nor your company," and up he rose from his seat. his companions also arose, muttering to each other, drawing up their plaids, and snorting and snuffing the air after the mariner of their countrymen when working themselves into a passion. "i tauld ye what wad come, gentlemen," said the landlady, "an ye wad hae been tauld:--get awa' wi' ye out o' my house, and make nae disturbance here--there's nae gentleman be disturbed at jeanie macalpine's an she can hinder. a wheen idle english loons, gaun about the country under cloud o' night, and disturbing honest peaceable gentlemen that are drinking their drap drink at the fireside!" at another time i should have thought of the old latin adage, "dat veniam corvis, vexat censure columbas"-- but i had not any time for classical quotation, for there was obviously a fray about to ensue, at which, feeling myself indiginant at the inhospitable insolence with which i was treated, i was totally indifferent, unless on the bailie's account, whose person and qualities were ill qualified for such an adventure. i started up, however, on seeing the others rise, and dropped my. cloak from my shoulders, that i might be ready to stand on the defensive. "we are three to three," said the lesser highlander, glancing his eyes at our party: "if ye be pretty men, draw!" and unsheathing his broadsword, he advanced on me. i put myself in a posture of defence, and aware of the superiority of my weapon, a rapier or small-sword, was little afraid of the issue of the contest. the bailie behaved with unexpected mettle. as he saw the gigantic highlander confront him with his weapon drawn, he tugged for a second or two at the hilt of his _shabble,_ as he called it; but finding it loth to quit the sheath, to which it had long been secured by rust and disuse, he seized, as a substitute, on the red-hot coulter of a plough which had been employed in arranging the fire by way of a poker, and brandished it with such effect, that at the first pass he set the highlander's plaid on fire, and compelled him to keep a respectful distance till he could get it extinguished. andrew, on the contrary, who ought to have faced the lowland champion, had, i grieve to say it, vanished at the very commencement of the fray. but his antagonist, crying "fair play, fair play!" seemed courteously disposed to take no share in the scuffle. thus we commenced our rencontre on fair terms as to numbers. my own aim was, to possess myself, if possible, of my antagonist's weapon; but i was deterred from closing, for fear of the dirk which he held in his left hand, and used in parrying the thrusts of my rapier. meantime the bailie, notwithstanding the success of his first onset, was sorely bested. the weight of his weapon, the corpulence of his person, the very effervescence of his own passions, were rapidly exhausting both his strength and his breath, and he was almost at the mercy of his antagonist, when up started the sleeping highlander from the floor on which he reclined, with his naked sword and target in his hand, and threw himself between the discomfited magistrate and his assailant, exclaiming, "her nainsell has eaten the town pread at the cross o' glasgow, and py her troth she'll fight for bailie sharvie at the clachan of aberfoil--tat will she e'en!" and seconding his words with deeds, this unexpected auxiliary made his sword whistle about the ears of his tall countryman, who, nothing abashed, returned his blows with interest. but being both accoutred with round targets made of wood, studded with brass, and covered with leather, with which they readily parried each other's strokes, their combat was attended with much more noise and clatter than serious risk of damage. it appeared, indeed, that there was more of bravado than of serious attempt to do us any injury; for the lowland gentleman, who, as i mentioned, had stood aside for want of an antagonist when the brawl commenced, was now pleased to act the part of moderator and peacemaker. [illustration: fray at jeannie macalpine's-- ] "hand your hands! haud your hands!--eneugh done!--eneugh done! the quarrel's no mortal. the strange gentlemen have shown themselves men of honour, and gien reasonable satisfaction. i'll stand on mine honour as kittle as ony man, but i hate unnecessary bloodshed." it was not, of course, my wish to protract the fray--my adversary seemed equally disposed to sheathe his sword--the bailie, gasping for breath, might be considered as _hors de combat,_ and our two sword-and-buckler men gave up their contest with as much indifference as they had entered into it. "and now," said the worthy gentleman who acted as umpire, "let us drink and gree like honest fellows--the house will haud us a'. i propose that this good little gentleman, that seems sair forfoughen, as i may say, in this tuilzie, shall send for a tass o' brandy and i'll pay for another, by way of archilowe,* and then we'll birl our bawbees a' round about, like brethren." "and fa's to pay my new ponnie plaid," said the larger highlander, "wi' a hole burnt in't ane might put a kail-pat through? saw ever onybody a decent gentleman fight wi' a firebrand before?" "let that be nae hinderance," said the bailie, who had now recovered his breath, and was at once disposed to enjoy the triumph of having behaved with spirit, and avoid the necessity of again resorting to such hard and doubtful arbitrament--"gin i hae broken the head," he said, "i sall find the plaister. a new plaid sall ye hae, and o' the best--your ain clan-colours, man,--an ye will tell me where it can be sent t'ye frae glasco." "i needna name my clan--i am of a king's clan, as is weel ken'd," said the highlander; "but ye may tak a bit o' the plaid--figh! she smells like a singit sheep's head!--and that'll learn ye the sett--and a gentleman, that's a cousin o' my ain, that carries eggs doun frae glencroe, will ca' for't about martimas, an ye will tell her where ye bide. but, honest gentleman, neist time ye fight, an ye hae ony respect for your athversary, let it be wi' your sword, man, since ye wear ane, and no wi' thae het culters and fireprands, like a wild indian." "conscience!" replied the bailie, "every man maun do as he dow. my sword hasna seen the light since bothwell brigg, when my father that's dead and gane, ware it; and i kenna weel if it was forthcoming then either, for the battle was o' the briefest--at ony rate, it's glued to the scabbard now beyond my power to part them; and, finding that, i e'en grippit at the first thing i could make a fend wi'. i trow my fighting days is done, though i like ill to take the scorn, for a' that.--but where's the honest lad that tuik my quarrel on himself sae frankly?--i'se bestow a gill o' aquavitae on him, an i suld never ca' for anither." * archilowe, of unknown derivation, signifies a peace-offering. the champion for whom he looked around was, however, no longer to be seen. he had escaped unobserved by the bailie, immediately when the brawl was ended, yet not before i had recognised, in his wild features and shaggy red hair, our acquaintance dougal, the fugitive turnkey of the glasgow jail. i communicated this observation in a whisper to the bailie, who answered in the same tone, "weel, weel,--i see that him that ye ken o' said very right; there _is_ some glimmering o' common sense about that creature dougal; i maun see and think o' something will do him some gude." thus saying, he sat down, and fetching one or two deep aspirations, by way of recovering his breath, called to the landlady--"i think, luckie, now that i find that there's nae hole in my wame, whilk i had muckle reason to doubt frae the doings o' your house, i wad be the better o' something to pit intill't." the dame, who was all officiousness so soon as the storm had blown over, immediately undertook to broil something comfortable for our supper. indeed, nothing surprised me more, in the course of the whole matter, than the extreme calmness with which she and her household seemed to regard the martial tumult that had taken place. the good woman was only heard to call to some of her assistants--"steek the door! steek the door! kill or be killed, let naebody pass out till they hae paid the lawin." and as for the slumberers in those lairs by the wall, which served the family for beds, they only raised their shirtless bodies to look at the fray, ejaculated, "oigh! oigh!" in the tone suitable to their respective sex and ages, and were, i believe, fast asleep again, ere our swords were well returned to their scabbards. our landlady, however, now made a great bustle to get some victuals ready, and, to my surprise, very soon began to prepare for us in the frying-pan a savoury mess of venison collops, which she dressed in a manner that might well satisfy hungry men, if not epicures. in the meantime the brandy was placed on the table, to which the highlanders, however partial to their native strong waters, showed no objection, but much the contrary; and the lowland gentleman, after the first cup had passed round, became desirous to know our profession, and the object of our journey. "we are bits o' glasgow bodies, if it please your honour," said the bailie, with an affectation of great humility, "travelling to stirling to get in some siller that is awing us." i was so silly as to feel a little disconcerted at the unassuming account which he chose to give of us; but i recollected my promise to be silent, and allow the bailie to manage the matter his own way. and really, when i recollected, will, that i had not only brought the honest man a long journey from home, which even in itself had been some inconvenience (if i were to judge from the obvious pain and reluctance with which he took his seat, or arose from it), but had also put him within a hair's-breadth of the loss of his life, i could hardly refuse him such a compliment. the spokesman of the other party, snuffing up his breath through his nose, repeated the words with a sort of sneer;--"you glasgow tradesfolks hae naething to do but to gang frae the tae end o' the west o' scotland to the ither, to plague honest folks that may chance to be awee ahint the hand, like me." "if our debtors were a' sic honest gentlemen as i believe you to be, garschattachin," replied the bailie, "conscience! we might save ourselves a labour, for they wad come to seek us." "eh! what! how!" exclaimed the person whom he had addressed,--"as i shall live by bread (not forgetting beef and brandy), it's my auld friend nicol jarvie, the best man that ever counted doun merks on a band till a distressed gentleman. were ye na coming up my way?--were ye na coming up the endrick to garschattachin?" "troth no, maister galbraith," replied the bailie, "i had other eggs on the spit--and i thought ye wad be saying i cam to look about the annual rent that's due on the bit heritable band that's between us." "damn the annual rent!" said the laird, with an appearance of great heartiness--"deil a word o' business will you or i speak, now that ye're so near my country. to see how a trot-cosey and a joseph can disguise a man--that i suldna ken my auld feal friend the deacon!" "the bailie, if ye please," resumed my companion; "but i ken what gars ye mistak--the band was granted to my father that's happy, and he was deacon; but his name was nicol as weel as mine. i dinna mind that there's been a payment of principal sum or annual rent on it in my day, and doubtless that has made the mistake." "weel, the devil take the mistake and all that occasioned it!" replied mr. galbraith. "but i am glad ye are a bailie. gentlemen, fill a brimmer--this is my excellent friend, bailie nicol jarvie's health--i ken'd him and his father these twenty years. are ye a' cleared kelty aff?--fill anither. here's to his being sune provost--i say provost--lord provost nicol jarvie!--and them that affirms there's a man walks the hie-street o' glasgow that's fitter for the office, they will do weel not to let me, duncan galbraith of garschattachin, hear them say sae--that's all." and therewith duncan galbraith martially cocked his hat, and placed it on one side of his head with an air of defiance. the brandy was probably the best recommendation of there complimentary toasts to the two highlanders, who drank them without appearing anxious to comprehend their purport. they commenced a conversation with mr. galbraith in gaelic, which he talked with perfect fluency, being, as i afterwards learned, a near neighbour to the highlands. "i ken'd that scant-o'-grace weel eneugh frae the very outset," said the bailie, in a whisper to me; "but when blude was warm, and swords were out at ony rate, wha kens what way he might hae thought o' paying his debts? it will be lang or he does it in common form. but he's an honest lad, and has a warm heart too; he disna come often to the cross o' glasgow, but mony a buck and blackcock he sends us doun frae the hills. and i can want my siller weel eneugh. my father the deacon had a great regard for the family of garschattachin." supper being now nearly ready, i looked round for andrew fairservice; but that trusty follower had not been seen by any one since the beginning of the rencontre. the hostess, however, said that she believed our servant had gone into the stable, and offered to light me to the place, saying that "no entreaties of the bairns or hers could make him give any answer; and that truly she caredna to gang into the stable herself at this hour. she was a lone woman, and it was weel ken'd how the brownie of ben-ye-gask guided the gudewife of ardnagowan; and it was aye judged there was a brownie in our stable, which was just what garr'd me gie ower keeping an hostler." as, however, she lighted me towards the miserable hovel into which they had crammed our unlucky steeds, to regale themselves on hay, every fibre of which was as thick as an ordinary goose-quill, she plainly showed me that she had another reason for drawing me aside from the company than that which her words implied. "read that," she said, slipping a piece of paper into my hand, as we arrived at the door of the shed; "i bless god i am rid o't. between sogers and saxons, and caterans and cattle-lifters, and hership and bluidshed, an honest woman wad live quieter in hell than on the hieland line." so saying, she put the pine-torch into my hand, and returned into the house, chapter twelfth. bagpipes, not lyres, the highland hills adorn, maclean's loud hollo, and macgregor's horn. john cooper's reply to allan ramsay. i stopped in the entrance of the stable, if indeed a place be entitled to that name where horses were stowed away along with goats, poultry, pigs, and cows, under the same roof with the mansion-house; although, by a degree of refinement unknown to the rest of the hamlet, and which i afterwards heard was imputed to an overpride on the part of jeanie macalpine, our landlady, the apartment was accommodated with an entrance different from that used by her biped customers. by the light of my torch, i deciphered the following billet, written on a wet, crumpled, and dirty piece of paper, and addressed--"for the honoured hands of mr. f. o., a saxon young gentleman--these." the contents were as follows:-- "sir, "there are night-hawks abroad, so that i cannot give you and my respected kinsman, b. n. j., the meeting at the clachan of aberfoil, whilk was my purpose. i pray you to avoid unnecessary communication with those you may find there, as it may give future trouble. the person who gives you this is faithful and may be trusted, and will guide you to a place where, god willing, i may safely give you the meeting, when i trust my kinsman and you will visit my poor house, where, in despite of my enemies, i can still promise sic cheer as ane hielandman may gie his friends, and where we will drink a solemn health to a certain d. v., and look to certain affairs whilk i hope to be your aidance in; and i rest, as is wont among gentlemen, your servant to command, r. m. c." i was a good deal mortified at the purport of this letter, which seemed to adjourn to a more distant place and date the service which i had hoped to receive from this man campbell. still, however, it was some comfort to know that he continued to be in my interest, since without him i could have no hope of recovering my father's papers. i resolved, therefore, to obey his instructions; and, observing all caution before the guests, to take the first good opportunity i could find to procure from the landlady directions how i was to obtain a meeting with this mysterious person. my next business was to seek out andrew fairservice, whom i called several times by name, without receiving any answer, surveying the stable all round, at the same time, not without risk of setting the premises on fire, had not the quantity of wet litter and mud so greatly counterbalanced two or three bunches of straw and hay. at length my repeated cries of "andrew fairservice! andrew! fool!--ass! where are you?" produced a doleful "here," in a groaning tone, which might have been that of the brownie itself. guided by this sound, i advanced to the corner of a shed, where, ensconced in the angle of the wall, behind a barrel full of the feathers of all the fowls which had died in the cause of the public for a month past, i found the manful andrew; and partly by force, partly by command and exhortation, compelled him forth into the open air. the first words he spoke were, "i am an honest lad, sir." "who the devil questions your honesty?" said i, "or what have we to do with it at present? i desire you to come and attend us at supper." "yes," reiterated andrew, without apparently understanding what i said to him, "i am an honest lad, whatever the bailie may say to the contrary. i grant the warld and the warld's gear sits ower near my heart whiles, as it does to mony a ane--but i am an honest lad; and, though i spak o' leaving ye in the muir, yet god knows it was far frae my purpose, but just like idle things folk says when they're driving a bargain, to get it as far to their ain side as they can--and i like your honour weel for sae young a lad, and i wadna part wi' ye lightly." "what the deuce are you driving at now?" i replied. "has not everything been settled again and again to your satisfaction? and are you to talk of leaving me every hour, without either rhyme or reason?" "ay,--but i was only making fashion before," replied andrew; "but it's come on me in sair earnest now--lose or win, i daur gae nae farther wi' your honour; and if ye'll tak my foolish advice, ye'll bide by a broken tryste, rather than gang forward yoursell. i hae a sincere regard for ye, and i'm sure ye'll be a credit to your friends if ye live to saw out your wild aits, and get some mair sense and steadiness--but i can follow ye nae farther, even if ye suld founder and perish from the way for lack of guidance and counsel. to gang into rob roy's country is a mere tempting o' providence." "rob roy?" said i, in some surprise; "i know no such person. what new trick is this, andrew?" "it's hard," said andrew--"very hard, that a man canna be believed when he speaks heaven's truth, just because he's whiles owercome, and tells lees a little when there is necessary occasion. ye needna ask whae rob roy is, the reiving lifter that he is--god forgie me! i hope naebody hears us--when ye hae a letter frae him in your pouch. i heard ane o' his gillies bid that auld rudas jaud of a gudewife gie ye that. they thought i didna understand their gibberish; but, though i canna speak it muckle, i can gie a gude guess at what i hear them say--i never thought to hae tauld ye that, but in a fright a' things come out that suld be keepit in. o, maister frank! a' your uncle's follies, and a' your cousin's pliskies, were naething to this! drink clean cap out, like sir hildebrand; begin the blessed morning with brandy sops, like squire percy; swagger, like squire thorncliff; rin wud amang the lasses, like squire john; gamble, like richard; win souls to the pope and the deevil, like rashleigh; rive, rant, break the sabbath, and do the pope's bidding, like them a' put thegither--but, merciful providence! take care o' your young bluid, and gang nae near rob roy!" andrew's alarm was too sincere to permit me to suppose he counterfeited. i contented myself, however, with telling him, that i meant to remain in the alehouse that night, and desired to have the horses well looked after. as to the rest, i charged him to observe the strictest silence upon the subject of his alarm, and he might rely upon it i would not incur any serious danger without due precaution. he followed me with a dejected air into the house, observing between his teeth, "man suld be served afore beast--i haena had a morsel in my mouth, but the rough legs o' that auld muircock, this haill blessed day." the harmony of the company seemed to have suffered some interruption since my departure, for i found mr. galbraith and my friend the bailie high in dispute. "i'll hear nae sic language," said mr. jarvie, as i entered, "respecting the duke o' argyle and the name o' campbell. he's a worthy public-spirited nobleman, and a credit to the country, and a friend and benefactor to the trade o' glasgow." "i'll sae naething against maccallum more and the slioch-nan-diarmid," said the lesser highlander, laughing. "i live on the wrang side of glencroe to quarrel with inverara." "our loch ne'er saw the cawmil lymphads,"* said the bigger highlander. * _lymphads._ the galley which the family of argyle and others of the * clan campbell carry in their arms. "she'll speak her mind and fear naebody--she doesna value a cawmil mair as a cowan, and ye may tell maccallum more that allan iverach said sae-- it's a far cry to lochow."* * lochow and the adjacent districts formed the original seat of the * campbells. the expression of a "far cry to lochow" was proverbial. mr. galbraith, on whom the repeated pledges which he had quaffed had produced some influence, slapped his hand on the table with great force, and said, in a stern voice, "there's a bloody debt due by that family, and they will pay it one day--the banes of a loyal and a gallant grahame hae lang rattled in their coffin for vengeance on thae dukes of guile and lords for lorn. there ne'er was treason in scotland but a cawmil was at the bottom o't; and now that the wrang side's uppermost, wha but the cawmils for keeping down the right? but this warld winna last lang, and it will be time to sharp the maiden* for shearing o' craigs and thrapples. i hope to see the auld rusty lass linking at a bluidy harst again." * a rude kind of guillotine formerly used in scotland. "for shame, garschattachin!" exclaimed the bailie; "fy for shame, sir! wad ye say sic things before a magistrate, and bring yoursell into trouble?--how d'ye think to mainteen your family and satisfy your creditors (mysell and others), if ye gang on in that wild way, which cannot but bring you under the law, to the prejudice of a' that's connected wi' ye?" "d--n my creditors!" retorted the gallant galbraith, "and you if ye be ane o' them! i say there will be a new warld sune--and we shall hae nae cawmils cocking their bonnet sae hie, and hounding their dogs where they daurna come themsells, nor protecting thieves, nor murderers, and oppressors, to harry and spoil better men and mair loyal clans than themsells." the bailie had a great mind to have continued the dispute, when the savoury vapour of the broiled venison, which our landlady now placed before us, proved so powerful a mediator, that he betook himself to his trencher with great eagerness, leaving the strangers to carry on the dispute among themselves. "and tat's true," said the taller highlander--whose name i found was stewart--"for we suldna be plagued and worried here wi' meetings to pit down rob roy, if the cawmils didna gie him refutch. i was ane o' thirty o' my ain name--part glenfinlas, and part men that came down frae appine. we shased the macgregors as ye wad shase rae-deer, till we came into glenfalloch's country, and the cawmils raise, and wadna let us pursue nae farder, and sae we lost our labour; but her wad gie twa and a plack to be as near rob as she was tat day." it seemed to happen very unfortunately, that in every topic of discourse which these warlike gentlemen introduced, my friend the bailie found some matter of offence. "ye'll forgie me speaking my mind, sir; but ye wad maybe hae gien the best bowl in your bonnet to hae been as far awae frae rob as ye are e'en now--od! my het pleugh-culter wad hae been naething to his claymore." "she had better speak nae mair about her culter, or, by g--! her will gar her eat her words, and twa handfuls o' cauld steel to drive them ower wi'!" and, with a most inauspicious and menacing look, the mountaineer laid his hand on his dagger. "we'll hae nae quarrelling, allan," said his shorter companion; "and if the glasgow gentleman has ony regard for rob roy, he'll maybe see him in cauld irons the night, and playing tricks on a tow the morn; for this country has been owre lang plagued wi' him, and his race is near-hand run--and it's time, allan, we were ganging to our lads." "hout awa, inverashalloch," said galbraith;--"mind the auld saw, man-- it's a bauld moon, quoth bennygask--another pint, quoth lesley;--we'll no start for another chappin." "i hae had chappins eneugh," said inverashalloch; "i'll drink my quart of usquebaugh or brandy wi' ony honest fellow, but the deil a drap mair when i hae wark to do in the morning. and, in my puir thinking, garschattachin, ye had better be thinking to bring up your horsemen to the clachan before day, that we may ay start fair." "what the deevil are ye in sic a hurry for?" said garschattachin; "meat and mass never hindered wark. an it had been my directing, deil a bit o' me wad hae fashed ye to come down the glens to help us. the garrison and our ain horse could hae taen rob roy easily enough. there's the hand," he said, holding up his own, "should lay him on the green, and never ask a hielandman o' ye a' for his help." "ye might hae loot us bide still where we were, then," said inverashalloch. "i didna come sixty miles without being sent for. but an ye'll hae my opinion, i redd ye keep your mouth better steekit, if ye hope to speed. shored folk live lang, and sae may him ye ken o'. the way to catch a bird is no to fling your bannet at her. and also thae gentlemen hae heard some things they suldna hae heard, an the brandy hadna been ower bauld for your brain, major galbraith. ye needna cock your hat and bully wi' me, man, for i will not bear it." "i hae said it," said galbraith, with a solemn air of drunken gravity, "that i will quarrel no more this night either with broadcloth or tartan. when i am off duty i'll quarrel with you or ony man in the hielands or lowlands, but not on duty--no--no. i wish we heard o' these red-coats. if it had been to do onything against king james, we wad hae seen them lang syne--but when it's to keep the peace o' the country they can lie as lound as their neighbours." as he spoke we heard the measured footsteps of a body of infantry on the march; and an officer, followed by two or three files of soldiers, entered the apartment. he spoke in an english accent, which was very pleasant to my ears, now so long accustomed to the varying brogue of the highland and lowland scotch.--"you are, i suppose, major galbraith, of the squadron of lennox militia, and these are the two highland gentlemen with whom i was appointed to meet in this place?" they assented, and invited the officer to take some refreshments, which he declined.--"i have been too late, gentlemen, and am desirous to make up time. i have orders to search for and arrest two persons guilty of treasonable practices." "we'll wash our hands o' that," said inverashalloch. "i came here wi' my men to fight against the red macgregor that killed my cousin, seven times removed, duncan maclaren, in invernenty;* but i will hae nothing to do touching honest gentlemen that may be gaun through the country on their ain business." * this, as appears from the introductory matter to this tale, is an anachronism. the slaughter of maclaren, a retainer of the chief of appine, by the macgregors, did not take place till after rob roy's death, since it happened in . "nor i neither," said iverach. major galbraith took up the matter more solemnly, and, premising his oration with a hiccup, spoke to the following purpose:-- "i shall say nothing against king george, captain, because, as it happens, my commission may rin in his name--but one commission being good, sir, does not make another bad; and some think that james may be just as good a name as george. there's the king that is--and there's the king that suld of right be--i say, an honest man may and suld be loyal to them both, captain. but i am of the lord lieutenant's opinion for the time, as it becomes a militia officer and a depute-lieutenant--and about treason and all that, it's lost time to speak of it--least said is sunest mended." "i am sorry to see how you have been employing your time, sir," replied the english officer--as indeed the honest gentleman's reasoning had a strong relish of the liquor he had been drinking--"and i could wish, sir, it had been otherwise on an occasion of this consequence. i would recommend to you to try to sleep for an hour.--do these gentlemen belong to your party?"--looking at the bailie and me, who, engaged in eating our supper, had paid little attention to the officer on his entrance. "travellers, sir," said galbraith--"lawful travellers by sea and land, as the prayer-book hath it." "my instructions." said the captain, taking a light to survey us closer, "are to place under arrest an elderly and a young person--and i think these gentlemen answer nearly the description." "take care what you say, sir," said mr. jarvie; "it shall not be your red coat nor your laced hat shall protect you, if you put any affront on me. i'se convene ye baith in an action of scandal and false imprisonment--i am a free burgess and a magistrate o' glasgow; nicol jarvie is my name, sae was my father's afore me--i am a bailie, be praised for the honour, and my father was a deacon." "he was a prick-eared cur," said major galbraith, "and fought agane the king at bothwell brigg." "he paid what he ought and what he bought, mr. galbraith," said the bailie, "and was an honester man than ever stude on your shanks." "i have no time to attend to all this," said the officer; "i must positively detain you, gentlemen, unless you can produce some respectable security that you are loyal subjects." "i desire to be carried before some civil magistrate," said the bailie--"the sherra or the judge of the bounds;--i am not obliged to answer every red-coat that speers questions at me." "well, sir, i shall know how to manage you if you are silent--and you, sir" (to me), "what may your name be?" "francis osbaldistone, sir." "what, a son of sir hildebrand osbaldistone of northumberland?" "no, sir," interrupted the bailie; "a son of the great william osbaldistone of the house of osbaldistone and tresham, crane-alley, london." "i am afraid, sir," said the officer, "your name only increases the suspicions against you, and lays me under the necessity of requesting that you will give up what papers you have in charge." i observed the highlanders look anxiously at each other when this proposal was made. "i had none," i replied, "to surrender." the officer commanded me to be disarmed and searched. to have resisted would have been madness. i accordingly gave up my arms, and submitted to a search, which was conducted as civilly as an operation of the kind well could. they found nothing except the note which i had received that night through the hand of the landlady. "this is different from what i expected," said the officer; "but it affords us good grounds for detaining you. here i find you in written communication with the outlawed robber, robert macgregor campbell, who has been so long the plague of this district--how do you account for that?" "spies of rob!" said inverashalloch. "we wad serve them right to strap them up till the neist tree." "we are gaun to see after some gear o' our ain, gentlemen," said the bailie, "that's fa'en into his hands by accident--there's nae law agane a man looking after his ain, i hope?" "how did you come by this letter?" said the officer, addressing himself to me. i could not think of betraying the poor woman who had given it to me, and remained silent. "do you know anything of it, fellow?" said the officer, looking at andrew, whose jaws were chattering like a pair of castanets at the threats thrown out by the highlander. "o ay, i ken a' about it--it was a hieland loon gied the letter to that lang-tongued jaud the gudewife there; i'll be sworn my maister ken'd naething about it. but he's wilfu' to gang up the hills and speak wi' rob; and oh, sir, it wad be a charity just to send a wheen o' your red-coats to see him safe back to glasgow again whether he will or no--and ye can keep mr. jarvie as lang as ye like--he's responsible enough for ony fine ye may lay on him--and so's my master for that matter; for me, i'm just a puir gardener lad, and no worth your steering." "i believe," said the officer, "the best thing i can do is to send these persons to the garrison under an escort. they seem to be in immediate correspondence with the enemy, and i shall be in no respect answerable for suffering them to be at liberty. gentlemen, you will consider yourselves as my prisoners. so soon as dawn approaches, i will send you to a place of security. if you be the persons you describe yourselves, it will soon appear, and you will sustain no great inconvenience from being detained a day or two. i can hear no remonstrances," he continued, turning away from the bailie, whose mouth was open to address him; "the service i am on gives me no time for idle discussions." "aweel, aweel, sir," said the bailie, "you're welcome to a tune on your ain fiddle; but see if i dinna gar ye dance till't afore a's dune." an anxious consultation now took place between the officer and the highlanders, but carried on in so low a tone, that it was impossible to catch the sense. so soon as it was concluded they all left the house. at their departure, the bailie thus expressed himself:--"thae hielandmen are o' the westland clans, and just as light-handed as their neighbours, an a' tales be true, and yet ye see they hae brought them frae the head o' argyleshire to make war wi' puir rob for some auld ill-will that they hae at him and his sirname. and there's the grahames, and the buchanans, and the lennox gentry, a' mounted and in order--it's weel ken'd their quarrel; and i dinna blame them--naebody likes to lose his kye. and then there's sodgers, puir things, hoyed out frae the garrison at a' body's bidding--puir rob will hae his hands fu' by the time the sun comes ower the hill. weel--it's wrang for a magistrate to be wishing onything agane the course o' justice, but deil o' me an i wad break my heart to hear that rob had gien them a' their paiks!" chapter thirteen. --general, hear me, and mark me well, and look upon me directly in my face--my woman's face-- see if one fear, one shadow of a terror, one paleness dare appear, but from my anger, to lay hold on your mercies. bonduca. we were permitted to slumber out the remainder of the night in the best manner that the miserable accommodations of the alehouse permitted. the bailie, fatigued with his journey and the subsequent scenes--less interested also in the event of our arrest, which to him could only be a matter of temporary inconvenience--perhaps less nice than habit had rendered me about the cleanliness or decency of his couch,--tumbled himself into one of the cribs which i have already described, and soon was heard to snore soundly. a broken sleep, snatched by intervals, while i rested my head upon the table, was my only refreshment. in the course of the night i had occasion to observe that there seemed to be some doubt and hesitation in the motions of the soldiery. men were sent out, as if to obtain intelligence, and returned apparently without bringing any satisfactory information to their commanding officer. he was obviously eager and anxious, and again despatched small parties of two or three men, some of whom, as i could understand from what the others whispered to each other, did not return again to the clachan. the morning had broken, when a corporal and two men rushed into the hut, dragging after them, in a sort of triumph, a highlander, whom i immediately recognised as my acquaintance the ex-turnkey. the bailie, who started up at the noise with which they entered, immediately made the same discovery, and exclaimed--"mercy on us! they hae grippit the puir creature dougal.--captain, i will put in bail--sufficient bail, for that dougal creature." to this offer, dictated undoubtedly by a grateful recollection of the late interference of the highlander in his behalf, the captain only answered by requesting mr. jarvie to "mind his own affairs, and remember that he was himself for the present a prisoner." "i take you to witness, mr. osbaldistone," said the bailie, who was probably better acquainted with the process in civil than in military cases, "that he has refused sufficient bail. it's my opinion that the creature dougal will have a good action of wrongous imprisonment and damages agane him, under the act seventeen hundred and one, and i'll see the creature righted." the officer, whose name i understood was thornton, paying no attention to the bailie's threats or expostulations, instituted a very close inquiry into dougal's life and conversation, and compelled him to admit, though with apparent reluctance, the successive facts,--that he knew rob roy macgregor--that he had seen him within these twelve months--within these six months--within this month--within this week; in fine, that he had parted from him only an hour ago. all this detail came like drops of blood from the prisoner, and was, to all appearance, only extorted by the threat of a halter and the next tree, which captain thornton assured him should be his doom, if he did not give direct and special information. "and now, my friend," said the officer, "you will please inform me how many men your master has with him at present." dougal looked in every direction except at the querist, and began to answer, "she canna just be sure about that." "look at me, you highland dog," said the officer, "and remember your life depends on your answer. how many rogues had that outlawed scoundrel with him when you left him?" "ou, no aboon sax rogues when i was gane." "and where are the rest of his banditti?" "gane wi' the lieutenant agane ta westland carles." "against the westland clans?" said the captain. "umph--that is likely enough; and what rogue's errand were you despatched upon?" "just to see what your honour and ta gentlemen red-coats were doing doun here at ta clachan." "the creature will prove fause-hearted, after a'," said the bailie, who by this time had planted himself close behind me; "it's lucky i didna pit mysell to expenses anent him." "and now, my friend," said the captain, "let us understand each other. you have confessed yourself a spy, and should string up to the next tree--but come, if you will do me one good turn, i will do you another. you, donald--you shall just, in the way of kindness, carry me and a small party to the place where you left your master, as i wish to speak a few words with him on serious affairs; and i'll let you go about your business, and give you five guineas to boot." "oigh! oigh!" exclaimed dougal, in the extremity of distress and perplexity; "she canna do tat--she canna do tat; she'll rather be hanged." "hanged, then, you shall be, my friend" said the officer; "and your blood be upon your own head. corporal cramp, do you play provost-marshal--away with him!" the corporal had confronted poor dougal for some time, ostentatiously twisting a piece of cord which he had found in the house into the form of a halter. he now threw it about the culprit's neck, and, with the assistance of two soldiers, had dragged dougal as far as the door, when, overcome with the terror of immediate death, he exclaimed, "shentlemans, stops--stops! she'll do his honour's bidding--stops!" "awa' wi' the creature!" said the bailie, "he deserves hanging mair now than ever; awa' wi' him, corporal. why dinna ye tak him awa'?" "it's my belief and opinion, honest gentleman," said the corporal, "that if you were going to be hanged yourself, you would be in no such d--d hurry." this by-dialogue prevented my hearing what passed between the prisoner and captain thornton; but i heard the former snivel out, in a very subdued tone, "and ye'll ask her to gang nae farther than just to show ye where the macgregor is?--ohon! ohon!" "silence your howling, you rascal--no; i give you my word i will ask you to go no farther.--corporal, make the men fall in, in front of the houses. get out these gentlemen's horses; we must carry them with us. i cannot spare any men to guard them here. come, my lads, get under arms." the soldiers bustled about, and were ready to move. we were led out, along with dougal, in the capacity of prisoners. as we left the hut, i heard our companion in captivity remind the captain of "ta foive kuineas." "here they are for you," said the officer, putting gold into his hand; "but observe, that if you attempt to mislead me, i will blow your brains out with my own hand." "the creature," said the bailie, "is waur than i judged him--it is a warldly and a perfidious creature. o the filthy lucre of gain that men gies themsells up to! my father the deacon used to say, the penny siller slew mair souls than the naked sword slew bodies." the landlady now approached, and demanded payment of her reckoning, including all that had been quaffed by major galbraith and his highland friends. the english officer remonstrated, but mrs. macalpine declared, if "she hadna trusted to his honour's name being used in their company, she wad never hae drawn them a stoup o' liquor; for mr. galbraith, she might see him again, or she might no, but weel did she wot she had sma' chance of seeing her siller--and she was a puir widow, had naething but her custom to rely on." captain thornton put a stop to her remonstrances by paying the charge, which was only a few english shillings, though the amount sounded very formidable in scottish denominations. the generous officer would have included mr. jarvie and me in this general acquittance; but the bailie, disregarding an intimation from the landlady to "make as muckle of the inglishers as we could, for they were sure to gie us plague eneugh," went into a formal accounting respecting our share of the reckoning, and paid it accordingly. the captain took the opportunity to make us some slight apology for detaining us. "if we were loyal and peaceable subjects," he said, "we would not regret being stopt for a day, when it was essential to the king's service; if otherwise, he was acting according to his duty." we were compelled to accept an apology which it would have served no purpose to refuse, and we sallied out to attend him on his march. i shall never forget the delightful sensation with which i exchanged the dark, smoky, smothering atmosphere of the highland hut, in which we had passed the night so uncomfortably, for the refreshing fragrance of the morning air, and the glorious beams of the rising sun, which, from a tabernacle of purple and golden clouds, were darted full on such a scene of natural romance and beauty as had never before greeted my eyes. to the left lay the valley, down which the forth wandered on its easterly course, surrounding the beautiful detached hill, with all its garland of woods. on the right, amid a profusion of thickets, knolls, and crags, lay the bed of a broad mountain lake, lightly curled into tiny waves by the breath of the morning breeze, each glittering in its course under the influence of the sunbeams. high hills, rocks, and banks, waving with natural forests of birch and oak, formed the borders of this enchanting sheet of water; and, as their leaves rustled to the wind and twinkled in the sun, gave to the depth of solitude a sort of life and vivacity. man alone seemed to be placed in a state of inferiority, in a scene where all the ordinary features of nature were raised and exalted. the miserable little _bourocks,_ as the bailie termed them, of which about a dozen formed the village called the clachan of aberfoil, were composed of loose stones, cemented by clay instead of mortar, and thatched by turfs, laid rudely upon rafters formed of native and unhewn birches and oaks from the woods around. the roofs approached the ground so nearly, that andrew fairservice observed we might have ridden over the village the night before, and never found out we were near it, unless our horses' feet had "gane through the riggin'." from all we could see, mrs. macalpine's house, miserable as were the quarters it afforded, was still by far the best in the hamlet; and i dare say (if my description gives you any curiosity to see it) you will hardly find it much improved at the present day, for the scotch are not a people who speedily admit innovation, even when it comes in the shape of improvement.* * note i. clachan of aberfoil. the inhabitants of these miserable dwellings were disturbed by the noise of our departure; and as our party of about twenty soldiers drew up in rank before marching off, we were reconnoitred by many a beldam from the half-opened door of her cottage. as these sibyls thrust forth their grey heads, imperfectly covered with close caps of flannel, and showed their shrivelled brows, and long skinny arms, with various gestures, shrugs, and muttered expressions in gaelic addressed to each other, my imagination recurred to the witches of macbeth, and i imagined i read in the features of these crones the malevolence of the weird sisters. the little children also, who began to crawl forth, some quite naked, and others very imperfectly covered with tatters of tartan stuff, clapped their tiny hands, and grinned at the english soldiers, with an expression of national hate and malignity which seemed beyond their years. i remarked particularly that there were no men, nor so much as a boy of ten or twelve years old, to be seen among the inhabitants of a village which seemed populous in proportion to its extent; and the idea certainly occurred to me, that we were likely to receive from them, in the course of our journey, more effectual tokens of ill-will than those which lowered on the visages, and dictated the murmurs, of the women and children. it was not until we commenced our march that the malignity of the elder persons of the community broke forth into expressions. the last file of men had left the village, to pursue a small broken track, formed by the sledges in which the natives transported their peats and turfs, and which led through the woods that fringed the lower end of the lake, when a shrilly sound of female exclamation broke forth, mixed with the screams of children, the whooping of boys, and the clapping of hands, with which the highland dames enforce their notes, whether of rage or lamentation. i asked andrew, who looked as pale as death, what all this meant. "i doubt we'll ken that ower sune," said he. "means? it means that the highland wives are cursing and banning the red-coats, and wishing ill-luck to them, and ilka ane that ever spoke the saxon tongue. i have heard wives flyte in england and scotland--it's nae marvel to hear them flyte ony gate; but sic ill-scrapit tongues as thae highland carlines'--and sic grewsome wishes, that men should be slaughtered like sheep--and that they may lapper their hands to the elbows in their heart's blude--and that they suld dee the death of walter cuming of guiyock,* wha hadna as muckle o' him left thegither as would supper a messan-dog--sic awsome language as that i ne'er heard out o' a human thrapple;--and, unless the deil wad rise amang them to gie them a lesson, i thinkna that their talent at cursing could be amended. * a great feudal oppressor, who, riding on some cruel purpose through the forest of guiyock, was thrown from his horse, and his foot being caught in the stirrup, was dragged along by the frightened animal till he was torn to pieces. the expression, "walter of guiyock's curse," is proverbial. the warst o't is, they bid us aye gang up the loch, and see what we'll land in." adding andrew's information to what i had myself observed, i could scarce doubt that some attack was meditated upon our party. the road, as we advanced, seemed to afford every facility for such an unpleasant interruption. at first it winded apart from the lake through marshy meadow ground, overgrown with copsewood, now traversing dark and close thickets which would have admitted an ambuscade to be sheltered within a few yards of our line of march, and frequently crossing rough mountain torrents, some of which took the soldiers up to the knees, and ran with such violence, that their force could only be stemmed by the strength of two or three men holding fast by each other's arms. it certainly appeared to me, though altogether unacquainted with military affairs, that a sort of half-savage warriors, as i had heard the highlanders asserted to be, might, in such passes as these, attack a party of regular forces with great advantage. the bailie's good sense and shrewd observation had led him to the same conclusion, as i understood from his requesting to speak with the captain, whom he addressed nearly in the following terms:-- "captain, it's no to fleech ony favour out o' ye, for i scorn it--and it's under protest that i reserve my action and pleas of oppression and wrongous imprisonment;--but, being a friend to king george and his army, i take the liberty to speer--dinna ye think ye might tak a better time to gang up this glen? if ye are seeking rob roy, he's ken'd to be better than half a hunder men strong when he's at the fewest; an if he brings in the glengyle folk, and the glenfinlas and balquhidder lads, he may come to gie you your kail through the reek; and it's my sincere advice, as a king's friend, ye had better tak back again to the clachan, for thae women at aberfoil are like the scarts and seamaws at the cumries--there's aye foul weather follows their skirting." "make yourself easy, sir," replied captain thornton; "i am in the execution of my orders. and as you say you are a friend to king george, you will be glad to learn that it is impossible that this gang of ruffians, whose license has disturbed the country so long, can escape the measures now taken to suppress them. the horse squadron of militia, commanded by major galbraith, is already joined by two or more troops of cavalry, which will occupy all the lower passes of this wild country; three hundred highlanders, under the two gentlemen you saw at the inn, are in possession of the upper part, and various strong parties from the garrison are securing the hills and glens in different directions. our last accounts of rob roy correspond with what this fellow has confessed, that, finding himself surrounded on all sides, he had dismissed the greater part of his followers, with the purpose either of lying concealed, or of making his escape through his superior knowledge of the passes." "i dinna ken," said the bailie; "there's mair brandy than brains in garschattachin's head this morning--and i wadna, an i were you, captain, rest my main dependence on the hielandmen--hawks winna pike out hawks' een. they may quarrel among themsells, and gie ilk ither ill names, and maybe a slash wi' a claymore; but they are sure to join in the lang run, against a' civilised folk, that wear breeks on their hinder ends, and hae purses in their pouches." apparently these admonitions were not altogether thrown away on captain thornton. he reformed his line of march, commanded his soldiers to unsling their firelocks and fix their bayonets, and formed an advanced and rear-guard, each consisting of a non-commissioned officer and two soldiers, who received strict orders to keep an alert look-out. dougal underwent another and very close examination, in which he steadfastly asserted the truth of what he had before affirmed; and being rebuked on account of the suspicious and dangerous appearance of the route by which he was guiding them, he answered with a sort of testiness that seemed very natural, "her nainsell didna mak ta road; an shentlemans likit grand roads, she suld hae pided at glasco." all this passed off well enough, and we resumed our progress. our route, though leading towards the lake, had hitherto been so much shaded by wood, that we only from time to time obtained a glimpse of that beautiful sheet of water. but the road now suddenly emerged from the forest ground, and, winding close by the margin of the loch, afforded us a full view of its spacious mirror, which now, the breeze having totally subsided, reflected in still magnificence the high dark heathy mountains, huge grey rocks, and shaggy banks, by which it is encircled. the hills now sunk on its margin so closely, and were so broken and precipitous, as to afford no passage except just upon the narrow line of the track which we occupied, and which was overhung with rocks, from which we might have been destroyed merely by rolling down stones, without much possibility of offering resistance. add to this, that, as the road winded round every promontory and bay which indented the lake, there was rarely a possibility of seeing a hundred yards before us. our commander appeared to take some alarm at the nature of the pass in which he was engaged, which displayed itself in repeated orders to his soldiers to be on the alert, and in many threats of instant death to dougal, if he should be found to have led them into danger. dougal received these threats with an air of stupid impenetrability, which might arise either from conscious innocence, or from dogged resolution. "if shentlemans were seeking ta red gregarach," he said, "to be sure they couldna expect to find her without some wee danger." just as the highlander uttered these words, a halt was made by the corporal commanding the advance, who sent back one of the file who formed it, to tell the captain that the path in front was occupied by highlanders, stationed on a commanding point of particular difficulty. almost at the same instant a soldier from the rear came to say, that they heard the sound of a bagpipe in the woods through which we had just passed. captain thornton, a man of conduct as well as courage, instantly resolved to force the pass in front, without waiting till he was assailed from the rear; and, assuring his soldiers that the bagpipes which they heard were those of the friendly highlanders who were advancing to their assistance, he stated to them the importance of advancing and securing rob roy, if possible, before these auxiliaries should come up to divide with them the honour, as well as the reward which was placed on the head of this celebrated freebooter. he therefore ordered the rearguard to join the centre, and both to close up to the advance, doubling his files so as to occupy with his column the whole practicable part of the road, and to present such a front as its breadth admitted. dougal, to whom he said in a whisper, "you dog, if you have deceived me, you shall die for it!" was placed in the centre, between two grenadiers, with positive orders to shoot him if he attempted an escape. the same situation was assigned to us, as being the safest, and captain thornton, taking his half-pike from the soldier who carried it, placed himself at the head of his little detachment, and gave the word to march forward. the party advanced with the firmness of english soldiers. not so andrew fairservice, who was frightened out of his wits; and not so, if truth must be told, either the bailie or i myself, who, without feeling the same degree of trepidation, could not with stoical indifference see our lives exposed to hazard in a quarrel with which we had no concern. but there was neither time for remonstrance nor remedy. we approached within about twenty yards of the spot where the advanced guard had seen some appearance of an enemy. it was one of those promontories which run into the lake, and round the base of which the road had hitherto winded in the manner i have described. in the present case, however, the path, instead of keeping the water's edge, sealed the promontory by one or two rapid zigzags, carried in a broken track along the precipitous face of a slaty grey rock, which would otherwise have been absolutely inaccessible. on the top of this rock, only to be approached by a road so broken, so narrow, and so precarious, the corporal declared he had seen the bonnets and long-barrelled guns of several mountaineers, apparently couched among the long heath and brushwood which crested the eminence. captain thornton ordered him to move forward with three files, to dislodge the supposed ambuscade, while, at a more slow but steady pace, he advanced to his support with the rest of his party. the attack which he meditated was prevented by the unexpected apparition of a female upon the summit of the rock. "stand!" she said, with a commanding tone, "and tell me what ye seek in macgregor's country?" i have seldom seen a finer or more commanding form than this woman. she might be between the term of forty and fifty years, and had a countenance which must once have been of a masculine cast of beauty; though now, imprinted with deep lines by exposure to rough weather, and perhaps by the wasting influence of grief and passion, its features were only strong, harsh, and expressive. she wore her plaid, not drawn around her head and shoulders, as is the fashion of the women in scotland, but disposed around her body as the highland soldiers wear theirs. she had a man's bonnet, with a feather in it, an unsheathed sword in her hand, and a pair of pistols at her girdle. "it's helen campbell, rob's wife," said the bailie, in a whisper of considerable alarm; "and there will be broken heads amang us or it's lang." "what seek ye here?" she asked again of captain thornton, who had himself advanced to reconnoitre. "we seek the outlaw, rob roy macgregor campbell," answered the officer, "and make no war on women; therefore offer no vain opposition to the king's troops, and assure yourself of civil treatment." "ay," retorted the amazon, "i am no stranger to your tender mercies. ye have left me neither name nor fame--my mother's bones will shrink aside in their grave when mine are laid beside them--ye have left me neither house nor hold, blanket nor bedding, cattle to feed us, or flocks to clothe us--ye have taken from us all--all!--the very name of our ancestors have ye taken away, and now ye come for our lives." "i seek no man's life," replied the captain; "i only execute my orders. if you are alone, good woman, you have nought to fear--if there are any with you so rash as to offer useless resistance, their own blood be on their own heads. move forward, sergeant." "forward! march!" said the non-commissioned officer. "huzza, my boys, for rob roy's head and a purse of gold." he quickened his pace into a run, followed by the six soldiers; but as they attained the first traverse of the ascent, the flash of a dozen of firelocks from various parts of the pass parted in quick succession and deliberate aim. the sergeant, shot through the body, still struggled to gain the ascent, raised himself by his hands to clamber up the face of the rock, but relaxed his grasp, after a desperate effort, and falling, rolled from the face of the cliff into the deep lake, where he perished. of the soldiers, three fell, slain or disabled; the others retreated on their main body, all more or less wounded. "grenadiers, to the front!" said captain thornton.--you are to recollect, that in those days this description of soldiers actually carried that destructive species of firework from which they derive their name. the four grenadiers moved to the front accordingly. the officer commanded the rest of the party to be ready to support them, and only saying to us, "look to your safety, gentlemen," gave, in rapid succession, the word to the grenadiers--"open your pouches--handle your grenades--blow your matches--fall on." the whole advanced with a shout, headed by captain thornton,--the grenadiers preparing to throw their grenades among the bushes where the ambuscade lay, and the musketeers to support them by an instant and close assault. dougal, forgotten in the scuffle, wisely crept into the thicket which overhung that part of the road where we had first halted, which he ascended with the activity of a wild cat. i followed his example, instinctively recollecting that the fire of the highlanders would sweep the open track. i clambered until out of breath; for a continued spattering fire, in which every shot was multiplied by a thousand echoes, the hissing of the kindled fusees of the grenades, and the successive explosion of those missiles, mingled with the huzzas of the soldiers, and the yells and cries of their highland antagonists, formed a contrast which added--i do not shame to own it--wings to my desire to reach a place of safety. the difficulties of the ascent soon increased so much, that i despaired of reaching dougal, who seemed to swing himself from rock to rock, and stump to stump, with the facility of a squirrel, and i turned down my eyes to see what had become of my other companions. both were brought to a very awkward standstill. the bailie, to whom i suppose fear had given a temporary share of agility, had ascended about twenty feet from the path, when his foot slipping, as he straddled from one huge fragment of rock to another, he would have slumbered with his father the deacon, whose acts and words he was so fond of quoting, but for a projecting branch of a ragged thorn, which, catching hold of the skirts of his riding-coat, supported him in mid-air, where he dangled not unlike to the sign of the golden fleece over the door of a mercer in the trongate of his native city. as for andrew fairservice, he had advanced with better success, until he had attained the top of a bare cliff, which, rising above the wood, exposed him, at least in his own opinion, to all the dangers of the neighbouring skirmish, while, at the same time, it was of such a precipitous and impracticable nature, that he dared neither to advance nor retreat. footing it up and down upon the narrow space which the top of the cliff afforded (very like a fellow at a country-fair dancing upon a trencher), he roared for mercy in gaelic and english alternately, according to the side on which the scale of victory seemed to predominate, while his exclamations were only answered by the groans of the bailie, who suffered much, not only from apprehension, but from the pendulous posture in which he hung suspended by the loins. on perceiving the bailie's precarious situation, my first idea was to attempt to render him assistance; but this was impossible without the concurrence of andrew, whom neither sign, nor entreaty, nor command, nor expostulation, could inspire with courage to adventure the descent from his painful elevation, where, like an unskilful and obnoxious minister of state, unable to escape from the eminence to which he had presumptuously ascended, he continued to pour forth piteous prayers for mercy, which no one heard, and to skip to and fro, writhing his body into all possible antic shapes to avoid the balls which he conceived to be whistling around him. in a few minutes this cause of terror ceased, for the fire, at first so well sustained, now sunk at once--a sure sign that the conflict was concluded. to gain some spot from which i could see how the day had gone was now my object, in order to appeal to the mercy of the victors, who, i trusted (whichever side might be gainers), would not suffer the honest bailie to remain suspended, like the coffin of mahomet, between heaven and earth, without lending a hand to disengage him. at length, by dint of scrambling, i found a spot which commanded a view of the field of battle. it was indeed ended; and, as my mind already augured, from the place and circumstances attending the contest, it had terminated in the defeat of captain thornton. i saw a party of highlanders in the act of disarming that officer, and the scanty remainder of his party. they consisted of about twelve men most of whom were wounded, who, surrounded by treble their number, and without the power either to advance or retreat, exposed to a murderous and well-aimed fire, which they had no means of returning with effect, had at length laid down their arms by the order of their officer, when he saw that the road in his rear was occupied, and that protracted resistance would be only wasting the lives of his brave followers. by the highlanders, who fought under cover, the victory was cheaply bought, at the expense of one man slain and two wounded by the grenades. all this i learned afterwards. at present i only comprehended the general result of the day, from seeing the english officer, whose face was covered with blood, stripped of his hat and arms, and his men, with sullen and dejected countenances which marked their deep regret, enduring, from the wild and martial figures who surrounded them, the severe measures to which the laws of war subject the vanquished for security of the victors. chapter fourteen. "woe to the vanquished!" was stern brenno's word, when sunk proud rome beneath the gallic sword-- "woe to the vanquished!" when his massive blade bore down the scale against her ransom weigh'd; and on the field of foughten battle still, woe knows no limits save the victor's will. the gaulliad. i anxiously endeavoured to distinguish dougal among the victors. i had little doubt that the part he had played was assumed, on purpose to lead the english officer into the defile, and i could not help admiring the address with which the ignorant, and apparently half-brutal savage, had veiled his purpose, and the affected reluctance with which he had suffered to be extracted from him the false information which it must have been his purpose from the beginning to communicate. i foresaw we should incur some danger on approaching the victors in the first flush of their success, which was not unstained with cruelty; for one or two of the soldiers, whose wounds prevented them from rising, were poniarded by the victors, or rather by some ragged highland boys who had mingled with them. i concluded, therefore, it would be unsafe to present ourselves without some mediator; and as campbell, whom i now could not but identify with the celebrated freebooter rob roy, was nowhere to be seen, i resolved to claim the protection of his emissary, dougal. after gazing everywhere in vain, i at length retraced my steps to see what assistance i could individually render to my unlucky friend, when, to my great joy, i saw mr. jarvie delivered from his state of suspense; and though very black in the face, and much deranged in the garments, safely seated beneath the rock, in front of which he had been so lately suspended. i hastened to join him and offer my congratulations, which he was at first far from receiving in the spirit of cordiality with which they were offered. a heavy fit of coughing scarce permitted him breath enough to express the broken hints which he threw out against my sincerity. "uh! uh! uh! uh!--they say a friend--uh! uh!--a friend sticketh closer than a brither--uh! uh! uh! when i came up here, maister osbaldistone, to this country, cursed of god and man--uh! uh--heaven forgie me for swearing--on nae man's errand but yours, d'ye think it was fair--uh! uh! uh!--to leave me, first, to be shot or drowned atween red-wad highlanders and red-coats; and next to be hung up between heaven and earth, like an auld potato-bogle, without sae muckle as trying--uh! uh!--sae muckle as trying to relieve me?" i made a thousand apologies, and laboured so hard to represent the impossibility of my affording him relief by my own unassisted exertions, that at length i succeeded, and the bailie, who was as placable as hasty in his temper, extended his favour to me once more. i next took the liberty of asking him how he had contrived to extricate himself. "me extricate! i might hae hung there till the day of judgment or i could hae helped mysell, wi' my head hinging down on the tae side, and my heels on the tother, like the yarn-scales in the weigh-house. it was the creature dougal that extricated me, as he did yestreen; he cuttit aff the tails o' my coat wi' his durk, and another gillie and him set me on my legs as cleverly as if i had never been aff them. but to see what a thing gude braid claith is! had i been in ony o' your rotten french camlets now, or your drab-de-berries, it would hae screeded like an auld rag wi' sic a weight as mine. but fair fa' the weaver that wrought the weft o't--i swung and bobbit yonder as safe as a gabbart* that's moored by a three-ply cable at the broomielaw." * a kind of lighter used in the river clyde,--probably from the french * _abare._ i now inquired what had become of his preserver. "the creature," so he continued to call the highlandman, "contrived to let me ken there wad be danger in gaun near the leddy till he came back, and bade me stay here. i am o' the mind," he continued, "that he's seeking after you--it's a considerate creature--and troth, i wad swear he was right about the leddy, as he ca's her, too--helen campbell was nane o' the maist douce maidens, nor meekest wives neither, and folk say that rob himsell stands in awe o' her. i doubt she winna ken me, for it's mony years since we met--i am clear for waiting for the dougal creature or we gang near her." i signified my acquiescence in this reasoning; but it was not the will of fate that day that the bailie's prudence should profit himself or any one else. andrew fairservice, though he had ceased to caper on the pinnacle upon the cessation of the firing, which had given occasion for his whimsical exercise, continued, as perched on the top of an exposed cliff, too conspicuous an object to escape the sharp eyes of the highlanders, when they had time to look a little around them. we were apprized he was discovered, by a wild and loud halloo set up among the assembled victors, three or four of whom instantly plunged into the copsewood, and ascended the rocky side of the hill in different directions towards the place where they had discovered this whimsical apparition. those who arrived first within gunshot of poor andrew, did not trouble themselves to offer him any assistance in the ticklish posture of his affairs, but levelling their long spanish-barrelled guns, gave him to understand, by signs which admitted of no misconstruction, that he must contrive to come down and submit himself to their mercy, or to be marked at from beneath, like a regimental target set up for ball-practice. with such a formidable hint for venturous exertion, andrew fairservice could no longer hesitate; the more imminent peril overcame his sense of that which seemed less inevitable, and he began to descend the cliff at all risks, clutching to the ivy and oak stumps, and projecting fragments of rock, with an almost feverish anxiety, and never failing, as circumstances left him a hand at liberty, to extend it to the plaided gentry below in an attitude of supplication, as if to deprecate the discharge of their levelled firearms. in a word, the fellow, under the influence of a counteracting motive for terror, achieved a safe descent from his perilous eminence, which, i verily believe, nothing but the fear of instant death could have moved him to attempt. the awkward mode of andrew's descent greatly amused the highlanders below, who fired a shot or two while he was engaged in it, without the purpose of injuring him, as i believe, but merely to enhance the amusement they derived from his extreme terror, and the superlative exertions of agility to which it excited him. at length he attained firm and comparatively level ground--or rather, to speak more correctly, his foot slipping at the last point of descent, he fell on the earth at his full length, and was raised by the assistance of the highlanders, who stood to receive him, and who, ere he gained his legs, stripped him not only of the whole contents of his pockets, but of periwig, hat, coat, doublet, stockings, and shoes, performing the feat with such admirable celerity, that, although he fell on his back a well-clothed and decent burgher-seeming serving-man, he arose a forked, uncased, bald-pated, beggarly-looking scarecrow. without respect to the pain which his undefended toes experienced from the sharp encounter of the rocks over which they hurried him, those who had detected andrew proceeded to drag him downward towards the road through all the intervening obstacles. in the course of their descent, mr. jarvie and i became exposed to their lynx-eyed observation, and instantly half-a-dozen of armed highlanders thronged around us, with drawn dirks and swords pointed at our faces and throats, and cocked pistols presented against our bodies. to have offered resistance would have been madness, especially as we had no weapons capable of supporting such a demonstration. we therefore submitted to our fate; and with great roughness on the part of those who assisted at our toilette, were in the act of being reduced to as unsophisticated a state (to use king lear's phrase) as the plume-less biped andrew fairservice, who stood shivering between fear and cold at a few yards' distance. good chance, however, saved us from this extremity of wretchedness; for, just as i had yielded up my cravat (a smart steinkirk, by the way, and richly laced), and the bailie had been disrobed of the fragments of his riding-coat--enter dougal, and the scene was changed. by a high tone of expostulation, mixed with oaths and threats, as far as i could conjecture the tenor of his language from the violence of his gestures, he compelled the plunderers, however reluctant, not only to give up their further depredations on our property, but to restore the spoil they had already appropriated. he snatched my cravat from the fellow who had seized it, and twisted it (in the zeal of his restitution) around my neck with such suffocating energy as made me think that he had not only been, during his residence at glasgow, a substitute of the jailor, but must moreover have taken lessons as an apprentice of the hangman. he flung the tattered remnants of mr. jarvie's coat around his shoulders, and as more highlanders began to flock towards us from the high road, he led the way downwards, directing and commanding the others to afford us, but particularly the bailie, the assistance necessary to our descending with comparative ease and safety. it was, however, in vain that andrew fairservice employed his lungs in obsecrating a share of dougal's protection, or at least his interference to procure restoration of his shoes. "na, na," said dougal in reply, "she's nae gentle pody, i trow; her petters hae ganged parefoot, or she's muckle mista'en." and, leaving andrew to follow at his leisure, or rather at such leisure as the surrounding crowd were pleased to indulge him with, he hurried us down to the pathway in which the skirmish had been fought, and hastened to present us as additional captives to the female leader of his band. we were dragged before her accordingly, dougal fighting, struggling, screaming, as if he were the party most apprehensive of hurt, and repulsing, by threats and efforts, all those who attempted to take a nearer interest in our capture than he seemed to do himself. at length we were placed before the heroine of the day, whose appearance, as well as those of the savage, uncouth, yet martial figures who surrounded us, struck me, to own the truth, with considerable apprehension. i do not know if helen macgregor had personally mingled in the fray, and indeed i was afterwards given to understand the contrary; but the specks of blood on her brow, her hands and naked arms, as well as on the blade of her sword which she continued to hold in her hand--her flushed countenance, and the disordered state of the raven locks which escaped from under the red bonnet and plume that formed her head-dress, seemed all to intimate that she had taken an immediate share in the conflict. her keen black eyes and features expressed an imagination inflamed by the pride of gratified revenge, and the triumph of victory. yet there was nothing positively sanguinary, or cruel, in her deportment; and she reminded me, when the immediate alarm of the interview was over, of some of the paintings i had seen of the inspired heroines in the catholic churches of france. she was not, indeed, sufficiently beautiful for a judith, nor had she the inspired expression of features which painters have given to deborah, or to the wife of heber the kenite, at whose feet the strong oppressor of israel, who dwelled in harosheth of the gentiles, bowed down, fell, and lay a dead man. nevertheless, the enthusiasm by which she was agitated gave her countenance and deportment, wildly dignified in themselves, an air which made her approach nearly to the ideas of those wonderful artists who gave to the eye the heroines of scripture history. i was uncertain in what terms to accost a personage so uncommon, when mr. jarvie, breaking the ice with a preparatory cough (for the speed with which he had been brought into her presence had again impeded his respiration), addressed her as follows:--"uh! uh! &c. &c. i am very happy to have this _joyful_ opportunity" (a quaver in his voice strongly belied the emphasis which he studiously laid on the word joyful)--"this joyful occasion," he resumed, trying to give the adjective a more suitable accentuation, "to wish my kinsman robin's wife a very good morning--uh! uh!--how's a' wi' ye?" (by this time he had talked himself into his usual jog-trot manner, which exhibited a mixture of familiarity and self-importance)--"how's a' wi' ye this lang time? ye'll hae forgotten me, mrs. macgregor campbell, as your cousin--uh! uh!--but ye'll mind my father, deacon nicol jarvie, in the saut market o' glasgow?--an honest man he was, and a sponsible, and respectit you and yours. sae, as i said before, i am right glad to see you, mrs. macgregor campbell, as my kinsman's wife. i wad crave the liberty of a kinsman to salute you, but that your gillies keep such a dolefu' fast haud o' my arms, and, to speak heaven's truth and a magistrate's, ye wadna be the waur of a cogfu' o' water before ye welcomed your friends." there was something in the familiarity of this introduction which ill suited the exalted state of temper of the person to whom it was addressed, then busied with distributing dooms of death, and warm from conquest in a perilous encounter. "what fellow are you," she said, "that dare to claim kindred with the macgregor, and neither wear his dress nor speak his language?--what are you, that have the tongue and the habit of the hound, and yet seek to lie down with the deer?" "i dinna ken," said the undaunted bailie, "if the kindred has ever been weel redd out to you yet, cousin--but it's ken'd, and can be prov'd. my mother, elspeth macfarlane, was the wife of my father, deacon nicol jarvie--peace be wi' them baith!--and elspeth was the daughter of parlane macfarlane, at the sheeling o' loch sloy. now, this parlane macfarlane, as his surviving daughter maggy macfarlane, _alias_ macnab, wha married duncan macnab o' stuckavrallachan, can testify, stood as near to your gudeman, robert macgregor, as in the fourth degree of kindred, for"-- the virago lopped the genealogical tree, by demanding haughtily, "if a stream of rushing water acknowledged any relation with the portion withdrawn from it for the mean domestic uses of those who dwelt on its banks?" "vera true, kinswoman," said the bailie; "but for a' that, the burn wad be glad to hae the milldam back again in simmer, when the chuckie-stanes are white in the sun. i ken weel eneugh you hieland folk haud us glasgow people light and cheap for our language and our claes;--but everybody speaks their native tongue that they learned in infancy; and it would be a daft-like thing to see me wi' my fat wame in a short hieland coat, and my puir short houghs gartered below the knee, like ane o' your lang-legged gillies. mair by token, kinswoman," he continued, in defiance of various intimations by which dougal seemed to recommend silence, as well as of the marks of impatience which the amazon evinced at his loquacity, "i wad hae ye to mind that the king's errand whiles comes in the cadger's gate, and that, for as high as ye may think o' the gudeman, as it's right every wife should honour her husband--there's scripture warrant for that--yet as high as ye haud him, as i was saying, i hae been serviceable to rob ere now;--forbye a set o' pearlins i sent yourself when ye was gaun to be married, and when rob was an honest weel-doing drover, and nane o' this unlawfu' wark, wi' fighting, and flashes, and fluff-gibs, disturbing the king's peace and disarming his soldiers." he had apparently touched on a key which his kinswoman could not brook. she drew herself up to her full height, and betrayed the acuteness of her feelings by a laugh of mingled scorn and bitterness. "yes," she said, "you, and such as you, might claim a relation to us, when we stooped to be the paltry wretches fit to exist under your dominion, as your hewers of wood and drawers of water--to find cattle for your banquets, and subjects for your laws to oppress and trample on. but now we are free--free by the very act which left us neither house nor hearth, food nor covering--which bereaved me of all--of all--and makes me groan when i think i must still cumber the earth for other purposes than those of vengeance. and i will carry on the work, this day has so well commenced, by a deed that shall break all bands between macgregor and the lowland churls. here allan--dougal--bind these sassenachs neck and heel together, and throw them into the highland loch to seek for their highland kinsfolk." the bailie, alarmed at this mandate, was commencing an expostulation, which probably would have only inflamed the violent passions of the person whom he addressed, when dougal threw himself between them, and in his own language, which he spoke with a fluency and rapidity strongly contrasted by the slow, imperfect, and idiot-like manner in which he expressed himself in english, poured forth what i doubt not was a very animated pleading in our behalf. his mistress replied to him, or rather cut short his harangue, by exclaiming in english (as if determined to make us taste in anticipation the full bitterness of death)--"base dog, and son of a dog, do you dispute my commands? should i tell ye to cut out their tongues and put them into each other's throats, to try which would there best knap southron, or to tear out their hearts and put them into each other's breasts, to see which would there best plot treason against the macgregor--and such things have been done of old in the day of revenge, when our fathers had wrongs to redress--should i command you to do this, would it be your part to dispute my orders?" "to be sure, to be sure," dougal replied, with accents of profound submission; "her pleasure suld be done--tat's but reason; but an it were--tat is, an it could be thought the same to her to coup the ill-faured loon of ta red-coat captain, and hims corporal cramp, and twa three o' the red-coats, into the loch, herself wad do't wi' muckle mair great satisfaction than to hurt ta honest civil shentlemans as were friends to the gregarach, and came up on the chiefs assurance, and not to do no treason, as herself could testify." the lady was about to reply, when a few wild strains of a pibroch were heard advancing up the road from aberfoil, the same probably which had reached the ears of captain thornton's rear-guard, and determined him to force his way onward rather than return to the village, on finding the pass occupied. the skirmish being of very short duration, the armed men who followed this martial melody, had not, although quickening their march when they heard the firing, been able to arrive in time sufficient to take any share in the rencontre. the victory, therefore, was complete without them, and they now arrived only to share in the triumph of their countrymen. there was a marked difference betwixt the appearance of these new comers and that of the party by which our escort had been defeated--and it was greatly in favour of the former. among the highlanders who surrounded the chieftainess, if i may presume to call her so without offence to grammar, were men in the extremity of age, boys scarce able to bear a sword, and even women--all, in short, whom the last necessity urges to take up arms; and it added a shade of bitter shame to the defection which clouded thornton's manly countenance, when he found that the numbers and position of a foe, otherwise so despicable, had enabled them to conquer his brave veterans. but the thirty or forty highlanders who now joined the others, were all men in the prime of youth or manhood, active clean-made fellows, whose short hose and belted plaids set out their sinewy limbs to the best advantage. their arms were as superior to those of the first party as their dress and appearance. the followers of the female chief had axes, scythes, and other antique weapons, in aid of their guns; and some had only clubs, daggers, and long knives. but of the second party, most had pistols at the belt, and almost all had dirks hanging at the pouches which they wore in front. each had a good gun in his hand, and a broadsword by his side, besides a stout round target, made of light wood, covered with leather, and curiously studded with brass, and having a steel spike screwed into the centre. these hung on their left shoulder during a march, or while they were engaged in exchanging fire with the enemy, and were worn on their left arm when they charged with sword in hand. but it was easy to see that this chosen band had not arrived from a victory such as they found their ill-appointed companions possessed of. the pibroch sent forth occasionally a few wailing notes expressive of a very different sentiment from triumph; and when they appeared before the wife of their chieftain, it was in silence, and with downcast and melancholy looks. they paused when they approached her, and the pipes again sent forth the same wild and melancholy strain. helen rushed towards them with a countenance in which anger was mingled with apprehension.--"what means this, alaster?" she said to the minstrel--"why a lament in the moment of victory?--robert--hamish--where's the macgregor?--where's your father?" her sons, who led the band, advanced with slow and irresolute steps towards her, and murmured a few words in gaelic, at hearing which she set up a shriek that made the rocks ring again, in which all the women and boys joined, clapping their hands and yelling as if their lives had been expiring in the sound. the mountain echoes, silent since the military sounds of battle had ceased, had now to answer these frantic and discordant shrieks of sorrow, which drove the very night-birds from their haunts in the rocks, as if they were startled to hear orgies more hideous and ill-omened than their own, performed in the face of open day. "taken!" repeated helen, when the clamour had subsided--"taken!-- captive!--and you live to say so?--coward dogs! did i nurse you for this, that you should spare your blood on your father's enemies? or see him prisoner, and come back to tell it?" the sons of macgregor, to whom this expostulation was addressed, were youths, of whom the eldest had hardly attained his twentieth year. _hamish,_ or james, the elder of these youths, was the tallest by a head, and much handsomer than his brother; his light-blue eyes, with a profusion of fair hair, which streamed from under his smart blue bonnet, made his whole appearance a most favourable specimen of the highland youth. the younger was called robert; but, to distinguish him from his father, the highlanders added the epithet _oig,_ or the young. dark hair, and dark features, with a ruddy glow of health and animation, and a form strong and well-set beyond his years, completed the sketch of the young mountaineer. both now stood before their mother with countenances clouded with grief and shame, and listened, with the most respectful submission, to the reproaches with which she loaded them. at length when her resentment appeared in some degree to subside, the eldest, speaking in english, probably that he might not be understood by their followers, endeavoured respectfully to vindicate himself and his brother from his mother's reproaches. i was so near him as to comprehend much of what he said; and, as it was of great consequence to me to be possessed of information in this strange crisis, i failed not to listen as attentively as i could. "the macgregor," his son stated, "had been called out upon a trysting with a lowland hallion, who came with a token from"--he muttered the name very low, but i thought it sounded like my own. "the macgregor," he said, "accepted of the invitation, but commanded the saxon who brought the message to be detained, as a hostage that good faith should be observed to him. accordingly he went to the place of appointment" (which had some wild highland name that i cannot remember), "attended only by angus breck and little rory, commanding no one to follow him. within half an hour angus breck came back with the doleful tidings that the macgregor had been surprised and made prisoner by a party of lennox militia, under galbraith of garschattachin." he added, "that galbraith, on being threatened by macgregor, who upon his capture menaced him with retaliation on the person of the hostage, had treated the threat with great contempt, replying, 'let each side hang his man; we'll hang the thief, and your catherans may hang the gauger, rob, and the country will be rid of two damned things at once, a wild highlander and a revenue officer.' angus breck, less carefully looked to than his master, contrived to escape from the hands of the captors, after having been in their custody long enough to hear this discussion, and to bring off the news." "and did you learn this, you false-hearted traitor," said the wife of macgregor, "and not instantly rush to your father's rescue, to bring him off, or leave your body on the place?" the young macgregor modestly replied, by representing the very superior force of the enemy, and stated, that as they made no preparation for leaving the country, he had fallen back up the glen with the purpose of collecting a band sufficient to attempt a rescue with some tolerable chance of success. at length he said, "the militiamen would quarter, he understood, in the neighbouring house of gartartan, or the old castle in the port of monteith, or some other stronghold, which, although strong and defensible, was nevertheless capable of being surprised, could they but get enough of men assembled for the purpose." i understood afterwards that the rest of the freebooter's followers were divided into two strong bands, one destined to watch the remaining garrison of inversnaid, a party of which, under captain thornton, had been defeated; and another to show front to the highland clans who had united with the regular troops and lowlanders in this hostile and combined invasion of that mountainous and desolate territory, which lying between the lakes of loch lomond, loch katrine, and loch ard, was at this time currently called rob roy's, or the macgregor country. messengers were despatched in great haste, to concentrate, as i supposed, their forces, with a view to the purposed attack on the lowlanders; and the dejection and despair, at first visible on each countenance, gave place to the hope of rescuing their leader, and to the thirst of vengeance. it was under the burning influence of the latter passion that the wife of macgregor commanded that the hostage exchanged for his safety should be brought into her presence. i believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. they dragged forward at her summons a wretch already half dead with terror, in whose agonised features i recognised, to my horror and astonishment, my old acquaintance morris. he fell prostrate before the female chief with an effort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. i never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. the ecstasy of fear was such, that instead of paralysing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent; and, with cheeks pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on the person of rob roy, whom he swore he loved and honoured as his own soul. in the inconsistency of his terror, he said he was but the agent of others, and he muttered the name of rashleigh. he prayed but for life--for life he would give all he had in the world: it was but life he asked--life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations: he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the damps of the lowest caverns of their hills. it is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and contempt, with which the wife of macgregor regarded this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence. "i could have bid ye live," she said, "had life been to you the same weary and wasting burden that it is to me--that it is to every noble and generous mind. but you--wretch! you could creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its constantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow: you could live and enjoy yourself, while the noble-minded are betrayed--while nameless and birthless villains tread on the neck of the brave and the long-descended: you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the oldest and best went on around you! this enjoyment you shall not live to partake of!--you shall die, base dog! and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun." she gave a brief command in gaelic to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hurried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. he set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered--i may well term them dreadful, for they haunted my sleep for years afterwards. as the murderers, or executioners, call them as you will, dragged him along, he recognised me even in that moment of horror, and exclaimed, in the last articulate words i ever heard him utter, "oh, mr. osbaldistone, save me!--save me!" i was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, i did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been expected, my interference was sternly disregarded. the victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large heavy stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. half-naked, and thus manacled, they hurled him into the lake, there about twelve feet deep, with a loud halloo of vindictive triumph,--above which, however, his last death-shriek, the yell of mortal agony, was distinctly heard. the heavy burden splashed in the dark-blue waters, and the highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant to guard, lest, extricating himself from the load to which he was attached, the victim might have struggled to regain the shore. but the knot had been securely bound--the wretched man sunk without effort; the waters, which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him, and the unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was for ever withdrawn from the sum of human existence. chapter fifteen. and be he safe restored ere evening set, or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, and power to wreak it in an armed hand, your land shall ache for't. old play. i know not why it is that a single deed of violence and cruelty affects our nerves more than when these are exercised on a more extended scale. i had seen that day several of my brave countrymen fall in battle: it seemed to me that they met a lot appropriate to humanity, and my bosom, though thrilling with interest, was affected with nothing of that sickening horror with which i beheld the unfortunate morris put to death without resistance, and in cold blood. i looked at my companion, mr. jarvie, whose face reflected the feelings which were painted in mine. indeed he could not so suppress his horror, but that the words escaped him in a low and broken whisper,-- "i take up my protest against this deed, as a bloody and cruel murder--it is a cursed deed, and god will avenge it in his due way and time." "then you do not fear to follow?" said the virago, bending on him a look of death, such as that with which a hawk looks at his prey ere he pounces. "kinswoman," said the bailie, "nae man willingly wad cut short his thread of life before the end o' his pirn was fairly measured off on the yarn-winles--and i hae muckle to do, an i be spared, in this warld--public and private business, as weel that belonging to the magistracy as to my ain particular; and nae doubt i hae some to depend on me, as puir mattie, wha is an orphan--she's a far-awa' cousin o' the laird o' limmerfield. sae that, laying a' this thegither--skin for skin, yea all that a man hath, will he give for his life." "and were i to set you at liberty," said the imperious dame, "what name could you give to the drowning of that saxon dog?" "uh! uh!--hem! hem!" said the bailie, clearing his throat as well as he could, "i suld study to say as little on that score as might be--least said is sunest mended." "but if you were called on by the courts, as you term them, of justice," she again demanded, "what then would be your answer?" the bailie looked this way and that way, like a person who meditates an escape, and then answered in the tone of one who, seeing no means of accomplishing a retreat, determines to stand the brunt of battle--"i see what you are driving me to the wa' about. but i'll tell you't plain, kinswoman,--i behoved just to speak according to my ain conscience; and though your ain gudeman, that i wish had been here for his ain sake and mine, as wool as the puir hieland creature dougal, can tell ye that nicol jarvie can wink as hard at a friend's failings as onybody, yet i'se tell ye, kinswoman, mine's ne'er be the tongue to belie my thought; and sooner than say that yonder puir wretch was lawfully slaughtered, i wad consent to be laid beside him--though i think ye are the first hieland woman wad mint sic a doom to her husband's kinsman but four times removed." it is probable that the tone and firmness assumed by the bailie in his last speech was better suited to make an impression on the hard heart of his kinswoman than the tone of supplication he had hitherto assumed, as gems can be cut with steel, though they resist softer metals. she commanded us both to be placed before her. "your name," she said to me, "is osbaldistone?--the dead dog, whose death you have witnessed, called you so." "my name _is_ osbaldistone," was my answer. "rashleigh, then, i suppose, is your christian name?" she pursued. "no,--my name is francis." "but you know rashleigh osbaldistone," she continued. "he is your brother, if i mistake not,--at least your kinsman and near friend." "he is my kinsman," i replied, "but not my friend. we were lately engaged together in a rencontre, when we were separated by a person whom i understand to be your husband. my blood is hardly yet dried on his sword, and the wound on my side is yet green. i have little reason to acknowledge him as a friend." "then," she replied, "if a stranger to his intrigues, you can go in safety to garschattachin and his party without fear of being detained, and carry them a message from the wife of the macgregor?" i answered that i knew no reasonable cause why the militia gentlemen should detain me; that i had no reason, on my own account, to fear being in their hands; and that if my going on her embassy would act as a protection to my friend and servant, who were here prisoners, "i was ready to set out directly." i took the opportunity to say, "that i had come into this country on her husband's invitation, and his assurance that he would aid me in some important matters in which i was interested; that my companion, mr. jarvie, had accompanied me on the same errand." "and i wish mr. jarvie's boots had been fu' o' boiling water when he drew them on for sic a purpose," interrupted the bailie. "you may read your father," said helen macgregor, turning to her sons, "in what this young saxon tells us--wise only when the bonnet is on his head, and the sword is in his hand, he never exchanges the tartan for the broad-cloth, but he runs himself into the miserable intrigues of the lowlanders, and becomes again, after all he has suffered, their agent--their tool--their slave." "add, madam," said i, "and their benefactor." "be it so," she said; "for it is the most empty title of them all, since he has uniformly sown benefits to reap a harvest of the most foul ingratitude.--but enough of this. i shall cause you to be guided to the enemy's outposts. ask for their commander, and deliver him this message from me, helen macgregor;--that if they injure a hair of macgregor's head, and if they do not set him at liberty within the space of twelve hours, there is not a lady in the lennox but shall before christmas cry the coronach for them she will be loath to lose,--there is not a farmer but shall sing well-a-wa over a burnt barnyard and an empty byre,--there is not a laird nor heritor shall lay his head on the pillow at night with the assurance of being a live man in the morning,--and, to begin as we are to end, so soon as the term is expired, i will send them this glasgow bailie, and this saxon captain, and all the rest of my prisoners, each bundled in a plaid, and chopped into as many pieces as there are checks in the tartan." as she paused in her denunciation, captain thornton, who was within hearing, added, with great coolness, "present my compliments--captain thornton's of the royals, compliments--to the commanding officer, and tell him to do his duty and secure his prisoner, and not waste a thought upon me. if i have been fool enough to have been led into an ambuscade by these artful savages, i am wise enough to know how to die for it without disgracing the service. i am only sorry for my poor fellows," he said, "that have fallen into such butcherly hands." "whist! whist!" exclaimed the bailie; "are ye weary o' your life?--ye'll gie _my_ service to the commanding officer, mr. osbaldistone--bailie nicol jarvie's service, a magistrate o' glasgow, as his father the deacon was before him--and tell him, here are a wheen honest men in great trouble, and like to come to mair; and the best thing he can do for the common good, will be just to let rob come his wa's up the glen, and nae mair about it. there's been some ill dune here already; but as it has lighted chiefly on the gauger, it winna be muckle worth making a stir about." with these very opposite injunctions from the parties chiefly interested in the success of my embassy, and with the reiterated charge of the wife of macgregor to remember and detail every word of her injunctions, i was at length suffered to depart; and andrew fairservice, chiefly, i believe, to get rid of his clamorous supplications, was permitted to attend me. doubtful, however, that i might use my horse as a means of escape from my guides, or desirous to retain a prize of some value, i was given to understand that i was to perform my journey on foot, escorted by hamish macgregor, the elder brother, who, with two followers, attended, as well to show me the way, as to reconnoitre the strength and position of the enemy. dougal had been at first ordered on this party, but he contrived to elude the service, with the purpose, as we afterwards understood, of watching over mr. jarvie, whom, according to his wild principles of fidelity, he considered as entitled to his good offices, from having once acted in some measure as his patron or master. after walking with great rapidity about an hour, we arrived at an eminence covered with brushwood, which gave us a commanding prospect down the valley, and a full view of the post which the militia occupied. being chiefly cavalry, they had judiciously avoided any attempt to penetrate the pass which had been so unsuccessfully essayed by captain thornton. they had taken up their situation with some military skill, on a rising ground in the centre of the little valley of aberfoil, through which the river forth winds its earliest course, and which is formed by two ridges of hills, faced with barricades of limestone rock, intermixed with huge masses of breecia, or pebbles imbedded in some softer substance which has hardened around them like mortar; and surrounded by the more lofty mountains in the distance. these ridges, however, left the valley of breadth enough to secure the cavalry from any sudden surprise by the mountaineers and they had stationed sentinels and outposts at proper distances from this main body, in every direction, so that they might secure full time to mount and get under arms upon the least alarm. it was not, indeed, expected at that time, that highlanders would attack cavalry in an open plain, though late events have shown that they may do so with success.* * the affairs of prestonpans and falkirk are probably alluded to, which * marks the time of writing the memoirs as subsequent to . when i first knew the highlanders, they had almost a superstitious dread of a mounted trooper, the horse being so much more fierce and imposing in his appearance than the little shelties of their own hills, and moreover being trained, as the more ignorant mountaineers believed, to fight with his feet and his teeth. the appearance of the piequeted horses, feeding in this little vale--the forms of the soldiers, as they sate, stood, or walked, in various groups in the vicinity of the beautiful river, and of the bare yet romantic ranges of rock which hedge in the landscape on either side,--formed a noble foreground; while far to the eastward the eye caught a glance of the lake of menteith; and stirling castle, dimly seen along with the blue and distant line of the ochil mountains, closed the scene. after gazing on this landscape with great earnestness, young macgregor intimated to me that i was to descend to the station of the militia and execute my errand to their commander,--enjoining me at the same time, with a menacing gesture, neither to inform them who had guided me to that place, nor where i had parted from my escort. thus tutored, i descended towards the military post, followed by andrew, who, only retaining his breeches and stockings of the english costume, without a hat, bare-legged, with brogues on his feet, which dougal had given him out of compassion, and having a tattered plaid to supply the want of all upper garments, looked as if he had been playing the part of a highland tom-of-bedlam. we had not proceeded far before we became visible to one of the videttes, who, riding towards us, presented his carabine and commanded me to stand. i obeyed, and when the soldier came up, desired to be conducted to his commanding-officer. i was immediately brought where a circle of officers, sitting upon the grass, seemed in attendance upon one of superior rank. he wore a cuirass of polished steel, over which were drawn the insignia of the ancient order of the thistle. my friend garschattachin, and many other gentlemen, some in uniform, others in their ordinary dress, but all armed and well attended, seemed to receive their orders from this person of distinction. many servants in rich liveries, apparently a part of his household, were also in waiting. having paid to this nobleman the respect which his rank appeared to demand, i acquainted him that i had been an involuntary witness to the king's soldiers having suffered a defeat from the highlanders at the pass of loch-ard (such i had learned was the name of the place where mr. thornton was made prisoner), and that the victors threatened every species of extremity to those who had fallen into their power, as well as to the low country in general, unless their chief, who had that morning been made prisoner, were returned to them uninjured. the duke (for he whom i addressed was of no lower rank) listened to me with great composure, and then replied, that he should be extremely sorry to expose the unfortunate gentlemen who had been made prisoners to the cruelty of the barbarians into whose hands they had fallen, but that it was folly to suppose that he would deliver up the very author of all these disorders and offences, and so encourage his followers in their license. "you may return to those who sent you," he proceeded, "and inform them, that i shall certainly cause rob roy campbell, whom they call macgregor, to be executed, by break of day, as an outlaw taken in arms, and deserving death by a thousand acts of violence; that i should be most justly held unworthy of my situation and commission did i act otherwise; that i shall know how to protect the country against their insolent threats of violence; and that if they injure a hair of the head of any of the unfortunate gentlemen whom an unlucky accident has thrown into their power, i will take such ample vengeance, that the very stones of their glens shall sing woe for it this hundred years to come!" i humbly begged leave to remonstrate respecting the honourable mission imposed on me, and touched upon the obvious danger attending it, when the noble commander replied, "that such being the case, i might send my servant." "the deil be in my feet," said andrew, without either having respect to the presence in which he stood, or waiting till i replied--"the deil be in my feet, if i gang my tae's length. do the folk think i hae another thrapple in my pouch after john highlandman's sneeked this ane wi' his joctaleg? or that i can dive doun at the tae side of a highland loch and rise at the tother, like a shell-drake? na, na--ilk ane for himsell, and god for us a'. folk may just make a page o' their ain age, and serve themsells till their bairns grow up, and gang their ain errands for andrew. rob roy never came near the parish of dreepdaily, to steal either pippin or pear frae me or mine." silencing my follower with some difficulty, i represented to the duke the great danger captain thornton and mr. jarvie would certainly be exposed to, and entreated he would make me the bearer of such modified terms as might be the means of saving their lives. i assured him i should decline no danger if i could be of service; but from what i had heard and seen, i had little doubt they would be instantly murdered should the chief of the outlaws suffer death. the duke was obviously much affected. "it was a hard case," he said, "and he felt it as such; but he had a paramount duty to perform to the country--rob roy must die!" i own it was not without emotion that i heard this threat of instant death to my acquaintance campbell, who had so often testified his good-will towards me. nor was i singular in the feeling, for many of those around the duke ventured to express themselves in his favour. "it would be more advisable," they said, "to send him to stirling castle, and there detain him a close prisoner, as a pledge for the submission and dispersion of his gang. it were a great pity to expose the country to be plundered, which, now that the long nights approached, it would be found very difficult to prevent, since it was impossible to guard every point, and the highlanders were sure to select those that were left exposed." they added, that there was great hardship in leaving the unfortunate prisoners to the almost certain doom of massacre denounced against them, which no one doubted would be executed in the first burst of revenge. garschattachin ventured yet farther, confiding in the honour of the nobleman whom he addressed, although he knew he had particular reasons for disliking their prisoner. "rob roy," he said, "though a kittle neighbour to the low country, and particularly obnoxious to his grace, and though he maybe carried the catheran trade farther than ony man o' his day, was an auld-farrand carle, and there might be some means of making him hear reason; whereas his wife and sons were reckless fiends, without either fear or mercy about them, and, at the head of a' his limmer loons, would be a worse plague to the country than ever he had been." "pooh! pooh!" replied his grace, "it is the very sense and cunning of this fellow which has so long maintained his reign--a mere highland robber would have been put down in as many weeks as he has flourished years. his gang, without him, is no more to be dreaded as a permanent annoyance--it will no longer exist--than a wasp without its head, which may sting once perhaps, but is instantly crushed into annihilation." garschattachin was not so easily silenced. "i am sure, my lord duke," he replied, "i have no favour for rob, and he as little for me, seeing he has twice cleaned out my ain byres, beside skaith amang my tenants; but, however"-- "but, however, garschattachin," said the duke, with a smile of peculiar expression, "i fancy you think such a freedom may be pardoned in a friend's friend, and rob's supposed to be no enemy to major galbraith's friends over the water." "if it be so, my lord," said garschattachin, in the same tone of jocularity, "it's no the warst thing i have heard of him. but i wish we heard some news from the clans, that we have waited for sae lang. i vow to god they'll keep a hielandman's word wi' us--i never ken'd them better--it's ill drawing boots upon trews." "i cannot believe it," said the duke. "these gentlemen are known to be men of honour, and i must necessarily suppose they are to keep their appointment. send out two more horse-men to look for our friends. we cannot, till their arrival, pretend to attack the pass where captain thornton has suffered himself to be surprised, and which, to my knowledge, ten men on foot might make good against a regiment of the best horse in europe--meanwhile let refreshments be given to the men." i had the benefit of this last order, the more necessary and acceptable, as i had tasted nothing since our hasty meal at aberfoil the evening before. the videttes who had been despatched returned without tidings of the expected auxiliaries, and sunset was approaching, when a highlander belonging to the clans whose co-operation was expected, appeared as the bearer of a letter, which he delivered to the duke with a most profound conge'. "now will i wad a hogshead of claret," said garschattachin, "that this is a message to tell us that these cursed highlandmen, whom we have fetched here at the expense of so much plague and vexation, are going to draw off, and leave us to do our own business if we can." "it is even so, gentlemen," said the duke, reddening with indignation, after having perused the letter, which was written upon a very dirty scrap of paper, but most punctiliously addressed, "for the much-honoured hands of ane high and mighty prince, the duke," &c. &c. &c. "our allies," continued the duke, "have deserted us, gentlemen, and have made a separate peace with the enemy." "it's just the fate of all alliances," said garschattachin, "the dutch were gaun to serve us the same gate, if we had not got the start of them at utrecht." "you are facetious, air," said the duke, with a frown which showed how little he liked the pleasantry; "but our business is rather of a grave cut just now.--i suppose no gentleman would advise our attempting to penetrate farther into the country, unsupported either by friendly highlanders, or by infantry from inversnaid?" a general answer announced that the attempt would be perfect madness. "nor would there be great wisdom," the duke added, "in remaining exposed to a night-attack in this place. i therefore propose that we should retreat to the house of duchray and that of gartartan, and keep safe and sure watch and ward until morning. but before we separate, i will examine rob roy before you all, and make you sensible, by your own eyes and ears, of the extreme unfitness of leaving him space for farther outrage." he gave orders accordingly, and the prisoner was brought before him, his arms belted down above the elbow, and secured to his body by a horse-girth buckled tight behind him. two non-commissioned officers had hold of him, one on each side, and two file of men with carabines and fixed bayonets attended for additional security. i had never seen this man in the dress of his country, which set in a striking point of view the peculiarities of his form. a shock-head of red hair, which the hat and periwig of the lowland costume had in a great measure concealed, was seen beneath the highland bonnet, and verified the epithet of _roy,_ or red, by which he was much better known in the low country than by any other, and is still, i suppose, best remembered. the justice of the appellation was also vindicated by the appearance of that part of his limbs, from the bottom of his kilt to the top of his short hose, which the fashion of his country dress left bare, and which was covered with a fell of thick, short, red hair, especially around his knees, which resembled in this respect, as well as from their sinewy appearance of extreme strength, the limbs of a red-coloured highland bull. upon the whole, betwixt the effect produced by the change of dress, and by my having become acquainted with his real and formidable character, his appearance had acquired to my eyes something so much wilder and more striking than it before presented, that i could scarce recognise him to be the same person. his manner was bold, unconstrained unless by the actual bonds, haughty, and even dignified. he bowed to the duke, nodded to garschattachin and others, and showed some surprise at seeing me among the party. "it is long since we have met, mr. campbell," said the duke. "it is so, my lord duke; i could have wished it had been" (looking at the fastening on his arms) "when i could have better paid the compliments i owe to your grace;--but there's a gude time coming." "no time like the time present, mr. campbell," answered the duke, "for the hours are fast flying that must settle your last account with all mortal affairs. i do not say this to insult your distress; but you must be aware yourself that you draw near the end of your career. i do not deny that you may sometimes have done less harm than others of your unhappy trade, and that you may occasionally have exhibited marks of talent, and even of a disposition which promised better things. but you are aware how long you have been the terror and the oppressor of a peaceful neighbourhood, and by what acts of violence you have maintained and extended your usurped authority. you know, in short, that you have deserved death, and that you must prepare for it." "my lord," said rob roy, "although i may well lay my misfortunes at your grace's door, yet i will never say that you yourself have been the wilful and witting author of them. my lord, if i had thought sae, your grace would not this day have been sitting in judgment on me; for you have been three times within good rifle distance of me when you were thinking but of the red deer, and few people have ken'd me miss my aim. but as for them that have abused your grace's ear, and set you up against a man that was ance as peacefu' a man as ony in the land, and made your name the warrant for driving me to utter extremity,--i have had some amends of them, and, for a' that your grace now says, i expect to live to hae mair." "i know," said the duke, in rising anger, "that you are a determined and impudent villain, who will keep his oath if he swears to mischief; but it shall be my care to prevent you. you have no enemies but your own wicked actions." "had i called myself grahame, instead of campbell, i might have heard less about them," answered rob roy, with dogged resolution. "you will do well, sir," said the duke, "to warn your wife and family and followers, to beware how they use the gentlemen now in their hands, as i will requite tenfold on them, and their kin and allies, the slightest injury done to any of his majesty's liege subjects." "my lord," said roy in answer, "none of my enemies will allege that i have been a bloodthirsty man, and were i now wi' my folk, i could rule four or five hundred wild hielanders as easy as your grace those eight or ten lackeys and foot-boys--but if your grace is bent to take the head away from a house, ye may lay your account there will be misrule amang the members.--however, come o't what like, there's an honest man, a kinsman o' my ain, maun come by nae skaith. is there ony body here wad do a gude deed for macgregor?--he may repay it, though his hands be now tied." the highlander who had delivered the letter to the duke replied, "i'll do your will for you, macgregor; and i'll gang back up the glen on purpose." he advanced, and received from the prisoner a message to his wife, which, being in gaelic, i did not understand, but i had little doubt it related to some measures to be taken for the safety of mr. jarvie. "do you hear the fellow's impudence?" said the duke; "he confides in his character of a messenger. his conduct is of a piece with his master's, who invited us to make common cause against these freebooters, and have deserted us so soon as the macgregors have agreed to surrender the balquhidder lands they were squabbling about. no truth in plaids, no faith in tartan trews! chameleon-like, they change a thousand hues." "your great ancestor never said so, my lord," answered major galbraith;--"and, with submission, neither would your grace have occasion to say it, wad ye but be for beginning justice at the well-head--gie the honest man his mear again--let every head wear it's ane bannet, and the distractions o' the lennox wad be mended wi' them o'the land." "hush! hush! garschattachin," said the duke; "this is language dangerous for you to talk to any one, and especially to me; but i presume you reckon yourself a privileged person. please to draw off your party towards gartartan; i shall myself see the prisoner escorted to duchray, and send you orders tomorrow. you will please grant no leave of absence to any of your troopers." "here's auld ordering and counter-ordering," muttered garschattachin between his teeth. "but patience! patience!--we may ae day play at change seats, the king's coming." the two troops of cavalry now formed, and prepared to march off the ground, that they might avail themselves of the remainder of daylight to get to their evening quarters. i received an intimation, rather than an invitation, to attend the party; and i perceived, that, though no longer considered as a prisoner, i was yet under some sort of suspicion. the times were indeed so dangerous,--the great party questions of jacobite and hanoverian divided the country so effectually,--and the constant disputes and jealousies between the highlanders and lowlanders, besides a number of inexplicable causes of feud which separated the great leading families in scotland from each other, occasioned such general suspicion, that a solitary and unprotected stranger was almost sure to meet with something disagreeable in the course of his travels. i acquiesced, however, in my destination with the best grace i could, consoling myself with the hope that i might obtain from the captive freebooter some information concerning rashleigh and his machinations. i should do myself injustice did i not add, that my views were not merely selfish. i was too much interested in my singular acquaintance not to be desirous of rendering him such services as his unfortunate situation might demand, or admit of his receiving. chapter sixteen. and when he came to broken brigg, he bent his bow and swam; and when he came to grass growing, set down his feet and ran. gil morrice. the echoes of the rocks and ravines, on either side, now rang to the trumpets of the cavalry, which, forming themselves into two distinct bodies, began to move down the valley at a slow trot. that commanded by major galbraith soon took to the right hand, and crossed the forth, for the purpose of taking up the quarters assigned them for the night, when they were to occupy, as i understood, an old castle in the vicinity. they formed a lively object while crossing the stream, but were soon lost in winding up the bank on the opposite side, which was clothed with wood. we continued our march with considerable good order. to ensure the safe custody of the prisoner, the duke had caused him to be placed on horseback behind one of his retainers, called, as i was informed, ewan of brigglands, one of the largest and strongest men who were present. a horse-belt, passed round the bodies of both, and buckled before the yeoman's breast, rendered it impossible for rob roy to free himself from his keeper. i was directed to keep close beside them, and accommodated for the purpose with a troop-horse. we were as closely surrounded by the soldiers as the width of the road would permit, and had always at least one, if not two, on each side, with pistol in hand. andrew fairservice, furnished with a highland pony, of which they had made prey somewhere or other, was permitted to ride among the other domestics, of whom a great number attended the line of march, though without falling into the ranks of the more regularly trained troopers. in this manner we travelled for a certain distance, until we arrived at a place where we also were to cross the river. the forth, as being the outlet of a lake, is of considerable depth, even where less important in point of width, and the descent to the ford was by a broken precipitous ravine, which only permitted one horseman to descend at once. the rear and centre of our small body halting on the bank while the front files passed down in succession, produced a considerable delay, as is usual on such occasions, and even some confusion; for a number of those riders, who made no proper part of the squadron, crowded to the ford without regularity, and made the militia cavalry, although tolerably well drilled, partake in some degree of their own disorder. [illustration: escape of rob roy at the ford-- ] it was while we were thus huddled together on the bank that i heard rob roy whisper to the man behind whom he was placed on horseback, "your father, ewan, wadna hae carried an auld friend to the shambles, like a calf, for a' the dukes in christendom." ewan returned no answer, but shrugged, as one who would express by that sign that what he was doing was none of his own choice. "and when the macgregors come down the glen, and ye see toom faulds, a bluidy hearthstone, and the fire flashing out between the rafters o' your house, ye may be thinking then, ewan, that were your friend rob to the fore, you would have had that safe which it will make your heart sair to lose." ewan of brigglands again shrugged and groaned, but remained silent. "it's a sair thing," continued rob, sliding his insinuations so gently into ewan's ear that they reached no other but mine, who certainly saw myself in no shape called upon to destroy his prospects of escape--"it's a sair thing, that ewan of brigglands, whom roy macgregor has helped with hand, sword, and purse, suld mind a gloom from a great man mair than a friend's life." ewan seemed sorely agitated, but was silent.--we heard the duke's voice from the opposite bank call, "bring over the prisoner." ewan put his horse in motion, and just as i heard roy say, "never weigh a macgregor's bluid against a broken whang o' leather, for there will be another accounting to gie for it baith here and hereafter," they passed me hastily, and dashing forward rather precipitately, entered the water. "not yet, sir--not yet," said some of the troopers to me, as i was about to follow, while others pressed forward into the stream. i saw the duke on the other side, by the waning light, engaged in commanding his people to get into order, as they landed dispersedly, some higher, some lower. many had crossed, some were in the water, and the rest were preparing to follow, when a sudden splash warned me that macgregor's eloquence had prevailed on ewan to give him freedom and a chance for life. the duke also heard the sound, and instantly guessed its meaning. "dog!" he exclaimed to ewan as he landed, "where is your prisoner?" and, without waiting to hear the apology which the terrified vassal began to falter forth, he fired a pistol at his head, whether fatally i know not, and exclaimed, "gentlemen, disperse and pursue the villain--an hundred guineas for him that secures rob roy!" all became an instant scene of the most lively confusion. rob roy, disengaged from his bonds, doubtless by ewan's slipping the buckle of his belt, had dropped off at the horse's tail, and instantly dived, passing under the belly of the troop-horse which was on his left hand. but as he was obliged to come to the surface an instant for air, the glimpse of his tartan plaid drew the attention of the troopers, some of whom plunged into the river, with a total disregard to their own safety, rushing, according to the expression of their country, through pool and stream, sometimes swimming their horses, sometimes losing them and struggling for their own lives. others, less zealous or more prudent, broke off in different directions, and galloped up and down the banks, to watch the places at which the fugitive might possibly land. the hollowing, the whooping, the calls for aid at different points, where they saw, or conceived they saw, some vestige of him they were seeking,--the frequent report of pistols and carabines, fired at every object which excited the least suspicion,--the sight of so many horsemen riding about, in and out of the river, and striking with their long broadswords at whatever excited their attention, joined to the vain exertions used by their officers to restore order and regularity,--and all this in so wild a scene, and visible only by the imperfect twilight of an autumn evening, made the most extraordinary hubbub i had hitherto witnessed. i was indeed left alone to observe it, for our whole cavalcade had dispersed in pursuit, or at least to see the event of the search. indeed, as i partly suspected at the time, and afterwards learned with certainty, many of those who seemed most active in their attempts to waylay and recover the fugitive, were, in actual truth, least desirous that he should be taken, and only joined in the cry to increase the general confusion, and to give rob roy a better opportunity of escaping. escape, indeed, was not difficult for a swimmer so expert as the freebooter, as soon as he had eluded the first burst of pursuit. at one time he was closely pressed, and several blows were made which flashed in the water around him; the scene much resembling one of the otter-hunts which i had seen at osbaldistone hall, where the animal is detected by the hounds from his being necessitated to put his nose above the stream to vent or breathe, while he is enabled to elude them by getting under water again so soon as he has refreshed himself by respiration. macgregor, however, had a trick beyond the otter; for he contrived, when very closely pursued, to disengage himself unobserved from his plaid, and suffer it to float down the stream, where in its progress it quickly attracted general attention; many of the horsemen were thus put upon a false scent, and several shots or stabs were averted from the party for whom they were designed. once fairly out of view, the recovery of the prisoner became almost impossible, since, in so many places, the river was rendered inaccessible by the steepness of its banks, or the thickets of alders, poplars, and birch, which, overhanging its banks, prevented the approach of horsemen. errors and accidents had also happened among the pursuers, whose task the approaching night rendered every moment more hopeless. some got themselves involved in the eddies of the stream, and required the assistance of their companions to save them from drowning. others, hurt by shots or blows in the confused mele'e, implored help or threatened vengeance, and in one or two instances such accidents led to actual strife. the trumpets, therefore, sounded the retreat, announcing that the commanding officer, with whatsoever unwillingness, had for the present relinquished hopes of the important prize which had thus unexpectedly escaped his grasp, and the troopers began slowly, reluctantly, and brawling with each other as they returned, again to assume their ranks. i could see them darkening, as they formed on the southern bank of the river,--whose murmurs, long drowned by the louder cries of vengeful pursuit, were now heard hoarsely mingling with the deep, discontented, and reproachful voices of the disappointed horsemen. hitherto i had been as it were a mere spectator, though far from an uninterested one, of the singular scene which had passed. but now i heard a voice suddenly exclaim, "where is the english stranger?--it was he gave rob roy the knife to cut the belt." "cleeve the pock-pudding to the chafts!" cried one voice. "weize a brace of balls through his harn-pan!" said a second. "drive three inches of cauld airn into his brisket!" shouted a third. and i heard several horses galloping to and fro, with the kind purpose, doubtless, of executing these denunciations. i was immediately awakened to the sense of my situation, and to the certainty that armed men, having no restraint whatever on their irritated and inflamed passions, would probably begin by shooting or cutting me down, and afterwards investigate the justice of the action. impressed by this belief, i leaped from my horse, and turning him loose, plunged into a bush of alder-trees, where, considering the advancing obscurity of the night, i thought there was little chance of my being discovered. had i been near enough to the duke to have invoked his personal protection, i would have done so; but he had already commenced his retreat, and i saw no officer on the left bank of the river, of authority sufficient to have afforded protection, in case of my surrendering myself. i thought there was no point of honour which could require, in such circumstances, an unnecessary exposure of my life. my first idea, when the tumult began to be appeased, and the clatter of the horses' feet was heard less frequently in the immediate vicinity of my hiding-place, was to seek out the duke's quarters when all should be quiet, and give myself up to him, as a liege subject, who had nothing to fear from his justice, and a stranger, who had every right to expect protection and hospitality. with this purpose i crept out of my hiding-place, and looked around me. the twilight had now melted nearly into darkness; a few or none of the troopers were left on my side of the forth, and of those who were already across it, i only heard the distant trample of the horses' feet, and the wailing and prolonged sound of their trumpets, which rung through the woods to recall stragglers, here, therefore, i was left in a situation of considerable difficulty. i had no horse, and the deep and wheeling stream of the river, rendered turbid by the late tumult of which its channel had been the scene, and seeming yet more so under the doubtful influence of an imperfect moonlight, had no inviting influence for a pedestrian by no means accustomed to wade rivers, and who had lately seen horsemen weltering, in this dangerous passage, up to the very saddle-laps. at the same time, my prospect, if i remained on the side of the river on which i then stood, could be no other than of concluding the various fatigues of this day and the preceding night, by passing that which was now closing in, _al fresco_ on the side of a highland hill. after a moment's reflection, i began to consider that fairservice, who had doubtless crossed the river with the other domestics, according to his forward and impertinent custom of putting himself always among the foremost, could not fail to satisfy the duke, or the competent authorities, respecting my rank and situation; and that, therefore, my character did not require my immediate appearance, at the risk of being drowned in the river--of being unable to trace the march of the squadron in case of my reaching the other side in safety--or, finally, of being cut down, right or wrong, by some straggler, who might think such a piece of good service a convenient excuse for not sooner rejoining his ranks. i therefore resolved to measure my steps back to the little inn, where i had passed the preceding night. i had nothing to apprehend from rob roy. he was now at liberty, and i was certain, in case of my falling in with any of his people, the news of his escape would ensure me protection. i might thus also show, that i had no intention to desert mr. jarvie in the delicate situation in which he had engaged himself chiefly on my account. and lastly, it was only in this quarter that i could hope to learn tidings concerning rashleigh and my father's papers, which had been the original cause of an expedition so fraught with perilous adventure. i therefore abandoned all thoughts of crossing the forth that evening; and, turning my back on the fords of frew, began to retrace my steps towards the little village of aberfoil. a sharp frost-wind, which made itself heard and felt from time to time, removed the clouds of mist which might otherwise have slumbered till morning on the valley; and, though it could not totally disperse the clouds of vapour, yet threw them in confused and changeful masses, now hovering round the heads of the mountains, now filling, as with a dense and voluminous stream of smoke, the various deep gullies where masses of the composite rock, or breccia, tumbling in fragments from the cliffs, have rushed to the valley, leaving each behind its course a rent and torn ravine resembling a deserted water-course. the moon, which was now high, and twinkled with all the vivacity of a frosty atmosphere, silvered the windings of the river and the peaks and precipices which the mist left visible, while her beams seemed as it were absorbed by the fleecy whiteness of the mist, where it lay thick and condensed; and gave to the more light and vapoury specks, which were elsewhere visible, a sort of filmy transparency resembling the lightest veil of silver gauze. despite the uncertainty of my situation, a view so romantic, joined to the active and inspiring influence of the frosty atmosphere, elevated my spirits while it braced my nerves. i felt an inclination to cast care away, and bid defiance to danger, and involuntarily whistled, by way of cadence to my steps, which my feeling of the cold led me to accelerate, and i felt the pulse of existence beat prouder and higher in proportion as i felt confidence in my own strength, courage, and resources. i was so much lost in these thoughts, and in the feelings which they excited, that two horsemen came up behind me without my hearing their approach, until one was on each side of me, when the left-hand rider, pulling up his horse, addressed me in the english tongue--"so ho, friend! whither so late?" "to my supper and bed at aberfoil," i replied. "are the passes open?" he inquired, with the same commanding tone of voice. "i do not know," i replied; "i shall learn when i get there. but," i added, the fate of morris recurring to my recollection, "if you are an english stranger, i advise you to turn back till daylight; there has been some disturbance in this neighbourhood, and i should hesitate to say it is perfectly safe for strangers." "the soldiers had the worst?--had they not?" was the reply. "they had indeed; and an officer's party were destroyed or made prisoners." "are you sure of that?" replied the horseman. "as sure as that i hear you speak," i replied. "i was an unwilling spectator of the skirmish." "unwilling!" continued the interrogator. "were you not engaged in it then?" "certainly no," i replied; "i was detained by the king's officer." "on what suspicion? and who are you? or what is your name?" he continued. "i really do not know, sir," said i, "why i should answer so many questions to an unknown stranger. i have told you enough to convince you that you are going into a dangerous and distracted country. if you choose to proceed, it is your own affair; but as i ask you no questions respecting your name and business, you will oblige me by making no inquiries after mine." "mr. francis osbaldistone," said the other rider, in a voice the tones of which thrilled through every nerve of my body, "should not whistle his favourite airs when he wishes to remain undiscovered." and diana vernon--for she, wrapped in a horseman's cloak, was the last speaker--whistled in playful mimicry the second part of the tune which was on my lips when they came up. "good god!" i exclaimed, like one thunderstruck, "can it be you, miss vernon, on such a spot--at such an hour--in such a lawless country--in such"-- "in such a masculine dress, you would say.--but what would you have? the philosophy of the excellent corporal nym is the best after all; things must be as they may--_pauca verba._" while she was thus speaking, i eagerly took advantage of an unusually bright gleam of moonshine, to study the appearance of her companion; for it may be easily supposed, that finding miss vernon in a place so solitary, engaged in a journey so dangerous, and under the protection of one gentleman only, were circumstances to excite every feeling of jealousy, as well as surprise. the rider did not speak with the deep melody of rashleigh's voice; his tones were more high and commanding; he was taller, moreover, as he sate on horseback, than that first-rate object of my hate and suspicion. neither did the stranger's address resemble that of any of my other cousins; it had that indescribable tone and manner by which we recognise a man of sense and breeding, even in the first few sentences he speaks. the object of my anxiety seemed desirous to get rid of my investigation. "diana," he said, in a tone of mingled kindness and authority, "give your cousin his property, and let us not spend time here." miss vernon had in the meantime taken out a small case, and leaning down from her horse towards me, she said, in a tone in which an effort at her usual quaint lightness of expression contended with a deeper and more grave tone of sentiment, "you see, my dear coz, i was born to be your better angel. rashleigh has been compelled to yield up his spoil, and had we reached this same village of aberfoil last night, as we purposed, i should have found some highland sylph to have wafted to you all these representatives of commercial wealth. but there were giants and dragons in the way; and errant-knights and damsels of modern times, bold though they be, must not, as of yore, run into useless danger--do not you do so either, my dear coz." "diana," said her companion, "let me once more warn you that the evening waxes late, and we are still distant from our home." "i am coming, sir, i am coming--consider," she added, with a sigh, "how lately i have been subjected to control--besides, i have not yet given my cousin the packet, and bid him fare-well--for ever. yes, frank," she said, "for ever!--there is a gulf between us--a gulf of absolute perdition;--where we go, you must not follow--what we do, you must not share in--farewell--be happy!" [illustration: parting of die and frank on the moor -- ] in the attitude in which she bent from her horse, which was a highland pony, her face, not perhaps altogether unwillingly, touched mine. she pressed my hand, while the tear that trembled in her eye found its way to my cheek instead of her own. it was a moment never to be forgotten--inexpressibly bitter, yet mixed with a sensation of pleasure so deeply soothing and affecting, as at once to unlock all the flood-gates of the heart. it was _but_ a moment, however; for, instantly recovering from the feeling to which she had involuntarily given way, she intimated to her companion she was ready to attend him, and putting their horses to a brisk pace, they were soon far distant from the place where i stood. heaven knows, it was not apathy which loaded my frame and my tongue so much, that i could neither return miss vernon's half embrace, nor even answer her farewell. the word, though it rose to my tongue, seemed to choke in my throat like the fatal _guilty,_ which the delinquent who makes it his plea, knows must be followed by the doom of death. the surprise--the sorrow, almost stupified me. i remained motionless with the packet in my hand, gazing after them, as if endeavouring to count the sparkles which flew from the horses' hoofs. i continued to look after even these had ceased to be visible, and to listen for their footsteps long after the last distant trampling had died in my ears. at length, tears rushed to my eyes, glazed as they were by the exertion of straining after what was no longer to be seen. i wiped them mechanically, and almost without being aware that they were flowing--but they came thicker and thicker; i felt the tightening of the throat and breast--the _hysterica passio_ of poor lear; and sitting down by the wayside, i shed a flood of the first and most bitter tears which had flowed from my eyes since childhood. chapter seventeen. _dangle._--egad, i think the interpreter is the harder to be understood of the two. critic. i had scarce given vent to my feelings in this paroxysm, ere was ashamed of my weakness. i remembered that i had been for some time endeavouring to regard diana vernon, when her idea intruded itself on my remembrance, as a friend, for whose welfare i should indeed always be anxious, but with whom i could have little further communication. but the almost unrepressed tenderness of her manner, joined to the romance of our sudden meeting where it was so little to have been expected, were circumstances which threw me entirely off my guard. i recovered, however, sooner than might have been expected, and without giving myself time accurately to examine my motives. i resumed the path on which i had been travelling when overtaken by this strange and unexpected apparition. "i am not," was my reflection, "transgressing her injunction so pathetically given, since i am but pursuing my own journey by the only open route.--if i have succeeded in recovering my father's property, it still remains incumbent on me to see my glasgow friend delivered from the situation in which he has involved himself on my account; besides, what other place of rest can i obtain for the night excepting at the little inn of aberfoil? they also must stop there, since it is impossible for travellers on horseback to go farther--well, then, we shall meet again--meet for the last time perhaps--but i shall see and hear her--i shall learn who this happy man is who exercises over her the authority of a husband--i shall learn if there remains, in the difficult course in which she seems engaged, any difficulty which my efforts may remove, or aught that i can do to express my gratitude for her generosity--for her disinterested friendship." as i reasoned thus with myself, colouring with every plausible pretext which occurred to my ingenuity my passionate desire once more to see and converse with my cousin, i was suddenly hailed by a touch on the shoulder; and the deep voice of a highlander, who, walking still faster than i, though i was proceeding at a smart pace, accosted me with, "a braw night, maister osbaldistone--we have met at the mirk hour before now." there was no mistaking the tone of macgregor; he had escaped the pursuit of his enemies, and was in full retreat to his own wilds and to his adherents. he had also contrived to arm himself, probably at the house of some secret adherent, for he had a musket on his shoulder, and the usual highland weapons by his side. to have found myself alone with such a character in such a situation, and at this late hour in the evening, might not have been pleasant to me in any ordinary mood of mind; for, though habituated to think of rob roy in rather a friendly point of view, i will confess frankly that i never heard him speak but that it seemed to thrill my blood. the intonation of the mountaineers gives a habitual depth and hollowness to the sound of their words, owing to the guttural expression so common in their native language, and they usually speak with a good deal of emphasis. to these national peculiarities rob roy added a sort of hard indifference of accent and manner, expressive of a mind neither to be daunted, nor surprised, nor affected by what passed before him, however dreadful, however sudden, however afflicting. habitual danger, with unbounded confidence in his own strength and sagacity, had rendered him indifferent to fear, and the lawless and precarious life he led had blunted, though its dangers and errors had not destroyed, his feelings for others. and it was to be remembered that i had very lately seen the followers of this man commit a cruel slaughter on an unarmed and suppliant individual. yet such was the state of my mind, that i welcomed the company of the outlaw leader as a relief to my own overstrained and painful thoughts; and was not without hopes that through his means i might obtain some clew of guidance through the maze in which my fate had involved me. i therefore answered his greeting cordially, and congratulated him on his late escape in circumstances when escape seemed impossible. "ay," he replied, "there is as much between the craig and the woodie* as there is between the cup and the lip. but my peril was less than you may think, being a stranger to this country. * _i.e._ the throat and the withy. twigs of willow, such as bind faggots, were often used for halters in scotland and ireland, being a sage economy of hemp. of those that were summoned to take me, and to keep me, and to retake me again, there was a moiety, as cousin nicol jarvie calls it, that had nae will that i suld be either taen, or keepit fast, or retaen; and of tother moiety, there was as half was feared to stir me; and so i had only like the fourth part of fifty or sixty men to deal withal." "and enough, too, i should think," replied i. "i dinna ken that," said he; "but i ken, that turn every ill-willer that i had amang them out upon the green before the clachan of aberfoil, i wad find them play with broadsword and target, one down and another come on." he now inquired into my adventures since we entered his country, and laughed heartily at my account of the battle we had in the inn, and at the exploits of the bailie with the red-hot poker. "let glasgow flourish!" he exclaimed. "the curse of cromwell on me, if i wad hae wished better sport than to see cousin nicol jarvie singe iverach's plaid, like a sheep's head between a pair of tongs. but my cousin jarvie," he added, more gravely, "has some gentleman's bluid in his veins, although he has been unhappily bred up to a peaceful and mechanical craft, which could not but blunt any pretty man's spirit.--ye may estimate the reason why i could not receive you at the clachan of aberfoil as i purposed. they had made a fine hosenet for me when i was absent twa or three days at glasgow, upon the king's business--but i think i broke up the league about their lugs--they'll no be able to hound one clan against another as they hae dune. i hope soon to see the day when a' hielandmen will stand shouther to shouther. but what chanced next?" i gave him an account of the arrival of captain thornton and his party, and the arrest of the bailie and myself under pretext of our being suspicious persons; and upon his more special inquiry, i recollected the officer had mentioned that, besides my name sounding suspicious in his ears, he had orders to secure an old and young person, resembling our description. this again moved the outlaw's risibility. "as man lives by bread," he said, "the buzzards have mistaen my friend the bailie for his excellency, and you for diana vernon--o, the most egregious night-howlets!" "miss vernon?" said i, with hesitation, and trembling for the answer--"does she still bear that name? she passed but now, along with a gentleman who seemed to use a style of authority." "ay, ay," answered rob, "she's under lawfu' authority now; and full time, for she was a daft hempie--but she's a mettle quean. it's a pity his excellency is a thought eldern. the like o' yourself, or my son hamish, wad be mair sortable in point of years." here, then, was a complete downfall of those castles of cards which my fancy had, in despite of my reason, so often amused herself with building. although in truth i had scarcely anything else to expect, since i could not suppose that diana could be travelling in such a country, at such an hour, with any but one who had a legal title to protect her, i did not feel the blow less severely when it came; and macgregor's voice, urging me to pursue my story, sounded in my ears without conveying any exact import to my mind. "you are ill," he said at length, after he had spoken twice without receiving an answer; "this day's wark has been ower muckle for ane doubtless unused to sic things." the tone of kindness in which this was spoken, recalling me to myself, and to the necessities of my situation, i continued my narrative as well as i could. rob roy expressed great exultation at the successful skirmish in the pass. "they say," he observed, "that king's chaff is better than other folk's corn; but i think that canna be said o' king's soldiers, if they let themselves be beaten wi' a wheen auld carles that are past fighting, and bairns that are no come till't, and wives wi' their rocks and distaffs, the very wally-draigles o' the countryside. and dougal gregor, too--wha wad hae thought there had been as muckle sense in his tatty-pow, that ne'er had a better covering than his ain shaggy hassock of hair!--but say away--though i dread what's to come neist--for my helen's an incarnate devil when her bluid's up--puir thing, she has ower muckle reason." i observed as much delicacy as i could in communicating to him the usage we had received, but i obviously saw the detail gave him great pain. "i wad rather than a thousand merks," he said, "that i had been at hame! to misguide strangers, and forbye a', my ain natural cousin, that had showed me sic kindness--i wad rather they had burned half the lennox in their folly! but this comes o' trusting women and their bairns, that have neither measure nor reason in their dealings. however, it's a' owing to that dog of a gauger, wha betrayed me by pretending a message from your cousin rashleigh, to meet him on the king's affairs, whilk i thought was very like to be anent garschattachin and a party of the lennox declaring themselves for king james. faith! but i ken'd i was clean beguiled when i heard the duke was there; and when they strapped the horse-girth ower my arms, i might hae judged what was biding me; for i ken'd your kinsman, being, wi' pardon, a slippery loon himself, is prone to employ those of his ain kidney--i wish he mayna hae been at the bottom o' the ploy himsell--i thought the chield morris looked devilish queer when i determined he should remain a wad, or hostage, for my safe back-coming. but i _am_ come back, nae thanks to him, or them that employed him; and the question is, how the collector loon is to win back himsell--i promise him it will not be without a ransom." "morris," said i, "has already paid the last ransom which mortal man can owe." "eh! what?" exclaimed my companion hastily; "what d'ye say? i trust it was in the skirmish he was killed?" "he was slain in cold blood after the fight was over, mr. campbell." "cold blood?--damnation!" he said, muttering betwixt his teeth--"how fell that, sir? speak out, sir, and do not maister or campbell me--my foot is on my native heath, and my name is macgregor!" his passions were obviously irritated; but without noticing the rudeness of his tone, i gave him a short and distinct account of the death of morris. he struck the butt of his gun with great vehemence against the ground, and broke out--"i vow to god, such a deed might make one forswear kin, clan, country, wife, and bairns! and yet the villain wrought long for it. and what is the difference between warsling below the water wi' a stane about your neck, and wavering in the wind wi' a tether round it?--it's but choking after a', and he drees the doom he ettled for me. i could have wished, though, they had rather putten a ball through him, or a dirk; for the fashion of removing him will give rise to mony idle clavers--but every wight has his weird, and we maun a' dee when our day comes--and naebody will deny that helen macgregor has deep wrongs to avenge." so saying, he seemed to dismiss the theme altogether from his mind, and proceeded to inquire how i got free from the party in whose hands he had seen me. my story was soon told; and i added the episode of my having recovered the papers of my father, though i dared not trust my voice to name the name of diana. "i was sure ye wad get them," said macgregor;--"the letter ye brought me contained his excellency's pleasure to that effect and nae doubt it was my will to have aided in it. and i asked ye up into this glen on the very errand. but it's like his excellency has foregathered wi' rashleigh sooner than i expected." the first part of this answer was what most forcibly struck me. "was the letter i brought you, then, from this person you call his excellency? who is he? and what is his rank and proper name?" "i am thinking," said macgregor, "that since ye dinna ken them already they canna be o' muckle consequence to you, and sae i shall say naething on that score. but weel i wot the letter was frae his ain hand, or, having a sort of business of my ain on my hands, being, as ye weel may see, just as much as i can fairly manage, i canna say i would hae fashed mysell sae muckle about the matter." i now recollected the lights seen in the library--the various circumstances which had excited my jealousy--the glove--the agitation of the tapestry which covered the secret passage from rashleigh's apartment; and, above all, i recollected that diana retired in order to write, as i then thought, the billet to which i was to have recourse in case of the last necessity. her hours, then, were not spent in solitude, but in listening to the addresses of some desperate agent of jacobitical treason, who was a secret resident within the mansion of her uncle! other young women have sold themselves for gold, or suffered themselves to be seduced from their first love from vanity; but diana had sacrificed my affections and her own to partake the fortunes of some desperate adventurer--to seek the haunts of freebooters through midnight deserts, with no better hopes of rank or fortune than that mimicry of both which the mock court of the stuarts at st. germains had in their power to bestow. "i will see her," i said internally, "if it be possible, once more. i will argue with her as a friend--as a kinsman--on the risk she is incurring, and i will facilitate her retreat to france, where she may, with more comfort and propriety, as well as safety, abide the issue of the turmoils which the political trepanner, to whom she has united her fate, is doubtless busied in putting into motion." "i conclude, then," i said to macgregor, after about five minutes' silence on both sides, "that his excellency, since you give me no other name for him, was residing in osbaldistone hall at the same time with myself?" "to be sure--to be sure--and in the young lady's apartment, as best reason was." this gratuitous information was adding gall to bitterness. "but few," added macgregor, "ken'd he was derned there, save rashleigh and sir hildebrand; for you were out o' the question; and the young lads haena wit eneugh to ca' the cat frae the cream--but it's a bra' auld-fashioned house, and what i specially admire is the abundance o' holes and bores and concealments--ye could put twenty or thirty men in ae corner, and a family might live a week without finding them out--whilk, nae doubt, may on occasion be a special convenience. i wish we had the like o' osbaldistone hall on the braes o' craig-royston--but we maun gar woods and caves serve the like o' us puir hieland bodies." "i suppose his excellency," said i, "was privy to the first accident which befell"-- i could not help hesitating a moment. "ye were going to say morris," said rob roy coolly, for he was too much accustomed to deeds of violence for the agitation he had at first expressed to be of long continuance. "i used to laugh heartily at that reik; but i'll hardly hae the heart to do't again, since the ill-far'd accident at the loch. na, na--his excellency ken'd nought o' that ploy--it was a' managed atween rashleigh and mysell. but the sport that came after--and rashleigh's shift o' turning the suspicion aff himself upon you, that he had nae grit favour to frae the beginning--and then miss die, she maun hae us sweep up a' our spiders' webs again, and set you out o' the justice's claws--and then the frightened craven morris, that was scared out o' his seven senses by seeing the real man when he was charging the innocent stranger--and the gowk of a clerk--and the drunken carle of a justice--ohon! ohon!--mony a laugh that job's gien me--and now, a' that i can do for the puir devil is to get some messes said for his soul." "may i ask," said i, "how miss vernon came to have so much influence over rashleigh and his accomplices as to derange your projected plan?" "mine! it was none of mine. no man can say i ever laid my burden on other folk's shoulders--it was a' rashleigh's doings. but, undoubtedly, she had great influence wi' us baith on account of his excellency's affection, as weel as that she ken'd far ower mony secrets to be lightlied in a matter o' that kind.--deil tak him," he ejaculated, by way of summing up, "that gies women either secret to keep or power to abuse--fules shouldna hae chapping-sticks." we were now within a quarter of a mile from the village, when three highlanders, springing upon us with presented arms, commanded us to stand and tell our business. the single word _gregaragh,_ in the deep and commanding voice of my companion, was answered by a shout, or rather yell, of joyful recognition. one, throwing down his firelock, clasped his leader so fast round the knees, that he was unable to extricate himself, muttering, at the same time, a torrent of gaelic gratulation, which every now and then rose into a sort of scream of gladness. the two others, after the first howling was over, set off literally with the speed of deers, contending which should first carry to the village, which a strong party of the macgregors now occupied, the joyful news of rob roy's escape and return. the intelligence excited such shouts of jubilation, that the very hills rung again, and young and old, men, women, and children, without distinction of sex or age, came running down the vale to meet us, with all the tumultuous speed and clamour of a mountain torrent. when i heard the rushing noise and yells of this joyful multitude approach us, i thought it a fitting precaution to remind macgregor that i was a stranger, and under his protection. he accordingly held me fast by the hand, while the assemblage crowded around him with such shouts of devoted attachment, and joy at his return, as were really affecting; nor did he extend to his followers what all eagerly sought, the grasp, namely, of his hand, until he had made them understand that i was to be kindly and carefully used. the mandate of the sultan of delhi could not have been more promptly obeyed. indeed, i now sustained nearly as much inconvenience from their well-meant attentions as formerly from their rudeness. they would hardly allow the friend of their leader to walk upon his own legs, so earnest were they in affording me support and assistance upon the way; and at length, taking advantage of a slight stumble which i made over a stone, which the press did not permit me to avoid, they fairly seized upon me, and bore me in their arms in triumph towards mrs. macalpine's. on arrival before her hospitable wigwam, i found power and popularity had its inconveniences in the highlands, as everywhere else; for, before macgregor could be permitted to enter the house where he was to obtain rest and refreshment, he was obliged to relate the story of his escape at least a dozen times over, as i was told by an officious old man, who chose to translate it at least as often for my edification, and to whom i was in policy obliged to seem to pay a decent degree of attention. the audience being at length satisfied, group after group departed to take their bed upon the heath, or in the neighbouring huts, some cursing the duke and garschattachin, some lamenting the probable danger of ewan of brigglands, incurred by his friendship to macgregor, but all agreeing that the escape of rob roy himself lost nothing in comparison with the exploit of any one of their chiefs since the days of dougal ciar, the founder of his line. the friendly outlaw, now taking me by the arm, conducted me into the interior of the hut. my eyes roved round its smoky recesses in quest of diana and her companion; but they were nowhere to be seen, and i felt as if to make inquiries might betray some secret motives, which were best concealed. the only known countenance upon which my eyes rested was that of the bailie, who, seated on a stool by the fireside, received with a sort of reserved dignity, the welcomes of rob roy, the apologies which he made for his indifferent accommodation, and his inquiries after his health. "i am pretty weel, kinsman," said the bailie--"indifferent weel, i thank ye; and for accommodations, ane canna expect to carry about the saut market at his tail, as a snail does his caup;--and i am blythe that ye hae gotten out o' the hands o' your unfreends." "weel, weel, then," answered roy, "what is't ails ye, man--a's weel that ends weel!--the warld will last our day--come, take a cup o' brandy--your father the deacon could take ane at an orra time." "it might be he might do sae, robin, after fatigue--whilk has been my lot mair ways than ane this day. but," he continued, slowly filling up a little wooden stoup which might hold about three glasses, "he was a moderate man of his bicker, as i am mysell--here's wussing health to ye, robin" (a sip), "and your weelfare here and hereafter" (another taste), "and also to my cousin helen--and to your twa hopefu' lads, of whom mair anon." so saying, he drank up the contents of the cup with great gravity and deliberation, while macgregor winked aside to me, as if in ridicule of the air of wisdom and superior authority which the bailie assumed towards him in their intercourse, and which he exercised when rob was at the head of his armed clan, in full as great, or a greater degree, than when he was at the bailie's mercy in the tolbooth of glasgow. it seemed to me, that macgregor wished me, as a stranger, to understand, that if he submitted to the tone which his kinsman assumed, it was partly out of deference to the rights of hospitality, but still more for the jest's sake. as the bailie set down his cup he recognised me, and giving me a cordial welcome on my return, he waived farther communication with me for the present.--"i will speak to your matters anon; i maun begin, as in reason, wi' those of my kinsman.--i presume, robin, there's naebody here will carry aught o' what i am gaun to say, to the town-council or elsewhere, to my prejudice or to yours?" "make yourself easy on that head, cousin nicol," answered macgregor; "the tae half o' the gillies winna ken what ye say, and the tother winna care--besides that, i wad stow the tongue out o' the head o' any o' them that suld presume to say ower again ony speech held wi' me in their presence." "aweel, cousin, sic being the case, and mr. osbaldistone here being a prudent youth, and a safe friend--i'se plainly tell ye, ye are breeding up your family to gang an ill gate." then, clearing his voice with a preliminary hem, he addressed his kinsman, checking, as malvolio proposed to do when seated in his state, his familiar smile with an austere regard of control.--"ye ken yourself ye haud light by the law--and for my cousin helen, forbye that her reception o' me this blessed day--whilk i excuse on account of perturbation of mind, was muckle on the north side o' _friendly,_ i say (outputting this personal reason of complaint) i hae that to say o' your wife"-- "say _nothing_ of her, kinsman," said rob, in a grave and stern tone, "but what is befitting a friend to say, and her husband to hear. of me you are welcome to say your full pleasure." "aweel, aweel," said the bailie, somewhat disconcerted, "we'se let that be a pass-over--i dinna approve of making mischief in families. but here are your twa sons, hamish and robin, whilk signifies, as i'm gien to understand, james and robert--i trust ye will call them sae in future--there comes nae gude o' hamishes, and eachines, and angusses, except that they're the names ane aye chances to see in the indictments at the western circuits for cow-lifting, at the instance of his majesty's advocate for his majesty's interest. aweel, but the twa lads, as i was saying, they haena sae muckle as the ordinar grunds, man, of liberal education--they dinna ken the very multiplication table itself, whilk is the root of a' usefu' knowledge, and they did naething but laugh and fleer at me when i tauld them my mind on their ignorance--it's my belief they can neither read, write, nor cipher, if sic a thing could be believed o' ane's ain connections in a christian land." "if they could, kinsman," said macgregor, with great indifference, "their learning must have come o' free will, for whar the deil was i to get them a teacher?--wad ye hae had me put on the gate o' your divinity hall at glasgow college, 'wanted, a tutor for rob roy's bairns?'" "na, kinsman," replied mr. jarvie, "but ye might hae sent the lads whar they could hae learned the fear o' god, and the usages of civilised creatures. they are as ignorant as the kyloes ye used to drive to market, or the very english churls that ye sauld them to, and can do naething whatever to purpose." "umph!" answered rob; "hamish can bring doun a black-cock when he's on the wing wi' a single bullet, and rob can drive a dirk through a twa-inch board." "sae muckle the waur for them, cousin!--sae muckle the waur for them baith!" answered the glasgow merchant in a tone of great decision; "an they ken naething better than that, they had better no ken that neither. tell me yourself, rob, what has a' this cutting, and stabbing, and shooting, and driving of dirks, whether through human flesh or fir deals, dune for yourself?--and werena ye a happier man at the tail o' your nowte-bestial, when ye were in an honest calling, than ever ye hae been since, at the head o' your hieland kernes and gally-glasses?" i observed that macgregor, while his well-meaning kinsman spoke to him in this manner, turned and writhed his body like a man who indeed suffers pain, but is determined no groan shall escape his lips; and i longed for an opportunity to interrupt the well-meant, but, as it was obvious to me, quite mistaken strain, in which jarvie addressed this extraordinary person. the dialogue, however, came to an end without my interference. "and sae," said the bailie, "i hae been thinking, rob, that as it may be ye are ower deep in the black book to win a pardon, and ower auld to mend yourself, that it wad be a pity to bring up twa hopefu' lads to sic a godless trade as your ain, and i wad blythely tak them for prentices at the loom, as i began mysell, and my father the deacon afore me, though, praise to the giver, i only trade now as wholesale dealer--and--and"-- he saw a storm gathering on rob's brow, which probably induced him to throw in, as a sweetener of an obnoxious proposition, what he had reserved to crown his own generosity, had it been embraced as an acceptable one;--"and robin, lad, ye needna look sae glum, for i'll pay the prentice-fee, and never plague ye for the thousand merks neither." "_ceade millia diaoul,_ hundred thousand devils!" exclaimed rob, rising and striding through the hut, "my sons weavers!--_millia molligheart!_--but i wad see every loom in glasgow, beam, traddles, and shuttles, burnt in hell-fire sooner!" with some difficulty i made the bailie, who was preparing a reply, comprehend the risk and impropriety of pressing our host on this topic, and in a minute he recovered, or reassumed, his serenity of temper. "but ye mean weel--ye mean weel," said he; "so gie me your hand, nicol, and if ever i put my sons apprentice, i will gie you the refusal o' them. and, as you say, there's the thousand merks to be settled between us.-- here, eachin macanaleister, bring me my sporran." the person he addressed, a tall, strong mountaineer, who seemed to act as macgregor's lieutenant, brought from some place of safety a large leathern pouch, such as highlanders of rank wear before them when in full dress, made of the skin of the sea-otter, richly garnished with silver ornaments and studs. "i advise no man to attempt opening this sporran till he has my secret," said rob roy; and then twisting one button in one direction, and another in another, pulling one stud upward, and pressing another downward, the mouth of the purse, which was bound with massive silver plate, opened and gave admittance to his hand. he made me remark, as if to break short the subject on which bailie jarvie had spoken, that a small steel pistol was concealed within the purse, the trigger of which was connected with the mounting, and made part of the machinery, so that the weapon would certainly be discharged, and in all probability its contents lodged in the person of any one, who, being unacquainted with the secret, should tamper with the lock which secured his treasure. "this," said he touching the pistol--"this is the keeper of my privy purse." the simplicity of the contrivance to secure a furred pouch, which could have been ripped open without any attempt on the spring, reminded me of the verses in the odyssey, where ulysses, in a yet ruder age, is content to secure his property by casting a curious and involved complication of cordage around the sea-chest in which it was deposited. the bailie put on his spectacles to examine the mechanism, and when he had done, returned it with a smile and a sigh, observing--"ah! rob, had ither folk's purses been as weel guarded, i doubt if your sporran wad hae been as weel filled as it kythes to be by the weight." "never mind, kinsman," said rob, laughing; "it will aye open for a friend's necessity, or to pay a just due--and here," he added, pulling out a rouleau of gold, "here is your ten hundred merks--count them, and see that you are full and justly paid." mr. jarvie took the money in silence, and weighing it in his hand for an instant, laid it on the table, and replied, "rob, i canna tak it--i downa intromit with it--there can nae gude come o't--i hae seen ower weel the day what sort of a gate your gowd is made in--ill-got gear ne'er prospered; and, to be plain wi' you, i winna meddle wi't--it looks as there might be bluid on't." "troutsho!" said the outlaw, affecting an indifference which perhaps he did not altogether feel; "it's gude french gowd, and ne'er was in scotchman's pouch before mine. look at them, man--they are a' louis-d'ors, bright and bonnie as the day they were coined." "the waur, the waur--just sae muckle the waur, robin," replied the bailie, averting his eyes from the money, though, like caesar on the lupercal, his fingers seemed to itch for it--"rebellion is waur than witchcraft, or robbery either; there's gospel warrant for't." "never mind the warrant, kinsman," said the freebooter; "you come by the gowd honestly, and in payment of a just debt--it came from the one king, you may gie it to the other, if ye like; and it will just serve for a weakening of the enemy, and in the point where puir king james is weakest too, for, god knows, he has hands and hearts eneugh, but i doubt he wants the siller." "he'll no get mony hielanders then, robin," said mr. jarvie, as, again replacing his spectacles on his nose, he undid the rouleau, and began to count its contents. "nor lowlanders neither," said macgregor, arching his eyebrow, and, as he looked at me, directing a glance towards mr. jarvie, who, all unconscious of the ridicule, weighed each piece with habitual scrupulosity; and having told twice over the sum, which amounted to the discharge of his debt, principal and interest, he returned three pieces to buy his kinswoman a gown, as he expressed himself, and a brace more for the twa bairns, as he called them, requesting they might buy anything they liked with them except gunpowder. the highlander stared at his kinsman's unexpected generosity, but courteously accepted his gift, which he deposited for the time in his well-secured pouch. the bailie next produced the original bond for the debt, on the back of which he had written a formal discharge, which, having subscribed himself, he requested me to sign as a witness. i did so, and bailie jarvie was looking anxiously around for another, the scottish law requiring the subscription of two witnesses to validate either a bond or acquittance. "you will hardly find a man that can write save ourselves within these three miles," said rob, "but i'll settle the matter as easily;" and, taking the paper from before his kinsman, he threw it in the fire. bailie jarvie stared in his turn, but his kinsman continued, "that's a hieland settlement of accounts. the time might come, cousin, were i to keep a' these charges and discharges, that friends might be brought into trouble for having dealt with me." the bailie attempted no reply to this argument, and our supper now appeared in a style of abundance, and even delicacy, which, for the place, might be considered as extraordinary. the greater part of the provisions were cold, intimating they had been prepared at some distance; and there were some bottles of good french wine to relish pasties of various sorts of game, as well as other dishes. i remarked that macgregor, while doing the honours of the table with great and anxious hospitality, prayed us to excuse the circumstance that some particular dish or pasty had been infringed on before it was presented to us. "you must know," said he to mr. jarvie, but without looking towards me, "you are not the only guests this night in the macgregor's country, whilk, doubtless, ye will believe, since my wife and the twa lads would otherwise have been maist ready to attend you, as weel beseems them." bailie jarvie looked as if he felt glad at any circumstance which occasioned their absence; and i should have been entirely of his opinion, had it not been that the outlaw's apology seemed to imply they were in attendance on diana and her companion, whom even in my thoughts i could not bear to designate as her husband. while the unpleasant ideas arising from this suggestion counteracted the good effects of appetite, welcome, and good cheer, i remarked that rob roy's attention had extended itself to providing us better bedding than we had enjoyed the night before. two of the least fragile of the bedsteads, which stood by the wall of the hut, had been stuffed with heath, then in full flower, so artificially arranged, that, the flowers being uppermost, afforded a mattress at once elastic and fragrant. cloaks, and such bedding as could be collected, stretched over this vegetable couch, made it both soft and warm. the bailie seemed exhausted by fatigue. i resolved to adjourn my communication to him until next morning; and therefore suffered him to betake himself to bed so soon as he had finished a plentiful supper. though tired and harassed, i did not myself feel the same disposition to sleep, but rather a restless and feverish anxiety, which led to some farther discourse betwixt me and macgregor. chapter eighteenth. a hopeless darkness settles o'er my fate; i've seen the last look of her heavenly eyes,-- i've heard the last sound of her blessed voice,-- i've seen her fair form from my sight depart; my doom is closed. count basil. "i ken not what to make of you, mr. osbaldistone," said macgregor, as he pushed the flask towards me. "you eat not, you show no wish for rest; and yet you drink not, though that flask of bourdeaux might have come out of sir hildebrand's ain cellar. had you been always as abstinent, you would have escaped the deadly hatred of your cousin rashleigh." "had i been always prudent," said i, blushing at the scene he recalled to my recollection, "i should have escaped a worse evil--the reproach of my own conscience." macgregor cast a keen and somewhat fierce glance on me, as if to read whether the reproof, which he evidently felt, had been intentionally conveyed. he saw that i was thinking of myself, not of him, and turned his face towards the fire with a deep sigh. i followed his example, and each remained for a few minutes wrapt in his own painful reverie. all in the hut were now asleep, or at least silent, excepting ourselves. macgregor first broke silence, in the tone of one who takes up his determination to enter on a painful subject. "my cousin nicol jarvie means well," he said, "but he presses ower hard on the temper and situation of a man like me, considering what i have been--what i have been forced to become--and, above all, that which has forced me to become what i am." he paused; and, though feeling the delicate nature of the discussion in which the conversation was likely to engage me, i could not help replying, that i did not doubt his present situation had much which must be most unpleasant to his feelings. "i should be happy to learn," i added, "that there is an honourable chance of your escaping from it." "you speak like a boy," returned macgregor, in a low tone that growled like distant thunder--"like a boy, who thinks the auld gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. can i forget that i have been branded as an outlaw--stigmatised as a traitor--a price set on my head as if i had been a wolf--my family treated as the dam and cubs of the hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insult--the very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil with?" as he went on in this manner, i could plainly see, that, by the enumeration of his wrongs, he was lashing himself up into a rage, in order to justify in his own eyes the errors they had led him into. in this he perfectly succeeded; his light grey eyes contracting alternately and dilating their pupils, until they seemed actually to flash with flame, while he thrust forward and drew back his foot, grasped the hilt of his dirk, extended his arm, clenched his fist, and finally rose from his seat. "and they _shall_ find," he said, in the same muttered but deep tone of stifled passion, "that the name they have dared to proscribe--that the name of macgregor--_is_ a spell to raise the wild devil withal. _they_ shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs--the miserable highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted,--stripped of all, dishonoured and hunted down, because the avarice of others grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on them in an awful change. they that scoffed at the grovelling worm, and trode upon him, may cry and howl when they see the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon.--but why do i speak of all this?" he said, sitting down again, and in a calmer tone--"only ye may opine it frets my patience, mr. osbaldistone, to be hunted like an otter, or a sealgh, or a salmon upon the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbours; and to have as many sword-cuts made, and pistols flashed at me, as i had this day in the ford of avondow, would try a saint's temper, much more a highlander's, who are not famous for that gude gift, as ye may hae heard, mr. osbaldistone.--but as thing bides wi' me o' what nicol said;--i'm vexed for the bairns--i'm vexed when i think o' hamish and robert living their father's life." and yielding to despondence on account of his sons, which he felt not upon his own, the father rested his head upon his hand. i was much affected, will. all my life long i have been more melted by the distress under which a strong, proud, and powerful mind is compelled to give way, than by the more easily excited sorrows of softer dispositions. the desire of aiding him rushed strongly on my mind, notwithstanding the apparent difficulty, and even impossibility, of the task. "we have extensive connections abroad," said i: "might not your sons, with some assistance--and they are well entitled to what my father's house can give--find an honourable resource in foreign service?" i believe my countenance showed signs of sincere emotion; but my companion, taking me by the hand, as i was going to speak farther, said--"i thank--i thank ye--but let us say nae mair o' this. i did not think the eye of man would again have seen a tear on macgregor's eye-lash." he dashed the moisture from his long gray eye-lash and shaggy red eye-brow with the back of his hand. "to-morrow morning," he said, "we'll talk of this, and we will talk, too, of your affairs--for we are early starters in the dawn, even when we have the luck to have good beds to sleep in. will ye not pledge me in a grace cup?" i declined the invitation. "then, by the soul of st. maronoch! i must pledge myself," and he poured out and swallowed at least half-a-quart of wine. i laid myself down to repose, resolving to delay my own inquiries until his mind should be in a more composed state. indeed, so much had this singular man possessed himself of my imagination, that i felt it impossible to avoid watching him for some minutes after i had flung myself on my heath mattress to seeming rest. he walked up and down the hut, crossed himself from time to time, muttering over some latin prayer of the catholic church; then wrapped himself in his plaid, with his naked sword on one side, and his pistol on the other, so disposing the folds of his mantle that he could start up at a moment's warning, with a weapon in either hand, ready for instant combat. in a few minutes his heavy breathing announced that he was fast asleep. overpowered by fatigue, and stunned by the various unexpected and extraordinary scenes of the day, i, in my turn, was soon overpowered by a slumber deep and overwhelming, from which, notwithstanding every cause for watchfulness, i did not awake until the next morning. when i opened my eyes, and recollected my situation, i found that macgregor had already left the hut. i awakened the bailie, who, after many a snort and groan, and some heavy complaints of the soreness of his bones, in consequence of the unwonted exertions of the preceding day, was at length able to comprehend the joyful intelligence, that the assets carried off by rashleigh osbaldistone had been safely recovered. the instant he understood my meaning, he forgot all his grievances, and, bustling up in a great hurry, proceeded to compare the contents of the packet which i put into his hands, with mr. owen's memorandums, muttering, as he went on, "right, right--the real thing--bailie and whittington--where's bailie and whittington?--seven hundred, six, and eight--exact to a fraction--pollock and peelman--twenty-eight, seven--exact--praise be blest!--grub and grinder--better men cannot be--three hundred and seventy--gliblad--twenty; i doubt gliblad's ganging--slipprytongue; slipprytongue's gaen--but they are sma'sums--sma'sums--the rest's a'right--praise be blest! we have got the stuff, and may leave this doleful country. i shall never think on loch-ard but the thought will gar me grew again" "i am sorry, cousin," said macgregor, who entered the hut during the last observation, "i have not been altogether in the circumstances to make your reception sic as i could have desired--natheless, if you would condescend to visit my puir dwelling"-- "muckle obliged, muckle obliged," answered mr. jarvie, very hastily--"but we maun be ganging--we maun be jogging, mr. osbaldistone and me--business canna wait." "aweel, kinsman," replied the highlander, "ye ken our fashion--foster the guest that comes--further him that maun gang. but ye cannot return by drymen--i must set you on loch lomond, and boat ye down to the ferry o' balloch, and send your nags round to meet ye there. it's a maxim of a wise man never to return by the same road he came, providing another's free to him." "ay, ay, rob," said the bailie, "that's ane o' the maxims ye learned when ye were a drover;--ye caredna to face the tenants where your beasts had been taking a rug of their moorland grass in the by-ganging, and i doubt your road's waur marked now than it was then." "the mair need not to travel it ower often, kinsman," replied rob; "but i'se send round your nags to the ferry wi' dougal gregor, wha is converted for that purpose into the bailie's man, coming--not, as ye may believe, from aberfoil or rob roy's country, but on a quiet jaunt from stirling. see, here he is." "i wadna hae ken'd the creature," said mr. jarvie; nor indeed was it easy to recognise the wild highlander, when he appeared before the door of the cottage, attired in a hat, periwig, and riding-coat, which had once called andrew fairservice master, and mounted on the bailie's horse, and leading mine. he received his last orders from his master to avoid certain places where he might be exposed to suspicion--to collect what intelligence he could in the course of his journey, and to await our coming at an appointed place, near the ferry of balloch. at the same time, macgregor invited us to accompany him upon our own road, assuring us that we must necessarily march a few miles before breakfast, and recommending a dram of brandy as a proper introduction to the journey, in which he was pledged by the bailie, who pronounced it "an unlawful and perilous habit to begin the day wi' spirituous liquors, except to defend the stomach (whilk was a tender part) against the morning mist; in whilk case his father the deacon had recommended a dram, by precept and example." "very true, kinsman," replied rob, "for which reason we, who are children of the mist, have a right to drink brandy from morning till night." the bailie, thus refreshed, was mounted on a small highland pony; another was offered for my use, which, however, i declined; and we resumed, under very different guidance and auspices, our journey of the preceding day. our escort consisted of macgregor, and five or six of the handsomest, best armed, and most athletic mountaineers of his band, and whom he had generally in immediate attendance upon his own person. when we approached the pass, the scene of the skirmish of the preceding day, and of the still more direful deed which followed it, macgregor hastened to speak, as if it were rather to what he knew must be necessarily passing in my mind, than to any thing i had said--he spoke, in short, to my thoughts, and not to my words. "you must think hardly of us, mr. osbaldistone, and it is not natural that it should be otherwise. but remember, at least, we have not been unprovoked. we are a rude and an ignorant, and it may be a violent and passionate, but we are not a cruel people. the land might be at peace and in law for us, did they allow us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law. but we have been a persecuted generation." "and persecution," said the bailie, "maketh wise men mad." "what must it do then to men like us, living as our fathers did a thousand years since, and possessing scarce more lights than they did? can we view their bluidy edicts against us--their hanging, heading, hounding, and hunting down an ancient and honourable name--as deserving better treatment than that which enemies give to enemies?--here i stand, have been in twenty frays, and never hurt man but when i was in het bluid; and yet they wad betray me and hang me like a masterless dog, at the gate of ony great man that has an ill will at me." i replied, "that the proscription of his name and family sounded in english ears as a very cruel and arbitrary law;" and having thus far soothed him, i resumed my propositions of obtaining military employment for himself, if he chose it, and his sons, in foreign parts. macgregor shook me very cordially by the hand, and detaining me, so as to permit mr. jarvie to precede us, a manoeuvre for which the narrowness of the road served as an excuse, he said to me--"you are a kind-hearted and an honourable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which is due to the feelings of a man of honour. but the heather that i have trode upon when living, must bloom ower me when i am dead--my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink and wither like fern in the frost, were i to lose sight of my native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me for the loss of the rocks and cairns, wild as they are, that you see around us.--and helen--what could become of her, were i to leave her the subject of new insult and atrocity?--or how could she bear to be removed from these scenes, where the remembrance of her wrongs is aye sweetened by the recollection of her revenge?--i was once so hard put at by my great enemy, as i may well ca' him, that i was forced e'en to gie way to the tide, and removed myself and my people and family from our dwellings in our native land, and to withdraw for a time into maccallum more's country--and helen made a lament on our departure, as weel as macrimmon* himsell could hae framed it--and so piteously sad and waesome, that our hearts amaist broke as we sate and listened to her--it was like the wailing of one that mourns for the mother that bore him--the tears came down the rough faces of our gillies as they hearkened; and i wad not have the same touch of heartbreak again, no, not to have all the lands that ever were owned by macgregor." * the macrimmons or maccrimonds were hereditary pipers to the chiefs of macleod, and celebrated for their talents. the pibroch said to have been composed by helen macgregor is still in existence. see the introduction to this novel. "but your sons," i said--"they are at the age when your countrymen have usually no objection to see the world?" "and i should be content," he replied, "that they pushed their fortune in the french or spanish service, as is the wont of scottish cavaliers of honour; and last night your plan seemed feasible eneugh--but i hae seen his excellency this morning before ye were up." "did he then quarter so near us?" said i, my bosom throbbing with anxiety. "nearer than ye thought," was macgregor's reply; "but he seemed rather in some shape to jalouse your speaking to the young leddy; and so you see"-- "there was no occasion for jealousy," i answered, with some haughtiness; --"i should not have intruded on his privacy." "but ye must not be offended, or look out from amang your curls then, like a wildcat out of an ivy-tod, for ye are to understand that he wishes most sincere weel to you, and has proved it. and it's partly that whilk has set the heather on fire e'en now." "heather on fire?" said i. "i do not understand you." "why," resumed macgregor, "ye ken weel eneugh that women and gear are at the bottom of a' the mischief in this warld. i hae been misdoubting your cousin rashleigh since ever he saw that he wasna to get die vernon for his marrow, and i think he took grudge at his excellency mainly on that account. but then came the splore about the surrendering your papers--and we hae now gude evidence, that, sae soon as he was compelled to yield them up, he rade post to stirling, and tauld the government all and mair than all, that was gaun doucely on amang us hill-folk; and, doubtless, that was the way that the country was laid to take his excellency and the leddy, and to make sic an unexpected raid on me. and i hae as little doubt that the poor deevil morris, whom he could gar believe onything, was egged on by him, and some of the lowland gentry, to trepan me in the gate he tried to do. but if rashleigh osbaldistone were baith the last and best of his name, and granting that he and i ever forgather again, the fiend go down my weasand with a bare blade at his belt, if we part before my dirk and his best blude are weel acquainted thegither!" he pronounced the last threat with an ominous frown, and the appropriate gesture of his hand upon his dagger. "i should almost rejoice at what has happened," said i, "could i hope that rashleigh's treachery might prove the means of preventing the explosion of the rash and desperate intrigues in which i have long suspected him to be a prime agen." "trow ye na that," said rob roy; "traitor's word never yet hurt honest cause. he was ower deep in our secrets, that's true; and had it not been so, stirling and edinburgh castles would have been baith in our hands by this time, or briefly hereafter, whilk is now scarce to be hoped for. but there are ower mony engaged, and far ower gude a cause to be gien up for the breath of a traitor's tale, and that will be seen and heard of ere it be lang. and so, as i was about to say, the best of my thanks to you for your offer anent my sons, whilk last night i had some thoughts to have embraced in their behalf. but i see that this villain's treason will convince our great folks that they must instantly draw to a head, and make a blow for it, or be taen in their houses, coupled up like hounds, and driven up to london like the honest noblemen and gentlemen in the year seventeen hundred and seven. civil war is like a cockatrice;--we have sitten hatching the egg that held it for ten years, and might hae sitten on for ten years mair, when in comes rashleigh, and chips the shell, and out bangs the wonder amang us, and cries to fire and sword. now in sic a matter i'll hae need o' a' the hands i can mak; and, nae disparagement to the kings of france and spain, whom i wish very weel to, king james is as gude a man as ony o' them, and has the best right to hamish and rob, being his natural-born subjects." i easily comprehended that these words boded a general national convulsion; and, as it would have been alike useless and dangerous to have combated the political opinions of my guide, at such a place and moment, i contented myself with regretting the promiscuous scene of confusion and distress likely to arise from any general exertion in favour of the exiled royal family. "let it come, man--let it come," answered macgregor; "ye never saw dull weather clear without a shower; and if the world is turned upside down, why, honest men have the better chance to cut bread out of it." i again attempted to bring him back to the subject of diana; but although on most occasions and subjects he used a freedom of speech which i had no great delight in listening to, yet upon that alone which was most interesting to me, he kept a degree of scrupulous reserve, and contented himself with intimating, "that he hoped the leddy would be soon in a quieter country than this was like to be for one while." i was obliged to be content with this answer, and to proceed in the hope that accident might, as on a former occasion, stand my friend, and allow me at least the sad gratification of bidding farewell to the object which had occupied such a share of my affections, so much beyond even what i had supposed, till i was about to be separated from her for ever. [illustration: loch lomond-- ] we pursued the margin of the lake for about six english miles, through a devious and beautifully variegated path, until we attained a sort of highland farm, or assembly of hamlets, near the head of that fine sheet of water, called, if i mistake not, lediart, or some such name. here a numerous party of macgregor's men were stationed in order to receive us. the taste as well as the eloquence of tribes in a savage, or, to speak more properly, in a rude state, is usually just, because it is unfettered by system and affectation; and of this i had an example in the choice these mountaineers had made of a place to receive their guests. it has been said that a british monarch would judge well to receive the embassy of a rival power in the cabin of a man-of-war; and a highland leader acted with some propriety in choosing a situation where the natural objects of grandeur proper to his country might have their full effect on the minds of his guests. we ascended about two hundred yards from the shores of the lake, guided by a brawling brook, and left on the right hand four or five highland huts, with patches of arable land around them, so small as to show that they must have been worked with the spade rather than the plough, cut as it were out of the surrounding copsewood, and waving with crops of barley and oats. above this limited space the hill became more steep; and on its edge we descried the glittering arms and waving drapery of about fifty of macgregor's followers. they were stationed on a spot, the recollection of which yet strikes me with admiration. the brook, hurling its waters downwards from the mountain, had in this spot encountered a barrier rock, over which it had made its way by two distinct leaps. the first fall, across which a magnificent old oak, slanting out from the farther bank, partly extended itself as if to shroud the dusky stream of the cascade, might be about twelve feet high; the broken waters were received in a beautiful stone basin, almost as regular as if hewn by a sculptor; and after wheeling around its flinty margin, they made a second precipitous dash, through a dark and narrow chasm, at least fifty feet in depth, and from thence, in a hurried, but comparatively a more gentle course, escaped to join the lake. with the natural taste which belongs to mountaineers, and especially to the scottish highlanders, whose feelings, i have observed, are often allied with the romantic and poetical, rob roy's wife and followers had prepared our morning repast in a scene well calculated to impress strangers with some feelings of awe. they are also naturally a grave and proud people, and, however rude in our estimation, carry their ideas of form and politeness to an excess that would appear overstrained, except from the demonstration of superior force which accompanies the display of it; for it must be granted that the air of punctilious deference and rigid etiquette which would seem ridiculous in an ordinary peasant, has, like the salute of a _corps-de-garde,_ a propriety when tendered by a highlander completely armed. there was, accordingly, a good deal of formality in our approach and reception. the highlanders, who had been dispersed on the side of the hill, drew themselves together when we came in view, and, standing firm and motionless, appeared in close column behind three figures, whom i soon recognised to be helen macgregor and her two sons. macgregor himself arranged his attendants in the rear, and, requesting mr. jarvie to dismount where the ascent became steep, advanced slowly, marshalling us forward at the head of the troop. as we advanced, we heard the wild notes of the bagpipes, which lost their natural discord from being mingled with the dashing sound of the cascade. when we came close, the wife of macgregor came forward to meet us. her dress was studiously arranged in a more feminine taste than it had been on the preceding day, but her features wore the same lofty, unbending, and resolute character; and as she folded my friend the bailie in an unexpected and apparently unwelcome embrace, i could perceive by the agitation of his wig, his back, and the calves of his legs, that he felt much like to one who feels himself suddenly in the gripe of a she-bear, without being able to distinguish whether the animal is in kindness or in wrath. "kinsman," she said, "you are welcome--and you, too, stranger," she added, releasing my alarmed companion, who instinctively drew back and settled his wig, and addressing herself to me--"you also are welcome. you came," she added, "to our unhappy country, when our bloods were chafed, and our hands were red. excuse the rudeness that gave you a rough welcome, and lay it upon the evil times, and not upon us." all this was said with the manners of a princess, and in the tone and style of a court. nor was there the least tincture of that vulgarity, which we naturally attach to the lowland scottish. there was a strong provincial accentuation, but, otherwise, the language rendered by helen macgregor, out of the native and poetical gaelic, into english, which she had acquired as we do learned tongues, but had probably never heard applied to the mean purposes of ordinary life, was graceful, flowing, and declamatory. her husband, who had in his time played many parts, used a much less elevated and emphatic dialect;--but even _his_ language rose in purity of expression, as you may have remarked, if i have been accurate in recording it, when the affairs which he discussed were of an agitating and important nature; and it appears to me in his case, and in that of some other highlanders whom i have known, that, when familiar and facetious, they used the lowland scottish dialect,--when serious and impassioned, their thoughts arranged themselves in the idiom of their native language; and in the latter case, as they uttered the corresponding ideas in english, the expressions sounded wild, elevated, and poetical. in fact, the language of passion is almost always pure as well as vehement, and it is no uncommon thing to hear a scotchman, when overwhelmed by a countryman with a tone of bitter and fluent upbraiding, reply by way of taunt to his adversary, "you have gotten to your english." be this as it may, the wife of macgregor invited us to a refreshment spread out on the grass, which abounded with all the good things their mountains could offer, but was clouded by the dark and undisturbed gravity which sat on the brow of our hostess, as well as by our deep and anxious recollection of what had taken place on the preceding day. it was in vain that the leader exerted himself to excite mirth;--a chill hung over our minds, as if the feast had been funereal; and every bosom felt light when it was ended. "adieu, cousin," she said to mr. jarvie, as we rose from the entertainment; "the best wish helen macgregor can give to a friend is, that he may see her no more." the bailie struggled to answer, probably with some commonplace maxim of morality;--but the calm and melancholy sternness of her countenance bore down and disconcerted the mechanical and formal importance of the magistrate. he coughed,--hemmed,--bowed,--and was silent. "for you, stranger," she said, "i have a token, from one whom you can never"-- "helen!" interrupted macgregor, in a loud and stern voice, "what means this?--have you forgotten the charge?" "macgregor," she replied, "i have forgotten nought that is fitting for me to remember. it is not such hands as these," and she stretched forth her long, sinewy, and bare arm, "that are fitting to convey love-tokens, were the gift connected with aught but misery. young man," she said, presenting me with a ring, which i well remembered as one of the few ornaments that miss vernon sometimes wore, "this comes from one whom you will never see more. if it is a joyless token, it is well fitted to pass through the hands of one to whom joy can never be known. her last words were--let him forget me for ever." "and can she," i said, almost without being conscious that i spoke, "suppose that is possible?" "all may be forgotten," said the extraordinary female who addressed me,--"all--but the sense of dishonour, and the desire of vengeance." "_seid suas!_"* cried the macgregor, stamping with impatience. * "strike up." the bagpipes sounded, and with their thrilling and jarring tones cut short our conference. our leave of our hostess was taken by silent gestures; and we resumed our journey with an additional proof on my part, that i was beloved by diana, and was separated from her for ever. chapter nineteenth. farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest, like the shroud of the dead, on the mountain's cold breast to the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, and the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. our route lay through a dreary, yet romantic country, which the distress of my own mind prevented me from remarking particularly, and which, therefore, i will not attempt to describe. the lofty peak of ben lomond, here the predominant monarch of the mountains, lay on our right hand, and served as a striking landmark. i was not awakened from my apathy, until, after a long and toilsome walk, we emerged through a pass in the hills, and loch lomond opened before us. i will spare you the attempt to describe what you would hardly comprehend without going to see it. but certainly this noble lake, boasting innumerable beautiful islands, of every varying form and outline which fancy can frame,--its northern extremity narrowing until it is lost among dusky and retreating mountains,--while, gradually widening as it extends to the southward, it spreads its base around the indentures and promontories of a fair and fertile land, affords one of the most surprising, beautiful, and sublime spectacles in nature. the eastern side, peculiarly rough and rugged, was at this time the chief seat of macgregor and his clan,--to curb whom, a small garrison had been stationed in a central position betwixt loch lomond and another lake. the extreme strength of the country, however, with the numerous passes, marshes, caverns, and other places of concealment or defence, made the establishment of this little fort seem rather an acknowledgment of the danger, than an effectual means of securing against it. on more than one occasion, as well as on that which i witnessed, the garrison suffered from the adventurous spirit of the outlaw and his followers. these advantages were never sullied by ferocity when he himself was in command; for, equally good-tempered and sagacious, he understood well the danger of incurring unnecessary odium. i learned with pleasure that he had caused the captives of the preceding day to be liberated in safety; and many traits of mercy, and even of generosity, are recorded of this remarkable man on similar occasions. a boat waited for us in a creek beneath a huge rock, manned by four lusty highland rowers; and our host took leave of us with great cordiality, and even affection. betwixt him and mr. jarvie, indeed, there seemed to exist a degree of mutual regard, which formed a strong contrast to their different occupations and habits. after kissing each other very lovingly, and when they were just in the act of parting, the bailie, in the fulness of his heart, and with a faltering voice, assured his kinsman, "that if ever an hundred pund, or even twa hundred, would put him or his family in a settled way, he need but just send a line to the saut-market;" and rob, grasping his basket-hilt with one hand, and shaking mr. jarvie's heartily with the other, protested, "that if ever anybody should affront his kinsman, an he would but let him ken, he would stow his lugs out of his head, were he the best man in glasgow." with these assurances of mutual aid and continued good-will, we bore away from the shore, and took our course for the south-western angle of the lake, where it gives birth to the river leven. rob roy remained for some time standing on the rock from beneath which we had departed, conspicuous by his long gun, waving tartans, and the single plume in his cap, which in those days denoted the highland gentleman and soldier; although i observe that the present military taste has decorated the highland bonnet with a quantity of black plumage resembling that which is borne before funerals. at length, as the distance increased between us, we saw him turn and go slowly up the side of the hill, followed by his immediate attendants or bodyguard. we performed our voyage for a long time in silence, interrupted only by the gaelic chant which one of the rowers sung in low irregular measure, rising occasionally into a wild chorus, in which the others joined. my own thoughts were sad enough;--yet i felt something soothing in the magnificent scenery with which i was surrounded; and thought, in the enthusiasm of the moment, that had my faith been that of rome, i could have consented to live and die a lonely hermit in one of the romantic and beautiful islands amongst which our boat glided. the bailie had also his speculations, but they were of somewhat a different complexion; as i found when, after about an hour's silence, during which he had been mentally engaged in the calculations necessary, he undertook to prove the possibility of draining the lake, and "giving to plough and harrow many hundred, ay, many a thousand acres, from whilk no man could get earthly gude e'enow, unless it were a gedd,* or a dish of perch now and then." * a pike. amidst a long discussion, which he "crammed into mine ear against the stomach of my sense," i only remember, that it was part of his project to preserve a portion of the lake just deep enough and broad enough for the purposes of water-carriage, so that coal-barges and gabbards should pass as easily between dumbarton and glenfalloch as between glasgow and greenock. at length we neared our distant place of landing, adjoining to the ruins of an ancient castle, and just where the lake discharges its superfluous waters into the leven. there we found dougal with the horses. the bailie had formed a plan with respect to "the creature," as well as upon the draining of the lake; and, perhaps in both cases, with more regard to the utility than to the practical possibility of his scheme. "dougal," he said, "ye are a kindly creature, and hae the sense and feeling o' what is due to your betters--and i'm e'en wae for you, dougal, for it canna be but that in the life ye lead you suld get a jeddart cast* ae day suner or later. i trust, considering my services as a magistrate, and my father the deacon's afore me, i hae interest eneugh in the council to gar them wink a wee at a waur faut than yours. * ["the memory of dunbar's legal (?) proceedings at jedburgh is preserved in the proverbial phrase _jeddart justice,_ which signifies trial _after_ execution."--_minstrelsy of the border,_ preface, p. lvi.] sae i hae been thinking, that if ye will gang back to glasgow wi' us, being a strong-backit creature, ye might be employed in the warehouse till something better suld cast up." "her nainsell muckle obliged till the bailie's honour," replied dougal; "but teil be in her shanks fan she gangs on a cause-way'd street, unless she be drawn up the gallowgate wi' tows, as she was before." in fact, i afterwards learned that dougal had originally come to glasgow as a prisoner, from being concerned in some depredation, but had somehow found such favour in the eyes of the jailor, that, with rather overweening confidence, he had retained him in his service as one of the turnkeys; a task which dougal had discharged with sufficient fidelity, so far as was known, until overcome by his clannish prejudices on the unexpected appearance of his old leader. astonished at receiving so round a refusal to so favourable an offer, the bailie, turning to me, observed, that the "creature was a natural-born idiot." i testified my own gratitude in a way which dougal much better relished, by slipping a couple of guineas into his hand. he no sooner felt the touch of the gold, than he sprung twice or thrice from the earth with the agility of a wild buck, flinging out first one heel and then another, in a manner which would have astonished a french dancing-master. he ran to the boatmen to show them the prize, and a small gratuity made them take part in his raptures. he then, to use a favourite expression of the dramatic john bunyan, "went on his way, and i saw him no more." the bailie and i mounted our horses, and proceeded on the road to glasgow. when we had lost the view of the lake, and its superb amphitheatre of mountains, i could not help expressing with enthusiasm, my sense of its natural beauties, although i was conscious that mr. jarvie was a very uncongenial spirit to communicate with on such a subject. "ye are a young gentleman," he replied, "and an englishman, and a' this may be very fine to you; but for me, wha am a plain man, and ken something o' the different values of land, i wadna gie the finest sight we hae seen in the hielands, for the first keek o' the gorbals o' glasgow; and if i were ance there, it suldna be every fule's errand, begging your pardon, mr. francis, that suld take me out o' sight o' saint mungo's steeple again!" the honest man had his wish; for, by dint of travelling very late, we arrived at his own house that night, or rather on the succeeding morning. having seen my worthy fellow-traveller safely consigned to the charge of the considerate and officious mattie, i proceeded to mrs. flyter's, in whose house, even at this unwonted hour, light was still burning. the door was opened by no less a person than andrew fairservice himself, who, upon the first sound of my voice, set up a loud shout of joyful recognition, and, without uttering a syllable, ran up stairs towards a parlour on the second floor, from the windows of which the light proceeded. justly conceiving that he went to announce my return to the anxious owen, i followed him upon the foot. owen was not alone, there was another in the apartment--it was my father. the first impulse was to preserve the dignity of his usual equanimity,--"francis, i am glad to see you." the next was to embrace me tenderly,--"my dear--dear son!"--owen secured one of my hands, and wetted it with his tears, while he joined in gratulating my return. these are scenes which address themselves to the eye and to the heart rather than to the ear--my old eye-lids still moisten at the recollection of our meeting; but your kind and affectionate feelings can well imagine what i should find it impossible to describe. when the tumult of our joy was over, i learnt that my father had arrived from holland shortly after owen had set off for scotland. determined and rapid in all his movements, he only stopped to provide the means of discharging the obligations incumbent on his house. by his extensive resources, with funds enlarged, and credit fortified, by eminent success in his continental speculation, he easily accomplished what perhaps his absence alone rendered difficult, and set out for scotland to exact justice from rashleigh osbaldistone, as well as to put order to his affairs in that country. my father's arrival in full credit, and with the ample means of supporting his engagements honourably, as well as benefiting his correspondents in future, was a stunning blow to macvittie and company, who had conceived his star set for ever. highly incensed at the usage his confidential clerk and agent had received at their hands, mr. osbaldistone refused every tender of apology and accommodation; and having settled the balance of their account, announced to them that, with all its numerous contingent advantages, that leaf of their ledger was closed for ever. while he enjoyed this triumph over false friends, he was not a little alarmed on my account. owen, good man, had not supposed it possible that a journey of fifty or sixty miles, which may be made with so much ease and safety in any direction from london, could be attended with any particular danger. but he caught alarm, by sympathy, from my father, to whom the country, and the lawless character of its inhabitants, were better known. these apprehensions were raised to agony, when, a few hours before i arrived, andrew fairservice made his appearance, with a dismal and exaggerated account of the uncertain state in which he had left me. the nobleman with whose troops he had been a sort of prisoner, had, after examination, not only dismissed him, but furnished him with the means of returning rapidly to glasgow, in order to announce to my friends my precarious and unpleasant situation. andrew was one of those persons who have no objection to the sort of temporary attention and woeful importance which attaches itself to the bearer of bad tidings, and had therefore by no means smoothed down his tale in the telling, especially as the rich london merchant himself proved unexpectedly one of the auditors. he went at great length into an account of the dangers i had escaped, chiefly, as he insinuated, by means of his own experience, exertion, and sagacity. "what was to come of me now, when my better angel, in his (andrew's) person, was removed from my side, it was," he said, "sad and sair to conjecture; that the bailie was nae better than just naebody at a pinch, or something waur, for he was a conceited body--and andrew hated conceit--but certainly, atween the pistols and the carabines of the troopers, that rappit aff the tane after the tother as fast as hail, and the dirks and claymores o' the hielanders, and the deep waters and weils o' the avondow, it was to be thought there wad be a puir account of the young gentleman." this statement would have driven owen to despair, had he been alone and unsupported; but my father's perfect knowledge of mankind enabled him easily to appreciate the character of andrew, and the real amount of his intelligence. stripped of all exaggeration, however, it was alarming enough to a parent. he determined to set out in person to obtain my liberty by ransom or negotiation, and was busied with owen till a late hour, in order to get through some necessary correspondence, and devolve on the latter some business which should be transacted during his absence; and thus it chanced that i found them watchers. it was late ere we separated to rest, and, too impatient long to endure repose, i was stirring early the next morning. andrew gave his attendance at my levee, as in duty bound, and, instead of the scarecrow figure to which he had been reduced at aberfoil, now appeared in the attire of an undertaker, a goodly suit, namely, of the deepest mourning. it was not till after one or two queries, which the rascal affected as long as he could to misunderstand, that i found out he "had thought it but decent to put on mourning, on account of my inexpressible loss; and as the broker at whose shop he had equipped himself, declined to receive the goods again, and as his own garments had been destroyed or carried off in my honour's service, doubtless i and my honourable father, whom providence had blessed wi' the means, wadna suffer a puir lad to sit down wi' the loss; a stand o' claes was nae great matter to an osbaldistone (be praised for't!), especially to an old and attached servant o' the house." as there was something of justice in andrew's plea of loss in my service, his finesse succeeded; and he came by a good suit of mourning, with a beaver and all things conforming, as the exterior signs of woe for a master who was alive and merry. my father's first care, when he arose, was to visit mr. jarvie, for whose kindness he entertained the most grateful sentiments, which he expressed in very few, but manly and nervous terms. he explained the altered state of his affairs, and offered the bailie, on such terms as could not but be both advantageous and acceptable, that part in his concerns which had been hitherto managed by macvittie and company. the bailie heartily congratulated my father and owen on the changed posture of their affairs, and, without affecting to disclaim that he had done his best to serve them, when matters looked otherwise, he said, "he had only just acted as he wad be done by--that, as to the extension of their correspondence, he frankly accepted it with thanks. had macvittie's folk behaved like honest men," he said, "he wad hae liked ill to hae come in ahint them, and out afore them this gate. but it's otherwise, and they maun e'en stand the loss." the bailie then pulled me by the sleeve into a corner, and, after again cordially wishing me joy, proceeded, in rather an embarrassed tone--"i wad heartily wish, maister francis, there suld be as little said as possible about the queer things we saw up yonder awa. there's nae gude, unless ane were judicially examinate, to say onything about that awfu' job o' morris--and the members o' the council wadna think it creditable in ane of their body to be fighting wi' a wheen hielandmen, and singeing their plaidens--and abune a', though i am a decent sponsible man, when i am on my right end, i canna but think i maun hae made a queer figure without my hat and my periwig, hinging by the middle like bawdrons, or a cloak flung ower a cloak-pin. bailie grahame wad hae an unco hair in my neck an he got that tale by the end." i could not suppress a smile when i recollected the bailie's situation, although i certainly thought it no laughing matter at the time. the good-natured merchant was a little confused, but smiled also when he shook his head--"i see how it is--i see how it is. but say naething about it--there's a gude callant; and charge that lang-tongued, conceited, upsetting serving man o' yours, to sae naething neither. i wadna for ever sae muckle that even the lassock mattie ken'd onything about it. i wad never hear an end o't." he was obviously relieved from his impending fears of ridicule, when i told him it was my father's intention to leave glasgow almost immediately. indeed he had now no motive for remaining, since the most valuable part of the papers carried off by rashleigh had been recovered. for that portion which he had converted into cash and expended in his own or on political intrigues, there was no mode of recovering it but by a suit at law, which was forthwith commenced, and proceeded, as our law-agents assured us, with all deliberate speed. we spent, accordingly, one hospitable day with the bailie, and took leave of him, as this narrative now does. he continued to grow in wealth, honour, and credit, and actually rose to the highest civic honours in his native city. about two years after the period i have mentioned, he tired of his bachelor life, and promoted mattie from her wheel by the kitchen fire to the upper end of his table, in the character of mrs. jarvie. bailie grahame, the macvitties, and others (for all men have their enemies, especially in the council of a royal burgh), ridiculed this transformation. "but," said mr. jarvie, "let them say their say. i'll ne'er fash mysell, nor lose my liking for sae feckless a matter as a nine days' clash. my honest father the deacon had a byword, brent brow and lily skin, a loving heart, and a leal within, is better than gowd or gentle kin. besides," as he always concluded, "mattie was nae ordinary lassock-quean; she was akin to the laird o' limmerfield." whether it was owing to her descent or her good gifts, i do not presume to decide; but mattie behaved excellently in her exaltation, and relieved the apprehensions of some of the bailie's friends, who had deemed his experiment somewhat hazardous. i do not know that there was any other incident of his quiet and useful life worthy of being particularly recorded. chapter twentieth. "come ye hither my 'six' good sons, gallant men i trow ye be, how many of you, my children dear, will stand by that good earl and me?" "five" of them did answer make-- "five" of them spoke hastily, "o father, till the day we die, we'll stand by that good earl and thee." the rising in the north. on the morning when we were to depart from glasgow, andrew fairservice bounced into my apartment like a madman, jumping up and down, and singing, with more vehemence than tune, the kiln's on fire--the kiln's on fire-- the kiln's on fire--she's a' in a lowe. with some difficulty i prevailed on him to cease his confounded clamour, and explain to me what the matter was. he was pleased to inform me, as if he had been bringing the finest news imaginable, "that the hielands were clean broken out, every man o' them, and that rob roy, and a' his breekless bands, wad be down upon glasgow or twenty-four hours o' the clock gaed round." "hold your tongue," said i, "you rascal! you must be drunk or mad; and if there is any truth in your news, is it a singing matter, you scoundrel?" "drunk or mad? nae doubt," replied andrew, dauntlessly; "ane's aye drunk or mad if he tells what grit folks dinna like to hear--sing? od, the clans will make us sing on the wrang side o' our mouth, if we are sae drunk or mad as to bide their coming." i rose in great haste, and found my father and owen also on foot, and in considerable alarm. andrew's news proved but too true in the main. the great rebellion which agitated britain in the year had already broken out, by the unfortunate earl of mar's setting up the standard of the stuart family in an ill-omened hour, to the ruin of many honourable families, both in england and scotland. the treachery of some of the jacobite agents (rashleigh among the rest), and the arrest of others, had made george the first's government acquainted with the extensive ramifications of a conspiracy long prepared, and which at last exploded prematurely, and in a part of the kingdom too distant to have any vital effect upon the country, which, however, was plunged into much confusion. this great public event served to confirm and elucidate the obscure explanations i had received from macgregor; and i could easily see why the westland clans, who were brought against him, should have waived their private quarrel, in consideration that they were all shortly to be engaged in the same public cause. it was a more melancholy reflection to my mind, that diana vernon was the wife of one of those who were most active in turning the world upside down, and that she was herself exposed to all the privations and perils of her husband's hazardous trade. we held an immediate consultation on the measures we were to adopt in this crisis, and acquiesced in my father's plan, that we should instantly get the necessary passports, and make the best of our way to london. i acquainted my father with my wish to offer my personal service to the government in any volunteer corps, several being already spoken of. he readily acquiesced in my proposal; for though he disliked war as a profession, yet, upon principle, no man would have exposed his life more willingly in defence of civil and religious liberty. we travelled in haste and in peril through dumfriesshire and the neighbouring counties of england. in this quarter, gentlemen of the tory interest were already in motion, mustering men and horses, while the whigs assembled themselves in the principal towns, armed the inhabitants, and prepared for civil war. we narrowly escaped being stopped on more occasions than one, and were often compelled to take circuitous routes to avoid the points where forces were assembling. when we reached london, we immediately associated with those bankers and eminent merchants who agreed to support the credit of government, and to meet that run upon the funds, on which the conspirators had greatly founded their hopes of furthering their undertaking, by rendering the government, as it were, bankrupt. my father was chosen one of the members of this formidable body of the monied interest, as all had the greatest confidence in his zeal, skill, and activity. he was also the organ by which they communicated with government, and contrived, from funds belonging to his own house, or over which he had command, to find purchasers for a quantity of the national stock, which was suddenly flung into the market at a depreciated price when the rebellion broke out. i was not idle myself, but obtained a commission, and levied, at my father's expense, about two hundred men, with whom i joined general carpenter's army. the rebellion, in the meantime, had extended itself to england. the unfortunate earl of derwentwater had taken arms in the cause, along with general foster. my poor uncle, sir hildebrand, whose estate was reduced to almost nothing by his own carelessness and the expense and debauchery of his sons and household, was easily persuaded to join that unfortunate standard. before doing so, however, he exhibited a degree of precaution of which no one could have suspected him--he made his will! by this document he devised his estates at osbaldistone hall, and so forth, to his sons successively, and their male heirs, until he came to rashleigh, whom, on account of the turn he had lately taken in politics, he detested with all his might,--he cut him off with a shilling, and settled the estate on me as his next heir. i had always been rather a favourite of the old gentleman; but it is probable that, confident in the number of gigantic youths who now armed around him, he considered the destination as likely to remain a dead letter, which he inserted chiefly to show his displeasure at rashleigh's treachery, both public and domestic. there was an article, by which he, bequeathed to the niece of his late wife, diana vernon, now lady diana vernon beauchamp, some diamonds belonging to her late aunt, and a great silver ewer, having the arms of vernon and osbaldistone quarterly engraven upon it. but heaven had decreed a more speedy extinction of his numerous and healthy lineage, than, most probably, he himself had reckoned on. in the very first muster of the conspirators, at a place called green-rigg, thorncliff osbaldistone quarrelled about precedence with a gentleman of the northumbrian border, to the full as fierce and intractable as himself. in spite of all remonstrances, they gave their commander a specimen of how far their discipline might be relied upon, by fighting it out with their rapiers, and my kinsman was killed on the spot. his death was a great loss to sir hildebrand, for, notwithstanding his infernal temper, he had a grain or two of more sense than belonged to the rest of the brotherhood, rashleigh always excepted. perceval, the sot, died also in his calling. he had a wager with another gentleman (who, from his exploits in that line, had acquired the formidable epithet of brandy swalewell), which should drink the largest cup of strong liquor when king james was proclaimed by the insurgents at morpeth. the exploit was something enormous. i forget the exact quantity of brandy which percie swallowed, but it occasioned a fever, of which he expired at the end of three days, with the word, _water, water,_ perpetually on his tongue. dickon broke his neck near warrington bridge, in an attempt to show off a foundered blood-mare which he wished to palm upon a manchester merchant who had joined the insurgents. he pushed the animal at a five-barred gate; she fell in the leap, and the unfortunate jockey lost his life. wilfred the fool, as sometimes befalls, had the best fortune of the family. he was slain at proud preston, in lancashire, on the day that general carpenter attacked the barricades, fighting with great bravery, though i have heard he was never able exactly to comprehend the cause of quarrel, and did not uniformly remember on which king's side he was engaged. john also behaved very boldly in the same engagement, and received several wounds, of which he was not happy enough to die on the spot. old sir hildebrand, entirely brokenhearted by these successive losses, became, by the next day's surrender, one of the unhappy prisoners, and was lodged in newgate with his wounded son john. i was now released from my military duty, and lost no time, therefore, in endeavouring to relieve the distresses of these new relations. my father's interest with government, and the general compassion excited by a parent who had sustained the successive loss of so many sons within so short a time, would have prevented my uncle and cousin from being brought to trial for high treason. but their doom was given forth from a greater tribunal. john died of his wounds in newgate, recommending to me in his last breath, a cast of hawks which he had at the hall, and a black spaniel bitch called lucy. my poor uncle seemed beaten down to the very earth by his family calamities, and the circumstances in which he unexpectedly found himself. he said little, but seemed grateful for such attentions as circumstances permitted me to show him. i did not witness his meeting with my father for the first time for so many years, and under circumstances so melancholy; but, judging from my father's extreme depression of spirits, it must have been melancholy in the last degree. sir hildebrand spoke with great bitterness against rashleigh, now his only surviving child; laid upon him the ruin of his house, and the deaths of all his brethren, and declared, that neither he nor they would have plunged into political intrigue, but for that very member of his family, who had been the first to desert them. he once or twice mentioned diana, always with great affection; and once he said, while i sate by his bedside--"nevoy, since thorncliff and all of them are dead, i am sorry you cannot have her." the expression affected me much at the time; for it was a usual custom of the poor old baronet's, when joyously setting forth upon the morning's chase, to distinguish thorncliff, who was a favourite, while he summoned the rest more generally; and the loud jolly tone in which he used to hollo, "call thornie--call all of them," contrasted sadly with the woebegone and self-abandoning note in which he uttered the disconsolate words which i have above quoted. he mentioned the contents of his will, and supplied me with an authenticated copy;--the original he had deposited with my old acquaintance mr. justice inglewood, who, dreaded by no one, and confided in by all as a kind of neutral person, had become, for aught i know, the depositary of half the wills of the fighting men of both factions in the county of northumberland. the greater part of my uncle's last hours were spent in the discharge of the religious duties of his church, in which he was directed by the chaplain of the sardinian ambassador, for whom, with some difficulty, we obtained permission to visit him. i could not ascertain by my own observation, or through the medical attendants, that sir hildebrand osbaldistone died of any formed complaint bearing a name in the science of medicine. he seemed to me completely worn out and broken down by fatigue of body and distress of mind, and rather ceased to exist, than died of any positive struggle,--just as a vessel, buffeted and tossed by a succession of tempestuous gales, her timbers overstrained, and her joints loosened, will sometimes spring a leak and founder, when there are no apparent causes for her destruction. it was a remarkable circumstance that my father, after the last duties were performed to his brother, appeared suddenly to imbibe a strong anxiety that i should act upon the will, and represent his father's house, which had hitherto seemed to be the thing in the world which had least charms for him. but formerly, he had been like the fox in the fable, contemning what was beyond his reach; and, moreover, i doubt not that the excessive dislike which he entertained against rashleigh (now sir rashleigh) osbaldistone, who loudly threatened to attack his father sir hildebrand's will and settlement, corroborated my father's desire to maintain it. "he had been most unjustly disinherited," he said, "by his own father--his brother's will had repaired the disgrace, if not the injury, by leaving the wreck of his property to frank, the natural heir, and he was determined the bequest should take effect." in the meantime, rashleigh was not altogether a contemptible personage as an opponent. the information he had given to government was critically well-timed, and his extreme plausibility, with the extent of his intelligence, and the artful manner in which he contrived to assume both merit and influence, had, to a certain extent, procured him patrons among ministers. we were already in the full tide of litigation with him on the subject of his pillaging the firm of osbaldistone and tresham; and, judging from the progress we made in that comparatively simple lawsuit, there was a chance that this second course of litigation might be drawn out beyond the period of all our natural lives. to avert these delays as much as possible, my father, by the advice of his counsel learned in the law, paid off and vested in my person the rights to certain large mortgages affecting osbaldistone hall. perhaps, however, the opportunity to convert a great share of the large profits which accrued from the rapid rise of the funds upon the suppression of the rebellion, and the experience he had so lately had of the perils of commerce, encouraged him to realise, in this manner, a considerable part of his property. at any rate, it so chanced, that, instead of commanding me to the desk, as i fully expected, having intimated my willingness to comply with his wishes, however they might destine me, i received his directions to go down to osbaldistone hall, and take possession of it as the heir and representative of the family. i was directed to apply to squire inglewood for the copy of my uncle's will deposited with him, and take all necessary measures to secure that possession which sages say makes nine points of the law. at another time i should have been delighted with this change of destination. but now osbaldistone hall was accompanied with many painful recollections. still, however, i thought, that in that neighbourhood only i was likely to acquire some information respecting the fate of diana vernon. i had every reason to fear it must be far different from what i could have wished it. but i could obtain no precise information on the subject. it was in vain that i endeavoured, by such acts of kindness as their situation admitted, to conciliate the confidence of some distant relations who were among the prisoners in newgate. a pride which i could not condemn, and a natural suspicion of the whig frank osbaldistone, cousin to the double-distilled traitor rashleigh, closed every heart and tongue, and i only received thanks, cold and extorted, in exchange for such benefits as i had power to offer. the arm of the law was also gradually abridging the numbers of those whom i endeavoured to serve, and the hearts of the survivors became gradually more contracted towards all whom they conceived to be concerned with the existing government. as they were led gradually, and by detachments, to execution, those who survived lost interest in mankind, and the desire of communicating with them. i shall long remember what one of them, ned shafton by name, replied to my anxious inquiry, whether there was any indulgence i could procure him? "mr. frank osbaldistone, i must suppose you mean me kindly, and therefore i thank you. but, by g--, men cannot be fattened like poultry, when they see their neighbours carried off day by day to the place of execution, and know that their own necks are to be twisted round in their turn." upon the whole, therefore, i was glad to escape from london, from newgate, and from the scenes which both exhibited, to breathe the free air of northumberland. andrew fairservice had continued in my service more from my father's pleasure than my own. at present there seemed a prospect that his local acquaintance with osbaldistone hall and its vicinity might be useful; and, of course, he accompanied me on my journey, and i enjoyed the prospect of getting rid of him, by establishing him in his old quarters. i cannot conceive how he could prevail upon my father to interest himself in him, unless it were by the art, which he possessed in no inconsiderable degree, of affecting an extreme attachment to his master; which theoretical attachment he made compatible in practice with playing all manner of tricks without scruple, providing only against his master being cheated by any one but himself. we performed our journey to the north without any remarkable adventure, and we found the country, so lately agitated by rebellion, now peaceful and in good order. the nearer we approached to osbaldistone hall, the more did my heart sink at the thought of entering that deserted mansion; so that, in order to postpone the evil day, i resolved first to make my visit at mr. justice inglewood's. that venerable person had been much disturbed with thoughts of what he had been, and what he now was; and natural recollections of the past had interfered considerably with the active duty which in his present situation might have been expected from him. he was fortunate, however, in one respect; he had got rid of his clerk jobson, who had finally left him in dudgeon at his inactivity, and become legal assistant to a certain squire standish, who had lately commenced operations in those parts as a justice, with a zeal for king george and the protestant succession, which, very different from the feelings of his old patron, mr. jobson had more occasion to restrain within the bounds of the law, than to stimulate to exertion. old justice inglewood received me with great courtesy, and readily exhibited my uncle's will, which seemed to be without a flaw. he was for some time in obvious distress, how he should speak and act in my presence; but when he found, that though a supporter of the present government upon principle, i was disposed to think with pity on those who had opposed it on a mistaken feeling of loyalty and duty, his discourse became a very diverting medley of what he had done, and what he had left undone,--the pains he had taken to prevent some squires from joining, and to wink at the escape of others, who had been so unlucky as to engage in the affair. we were _tete-a'-tete,_ and several bumpers had been quaffed by the justice's special desire, when, on a sudden, he requested me to fill a _bona fide_ brimmer to the health of poor dear die vernon, the rose of the wilderness, the heath-bell of cheviot, and the blossom that's transplanted to an infernal convent. "is not miss vernon married, then?" i exclaimed, in great astonishment. "i thought his excellency"-- "pooh! pooh! his excellency and his lordship's all a humbug now, you know--mere st. germains titles--earl of beauchamp, and ambassador plenipotentiary from france, when the duke regent of orleans scarce knew that he lived, i dare say. but you must have seen old sir frederick vernon at the hall, when he played the part of father vaughan?" "good heavens! then vaughan was miss vernon's father?" "to be sure he was," said the justice coolly;--"there's no use in keeping the secret now, for he must be out of the country by this time--otherwise, no doubt, it would be my duty to apprehend him.--come, off with your bumper to my dear lost die! and let her health go round, around, around, and let her health go round; for though your stocking be of silk, your knees near kiss the ground, aground, aground."* * this pithy verse occurs, it is believed, in shadwell's play of bury fair. i was unable, as the reader may easily conceive, to join in the justice's jollity. my head swam with the shock i had received. "i never heard," i said, "that miss vernon's father was living." "it was not our government's fault that he is," replied inglewood, "for the devil a man there is whose head would have brought more money. he was condemned to death for fenwick's plot, and was thought to have had some hand in the knightsbridge affair, in king william's time; and as he had married in scotland a relation of the house of breadalbane, he possessed great influence with all their chiefs. there was a talk of his being demanded to be given up at the peace of ryswick, but he shammed ill, and his death was given publicly out in the french papers. but when he came back here on the old score, we old cavaliers knew him well,--that is to say, i knew him, not as being a cavalier myself, but no information being lodged against the poor gentleman, and my memory being shortened by frequent attacks of the gout, i could not have sworn to him, you know." "was he, then, not known at osbaldistone hall?" i inquired. "to none but to his daughter, the old knight, and rashleigh, who had got at that secret as he did at every one else, and held it like a twisted cord about poor die's neck. i have seen her one hundred times she would have spit at him, if it had not been fear for her father, whose life would not have been worth five minutes' purchase if he had been discovered to the government.--but don't mistake me, mr. osbaldistone; i say the government is a good, a gracious, and a just government; and if it has hanged one-half of the rebels, poor things, all will acknowledge they would not have been touched had they staid peaceably at home." waiving the discussion of these political questions, i brought back mr. inglewood to his subject, and i found that diana, having positively refused to marry any of the osbaldistone family, and expressed her particular detestation of rashleigh, he had from that time begun to cool in zeal for the cause of the pretender; to which, as the youngest of six brethren, and bold, artful, and able, he had hitherto looked forward as the means of making his fortune. probably the compulsion with which he had been forced to render up the spoils which he had abstracted from my father's counting-house by the united authority of sir frederick vernon and the scottish chiefs, had determined his resolution to advance his progress by changing his opinions and betraying his trust. perhaps also--for few men were better judges where his interest was concerned--he considered their means and talents to be, as they afterwards proved, greatly inadequate to the important task of overthrowing an established government. sir frederick vernon, or, as he was called among the jacobites, his excellency viscount beauchamp, had, with his daughter, some difficulty in escaping the consequences of rashleigh's information. here mr. inglewood's information was at fault; but he did not doubt, since we had not heard of sir frederick being in the hands of the government, he must be by this time abroad, where, agreeably to the cruel bond he had entered into with his brother-in-law, diana, since she had declined to select a husband out of the osbaldistone family, must be confined to a convent. the original cause of this singular agreement mr. inglewood could not perfectly explain; but he understood it was a family compact, entered into for the purpose of securing to sir frederick the rents of the remnant of his large estates, which had been vested in the osbaldistone family by some legal manoeuvre; in short, a family compact, in which, like many of those undertaken at that time of day, the feelings of the principal parties interested were no more regarded than if they had been a part of the live-stock upon the lands. i cannot tell,--such is the waywardness of the human heart,--whether this intelligence gave me joy or sorrow. it seemed to me, that, in the knowledge that miss vernon was eternally divided from me, not by marriage with another, but by seclusion in a convent, in order to fulfil an absurd bargain of this kind, my regret for her loss was aggravated rather than diminished. i became dull, low-spirited, absent, and unable to support the task of conversing with justice inglewood, who in his turn yawned, and proposed to retire early. i took leave of him overnight, determining the next day, before breakfast, to ride over to osbaldistone hall. mr. inglewood acquiesced in my proposal. "it would be well," he said, "that i made my appearance there before i was known to be in the country, the more especially as sir rashleigh osbaldistone was now, he understood, at mr. jobson's house, hatching some mischief, doubtless. they were fit company," he added, "for each other, sir rashleigh having lost all right to mingle in the society of men of honour; but it was hardly possible two such d--d rascals should collogue together without mischief to honest people." he concluded, by earnestly recommending a toast and tankard, and an attack upon his venison pasty, before i set out in the morning, just to break the cold air on the words. chapter twenty-first. his master's gone, and no one now dwells in the halls of ivor; men, dogs, and horses, all are dead, he is the sole survivor. wordsworth. there are few more melancholy sensations than those with which we regard scenes of past pleasure when altered and deserted. in my ride to osbaldistone hall, i passed the same objects which i had seen in company with miss vernon on the day of our memorable ride from inglewood place. her spirit seemed to keep me company on the way; and when i approached the spot where i had first seen her, i almost listened for the cry of the hounds and the notes of the horn, and strained my eye on the vacant space, as if to descry the fair huntress again descend like an apparition from the hill. but all was silent, and all was solitary. when i reached the hall, the closed doors and windows, the grass-grown pavement, the courts, which were now so silent, presented a strong contrast to the gay and bustling scene i had so often seen them exhibit, when the merry hunters were going forth to their morning sport, or returning to the daily festival. the joyous bark of the fox-hounds as they were uncoupled, the cries of the huntsmen, the clang of the horses' hoofs, the loud laugh of the old knight at the head of his strong and numerous descendants, were all silenced now and for ever. while i gazed round the scene of solitude and emptiness, i was inexpressibly affected, even by recollecting those whom, when alive, i had no reason to regard with affection. but the thought that so many youths of goodly presence, warm with life, health, and confidence, were within so short a time cold in the grave, by various, yet all violent and unexpected modes of death, afforded a picture of mortality at which the mind trembled. it was little consolation to me, that i returned a proprietor to the halls which i had left almost like a fugitive. my mind was not habituated to regard the scenes around as my property, and i felt myself an usurper, at least an intruding stranger, and could hardly divest myself of the idea, that some of the bulky forms of my deceased kinsmen were, like the gigantic spectres of a romance, to appear in the gateway, and dispute my entrance. while i was engaged in these sad thoughts, my follower andrew, whose feelings were of a very different nature, exerted himself in thundering alternately on every door in the building, calling, at the same time, for admittance, in a tone so loud as to intimate, that _he,_ at least, was fully sensible of his newly acquired importance, as squire of the body to the new lord of the manor. at length, timidly and reluctantly, anthony syddall, my uncle's aged butler and major-domo, presented himself at a lower window, well fenced with iron bars, and inquired our business. "we are come to tak your charge aff your hand, my auld friend," said andrew fairservice; "ye may gie up your keys as sune as ye like--ilka dog has his day. i'll tak the plate and napery aff your hand. ye hae had your ain time o't, mr. syddall; but ilka bean has its black, and ilka path has its puddle; and it will just set you henceforth to sit at the board-end, as weel as it did andrew lang syne." checking with some difficulty the forwardness of my follower, i explained to syddall the nature of my right, and the title i had to demand admittance into the hall, as into my own property. the old man seemed much agitated and distressed, and testified manifest reluctance to give me entrance, although it was couched in a humble and submissive tone. i allowed for the agitation of natural feelings, which really did the old man honour; but continued peremptory in my demand of admittance, explaining to him that his refusal would oblige me to apply for mr. inglewood's warrant, and a constable. "we are come from mr. justice inglewood's this morning," said andrew, to enforce the menace;--"and i saw archie rutledge, the constable, as i came up by;--the country's no to be lawless as it has been, mr. syddall, letting rebels and papists gang on as they best listed." the threat of the law sounded dreadful in the old man's ears, conscious as he was of the suspicion under which he himself lay, from his religion and his devotion to sir hildebrand and his sons. he undid, with fear and trembling, one of the postern entrances, which was secured with many a bolt and bar, and humbly hoped that i would excuse him for fidelity in the discharge of his duty.--i reassured him, and told him i had the better opinion of him for his caution. "sae have not i," said andrew; "syddall is an auld sneck-drawer; he wadna be looking as white as a sheet, and his knees knocking thegither, unless it were for something mair than he's like to tell us." "lord forgive you, mr. fairservice," replied the butler, "to say such things of an old friend and fellow-servant!--where"--following me humbly along the passage--"where would it be your honour's pleasure to have a fire lighted? i fear me you will find the house very dull and dreary--but perhaps you mean to ride back to inglewood place to dinner?" "light a fire in the library," i replied. "in the library!" answered the old man;--"nobody has sat there this many a day, and the room smokes, for the daws have built in the chimney this spring, and there were no young men about the hall to pull them down." "our ain reekes better than other folk's fire," said andrew. "his honour likes the library;--he's nane o' your papishers, that delight in blinded ignorance, mr. syddall." very reluctantly as it appeared to me, the butler led the way to the library, and, contrary to what he had given me to expect, the interior of the apartment looked as if it had been lately arranged, and made more comfortable than usual. there was a fire in the grate, which burned clearly, notwithstanding what syddall had reported of the vent. taking up the tongs, as if to arrange the wood, but rather perhaps to conceal his own confusion, the butler observed, "it was burning clear now, but had smoked woundily in the morning." wishing to be alone, till i recovered myself from the first painful sensations which everything around me recalled, i desired old syddall to call the land-steward, who lived at about a quarter of a mile from the hall. he departed with obvious reluctance. i next ordered andrew to procure the attendance of a couple of stout fellows upon whom he could rely, the population around being papists, and sir rashleigh, who was capable of any desperate enterprise, being in the neighbourhood. andrew fairservice undertook this task with great cheerfulness, and promised to bring me up from trinlay-knowe, "twa true-blue presbyterians like himself, that would face and out-face baith the pope, the devil, and the pretender--and blythe will i be o' their company mysell, for the very last night that i was at osbaldistone hall, the blight be on ilka blossom in my bit yard, if i didna see that very picture" (pointing to the full-length portrait of miss vernon's grandfather) "walking by moonlight in the garden! i tauld your honour i was fleyed wi' a bogle that night, but ye wadna listen to me--i aye thought there was witchcraft and deevilry amang the papishers, but i ne'er saw't wi' bodily een till that awfu' night." "get along, sir," said i, "and bring the fellows you talk of; and see they have more sense than yourself, and are not frightened at their own shadow." "i hae been counted as gude a man as my neighbours ere now," said andrew, petulantly; "but i dinna pretend to deal wi' evil spirits." and so he made his exit, as wardlaw the land-steward made his appearance. he was a man of sense and honesty, without whose careful management my uncle would have found it difficult to have maintained himself a housekeeper so long as he did. he examined the nature of my right of possession carefully, and admitted it candidly. to any one else the succession would have been a poor one, so much was the land encumbered with debt and mortgage. most of these, however, were already vested in my father's person, and he was in a train of acquiring the rest; his large gains by the recent rise of the funds having made it a matter of ease and convenience for him to pay off the debt which affected his patrimony. i transacted much necessary business with mr. wardlaw, and detained him to dine with me. we preferred taking our repast in the library, although syddall strongly recommended our removing to the stone-hall, which he had put in order for the occasion. meantime andrew made his appearance with his true-blue recruits, whom he recommended in the highest terms, as "sober decent men, weel founded in doctrinal points, and, above all, as bold as lions." i ordered them something to drink, and they left the room. i observed old syddall shake his head as they went out, and insisted upon knowing the reason. "i maybe cannot expect," he said, "that your honour should put confidence in what i say, but it is heaven's truth for all that--ambrose wingfield is as honest a man as lives, but if there is a false knave in the country, it is his brother lancie;--the whole country knows him to be a spy for clerk jobson on the poor gentlemen that have been in trouble--but he's a dissenter, and i suppose that's enough now-a-days." having thus far given vent to his feelings,--to which, however, i was little disposed to pay attention,--and having placed the wine on the table, the old butler left the apartment. mr. wardlaw having remained with me until the evening was somewhat advanced, at length bundled up his papers, and removed himself to his own habitation, leaving me in that confused state of mind in which we can hardly say whether we desire company or solitude. i had not, however, the choice betwixt them; for i was left alone in the room of all others most calculated to inspire me with melancholy reflections. as twilight was darkening the apartment, andrew had the sagacity to advance his head at the door,--not to ask if i wished for lights, but to recommend them as a measure of precaution against the bogles which still haunted his imagination. i rejected his proffer somewhat peevishly, trimmed the wood-fire, and placing myself in one of the large leathern chairs which flanked the old gothic chimney, i watched unconsciously the bickering of the blaze which i had fostered. "and this," said i alone, "is the progress and the issue of human wishes! nursed by the merest trifles, they are first kindled by fancy--nay, are fed upon the vapour of hope, till they consume the substance which they inflame; and man, and his hopes, passions, and desires, sink into a worthless heap of embers and ashes!" there was a deep sigh from the opposite side of the room, which seemed to reply to my reflections. i started up in amazement--diana vernon stood before me, resting on the arm of a figure so strongly resembling that of the portrait so often mentioned, that i looked hastily at the frame, expecting to see it empty. my first idea was, either that i had gone suddenly distracted, or that the spirits of the dead had arisen and been placed before me. a second glance convinced me of my being in my senses, and that the forms which stood before me were real and substantial. it was diana herself, though paler and thinner than her former self; and it was no tenant of the grave who stood beside her, but vaughan, or rather sir frederick vernon, in a dress made to imitate that of his ancestor, to whose picture his countenance possessed a family resemblance. he was the first that spoke, for diana kept her eyes fast fixed on the ground, and astonishment actually riveted my tongue to the roof of my mouth. "we are your suppliants, mr. osbaldistone," he said, "and we claim the refuge and protection of your roof till we can pursue a journey where dungeons and death gape for me at every step." "surely," i articulated with great difficulty--"miss vernon cannot suppose--you, sir, cannot believe, that i have forgot your interference in my difficulties, or that i am capable of betraying any one, much less you?" "i know it," said sir frederick; "yet it is with the most inexpressible reluctance that i impose on you a confidence, disagreeable perhaps--certainly dangerous--and which i would have specially wished to have conferred on some one else. but my fate, which has chased me through a life of perils and escapes, is now pressing me hard, and i have no alternative." at this moment the door opened, and the voice of the officious andrew was heard--"a'm bringin' in the caunles--ye can light them gin ye like--can do is easy carried about wi' ane." i ran to the door, which, as i hoped, i reached in time to prevent his observing who were in the apartment, i turned him out with hasty violence, shut the door after him, and locked it--then instantly remembering his two companions below, knowing his talkative humour, and recollecting syddall's remark, that one of them was supposed to be a spy, i followed him as fast as i could to the servants' hall, in which they were assembled. andrew's tongue was loud as i opened the door, but my unexpected appearance silenced him. "what is the matter with you, you fool?" said i; "you stare and look wild, as if you had seen a ghost." "n--n--no--nothing," said andrew.--"but your worship was pleased to be hasty." "because you disturbed me out of a sound sleep, you fool. syddall tells me he cannot find beds for these good fellows tonight, and mr. wardlaw thinks there will be no occasion to detain them. here is a crown-piece for them to drink my health, and thanks for their good-will. you will leave the hall immediately, my good lads." the men thanked me for my bounty, took the silver, and withdrew, apparently unsuspicious and contented. i watched their departure until i was sure they could have no further intercourse that night with honest andrew. and so instantly had i followed on his heels, that i thought he could not have had time to speak two words with them before i interrupted him. but it is wonderful what mischief may be done by only two words. on this occasion they cost two lives. having made these arrangements, the best which occurred to me upon the pressure of the moment, to secure privacy for my guests, i returned to report my proceedings, and added, that i had desired syddall to answer every summons, concluding that it was by his connivance they had been secreted in the hall. diana raised her eyes to thank me for the caution. "you now understand my mystery," she said;--"you know, doubtless, how near and dear that relative is, who has so often found shelter here; and will be no longer surprised that rashleigh, having such a secret at his command, should rule me with a rod of iron." her father added, "that it was their intention to trouble me with their presence as short a time as was possible." i entreated the fugitives to waive every consideration but what affected their safety, and to rely on my utmost exertions to promote it. this led to an explanation of the circumstances under which they stood. "i always suspected rashleigh osbaldistone," said sir frederick; "but his conduct towards my unprotected child, which with difficulty i wrung from her, and his treachery in your father's affairs, made me hate and despise him. in our last interview i concealed not my sentiments, as i should in prudence have attempted to do; and in resentment of the scorn with which i treated him, he added treachery and apostasy to his catalogue of crimes. i at that time fondly hoped that his defection would be of little consequence. the earl of mar had a gallant army in scotland, and lord derwentwater, with forster, kenmure, winterton, and others, were assembling forces on the border. as my connections with these english nobility and gentry were extensive, it was judged proper that i should accompany a detachment of highlanders, who, under brigadier macintosh of borlum, crossed the firth of forth, traversed the low country of scotland, and united themselves on the borders with the english insurgents. my daughter accompanied me through the perils and fatigues of a march so long and difficult." "and she will never leave her dear father!" exclaimed miss vernon, clinging fondly to his arm. "i had hardly joined our english friends, when i became sensible that our cause was lost. our numbers diminished instead of increasing, nor were we joined by any except of our own persuasion. the tories of the high church remained in general undecided, and at length we were cooped up by a superior force in the little town of preston. we defended ourselves resolutely for one day. on the next, the hearts of our leaders failed, and they resolved to surrender at discretion. to yield myself up on such terms, were to have laid my head on the block. about twenty or thirty gentlemen were of my mind: we mounted our horses, and placed my daughter, who insisted on sharing my fate, in the centre of our little party. my companions, struck with her courage and filial piety, declared that they would die rather than leave her behind. we rode in a body down a street called fishergate, which leads to a marshy ground or meadow, extending to the river ribble, through which one of our party promised to show us a good ford. this marsh had not been strongly invested by the enemy, so that we had only an affair with a patrol of honeywood's dragoons, whom we dispersed and cut to pieces. we crossed the river, gained the high road to liverpool, and then dispersed to seek several places of concealment and safety. my fortune led me to wales, where there are many gentlemen of my religious and political opinions. i could not, however, find a safe opportunity of escaping by sea, and found myself obliged again to draw towards the north. a well-tried friend has appointed to meet me in this neighbourhood, and guide me to a seaport on the solway, where a sloop is prepared to carry me from my native country for ever. as osbaldistone hall was for the present uninhabited, and under the charge of old syddall, who had been our confidant on former occasions, we drew to it as to a place of known and secure refuge. i resumed a dress which had been used with good effect to scare the superstitious rustics, or domestics, who chanced at any time to see me; and we expected from time to time to hear by syddall of the arrival of our friendly guide, when your sudden coming hither, and occupying this apartment, laid us under the necessity of submitting to your mercy." thus ended sir fredericks story, whose tale sounded to me like one told in a vision; and i could hardly bring myself to believe that i saw his daughter's form once more before me in flesh and blood, though with diminished beauty and sunk spirits. the buoyant vivacity with which she had resisted every touch of adversity, had now assumed the air of composed and submissive, but dauntless resolution and constancy. her father, though aware and jealous of the effect of her praises on my mind, could not forbear expatiating upon them. "she has endured trials," he said, "which might have dignified the history of a martyr;--she has faced danger and death in various shapes;--she has undergone toil and privation, from which men of the strongest frame would have shrunk;--she has spent the day in darkness, and the night in vigil, and has never breathed a murmur of weakness or complaint. in a word, mr. osbaldistone," he concluded, "she is a worthy offering to that god, to whom" (crossing himself) "i shall dedicate her, as all that is left dear or precious to frederick vernon." there was a silence after these words, of which i well understood the mournful import. the father of diana was still as anxious to destroy my hopes of being united to her now as he had shown himself during our brief meeting in scotland. "we will now," said he to his daughter, "intrude no farther on mr. osbaldistone's time, since we have acquainted him with the circumstances of the miserable guests who claim his protection." i requested them to stay, and offered myself to leave the apartment. sir frederick observed, that my doing so could not but excite my attendant's suspicion; and that the place of their retreat was in every respect commodious, and furnished by syddall with all they could possibly want. "we might perhaps have even contrived to remain there, concealed from your observation; but it would have been unjust to decline the most absolute reliance on your honour." "you have done me but justice," i replied.--"to you, sir frederick, i am but little known; but miss vernon, i am sure, will bear me witness that"-- "i do not want my daughter's evidence," he said, politely, but yet with an air calculated to prevent my addressing myself to diana, "since i am prepared to believe all that is worthy of mr. francis osbaldistone. permit us now to retire; we must take repose when we can, since we are absolutely uncertain when we may be called upon to renew our perilous journey." he drew his daughter's arm within his, and with a profound reverence, disappeared with her behind the tapestry. chapter twenty-second. but now the hand of fate is on the curtain, and gives the scene to light. don sebastian. i felt stunned and chilled as they retired. imagination, dwelling on an absent object of affection, paints her not only in the fairest light, but in that in which we most desire to behold her. i had thought of diana as she was, when her parting tear dropped on my cheek--when her parting token, received from the wife of macgregor, augured her wish to convey into exile and conventual seclusion the remembrance of my affection. i saw her; and her cold passive manner, expressive of little except composed melancholy, disappointed, and, in some degree, almost offended me. in the egotism of my feelings, i accused her of indifference--of insensibility. i upbraided her father with pride--with cruelty--with fanaticism,--forgetting that both were sacrificing their interest, and diana her inclination, to the discharge of what they regarded as their duty. sir frederick vernon was a rigid catholic, who thought the path of salvation too narrow to be trodden by an heretic; and diana, to whom her father's safety had been for many years the principal and moving spring of thoughts, hopes, and actions, felt that she had discharged her duty in resigning to his will, not alone her property in the world, but the dearest affections of her heart. but it was not surprising that i could not, at such a moment, fully appreciate these honourable motives; yet my spleen sought no ignoble means of discharging itself. "i am contemned, then," i said, when left to run over the tenor of sir frederick's communications--"i am contemned, and thought unworthy even to exchange words with her. be it so; they shall not at least prevent me from watching over her safety. here will i remain as an outpost, and, while under my roof at least, no danger shall threaten her, if it be such as the arm of one determined man can avert." i summoned syddall to the library. he came, but came attended by the eternal andrew, who, dreaming of great things in consequence of my taking possession of the hall and the annexed estates, was resolved to lose nothing for want of keeping himself in view; and, as often happens to men who entertain selfish objects, overshot his mark, and rendered his attentions tedious and inconvenient. his unrequired presence prevented me from speaking freely to syddall, and i dared not send him away for fear of increasing such suspicions as he might entertain from his former abrupt dismissal from the library. "i shall sleep here, sir," i said, giving them directions to wheel nearer to the fire an old-fashioned day-bed, or settee. "i have much to do, and shall go late to bed." syddall, who seemed to understand my look, offered to procure me the accommodation of a mattress and some bedding. i accepted his offer, dismissed my attendant, lighted a pair of candles, and desired that i might not be disturbed till seven in the ensuing morning. the domestics retired, leaving me to my painful and ill-arranged reflections, until nature, worn out, should require some repose. i endeavoured forcibly to abstract my mind from the singular circumstances in which i found myself placed. feelings which i had gallantly combated while the exciting object was remote, were now exasperated by my immediate neighbourhood to her whom i was so soon to part with for ever. her name was written in every book which i attempted to peruse; and her image forced itself on me in whatever train of thought i strove to engage myself. it was like the officious slave of prior's solomon,-- abra was ready ere i named her name, and when i called another, abra came. i alternately gave way to these thoughts, and struggled against them, sometimes yielding to a mood of melting tenderness of sorrow which was scarce natural to me, sometimes arming myself with the hurt pride of one who had experienced what he esteemed unmerited rejection. i paced the library until i had chafed myself into a temporary fever. i then threw myself on the couch, and endeavoured to dispose myself to sleep;--but it was in vain that i used every effort to compose myself--that i lay without movement of finger or of muscle, as still as if i had been already a corpse--that i endeavoured to divert or banish disquieting thoughts, by fixing my mind on some act of repetition or arithmetical process. my blood throbbed, to my feverish apprehension, in pulsations which resembled the deep and regular strokes of a distant fulling-mill, and tingled in my veins like streams of liquid fire. at length i arose, opened the window, and stood by it for some time in the clear moonlight, receiving, in part at least, that refreshment and dissipation of ideas from the clear and calm scene, without which they had become beyond the command of my own volition. i resumed my place on the couch--with a heart, heaven knows, not lighter but firmer, and more resolved for endurance. in a short time a slumber crept over my senses; still, however, though my senses slumbered, my soul was awake to the painful feelings of my situation, and my dreams were of mental anguish and external objects of terror. i remember a strange agony, under which i conceived myself and diana in the power of macgregor's wife, and about to be precipitated from a rock into the lake; the signal was to be the discharge of a cannon, fired by sir frederick vernon, who, in the dress of a cardinal, officiated at the ceremony. nothing could be more lively than the impression which i received of this imaginary scene. i could paint, even at this moment, the mute and courageous submission expressed in diana's features--the wild and distorted faces of the executioners, who crowded around us with "mopping and mowing;" grimaces ever changing, and each more hideous than that which preceded. i saw the rigid and inflexible fanaticism painted in the face of the father--i saw him lift the fatal match--the deadly signal exploded--it was repeated again and again and again, in rival thunders, by the echoes of the surrounding cliffs, and i awoke from fancied horror to real apprehension. the sounds in my dream were not ideal. they reverberated on my waking ears, but it was two or three minutes ere i could collect myself so as distinctly to understand that they proceeded from a violent knocking at the gate. i leaped from my couch in great apprehension, took my sword under my arm, and hastened to forbid the admission of any one. but my route was necessarily circuitous, because the library looked not upon the quadrangle, but into the gardens. when i had reached a staircase, the windows of which opened upon the entrance court, i heard the feeble and intimidated tones of syddall expostulating with rough voices, which demanded admittance, by the warrant of justice standish, and in the king's name, and threatened the old domestic with the heaviest penal consequences if he refused instant obedience. ere they had ceased, i heard, to my unspeakable provocation, the voice of andrew bidding syddall stand aside, and let him open the door. "if they come in king george's name, we have naething to fear--we hae spent baith bluid and gowd for him--we dinna need to darn ourselves like some folks, mr. syddall--we are neither papists nor jacobites, i trow." it was in vain i accelerated my pace down stairs; i heard bolt after bolt withdrawn by the officious scoundrel, while all the time he was boasting his own and his master's loyalty to king george; and i could easily calculate that the party must enter before i could arrive at the door to replace the bars. devoting the back of andrew fairservice to the cudgel so soon as i should have time to pay him his deserts, i ran back to the library, barricaded the door as i best could, and hastened to that by which diana and her father entered, and begged for instant admittance. diana herself undid the door. she was ready dressed, and betrayed neither perturbation nor fear. "danger is so familiar to us," she said, "that we are always prepared to meet it. my father is already up--he is in rashleigh's apartment. we will escape into the garden, and thence by the postern-gate (i have the key from syddall in case of need.) into the wood--i know its dingles better than any one now alive. keep them a few minutes in play. and, dear, dear frank, once more fare-thee-well!" she vanished like a meteor to join her father, and the intruders were rapping violently, and attempting to force the library door by the time i had returned into it. "you robber dogs!" i exclaimed, wilfully mistaking the purpose of their disturbance, "if you do not instantly quit the house i will fire my blunderbuss through the door." "fire a fule's bauble!" said andrew fairservice; "it's mr. clerk jobson, with a legal warrant"-- "to search for, take, and apprehend," said the voice of that execrable pettifogger, "the bodies of certain persons in my warrant named, charged of high treason under the th of king william, chapter third." and the violence on the door was renewed. "i am rising, gentlemen," said i, desirous to gain as much time as possible--"commit no violence--give me leave to look at your warrant, and, if it is formal and legal, i shall not oppose it." "god save great george our king!" ejaculated andrew. "i tauld ye that ye would find nae jacobites here." spinning out the time as much as possible, i was at length compelled to open the door, which they would otherwise have forced. mr. jobson entered, with several assistants, among whom i discovered the younger wingfield, to whom, doubtless, he was obliged for his information, and exhibited his warrant, directed not only against frederick vernon, an attainted traitor, but also against diana vernon, spinster, and francis osbaldistone, gentleman, accused of misprision of treason. it was a case in which resistance would have been madness; i therefore, after capitulating for a few minutes' delay, surrendered myself a prisoner. i had next the mortification to see jobson go straight to the chamber of miss vernon, and i learned that from thence, without hesitation or difficulty, he went to the room where sir frederick had slept. "the hare has stolen away," said the brute, "but her form is warm--the greyhounds will have her by the haunches yet." a scream from the garden announced that he prophesied too truly. in the course of five minutes, rashleigh entered the library with sir frederick vernon and his daughter as prisoners. "the fox," he said, "knew his old earth, but he forgot it could be stopped by a careful huntsman.--i had not forgot the garden-gate, sir frederick--or, if that title suits you better, most noble lord beauchamp." "rashleigh," said sir frederick, "thou art a detestable villain!" "i better deserved the name, sir knight, or my lord, when, under the direction of an able tutor, i sought to introduce civil war into the bosom of a peaceful country. but i have done my best," said he, looking upwards, "to atone for my errors." i could hold no longer. i had designed to watch their proceedings in silence, but i felt that i must speak or die. "if hell," i said, "has one complexion more hideous than another, it is where villany is masked by hypocrisy." "ha! my gentle cousin," said rashleigh, holding a candle towards me, and surveying me from head to foot; "right welcome to osbaldistone hall!--i can forgive your spleen--it is hard to lose an estate and a mistress in one night; for we shall take possession of this poor manor-house in the name of the lawful heir, sir rashleigh osbaldistone." while rashleigh braved it out in this manner, i could see that he put a strong force upon his feelings, both of anger and shame. but his state of mind was more obvious when diana vernon addressed him. "rashleigh," she said, "i pity you--for, deep as the evil is which you have laboured to do me, and the evil you have actually done, i cannot hate you so much as i scorn and pity you. what you have now done may be the work of an hour, but will furnish you with reflection for your life--of what nature i leave to your own conscience, which will not slumber for ever." rashleigh strode once or twice through the room, came up to the side-table, on which wine was still standing, and poured out a large glass with a trembling hand; but when he saw that we observed his tremor, he suppressed it by a strong effort, and, looking at us with fixed and daring composure, carried the bumper to his head without spilling a drop. "it is my father's old burgundy," he said, looking to jobson; "i am glad there is some of it left.--you will get proper persons to take care of old butler, and that foolish scotch rascal. meanwhile we will convey these persons to a more proper place of custody. i have provided the old family coach for your convenience," he said, "though i am not ignorant that even the lady could brave the night-air on foot or on horseback, were the errand more to her mind." andrew wrung his hands.--"i only said that my master was surely speaking to a ghaist in the library--and the villain lancie to betray an auld friend, that sang aff the same psalm-book wi' him every sabbath for twenty years!" he was turned out of the house, together with syddall, without being allowed to conclude his lamentation. his expulsion, however, led to some singular consequences. resolving, according to his own story, to go down for the night where mother simpson would give him a lodging for old acquaintance' sake, he had just got clear of the avenue, and into the old wood, as it was called, though it was now used as a pasture-ground rather than woodland, when he suddenly lighted on a drove of scotch cattle, which were lying there to repose themselves after the day's journey. at this andrew was in no way surprised, it being the well-known custom of his countrymen, who take care of those droves, to quarter themselves after night upon the best unenclosed grass-ground they can find, and depart before day-break to escape paying for their night's lodgings. but he was both surprised and startled, when a highlander, springing up, accused him of disturbing the cattle, and refused him to pass forward till he had spoken to his master. the mountaineer conducted andrew into a thicket, where he found three or four more of his countrymen. "and," said andrew, "i saw sune they were ower mony men for the drove; and from the questions they put to me, i judged they had other tow on their rock." they questioned him closely about all that had passed at osbaldistone hall, and seemed surprised and concerned at the report he made to them. "and troth," said andrew, "i tauld them a' i ken'd; for dirks and pistols were what i could never refuse information to in a' my life." they talked in whispers among themselves, and at length collected their cattle together, and drove them close up to the entrance of the avenue, which might be half a mile distant from the house. they proceeded to drag together some felled trees which lay in the vicinity, so as to make a temporary barricade across the road, about fifteen yards beyond the avenue. it was now near daybreak, and there was a pale eastern gleam mingled with the fading moonlight, so that objects could be discovered with some distinctness. the lumbering sound of a coach drawn by four horses, and escorted by six men on horseback, was heard coming up the avenue. the highlanders listened attentively. the carriage contained mr. jobson and his unfortunate prisoners. the escort consisted of rashleigh, and of several horsemen, peace-officers and their assistants. so soon as we had passed the gate at the head of the avenue, it was shut behind the cavalcade by a highland-man, stationed there for that purpose. at the same time the carriage was impeded in its farther progress by the cattle, amongst which we were involved, and by the barricade in front. two of the escort dismounted to remove the felled trees, which they might think were left there by accident or carelessness. the others began with their whips to drive the cattle from the road. "who dare abuse our cattle?" said a rough voice.--"shoot him, angus!" rashleigh instantly called out--"a rescue! a rescue!" and, firing a pistol, wounded the man who spoke. "_claymore!_" cried the leader of the highlanders, and a scuffle instantly commenced. the officers of the law, surprised at so sudden an attack, and not usually possessing the most desperate bravery, made but an imperfect defence, considering the superiority of their numbers. some attempted to ride back to the hall, but on a pistol being fired from behind the gate, they conceived themselves surrounded, and at length galloped of in different directions. rashleigh, meanwhile, had dismounted, and on foot had maintained a desperate and single-handed conflict with the leader of the band. the window of the carriage, on my side, permitted me to witness it. at length rashleigh dropped. "will you ask forgiveness for the sake of god, king james, and auld friendship?" said a voice which i knew right well. "no, never!" said rashleigh, firmly. "then, traitor, die in your treason!" retorted macgregor, and plunged his sword in his prostrate antagonist. in the next moment he was at the carriage door--handed out miss vernon, assisted her father and me to alight, and dragging out the attorney, head foremost, threw him under the wheel. "mr. osbaldistone," he said, in a whisper, "you have nothing to fear--i must look after those who have--your friends will soon be in safety--farewell, and forget not the macgregor." he whistled--his band gathered round him, and, hurrying diana and her father along with him, they were almost instantly lost in the glades of the forest. the coachman and postilion had abandoned their horses, and fled at the first discharge of firearms; but the animals, stopped by the barricade, remained perfectly still; and well for jobson that they did so, for the slightest motion would have dragged the wheel over his body. my first object was to relieve him, for such was the rascal's terror that he never could have risen by his own exertions. i next commanded him to observe, that i had neither taken part in the rescue, nor availed myself of it to make my escape, and enjoined him to go down to the hall, and call some of his party, who had been left there, to assist the wounded.-- but jobson's fears had so mastered and controlled every faculty of his mind, that he was totally incapable of moving. i now resolved to go myself, but in my way i stumbled over the body of a man, as i thought, dead or dying. it was, however, andrew fairservice, as well and whole as ever he was in his life, who had only taken this recumbent posture to avoid the slashes, stabs, and pistol-balls, which for a moment or two were flying in various directions. i was so glad to find him, that i did not inquire how he came thither, but instantly commanded his assistance. rashleigh was our first object. he groaned when i approached him, as much through spite as through pain, and shut his eyes, as if determined, like iago, to speak no word more. we lifted him into the carriage, and performed the same good office to another wounded man of his party, who had been left on the field. i then with difficulty made jobson understand that he must enter the coach also, and support sir rashleigh upon the seat. he obeyed, but with an air as if he but half comprehended my meaning. andrew and i turned the horses' heads round, and opening the gate of the avenue, led them slowly back to osbaldistone hall. some fugitives had already reached the hall by circuitous routes, and alarmed its garrison by the news that sir rashleigh, clerk jobson, and all their escort, save they who escaped to tell the tale, had been cut to pieces at the head of the avenue by a whole regiment of wild highlanders. when we reached the mansion, therefore, we heard such a buzz as arises when bees are alarmed, and mustering in their hives. mr. jobson, however, who had now in some measure come to his senses, found voice enough to make himself known. he was the more anxious to be released from the carriage, as one of his companions (the peace-officer) had, to his inexpressible terror, expired by his side with a hideous groan. sir rashleigh osbaldistone was still alive, but so dreadfully wounded that the bottom of the coach was filled with his blood, and long traces of it left from the entrance-door into the stone-hall, where he was placed in a chair, some attempting to stop the bleeding with cloths, while others called for a surgeon, and no one seemed willing to go to fetch one. "torment me not," said the wounded man--"i know no assistance can avail me--i am a dying man." he raised himself in his chair, though the damps and chill of death were already on his brow, and spoke with a firmness which seemed beyond his strength. "cousin francis," he said, "draw near to me." i approached him as he requested.--"i wish you only to know that the pangs of death do not alter i one iota of my feelings towards you. i hate you!" he said, the expression of rage throwing a hideous glare into the eyes which were soon to be closed for ever--"i hate you with a hatred as intense, now while i lie bleeding and dying before you, as if my foot trode on your neck." "i have given you no cause, sir," i replied,--"and for your own sake i could wish your mind in a better temper." "you _have_ given me cause," he rejoined. "in love, in ambition, in the paths of interest, you have crossed and blighted me at every turn. i was born to be the honour of my father's house--i have been its disgrace--and all owing to you. my very patrimony has become yours--take it," he said, "and may the curse of a dying man cleave to it!" [illustration: the death of rashleigh-- ] in a moment after he had uttered this frightful wish, he fell back in the chair; his eyes became glazed, his limbs stiffened, but the grin and glare of mortal hatred survived even the last gasp of life. i will dwell no longer on so painful a picture, nor say any more of the death of rashleigh, than that it gave me access to my rights of inheritance without farther challenge, and that jobson found himself compelled to allow, that the ridiculous charge of misprision of high treason was got up on an affidavit which he made with the sole purpose of favouring rashleigh's views, and removing me from osbaldistone hall. the rascal's name was struck off the list of attorneys, and he was reduced to poverty and contempt. i returned to london when i had put my affairs in order at osbaldistone hall, and felt happy to escape from a place which suggested so many painful recollections. my anxiety was now acute to learn the fate of diana and her father. a french gentleman who came to london on commercial business, was intrusted with a letter to me from miss vernon, which put my mind at rest respecting their safety. it gave me to understand that the opportune appearance of macgregor and his party was not fortuitous. the scottish nobles and gentry engaged in the insurrection, as well as those of england, were particularly anxious to further the escape of sir frederick vernon, who, as an old and trusted agent of the house of stuart, was possessed of matter enough to have ruined half scotland. rob roy, of whose sagacity and courage they had known so many proofs, was the person whom they pitched upon to assist his escape, and the place of meeting was fixed at osbaldistone hall. you have already heard how nearly the plan had been disconcerted by the unhappy rashleigh. it succeeded, however, perfectly; for when once sir frederick and his daughter were again at large, they found horses prepared for them, and, by macgregor's knowledge of the country--for every part of scotland, and of the north of england, was familiar to him--were conducted to the western sea-coast, and safely embarked for france. the same gentleman told me that sir frederick was not expected to survive for many months a lingering disease, the consequence of late hardships and privations. his daughter was placed in a convent, and although it was her father's wish she should take the veil, he was understood to refer the matter entirely to her own inclinations. when these news reached me, i frankly told the state of my affections to my father, who was not a little startled at the idea of my marrying a roman catholic. but he was very desirous to see me "settled in life," as he called it; and he was sensible that, in joining him with heart and hand in his commercial labours, i had sacrificed my own inclinations. after a brief hesitation, and several questions asked and answered to his satisfaction, he broke out with--"i little thought a son of mine should have been lord of osbaldistone manor, and far less that he should go to a french convent for a spouse. but so dutiful a daughter cannot but prove a good wife. you have worked at the desk to please me, frank; it is but fair you should wive to please yourself." how i sped in my wooing, will tresham, i need not tell you. you know, too, how long and happily i lived with diana. you know how i lamented her; but you do not--cannot know, how much she deserved her husband's sorrow. i have no more of romantic adventure to tell, nor, indeed, anything to communicate farther, since the latter incidents of my life are so well known to one who has shared, with the most friendly sympathy, the joys, as well as the sorrows, by which its scenes have been chequered. i often visited scotland, but never again saw the bold highlander who had such an influence on the early events of my life. i learned, however, from time to time, that he continued to maintain his ground among the mountains of loch lomond, in despite of his powerful enemies, and that he even obtained, to a certain degree, the connivance of government to his self-elected office of protector of the lennox, in virtue of which he levied black-mail with as much regularity as the proprietors did their ordinary rents. it seemed impossible that his life should have concluded without a violent end. nevertheless he died in old age and by a peaceful death, some time about the year , and is still remembered in his country as the robin hood of scotland--the dread of the wealthy, but the friend of the poor--and possessed of many qualities, both of head and heart, which would have graced a less equivocal profession than that to which his fate condemned him. old andrew fairservice used to say, that "there were many things ower bad for blessing, and ower gude for banning, like rob roy." _here the original manuscript ends somewhat abruptly. i have reason to think that what followed related to private a affairs._ postscript. the second article of the appendix to the introduction to rob roy contains two curious letters respecting the arrest of mr. grahame of killearn by that daring freebooter, while levying the duke of montrose's rents. these were taken from scroll copies in the possession of his grace the present duke, who kindly permitted the use of them in the present publication.--the novel had but just passed through the press, when the right honourable mr. peel--whose important state avocations do not avert his attention from the interests of literature--transmitted to the author copies of the original letters and enclosure, of which he possessed only the rough draught. the originals were discovered in the state paper office, by the indefatigable researches of mr. lemon, who is daily throwing more light on that valuable collection of records. from the documents with which the author has been thus kindly favoured, he is enabled to fill up the addresses which were wanting in the scrolls. that of the st nov. is addressed to lord viscount townshend, and is accompanied by one of the same date to robert pringle, esquire, under-secretary of state, which is here inserted as relative to so curious an incident:-- _letter from the duke of montrose, to robert pringle, esq., under-secretary to lord viscount townshend._ "sr,_glasgow,_ _nov._ . "haveing had so many dispatches to make this night, i hope ye'l excuse me that i make use of another hand to give yow a short account of the occasion of this express, by which i have written to my ld. duke of roxburgh, and my lord townshend, which i hope ye'l gett carefully deleivered. "mr. graham, younger of killearn, being on munday last in menteith att a country house, collecting my rents, was about nine o'clock that same night surprised by rob roy with a party of his men in arms, who haveing surrounded the house and secured the avenues, presented their guns in at the windows, while he himself entered the room with some others with cokt pistolls, and seased killearn with all his money, books, papers, and bonds, and carryed all away with him to the hills, at the same time ordering killearn to write a letter to me (of which ye have the copy inclosed), proposeing a very honourable treaty to me. i must say this story was as surprising to me as it was insolent; and it must bring a very great concern upon me, that this gentleman, my near relation, should be brought to suffer all the barbaritys and crueltys, which revenge and mallice may suggest to these miscreants, for his haveing acted a faithfull part in the service of the government, and his affection to me in my concerns. "i need not be more particular to you, since i know that my letter to my lord townshend will come into your hands, so shall only now give you the assurances of my being, with great sincerity, "sr, yr most humble servant, (signed) "montrose." "i long exceedingly for a return of my former dispatches to the secretary's about methven and colll urquhart, and my wife's cousins, balnamoon and phinaven. "i must beg yow'll give my humble service to mr. secretary methven, and tell him that i must refer him to what i have written to my lord townshend in this affair of rob roy, believing it was needless to trouble both with letters." examined, robt. lemon, _deputy keeper of state papers._ state paper office, _nov._ , note.--the enclosure referred to in the preceding letter is another copy of the letter which mr. grahame of killearn was compelled by rob roy to write to the duke of montrose, and is exactly the same as the one enclosed in his grace's letter to lord townshend, dated november st, . r. l. the last letter in the appendix no. ii. ( th november), acquainting the government with killearn's being set at liberty, is also addressed to the under-secretary of state, mr. pringle. the author may also here remark, that immediately previous to the insurrection of , he perceives, from some notes of information given to government, that rob roy appears to have been much employed and trusted by the jacobite party, even in the very delicate task of transporting specie to the earl of breadalbane, though it might have somewhat resembled trusting don raphael and ambrose de lamela with the church treasure. notes to rob roy. note a.--the grey stone of macgregor. i have been informed that, at no very remote period, it was proposed to take this large stone, which marks the grave of dugald ciar mhor, and convert it to the purpose of the lintel of a window, the threshold of a door, or some such mean use. a man of the clan macgregor, who was somewhat deranged, took fire at this insult; and when the workmen came to remove the stone, planted himself upon it, with a broad axe in his hand, swearing he would dash out the brains of any one who should disturb the monument. athletic in person, and insane enough to be totally regardless of consequences, it was thought best to give way to his humour; and the poor madman kept sentinel on the stone day and night, till the proposal of removing it was entirely dropped. note b.--dugald ciar mhor. the above is the account which i find in a manuscript history of the clan macgregor, of which i was indulged with a perusal by donald macgregor, esq., late major of the d regiment, where great pains have been taken to collect traditions and written documents concerning the family. but an ancient and constant tradition, preserved among the inhabitants of the country, and particularly those of the clan macfarlane, relieves dugald ciar mhor of the guilt of murdering the youths, and lays the blame on a certain donald or duncan lean, who performed the act of cruelty, with the assistance of a gillie who attended him, named charlioch, or charlie. they say that the homicides dared not again join their clan, but that they resided in a wild and solitary state as outlaws, in an unfrequented part of the macfarlanes' territory. here they lived for some time undisturbed, till they committed an act of brutal violence on two defenceless women, a mother and daughter of the macfarlane clan. in revenge of this atrocity, the macfarlanes hunted them down, and shot them. it is said that the younger ruffian, charlioch, might have escaped, being remarkably swift of foot. but his crime became his punishment, for the female whom he had outraged had defended herself desperately, and had stabbed him with his own dirk in the thigh. he was lame from the wound, and was the more easily overtaken and killed. i always inclined to think this last the true edition of the story, and that the guilt was transferred to dugald ciar mhor, as a man of higher name, but i have learned that dugald was in truth dead several years before the battle--my authority being his representative, mr. gregorson of ardtornish. [see also note to introduction, "legend of montrose," vol. vi.] note c.--the loch lomond expedition. the loch lomond expedition was judged worthy to form a separate pamphlet, which i have not seen; but, as quoted by the historian rae, it must be delectable. "on the morrow, being thursday the th, they went on their expedition, and about noon came to inversnaid, the place of danger, where the paisley men and those of dumbarton, and several of the other companies, to the number of an hundred men, with the greatest intrepidity leapt on shore, got up to the top of the mountains, and stood a considerable time, beating their drums all the while; but no enemy appearing, they went in quest of their boats, which the rebels had seized, and having casually lighted on some ropes and oars hid among the shrubs, at length they found the boats drawn up a good way on the land, which they hurled down to the loch. such of them as were not damaged they carried off with them, and such as were, they sank and hewed to pieces. that same night they returned to luss, and thence next day to dumbarton, from whence they had at first set out, bringing along with them the whole boats they found in their way on either side of the loch, and in the creeks of the isles, and mooring them under the cannon of the castle. during this expedition, the pinnaces discharging their patararoes, and the men their small-arms, made such a thundering noise, through the multiplied rebounding echoes of the vast mountains on both sides of the loch, that the macgregors were cowed and frighted away to the rest of the rebels who were encamped at strath fillan."--_rae's history of the rebellion,_ to, p. . note d.--author's expedition against the maclarens. the author is uncertain whether it is worth while to mention, that he had a personal opportunity of observing, even in his own time, that the king's writ did not pass quite current in the brass of balquhidder. there were very considerable debts due by stewart of appin (chiefly to the author's family), which were likely to be lost to the creditors, if they could not be made available out of this same farm of invernenty, the scene of the murder done upon maclaren. his family, consisting of several strapping deer-stalkers, still possessed the farm, by virtue of a long lease, for a trifling rent. there was no chance of any one buying it with such an encumbrance, and a transaction was entered into by the maclarens, who, being desirous to emigrate to america, agreed to sell their lease to the creditors for l , and to remove at the next term of whitsunday. but whether they repented their bargain, or desired to make a better, or whether from a mere point of honour, the maclarens declared they would not permit a summons of removal to be executed against them, which was necessary for the legal completion of the bargain. and such was the general impression that they were men capable of resisting the legal execution of warning by very effectual means, no king's messenger would execute the summons without the support of a military force. an escort of a sergeant and six men was obtained from a highland regiment lying in stirling; and the author, then a writer's apprentice, equivalent to the honourable situation of an attorney's clerk, was invested with the superintendence of the expedition, with directions to see that the messenger discharged his duty fully, and that the gallant sergeant did not exceed his part by committing violence or plunder. and thus it happened, oddly enough, that the author first entered the romantic scenery of loch katrine, of which he may perhaps say he has somewhat extended the reputation, riding in all the dignity of danger, with a front and rear guard, and loaded arms. the sergeant was absolutely a highland sergeant kite, full of stories of rob roy and of himself, and a very good companion. we experienced no interruption whatever, and when we came to invernenty, found the house deserted. we took up our quarters for the night, and used some of the victuals which we found there. on the morning we returned as unmolested as we came. the maclarens, who probably never thought of any serious opposition, received their money and went to america, where, having had some slight share in removing them from their _paupera regna,_ i sincerely hope they prospered. the rent of invernenty instantly rose from l to l or l ; and when sold, the farm was purchased (i think by the late laird of macnab) at a price higher in proportion than what even the modern rent authorised the parties interested to hope for. note e.--allan breck stewart. allan breck stewart was a man likely in such a matter to keep his word. james drummond macgregor and he, like katherine and petruchio, were well matched "for a couple of quiet ones." allan breck lived till the beginning of the french revolution. about , a friend of mine, then residing at paris, was invited to see some procession which was supposed likely to interest him, from the windows of an apartment occupied by a scottish benedictine priest. he found, sitting by the fire, a tall, thin, raw-boned, grim-looking, old man, with the petit croix of st. louis. his visage was strongly marked by the irregular projections of the cheek-bones and chin. his eyes were grey. his grizzled hair exhibited marks of having been red, and his complexion was weather-beaten, and remarkably freckled. some civilities in french passed between the old man and my friend, in the course of which they talked of the streets and squares of paris, till at length the old soldier, for such he seemed, and such he was, said with a sigh, in a sharp highland accent, "deil ane o' them a' is worth the hie street of edinburgh!" on inquiry, this admirer of auld reekie, which he was never to see again, proved to be allan breck stewart. he lived decently on his little pension, and had, in no subsequent period of his life, shown anything of the savage mood in which he is generally believed to have assassinated the enemy and oppressor, as he supposed him, of his family and clan. note f.--the abbess of wilton. the nunnery of wilton was granted to the earl of pembroke upon its dissolution, by the magisterial authority of henry viii., or his son edward vi. on the accession of queen mary, of catholic memory, the earl found it necessary to reinstate the abbess and her fair recluses, which he did with many expressions of his remorse, kneeling humbly to the vestals, and inducting them into the convent and possessions from which he had expelled them. with the accession of elizabeth, the accommodating earl again resumed his protestant faith, and a second time drove the nuns from their sanctuary. the remonstrances of the abbess, who reminded him of his penitent expressions on the former occasion, could wring from him no other answer than that in the text--"go spin, you jade!--go spin!" note g.--mons meg. mons meg was a large old-fashioned piece of ordnance, a great favourite with the scottish common people; she was fabricated at mons, in flanders, in the reign of james iv. or v. of scotland. this gun figures frequently in the public accounts of the time, where we find charges for grease, to grease meg's mouth withal (to increase, as every schoolboy knows, the loudness of the report), ribands to deck her carriage, and pipes to play before her when she was brought from the castle to accompany the scottish army on any distant expedition. after the union, there was much popular apprehension that the regalia of scotland, and the subordinate palladium, mons meg, would be carried to england to complete the odious surrender of national independence. the regalia, sequestered from the sight of the public, were generally supposed to have been abstracted in this manner. as for mons meg, she remained in the castle of edinburgh, till, by order of the board of ordnance, she was actually removed to woolwich about . the regalia, by his majesty's special command, have been brought forth from their place of concealment in , and exposed to the view of the people, by whom they must be looked upon with deep associations; and, in this very winter of - , mons meg has been restored to the country, where that, which in every other place or situation was a mere mass of rusty iron, becomes once more a curious monument of antiquity. note h.---fairy superstition. the lakes and precipices amidst which the avon-dhu, or river forth, has its birth, are still, according to popular tradition, haunted by the elfin people, the most peculiar, but most pleasing, of the creations of celtic superstitions. the opinions entertained about these beings are much the same with those of the irish, so exquisitely well narrated by mr. crofton croker. an eminently beautiful little conical hill, near the eastern extremity of the valley of aberfoil, is supposed to be one of their peculiar haunts, and is the scene which awakens, in andrew fairservice, the terror of their power. it is remarkable, that two successive clergymen of this parish of aberfoil have employed themselves in writing about this fairy superstition. the eldest of these was robert kirke, a man of some talents, who translated the psalms into gaelic verse. he had formerly been minister at the neighbouring parish of balquhidder, and died at aberfoil in , at the early age of forty-two. he was author of the secret commonwealth, which was printed after his death in --(an edition which i have never seen)--and was reprinted in edinburgh, . this is a work concerning the fairy people, in whose existence mr. kirke appears to have been a devout believer. he describes them with the usual powers and qualities ascribed to such beings in highland tradition. but what is sufficiently singular, the rev. robert kirke, author of the said treatise, is believed himself to have been taken away by the fairies,--in revenge, perhaps, for having let in too much light upon the secrets of their commonwealth. we learn this catastrophe from the information of his successor, the late amiable and learned dr. patrick grahame, also minister at aberfoil, who, in his sketches of perthshire, has not forgotten to touch upon the _daoine schie,_ or men of peace. the rev. robert kirke was, it seems, walking upon a little eminence to the west of the present manse, which is still held a _dun shie,_ or fairy mound, when he sunk down, in what seemed to mortals a fit, and was supposed to be dead. this, however, was not his real fate. "mr. kirke was the near relation of graham of duchray, the ancestor of the present general graham stirling. shortly after his funeral, he appeared, in the dress in which he had sunk down, to a medical relation of his own, and of duchray. 'go,' said he to him, 'to my cousin duchray, and tell him that i am not dead. i fell down in a swoon, and was carried into fairyland, where i now am. tell him, that when he and my friends are assembled at the baptism of my child (for he had left his wife pregnant), i will appear in the room, and that if he throws the knife which he holds in his hand over my head, i will be released and restored to human society.' the man, it seems, neglected, for some time, to deliver the message. mr. kirke appeared to him a second time, threatening to haunt him night and day till he executed his commission, which at length he did. the time of the baptism arrived. they were seated at table; the figure of mr. kirke entered, but the laird of duchray, by some unaccountable fatality, neglected to perform the prescribed ceremony. mr. kirke retired by another door, and was seen no wore. it is firmly believed that he is, at this day, in fairyland."--(_sketches of perthshire,_ p. .) [the treatise by robert kirke, here mentioned, was written in the year , but not printed till .] note i.--clachan of aberfoil. i do not know how this might stand in mr. osbaldistone's day, but i can assure the reader, whose curiosity may lead him to visit the scenes of these romantic adventures, that the clachan of aberfoil now affords a very comfortable little inn. if he chances to be a scottish antiquary, it will be an additional recommendation to him, that he will find himself in the vicinity of the rev. dr. patrick grahame, minister of the gospel at aberfoil, whose urbanity in communicating information on the subject of national antiquities, is scarce exceeded even by the stores of legendary lore which he has accumulated.--_original note._ the respectable clergyman alluded to has been dead for some years. [see note h.] (http://www.freeliterature.org) from page images generously made available by hathitrust digital library (http://www.hathitrust.org/digital_library) note: images of the original pages are available through hathitrust digital library. see http://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=uc .b ;view= up;seq= the missouri outlaws by gustave aimard author of "prairie flower," "indian scout," etc., etc. translated by percy b. st. john london john and robert maxwell milton house, shoe lane, fleet street and , st. bride street, ludgate circus. notice. gustave aimard was the adopted son of one of the most powerful indian tribes, with whom he lived for more than fifteen years in the heart of the prairies, sharing their dangers and their combats, and accompanying them everywhere, rifle in one hand and tomahawk in the other. in turn squatter, hunter, trapper, warrior, and miner, gustave aimard has traversed america from the highest peaks of the cordilleras to the ocean shores, living from hand to mouth, happy for the day, careless of the morrow. hence it is that gustave aimard only describes his own life. the indians of whom he speaks he has known--the manners he depicts are his own. preface very few of the soul-stirring narratives written by gustave aimard are equal in freshness and vigour to "the missouri outlaws," hitherto unpublished in this country. the characters of the squatter, the real, restless, unconquerable american, who is always going ahead, and of his wife and daughter, are admirably depicted, while his eccentric brother is a perfect gem of description. the great interest, however, of the narrative is centred in tom mitchell, the mysterious outlaw, whose fortunes excite the readers' imagination to the utmost. there can be no doubt he is one of the most original characters depicted by the versatile pen of the great french novelist. in addition to being a story of adventure, "the missouri outlaws" is also a love tale, and abounds in tender pathos, the interest of which is well sustained in "the prairie flower" and in its sequel, "the indian scout." percy b. st. john. london: _february, ._ contents i. the good ship patriot ii. samuel dickson gives advice to his brother iii. a queer customer iv. an alliance offensive and defensive v. a great medicine council vi. samuel dickson hunts a moose deer vii. joshua dickson becomes master of the valley viii. diana dickson and her foe ix. they make an acquaintance x. who the stranger was xi. explanations xii. how the three travellers went to george clinton's xiii. tom mitchell xiv. samuel and joshua xv. new characters xvi. tom mitchell as redresser of wrongs xvii. a diplomatic conversation between two rascals xviii. the prisoner xix. in which tom mitchell discovers that honesty is a good speculation xx. a strange chase xxi. captain tom mitchell, the avenger xxii. a desperate struggle the missouri outlaws chapter i. the good ship patriot. on the th of august, , a little after eight o'clock at night, just as the last rays of the setting sun disappeared behind the heights of dorchester, gilding as they did so the summits of certain islands scattered at the entrance to boston bay, some idlers of both sexes, collected on beacon hill, at the foot of the lighthouse, saw a large vessel making for the harbour. at first it seemed as if the ship would be compelled to desist from her design, as the wind was slightly contrary; but, by a series of skilful manoeuvres, it at last passed by the danger which threatened, the sails were one by one taken in and furled, and finally the anchor was cast beside one of the many vessels in port. a few minutes later nothing was to be seen on deck save one man walking up and down doing duty as watch for the time being. the vessel had, under cover of a dense fog, escaped from brest, slipped past the english cruisers, and finally, after many dangers, reached its destination. descending into the cabin, we find two men seated at a table upon which were glasses, bottles, pipes, and tobacco, conversing and smoking. these were captain pierre durand, a young man, with regular but rather effeminate features, and yet a look of frank honesty, to which his sparkling eyes, his broad forehead, his long waving hair, gave an appearance of singular energy. though every inch a sailor, there was a refinement about him not generally found in his class. his companion was a handsome and haughty young man, of about two-and-twenty, of moderate height, but with very broad shoulders; he was evidently of powerful make, with nerves of steel. his complexion was olive; his hair long wavy black; his eyes were large and bold; the expression of his countenance sombre and thoughtful, while at this early age many a wrinkle caused by thought or suffering was to be observed. there had evidently been a warm discussion, for the captain was walking up and down, a frown upon his brow. suddenly, however, he reseated himself and held out his hand across the table. "i was wrong. do not be vexed," he said. "i am not angry, my good pierre," he answered. "then why sulk with your friend?" "i do not sulk, heaven knows; i am simply sad. you have reopened a wound i thought forever closed," the other added with a sigh. "well, then, in heaven's name, if it be so," cried the captain, "let us talk about something else--and above all, let us drink. this old rum is a sovereign remedy for the blues. your health, my friend." both drank after touching glasses, and then silence again ensued. "now, my dear oliver," resumed the captain, "at last we are safe in boston. we leave tomorrow. what do you intend to do?" "you remember our conversation at brest?" "i have not forgotten it, but i never seriously entertained the idea. we had dined rather copiously." "we were very sober. there were two bottles on the table, one empty and the other nearly full. i then told you that though i had only just returned to france after an absence of ten years, i was compelled to leave at a moment's notice, and to leave without raising any suspicion. i wanted to depart without anyone being able to obtain the slightest clue; you remember," he added. "i do, and i told you that i would run the blockade that very night, if the weather turned out as bad as i expected. did i keep my promise?" "with all the loyalty of your honest heart. i also told you i intended remaining in america." "it is to that madcap resolution i object," said the captain emphatically. "why not stay with me? you are an excellent sailor--you shall be my chief officer." "no, my friend. i can accept nothing which can ever tempt me to return to france," he answered. "how you suffer!" sighed his friend. "horribly. come, my friend, as we shall part for ever tomorrow, i will tell you my history." "not if it makes you suffer." "i will be brief. sad as my story is, it is not very long." "go on," replied captain durand, filling up two more glasses of rum, and lighting a fresh cigar for himself. "i will not sermonise, but begin at the beginning. i was born in paris, but might be english, german, or even russian, for all i know. i am simply aware that my birthplace was paris, in the house of a doctor, where my mother took refuge. it was in the rue st. honoré i first saw the light but, as soon as i could be removed, was sent to the foundling. there i remained four years, until a loving young couple, who had lost their only child, adopted me. they were poor, and lived on the third floor of a wretched old house, in the rue plumet, where, i must own, i had enough, but of very coarse, food." "one day, however, fortune knocked at the door. my adopted mother was, and still is, one of the handsomest women in paris. by accident an old friend, a distant relation, a man of high position, found her out. he at once procured a lucrative appointment for my supposed parent, and we moved to a splendid residence in the faubourg du roule. the friend, who lived close by, at once began to visit us every evening, and, by a curious coincidence, the husband always found business which required his absence. he never returned until a quarter of an hour after the other had left." "accommodating husband," sneered durand. "just so. but, unfortunately for me, i became older, curious, was always turning up when not wanted, and saying things which were not required. it was decided that i was an incorrigible scamp, and must be sent away." "my adopted mother had relations at dunkirk, and i was packed off to them to be sent to sea as cabin boy. then only did i discover that these people were not my parents. my supposed mother coldly kissed me, told me to be a good boy and gave me ten sous; my father, who escorted me to the ramshackle vehicle which traded between paris and calais, told me to remember this, that society never having done anything for me, i was to do nothing for society; the only virtues to which men ever owed success were, he said, selfishness and ingratitude. he further added, 'good-bye, we shall never meet again.'" "he turned his back and left me. this was my first young sorrow, and i felt it very much." "i feel for you," said the captain; "your story is very much like my own." "these people, knowing me then to be very delicate, hoped that the hardy profession they had selected for me would kill me. they were mistaken." "as i see," answered durand. "i was first boy on board a herring boat, where i had to endure the brutality and insolence of a low drunkard, who never spoke except with an oath from his mouth, accompanying it with a blow from his cane. my apprenticeship was one long terror. sometimes a whaler, sometimes a cod fisher, sometimes a slaver. i have been five or six times round the world; abandoned on the wildest coast of america, i was a long time prisoner; shipwrecked on an island in the pacific, i wonder i did not die of misery and despair." "poor oliver!" "but bad as was my life, i everywhere in savage lands found some friend; but in france, from which i was ignominiously expelled eleven years ago, i found on my return two implacable foes--calumny and hatred. i was a very sharp boy, and trusted wholly to strangers. i could not help hearing many things i should not have heard. i discovered the secret of my birth, who were my father and mother, their exact names, and their position in society. one day, in a moment of frenzy--and you know i am extremely violent--i was foolish enough to let out the fact that i knew all. from that day a vow was made to accomplish my ruin; the most calumnious reports pursued me; i was accused behind my back and in the dark of the most horrible crimes. it is to me still a wonder how i have escaped all the ambushes laid for me. my foes hesitated at nothing. they tried to assassinate me. is it not horrible? well, having failed in the ordinary way, they bribed the captain of a ship i had joined to maroon me on the coast of new mexico, where dwell the most ferocious indian tribes." "and the captain did this?" "pardieu!" cried oliver; "he was a poor man, and the father of a family. i was cast on shore stupefied by laudanum. when i recovered the ship was already out of sight. i expected to be killed by the savages or to die of hunger. how neither happened is too long a story to tell now. but the end of all is, i have determined on an eternal exile. never again will i place myself in the power of my foes, who live rich, happy, and respected in france." "you will establish yourself in boston?" "no! i have done with civilised life; i shall now try that of the desert. it is my intention to bury myself in the wilds until i find an indian tribe that will welcome me. i will ask them to receive me as a warrior. i thoroughly understand the manners and customs of the aborigines, and shall easily make friends." "i believe," observed the captain, "that you are right in this particular. you are young, brave, and intelligent; therefore you will succeed even in this mad project. but mark my word, you may live five, perhaps ten years with the indians; but at last you will weary of this existence--what will you do then?" "who knows? experience will have ripened my reason, perhaps killed my grief, even deadened the hatred which burns within my heart. i may even learn to forgive those who have made me suffer. that in itself is a sort of vengeance." "but you will never come to that," said his friend. the young man rose without making any reply, and went on deck. next day, as soon as the usual formalities had been gone through, the captain landed in his boat with his young friend. both were silent before the sailors. very soon they were threading their way along the crowded quays. boston was by no means the really magnificent town which now excite universal admiration, but it was already a very busy and important commercial emporium. the americans, with their restless activity, had hastened to clear away all signs of the war of independence; the town had grown quite young again, and assumed that gay and lively physiognomy which belongs to great commercial centres, where almost everybody can find the means of living. as soon as they were alone the captain spoke. "when, my friend, do you propose to start?" he said. "tonight, two hours before the setting of the sun. i burn with a fierce desire to breathe the air of the great savannahs, to feel free from the trammels of civilisation," he answered. "well, my friend, i must leave you now, but promise to wait breakfast for me, and to do nothing until you have seen me again," insisted the captain. "i was about to ask you to join me. where shall we breakfast?" the captain indicated a hotel at no great distance, after which he hurried away to wait on the consignees. "what on earth can pierre mean," muttered oliver to himself, "by my doing nothing until we meet again? probably he will try once more to change my resolution. he ought to know that once i make up my mind i never falter. he is a good fellow, the only man who has ever been my sincere and devoted friend--the only being in the world i am sorry to part from." musing thus oliver strolled about, looking listlessly at the streets, the shops, and particularly selecting those which, by-and-by, he would have to visit for the purpose of his outfit, which he would have to purchase after breakfast. an hour later the two men met in front of the hotel. both were exact to a minute. they ordered breakfast in a private room. as soon as they had finished the captain opened the ball. "now let us chat," he said. "with the greatest of pleasure," replied oliver. "nothing is more agreeable after a meal than to enjoy a cigar, a cup of coffee, and a friend's company." "and yet you have determined to deprive yourself of these luxuries forever," replied durand. "man is ever insatiable. the unknown always did and always will attract him. he will ever quit the substance for the shadow. the fable is right. but let us talk of something else. serious conversation after eating is folly," observed oliver. "you are quite right--some more rum in your coffee? it is an excellent thing. what do you think i have been doing since i saw you?" "it is impossible for me to guess," cried oliver. the captain rose, went to the window, and gave a short whistle. after this, he returned to his seat, oliver staring at him while he sipped his coffee. five minutes elapsed, and then in came several men, carrying various packets, which they placed on a side table, and went out without speaking. "what does it mean?" cried oliver, in comic astonishment. "then something can rouse you?" cried durand, smiling. "no, only i wondered." "never mind. you still intend going off tonight?" asked the captain. "certainly," said oliver rising; "that reminds me--" "one moment. we are old friends, and there should be no secrets between us," urged durand. "there shall be none," answered oliver. "have you much money?" asked durand. "do you want to lend me any?" cried oliver. "no matter if i did. but still i want an answer," urged durand. "i have eleven thousand francs in gold sewn in my belt, and in a bag fastened round my neck diamonds worth a hundred and twenty thousand more. besides this i have about eighty guineas in english money for immediate expenses. are you satisfied?" "perfectly," said the captain laughing, "and now listen to me." "then it appears you are not quite satisfied?" cried oliver, in his turn surprised. "don't be in a hurry. i wish to interest you if i can." "i will wait your pleasure," observed oliver, smiling at the other's hesitation. "it is useless," said durand, "for me to feign a gaiety i do not feel. i feel more like weeping than laughing. the mere idea of this long, perhaps eternal, separation makes my heart bleed. i think that the hand now in mine i shall never shake again." "don't be downhearted. perhaps we may meet sooner than either of us expect," retorted oliver. "i hope you may be a true prophet. still i cannot help shuddering at the thought of your starting off amidst people whose language you do not even know." "there you are mistaken," responded oliver; "as well as french, i speak english, spanish, and dutch, with about five indian dialects, which i picked up at different times." "it is a wonder," mused the other, "that, placed as you have been, you should have had the time." "before i became a cabin boy i could read and write a little. after a time i spent every moment of leisure in study." "i remember," sighed durand, "i never met you without you were reading. what will you do for books now?" "what book is more interesting than that in which god has written on the plains, on the mountains, on the minutest blade of grass?" replied oliver with enthusiasm. "believe me, my friend, the sacred book of nature has pages too interesting to ever weary us; from them you always find consolation, hope, encouragement. but," he added with a smile, "i have two books with me which, in my opinion, epitomise all great human thoughts, make man better, and even restore his courage, when bowed down by the heavy weight of misfortune. i have these books by heart, and yet i read them over again." and he laid on the table two books bound in black morocco. "what!" cried the amazed captain, "'the imitation of jesus christ' and 'montaigne'!" "yes. 'the imitation of jesus christ' and 'montaigne,' the most complete and sincere books ever written, for they tell the story of doubt and belief. they tell the rival story of all the philosophers who have existed since the creation of the world. with these two books and the magnificent spectacle of nature around me have i not a whole library?" "i cannot make you out. you overwhelm me," said the captain; "but i have not the courage to contradict you. you are too much for me. go forth, seek the unknown, for alone that will comprehend you. you are one of those whom adversity purifies and renders great; you will often feel inclined to fall by the way in the gigantic combat you are about to undertake against the world. but fail is not a word in your dictionary. even death, when it comes, will not conquer you." "all the more that death is but a transformation, a purification of brutal matter by divine agency. but," he remarked with a smile, "i think we are talking about very serious matters very foreign to our subject. let us return to business, for the hour of our departure is rapidly approaching." at this moment the tramp of horses was heard, and the captain again ran to the window. "hilloa!" cried the young man; "another of your mysterious walks! do explain yourself." "all right," he replied, reseating himself, "there is no reason for circumlocution between friends. the truth must be told. i had hoped to lend you money, and i know that had you have required it, you would have borrowed it." "certainly, without hesitation, my friend." "of course, as i find you are very much better off than myself, i withdraw the proposition; but i had already provided your outfit." "what can you mean? provided my outfit!" "yes! i mean to say that there is not a single thing required for your journey that is not ready. look!" and both rising, the captain opened the parcels which had been left on a side table. "look here," said the captain; "this is a real kentucky rifle, the only gun fit for a hunter; i have tried it. this is a ball pouch, with mould and everything necessary to make others when needed; this is your powder horn, which is full, while here are two small canisters to replenish with; this is a 'necessary,' as we sailors call it, containing spoon, fork, cup, knife, and other trifles; this is a leather belt; this is a game bag, with gaiters, riding boots, a cloak, and four rugs." "my dear friend," said oliver, deeply moved, "you have been ruining yourself." "get out of that and wait a little longer. as you seriously wish to adopt savage life, at all events you must be rigged out accordingly," he added, laughing. "this is a hunting knife, which you put in your belt; these pistols are to be placed in the holsters; that sword is perhaps one of the best cavalry swords i have ever seen. what, more! oh, yes. this portmanteau, which is neither too large nor too small, in which you will find shirts and other necessaries. then some pipes, tobacco, flint and steel, and a dozen boxes of preserves, in case you may someday be short of provisions. i think, on my honour, that is all. no, i had forgotten: paper, pens, ink, and pencils. and now my watch as a last remembrance." "this i must refuse. your watch is too useful to yourself." "my friend, every time you look at it you will think of me," said the captain. and the two frenchmen embraced. "i accept," replied oliver, with deep emotion. "now i know," continued the captain, "you are really my friend; and now let me see you dressed up as a true traveller, while i put the other things back into their parcels." "but before i don my new prairie costume, i have something else to buy," cried oliver. "what!" cried the captain, "i thought surely i had forgotten nothing." "do you think, my dear friend, that i am going to carry all this on my back. i don't want to look like a comic robinson crusoe, and, besides, it is more than i could do. i must have a horse." the captain burst out laughing. "look out of window, my dear friend," he said, "and then you shall decide whether or not i forgot anything." oliver approached the window, and saw two magnificent horses admirably caparisoned. "what do you think of those animals?" asked the captain. "they are both splendid; above all, the black one--a true horse of the prairies--a mustang." "you seem to know all about it." "i have seen them often enough," replied the young man; "the owner of this one should be proud." "it is yours," said durand. "what do you mean?" "i bought it for you," was the simple reply. "pierre! pierre! i repeat, you are ruined." "hush; i may as well add that under the saddles i have placed double pockets, which contain many things i have forgotten." "but there are two horses," he cried. "one for you and one for myself. at all events, i must see you fairly on your way." oliver made no reply, but turned away to dress in order to hide his emotion. when he was in full costume his friend burst out laughing, and told him he looked like a calabrian bandit. "and now which way do we go?" asked the captain. "straight forward," replied oliver. "yes," cried the captain, "just so, as you are going round the world." in two hours, after a hearty and warm shake of the hand, they parted. they were too deeply moved to speak. chapter ii. samuel dickson gives advice to his brother. on the same day on which the _patriot_ anchored in the bay of massachusetts an interesting event took place between seven and eight in the morning in a pretty village named northampton, at no great distance from boston. everybody was excited. a crowd of men, women, and children pressed around a number of waggons, each drawn by six horses. they stood in front of a brick house, the only inn of the village. four magnificent saddle horses, with very handsome harness, were held by a young intelligent-looking negro, who at the same time smoked a short pipe. the crowd was very excited, but very decorous and quiet--as a new england crowd always is--waiting simply for an explanation. suddenly the sharp trot of a horse was heard at the entrance of the street. this served to create a new sensation in the crowd. "samuel dickson!" cried the people; "at last he has come. now he will make them listen to reason." the new arrival was a man of middle age, with a pleasant countenance, delicate and intelligent features, clothed in the dress of a rich farmer, and in those parts was looked up to as a most important individual. he made his way carefully through the crowd, bowing on either hand, and rather puzzled at the ovation he was receiving. "ah! ah! that is you, massa," said a negro, with a chuckle, as he approached the inn door. "sandy, is that you? then i suppose the others are inside," he remarked, as he dismounted and handed him the bridle. "yes, massa samuel, dem all dere." "i am glad of it," he replied, "for i have come a long way to see them. look after my horse, he is rather fresh." then, bowing once more to the crowd, samuel dickson entered the inn, closing the door behind him. in a large and comfortable room six persons, two women and four men, were seated at one of those copious breakfasts which are never seen to such perfection as in america. upon benches round the room sat about twenty persons in a humbler station in life, amongst others two coloured young women, who were eating from bowls and plates placed on their knees. those at the table were the members of the family--father, mother, daughter, and three sons. those around were the servants. joshua dickson, the head of the family, was in reality a man of fifty-five, not, however, looking more than forty. he was a man of rude manners, but frank, honest expression. he was six feet high, as powerful as hercules, a true type of those hardy pioneers who opened up the forests of the new world, drove back the indians, and founded stations in the desert, which in time became rich and flourishing towns. his sons were named harry, sam, and jack, aged respectively thirty, twenty-eight, and twenty-six. they were all three as tall as their father, and about as herculean--true americans, with no thought of the past, only looking to the future. susan dickson, the mother of this trio of giants, was a woman of about fifty--small, elegant, but extremely active, with delicate features and a pre-possessing physiognomy. she looked much younger than she really was--thanks to her really admirable complexion and the singular brightness of her eyes. she must have been rarely beautiful in her youth. diana, the child of her old age, as she loved to call her, was scarcely sixteen, was the idol of the family, the guardian angel of the fireside; her father and brothers actually worshipped her. it was something wonderful to see their rude natures bending like reeds before the slightest wish of this delicate child, and obeying her most fantastic orders without a murmur. diana was a charming brunette, with blue and dreamy eyes, slight and flexible form; she was pale; a look of profound melancholy was to be remarked on her countenance, giving to her physiognomy that angelic expression rarely found except in the madonnas of titien. this sadness, which all the family saw with sorrow, had only been in existence a few days. when questioned on the subject, even by her mother, she had no answer to give. "it is nothing at all," she said, "only a slight feeling of sickness, which will soon pass away." hearing this, all had ceased to question her, though all felt uneasy, and slightly annoyed at her reticence. still, as she was the spoiled child of the family, no one had the heart to blame her or pester her with questions. they had seduced her to govern them unquestioned that it appeared hard now to want to curb her will. the entrance of the stranger into the hall where the emigrants were breakfasting like persons who knew the value of time, caused no small stir; they ceased eating, and, glancing at one another, whispered amongst themselves. the stranger, leaning on his riding whip, looked at them with an odd kind of smile. the chief of the family, though himself somewhat surprised, was the first to recover himself. he rose, held out his hand, and spoke in what he intended should be a jovial tone. the attempt was a failure. "my good brother," he said, "this is indeed a surprise. i really did not expect to see you; but sit down beside my wife and have some breakfast." "thank you; i am not hungry." "then excuse me if i finish my meal," continued the emigrant. "brother," presently said samuel, "for a man of your age you are acting in an extraordinary manner." "i don't think so," replied the other. "let me ask you where are you going?" "northward, to the great lakes." "what is the meaning of this?" "my friend, i am told there is good land to be had but for the taking." "may i ask who put this silly idea in your head?" "no one. it is a splendid country, with splendid forests, water in abundance, a delicious climate, though rather cold, and land for nothing." "have you seen this beautiful country?" "no; but i know all about it." "do you?" sneered the other; "well, beware of the creeks." "never you fear. wherever there is water there are bridges." "of course; and now may i ask, what have you done with your magnificent southern property?" the other asked. "i have sold it, slaves and all, keeping only such as were willing to follow me. i brought away all that could travel--my wife, my sons, my daughter, my furniture, my horses, all i wanted." "may i without offence ask you this question: were you not very well where you were? did you not find the land excellent?" "i was well off, and the land was excellent." "were you unable to sell your produce?" "i had an admirable market," was the answer. "then," cried samuel, angrily, "what in the devil's name do you mean by giving it up and going to a land where you will find nothing but wild beasts, brutal savages, and a hard and rigorous climate?" the bold adventurer, driven into his last intrenchment, made no reply, only scratching his head in search of a reply. his wife here interfered. "what is the use," she said, smiling, "asking for reasons which do not exist? joshua is going for the love of change--nothing more. all our lives, as you well know, we have been roaming hither and thither. as soon as we are once comfortably settled anywhere, then we begin to think it time to be off." "yes! yes! i know my brother's vagabond habits. but when he is in one of his mad fits, why do you not interfere?" he cried, impetuously. "brother, you don't know what it is to be married to a wanderer," she said. "good!" cried joshua, laughing. "but if you don't find this beautiful country?" asked samuel. "i will embark on one of the rivers." "and where will you land?" "i have not the slightest idea. but there, do not be uneasy, i shall find a place." "then," said samuel, gazing at him with perfect amazement in his looks, "you are determined?" "i am determined." "then, as we shall never meet again, come and spend a few days at my house," urged samuel. "i am very sorry to decline, but i cannot go back. if i were to waste a day, it would be a serious loss of time and money. i must reach my new settlement in time for the sowing." samuel dickson, putting his hands behind his back, walked across the room with great strides, backwards and forwards, watching his niece curiously under his eyes. he several times struck the ground with his riding whip, muttering to himself all the time. diana sat with her hands crossed on her knees, the teardrops falling from her eyes. suddenly the farmer appeared to have made up his mind. turning round, he laid his heavy hand on his brother's shoulder. "joshua!" he said, "it is clear to me that you are mad, and that i alone in the family possess any common sense; never, god forgive you, did more crooked notion enter the head of an honest man. you won't come to my house? very good. i will then ask you one thing, which, if you refuse, i shall never forgive you." "you know how much i love you." "i know you say so; but this is the favour i ask: don't start until you see me again." "hem! but--" "i must get home on important business at once. my house is but twenty miles distant; i shall soon be back." "but when?" cautiously asked the emigrant. "tomorrow, or the next day at the latest." "that is a long delay," continued joshua. "i do not deny it. but as your paradise, your el dorado, your beautiful country will not probably run away, you are bound to reach it sooner or later. besides," urged samuel, "it is important, very important, we should meet again." "as you will, my brother," sighed joshua; "i give you my word to wait until the day after tomorrow at seven o'clock in the morning--no later." "that will suit me admirably," cried the farmer; "so good-bye for the present." and with a bow to all, and a smile to diana, he hurried out of the room. the crowd still patiently surrounded the inn and received him with a loud shout. he, however, took no notice, but rode off. "we could not very well refuse, susan," said the farmer to his wife. "he is your brother," she replied. "our only relative," murmured diana. "true. diana is right. children, unharness the animals: we will stop here tonight." and, to the great surprise of the gaping crowd, who hung about after the fashion of idlers, the horses of the emigrants were unyoked and taken to a shed, the waggons placed under cover, without the curious knowing the reason why. on the morning of the second day joshua dickson, shortly after sunrise, was overlooking the horses being fed by his sons and servants, when a great noise was heard in the street, as of many waggons, and then there was a sharp knocking at the door of the inn. joshua hastily left the stables and took his way to the great room of the hotel. he came face to face with samuel dickson, who had just been admitted by the sleepy innkeeper. "hilloa!" cried joshua, "is that you, my brother?" "who else do you suppose it is?" cried samuel. "well, but i did not expect you so early." "well," said samuel, drily, "i was afraid you might give me the slip, so i came early." "an excellent idea, brother," said mrs. dickson, who now entered. "and knowing how anxious my brother is to reach the promised land, i would not keep him waiting." "quite right," coolly replied joshua; "and now about this important business?" "look out of window," drily answered samuel. joshua obeyed, and saw five heavily-laden waggons, drawn each by horses, with about twelve hired men. "well," coolly observed joshua, "what may be the meaning of all this?" "it means," answered the farmer, "that as you have found yourself such a fool, it becomes my duty, as your elder brother, to come and look after you. i have sold up everything, and invested part, as you see." "oh, my brother!" cried joshua, with tears in his eyes. "am i not your only relative? wherever you go, i shall go--only there will now be two fools, but i am the bigger of the two. i talk like a wise man and act like a foolish child." uncle samuel was adored by all the family, everyone was delighted, while diana was radiant. "oh, my good uncle," she said, warmly embracing him, "it is for me you do this." "do you think," he whispered, "i ever meant to desert my niece?" two hours later the double caravan started on its way. chapter iii. a queer customer. it was the beginning of the month of october, and some sharp frosts had rid the land of mosquitoes and gnats, which during the hot season abound in myriads near watercourses and beneath the leafy arches of the virgin forest, being one of its worst scourges. a few minutes after the rising of the sun a traveller, mounted on a magnificent horse, wearing the costume of a prairie hunter, and whose general appearance indicated a white man, emerged at a walking pace from a high thicket, and entered upon a vast prairie, at that day almost unknown to the trappers themselves, those hardy explorers of the desert--and which was not far from the rocky mountains, in the centre of the indian country, and nearly two thousand miles from any settlement. this traveller was oliver. he had, we see, already travelled a long distance. two months only had elapsed, during which, going always straight before him, he had traversed all the provinces of the young american republic, never stopping except to rest himself and horse; then he had passed the frontier and entered the desert. then he was happy. for the first time in his life he was free and unfettered, having cut himself off forever, as he thought, from the heavy trammels of civilisation. oliver had at once begun his apprenticeship as a hunter, and a rude apprenticeship it is, causing many of the boldest and bravest to retreat. but oliver was no ordinary man; he was young, of rare vigour and address, and, above all, possessed that iron will which nothing stops, and which is the secret of great deeds; that leonine courage which laughs at danger, and that indomitable pride which made him, he thought, the equal of any living being. he therefore considered nothing impossible, that is to say, he felt he could not only do what anyone else had ever done, but even more, if he were called upon by extraordinary circumstances to try. during two months he had met with numerous adventures. he had fought many a battle, and braved dangers before which the bravest might have retreated--perils of all kinds, from man, beast, and nature herself. a victor in every case, his audacity had increased, his energy had redoubled. his apprentice days were over, and he now felt himself a true runner of the woods, that is to say, a man whom no appalling sight, whom no dreadful catastrophe, would terrify--in fact, one who was only to be moved by the majestic aspect of nature. he had paused as he left the thicket to examine the scene. before him was a valley through which flowed two rivers, which after some time joined and fell into the missouri, whose vast lake surface appeared like a white vapoury line on the distant horizon. upon a promontory projecting into the first river was a superb bosquet of palms and magnolias; the latter, shaped like a perfect cone, stood in lustrous verdure against the dazzling whiteness of the flowers, which, despite the season, were still blooming. these flowers were so large that oliver could see them a mile off. the great majority of these magnolias were over a hundred feet high; many were very much more. to the right was a wood of poplars, overrun with vines of enormous size, which wholly concealed the trunks. they then ran to the top of the tree, then redescending along the branches, passed from one tree to another, mixing up with piquot, a kind of creeper which hung in garlands and festoons from every bough. the young man could not take his eyes off the magnificent spectacle. suddenly he started, as he made out a thin column of smoke rising from the centre of the magnolia thicket. now the presence of smoke denotes fire, and fire indicates human beings. in nine cases out of ten, in the desert, such human beings are enemies. it is a harsh word, but it is certain that the most cruel enemy of man in the desert, his most terrible adversary, is his fellow man. the sight of this smoke roused no excited feelings in the bosom of our adventurer; he simply saw that his weapons were in order, and rode straight for the magnolia valley. as it happened, a narrow path led exactly in that direction. no matter whether he was to meet friends or foes, he was not sorry to see a human face; for a week, not a white man, métis, or indian had fallen across his path, and, despite himself, this complete silence and absolute solitude began to tell upon him, though he would not own it even to himself. he had passed over about one-third of the distance which separated him from the thicket, and was only a pistol shot away, when he suddenly stopped, under the influence of strange emotion. a rich and harmonious voice rose from amidst the trees, singing with the most perfect accent a song with french words. these words came clear and distinct to his ears; the surprise of the young man may be conceived when he recognised the "marseillaise." this magnificent work, sung in the desert by an invisible being, amidst that grand scenery, and repeated as it were by the echoes of the savannah, assumed to him gigantic proportions. despite himself, oliver felt the tears come to his eyes; he pressed his hand upon his chest, as if to repress the wild beatings of his heart; in a second all his past came rushing tumultuously before him. once more he saw in his mind's eye that france from which he believed himself forever separated, and felt how vain must ever be the effort to repudiate one's country. led on by the irresistible charm, he entered the thicket just as the singer gave forth in his rich and stentorian voice the last couplets. he pushed aside some branches that checked his progress, and found himself face to face with a young man, who, seated on the grass by the riverside, near a glowing fire, was dipping biscuit in the water with one hand, while with the other, in which he held a knife, he dipped into a tin containing sardines. lifting up his head as the other approached, the unknown nodded his head. "welcome to my fireside, my friend," he said in french, with a gay smile; "if you are hungry, eat; if you are cold, warm yourself." "i accept your offer," replied oliver, good-humouredly, as he leaped from his horse, and removing the bridle, hoppled him near the unknown. he then seated himself by the fire, and opening his saddlebags, shared his provisions with his new friend, who frankly accepted this very welcome addition to his own very modest repast. the unknown was a tall young fellow about six feet high, well and solidly built; his colour, which was very dark, arose from his being of a mixed race, called from the colour of their skin bois brulé, under which general appellation we have half-castes of all kinds. the features of this young man, rather younger if anything than our hero, were intelligent and sympathetic with a very open look; his open forehead, shaded by curly light chestnut hair, his prominent nose, his large mouth, furnished with magnificent teeth, his fair rich beard, completed a physiognomy by no means vulgar. his costume was that of all the trappers and hunters of high northern latitudes: mitasses of doeskin, waistcoat of the same, over which was thrown a blouse of blue linen, ornamented with white and red threads; a cap of beaver fur, and indian moccasins and leggings reaching to the knee; from his belt of rattlesnake skin hung a long knife, called langue de boeuf, a hatchet, a bison powder horn, a ball bag, and a pipe of red-stone clay with a cherrywood tube; such was the complete costume of the person upon whom oliver had so singularly fallen. close to his hand on the grass was a kentucky rifle and game bag, which doubtless he used to carry his provisions in. "faith," cried the adventurer, when his appetite was satisfied, "i have to thank fortune for meeting you in this way, my friend." "such meetings are rare in the desert. and now allow me to ask you a question." "ten if you like--nay, fifty." "well, then, how was it that the moment you saw me you addressed me in french?" he asked. "for a very simple reason. in the first place, all the runners of the woods, trappers, and prairie hunters, are french, or at all events, ninety-five out of every hundred," he answered. "then of course you are french?" "and norman as well. my grandfather was born at domfront. you know the proverb, domfront, city of evil. you enter it at twelve, and are hung before one." "i am also french," said oliver. "so i perceive. but to continue. my grandfather was, as i have said, from domfront, but my father was born in canada, as i was, so that i am a frenchman born in america. still we have the old country on the other side of the water, and all who come from it are received with open arms by us poor exiles. there are brave and noble hearts in canada; if they only knew it in france they would not be so ungrateful and disdainful towards us, who never did anything to justify their cruel desertion." "true," said oliver, "france was very much in the wrong after you had shed so much blood for her." "which we would do again tomorrow," replied the canadian. "is not france our mother, and do we not always forgive our mother? the english were awfully taken in when the country was handed over to them; three-fourths of the population emigrated, those who remained in the towns persisted in speaking french, which no englishman can speak without dislocating his jaws, and all would insist upon being governed by their old french laws.[ ] you see, therefore, that the insulars are merely nominally our masters, but that in reality we are still free, and french." "our country must have been deeply rooted in your hearts to cause you to speak thus," said oliver. "we are a brave people," cried the stranger. "i am sure of it," responded oliver. "thank you," replied the stranger, "you cause me great pleasure." "now that we know one another as countrymen, suppose we make more intimate acquaintance?" "i ask nothing better. if you like, i will tell you my history as briefly as possible." "i am attention," said oliver. "my father was a baby when canada was definitively abandoned in by the french, an act which was perpetrated without consulting the population of new france. had the mother country have done so, it would have been met by a flat refusal. but i will avoid politics, and speak only of my family." "good. i hate politics." "so do i. well, one day my grandfather berger, after being absent a week, came to his home in québec in company with an indian in his full war paint. the first thing he saw, standing by the side of the cradle in which lay my father, was my grandmother, her arms raised in the air, with a heavy iron-dog, with which she was menacing an english soldier; my grandmother was a brave and courageous woman." "so it seems." "a true daughter of caudebec, handsome, attractive, and good, adored by her husband, and respected by all who knew her. it appears that the english soldier had seen her through the open door. he at once entered with a conquering air, and began to make love to the pretty young person he had noticed performing her maternal office. it was an unfortunate idea for him. my grandfather lifted him up and threw him through the window on to the stones outside. he was dead. my grandfather then turned round and spoke of something else." "a tough old gentleman!" "pretty solid. he even had indian blood--" "you spoke of domfront." "yes; but his father, having come to america with comtesse de villiers, married in canada. he shortly after returned to france with his wife. there she died, unable to bear the climate!" "very natural," said oliver. "before dying she made her husband promise to send his son to canada." "but," continued oliver, "the finale of your history." "as soon as that matter was settled, my grandfather embraced his wife, offered the indian a seat, and began smoking his pipe. he then explained that he meant to leave canada." "'this,' he said, 'is kouha-hande, my mother's brother, the first sachem of his nation. he has offered me a shelter with his warriors, and has come with some of his warriors to escort us. will you remain a frenchwoman and follow me, or will you stay here and become an englishwoman?'" "'i am your wife, and shall follow you wherever you go, with my little one on my back,' she answered." "'my sister will be loved and respected in our tribe as she deserves to be,' remarked the indian, who had hitherto smoked his pipe in silence." "'i know it, my cousin,' she said." "no further words passed. my grandmother began at once to pack up. two hours later the house was empty; my grandparents had left without even shutting the door behind them. before sunset they were making their way up the lawrence, in the canoes of kouha-hande." "the river was crowded with fugitives. after a journey of four days my grandfather reached the tribe of the hurons-bisons, of which our relative kouha-hande was the first sachem. many other canadians sought refuge in the same place, and were hospitably received by the indians. i need say nothing more save that we have lived there ever since." "and your grandfather?" "still lives, as does my father, though i have recently lost my mother and grandmother. i have a sister much younger than myself. she remains in the village to nurse my grandfather. my father is at this moment with the hudson bay company." at this moment there was a peculiar rustling in the bushes at no great distance. "be quiet," whispered the canadian in the ear of his new friend, and before the other could in any way interfere with him, he seized his gun and disappeared in the high grass, crawling on his hands and knees. then a shot was heard. [ ] this is history as told by a frenchman. as a matter of fact, the french canadians remained where they were, until they became the most loyal subjects the british crown possesses.--editor. chapter iv. an alliance offensive and defensive. hearing this unexpected shot, oliver was in the act of rushing to assist his friend, whom he supposed attacked by some wild beast, when the hearty and joyous voice of the canadian was heard. "don't disturb yourself, my friend," he cried, "i have only been providing our dinner." and next minute he reappeared, carrying on his back a doe, which he hung to one of the lower branches of the magnolia, and then began to open. "handsome beast, is it not?" he said. "i believe the rascal was listening. he paid dear for his curiosity." "a fine beast and cleverly killed," replied oliver, helping to skin the animal. "it is a pity to spoil a good skin. i am a pretty good shot, but you should see my father shoot a tiger in the eye." "that," cried oliver, "seems extraordinary." "i have seen him do it twenty times, and still more difficult things," said the other. "but such deadly certainty is pure habit. we live by our guns--but to finish my story." "go on, my friend." "my father was a child when we left canada. he is now about forty-eight. my grandfather taught him to be a hunter, and to bind him to the tribe he married him when very young to a charming young indian, a relative of kouha-hande, and my mother in consequence. we are mere children. i am only twenty, and my sister but fifteen, lovely as the breath of dawn, and whose real name is angela, my father's wish. but the indians call her evening dew. that is all. i am a hunter. i hate the english and the north americans, who are worse than john bull himself, and i love the french, whose countryman i am." "you are quite right. few native-born frenchmen are such strong patriots as you. but now for your name." "have i not told you? my name is pierre berger, but the indians, in their mania for such names, call me bright-eye, i hardly know why." "of course because of your admirable power of shooting." "well, perhaps you are right. i am a pretty good hand," said the young man, modestly. "and now, my friend, i have to add that i reached here yester evening at sundown, and that i am waiting for a friend, who will be here shortly. it is now your turn to tell me your history, unless, indeed, you have any motives for remaining silent, in which case a man's secrets are his own." "i have no secrets, especially from you, my dear bright-eye, and the proof is that if you will listen, i will tell you who i am and why i came into this country." "i shall be delighted to hear your story," cried the canadian, with evident delight. from the very first moment when he saw the hunter and came to speak to him, oliver felt himself attracted towards him by one of those movements of attraction or irresistible sympathy which spring from intuition of the heart. he had therefore, during his conversation, determined if possible to make him a friend. he thereupon told him his story in its most minute details, the canadian listening with the most profound and sustained attention, without interrupting him by a single remark. he appeared sincerely interested in the numerous incidents of a life wretched from its commencement, and yet which the young man told frankly and simply, without bitterness, but with an impartiality which indicated the grandeur and nobility of his nature. "sad story, indeed," he cried, when the other had concluded; "how you must have suffered from the unjust hatred of these people! alone in the world, without any to interest himself in you; surrounded by hostile or indifferent people; compelled to suffer from dark and insidious foes; capable of great things--young, strong, and intelligent, yet reduced to fly into the desert, and separate yourself from your fellows. pardon if my cruel curiosity has reopened the wound which long since should have been cauterised." he paused, keenly watching the other's face. "will you be my friend?" he suddenly cried. "i already feel for you an affection i can scarcely explain." "thanks," cried oliver, warmly, "i accept your offer with delight." "then it is agreed: from henceforth we are brothers." "i swear it," resumed oliver. "we shall henceforth be two to fight the battle of the world." "i thank heaven we have met." "never to part again. you have no family. i will find you one, brother, and this family will love you," he added. "heartily accept my thanks, bright-eye," exclaimed oliver; "life already seems changed, and i feel as if happiness were yet possible in this world." "there can be no doubt about it. believe me, it depends on yourself. look upon the past only as a dream, and think only of the future." "i will do so," returned oliver, with a sigh. "and now to business. young as i am, you will soon find that i enjoy a certain amount of reputation among the indians and trappers. very few would dare to attack me. i was educated in an indian village, and, as i believe i have already told you, i am here to keep an appointment with a young indian, my friend and relative. this indian i now expect every moment, and i shall introduce you to him. instead of one friend, you will have two devoted brothers. now then," he added, laughing, "are you not fortunate?" "i am convinced of it," said oliver. "when we have finished our business in these parts--and you may help us in this business--we will return to my tribe, of which you shall become a member." "i am wholly in your hands, bright-eye," he said; "i make no resistance. i only thank you." "no thanks. i am useful to you today; you may be as useful, or more so, tomorrow." "very well. but what is the affair that detains you here, to which you just alluded?" asked oliver. "i must say that i do not know, though frankly i have my own suspicions. my friend has not thought proper to explain as yet, but simply gave me a rendezvous here, saying that i might prove useful. that was enough for me, and, as you see, i am here. it would be an act of indiscretion on my part to tell you anything i had not been directly told. besides, i may be mistaken, and speak to you of a wholly different matter from the true one." "you are quite right." "to pass the time i will prepare supper." "and while doing so tell what manner of man your friend is." "he is a young man like ourselves, grandson of kouha-hande. he is himself a chief, and a noted brave. though young, his reputation is immense. he is tall, athletic, and even elegant of face. his features are handsome, even to effeminacy. his glance, gentle in repose as that of a dove, is, when his anger is aroused, so terrible that few can face it. his physical force is stupendous, his cunning sublime. but you will soon judge for yourself. his enemies call him kristikam-seksenan, or black thunder; his friends call him numank-charake, the brave man, in consequence of his mighty deeds." "you have simply been describing a hero," said oliver. "you shall judge for yourself," smiled the other. "i am extremely anxious to do so." "you will soon have the opportunity. it is now five o'clock. in a few minutes he will be here." "what, after making an appointment so long ago, you expect him to keep it to the minute!" "yes; it is the politeness of the desert, from which nothing absolves but death." "a summary excuse, truly," said oliver. "listen," cried bright-eye. oliver listened, and distinctly heard in the distance the trampling of a horse, which suddenly ceased, to be followed by the cry of the goshawk. bright-eye responded with a similar cry, and with such perfection that the frenchman mechanically raised his head in search of the bird. then the sound of a horse galloping recommenced, the bushes parted violently, and a horseman bounded into the clearing, checking his steed so artistically that next moment he stood like a centaur rooted to the ground. the rider was very much as bright-eye had described him. there was about him, moreover, an air of grandeur, a majesty which inspired respect without repelling sympathy. one glance sufficed to fix him as a man of superior nature. it was the first time oliver, since his journey on the prairies, had seen an indian so near, and under such favourable circumstances. he at once formed a friendly opinion of him. the chief bowed, and then pointed to the sun gilding the summits of the trees. "it is five o'clock. here is numank-charake." "i say welcome, chief. i know your extreme punctuality. supper is ready." "good," said the chief, alighting from his horse with one bound. bright-eye then placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "let my brother listen. the hunter is my friend." "numank-charake has read it in the eyes of bright-eye," replied the indian, turning to oliver; "i put my hand on my heart, what will my brother give me in return?" "my hand and my heart; that is," he added, with a smile, "all that is not bright-eye's." "i accept my share; henceforth we are three in one, one in three. numank-charake was once the bounding panther. let that name be the name of my brother." they shook hands. all was done. according to the customs of the country they were brothers, and held everything in common. almost on the threshold of his desert life, oliver found himself associated with two men noted as the most honest and doughty champions of the prairie. chapter v. a great medicine council. for some time the three men, of such different birth, race, and manners, remained silent. it was a solemn moment. their meeting appeared to them providential. above all was the young frenchman absorbed in his reflections. alone an hour or two ago, he was now one of a formidable trio. all the time the canadian went on with his cooking, while the chief gave fodder to the horses. "supper is ready," suddenly cried bright-eye, laughing, "let us eat." and all three seated themselves around a magnificent roast leg of venison _à la boucanière._ we must hasten to remark that nearly all indian tribes on the borders of canada understand and speak french, at all events, they did at the time of which we speak. this was the more fortunate as oliver did not know one word of huron. the guests did honour to the feast, that is to say, they left nothing but the bones. the meal, which was washed down by several draughts of french brandy, was merry, enlivened by jokes and witticisms. the indians are always thus among themselves. it is only when in the presence of the whites, whom they hate, that they are grave, silent, and sullen, never unbending except under the influence of drink, when their conduct is that of beings under the influence of delirium tremens. brandy, or rather spirit in every shape and form, is doing the work of extermination for the american. as soon as the repast was finished, they began to smoke, speaking of indifferent things. it was the design neither of bright-eye nor oliver to hurry the young chief. indian etiquette is excessively severe on this point. it is a proof of intense ill breeding to question a chief, or even a simple warrior, when he appears anxious for silence. and yet the sun had disappeared from the horizon; night had spread over the desert, blotting out the landscape, and mixing up forms in the most fantastic and strange manner. the sky, of a deep blue, was dotted with stars. the moon, in its second quarter, began to show itself above the trees, floating in ether, and spreading on every side its silvery rays, that lit the prairie here and there with fantastic gleams. the night wind shivered through the branches of the trees producing plaintive and melodious sounds, like those of the Æolian harp. the sombre dwellers in the desert, roused by the setting of the sun, moved slowly about in the darkness, breaking the silence occasionally by their wild brays, their sharp barks, and their deep roars. under every blade of grass murmured the never silent world of grasshoppers. the night was cold. it was the period of the great autumn hunts. several white frosts had already cooled the earth, soon the temperature would be below zero. the rivers and streams would be frozen, and snow would cover the desert as with a shroud. the adventurers, after throwing on an armful of dry wood to revive the flame, had wrapped themselves in their ponchos, and, sheltered by the trees, continued smoking silently. "this is the hour of the second watch," suddenly observed numank, drawing from his belt the medicine calumet, which is only used by chiefs in council; "the blue jay has sung twice, all rests around us. will my pale friends sleep or listen to the voice of a friend?" "sleep is for women and children," replied bright-eye; "men remain awake when a friend desires to speak of serious things. speak." "we listen," added oliver, bowing. "i will speak, since my friends desire it; but as what i have to say is grave, it will not be a talk but a medicine council." "let it be so," said bright-eye. numank rose, bowed to the four cardinal points, speaking some indistinct words; then he seated himself on his hams again, stuffed his calumet with moriche, a kind of sacred tobacco only used in great ceremonies. then having burnt some in the fire as an oblation, he took a medicine stick, and with it lifted a burning coal to the bowl of the calumet. the chief then gave several puffs, and then, still holding the bowl in his hand, presented the stem to bright-eye. the hunter gave several puffs, as did oliver in his turn; it then came back to the chief, this going on until the last morsel of tobacco was consumed. then numank-charake rose, bent again to the four cardinal points of the heavens, shook the ashes into the fire, and spoke. "wacondah, master of life," he said, "you who know all, inspire my words." this formality over he replaced his calumet and sat down. some minutes elapsed, during which he remained wrapped in deep thought. then he raised his head, before bowed on his chest, bowed to his audience, and began. "eight moons ago," he said, "i had just returned from an expedition against the piekanns. after presenting the scalps taken by myself and young men to the sachems, and receiving their thanks, i was going to my wigwam to visit my father, detained at home by old wounds, when i suddenly saw a young girl leaning against the ark of the first man. the young girl was about fifteen, tall, elegant, and beautiful. i had long loved her without ever revealing the secret of my heart. on this occasion she seemed to wait for me, and saw me approach with a melancholy glance." bright-eye's eyes glistened, despite his self-control. "when i was near her the young girl spread out her arms towards me, and then made a step forward. i paused, and waited. 'numank is a great warrior,' she said, modestly lowering her eyes; 'his hut is lined with the scalps of his foes, he has rich skins of every kind of beast, his ball never misses; happy will be the woman whom he loves.'" "on hearing these words, i was deeply moved, and seizing the hand of the young girl, 'onoura--beautiful child,' i said in her ear, 'i have a little bird in my heart which is always singing and repeating your name. does this bird sing in your heart?' she smiled, looked at me from under her eyelashes, and murmured, 'night and day he whispers tender words in my ear, and repeats the name of the warrior who loves me. does not numank-charake find his hut very solitary during the long winter nights, when the wind howls in the forest and the snow covers the earth?' 'my heart has long flown out to you,' i cried, warmly, 'from the first hour that i saw you amidst your companions. do you love me?' 'for life,' she said, blushing deeply. 'good,' said i, 'then i will attempt a new expedition to win the marriage presents, and ask you of your father. you will wait for me, onoura?' 'i will wait for you, numank. am i not your slave for life?' and she gently pressed my hand. i then took a wampum off my neck, and placed it on hers. she kissed it, her eyes full of tears, and taking a gold ring from the thumb of her left hand, she placed it on one of my fingers. i allowed her to do so with a smile. 'you love me,' she said; 'nothing shall ever separate us,' and before i could say another word she fled as does the gazelle before the hunter. i followed her with my eyes as long as i could, and then when she had disappeared round a corner i thoughtfully took my way to my father's hut." the chief paused. after a few minutes the canadian, finding that the other was not disposed to continue, touched him gently on the arm. "why did numank-charake show such want of confidence in his brother?" asked the canadian, reproachfully. "what does my brother bright-eye mean?" asked the chief, with slight embarrassment. "my brother knows what i mean," said the canadian, with great animation. "born almost the same day, brought up together, having made our first trails together on the prairies, as also our first expedition against the sioux and piekanns, our hearts melted into one, i thought we had no secrets. i know who is the woman whom my brother loves, but why let me guess all about it, instead of telling me? have i done anything to offend?" "oh, bright-eye, don't think that," cried the young man, eagerly; "but love delights in mystery." "and yet it likes to confide its sorrows and its joys to the heart of a friend. on that very same night when she had this interview with the chief, evening dew--nouma hawa--on her return to her hut, told her brother all. her heart overflowed with joy, and she could not repress her feelings." "then evening dew owned her love to bright-eye?" "am i not her brother, and your best friend?" "true. let my brother forgive me; i was wrong not to place confidence in him. perhaps i was fearful he might disapprove of it." "on the contrary, it carries out my dearest wishes, and binds us more and more to one another." "my brother is better than i am, his heart is better; he will pardon the weakness of a friend." "on one condition," said the hunter, laughing; "that numank-charake has no more secrets." "i promise you," continued the chief, in a low, sad tone; "what i have now to say is very terrible. but the friends of numank-charake must know all. two moons had elapsed since i and evening dew had spoken. i had not been able to carry out my projects. one day i again met her near the ark of the first man. 'the chief has forgotten his promise,' she said. 'no,' i replied; 'tomorrow i will keep it.' i left her with only a few more words. next day i began to carry out my promise. i prepared everything, even the usual ceremonies were carried out--those you know so well." "one moment," interrupted oliver. "bright-eye, brought up in your villages, knows all about them, but i, as a mere stranger, know not what you mean. as i mean to live with you, i should like to know a little." "my brother is right," said the chief; "i will tell him the whole expedition. before starting, the turf was taken off a considerable square of earth, the mould being made soft and pliable with the hands. it was then surrounded by stakes. when all was ready i went in and sat at the end opposed to the direction in which the enemy lived. after singing and praying, i put on the edge of the open space two little white stones." "after waiting half an hour in prayer, asking the wacondah to guide me right, the village crier, or hachesto, approached. i gave him my orders. he turned and invited all the great warriors to smoke; then in their turn the inferior warriors were invited. after all had smoked, everyone examined the result of the ko-sau-ban-zich-egass. the white stones had fallen in the direction of a well-known path." "and what was the result?" asked bright-eye. "the wacondah favoured his children. the path led towards the land of our hereditary foes, the sioux of the west." "good," said the hunter. "our party consisted of a hundred and fifty warriors, the picked men of the nation, armed with guns. every man carried the offerings to be cast away on the field of battle, and hidden, if possible, in the entrails of our foes." "a pious custom," said bright-eye. oliver looked at the canadian, wondering whether he spoke seriously or not. but there was no doubt of his good faith. "two days later we started. a small band of twenty presently joined us, commanded by tubash-shah, the cheat. my brother knows this restless and ambitious chief. i offered to yield the command to him. my warriors would not consent. misunderstandings soon arose. crossing some vast prairies, we began to feel great thirst, and tubash at once violated the laws of war. i knew that water was not far off. the greater number of the elder warriors, who had to walk, were exhausted by heat and fatigue. tubash sent out mounted scouts, and private signals were agreed on. soon a small river was discovered. those who got first to it fired guns, but before the detachments and the laggers had got up to the river, the sufferings of most of us were excessive. some vomited blood, others were delirious. the expedition was a failure. next day desertions began among the warriors of tubash, he setting the first example. soon i had only five-and-twenty men left. they offered to follow me to the end of the world. but what could i do? with despair in my soul i turned homeward. halfway our scouts gave the alarm. an hour later we were engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict with the sioux. their party, six times as numerous as ours, was luckily composed chiefly of young warriors on their first warpath. our defence was so desperate, that the sioux yielded and fled. we were masters of the field, but out of four-and-twenty only ten were alive, and these were badly wounded." "it would be too terrible to tell the story of our sufferings on the way home. we found that all was known about the expedition. but all the sachems acclaimed us, the more that i brought back the scalps of eighteen sioux who had fallen on the field of battle. but if my honour was safe, my happiness was lost. evening dew was gone." "my sister abducted?" cried bright-eye. "no," said the other, sadly, "not abducted. she went away of her own accord." "of her own accord?" repeated the hunter. "during the absence of bright-eye and myself, a paleface came to the village. this man, it appears, for your father and grandfather refused any explanation, is a relative of my brother. after remaining a week he went away, accompanied by your father. evening dew followed, weeping bitterly. still she offered no resistance to the orders of her father. three days after your father returned to his tribe. he was alone. what had become of the lovely young girl none could tell me. i made the most minute inquiries without any result. not knowing what else to do, i then sent a warrior to my brother to appoint a meeting. here i am, my friend--what am i to do?" "i tell you, chief, that your extraordinary story is inexplicable to me. i cannot advise." "allow me to speak," said oliver, "i am wholly disinterested in the matter. i can therefore speak with that calmness which suits neither of you at this moment." "speak!" cried the two young men. "my advice is, to start at daybreak for the village. the father of bright-eye may have reasons for refusing explanations to the chief. family matters are sacred. but the brother of evening dew has a right to demand a full explanation. i am certain it will be given to him by his father, who can have no reason for being mysterious with him. let us then away to the village. successful or not, we shall know what to do. in every case, my dear friend and brother, count on me." "what says the chief?" asked bright-eye. "the chief thanks bounding panther," replied the young man, warmly; "his heart is loyal, and his soul generous. his advice is good and should be followed. with two such friends, the redskin warrior is certain of success." the conversation then continued for some time on a subject always interesting to a lover and a brother. then, after throwing a pile of dry wood on the fire, the three men rolled themselves in their blankets, and lay down on the ground. the two wood rangers lay face downwards, according to indian custom. as for oliver, he lay on his side with his feet to the fire. at the first hoot of an owl--the first bird which announces the rising of the sun--the chief wakened his companions, and ten minutes later they started on their journey. chapter vi. samuel dickson hunts a moose deer. the traveller who for the first time reaches the rocky mountains is amazed at the pile of hills above hills, called by the early discoverer the sierra of the river of the wind, that immense reservoir whence flows so many great streams, some flowing into the atlantic, others into the pacific. we now transport our readers to a fork formed by a rather extensive stream, flowing from the mountains of the wind, just before it joins the missouri, in the centre of a vast and delicious valley. this charming spot, enchanting in its aspect, was covered by scattered thickets, young trees, fat pasturages, and watered by many rills, which fell in all directions in silver cascades from the mountains, and finally lost themselves in the missouri. this unknown eden, buried in the mountains, had been discovered by a hardy explorer, and already the hand of man was at work destroying its savage grandeur. in a word, the squatters were at work. squatters are generally men of restless habits, greedy of exertions, no matter what they may be, impatient of control, and sworn enemies of the peaceful and regular life of the great centres of population. gifted with the courage of a lion, of a will--or, rather, obstinacy--which nothing can conquer, these men of indomitable energy, in whose hearts ferment the most violent passions, are the true pioneers of the desert and the vanguard of civilisation in the new world. accustomed to place themselves above the law, as soon as the tide of civilisation always rising reaches them, they abandon without regret all they possess--houses and land--and snatching up their hatchets, bury themselves gaily still further in the desert, until they find another suitable site, on which they squat. there is no one to contest their claim. at all events, to do so would be a rather imprudent enterprise, for they at once appeal to their rifle, and make that the legal arbitrator. joshua dickson was a true specimen of a squatter; his whole life had been one long pilgrimage across the states of the union. weary of rambling within the purlieus of civilisation, where he always felt uneasy, one day, as we have already recorded, he came to a final resolution, and, abandoning all that he possessed, he started with his family and servants in search of a land where none before had ever set their foot. we cannot relate all the incidents of his journey without guide or map. they would fill a volume. we come to the point. one night they had fixed their camp near a very narrow and wooded gorge. it appearing to be rather a difficult spot to travel in the dark, and there being no hurry, they had halted by a small stream, in the midst of a green prairie, which offered admirable pasturage for their beasts and horses. before daybreak, while his companions still slept, samuel dickson rose, took his rifle, and advanced in the direction of the defile, with the double object of examining the locality and of shooting, if possible, two or three head of game for the morning repast, provisions being rare in camp, so much so that the night before they had gone to bed almost without supper. harry dickson, who acted as sentry, alone saw him go out, but as his uncle did not speak, he did not venture to make any observation. samuel dickson went away with his rifle on his shoulder, whistling "yankee doodle," and shortly after disappeared in the tall grass without his nephew being able to make out in what direction he had gone. seen by the light of morn the defile was not so choked up by trees and bushes as it had seemed in the dusk of the evening; the entrance only was marked by a curtain of young trees, which would easily succumb to a few blows of a hatchet. the american pushed forward, cutting a passage with his bowie knife, resolved to reach the extremity of the defile, in order to examine it thoroughly and report to his brother. suddenly a moose deer bounded across his path. "there is a demon who does not suffer from rheumatism. how he runs! but remember, my friend, that's your breakfast." with which words he took to his heels, and, catching sight of the deer, followed him up through the dense undergrowth, without being able to get a shot at him. this went on for about twenty minutes, during which, his rifle at full cock, he never looked to the right or left. suddenly the moose deer stood still, as if he sniffed another enemy in the direction in which he was going. the american lost no time, but took steady aim for a second or two and fired. the stricken deer bounded into the air, and then once more took to its heels. but the hunter was determined not to lose him. unhappily, however, in his eagerness, he did not look before him, and just as he thought the deer began to droop, while he increased his speed his foot slipped and he went head over heels, falling a height of about fifteen feet, to alight upon a kind of pavement of hard flint stones. the fall was so heavy that the american not only was bruised all over, but fainted. a feeling of coolness suddenly came over him, and caused him to open his eyes. he looked wildly around him, and saw a young man of about seven-and-twenty, in the costume of a trapper, his handsome face bent over him with a look of deep solicitude, while he bathed his face with a handkerchief soaked with water. "are you better, mr. samuel?" said the other. "hem!" cried the american; "am i mad?" "not in the least, master samuel, at least, that i am aware of," was the reply. "but what has happened?" cried the other, with an awful grimace. "a very simple thing: you shot a deer, and in your eagerness to catch him you did not notice that you were on the summit of an eminence, and so rolled over, to the detriment of your bones." "a very simple thing!" groaned the other; "you speak very complacently, master george. is anything broken?" "nothing. i examined you carefully--nothing but bruises, of that i am sure." "cursed deer! if i only had secured it. but the brute escaped me after all." "no, my friend. you are too good a shot to miss your aim. there lies your game, quite dead." "thank goodness! that is lucky. but oh! oh! i feel as if i had received a severe beating. help me up." "but had you not better rest a while?" "go to the deuce. i am not a whining sniggler, like my niece," he began; "by the way," he added, "that puts me in mind! young man--" "allow me to help you up--take my arm. i am strong; so lean as heavily as you like. there, you are all right. your rifle will serve you as a staff." thanks to the assistance of the young man, the american contrived to stand on his legs, making horrible grimaces and groaning all the time. "i wish my brother had been anywhere, with his mad notion of emigration," he said, grumbling; "but that is not the immediate question. will you answer me?" "i am quite ready. you cannot carry the deer--shall i hang it up in safety until you send for it?" "will you answer me?" cried samuel, ferociously. "you have not yet asked me any question," said the young man, gently. the american looked at him with considerable anger in his glance; then his muscles relaxing, he burst out laughing. "forgive me, george," he said, offering his hand. "i am an old fool. i am trying to get up a quarrel with you, instead of thanking you for your kindness. in truth, i believe you have saved my life." "you exaggerate, mr. samuel," replied the other. "between you and me, i don't think so. what would have become of me, fainting in the desert?" "chance brought me here." "oh, yes! chance has very broad shoulders," answered the american: "i suppose it brought you out here." the young man held down his head and blushed. "well, well, i won't tease you, george," cried samuel; "you are a noble and generous fellow, and i loved your father." "as you do his son," responded the other. "i suppose it is so. but this being understood, let us talk like two old friends." "i am at your command." "always the same eternal chorus. now i do not want to dive into your secrets, but without going beyond the limits of politeness, allow me to ask you one simple question," said samuel. "ask; and if it be in my power, i will answer truthfully," replied the other. "hem! you are confoundedly close. first let us sit down. i am all aches and pains." the young man gently led him to a soft mound of turf, helped him to be seated, and followed his example. "now i am good for an hour. let us chat." "i am your most obedient servant to command." "how is it, mr. george clinton," began the old man, with a sly look, "that three months ago i left you at boston at the head of a large house of business, and that i now find you dressed like a runner of the woods, hundreds of miles from the nearest settlement, just ready to save my life." "if my journey served me no other purpose, i am thankful--still i own there is another motive." "i am glad to hear you say so. may i ask its nature?" "well, master samuel," began clinton, "i am young, vigorous, and passionately fond of field sports; i am a good shot, and very much inclined for a free and independent life. many times while at boston chance brought me in contact with persons who have accomplished wonderful journeys into the almost unknown interior of our vast continent, and who brought back astounding accounts of what they saw; my curiosity was aroused, and i felt within myself a strong desire to attempt one of these expeditions in search of the unknown." "or the ideal," smiled the american. "if you like it. as long as my father was alive i kept my ideas to myself, but as soon as my actions were quite free my old ideas were revived. an opportunity presented itself which i eagerly embraced. confiding my house of business to a trustworthy partner, i started." "you had a definite object, i suppose?" "no; i went wherever chance or my feelings urged me," the other answered. "my young friend," said dickson, laughing, "chance plays too great a part in all this. you will excuse me if i don't believe a word of your story." "you are not generous, sir." "i am not generous?" "you will not believe that a young man could give way to his adventurous instincts; and yet you, a wise man, very much older than i am, you, whose position was settled, i find you here, without being able to give the slightest explanation of your conduct." "well answered, george. you hit me hard, but you know i am an old fool. i am so, as sure as fate. yes, my friend, i am mad enough for a straitjacket. but at the same time, i can see that you will not make me your confidant." "i assure you--" began clinton. "what is the use of holding out any longer? you must rely on me in the end; but when you do come to me with the truth, it will be my turn." "you are not angry with me?" "no, my boy: keep your secrets; but remember i am your friend. keep your own counsel then, if you will--it concerns only yourself. but remember, whenever you want me, i am ready," he answered. "i know not how to thank you." "what nonsense! you owe me nothing. it is i who am your debtor. but it is getting late, and i must return to the camp, where they must be getting anxious. thanks to my rest i feel not only able to walk, but to carry the confounded deer." "wait, however, while i clean and skin him. it will then be easier." "you are quite right. be quick, as we are short of food." "but the country is enormously rich in game, and what a beautiful spot!" "it certainly is," replied samuel, after which his young friend soon prepared the game so as to be easily carried. "and now take my arm while i lead you through the defile, which is the only way out of the valley." and so they started, samuel walking much better than he expected, though suffering much. "one favour," said the young man, after a time. "what is it, my friend?" asked samuel. "say not one word of our meeting." "since you wish it, i will be strictly silent on the subject. like other people i know, i will invent some sort of story--it is not difficult." the young man smiled, and shook him heartily by the hand. then samuel dickson walked away in the direction of the camp, while george busied himself in the valley. chapter vii. joshua dickson becomes master of the valley. after samuel had walked some distance he found that he had miscalculated his strength. he was very weak about the ankle, and the way being rude and his load heavy, he could scarcely get along at all. still he would not abandon the deer, knowing as he did how short of provisions they were in the camp. wiping the cold perspiration off his brow, the brave american resumed his journey. the sufferings he endured it would be impossible to describe; at length he became scarcely able to drag one foot before the other; every now and then he had to stop, as the blood rushed to his head and myriad sparkles flashed before his eyes. he seemed to have the vertigo, his mouth was parched, his chest panting, his temples throbbing, and his eyes almost starting from his head. when he had staggered to within five hundred feet of the camp he was utterly exhausted, and fell insensible on the grass, where he remained inert and motionless for a quarter of an hour. luckily, as he roused himself, he found a small rivulet flowing at his feet. in this he bathed his hands and face, and felt better. but he could walk no farther; that he knew was impossible. he, however, suspected they were looking for him, and if they heard him would come to his assistance. his voice was powerless to reach them. there remained his rifle. still seated on the ground, he loaded and fired three times in succession. he had not long to wait before he saw his brother and nephews running towards him. he was too weak to enter upon any explanations, but one nephew taking up the deer and the other their uncle, they at once made for the camp, where mrs. dickson and diana anxiously awaited them. when they saw the hunter they believed him dead. joshua had a great deal of difficulty in persuading them that he had only fainted, and was in no danger. the americans, especially the hunters and trappers, have great experience in wounds and bruises. the sick man was at once carried to a covered waggon, placed upon a mattress, and stripped. "heavens!" cried joshua, as he examined the numerous black bruises, "poor samuel has indeed had a bad fall. i wonder he was not killed outright." "fortunate nothing is broken," said the eldest son. "so it is," replied the father; "and now let us do the best we can for him while your mother cooks the deer meat for breakfast. it was for us poor sam risked his life. get the camphorated brandy and some wool, and don't forget to tell your mother to cook the game. she is rather apt to burn venison, which does not improve its flavour. while you are about it bring the rum bottle--a little poured down his throat will do him good. above all, be quick." having given these orders, joshua bathed his brother's forehead with cold water, passed burnt feathers under his nose, and did everything which could be done under the circumstances. still the sick man never moved. "let us try the rum," he said, as his son returned. and as he spoke, he forced open the other's teeth with the blade of his knife, and putting the neck of the bottle to his mouth, let the liquor slip through. samuel smacked his lips and opened his eyes. "that is something like. and now to work." the two men then, dipping the wool in camphorated brandy, began to rub the bruises. such a remedy, so roughly employed, was very soon quite efficacious. the sick man sat up, howling furiously, and trying to escape from their clutches. but the two men, believing in the remedy, continued, and, despite all their victim could say, despite his prayers, howls, and curses, he finally had to submit to the treatment for half an hour. "there you are," cried joshua; "now try and sleep." "go to old nick!" roared samuel; "i'm skinned alive." "you are as fussy as a woman. we scarcely touched you. tonight we shall do it again perfectly, and tomorrow you will be quite well," said joshua. samuel shuddered, but said nothing; shortly after he, however, slept soundly. at night the two men came again, and, despite his lamentations, protestations, and prayers, continued to rub him as before, with all the vigour of which their hands and arms were capable. then joshua told his brother to go to sleep, promising if in the morning he was not quite well to give him one more dose. but samuel was up first, and when they came to find him, he was dressed, singing "yankee doodle." his brother was delighted, and while wishing him joy, highly eulogised his remedy, the very mention of which caused samuel to shudder. he was then questioned as to his adventure, which he related, leaving out all mention, however, of george clinton. they were at breakfast, and everyone listened with avidity. the ladies especially, who were weary of their journey, heard the description of the beautiful valley with extreme delight. "to conclude, i beg to remark," samuel wound up by saying, "that i never saw a spot better suited for a settlement." "we shall see," drily remarked joshua. samuel knew his brother well, and was well aware how he should be treated. "as for myself," he added, with indifference, "i don't care where or when we stop. as we have gone so far in the desert, what matters fifty leagues more or less? let us then go ahead. push on by all means, even as far as the bay of hudson." "i don't want to go as far as that," cried joshua; "if the valley's anything like what you say, perhaps we may stop." "well, perhaps it may not suit you. everybody, you know, to their taste," continued samuel. "i shall judge for myself," replied joshua. "if we are to stop here all day," samuel urged, quite satisfied, "i and harry will fetch the deerskin." "why not go with me?" said his brother. "i shall be delighted with your company." "then, by jove, we'll all go. it will be a walk. harry, sam, jack, tell sandy to be ready for a start. let the camp be raised. tonight we will camp in the valley and examine it at our ease." "you raise the camp for so small a journey?" said mrs. dickson. "does it displease you, mistress?" "no. but it is a useless fatigue for horses and men." "i shall do as i think proper," said the squatter, drily, as he went to hurry his men. samuel dickson and the ladies smiled. they knew now they would stop in the valley. an hour later the whole caravan took its way in the direction of the defile, preceded by a dozen of the hired men and others with hatchets, to act as pioneers. though he declared his health was quite restored, samuel dickson, instead of riding on horseback, clambered into a waggon with his sister-in-law and niece, with whom he gaily discoursed. every now and then the old farmer looked sideways at the countenance of his pale and thoughtful niece, smiled to himself, and rubbed his hands with intense satisfaction. neither mother nor daughter could make out his pantomime, but after a few trials they knew it was useless to question him, and so let him chuckle to himself. joshua dickson, without allowing it to be seen, had been very much struck by what his brother had said. instead, therefore, of riding beside the caravan as usual, he had gone on in front. presently, as if no longer able to resist the impulse of curiosity which was devouring him, he signed to his three sons to follow, and next minute the four men were off at a hard gallop and were soon lost in the defile. "the fish is in the net," said samuel dickson, with a hearty laugh. "is the valley so beautiful as you say?" asked mrs. dickson. "much more so. it is simply a terrestrial paradise. if you were to hunt for months you would never find a more agreeable or advantageous position. everything is to be found in abundance, wood, water, pasture, and above all, game." "if joshua would only settle." "a good deal depends on you." "i have not the influence you suppose over my husband. you know his vagabond humour." "he will remain here if you wish him to." "i hope you are right," replied the wife, with a sigh. "chut! here he comes. attention, this is the decisive moment," whispered samuel, as joshua came up. "holloa!" he cried, "i have come from the valley." "did you find the deerskin i left behind?" "deerskin be--" was the excited answer; "i had no time to think of it. but what a delicious valley! i never saw anything so beautiful in all my life." "it is certainly pretty fair, but not worthy of such frantic eulogy," said samuel. "what a man you are!" cried joshua; "you must always disagree with me. the moment i like a thing you must depreciate it." "do you then mean to make some stay in the valley?" asked mrs. dickson, innocently enough. "some stay, mistress!" cried the husband; "what are you dreaming about? i mean to take the whole valley. it belongs to no one now. it shall therefore be ours--that is, mine and my brother's." "i want very little," said samuel. "you shall have your right share, no more and no less. do you think i would cheat you?" "far from me be such a thought." "but, my dear," said the wife, "pray think." "i have thought," he replied, abruptly; "and my resolution is irrevocable. so thoroughly have i made up my mind that i have come back alone, leaving the children at work." "at work!" cried samuel. "yes; they are cutting down trees and clearing the ground. this will be so much gained, as the season is far advanced, and we have not a moment to lose if we would have our settlement quite ready for the winter." all this while the caravan was advancing, and by degrees had got halfway through the defile. "this narrow way might easily be stopped," said joshua. "very useful idea, as many redskins are about." "but we are very numerous." "yes; but if we are attacked we have no neighbours to help us, and must count only on ourselves alone." "we shall be sufficient," drily responded joshua. "i hope so, and yet i doubt if the indians leave us in peaceable possession if game is as abundant as i believe." "bah! who cares? if the indians come we will give them such a reception as shall astonish them." "who lives longest will see the most. it is best to be prudent," responded samuel. the squatter, half angry at his brother's manner, gave up the conversation, and, spurring his horse, disappeared. "now," said samuel, with a smile, as the other rode off, "you may be satisfied. joshua is sufficiently annoyed at my opposition to become seriously obstinate. nothing will make him change his mind now." "perhaps you went a little too far." "not a bit, i only stimulated him." "but what you said about the indians made me seriously uneasy. are there any about?" "i suppose so, as we are in the very centre of their territory. they may not attack us if let alone." "but this valley may belong to them." "then we shall have to negotiate with the tribe to which the place belongs. we shall buy it of the redskins--a thing done every day." "you ought to know joshua better by this time. he will take the land, and refuse all compromises." "i know him; but should the contingency come, we must make him listen to reason. but look, we are entering on the confines of this garden of eden, which henceforth will be all our own," cried samuel. "what a magnificent country!" cried the squatter's wife. miss diana, despite her sadness and habit of concentrated thought, could not restrain an exclamation of surprise at the sight of the grand spectacle before her. "don't be too enthusiastic," said samuel. "here is joshua." a hundred paces off joshua had halted, his sons beside him on horseback, gun in hand. the squatter held the american flag in his right hand. as soon as all the waggons were in the valley he signed to everybody to advance. all the serving men and women surrounded the squatter. his wife, daughter, and samuel remained in the waggon. the squatter, making his horse prance, waved the american flag over his head, then he planted the staff in the earth, and cried in a loud firm voice: "i take possession of this wild territory by the right of the first occupant i proclaim myself its sole lord and master, and if anyone, white or black, dares to claim it, i will defend myself to the last gasp." "hurrah! long live america!" cried all. "my friends," continued the trapper, "we are now at home. this valley which we shall soon cultivate and bring to prosperity and civilisation, is the valley of the deer." "long live the valley of the deer!" cried all. the squatter then headed the caravan, and led it to the spot he had selected for a settlement. it was twelve o'clock. at a little after two the ancient trees were falling beneath the axes of the americans. chapter viii. diana dickson and her foe. the activity of the north americans is prodigious; they have a peculiar way of handling the axe which is marvellous. their mode of procedure is almost incomprehensible, and goes beyond anything the imagination can conceive. fifty american woodmen will in a month clear the whole of a vast forest tract. they always begin with the idea, a very logical one, though a proud one, that the modest plantation they commence may in time become an important town, and they act accordingly. the land is divided into lots, paths traced by the axe stand for streets, large open spaces represent squares, while notched trees indicate where the houses, shops, workshops, and other buildings are to be. as soon as this is all settled they go to work with feverish haste, and trees of vast dimensions fall with a rapidity which is simply amazing. then they build the stables and sheds, then the blacksmith's forge, the carpenter's shop, and the water sawmill, of which the workmen at once take possession. the earth, still encumbered by the roots of trees, is dug up and sown at once. everything goes on at the same time with the utmost regularity and industry. in a few days the landscape is completely changed, and there, where had existed a virgin forest, with all its deep and impenetrable mysteries, suddenly arises, as if by means of the enchanted wand, the embryo of a town, which ten years later will be a rich flourishing emporium of commerce, and of which the population, coming from all parts of the world, will perhaps be fifty or sixty thousand. but the squatter, the founder of the new city, will have disappeared, without leaving a trace behind. nobody knows anything about him, not even his name. his work done, he will have taken his melancholy departure, frightened to see the desert so populated, and that civilisation from which he had fled so near; he probably has fled out west in search of a new virgin land, which he will transform like the first, without deriving any more advantage from it, finally to end his days, shot in some miserable indian ambuscade, or killed by the claws of a grizzly, or perhaps dies of misery and hunger in some unknown corner of the prairie. joshua dickson did not act differently from his fellows; after dividing the valley into two, and handing over half to his brother, he fixed his residence near the fork of the two rivers. samuel dickson fixed his residence at the other end of the valley, near the river called the deer river. everybody then set to work, and with such rapidity that before three weeks were over the principal buildings were finished. the houses, built with trees from the trunks of which the bark had not been removed, piled one upon the other, and fastened together by iron clamps and long wooden nails, looked comfortable with their glass windows furnished inside with strong shutters, and their mud and brick chimneys from which the smoke already escaped in a bluish cloud. all the servants and hired men had erected themselves, not exactly houses, but bark huts. they were, however, only temporary residences, soon to be replaced by more solid and eligible residences. the ordinary means of defence so necessary in an indian country had not been neglected; a solid double stockade of young trees surrounded the camp; the centre of this rampart was occupied by a ditch ten feet wide and fifteen deep. there were several drawbridges, which were raised every night, by means of which only could the settlement be reached; near every one of these was a redoubt of stone, surmounted by stakes, behind which, in case of attack, the garrison could place themselves. all the houses were moreover loopholed. every night some twenty formidable dogs of the race formerly used by the spaniards to hunt down the indians, and until lately kept to track negro slaves by the americans, that is to say, bloodhounds, were let loose. one morning, shortly after sunrise, miss diana, accompanied by her own enormous and favourite dog, quitted the point, her father's habitation, for the residence of samuel dickson. very busy each about their own affairs, the brothers were often two days without seeing each other, the more so that their respective residences were quite three miles apart. joshua dickson, whose activity was immense, struck with amazement at sight of the magnificent waterpower at his door, and which he little suspected was the missouri, had asked himself one day where these waters flowed to. he came at last to the conclusion that on its way to the sea it must run through some state of the union. then, imbued with that commercial spirit which is innate in the americans, he at once saw the value of the river as available for the carriage of his produce, as well as to obtain supplies for the colony. he therefore resolved to make a journey down the river, and reach the first settlement, and this as soon as the heavier labours were over. now with the squatter to resolve was to act, and even before anything else was finished he had set to work to construct a canoe sufficiently large to carry four persons, with victuals for a long journey, and strong enough to bear a voyage of some hundreds of miles. the boat had been finished the night before, and joshua dickson, eager to begin his journey, had sent his daughter over to dickson point, to confer with his brother as to what was to be done in his absence. but neither samuel nor diana knew anything of joshua's projects. joshua was one of those men who, without being deceitful, was very reticent, and never told his thoughts. diana, like a true heroine, traversed the faintly traced paths which led to her uncle's house, a hunting knife in her belt, and light gun in her hand. for further safety she was accompanied by dardar, a large black and white dog, something between a wolf and a newfoundland, terribly ferocious, and of mighty strength, as tall as a good-sized donkey, and who would have tackled a bear in defence of his mistress, whom he obeyed with the docility of a child. with such a guardian diana had nothing to fear from man or beast; moreover, the country was too little known to the squatters to allow a young girl to go out quite unprotected in the country, however short the distance. contrary to her usual mood, the young girl was quite joyous; her freedom, which allowed her to give free vent to her thoughts, had driven away the tinge of sadness which generally clouded her beautiful face. she went along careless and dreaming through the fields, playing with dardar, who, proud of the charge he was set to guard, ran wildly before her, dashing into the bushes and thickets with an intelligent glance that was almost human. the young girl soon reached the river, where a kind of ferryboat had been provided by means of which to cross the river, here neither broad nor deep. in a few minutes diana was across and within sight of her uncle's residence. inside the log hut, which was extensive, were seated two men, with a bottle of whisky before them. these were samuel dickson himself and george. two horses, still saddled and smoking, were fastened in the court. they must have been on a long journey. "you are a pretty fellow to make me gallop about in this way in search of you. i am not very handsome, but i am not ugly enough to frighten you." "i simply did not see you." "no nonsense. do you think to keep me in ignorance of your motive in coming this way?" the young man blushed deeply. "do you know my brother joshua?" asked samuel. "i met him once or twice in boston, but i do not think he ever noticed me," said george clinton. "shall i introduce you to him?" said samuel. "he has his faults, but he is a very worthy man." "i don't think it would be wise just now." "i don't think," continued the american, "that you have waited to be introduced to my niece." "sir," cried the young man, dropping his glass. "ah, ah!" cried the american, laughing, "that is the way you break my crockery. these lovers, these lovers. do you think to cheat an old opossum like me? you love my pretty niece, which is very natural; you are a good fellow, and together will make an excellent couple." "i regret to say it cannot be so," sighed george. "why so?" cried samuel. "i see you are so good, i can no longer refuse to enlighten you." "that is right. confess, for i am your true friend." "what i have to say," began george, "is not much. i met miss diana at boston at mrs. marshall's, where your niece stayed for some months last year. i was on very good terms with your relative." "yes, yes; my cousin," said samuel. "need i say that from the first moment i saw her i loved your niece? my visits to mrs. marshall, once only occasional, became so frequent that the lady began to have suspicion of my intentions. she at once called me on one side, and while giving me every credit for loyalty and worth, she told me not to prosecute my attentions, as diana's father would never consent to our marriage. despite all my entreaties, however, she would give me no reason, until at last, yielding to my earnest entreaties, she explained that many years before there had been such a quarrel between my father and joshua dickson that any alliance between our families must ever prove impossible." samuel listened with extreme anxiety. "you see yourself that i am right," said the young man. "you are mistaken," cried the other; "the matter is rather serious, i allow. i really had forgotten that old affair. but don't ask me any questions; all i say is, have courage. circumstances will probably alter, and believe me that in samuel dickson you will have a sincere friend." "i should be only too glad to help." "when i am on your side nothing is difficult. now to breakfast. but how did you know of my brother's coming out here?" suddenly cried samuel. "miss diana told me herself." "oh, oh! then i wonder no longer. to breakfast." "i hope, master samuel, you will excuse me," began the other, taking up his hunter's cap. "sit down; if my niece were here you would not go." "can i come in?" suddenly said a soft voice at the door, a voice that made george start. this sudden coincidence utterly overcame the old man's gravity, and, throwing himself back in his chair, he screamed with laughter, while diana stood transfixed in the doorway, and george clinton simply turned his cap round in his hand without being able to articulate a word. it was dardar who ended the scene. the dog had remained outside for a moment or two, and then, seeing the door open, had rushed right into the middle of the room; seeing george clinton he rushed at him, wagging his tail first, and then, leaping up, his paws on either shoulder, he licked his face with a joyous whine. "by heavens!" cried the squatter, "the fellow is lucky. everyone likes him, even that precious dardar, and yet he despairs. come in, sly boots, and kiss your uncle." she did not require twice asking. "you are welcome, mademoiselle," he said, with mock politeness. "i suppose i need not introduce you to yonder tall young fellow?" "i have known the gentleman some time," replied the young girl, holding out her hand, which george took and kissed. "that's right," cried samuel, rubbing his hands; "all goes well. and now once more i say, to breakfast. i am dying with hunger. we can talk while we eat, and you, diana, can explain your early visit. i suppose you have not come three miles in the dew to kiss your old uncle?" "why not?" she said, with a smile. "and you expected to meet nobody," he answered. but seeing that diana blushed, he continued, "but no more delay," and seated himself. the beginning of the meal was rather constrained, from the peculiar position of the young people. but the ice was soon broken; the squatter was merry and humorous; he avoided any pointed allusions, and the conversation, at first very meagre, soon became very pleasant. when samuel heard the object of diana's visit, he promised to go over in the evening, and then questioned george as to his travels. george at once proceeded to tell his story with so much wit and humour as to amuse uncle and niece. "now," said samuel, when breakfast was over, "listen to me. you are two charming young people, whom i love, and whose happiness i desire. but you must let me act in my own way. i know my brother well, and can do as i like with him. look upon me as an ally, but commit no imprudence. instead now of going with my niece, you must stop here. if you were seen together, we cannot say what might happen. at all times my house is open to you. come as often as you like, but remember, courage and prudence, diana, kiss me again, and then farewell." "my darling uncle," she cried, embracing him. "oh, yes, very dear, because i do what you like." "au revoir, george," she continued. "but when shall i see you again? time appears so long." "already he grumbles," cried samuel. "pardon me, but i love her so much." "and do i not love you?" she said, naively. "i am mad," he answered, tenderly, kissing her hand a second time as he spoke. then diana went out, guarded by dardar. "now," said samuel, as soon as they were alone, "you must enter into fuller explanations, and explain where you have pitched your tent. i hope you are in no difficulty." "be easy on that point. i have a hut in a charming situation about twelve miles off. will you come and see it?" added george clinton. "at once, if you like," cried samuel. "at once let it be, i am not alone; i have two faithful servants and a canadian hunter, whom i engaged in boston. i have books, arms, horses, dogs--everything that a man can wish for." "delighted to hear it. let us start." five minutes later they were galloping through the forest. chapter ix. they make an acquaintance. that part of the valley towards which they were going had undergone no change. the squatters had had no time to visit it, and it retained all its original beauty and primitive majesty. george clinton appeared fully to know his way, entering at full gallop on the most out-of-the-way and rugged paths, followed by samuel dickson, who was in a charming humour, and appeared delighted to explore this part of his domains, for all on that side of the valley was his present from his brother. "you ride as if you had known the country ten years at least," he said. "i came here about a month before you, but i have been everywhere with charbonneau." "who may charbonneau be?" "my hunter, a great big canadian, as long as a fishing rod, as thin as a nail, and as honest as a newfoundland dog. i got him out of a very great scrape, and he has been devoted to me ever since." "lucky for you." "more than you think. this fellow was brought up in an indian tribe; his life has been spent more or less in the desert. he has friends everywhere with trappers, with white and half-caste hunters; speaks all the most difficult redskin dialects, and despite his youth--he is not more than three-and-twenty--enjoys a great reputation on the prairie. he is called keen-hand, because of his prodigious dexterity." "an excellent servant," said samuel. "and a capital companion--always gay and contented; whichever way things go, he is always so philosophical i cannot but admire him. he is a perfect study. as an instance, he declared some time ago no squatter would ever see this place and go further." "he was not far wrong. he is a sharp youth." "you are right; but you shall judge for yourself." "then he has told you all about this country?" asked samuel. "in what way?" said george. "i suppose he described the situation of the valley--its distance from all habitations?" "don't you know?" cried george. "i know nothing. we have been travelling in the dark, and should all be glad of information." "in the first place, two rivers cross the valley; that near you flows from the mountains of the wind; the other, into which it discharges its waters, is the missouri." "heavens! the missouri! then it runs through part of the united states. we are at home." "very nearly, though you are surrounded by red men, who, though very warlike, are generally friendly to the whites. still, if you know the redskins you will not depend on them." "too true; and what nations are they?" he asked. "sioux and dakotas, piekanns, crows, hurons of the great lakes, with some assiniboins and mandans. a few others of no account are scattered about," he answered. "a pretty lot; and no help near." "help is nearer than you think. about fifty miles distant is a fort belonging to one of the great fur companies. it has a garrison of fifty whites--americans and canadians, soldiers and hunters." "fifty miles is nothing," said samuel. "in a civilised country, yes; but in the desert it is as bad as fifty leagues," responded clinton. "i did not think of that," granted the squatter; "well, then, on the other side, what neighbours have we?" "some squatters, like yourselves, who have been two years on the missouri. you are halfway between the two." "have these squatters much cultivated land?" "they have been going ahead lately. it is already almost a village; soon it will be a town. but anyway, on one side or the other you are separated from men of your own colour by several indian nations, whose villages it would be dangerous to visit, except in large numbers. in fact your only open route is the missouri." "that is something; but, if easy to go down, it is hard to ascend." "besides, both sides swarm with redskins." "hum! my dear george, that spoils all. what could put it into the mad head of my brother to bring us here? he is a lunatic; for the matter of that, so am i." george could not help laughing. "laugh away, you young rascal," said the squatter; "but if we have to leave our bones here?" "i hope it will not be so," replied george. "jehoshaphat! so do i. your information is not pleasant; still i thank you. it is best to know the worst." while speaking they kept on at as rapid a pace as the state of the ground allowed. they had left the forest, and had come out upon a green prairie, when suddenly they heard a gun fired. "what is that?" cried the squatter. "charbonneau. i know the sound. wait a minute." and clinton fired his rifle in the air. next instant there was a rush from out of a thicket, and two magnificent dogs of the same breed as dardar came rushing out of a thicket, and, leaping at the young man to beg a caress, continued at the same time to growl at the squatter. "down, dogs, down!" cried the young man. "down, i say, nadeje, miss, and you the same, drack; don't be mischievous. this gentleman, my fine fellows, is a friend; go and welcome him, to show what brave and intelligent beasts you are." as if they had understood what their master said, the two dogs ceased to growl, and, going straight to samuel dickson, leaped up at him in the most friendly way. the squatter, a great dog fancier, was very much struck by their beauty, and at once caressed them with many a word of praise, which pleased both, but especially miss nadeje; she was a magnificent animal, with an almost pure white skin, spotted only here and there with black, and at once took the squatter under her guardianship. almost at the same moment a man appeared in the full costume of a hunter, a man with rather angular but very intelligent features; in his hand was the still-smoking gun. he bowed, and called off the dogs. "pardieu!" he cried, "that was a lucky shot of mine." "were you hunting?" asked the other, shaking hands. "at this hour it were folly, and i am not yet mad. sport is only good morning and evening, is it not?" "that is my opinion," replied the squatter. "mr. samuel dickson, one of my best friends," said george, "and i hope soon one of yours." "i hope so; i like his looks," laughed charbonneau. "thank you," said the squatter. "it is quite unnecessary, only i don't say the same to everybody. but i have known you some time." "if not hunting, what were you doing?" asked george. "something has happened at the wigwam. three travellers, two white hunters and an indian chief, have reached your house, and demanded hospitality," he replied. "of course you did not refuse?" "of course i did not. besides, two of the hunters are my friends, and the other is likely to become so." "you know you are welcome to act; still, why look for me?" "well, i did not exactly look for you, but i wanted to give you warning; of course, i knew where you had gone." the young man blushed, while the old man laughed. "now, then," cried clinton, "let us go home." "wait one moment. about fifty yards in my rear the dogs opened cry. i ran and found--" "a bear?" exclaimed the squatter. "no, i would not have minded that. it was not a bear, but a man. he was lying insensible on the ground, his skull split open from a heavy fall, and a shot wound in his left arm. his horse was grazing close by. he appeared to be a traveller traitorously shot by an indian. i thought i heard an explosion; at all events, the wretch fled before the dogs, just as he was about to rob the unfortunate." "you assisted him?" "how could i help it? i could not let him die like a skunk on the road; and yet it would have been wiser." "charbonneau!" cried the young man, "is that really you?" "you know me well, master george. well, despite myself, i don't like the look of this man, though he is handsome enough. he has a terrible expression, and you know it takes something to move me. still, i feel an invincible repugnance for this man, whom i never saw before. the dogs were like myself; i had the greatest difficulty to prevent them tearing him to pieces. nadeje was like a mad creature; she wanted to strangle him. do you know, master george, dogs never make a mistake?" "a very good thing," said george clinton; "but the man is wounded, likely to die. we are bound to succour him." "i know it, and have done so. i have seen to him as i would to myself or one of my dogs. still, master george, mark my words, it is a bitter foe you shelter under your roof." "it may be so, but we must do our duty." "as you please. still i shall watch him." "where is he?" "just under yonder cluster of oaks, which you see from here. it was after dressing his wound i fired a shot on chance." "did he say nothing?" asked george. "he is still quite insensible." "let us join him, and if the dogs are so ill-disposed towards the stranger, watch them carefully." "all right, master george. be quiet, dogs," said the hunter, turning back, followed by the two great dogs, the others making up the rear. the cluster of oaks was soon reached; the wounded man still lay without life; the dogs howled, but, at a sign from keen-hand, they stood back silent. george and samuel alighted, and examined the man. he was a tall, well made, even elegant man of about thirty or thirty-five; he was deadly pale; his features were well chiselled and delicate; his long, jet black hair fell in waving curls on his shoulders; a black crisp beard hid the lower part of his face; his mouth, large and slightly open, showed magnificent teeth of dazzling whiteness; his strong and aquiline nose gave a terribly hard expression to his face, while his eyes, far too close together, and which were shut, were shaded by long lashes, and crowned by heavy eyebrows that almost touched. the very sight of the man inspired instinctive repulsion, something like a chill, that sensation of terror and disgust which one feels at the sight of a reptile; still the man was handsome and elegant; he was well dressed, and his weapons were superior; his horse was extremely valuable. he was, to all appearance, a prince among adventurers. "hum!" muttered samuel dickson, who was the first to speak; "i don't like his look at all." "no more do i," said george; "still, we cannot let him die." "certainly not, since providence has sent him here. are we far from your hut?" replied samuel. "not far off, are we, charbonneau? but, then, how can we carry him?" continued george; "i don't see anything except a litter." "too long. leave all to me. i will mount his horse; you can hand him up to me; i will then carry him in my arms to the wigwam--what say you?" "admirable!" cried george, as charbonneau mounted and stood still, awaiting his burden. george and samuel then placed him before the guide. charbonneau pressed his head against his chest, and started. going slowly, they were an hour on the journey. the wigwam, as the hunter called it, was a charming habitation built of wood, upon the summit of an eminence, round which ran a silver stream, lined with well-constructed palisades. "your house is delicious," said samuel dickson, examining the residence. "you should be very comfortable." "my good friend, i want for nothing except happiness." "are you going to have the blues again?" said samuel. "you know i hardly dare hope," replied george. "you are very foolish. when you are rich, young, and loved, master george, you ought to hope for the best." "you are very cruel to joke with me." "i do not joke, i only try to inspire you with courage. but, look, here are your guests coming to meet you, while your servants seem to me to be rather muddled and mixed," observed samuel. "it is the first time they have ever seen strangers." "then," said samuel, laughing, "they will have a change today." three persons were advancing in the direction of the advancing troop. they were bright-eye, numank-charake, the huron chief, and oliver. they bowed ceremoniously to clinton, who renewed the invitation given by charbonneau; and then alighting, the wounded man was carried by bright-eye and oliver to the best bedroom, placed on the master's own couch, and at once attended to by one of the domestics, who knew something of medicine. "what a disagreeable face!" murmured oliver. "he does not look pleasant," said bright-eye. "'tis the face of a traitor," said the indian chief, sententiously; "he should have been allowed to die." "hum!" cried keen-hand; "there are others of my opinion." "let my brother watch carefully," remarked the indian. "be not uneasy," smiled charbonneau. "in my opinion," said bright-eye, "this man is one of the outlaws of the desert. i have seen him somewhere before. i must not only think over the matter, but put the master of the house on his guard." meanwhile the four men rejoined clinton and samuel dickson in the drawing room, where copious refreshments awaited them. chapter x. who the stranger was. as soon as the farmer had taken some slight refreshment and assured himself as to the comfortable position in which he was placed, he took his leave. the day was far advanced, and he had to meet his brother on a matter of business. on leaving george, the squatter bent low on his horse, and after one last glance at the hut: "beware, my friend," he said, "of the wounded man. i think him an unmitigated rascal. get rid of him." "i will take your advice. i do not like him myself, and as soon as he can travel he shall surely go." and, after mutual promises to meet again, the two friends parted, and samuel rode off in hot haste. george watched him until he was quite out of sight. he then sighed. the departure of samuel had broken the last link between the charming events of the morning and the more matter-of-fact events of the evening. he now gloomily turned on his heel, and found himself face to face with the three travellers accompanied by keen-hand. "you are not going?" he cried. "no," answered bright-eye; "on the contrary, if you will allow us, we intend remaining some little time." "you will give me great satisfaction," continued clinton, "use my house entirely as your own." the hunters bowed courteously. "we have come to meet you," said oliver, "because, having something to say, we prefer the open air." "yes," continued bright-eye, "though the wounded man whom you have so generously entertained is as yet incapable of listening, your servants--" "are discreet and devoted," observed clinton. "we know that, and have taken no precautions against them." "you would have been very unwise to do so. morris and stephen knew me from my birth. they love me as if i were a child of their own. i have no secrets from them and should be sorry to wound their feelings." "i was prepared for that objection," said keen-hand, "and was therefore careful to warn them." "you have done well, charbonneau, as i would not for the world offend those worthy fellows. and now, gentlemen, follow me, and i will take you where you can speak openly without fear of being overheard." saying which george moved away from the house and led them to a hillock, wholly without trees, overlooking the river, and whence he could see a long way. "this is my observatory," he said, smiling. "admirably well chosen," replied oliver. on the invitation of clinton everyone seated himself on the grass, and lit his pipe; then bright-eye, who appeared general spokesman, addressed their host. "we have learned from keen-hand that you have not long left the cities of the united states to visit for a time the prairies of the far west." "i have no reason for making any secret of the matter." "everyone is master of his own actions," continued bright-eye, "and we have no right to inquire in any way into your affairs. we only desire to indicate you as new to prairie customs." "i am not very learned in the matter, and am therefore wholly guided by my hunter, who, despite his youth, is an old runner of the woods. but as i see no motive for this conversation, i should be glad if it were abridged." "one question first--are you prepared as a dweller in the desert to submit to its habits and customs?" asked bright-eye. "as long as they are just and reasonable," said the other, "i pledge my word to be guided by them." "we find that your friend here described you well." "still you must be aware that you are keeping me waiting." "two words will explain," said bright-eye; "we demand the body of the wounded man yonder." "what to do?" cried clinton. "to apply lynch law to him," coldly replied the hunter. the young man shuddered, a livid pallor spread over his countenance; he looked at the hunters, who nodded their heads, with a glance of horror. "what do you mean, gentlemen?" he cried; "do you intend to torture this man, whose life hangs on a thread?" "it is our right and our duty, not to torture him, but to try him, and execute the sentence, whatever it may be, at once." "this is terrible!" cried the young man. "you do not know him. if, for reasons best known to ourselves, we feigned not to know him, now that your friend has left we will tell you who the wretch is." "no matter who he is," cried clinton, fiercely, "all i know is that he is wounded and under the protection of my roof." "your sentiments of humanity do you honour," said bright-eye, ironically; "they are well suited to civilised society, where the law defends you. in the desert they have no meaning. every moment menaced with death, you must cut down your murderous foes without mercy." "better be victim than executioner," said george. "if you like to present your breast to the enemies, that is your lookout; we beg to differ from you." "but, gentlemen--" said clinton, haughtily. "you made a promise. do you or do you not intend to be bound by it?" asked bright-eye. "this is your return for my hospitality." "you are unjust, sir; we are but the instruments of public opinion, about to accomplish a painful duty, guided by our conscience and our sense of right. do you give this man up to us, yes or no?" he continued. "take him, if you insist; but as on your private authority you judge this man, i will defend him." "we are delighted to hear it." "when do you intend trying this man who is dangerously wounded and nearly insensible?" "he is not so ill as he pretends to be," replied bright-eye; "and we intend trying him at once." "come, then, for the matter is getting wearisome," said george. all returned to the house. oliver and numank had not spoken, but their firm step, their knitted brows, their flashing eyes, sufficiently indicated that they fully agreed with bright-eye in his intentions. when they entered the room where the wounded man lay he was quite conscious; his face, of an earthy pallor, had two red spots on the cheeks; the pearly sweat fell heavily from his brow; his eyes were half closed, but he could clearly see through his lashes. his attitude was that of a tiger at bay, unaware from what side danger was likely to come. bright-eye looked at him with such pertinacity that after a time he was compelled to open his eyes. the canadian smiled, whispered to keen-hand, who nodded his head, and soon left the hut. "gentlemen," said bright-eye in a loud tone, "we will at once proceed to instal the head of the court of judge lynch." "you are the chief," said the others. "i accept. you will be the accusers. i shall at once take my seat, as we are here to judge this man." "you forget i am here to defend him," remarked clinton. "you are quite right," replied bright-eye; "pray therefore attend carefully to the accusations i am about to make against him; you can then undertake his defence, if, indeed, when you know all, you care to do so." the wounded man had appeared motionless and insensible to all around him, but on hearing the generous words of the young man, spoken in a gentle voice, he seemed to shiver all over, and, raising himself a little, looked keenly at george clinton, with a glance of gratitude. bright-eye meanwhile reflected a moment, folded his arms, and throwing back his head spoke: "prisoner," he said, "you are before a terrible tribunal. judge lynch has been appointed to condemn you if guilty, to absolve you if innocent. prepare yourself to hear and answer the charges made against you." "i do not acknowledge the jurisdiction of judge lynch," said the man; "you are a tribunal of assassins." "as you please," replied the canadian; "but your silence will be treated as a confession of guilt." the accused shuddered. "why, instead of leaving me to die in the prairie, was i brought here?" he asked; "is hospitality a mere trick?" "the man is right," cried george; "i cannot suffer such things to pass under my roof. i protest, in the name of humanity, against all that is being done. you dishonour me by acting in this manner here." "the jurisdiction of judge lynch is universal in the desert," was the cold reply; "none can check it. this man is an outlaw of the prairies, a man of blood and crime. louis querehard, paul sambrun, tom mitchell, and half a dozen aliases--you see we know you well--eleven days ago you basely attacked an old man in charge of a young girl; you killed the old man from behind at the elk's leap. where is the young girl?" "base calumny," cried the wounded man, sitting up suddenly; "i know not what you mean. i killed no old man." "i repeat that you killed the old man and stole away the girl. i have the proofs," he answered. the wounded man sat biting his lips with rage. "this morning," continued bright-eye, "you quarrelled with one of your accomplices, while crossing this valley, and fell from the treachery of your fellow bandit." "falsehood!" cried the wounded man. "we shall soon see," said the canadian, coldly, and putting his fingers to his lips he uttered a shrill whistle. a noise was heard and several men entered. these were keen-hand, two servants of clinton, and a prisoner--a man of wretched, mean, and ignoble appearance. "this is your accomplice," said bright-eye. "i don't know him," replied the wounded man. "you don't know me?" cried the other; "really now, have you already forgotten poor camotte?" "you declare this man unknown to you?" said the judge. "well, be it so. now, fellow," to the man camotte, "will you confess?" "caray, yes," said the prisoner, "anything you like." "speak then," responded bright-eye: "we wait." "miserable wretch," asked the wounded man, "are you a traitor?" "my good sir, i object to be hung," he answered. "it is useless to question that rascal," said the wounded man. "i will tell you all you want to know; but before we go any further it must be on one condition." "we decline to accept conditions," was the reply. "then beware. i alone know where the young girl is concealed. refuse my conditions and my secret dies with me." "it is true," said camotte, in answer to a look from bright-eye. "what are your conditions?" resumed the judge. "my life, liberty, and three hours' start," said the outlaw; "also the company of my friend camotte yonder," he added, with a sneer, as that individual shivered; "further, i require my horse, arms, and my valise. on these conditions you shall have the young girl: i swear it." "anything else?" continued the judge. "one moment," observed george; "i ask for him eight days to recover from his wound, during which time he shall remain here under my guardianship and yours." "we consent," said bright-eye, gloomily; "now speak." "the girl is concealed twelve miles away, in the cavern of the elk. i was going there with food when i was shot. make haste." scarcely had he finished ere oliver and the chief disappeared. "beware of my vengeance," cried bright-eye, "if you have spoken falsely." "i have spoken the truth," said the wounded man, and fainted. chapter xi. explanations. we must go back a little in order to explain how the three hunters were driven to seek hospitality in the hut of george clinton, and what were the motives of the deadly hatred they had vowed against the wounded, almost dying, man. at the time of which we write nearly the whole american continent, north and south, was owned by spain, which ruled her provinces with a yoke of iron, closed to all other nations with as much jealousy as ever was shown by china. the united states alone stood free, independent. the newly enfranchised people were, however, well aware that as long as the rest of the land was not free their work was unfinished. besides, it became necessary to give employment to the restless spirits let loose by the close of the war. the government at once set to work. the territory of the new republic was already immense, but thinly peopled, almost unknown, and occupied in many instances by wandering indian tribes. these must first be got rid of. the activity of the americans is known. they rushed off into the desert, they erected forts to awe the redskins; hardy pioneers traversed the prairies and established settlements in the very heart of the indian country. every encouragement was given to emigrants from europe, who were received most hospitably. the government was favoured by circumstances; it was a rising power while spain was falling to pieces. the american government at once offered to buy louisiana of france, and meanwhile sent out small companies of free corps to attack the frontier of the spanish colonies. but alongside those recognised by the authorities were other bands, men isolated from all civilisation, having no control to fear, recruited from the scum which froths up during troublous times; these bands made war on their own account, pillaged friend and foe, burned haciendas, and allied themselves with the redskins, taking their dress in order the more readily to carry out their nefarious designs. among these bands was one more formidable than all the others of sad and monstrous celebrity. this troop of two hundred desperadoes, called themselves outlaws, and, it was believed, though no one exactly knew their headquarters, were established on the missouri, whence they carried their depredations far and near. powerfully organised, submitting to strict discipline, this band had spies in every direction, who kept them well informed, not only as to the number and strength of caravans about to cross the desert, with their destination, but as to the expeditions sent out by government against themselves. by these means they were always on their guard and never taken by surprise. the chief of this terrible band was said to have only been six years in america, and yet he knew all the secrets of the desert; he was as clever as the most cunning and astute runner of the woods, quite equal to any redskin in deceit. he was supposed to be a frenchman, though he spoke english, spanish, and many indian languages equally well. he was called querehard, sambrun, magnaud, tom mitchell, and various other names. but none knew his real one, though some did whisper that he was the chief of a certain fearful band who had played so terrible a part during the reign of terror. many asserted that he was not so bad as he was painted--that, in fact, though chief of this fearful crew, he always tried to prevent bloodshed, that he never allowed women and children to be ill-treated. he was said to be very generous, and had as many friends as enemies. whatever the truth, tom mitchell was a kind of hero; the american and spanish governments had placed a price upon his head; but no one ever ventured to try for the reward of ten thousand dollars. after the medicine council we have recorded, numank-charake and his two friends continued their journey. on the seventh day, an hour before the setting of the sun, they reached a village built in the fork of two rivers. the village was surrounded by lofty palisades, with a ditch full of water, and drawbridges. the travellers came up just as these were being removed. they were warmly received by an eager crowd. since his landing in america this was the first time oliver had entered a real village of redskins. he was surprised to find it so superior to what he expected. instead of ordinary bison tents, or huts made with hurdles, mud, and thatch, it consisted of admirably constructed canadian cabins. these cabins stood in rows, with small gardens in front, while here and there were some real indian wigwams. those canadians who had retreated with their families to the tribe of bison hurons had introduced these habits. hence the rather hybrid character of the village, which was half canadian and half indian. reaching the centre of the village numank left his companions, while bright-eye pointed out a most comfortable looking cabin and declared it to be his home. at the entrance stood two men leaning on their rifles. one, nearly a centenarian, but still robust and very tall, had a large white beard; his eyes still shone brightly, his complexion was the colour of brick, while his ropy muscles could be seen through his parchment skin. his expression was gentle and full of courage. this was the grandfather of the hunter, an old soldier of montcalm. the second was bright-eye's father, whom he resembled in every particular except age and height. "they indeed appear a noble couple," whispered oliver. "come with me," was the laconic reply. in a few minutes they were at the door of the cabin. bright-eye dismounted and took off his fur cap. "i am back after a long absence. give me your blessing." "take it with all our hearts," cried the two old men. they then shook hands cordially, oliver looking on with a deep sigh of envy and regret. "he at all events has a family," he said. "come nearer, my friend," cried bright-eye; and when oliver stood beside him, he added, "this is oliver, my friend. eight days ago we met in the savannah, and we have never parted since. he loves me and i love him; he is a brave man and a most excellent hunter; our friend, the redskin, calls him bounding panther." "he is welcome," said the old man; "all frenchmen are our brothers; as long as he chooses to remain there is a hut to shelter him and a quarter of venison for his food." "well spoken, father," said his son, shaking hands with the young frenchman; "we are french here. welcome." "messieurs," replied oliver, with a bow and a smile, "it is not with words we answer such words, but by acts." "we welcome you as a second son; come in." the horses were now taken away by a young indian, and the whole party entered the house. the hut, which was built with logs, was whitewashed both in and out, and had four windows. oliver entered a rather large hall, lit by two of the windows, with a plank flooring, and a roof supported by heavy beams; at one end was a large chimney, near the kitchen a table, some seats and chairs, two oaken dressers covered by utensils in brown earthenware, and a large old-fashioned clock composed the furniture. two doors led, one into the kitchen, the other into the guests' room, which was pointed out to oliver. there were three other rooms, one occupied by the two old men, one by bright-eye, and one by his sister when at home. all were furnished alike; a bed, a little table, several boxes, two or three chairs; some hideously coloured prints from epinal were fixed on the walls, also pipes of all sorts and sizes, a french long gun, a powder horn, lead pouch, game bag, hatchet, a knife with its deerskin belt, that was all. it was one floor, except a large loft above. behind the house there was stabling for six horses, a yard with fowls, a rather large garden, well enclosed and full of choice vegetables. it was the old man who took care of the garden as child's play. when, having made some slight change in his toilette, oliver returned to the hall dinner was on the table. "have you had good hunting lately?" asked bright-eye. "not very good. game gets scarce. still i made three hundred and seventy dollars in a fortnight," he replied. "pretty fair; and what was your game?" "the blue fox, near hudson's bay," continued the other; "i have been home three weeks. but you say nothing of your sister." "i am not in the habit of questioning you, father." "the boy is right," said the old man; "it is your place to speak." "i suppose," cried the hunter, "angela is in the village." "no, my son, she is absent," continued the old man, "and i am sorry for it, as she was the joy of the house." "where is she then, father?" asked bright-eye. "about five days' march, with our cousin lagrenay, the squatter of the wind river. his wife has been ill, he is alone; having no one to take care of her, he came here and asked for angela to stay a few days." "my dear father, our cousin lagrenay's settlement is a long way off, in the heart of the indian country." "you are right," said his father; "i fear i have acted with too great haste. i will fetch her home tomorrow." "i will go with you, father." "it is unnecessary. your health, sir," addressing oliver; "is it long since you left france?" "many thanks. i have been in america two months." "though so far off news is welcome. how is the king?" "there is no longer any king," said oliver, gravely; "france is now a republic like america." while the stupefaction which this news caused was still at its height numank-charake entered. "welcome; be seated and eat," said the old man. "i came neither to eat nor to drink," replied the young indian, sadly. "i came to tell you that your child, evening dew, has been carried off by tom mitchell, the outlaw, and that we must at once save her." chapter xii. how the three travellers went to george clinton's. this terrible revelation fell like a thunderclap upon the four personages who sat at table. there was for some minutes a silence caused by perfect stupor. "you are indeed a sinister messenger, chief," said the old man, bitterly; "whence do you get this news?" "perhaps you are mistaken," gasped the father. "listen," said the chief, sadly, "and you shall hear what has passed in a few words." "first sit down and break bread," cried the old man; "we are friends and relatives, and this awful catastrophe affects you as well as us." "you say truly," responded the young chief, seating himself. "eat and drink," said the old man; "then we will talk." the meal continued, to the great astonishment of oliver. he could not understand the calm and sang-froid of these four men in presence of such an awful event. he was half inclined to accuse them even of coldness of heart. he knew nothing of that indian etiquette, more severe than that of any other country, which requires this apparent coldness. he soon, however, discovered how much he was mistaken, and how deeply all these brave and loyal hearts were wounded by the fatal incident. the repast was sad and gloomy. nobody spoke. they ate as if it were a duty which must be done. after the hasty repast was over there was silence. "you have come, sir," said the old man, addressing oliver, "at an unfortunate moment; pardon us if we seem rude and inhospitable. but evil has fallen on us." "you told me, sir," replied the young man, "that i was to become a member of your family. let me, then, share your sorrows as well as your joys. i feel more on the subject than you think, being bright-eye's brother." "thank you; you are one of us," said the old man. "you are my second son," cried the father. "i thank you, and hope to prove myself deserving." everybody now rose from table, filled his pipe and lighted it, and then, the repast having in the meantime been cleared away, seated themselves by the fire. "chief," said the old man, "the time has come. we are ready to listen to you with the deepest attention." rising and bowing to all, the chief, who affected stoical gravity, but who had great difficulty in controlling his voice, spoke-- "lagrenay's wife was never ill. evening dew was carried off by tom mitchell from the squatters." "are you quite positive?" asked the grandfather. "i am positive. the news was brought to me just now by a courier in whom i have every confidence. he saw all that happened without himself being seen." a deep silence prevailed. none interrupted the old man. "allow me," he said, "to speak frankly to you, chief. you are my relative; i remember your birth, and love you." "my father is good, and knows i love him," replied the chief. "i know it; but pardon me if i speak very plainly. there is a hesitation in your words which alarms me excessively. i am sure you have not told us all you think." the chief bowed his head. "i knew i was right," cried the old man; "you know far more than you choose to say." "no skin covers my heart, my blood runs red and clear in my veins; the wacondah sees and judges me. let my father explain himself frankly. i ought only to speak after him. his head is white with the snows of wisdom. he is wise." "good, numank-charake, you are a great brave, despite your youth. soon you will be renowned in council. i know the motives which shut your mouth. you love her." the young man started. "do not deny it," said the old man. "i know it, as does my son, and we rejoice both of us. she will be happy with one who is both strong and brave. not knowing our sentiments towards you, you have nobly hesitated to accuse a near relative. you have acted well. but time presses, and not a moment is to be lost. we know our cousin as well, or perhaps better, than you do. we know also that falsehood never soiled your lips. to keep further silence would be to commit a bad action--to make yourself almost the accomplice of the ravishers. speak out, then, like a man." "i obey," replied the young man, respectfully. "and hide nothing, i pray," added françois berger. "i will tell you everything," he said, "as you know my heart is given to evening dew. i love her; her love is my joy, her voice my happiness. on my return to the village, after my unfortunate expedition, evening dew was no longer in her father's wigwam. i asked news of everybody; i even ventured to ask you. your answer filled me with discouragement. i returned to my hut heartbroken with despair. my grandfather had pity on me. kouha-hande loves me, and spoke like a wise man. 'go,' he said, 'find bright-eye at the spot agreed on; he is the brother of evening dew; he will grieve with you, and perhaps give you good advice. during his absence i will watch. if necessary, i will go to the hut of the white man on the wind river. adieu, my son, and may the wacondah accompany you,' i obeyed my father. i put on my travelling moccasins, took my gun, provisions, all that a hunter requires, and started. but my soul was sorrowful; a sad presentiment froze me to the marrow of my bones; wacondah sent it." "courage, child," said the old man, kindly. "wacondah is powerful and just; he tries those whom he loves." "two hours ago i returned to the village of my nation. i was very sad and uneasy. without a word i left my comrades and friends, and rushed to my wigwam. my father's father awaited me. he was gloomy and thoughtful, and rose as i entered. i guessed at once what i had to expect. this is what i learned. kouha-hande is a sachem whose words are not to be doubted. for two days, hid in the thickets, he watched the hut of the squatter of the river of the wind. the second day, before the rising of the moon, there was a sharp whistle near the habitation, and a man appeared. he was very pale, wore the costume of the hunter of the prairies, and carried a rifle. at the distance the sachem could not make out his features. almost immediately, however, a second person appeared on the scene, coming from the inside of the hut, and this was the squatter himself." "are you sure of what you say?" asked the old man. "kouha-hande knew him," replied the chief. "go on," gloomily remarked old berger. "the two men approached each other, spoke for a long time in a low tone, and then separated, after exchanging one phrase, which the sachem heard distinctly. this phrase, which seemed to summarise their conversation, was--" "'you swear upon your honour that she will be quite safe and respected in every way,' said the squatter." "'as if she were my own sister or daughter, i swear unto you,' replied the hunter." "the two men then parted. that was all. two hours passed away. just about the time when the blue jay begins its first song, the sachem, who had remained still in his hiding place, his eye and ear on the strain, heard a noise approaching rapidly, like that of a number of people who, fearing no surprise, thought it useless to take any precautions. they soon came in sight. they were no less than thirty palefaces, armed with rifles. they surrounded the hut and attacked it on all sides." "the squatter and his servants defended themselves like people taken by surprise--that is, feebly." "the assailants soon entered the hut. my grandfather now heard a great tumult inside. but he was alone, could do no good, and therefore remained in his hiding place. at the end of an hour the men came out, escorting a fainting female, who was wrapped in a frazada. satisfied with the result of their expedition, they went off without even closing the doors behind them. kouha-hande waited some little time, and then, convinced that the assailants had departed, went into the wigwam." "all was in disorder. the furniture was overthrown and broken; the squatter, his wife, and servants, tied and gagged, lay on the floor. the sachem hastened to stir up the fire, then he lighted some torches, after which he set all the people at liberty. even then for some time they were unable to move or speak." "the squatter's wife wept, wrung her hands, and bitterly reproached her husband with his cowardice, which had been the cause of the abduction of her niece." "and what did he say?" asked berger. "nothing," said the chief; "he was overwhelmed, appeared struck by stupor, remaining utterly motionless. presently he seemed to recover his spirits. kouha-hande then offered to start in pursuit of the ravishers, but the squatter refused, alleging that the trail was no doubt by this time so cleverly concealed as to render pursuit impossible. he left the punishment of the villains in the hands of god. the sachem, seeing plainly that he was not wanted, went away. but kouha-hande was determined to reach to the bottom of the dark scheme; instead of returning to his village, he followed the abductors." "these, having apparently no fear of pursuit, had left ample traces of their passage in the forest, and took not the slightest precaution to conceal their route in a straight line through the forest. it led direct to the missouri. the sachem at once saw through the whole thing. these hunters, the sachem declared, could only be the redoubtable outlaws commanded by the extraordinary chief before whom all trembled, white and red, in the prairie." "tom mitchell," groaned the old man. "himself," said the chief. "the sachem, after exploring the two banks of the river for many miles, came back to the village of his nation, and told me what he had seen. this is my story. have i well said?" "you have," cried françois berger; "but let me speak. i am the only one person in fault. i should never have separated from my daughter. it is my duty to go in search of her. i will find her or perish in the attempt." he attempted to rise, but oliver checked him. "pardon me, sir," he said, gently, "if i interfere in so delicate and grave a matter. the friendship i bear your son, the cordial way in which you have received me, compel me to feel as if i were personally concerned in the matter. may i therefore be allowed to speak a few words?" "speak," said the old hunter. "sir," replied the young man, modestly, "i have listened to every word as recorded by the chief, and i believe every word as recorded by him. it appears to me, therefore, in examining the facts, that the attack of the hunters, arranged with the squatter himself, his repugnance and refusal to pursue them, point either to treachery or a strange mystery, which it would be wise to clear up." "unfortunately," said the old man, "we share your opinion. the treachery is too flagrant to be doubted." "you believe in treachery," urged oliver. "base and cowardly treachery," cried berger, striking the table. "be assured, then," continued oliver, "and you will be a better judge of the correctness of my opinion than i am, your enemies, whoever they may be, have spies around you, spies employed to watch your movements, and to report them at once. you will not have been ten minutes on the trail of the ravishers ere they would be on your track." "quite true," said the old man; "what is to be done?" "a very simple thing, and one which i am very much surprised you have not thought of before. we have only reached the village two hours ago; i, as a stranger, am unknown to anybody, nobody troubles himself in any way about me. whither i go matters to no one. with your permission, at nightfall i will start in company with bright-eye. if our early departure is noticed, we can easily give some reason. it is you who are watched, and no one else. none, knowing the indomitable energy of your character, will believe that you have allowed anyone else to go in search of your daughter. we shall be three men, two of whom know the desert well. the trail of one man is easy to follow, but not of three wary hunters ever on their guard, at all events, without the spies be discovered and killed. this is my opinion, and, frankly, i think it good." "you have spoken well," repeated the grandfather; "what you say is just. we are proud to have you for a friend, and we thank you. it is not necessary to reflect long without owning you are right. it would be folly to contest the matter, my son, and i, therefore, gladly confide to you the task of finding our child. go, as you propose, this evening at the setting of the moon, my grandson, the chief, and yourself." "and you will succeed," said the father. "i hope so, sir," responded the frenchman; "rely upon it, i shall do all i can for my new sister." "my son was fortunate to meet you. god bless you all." the two young people simply thanked oliver by looks. it was eleven o'clock at night when they started, without being noticed. we already know how they met the outlaw. chapter xiii. tom mitchell. the sun had long since gone down, the night was dark and cloudy, not a star shone in the sky. george clinton, seated on a bench before his door, awaited the return of keen-hand and his two dogs, who had accompanied the three travellers a short distance; the two serving men had gone to bed. george clinton, half an hour before, had satisfied himself that his wounded guest slept soundly. his eyes fixed on vacancy, the young man was dreaming, giving way to soft and melancholy reverie; his soul, borne on the wings of fancy, was far away; it was wandering in the realms of space after the beloved, after the idolised young girl, for whom he had sacrificed and abandoned everything, and the mention of whose name made him quiver with delight. suddenly he was awakened from his elysian dream by an almost superhuman cry of anguish. the young man started as if he had received an electric shock; he turned pale, clutched the barrel of his rifle, and then listened, trying in vain to pierce the intense darkness which wrapped all nature as in a winding sheet. some minutes passed, during which there was not a breath in the air, not the slightest sound. george clinton breathed more freely, wiping the sweat from his brow. "heaven be praised," he said, "i was mistaken." scarcely had he uttered these words, which he hardly believed, when the same frightful cry was repeated. "it is a terrible warning," he cried; "some fearful crime is being accomplished. i cannot hesitate." and, without another thought, he darted off in the direction whence came the lugubrious sound. almost ere george had quite disappeared in the darkness a shrill whistle, modulated in a certain way, was twice repeated; then a heavy black mass appeared crawling on the earth; this dark mass stopped at short intervals, and then again advanced. this strange phenomenon was soon followed by a second, a third, another, in all ten. in a few minutes all were round the hut. then a second whistle was heard, a signal of course, as they all rose and revealed ten armed men. they were ferocious-looking beings, with sinister features--true bandits of the prairies. "we are the masters," said one; "the serving men sleep, the master is away, let us waste no time." "do you know where he is?" asked a second. "i pretty well guess. the place is familiar to me. but let us be careful. i don't want to be caught." "be satisfied; versenca and jonathan never left their post, and paddy is on the watch. all is safe." "i am not more timid than another, but i like to be sure." "we are losing time, and should act." "quite so, sleepy; but i want to know why the captain, who must have heard our signal, is still quiet?" "but you know the captain is wounded." "true, but he is no puling girl to be affected for long by a wound. let us go in and find him." "'tis useless, i am here," said a grave voice. and a man leaning on his rifle and walking with some difficulty appeared before them in the doorway. "the captain!" they all cried. "silence, boys," with an imperious gesture; "i am happy to see that you have not forgotten me." "forgotten you!" cried versenca, boldly; "do we not follow wherever you go? are we not devoted to you body and soul?" "quite right," said the captain, with a bitter smile; "let us say no more about it. i am here, and all is well." "and now, captain, we await your orders." "right! and how many are here?" "ten here ready to obey--three on the watch." "have you horses?--but of course, i need not ask. bring them up and let us be off." "with empty pockets?" cried sleepy. "what do you want?" asked the captain. "want!" exclaimed sleepy, shrugging his shoulders; "why, is not this wigwam very rich, and the owner absent? there can be no two opinions as to what should be done." "comrades," said tom mitchell, "the owner of this home found me wounded in the prairie and took me in." "we know that--what then?" "what then! not only did george clinton shelter me beneath his roof, but saved my life from the lynchers." "thank goodness," said versenca, "that induced him to leave the hut by the exercise of cunning." "without violence, i hope," said tom. "quite so; sent him on a false trail, that is all." "then you are agreed with me--no pillage." "no pillage!" cried all; "let us go." none had entered the house, and now, on the order of the chief, they turned to go. george clinton was before them. "gentlemen," he cried, standing resolutely before them, "what is the meaning of this visit in my absence?" "confound the fools who did not warn us." "i was never far. i have heard nearly all." "much good may it do you; and now let us pass." "on the contrary; i decline to let you pass," said clinton. "good!" said sleepy, rubbing his hands together; "after all there will be some broken bones here." "perhaps," continued oliver, clutching his rifle. "ah! ah! so the fun is going to begin," said the outlaw. "silence," cried the captain, sternly; "silence, and fall back." as soon as they had obeyed he advanced to clinton. "as you have heard our conversation," he said, "why do you try and oppose our free departure?" "because, as you know, i am answerable for your person. i promised you should not leave my house until you were quite cured of your wounds." "your solicitude for my health is charming," said the captain, ironically, "and i really know not how to thank you." "i take little interest in you. my honour is concerned." "you are not polite, while i try to be courteous. i will therefore simply remark that strength is on my side. still i should be sorry to proceed to extremities." "menaces are useless. will you return to the house?" "the demand is ridiculous," cried the captain. "how so?" said a voice, and at the same time two magnificent dogs bounded to where clinton stood. there was a moment of profound stupefaction on the part of the outlaws, who saw this succour arrive. tom mitchell, however, stooped towards sleepy and whispered a few words in his ear. the man nodded, turned away and disappeared. "beware!" said the captain; "i have hesitated to attack one man. but if blood is shed it is your fault." "we shall see," said keen-hand, appearing beside his master, "you are ten and we are five. what do you think?" "nothing," replied the chief, laughing; "but you seem to forget that we have the advantage of the situation. if we like we can take possession of the hut, whence i fancy my good friend will find it difficult to dislodge us." "without counting that we are master of the person of the owner of the wigwam," cried versenca, triumphantly. it was true. assisted by the sentinels whom the outlaw had brought up behind, he had been seized. he was at once taken inside and then secured with his servants, whom the noise had at last aroused. but even this had not been done without a struggle. the two splendid dogs on seeing their master attacked had flown at the throats of the bandits, had knocked two down and throttled them in a minute; then, obedient to a whistle from charbonneau, they had darted into a thicket, whence came a discharge of firearms. the three young men had returned. the outlaws retreated into the hut, prepared to defend themselves to the last gasp. battle was imminent. "stop," cried the voice of oliver, "stop, for heaven's sake," and rushing forward he added, "captain tom mitchell, i demand safety for myself and friends, and a truce until this unfortunate affair can be settled amicably. speak." "i consent at once," said the captain, frankly; "what has happened was not of my doing. down with your arms. let all retain their positions. as for you, sir, you may advance, you are entirely under the protection of my honour." "i am here," replied oliver, advancing. the two men went into the house and seated themselves at a table near an open window. "i am prepared to listen," said the captain; "i suppose you think i deceived you, or the young girl was gone." "it was our opinion, sir." "don't be in the least uneasy," said the captain, "i only secured the girl as a hostage for my own safety." "a hostage!" replied oliver. "yes. i have an important question to treat of with her tribe. but let us speak of our own affairs." "i don't understand you." "i will explain, and you will find that all that has taken place today has been caused by yourself." "really," cried oliver, "i understand you less and less." "i have no doubt you are astonished," said the captain; "but we can come to an explanation in a few words, m. oliver." "you know my name." "and a great many other things besides, as you will soon know," continued the other, coldly; "but let me explain. for reasons which it is unnecessary to mention, i had deep interest in making acquaintance with two new arrivals in this country, you, sir, and mr. george clinton. my plan of introduction was rough. my wound, which i inflicted on myself, and which is only a scratch, deceived you all. i am now personally acquainted with you both, and i am delighted. still, things looked ugly for me--but what is the use of a battle in which half of us would be massacred? i want nothing of the kind. i have important business to transact and must go. in this instance i count wholly on you." "on me, sir! by what title?" "i cannot explain. i have promised to restore evening dew, and i will keep my promise. just now she serves as a hostage. she is treated with the utmost deference and respect. now let me pass at once. delay is useless." "but, sir--can i--" stammered oliver. "save an outlaw, a man with a price on his head!" said the other, bitterly; "but i am not what i seem. one day--" but oliver was thinking, and, after some minutes of reflection, said, "it shall be as you wish." "thank you; and now away to your friends and take george clinton with you," said the captain. oliver went out with the young american and soon returned. "you are free to return with your companions," he said, on re-entering the hut; "i give you my word." "farewell until we meet again. we part friends." "i have no hatred against you, but i sincerely hope we shall never meet again." "it shall be as providence wills," was the reply. five minutes later the outlaws were galloping away, and soon disappeared in the darkness. "who is this man?" murmured oliver, sadly; "is he one of those enemies who pursue me everywhere?" at that moment his friends came up and his thoughts went into a different channel. still he did not easily forget his interview with that extraordinary man, who seemed to know him, and by whom he was really fascinated. chapter xiv. samuel and joshua. after leaving george clinton, samuel dickson went at once to the residence of his brother joshua. the sun was still high in the heavens when he reached the settlement; his brother was in sight, galloping towards him. "come along," he cried, shaking hands; "i was so impatient to see you, i really could not wait any longer." "i hope there is nothing wrong, brother," said samuel. "nothing at all. everything is going for the best." "i am glad to hear it. i was rather uneasy." "i am sorry to hear that. but why are you so late?" "i had to go on a small journey. there was no hurry." "you are wrong, sam. but here you are, and all is well. but had you come sooner it would have been better." "well, here i am, so out with the news." "i have to speak of important things, and i have to ask your advice, who are wisdom itself." "awfully wise," cried samuel, laughing, "when in the end i only carry out all your insane ideas." "true! but still you were generally right. the fact is, if you speak words of wisdom, and then act a little the other way, it is simply out of love for me. i know it, my brother. i am not ungrateful, and love you dearly." "i don't doubt your affection. but you alarm me." "why?" said joshua, laughing. "whenever you talk like this, i smell a rat, in the shape of some awful scheme, some diabolical plot." "i see you are not to be easily deceived," said joshua; "but come in, let us eat, and then talk. the matter of which i wish to speak is of general interest." "as you will; but still i am monstrously afraid." "i know you are a great coward," cried joshua. at this moment they reached the house, alighted, and, giving the horses to the servants, entered the parlour, escorted by dardar, who had come to meet them. the two ladies received samuel cordially. "here he is at last, susan," said her husband. "he has been anxious about you all day," cried susan. "then he has some mad scheme. but we shall see presently. good evening, diana, my dear. you look well." "a truce to compliments," cried joshua; "to supper." they now entered the dining room, where the whole household was collected, men, women, and children. of course, enormous quantities of meat, bread, and vegetables adorned the board. the repast was truly homeric. after dinner the servants retired, and the ladies would have done the same, but joshua detained them. the ladies seated themselves with a rather uneasy glance. he poured out a stiff glass for himself and brother and drank his off. "thank heaven!" he began, "we are now solidly established in our new dwelling, and it is time to speak of business." "hilloa! talk business now? it is late. why can we not put off our business arrangements until tomorrow?" "you forget, my brother, i sent for you on purpose--" "i remember--well, go on, i am at your orders." "harry, have you obeyed my orders?" asked joshua. "yes, father," replied the young man. "all right," continued the squatter, refilling his glass. "your health, all of you. in an hour, i'm off." "off!" cried the ladies, in great alarm. "hem!" said samuel; "if you are not satisfied here, i am." "i don't want to drag you into my affairs," replied joshua, coolly. "but i shall not be long away. it is only a journey." "i thought," exclaimed samuel, "he was as mad as ever; will you explain the object of this journey or exploration?" "one which you will highly approve, my brother," he went on. "i desire to open up commercial relations." "very good idea. but what is your precise motive?" "i have said enough. i think my object serious." "well, if you have no more to say, stop at home." "will you tell me why?" asked joshua. "because your voyage is utterly useless. all the information you can desire to obtain i can give you in ten minutes." "you!" cried joshua, wildly. "certainly!" said samuel, modestly; "i can, and will do so, if you will be good enough to listen to me." "i shall only be too happy. still i don't understand!" "that is unnecessary. you must know that i have obtained my information from hunters and redskins." "hunters! redskins!" cried joshua. "don't you know they swarm about here? i never go out without meeting some of them. so i say stop at home." "explain yourself, brother," said joshua, sulkily. "well, you think yourself very far from all white folk. you are very much mistaken. learn, then, that though we are in the centre of the most warlike tribes of indians, you have new forts not very far off, including a fur station." "can it be possible?" exclaimed joshua. "and my friend and brother, are you aware what magnificent river runs at your own door? the missouri!" joshua bowed his head on his chest and was silent, while samuel rubbed his hands and smiled slyly. "what do you think of the information?" he said at last. "if you are certain of what you say, it is excellent." "then you give up the idea of your journey?" "certainly not. admitting that all you tell me be true, it is of the highest importance for me to visit the fur station and all other settlements above and below us on the river, in order to become friendly, and prevent rivalry." "what rivalry?" half screamed samuel. "any that might arise. of course they will soon know all about me and might interrupt my commercial speculations." "a fool will have his own way," cried his brother. "abuse is not argument, my brother," said joshua. "i apologise; but you are determined to go. i see you are; then heaven protect all in your absence." "will you take no advice?" ventured susan. "i have made up my mind," he replied; "i never alter." "but, father," cried diana, "what are we to do during your absence? you leave us wholly undefended." "silence, daughter," said the squatter, smiling; "don't be so tragical. i do not leave you undefended, as you say. your uncle will watch over you. your brother henry commands in my absence. you have a fort. what more is wanted?" "how do you mean to travel?" asked susan. "in the boat i launched today, with sam, jack, and two servants. i do not take away many defenders." "but you are not here to lead." "that is enough," he cried; "i have decided. besides, it would be absurd not to visit my new neighbourhood." no more was said. the squatter was escorted by all to the riverside. he bade them all adieu, kissed his wife and daughter, shook hands with his brother, gave his son henry some last directions, entered the boat, and was off in a very few minutes, whistling "yankee doodle," perhaps in reality to hide his strong emotion from his two sons. chapter xv. new characters. we now visit a beautiful gold-sanded strand on the right banks of the missouri, about fifty miles from the new settlement in moose deer valley, and about equidistant from the strong fort already established by the fur company. this strand, which was only reached by a narrow defile between two perpendicular mountains, was exactly opposite an island of which it was impossible to make out the dimensions, which, however, were very considerable. lights shone like will-o'-the-wisps in a fog; the island, which was thickly wooded, communicated with the mainland by means of a dangerous ford, full of holes and whirlpools. it was too dangerous to be adventured in by any but those who knew it. the island, moreover, was guarded by two eminences overlooking the ford, and which commanded the approach against any enemy if well defended. on the other side the island was inaccessible. this island was the refuge, the fortress of the terrible outlaws of the missouri, with whom we have made acquaintance. originally it had been selected by the government as an outpost, but the partisans had first taken it and made it impregnable. as the outlaws rarely interfered with citizens of the united states, generally very poor in those regions, the government, well aware of its impotence to dislodge the pirates, pretended to look upon them as irregular troops doing service. but the outlaws knew that if the authorities only had the chance they would be exterminated. but that part of america was little peopled, and few except trappers and wanderers knew anything of its capacities. the outlaws, therefore, to a certain extent, were pretty certain of impunity for all their actions for the time. a hundred horsemen were camped on the strand of which we have spoken; their horses were picketed near their fodder, around the campfires numerous groups were talking or sleeping, while on every hand walked sentinels. in a hut composed of whittled boughs and mud, a man sat on a buffalo's head, consulting papers from a large pocketbook. another man stood respectfully by him, awaiting his orders. the first man was captain tom mitchell, the other was camotte. a sentinel kept guard in front of the cabin. it was about four o'clock in the morning. the stars were beginning to pale in the sky, the sky was covered by fleecy white clouds. day was at hand; a fog rose from the river, and covered the camp as with a funeral pall. it was cold. "i say," cried tom, "i am frozen. are you asleep, camotte?" "no, my lord." "then shove some wood on the fire, it's nearly out." camotte threw on some dry wood, which flared up. "something like," said mitchell; "and now let us talk, camotte. by the way, i may as well ask you, are you very tired?" "i am never too tired to serve you, excellency," said the other. "i knew you would say that," cried mitchell; "true, i saved your life twice, but we have been quits long ago." "and yet i want to ask a favour." "anything, except leave me," replied tom mitchell. "never; it is something else. it is simply this; don't, your lordship, give me such another mission. whatever you may think, my master," cried camotte, warmly, "it is not pleasant to play the part of a traitor and scoundrel." "i think you did it very cleverly," laughed tom; "there, you are an old fool. whom else could i trust? having settled that very important fact, any news on the island?" "evening dew frets. you should send her home--all the more that it makes some people talk," he added. "who has dared?" said tom mitchell, frowning. "stewart. but don't worry; i settled him by blowing his brains out, and no one else has since made an observation." "all right. what about the river?" "five men went down in a canoe yesterday. it was the squatter of the valley, his two sons, and black servants." "where on earth could he be going to?" mused tom. "well, we can find out by stopping him on his return." "i'll see about it. anything else?" "hum! you have had major ardenwood's letter asking an interview today? oh, yes! there are some frenchmen at the fort, at all events, one of them. still i am aware that three strangers will accompany the major." "whom did you send out to inquire?" "tête de plume. i could not send versenca; in the first place, because he was drunk; secondly, because i don't like him." then, after a pause, tom whispered to camotte, who listened with deep and almost religious attention. "and now," said tom, "that you understand me, away." camotte went out. the worthy mexican was the devoted friend, the alter ego, and moreover the lieutenant of tom mitchell, who wholly confided in him. despite of events we have described before, camotte was worthy of his trust. the chief of the outlaws quietly made some alterations in his toilette, which was a little out of order from his long journey. he had just come off a distant expedition. the booty had been at once transferred to the island. having done this he drew the curtain that served as a door. the camp no longer looked the same. the fire was out. the two eminences were guarded by sharpshooters. a detachment of twenty men guarded the entrance to the defile. the rest of the troop were ready to mount at a sign. tom mitchell looked about him with an air of satisfaction. camotte had executed all his orders faithfully. at this moment the sun rose. it was like a theatrical scene. light fell suddenly upon everything. "oh!" cried the captain as a bugle sounded in the distance from the defile, "i was just in time." he stood erect in front of his hut, leaning on his cavalry sword, and waited with sublime tranquillity. after some few words had passed, four strangers, one in the uniform of a major of the american army, came out from the defile, led by camotte, who walked respectfully in front of them, and made their way in the direction of the captain. "good day, captain mitchell," said the major. "you did me the honour to write," observed mitchell. "well, i have some important business to talk about; but first allow me to present to you these two gentlemen. they are french, and consequently i cannot pronounce their names. oh, i assure you they are worthy gentlemen." and the fat major laughed heartily. the captain bowed to the two frenchmen without speaking. one was a man of about fifty, still young, and with apparently polished manners and rather haughty mien; the other, much younger, was bronzed by the sun, strong, and rather rough. "this gentleman," continued the major, "is our own countryman, mr. stoneweld, of boston city." "i think you know me," observed the apoplectic speaker. "who does not know master stoneweld, of the house of stoneweld, errard, and co., the richest shipowner in all boston?" the stout man smiled with an air of satisfaction. "it seems you know one another," cried the major. "i am glad of it, because everything will go smoothly." "how so?" cried tom mitchell. "my dear captain, these gentlemen want you; they came to me for that purpose. certainly their business must indeed be of an important character," he added, "to induce them to make such an awful journey, lasting over a month." "it must be serious business," said the captain. "the two french gentlemen bring letters from the home secretary." "indeed!" "and master stoneweld one from general jackson," added the major, "so now i expect you will do the best you can." "have no fear." "of course not, though i know you are rather hot at times. as for myself, i am choked with fog and hoarseness," he added. "i am at the orders of these gentlemen," replied the captain. "i shall be happy to do all in my power for them." "spoken like a man," said the major in a fidgety way. "but this seems hardly the place for a serious conversation." "i am sorry for it," replied tom mitchell coldly. "i was not told until the last minute, and you must take me in the rough." "why not go over to the island?" suggested the major. "i dare say we should be more at our ease--eh, captain?" "i am sorry, major, but it would take too much time. besides, i have already provided refreshments here, if you will accept." "with the greatest of pleasure," cried the major, coughing behind his hand; "and yet these gentlemen have important matters to discuss, very important matters," he added, complacently. "what matter, major? breakfast first, business afterwards." "as you will," said the major, following him into the hut. by the orders of camotte, during this conversation a very copious breakfast had been prepared. it was almost wholly composed of venison; but flanking the solids were a number of long-necked bottles that at once showed their bordeaux and burgundian origin, to say nothing of some brands of champagne so dear to americans. the major was so delighted that he said "hum!" no less than three times, and then spoke to the outlaw chief. "let them say what they like," he cried, "you are a man." "i am proud to hear it," cried tom. "let us be seated." the frenchmen had hitherto said nothing. the elder now spoke. as the captain invited them to commence breakfast, he said: "above all, sir, allow me to observe that before commencing business you offer us bread and salt." "you are my guests, gentlemen," said the captain, gravely; "you are under the safeguard of my honour, that is enough." "the major has indicated that we each wish to see you alone." "which means?" asked the outlaw. "that i desire, as these conversations may probably be of very long duration, to see you quite alone," he added. "sit down and eat," replied the outlaw. "after the repast you and your companions will follow me to the island. once more, are you not satisfied?" "of course," cried the major; "if not, i go bail for you." "thank you, major; and now eat, drink, and be merry." chapter xvi. tom mitchell as redresser of wrongs. the ice once broken, through the instrumentality of the burgundy, bordeaux, and champagne, all went on swimmingly. major ardenwood, who, perhaps, alone of all those present had nothing to conceal, and who was naturally a bon vivant, did all in his power to make himself the convivial leader of this improvised party, composed of so many various elements. he was warmly supported by the captain, who showed all the best qualities of a true amphitrion, and treated his guests with a generosity and courtesy which quite charmed them. of course not a word was said of the object for which they had met. in fact, the subject was carefully avoided. the major was the first to rise. "the best of friends," he said, "must part. i am wanted at the fort, and with your permission will retire." "i thought," observed the captain of the outlaws, "your intention was to wait for these gentlemen here." "no; on reflection," replied the major, laughing, "i should only be in their way. i will wait at the fort." "i will escort them myself," said tom mitchell. "that will be the better plan," continued the major. "thanks for your hospitality. the wines were excellent." "i will send you a few baskets, major." "many thanks," cried the american, shaking hands, and then departing under the guidance of camotte. "we can now go to the island," said the captain. "on foot, on horseback, or do we swim?" said the young frenchman. "you will see. follow me, gentlemen," replied tom. they did so, and found a boat ready for their reception. on the invitation of the captain they all seated themselves. "now, gentlemen," said tom mitchell, with a smile, "you must pardon me, but i must blindfold you. fear nothing," he added, as he saw them start. "it is the custom. no stranger has ever entered the island in any other way. besides, you are not obliged; only if you refuse you must return." "do as you like," cried the elder frenchman. some men who held pocket handkerchiefs now approached, and deftly bound their eyes. the boat then started. in a few minutes they felt the boat strike against another shore, and received a slight shock as it did so. "don't touch your bands," cried the captain; "wait a while." they were then lifted up with every precaution by several men, who soon put them down, removing the bandages. looking round, they found themselves in a vast chamber, furnished with every regard to comfort and elegance. the captain was alone, the men having left. "welcome, gentlemen," he said. "i hope the frank and cordial hospitality i shall offer you will make you excuse this precaution." the strangers merely bowed. "i need not remind you, gentlemen," continued tom mitchell, "that you are at home; but, in order not to detain you any longer than is absolutely necessary, let us to business. will you follow me, sir, first?" this was said to the younger frenchman. as he spoke he opened a door and the two passed out together. the two other strangers remained alone. the frenchman, with a frown, began to walk up and down whistling; the american sat down. as soon as tom mitchell had the other alone, he cried-- "sir, tell me at once if i am mistaken." "i see you have a good memory," replied the other, "and yet it is a very long time ago since we met." "then i am not mistaken?" cried tom mitchell. "monsieur maillard, my name is pierre durand." "who saved the life of myself and father," said tom, shaking him by the hand, "even though you knew--" "i knew that your father an hour before had sat as president of the grim tribunal of the abbaye," replied the young frenchman. "i knew the intense hatred which was felt towards you; still, i drew you more dead than alive from the river." "you did more--you hid us and helped us to escape." "it was tit for tat; your father once saved my life." "but you paid your debt with usury. when i parted from you at new york--i was sixteen then--i said, 'whatever happens, my life, my fortune, my honour is at your disposal.' i am ready to fulfil my promise, so speak." "i knew you would do all in your power," said pierre durand; "therefore i have come. how is your father?" "he has become an indian, and wholly broken with everything in the shape of civilisation," said tom. "is he happy?" asked durand. "yes. he was a man of conviction. his faults--his crimes if you like--during the reign of terror were caused by his extreme sincerity. in that time of awful and terrible commotion," continued tom, "he acted wholly conscientiously." "i believe it, and therefore do not presume to be his judge. i am but a weak and ordinary man," cried durand; "when the time comes god will judge these titans of the revolution according to their merits and convictions." "doubtless. i shall let him know of your coming; but why?" "a question of life and death in connection with my best friend, a man i love as a brother," cried durand. "say no more. an express shall start at once." "have you received any letters signed '_an old friend_'?" "many! i presume, then, that you are that friend; but why not avow yourself?" "i could not." "if all you tell me in those letters be true, it is an odious and infamous action," cried tom mitchell. "i know it is, and i have counted on you and your father to see that justice be done," continued durand. "count on me," said tom. "i have seen your friend, and though he does not like me, he won my heart at once." "he will change his mind." "but what can my father do in the matter?" "everything. you must now understand, my friend, that if i have abandoned my ship in new york to the care of my mate, if i, who hate dry land, have started on a journey through the desert, it must be for powerful reasons." "doubtless. may i ask what they are?" "because, my friend, here in there is his most implacable, most ruthless foe," cried durand. "here!" exclaimed tom. "yes--here, in this island, in that room," replied pierre durand, pointing to the one they had left. "are you sure of his identity?" asked mitchell. "i have watched him for five years, followed in his track, known every movement he has made," said durand. "and he does not know you?" cried tom. "he knows me very well. he came over in my ship; we are the best of friends; he tried to buy me over." "this is incredible," observed the outlaw. "yet true. i am his confidante, his devoted servant; i enter into all his views, and he counts on me as a slave." both young men burst out laughing. "then you have come from new york together?" "not at all. we met at the fort two days ago, and as i am no longer disguised," said pierre durand, "despite all his cunning, he knew me not." "well, the matter is settled," said tom mitchell, in a whisper; "we have our man here; he shall never leave." "my friend," said pierre durand, gravely, "that is not the game we have to play. he is as slippery as an eel." "i don't think, if i made up my mind," said the outlaw chief, with a sinister smile, "he would ever escape me." "well, there is a time for everything. in the first place, learn his projects, so that we may unmask him. this will be all the more easy," said the sea captain, "in that we know who he is, while he is ignorant of our designs." "there is one thing worth mentioning," said the outlaw; "i, too, know him well. he will be rather surprised presently." "be careful. one word might put him on his guard." "is not my whole life passed," continued the outlaw, sadly, "in outdoing others in cunning and diplomacy?" "true. i leave, then, everything to you." "and now learn, my friend, that you are free as air, and absolute master of my domains," he added, laughing. then he picked three flowers, and placing them in his buttonhole, said, "this will give you free passage everywhere you like. now for your two travelling companions. but follow me." he opened a door opposite that by which they had entered, and, crossing several apartments, at last came to a room which overlooked a charming and elegant garden. "here you are at home," he said; "come, go, do just as you like. at the end of the garden you will find a door opening on the woods. we shall dine at six. be back by that time, and you will find the table laid here. we can then explain all." with these words the outlaw left his friend. as soon as he had returned to his private room, tom mitchell, or maillard, son of the terrible judge of the reign of terror, sat down before a table, wrote a few lines, sealed the letter carefully, and then struck a gong. at once camotte appeared and took the letter. "send this letter to my father by express," he said; "let him kill his horse, but let me have the answer." "he shall be gone in five minutes." "and now," continued tom mitchell, with a sarcastic smile, "send that fat american in here." camotte bowed and retired. next moment the great american shipowner came in puffing and blowing. "sit down, sir," said tom mitchell. the fat man obeyed with a grunt. "i think it rather hard that a man like me--" "pardon me," said the captain, coldly; "allow me to remark, before you go any further, that i have no need of you, and did not send for you. you it is who, in the company of several other gentlemen, have come to me. all of you have, i dare say, serious reasons for taking this extraordinary step. i have in no way solicited the honour. all i can do is to listen to each in his turn. i have seen one and settled with him; if you have anything to say to me, speak." this speech, pronounced in a clear, bold tone, not unmixed with sarcasm, at once, as if by enchantment, calmed the irritation of the fat man. at all events, it compelled him to dissimulate it. after, therefore, mopping his head and face several times with a pocket handkerchief, and coughing once or twice behind his hand, he spoke-- "i was angry, sir," he said, "and own it freely." "be pleased, sir, to come at once to business," continued tom mitchell; "another person waits." "you are, i believe, well acquainted with me?" "i have known you a long time," remarked tom. "sir, i have a nephew; he is the son of my wife's brother," began the other, "a very near relative." "well, sir?" "this nephew, though a charming youth," cried stoneweld, "is mad, utterly, hopelessly mad, sir." "really, sir," said the captain, "and have you come all this way to tell me this piece of news?" "pardon me, sir. when i say that he is mad, i believe i exaggerate. i should rather say that his intense folly has taken the form of monomania. this charming young man, as i have the honour to tell you, is in love, sir." "a very natural matter at his age." "but, sir," cried the shipowner, "he is in love with a young person in no way suited to his station." "perhaps he does not think so." "of course, sir, it is not his opinion. but it is mine. i am a serious man; i feel a great interest in him. now that his father is dead i am his legal guardian--though he repudiates me. now, sir, would you believe it," cried the fat man, "i had arranged with his aunt, my wife, the most delicious marriage for him with a young girl--i may as well be frank, a niece of my own?" "and he wouldn't have her," said tom. "no, sir, he actually would not have her. do you understand such folly on his part?" cried the other. "well, it is strange. but what have i to do with it?" "i will explain if you will allow me." "i really should feel much obliged," urged tom. "after refusing contemptuously this eligible alliance, which united every condition of age and fortune and position, what did the fool do? excuse me if in my anger i speak thus of a nephew i love. one fine morning, without saying a word to anybody, he left his business to a partner, and started off, sir--what for?" "well, how can i say?" asked tom. "in pursuit of this wretched girl without family or fortune, whose parents had emigrated to the indian frontier." "oh, oh!" said the captain, who began to feel interested, and who listened with a gloomy frown. "yes, sir," said the fat man, too wrapped up in his narrative to notice the other's looks, "so that my nephew must be somewhere here about this neighbourhood, looking after his beauty, neglecting his affairs and fortune tor a girl he will certainly never marry." "how do you know, sir?" "at all events i will do everything in my power to prevent it," cried the irate citizen of boston. "how will you set about it?" "sir, i have been told that you were the only man in these parts capable of arresting a fugitive." "you do me too much honour." "i have a number of unclosed accounts, needless to explain, with his father. arrest the young man, sir!" cried the bostonian; "arrest him and place him safely in my hands, and the sum of one thousand guineas is yours." as he spoke, the worthy shipowner pulled out an enormous pocketbook from his coat and opened it. "excuse me, sir," said the captain, "do not let us be in quite such a hurry. you have not quite finished." "how so?" cried the american. "you have forgotten," said the captain with simple frankness, "to tell me the name of your foolish nephew." "george clinton, sir, a very fine lad, though i say it." "i know him," retorted the captain, coldly. "you know him!" exclaimed the shipowner, "then the affair is settled. you will have him arrested." "perhaps," said tom mitchell; "i will reflect on the affair, which is not so easy as you may suppose." "to you, the chief of the outlaws?" "george clinton is not alone. he has many and powerful friends on the frontier." "but i have plenty of money." "i tell you, i will reflect. you will now return to the fort under escort. in two days you shall have my answer." "but allow me to pay you a deposit," cried the other. "keep your money for the present," said tom, and striking a gong, camotte appeared as if by magic. "but--" blustered the rich merchant. "not another word, sir. wait patiently for my reply. i am your most obedient servant." and led away by camotte, the rich shipowner of boston went out spluttering and perspiring as before. "now," said the captain to himself, with a sarcastic smile, "let us see what the other fellow is made of." he went to the door, and, entering the cavern, bowed to the frenchman, who was still walking up and down. "will you be good enough to come this way, monsieur hebrard," he said, with an engaging smile. the frenchman looked at him with astonishment, but on a repetition of the invitation went in. the captain chuckled to himself at this evidence of the other's utter surprise and bewilderment. it was as if he had scored one. chapter xvii. a diplomatic conversation between two rascals. the two men looked at one another for some minutes in silence, just as two clever duelists might have done before venturing on the attack. but though each tried to read the other, their faces were like marble. at a mute invitation from the outlaw, the stranger took a seat, and at once commenced the conversation. "sir," he said, "it is a matter of surprise, that you, a perfect stranger, should address me by a name--" "which is or has once been yours, monsieur," answered the outlaw chief, with freezing politeness. "that is quite possible. i do not deny it. when one travels in foreign parts on important business, incognito--" "is adopted, i am aware, which only deceives fools and dupes," said the outlaw, speaking slowly. "what do you mean, sir?" cried the other. "i recollect a certain count de mas d'azyr, an excellent gentleman of languedoc, who had this mania." the stranger shivered all over, and a lightning flash darted from beneath his dark and heavy eyebrows. "well," continued the outlaw, with imperturbable sang-froid, "his noble manners so thoroughly denounced him, despite the plebeian names he chose to assume, that he was compelled at the end of a few minutes to give up this absurd acting." "really, sir," cried the stranger, "i do not see the meaning or relevance of your allusions." "i permit myself no allusions," said the outlaw, with the utmost suavity. "very far from it. what matters it to me, i ask, whether you call yourself hebrard, count de mas d'azyr, philippe de salnam, jean lerou, or take any other alias?" "sir!" cried the other. "allow me, i pray, to conclude. in you i only recognise a person who is very warmly recommended to me, who has need of my services, and at whose disposition i therefore place myself at once--ready to serve him if possible," he continued; "at all events we can talk, and i should be glad to know in what way i can be of use." "sir," said the stranger, smiling, "you are agreeable and witty. i find that people make mistakes in their idea of you." "i am obliged by your high consideration," continued the outlaw; "still this does not explain to me--" "who i am," cried the other, with feigned candour; "well, sir, considering you have mentioned so many names--" "you allow, then, that i was right." "certainly; you were quite right," answered the other, quickly; "i therefore sincerely beg your pardon." "it is not at all necessary." "there is, however, one thing that i must confess puzzles me very much," continued the envoy. "may i, without offence, ask what that is?" "no offence. i should certainly be only too glad to have an explanation with you on the subject." "if it depends upon me," the other said. "it depends absolutely on you. i always thought i had a good memory. i believe myself to be a very good physiognomist, but really i have no recollection of you." the outlaw burst into a roar of laughter. "which only proves," he added, when he recovered himself, "that i am much more clever at incognito than you." "which means--" "that not only have we met, monsieur, but that we have carried on a long connection," said tom. "many years ago?" "not at all, sir. i speak of very recent times, though i will allow that our acquaintance commenced long ago." "you astonish me," said the frenchman. "the matter is very easily explained. we have found ourselves connected at different times, under four different names: i have told you yours, i will now tell mine. do you remember louis querehard? do you recollect françois magnaud, paul sambrun, and pedro lopez?" "perfectly," cried the other. "well, sir, those four individuals you now see present under the name of tom mitchell, your very humble servant; though," he added, with exquisite politeness, yet with a tint of irony, "i have several others available on occasion." "well, sir," cried the stranger, "you have indeed taken me in. i was a fool not to recognise you." "sir!" cried the outlaw. "let us call things by their names. it is by far the best plan. i am indeed not to be forgiven for being taken in like any novice. i deserve to be dismissed from the service of the government which employs me, and which believes me to be worthy of credit, as possessing a certain amount of wit and diplomatic ability. well, it is useless to discuss the matter any longer. give me your hand, sir," he cried; "you are my master. we bear no malice." "i only wanted to prove--" said the outlaw. "that i was a fool--and i must say you have done so to my entire satisfaction," he added, in a tone of complete good humour. "but however unpleasant the shock is to my self-love, i am delighted at what has happened." "how so?" asked the outlaw, in the same tone. "because the ice is broken between us, and we can come to an understanding; the more readily," he added, "that the matters i have to speak of are the same as before." "if that be so," said the outlaw, "we can easily come to terms." "is it not so? now here is the affair in two words. the revolution is over in france. beneath the hand of the mighty man of genius whose talent and patriotism have raised him to power, government has recovered its strength, society begins to breathe, the nation is once more rising to its proper position amidst the people; new france has entire faith in the man whose every step has hitherto been marked by victory, which has definitively declared on his side." "i presume," said the outlaw, quietly, "that you are speaking of the general bonaparte." "of no other. this great, this extraordinary man has, with his mighty hand, put down the jacobins and the mob, driving them back to their original nothingness. he has chained forever the awful hydra of revolution. you have, then, heard of him?" "most certainly," said the son of maillard, coldly. "i am glad to hear it. this great man, who is as mighty a politician as he is a successful general, has followed, while slightly modifying it, the line traced by the national convention of execrable memory with regard to the spanish colonies." "sir," said the son of the regicide, "you are hard upon fallen men, upon vanquished enemies, who, if they were guilty of faults--of crimes if you will--did very great and glorious things, giving the first signal for social regeneration over the world." "it is useless, sir," said the envoy, "to discuss that matter. my convictions are very strong." "well, sir, if that be so," replied the outlaw, "let us return to the general bonaparte, and pray explain to me his new plans with regard to the spanish possessions in america." "they are no new plans," observed the envoy; "only the old ones modified to a certain extent." "modified in what way?" "there are two capital points. in the first place he wishes a cordial and frank alliance with the president of the united states, who cordially approves the policy of the french government, which will, in the end, be to the advantage of america. then he has given extensive powers to numerous sure and accredited agents, who, though, are not openly known because of the temporary franco-spanish alliance. large sums of money have been provided by means of which to overthrow that species of chinese wall with which spain has surrounded its frontiers, which none ever cross and return." "sir," said the outlaw, with a smile, "i have crossed them many a time and oft, and yet here i am." "it is precisely because of that fact that i am here." "ah! ah!" said the outlaw, with a laugh; "after all, despite your denials, you had seen through my incognito." "well, it is useless to deny it. i have long known you to be a man of heart and action. i also know that by means of your vast connections no one can more readily help us to revolutionise the colonies. besides, you are a frenchman." "i am of no country," replied the other. "what, then, do you call yourself?" "an outlaw," answered the chief, "and king of this island," drily; "an outlaw, and nothing more." "well, be it so, sir. still you are exactly the man i want. i have need, for the execution of my plans, for the carrying out of my projects, of a man who is bound by no locality, by no social consideration. in fact, an outlaw." the other bowed ironically. "now are you disposed to be the man?" "first," said tom mitchell, "let me know what you want of me. i will then give a decisive answer." "well, then," replied the envoy, "let us put diplomacy on one side, and speak frankly and openly." the outlaw leaned back and assumed something like the attitude of a tiger about to spring. "sir," he said, with a most singular smile, "i was about to make the very same proposition." "very good," replied monsieur hebrard; "that shows that we are beginning to understand one another." the captain bowed, without speaking. "the spanish colonies," continued m. hebrard, "are already beginning to feel the germs of revolutionary fermentation. some devoted and enterprising men, yourself among others, have gone into the cities and towns of mexico." "all this i know; a truce to flattery." "they have seen the zealous patriots, who are, however, but ill prepared as yet for the revolution we ardently desire." "ill prepared indeed," cried tom mitchell. "but overtopping all others is a man who has immense influence with the indian races. you know him." "ah, ah!" exclaimed tom; "you mean dolores, the priest." "i mean no other. he is the only man upon whom we can count. we must enter into serious relations with him." "for what purpose?" asked the outlaw. "in order that when the hour comes he may be ready to raise the standard of revolt," cried the other, "and ready to draw the population after him against spanish despotism." "very good, sir. but it is a long way to dolores, where lives the curé hidalgo. the road is one of the most dangerous i know. i doubt if any agent, however clever, can reach him. will you allow me to give you sincere advice?" "speak; i am deeply interested." "my own opinion is that it would be much better to despatch a light vessel, schooner or brig, into the gulf of mexico. this vessel could cruise along the coast, and, when opportunity offered, land a confidential agent." "you are quite right, sir," said the envoy, "i must say this means has been tried with success." "well, what then?" "the secret was betrayed by a traitor; in consequence, the spanish authorities are always on their guard." "hence you conclude--" "that on reflection, and having experience as a guide, the difficult road you describe is the best." "hum!" said the outlaw, and relapsed into silence. the real meaning, the interesting point, of this conversation, so long, had not been touched upon. the captain knew it well, and kept himself in reserve. m. hebrard was for some time afraid to enter upon a frank and true explanation. there was a deep silence; at last the captain determined to fire the train, if he were blown up. "then you think i must go by land," he said. "there is no choice," responded hebrard. "the conditions?" remarked tom. "one hundred thousand francs, not in notes, but in golden ounces, stamped with the effigy of the king of spain." "that is tolerable, for a beginning." "then there will be as much more for the negotiations, or, as i see you hesitate, at first one hundred and fifty thousand." "why at first?" asked tom. "because your mission will be divided into two distinct parts," replied the envoy, quietly. "let us thoroughly understand the first," continued the outlaw; "we will talk of the second presently." "another hundred thousand on your return with despatches," continued the diplomatist, warmly. "hum!" said tom; "that makes--" "three hundred and fifty thousand francs (£ , ) for only the first part of your mission," said hebrard. "it is very liberal. now for the second mission," said tom mitchell, watching the diplomatist with his wary eye. he knew that the real thing was coming now; he was satisfied of this from the other's uneasy manner. "hum!" said m. hebrard, as if speaking to himself; "three hundred and fifty thousand francs is a pretty sum." "well, for the first part of the mission which you have explained to me i don't say no. it is," he added, "a tough job, that i know. still, nothing risk, nothing have. now for the second part." the diplomatist assumed an air of genial frankness that made the outlaw shudder. he was at once on his guard. "the spaniards, as i have said," observed m. hebrard, jauntily, "are forever on the watch. no one, no matter what his position, is safe on the frontiers. to go in or out is simply impossible." "diable!" cried tom; "what you say is not calculated to give me much confidence or hope." "excuse me, monsieur," said hebrard, "we are playing a frank and open game, i do not desire in any way to conceal the dangers that may await you. i am only speaking in a general kind of way, certain that whatever obstacles occur you will be right." all this was verbiage; m. hebrard was evidently only trying some method of putting his real thoughts into words. the outlaw, who expected what was coming, smiled. "unfortunately," said the diplomatist, who did not know what to say, "the real danger is not on the other side." the outlaw started up. "you may well be surprised; the danger is here." "what do you mean?" cried the outlaw. "i will explain myself, if you will allow me. of course," said m. hebrard, "the spaniards are no more fools than we are." "i was always of that opinion." "they have started a countermine!" "a countermine!" cried tom. "what do you mean?" "you will soon see. knowing something of our designs, they have covered the american frontiers with spies." "it is certainly very clever," said the outlaw. "very clever," said the diplomatist, in a husky voice; "but then, clever as they are, we know all about it, every detail." "you do not mean to say so?" cried tom mitchell. "yes. and more than that, we know the chief of the whole gang of spies," added hebrard. "and much more than that, we know all his secrets, cunning as he is." "that is something," said tom; "but now what you want is to catch him." "yes," said hebrard, "that is the very thing; you yourself must see the necessity of catching him before you start." "i should think so; it is as plain as running water; but," added tom mitchell, "it is not very easy to snap up such a rascal in the desert, which simply is as full of such rogues and vagabonds as an anthill is full of ants." "don't be uneasy on that point," cried hebrard; "i shall easily put you on his track." "all right. then all we have to do is to catch him?" "exactly so," said the other, with a sigh. "and you will pay for this capture?" "very heavily, my excellent friend." "oh! oh! then you are very anxious to secure him?" "yes," continued the other, gloomily; "dead or alive; it matters not. i should say, for information's sake, dead rather than alive." "i like plain speaking. he is very much in your way?" "very much more than i can explain." "and how much will you pay for this mission?" "alive, twenty-five thousand; dead, fifty thousand francs." "it appears to me you prefer him dead. but never mind, give me the information. his name and address." "he is a frenchman, who has taken the name of oliver. in appearance he is a hunter, a trapper, anything that comes uppermost. for greater safety he has connected himself with an indian tribe, and is to be found about the missouri." "it is a very long way from the mexican frontiers," observed the outlaw, in a coldly sarcastic voice. "true. but the fellow is cunning; his safety requires him to be extremely cautious. do you accept?" "i accept on one condition," replied the other. "it is fully understood that he is to be dead, mind." "no matter, so that we have him." "well, then, we are agreed on four hundred thousand francs (£ , )? i shall want half down." "i have the money in gold in my valises. i will pay it to you this evening," replied the envoy. "and now that this is settled, you are in no hurry?" "none whatever." "well, i know pretty well where to find the man you are in search of. i must say that, without suspecting the odious part he has been playing, i have on the several occasions we have met him felt the greatest repulsion." "this is extraordinary." "well, you see, on the desert everybody knows everybody. but as i wish to make no mistake, to commit no error in so grave and important a matter, i should like you to be present at his arrest. besides, it would be more regular." "hum!" cried the other, with a look of considerable annoyance; "the idea of further voyage in the desert--" "is not pleasant, i know," interrupted tom; "but that is not necessary. you shall remain quietly here." "then i consent. when do you expect to catch him?" "in less than a week, unless i am very unfortunate." "then i can wholly depend on you?" cried hebrard. "i swear to you on my honour that it will not be my fault if at the end of the time you are not face to face." "i thank you in advance," said the envoy. "there is nothing to be grateful for," replied the outlaw, with an odd expression and smile. chapter xviii. the prisoner. that same day, about nine o'clock in the evening, the outlaw was seated face to face with captain pierre durand at a table covered with dishes, plates, and empty bottles, which testified to the appetite of the two men, and to the rude attack they had made upon everything in order to satisfy it. the two men were now smoking excellent cigars, while sipping, like true amateurs, some mocha, served in real japanese cups. close at hand, in addition, were bottles containing every conceivable kind of liquors and spirits. they had reached that precise period in the repast so prized by gourmets, when, the mind elevated and the brain excited by succulent food and generous libations, one feels a kind of happy state of being that is simply charming. for one whole quarter of an hour neither of the two men had spoken or cared to speak. it was the outlaw who first broke the charm. "you are aware, my dear captain," he said, "that in half an hour i must leave you and be off." "excuse me," cried pierre durand, starting, "if i believe a single word of such a mad assertion." "yes, i am truly sorry to say, it is the exact fact. doubtless you know as well as i do, business before all." "i have not the remotest idea of interfering with your affairs," cried the sea captain, glumly. "then what do you mean?" "that you are not going to leave me in the lurch." "still, when i tell you i must go," said the outlaw. "all i mean is this, that if you go i go," cried pierre. "what! a night journey like this?" asked tom. "night journey, day journey, it is all the same to me. i am an old sailor," growled pierre durand; "and every kind of locomotion is equally indifferent to me. besides, i have known you a very long time, haven't i? and i know what sort of trade you carry on," he added. the outlaw kept his countenance. "of course, i shall not be surprised or scandalised at anything i see. all i know is that here i should be bored to death, having nothing to do. it would be a nice little change to join you in one of your filibustering expeditions." all this was said in a joking kind of way that excluded all idea of giving offence. "well," said tom mitchell, smiling, "any way, you would find yourself utterly disappointed." "how is that?" "i am not going to plunder, but to restore. of course i don't pretend it is my usual custom," said tom. "very well," cried pierre; "i think that will be much more funny. i should like to join in the good work." "but, my friend--" urged the outlaw. "there is no but about it. i am a breton, that is to say, as obstinate as several mules," continued pierre durand; "and i mean to come, unless, indeed, you tell me that my demand is in reality offensive and intrusive." "by no means," cried tom; "come then. who can resist anyone so obstinate as you are, my friend?" "you are a delightful fellow. i am ready." "not quite; there are conditions; at least, one." "pray let me know what it is." "you must profit by the few minutes that remain to us to disguise yourself, so as to be unrecognisable." "to what purpose, in a country where nobody knows me?" cried pierre durand; "will you tell me a reason?" "that is my secret. will you consent? that is right. now go there, and you will find all things necessary." pierre durand was about to leave the room, but the outlaw indicated where everything was ready. "there is another favour i must ask of you." "go ahead, nothing surprises me," said the captain, who, with magnificent sang-froid had commenced his work. "in case chance should bring us face to face with people we know," he said, earnestly, "you will still keep up your incognito, even if you happen to see among these the face of the friend whom you have travelled so far to see." the captain, who was blacking his beard with soot and fat, having already darkened his eyebrows, gave a start. "will he be there?" he asked. "i do not say so. it is more than probable that he will not be there. still, i wish to exercise every precaution." "hum, still it appears very hard." "still, do you consent? yes or no." "i repeat what you just said. i suppose i must," said pierre; "and as i see you are in earnest, i promise, on my honour." "enough; then make haste." after rendering his features and countenance utterly unrecognisable, the captain threw off his outer clothes, and assumed the costume of a planter of the frontier. "what languages do you speak?" asked tom. "nearly all civilised ones as easily as i do french," replied durand; "but, above all, english and spanish." "very good," continued tom; "then during our excursion i shall always call you don josé remero." "don josé remero be it." "you must recollect that you are a captain in the spanish navy, fled from home after a fatal duel." "all right," grinned pierre. "do not forget to take weapons. i can strongly recommend this tison. it is a perfect and choice rapier," said tom; "have this long and pointed knife in your right boot. you may want it when you least expect. do you ride?" "like a centaur," laughed the frenchman. "i am very glad to hear it; and now secure this carbine and this pair of pistols," continued tom. "why, i shall look like an arsenal." "my friend, it is the custom of the country," said tom; "no one thinks of travelling in any other way." "one does at rome as rome does. i'm your man," cried pierre, laughing; "what do you think of me?" "unrecognisable. i should not know you anywhere. you are clever; even your accent is changed." "that is always the first thing to be thought of," said pierre durand; "and now what is the nature of the restitution?" "we are going," replied the outlaw, with a smile, "to restore a young girl to her friends and relatives." "a young girl?" cried durand. "yes--a most charming and interesting maiden, whom i captured the other day. i can no longer resist her tender sorrow." "bah!" said the young sailor, with a grin. "i swear to you, upon my honour," cried the outlaw, warmly, "that she has been treated with the most profound respect and even tenderness." "spoken like an honest man," said the captain, warmly. "but may i ask with what object you took her away?" "i had a motive, which i fear me exists no longer. i even fear," he said, gloomily, "i have entered upon a bad speculation. but it is useless to discuss the matter anymore. soon there shall be no mysteries for you. be seated again." "why?" asked the captain, puzzled at all these mysteries. "she comes, and it is rather important i should say a few words to her before we start on our journey." "i am your humble servant to command." tom mitchell struck a gong, and camotte appeared. "have my orders been executed?" asked the outlaw. "yes, captain. the stranger is watched carefully, and yet without creating suspicion," replied the lieutenant. "where is he now?" "in his own room." "if tomorrow he asks after me," said tom mitchell, "you will give him the answer already agreed on." "yes, captain." "what about the detachments?" "those have started within the hour, i shall start with the last as soon as the moon rises," replied camotte. "remember," said tom, thoughtfully, "that tomorrow morning at sunrise, if not before, you must be back." "be easy as to that, captain," said the other, significantly; "i shall not leave the island without a chief just now." "humph!" observed the captain, suspiciously, "is there anything fresh in the air?" "nothing in appearance, much in reality." "you can speak out here," said tom mitchell; "if you have anything to say, say it without hesitation." "about an hour ago, when i was going my round," said the matter-of-fact and faithful camotte, "i met that fellow versenca at the water's edge; he was wet through, and had evidently been swimming. when he saw me he was utterly confounded, and then when i questioned him as to his conduct he gave me a lot of silly reasons a child of five would have seen through." the captain reflected with a dark frown. "redouble your vigilance, my good camotte," he said at last. "on the first suspicion arrest him until i come back." "for greater safety, captain," replied camotte, "i shall take him with me tonight, i can watch him." "mind he does not give you the slip. a traitor would be dangerous just now. he is as cunning as an opossum." "i know it, but two can play at the same game." "good. i leave it to you. have black athol and goliath saddled for us, and miss lara for the prisoner, if safe." "she is quite a lady's horse--an ambler. she will quite suit her rider," replied camotte. "mind you," continued tom, "let the three be harnessed for war--victuals, holsters, ammunition, and pistols." "as a matter of course. when black athol and goliath go out, i know you are bent on mischief. what absence?" "three days at most," replied the captain; "and during that time never leave the island." "and you go alone?" asked camotte, anxiously. "with the gentleman, as i have already said." "i think you should take tête de plume," said camotte. "will you tell me why?" asked the captain, smiling. "no one ever knows on an expedition what may happen," drily replied the lieutenant, "and two are better than one." "but i have told you, we are two already." "very good," he continued, "but you would be three." "i tell you what it is, camotte," said the captain, laughing, "you do just as you like with me. let him come." "i thank you heartily," cried the delighted lieutenant. "above all, whatever happens, keep my absence a secret," said tom mitchell; "that is above all essential." "your orders shall be obeyed in all things." "and now bring in the prisoner," continued tom. "by the way, have you said anything to her?" "captain, you know i am no babbler," observed camotte. "very true," said tom, and then turning to pierre, he added, laughing, "that fellow does not put too much confidence in me." "his manner is strange. perhaps he distrusts me." "no; camotte is a bulldog for fidelity and discretion; but, like bulldogs, he is both suspicious and jealous," replied tom. "i bear him no malice for his jealousy," said pierre; "besides, i myself always like those kind of men." "yes, they are indeed very precious," continued tom; "unfortunately, you have to give way to them a little." "well, when it is from pure devotion, nothing can be said." at this moment the door opened, and a young girl entered the room, effectually checking the conversation. this young girl was angela, or evening dew, whichever it may please the reader to call her. she gave a graceful curtsy, and then remained with downcast eyes before the outlaw chief. the two men rose from their seats and bowed respectfully. "my sister is welcome," said the outlaw, smiling, and speaking in the indian tongue; "be seated." "evening dew is a slave, and presumes not to sit down in the presence of her master," responded the young girl, in a voice as melodious as the song of a bird, but the tone of which was firm and distinct. "i have said." evening dew was a delicious child of seventeen at most, in whom the two races, white and red, of both which she was the issue, seemed to have vied which should produce the most wondrous chef d'oeuvre. her elegant and slight form, slightly bent forward with that serpentine undulation which belongs to american women, her long hair, black as the raven's wing, fell almost to her feet, and when loosened, might have served her as a cloak. her complexion had the golden tint of the daughters of the sun; her great blue and dreamy eyes were fringed by long velvet lashes; her mouth, revealing her vermilion lips, and a row of dazzling white teeth, gave to her physiognomy that rare expression scarcely ever found except in some virgin of titian. the sailor was dazzled at the really marvellous beauty of the young girl. he had no idea that the whole continent of america could have produced such a fairy. the captain smiled at her reply. "evening dew has no master here. she is with friends who will protect her," he said, heartily. "friends!" she cried, clasping her hands together, while the pearly tears went down her cheeks; "is it possible?" "i swear to you, young girl," he continued, "that what i say is true. i have sent for you to apologise for what has happened, to demand forgiveness for your cruel abduction." "oh, sir," she cried, in excellent french, "oh, sir, can i really believe my ears! is it true?" "you would insult me by disbelieving," he replied, in the same language; "tomorrow you will be with your friends." "thank you, sir, from my soul," she sobbed forth. and before the captain could prevent her--before he suspected her intention, the was on her knees kissing his hand. tom mitchell respectfully raised her from the ground and led her to the chair she had once refused. "then you are very unhappy here?" he asked. "oh, yes," she cried, "i have indeed been very unhappy; how, in fact, could i be otherwise?" "and yet," said the captain, with a frown, "i have given the most strict orders with regard to your treatment." "i beg most earnestly to acknowledge, sir, that i have been treated in the most honourable fashion, that i have been surrounded by the most delicate attentions. but oh, sir, i was a prisoner, alas! far away from those i love, and whom my absence plunges, like myself, in utter despair." "pardon me, miss," said the chief, "my wrong towards you will soon be repaired, i promise you." "then you are good indeed!" "tomorrow," he added, with considerable emotion, "you shall be restored to the bosom of your family." "do that, sir," she cried, "and i will love you. ever after you shall be as a brother to me." "i will endeavour to merit the title, miss angela," he said, softly; "henceforth you will no longer curse me." "curse you who give me back to those i love! no, i will bless you from the bottom of my heart," she cried, earnestly, "and, believe me, god will amply reward you." "i have a strong conviction that way myself," he said, smiling; "even heaven could scarcely be deaf to your prayer." the girl coloured deeply at these words, which were uttered with such earnest conviction as caused her to bow her head. the captain simply smiled softly. "are you tolerably strong, miss?" he asked. "why do you ask me this question?" she said. "because," he answered, "we have a very long journey to go before we find your friends." "what matters about fatigue, sir? i am already strong. the very idea has restored my vigour." "we shall have to undertake a long night journey," he continued, "through the prairies, by very rough ways." she clapped her pretty hands together joyously; a charming smile lightened up her physiognomy, and then she cried out in a delighted and proud accent-- "i have indian blood in my veins, sir," she cried; "i am the daughter of a brave canadian hunter. fear nothing for me. i am not a woman of the towns, who, i am told, can neither walk nor run." "they are very much like it," growled pierre. "try me, put me to any proof, and you will see of what i am capable to get back to my friends." "come, i see, at all events, that you are as brave and noble a woman as you are beautiful. come, it is time." "do we go directly?" she cried. "yes," was his smiling answer. "one moment," she said; "give me time to thank god for having touched your heart. let me pray." "do as you wish," he replied, respectfully. the young girl folded her arms across her breast, raised her looks heavenward with an inspired air for some minutes. one could see by her thoughtful brow, from the compression of her coraline lips, that she was praying. her face was radiant, her eyes were full of tears. she seemed transfigurated. the two men, despite their rude aspect and rough natures, stood respectfully beside her, utterly cowed, overcome, crushed under the weight of her purity and innocence. they stood before her hat in hand. when her short and ardent prayer was over, the girl turned to them with an ineffable smile. "now, gentlemen," she said, bowing to the two men who she saw were henceforth her slaves, "i am quite ready." the outlaw and his companion bowed and followed behind as she led the way outside. camotte was there, as was also the valorous tête de plume, holding the horses. tom mitchell led miss angela to the mare lara, which he had ordered to be saddled, and held the stirrup respectfully. "mount," he said, just as if he had been speaking to a princess in her own right. then, as soon as the outlaw had given some last whispered directions to camotte, they started, tom mitchell riding at the head of the little band. by the time the ford was passed over in safety the moon had risen in the sky above the trees. the four travellers were now safe on terra firma. "now, miss angela," said tom mitchell, gallantly, "place yourself between this gentleman and myself. good. and now, tête de plume, my boy, take the rearguard, and, whatever you do, look out." the four cavaliers dashed off at a hand gallop, and soon disappeared in the windings of the defile. chapter xix. in which tom mitchell discovers that honesty is a good speculation. we now direct our steps to one of the most savage and abrupt sites in all the desert, before the rising of the sun. five men are crossing a narrow gorge in the mountains, the tops of which are rocky and bare or covered with snow. just now they are rendered almost invisible by the dense fog which the sun's rays cannot dissipate. these five travellers came from the interior of the mornes, as the hilly plains are called, and were bound for the plains, which they began to make out a short distance before them, traversed, or rather cut in two, by the extensive stream of the missouri, the sandy waters of which were half concealed by high grass, willow, and the cottonwood trees that lined its shores. the five wayfarers of whom we have spoken walked painfully over the flints that paved the gorge, the dried-up bed of a torrent, which itself had suddenly disappeared during one of the cataclysms so common in that region. having reached the extremity of the gorge, they stopped, looked around, and gave a sigh of satisfaction. their task had been a rude one. for far more than three hours they had been stumbling in the midst of a whirlpool, nothing else, of flint stones, which, at every step they took, slid under their feet like mountain shingle. four of these men were whites, wearing the costume of hunters of the prairies; the fifth was an indian. they were george clinton, oliver, bright-eye, keen-hand, and numank-charake, the chief. now, then, let us ask how it came about that these five men should be there at that early hour in a place so far from their home--a hundred miles, in fact, from the regions they were in the habit of frequenting, and why were george clinton and keen-hand members of this singular and perhaps fortuitous group. of course we shall as soon as possible satisfy the legitimate curiosity of our friend the reader. "oh!" said keen-hand, "it is my opinion, friends and companions, that the wisest thing to be done is to stop here." "why stop here?" cried bright-eye, in far from a pleasant tone of voice; "explain yourself." "for a hundred reasons, every one of which is better than the other," resumed keen-hand. "i should like to know the first," said the canadian. "well, it is a very excellent one, i think. you and i and the chief are used to these diabolical roads, which is far from being the case with our companions, which you ought to have observed without telling a very long time ago." both oliver and clinton tried to protest. "no! no!" cried bright-eye, in his frankest manner. "i am a brute. so say no more about it, as i proclaim it myself. let us camp at once." "here is an excellent place," cried keen-hand. the hunters had halted under a grove of gigantic gumtrees. a fire was lighted, and each one, resting himself, prepared for the morning meal. "well, to tell the truth," said oliver, gaily, "i will now confess that i needed repose; i was simply done up." "i could scarcely put one foot before the other," observed george clinton, who was stretched out on the grass. "there!" cried keen-hand; "was i not right?" "well, considering that i have owned i was a brute," growled bright-eye, "are you not satisfied?" "perfectly!" said the guide. numank-charake had in the meantime undertaken the office of cook, an office he filled effectively. a few minutes later all were eagerly devouring slices cut from a quarter of venison which had been broiled upon the hot embers. then the gourds were opened and passed joyously from hand to hand. these brave young men had walked all night through impracticable paths which only hunters could overcome. they were literally famished. but now they entered into the spirit of the thing rarely. soon everything had disappeared. all was eaten. when the last mouthful had been washed down, and the very last drop of brandy absorbed, each man in his turn gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "now, then," remarked bright-eye, looking obliquely at his companions, "i think we may talk." "well, i am of opinion," said keen-hand, gaily, "that after a hearty meal, two things are agreeable--a pipe and talk." this declaration, the justice and opportuneness of which everybody at once recognised, was like a signal; instantly, pipes in red clay, with cherry tree tubes, were drawn from their belts, stuffed, lighted, and soon a cloud of blue smoke surrounded the head of every guest like a glory. "now, then, bright-eye," said oliver, gaily, between two puffs, "fire away as soon as you like." "messieurs, my friends," replied bright-eye, "my heart is very sad. despite all i can do, i feel a kind of presentiment that this man, in whom we have so trusted, is deceiving us." numank-charake lifted up his head. "i know the paleface chief," he said, in his guttural tones, shaking his head in a way to give more emphasis to his words; "he is a man whose tongue is not forked. his word is as gold--and my brother, bright-eye, is wrong." "in the name of heaven, is it you who speak in that way, chief?" asked the astonished hunter; "you, of all men in the world, so deeply interested." "numank-charake is a chief in his nation," quickly interrupted the redskin, his words, which swelled his bosom, coming directly from his heart; "the man who despises his enemies is not a brave warrior, but exposes himself to the reproach of only vanquishing cowards." "well spoken, chief," said keen-hand. "the grey bear, the paleface chief, is ferocious, cruel, and a thief, but he is brave and truthful." oliver and clinton stared. "what he has said he will do, he will do. what he has offered he will give. did we go openly to him? no! we hunted him like a wild beast wounded, dying, we wished to kill him. he escaped; thanks not to cunning, but to audacity. he is a great chief." the whites exchanged glances. "nothing would have been more easy for him than to laugh at our menaces and to conceal himself from us. instead of that, he has sent us a collar--letter--in which he invites us to an interview, for the purpose of ending the troubles which divide us." "this may be a trick," said oliver. "no! it is neither the act of a false nor of a double-faced man. no! it is the act of a brave and loyal warrior. that is my opinion. whatever may happen during the next few hours, i am convinced that if we have confidence in him i shall be found right. i have said." the chief relighted his pipe, which had gone out during his speech, and from that moment he appeared to take no further part in the conversation. still he listened to what the others said. "as far as i am concerned," observed oliver, "i think the chief has spoken well. i agree with him on every point. as far as i can judge, this pirate or this outlaw, whichever you choose to call him, is not a man like other men. there is something in him which is not at all ordinary. in one word, he may, it is true, be a brigand, but, certainly, his is a very lofty nature. until further events, i, for one, shall believe in his word." "all this is very possible," observed bright-eye, shaking his head doubtingly, "but no one can deny that he is the captain of a monstrous set of brigands." "what does that prove?" said oliver. "nothing that i know of. still i am decidedly of opinion that his word is not to be trusted." "then allow me to observe," said george clinton, drily, "why are we here?" "why, because one always lives in hope, despite our better reason. still we ought to be prudent." "though i am not quite of the opinion of bright-eye," said charbonneau, "i think we should be wise not to rush headlong into a possible trap which the bandits may be preparing for us. he is right as to the wisdom of prudence." "i, too, am an advocate for prudence," said george clinton; "nothing can be more wise than to take all proper precautions. that i fully agree with. but do not act in such a way as to cause our loyalty to be suspected, or our confidence in the man's word." "that can be easily arranged, my friends," said charbonneau, with a cunning smile "let me alone, and, believe me, all will go well." "my worthy friend, act just as you think proper. you, perhaps, more than anyone, have experience of the desert, and nobody objects to your taking every precaution." "the best precaution," said the indian chief, again speaking, "when you deal with a loyal enemy is to have every faith in his word; to have no suspicion of any kind in your mind." "very good, chief. it is very likely after all that you are right. i will not discuss the matter with you, though i repeat i am very much surprised to hear you speak thus. i only ask of you one thing--that is, to remain neutral in this affair until the actual moment of action has come." "numank-charake loves bright-eye; he is his brother. he will do whatever the hunter wishes; still regretting that he is constrained to act against his wishes," he answered. "i take all the blame on myself," said bright-eye; "and shall be the first to own my error, if indeed i am found to be in error. a man can say no more, even if he were speaking to his father." the indian said no more, but bowed his head in token of acquiescence. but he smiled with such a keen and subtle irony that the hunter was so deeply moved as to blush. "i fear nothing for myself," he cried. "eh, what!" exclaimed charbonneau, stretching out his arm towards the river, "what is going on?" every eye was fixed upon the spot indicated by the hunter's sudden exclamation. "it is a canoe," said george clinton. "manned by two men," observed charbonneau. "and those two men," said the chief, after one glance from his eagle eye, "are two palefaces. he knows them well. one is the old hunter called sharpear, the other the son of my nation--leave-no-trail." "my father and my grandfather!" cried bright-eye, in utter surprise. "surely, chief, you must be mistaken. why should they come here?" "very likely," observed oliver, gently, "the same motive leads them here that has led us." meanwhile the canoe, impelled by vigorous arms, approached with extreme rapidity, and soon was at no very great distance from the camp of the hunters. then it turned rapidly towards the shore, and its bow was soon stuck in the sand. two men landed. numank-charake had been right. these two men were indeed the father and grandfather of the young hunter. they were coming to the encampment. the five adventurers all leaped up, and eagerly rushed to meet the two old men. after the first compliments had passed and welcomes had been exchanged with effusion between the newcomers and their friends, the canadians seated themselves by the fire, and, upon the invitation given, ate some mouthfuls of fresh-cooked venison and drank some brandy. "we have been to see our relative, lagrenay, the squatter of the wind river," said the old man. "it appears he had received a very pressing message from tom mitchell, the outlaw." "yes," said bright-eye, "we were there when it was delivered. we know all about it. but, as far as i am concerned, i am afraid--" "of what are you afraid, my son?" asked françois berger, in a rather imperious tone of voice. "that all this pretended facility and frankness on the part of the pirate chief hides a snare." the two old hunters exchanged a smile. "child, you are very much mistaken," said the grandfather. "tom mitchell means exactly what he says. he has no intention, no motive for laying any unworthy trap." "i am certain of it," added the son. bright-eye had nothing to say to so positive an assertion. he silently bowed his head. "we have done all in our power to come here quickly, knowing we should meet you," went on françois berger; "we are only too happy to be in time." "in time to do what?" asked oliver. "we will explain," said the elder of the two men; "when tom mitchell comes we shall receive him." "but that is our business?" cried bright-eye. "i know the message was addressed to you," said his father; "i am well aware of it that it is our business, and, in fact, it is more proper it should be so. at all events we have decided that it is to be so, so that you will keep out of sight until the affair is finished." "but," said bright-eye, with considerable hesitation, "supposing there was treachery?" "my son," sententiously observed the old man, "prudence is wise, but suspicion in certain cases is an insult. think of that. believe me when i say that your father and i know better what we are about than you do." "we shall certainly obey you," said oliver, in the name of all. "we shall remain at a distance during the interview, and only interfere when called upon." "i thank you cordially," said the old man; "everything will go rightly, i promise you." and he waved his hand as if to dismiss them. the five young men rose, bowed respectfully to the two old men, and watched them as they walked slowly down to the banks of the river. about two gunshots distance from the camp, or thereabouts, was a rather thick wood, composed of oaks and gumtrees. the hunters entered the wood, and soon afterwards disappeared under the forest. remaining alone, the old hunters lifted their indian calumets and began to smoke, without exchanging one single word. this went on for about three-quarters of an hour--incessant smoking. suddenly, françois berger let fall his pipe, fell flat on his face, put his ear to the ground, and listened. "they come," he said, rising. "i have heard them coming for some time," quietly replied the old grandfather. "how many?" "not more than four." "just as i expected. he has acted in perfect good faith," said the old man. "then you are quite determined?" "yes. the indians are not in want of it, and i should not like to see the yankees or english profit by it." "you are the master. you are the one to whom it belongs to a certain extent," said the son. "yes; it is today my property. besides, it should be kept up for the support of a great cause. tom mitchell is a very different man from what he appears," added the old man, gravely. "that, of course, i know." "besides, i have another very strong motive for acting as i do, and that is the establishment, on the very spot i allude to, of the yankee squatter." "yes. and, between you and me, father, these yankees have very sharp noses. they will find it out before long." "exactly so, my son. for my part, i prefer that frenchmen should derive the advantage." at this moment a distant gunshot was heard. "here they come," said françois berger. he then rose, placed his hand over his mouth like a funnel, and twice imitated, with marvellous dexterity and perfection, the cry of the water hawk. a similar cry came in response, and almost immediately afterwards four cavaliers, well mounted, appeared galloping through the high grass and trees, and coming directly towards them. the canadians held their rifles in their hands, while the newcomers showed no apparent arms. they had left their pistols in the holsters, their sabres were in their scabbards, their rifles by their sides. on coming within a short distance of the two old men the strangers exchanged a few words in a low tone of voice, two of them slackened their pace, while the others rushed forward with the rapidity of the gazelle. in another instant angela, for it was herself, was in the arms of the friends, answering by cries of joy and tears of happiness the sweet caresses of her relatives and friends. tom mitchell and his companions stood apart discreetly, and then, when they saw that the first transports were over or becoming calmer, approached. "welcome," said the old man, "welcome, gentlemen," holding out his two hands. "have i kept my promise?" asked tom mitchell. "nobly; i solemnly declare it, and i thank you," cried berger, with deep emotion. "you have worthily made up for the act you had done. let us forget the past," said the old man; "what can we do for you?" "nothing," he said, quietly. "you exact no ransom whatever?" "why should i exaggerate, old hunter? i was drawn into committing a bad action by a man whose name i will not mention. though a pirate, i am not so bad as i am painted. i have therefore sought to condone the evil." "admirably spoken," said françois berger, again embracing his daughter. "go, darling, to your brother yonder." "allow me first to thank captain mitchell," she said, "for his extreme kindness during my captivity." "you bear me no malice?" "none whatever," she said, "but eternal gratitude. you deserve it and you have it." then with a gesture of adieu and a sweet smile on her adorable lips she ran off in the direction of the forest. the men waited until she was out of sight. "i will now take my leave," said the outlaw. "one moment," replied the old man; "the recompense which you refuse i must force upon you." he pulled forth a large folded parchment. "this is the ransom of my daughter," he said: "it is a regular deed of gift of the valley of the deer." "what!" cried the outlaw, with singular emotion. "yes, and here on the map is a red mark, indicating the spot where what you know of is concealed." "accept without scruple, captain," said françois berger; "it is ours and ours alone to give." "since you wish it, gentlemen. i should show but ill grace to refuse, the more that i value your gift highly." "i only ask one thing in return," said the old man. "i shall be ready to promise anything." "you will use what i have given you only with an honourable--" he said, with some hesitation. "it shall be so, i promise you." "and so we part friends; captain, your hand." "friends, yes," said the pirate; "and i hope the day may come when you may try my friendship." "who knows? the day may come sooner than we expect." "i shall be ready to shed the very last drop of my blood to defend or avenge you or yours." chapter xx. a strange chase. we know that joshua dickson had taken his departure from the valley, leaving it in charge to harry. harry was a fine young man, strong and intelligent, in whom his father had every confidence. he was the complete juvenile type of the american squatter and pioneer, up to indian devilries, riding like a centaur, and able to put a ball in the eye of a panther at a hundred yards. his great passion was life in the open air, and the pleasures of the chase in the forest or field. one fine morning harry, soon after the rising of the sun, galloped off into the forest. he was bent on a journey to see a fine cutting that was going to create meadows, and make room for sawmills on the banks of the great missouri. he had nearly reached the spot, when he was startled by a whistle of a peculiar kind, at no great distance. at the same moment a horseman came in sight--a man of fifty, tall, thin and gaunt, with parchment skin. the horse was as bony as his master. the man was dressed after the fashion of the ordinary american farmer, and apparently carried no arms. "eh, eh," cried he, "you are out early. were you looking for me?" "no, m. lagrenay; i was not even thinking of you." "that is not polite. why did you stop when i whistled?" "because i thought it the whistle of a serpent," he retorted. "but no nonsense, i was looking for you." "i was certain of it." "yes, i wanted to see you. i made your acquaintance i know not how. you talk to me of things which do not please me, because they suggest evil thoughts. i have come to say that henceforth we are strangers. never speak to me again." "i suppose you will give me a reason for this odd decision." "think what you please. i have said my say." "then i assume that you reject my offers." "think and assume what you like," cried the young man, angrily; "only keep out of my path." "then you have no passion for gold?" sighed the other. "you take me for a ninny, old squatter. gold does not grow in the fields like mushrooms. besides, you would have found it long ago if real." "i tell you the map indicating the exact spot," cried the old man, "was stolen from me by the outlaws." "you want to persuade me that you have known of this vast treasure for years, and yet require a stranger to help you." "i knew nothing of your having camped on the spot, and only offer you a share in consequence." "go to the devil with your offers." "yes, you have my secret, and can use it yourself." "old man," cried the young giant, with rage in his eye, "beware how you try my patience too much." "well, well, let us end this conversation. you will not listen to me. well and good. only, before we part, remember this, when it is too late, my friend," he added, with a sinister laugh, "you will repent. that is all i say." and turning round, he rode off. "he is a pretty rascal," said the young man, as he rode off; "i believe he has some villainy in hand." at this moment a strong hollow grunting was heard, followed by another at no great distance. "there are jaguars about," said the american, in a low tone, stroking his horse's ears to keep him quiet. at that moment there was a fearful, a horrible cry, that rent the air, a desperate shriek for assistance. "the old squatter, and he is without arms," he cried; "the tigers have doubtless attacked him." and he set spurs to his horse, which, neighing and smarting with pain, dashed in the desired direction. in the centre of a clearing crossed by a narrow stream the squatter knelt behind his horse, haggard with terror. close to him, on the branch of a gigantic gumtree, was a mighty jaguar, licking his tongue before leaping. "save me," shrieked the agonised squatter. "i will try," said harry, dismounting, letting his horse loose, and then going close up to the trembling wretch. the tiger had not moved. he was watching his victim with a feline glance. "a noble beast," said the young man, with a smile; "i hope not to spoil his beautiful skin." suddenly a further grunting was heard in the thicket. the jaguar, without turning his head, responded in the same tone. "by heavens! there are two of them. it seems almost a pity to part so loving a couple," he said. at the same moment the tiger leaped. as he did so he turned a somersault. he was dead, shot in the eye. "one," said the young man, drawing out his bowie knife. at the same moment the second jaguar burst out, and with one bound seized on the flanks of the horse. harry flew at her, knife in hand. the two rolled for a moment on the ground. then the man stood erect. "that job's over," said the young man; "what a couple of noble beasts! get up. heavens! he's fainted." then he took him in his arms, and carried him to the stream, where he bathed his face until he recovered. but he was then so ill, and his horse so lean, that it seemed impossible he should ever reach home. in this strait harry acted with his usual generosity. he took the man up behind him, and carried him home. he then turned to go without a word. "young man," cried the squatter, "wait one moment. you have been my friend. now take my advice, keep good watch. i dare say no more, but be ever on your guard." harry moved pensively away, but soon forgot the hint. chapter xxi. captain tom mitchell, the avenger. the marriage of evening dew with numank-charake was to be celebrated with unusual splendour. invitations had been sent in all directions, and, two days before the ceremony was to take place, numerous deputations from all the tribes were collected around, and were received with the splendid hospitality essential in such a case. at least five hundred strange warriors had come. some hours later a new troop appeared on the verge of the plain; it was very numerous, three hundred men at least, in the picturesque costume of mexican rancheros, all armed to the teeth, and admirably mounted. four cavaliers rode in front; these were tom mitchell, pierre durand camotte, and tête de plume. it was the full force of the outlaws. on nearing the village two other men were seen; these were clinton and charbonneau. nothing was omitted to give _éclat_ to such a reception. the most renowned of the sachems, with the three canadians, bright-eye, and oliver, advanced to meet them, and give them a most cordial and sincere welcome. captain pierre durand, who had given up his disguise, kept a little in the background. having exchanged compliments, tom ordered his men to camp outside, and entered the village with the others. as soon as all were collected in the hut of the canadians, tom mitchell closed the door carefully. "gentlemen," he said, in a low and solemn tone, "i owe you no explanation for coming, but for coming in such force." "you owe no explanation. you are welcome." "listen. not a moment is to be lost. spies are on all hands. you are surrounded by treachery and traitors. you are all to be made the victims of an execrable plot concocted by two wretches, lagrenay and tubash-shah." all were stupefied. while the other spoke, pierre durand slipped into bright-eye's own room to rest. "yes. tubash-shah hates numank; but that is not all. he loves your gentle daughter, evening dew." "horrible!" cried the old man. "the capture of miss angela was a thing arranged between lagrenay and tubash-shah, who thought to get her from me." "thanks to you, the plot is exploded." "he still hopes to kill his rival, steal his wife, become possessor of the treasure you know of," cried tom mitchell, "and become chief of the tribe. with these schemes in their heads, lagrenay and tubash-shah are allies." "it is a horrible plot. how did you discover it?" "no matter; my spies have served me well. i knew the plan of the conspirators, and hence have come in such force. i shall be able to thwart them. do you now attend to the immediate safety of the chiefs of this nation and people." "i will take measures at once." "above all, be cautious. you have to deal with desperate and cunning rascals," urged tom mitchell. the three canadians, grandfather, father, and son, went out, leaving behind only george clinton and his friend. "now, mr. clinton," said the outlaw, "though we met under unpleasant circumstances, we are friends." "i see no reason why we should not be," he replied. "i am happy to hear it," continued tom mitchell; "but before we go any farther, allow me to say a word to this young frenchman. in that room you will find a friend." "a friend!" cried oliver; "impossible! you know i have only recently reached this country." "take my advice," said the outlaw, with a smile. oliver shrugged his shoulders, as if yielding to a foolish whim, and went in to find himself face to face with durand. "now," said the outlaw, "i have not told all; i have left out certain matters which personally concern yourself. one moment, and you shall judge for yourself. excuse me if i have to touch upon a very tender topic--that of love." "captain!" cried george. "pardon me. you love a charming girl, whom you have followed into the desert with as much devotion as men show in the search of gold. to this i have only to add that the girl is as beautiful and as good as an angel." george bowed his head to hide his confusion. "her father is against you, i know. but the important fact is that a terrible calamity threatens her and you." "pray explain yourself," george cried. "do you think the redskins are blind? you forget them in your calculation of future happiness." "explain yourself," continued the young man. "i cannot at present. you are young in the desert, but you have clever and devoted friends. above all, you have bright-eye, honest, devoted, intelligent. tell him all i have said, and to work. you have not a moment to lose to save her." at this moment the three canadians came in at one door, oliver and captain durand at the other. before anyone else could speak, oliver rushed forward. "captain," he said to the outlaw, "i can never thank you enough. i know all. command me in every way." "i shall remind you of your promise." "and my wretched persecutor--you will bring him to me?" "yes; and place in your hands papers to confound him," cried the outlaw; "papers which prove your rank." the conversation now became general. the two canadians had been at work, and warned all the sachems. but everything had been done without exciting suspicion. all went on just as usual in the village. the preparations for the marriage continued. the canadians entertained their friends at a great banquet that night, at which numank was present, grave and proud, seated beside angela, who was charming, though blushing with downcast eyes, and never speaking a word. the formal ceremony of betrothal had taken place in the morning, so that this was rather a friendly meeting than anything else. there was, however, a magnificent exchange of presents. next day, just before the final ceremony, tom mitchell went off with a hundred of his most resolute men. camotte remained in command of the others. according to invariable indian custom, the man who takes a wife takes her seemingly by force; he snatches her up, puts her behind him, darts off, and two days later comes back, slays a mare that has never foaled, and all is over. numank, of course, would do the same. at night the hut was surrounded by a party of indians, and angela carried off, after a feeble resistance. then some shots were fired, and away sped numank with his wife surrounded by a powerful indian escort. this escort was almost wholly composed of strangers with tubash. the abductors had scarcely departed when bright-eye came out of the hut and whistled. he was at once surrounded by warriors. "on," he said, in a menacing voice; "there is no time to lose." and they darted away like a whirlwind, riding for some hours in the direction taken by the bridal party. suddenly they were startled by flashes of light, followed by the report of guns. a terrible combat was going on. with a tremendous war cry the troop led by bright-eye dashed in the direction of the fight. it was time. numank-charake, holding his wife on one arm, was fighting, surrounded by the few warriors faithful to him. ten only of these could stand, and must have succumbed in five minutes but for the unlooked-for succour. the carnage was fearful. all fought desperately in silence. at last every one of the treacherous escort was dead. tubash shah escaped in the confusion. numank-charake was more like a corpse than a live man, and had to be carried on a litter. they reached the village next day, from which all the rival tribes had departed, leaving behind a bundle of arrows dipped in blood. it was a formal declaration of war. we turn elsewhere for a time. it was night at the hut of the squatter lagrenay. everybody slept except himself. seated by the dying fire in a cane chair, his head in his two hands, his elbows on the table, the squatter appeared at least to be reading. his huge and savage dog lay at his feet, listening for the faintest sound from without. every now and then the old man looked at a clock, and then appeared to read again until a sharp whistle was heard. the dog and man leaped up, but suddenly lagrenay bade the animal be quiet, and went himself to open the door. he started back as two men entered, strangers. "i am joshua dickson," said the first, "and this is my brother samuel. you sent for my son; we have come in his place." the old man professed to be glad to see his neighbours, and bade them be seated. after some time wasted in circumlocution, he began to speak of real business. "you have established yourselves in the valley of the moose deer," he said, "a magnificent settlement." "well, what then?" "that valley belongs to one of the most powerful tribes on the whole of the missouri," continued lagrenay. "no matter. virgin soil belongs to the first comer." "perhaps. but that is not the question. this tribe have other lands of which they take no account," went on the squatter, "and will probably never claim, but they have special reasons for keeping the valley of the deer sacred." "explain yourself," cried both. "in that valley is buried the treasure of the nation." "what treasure? old shooter of muskrats!" cried joshua; "there is no treasure like mother earth." "i mean a real treasure--gold, ingots, diamonds," said the old man, "to the extent of many millions." "so much the better," replied joshua; "it is mine." "take care! the struggle will be terrible. your adversaries are many and brave; they have allied themselves with the outlaws of the desert, and, moreover, have taken as their chief a fellow countryman, who dearly covets your possessions." "may i ask the name of my countryman?" inquired samuel, in a bantering tone of voice. "his name is george clinton," said lagrenay. "george clinton!" exclaimed joshua, amazed. "you lie, miserable wretch!" said samuel dickson, rising; "george clinton is an honourable man, not a--" "i have spoken the truth. do as you please." then the door was burst open, and two men entered pushing forward a third with blows of musket butts. "miserable wretch!" said one, seizing him by the throat, "i am george clinton, and you lie in your teeth." rock attempted to fly at the assailants, but charbonneau brained him with the butt end of his gun. lagrenay rose rifle in hand, but the two americans disarmed him, and forced him to reseat himself. the prisoner brought in was tubash-shah. behind the three men appeared the dogs nadeje and drack. "gentlemen, we arrive in time. thank heaven, we have brought with us this wretch, who now will tell the truth." and he looked at the indian with a glance that made him shudder to the marrow of his bones. the two americans were exceedingly surprised, while lagrenay thought in vain of some new subterfuge. roused by the noise made on the entrance of the three men, the wife of lagrenay had risen in haste, and, without waiting to dress, had rushed into the room. she entered without being seen, and tremblingly ensconced herself behind her husband. inside there was silence, but without the sound of many men. none spoke for some time; everyone's breathing seemed oppressed. lagrenay, his teeth chattering, at last spoke. "will you explain this outrage?" he began. "silence!" cried george clinton, in a terrible voice; "speak only when called upon for your defence. all i hope is that when you have heard of what you are accused you may be able to give a satisfactory reply to the charge." "accused--defend myself!" cried the old man. "yes, before judge lynch, who will decide between us," said clinton, coldly. "listen, here come your judges." as he spoke several men entered. lagrenay felt himself lost. he was in the hands of implacable foes. tubash-shah, erect against the wall, appeared utterly indifferent. but his every thought was intent on escape. the sudden appearance of george clinton had very much surprised joshua dickson. all his rage was revived, and he was prepared to treat him with severity and hatred. the idea of treason still rankled in his mind. two men had now seized upon the squatter, and, despite the cries of his wife, were trying to carry him out. at that moment louis and françois berger entered. "my cousins!" cried lagrenay, "they would murder me!" "save my old man!" said the wife, pitifully. "my friends and brothers," said louis berger, raising his hand, "this man is my relative. give him to me. justice shall be done." the squatter was released, and hid himself behind his two canadian cousins, trembling, nearly dead. "sirs," said louis to the americans, "you are the new squatters established in the moose deer valley?" "we are," replied joshua, rather doggedly. "then i have business with you. in the first place, by what right have you squatted in that place?" "really, except that you have force on your side, i should not answer so singular a question. because i found it." "i beg to inform you that it is private property. you are by no means the first occupier." "and who may he be?" asked joshua, furiously. "myself. it was given me by the chiefs of the huron tribe. a deed, perfectly legal, exists." "can a man find no free land on earth?" he cried, "on the face of the earth? you claim it, then?" at this moment, when all were busy, tubash saw his opportunity, and ran. two or three pursued, but the rest remained. "then," said joshua, presently, "there is some truth in the story of the gold treasure in the valley?" "yes, and i have recently ceded all my rights to tom mitchell, chief of the outlaws." "then all i have to do is to go?" urged joshua. "i think the matter might be arranged," observed louis. "here is a young man who loves your child. george clinton, is it not so?" "it is useless my persuading joshua dickson." "by heavens!" cried samuel, "but you shall. here is a noble, young, rich, brave--" "but," cried joshua, "what has that to do with it?" "sole owner of the valley of the deer," continued louis berger, drily; "he bought it this morning." "but--" still hesitated joshua. "to arms!" cried tom mitchell, rushing in, "to arms! pardieu! you have fallen into the trap." "what is the matter?" cried the brothers. "while you are wasting your time here, your plantation is attacked by indians," he responded, "who are burning and destroying all. soon there will be only ruins and ashes." this terrible revelation fell like a thunderbolt upon all present in that room. tom mitchell--his dress torn, his face covered by powder and blood, holding a smoking gun--summoned them. george clinton, without waiting a minute, darted away, followed by charbonneau and his dogs. above all, he would save her he loved from the fearful peril she was in of falling into the hands of redskins. "what is to be done?" cried joshua. "never despair," said the outlaw. "your sons and servants are fighting like lions. we must join them." "come along," cried samuel. "oh! oh!" said joshua, brandishing his rifle, "the rascally redskins shall pay for this." "come, in the name of god!" cried the outlaw; "i have with me a party ready for any amount of redskins." at these words everybody mounted, and dashed through the darkness like a legion of phantoms. four persons only remained in the silent and deserted hut--the two old canadians, lagrenay, and his wife. the old squatter had, during these exciting scenes, recovered his equanimity. he believed himself saved. as soon as they were alone, he and his wife began to place refreshments on the table for their guests. the two canadians remained standing, leaning on their rifles, and not noticing even the preparations. "my dear relations," said lagrenay, in an insinuating voice, "will you honour me by accepting refreshments?" "what does the man say?" asked françois berger. "you have a long journey to go," continued lagrenay, "you must be extremely tired and want rest." "what matter?" said the old man. "will you not empty a cup of whisky?" began the woman. "silence!" cried the hunter, striking the butt of his rifle on the ground, "and listen." the old man shuddered. "lagrenay," he went on, in a hollow voice, "i dragged you from the hands of judge lynch, because i did not wish to see my cousin hanged; you have dishonoured not only the name you bear, but the family to which you belong; that family, poor as it has always been, has known how to preserve its honour intact. that honour you have soiled, from the base love of gold. prepare to die." "to die!" he murmured. "my cousins, my dear cousins, you will not have the heart to kill my poor old man," said his wife, clasping her hands and weeping; "thirty years we have lived together. what shall i do when he is gone? who will support my miserable existence? have mercy, in the name of the lord. if you kill him, i shall die." "you shall not die," said françois berger; "my cousin will take care of you for life." "i," she said, with a gesture of horror, "accept the protection of the murderers of my husband, eat the bread of assassins! i should choke myself at the first mouthful. have mercy, then, and shoot us together." louis berger turned away his head. even the inflexible old judge of the reign of terror was moved. then he made a sign to his son, and both cocked their rifles. "stop!" said lagrenay, in a firm and solemn voice; "i know your inflexible will too well to ask my life of you. you have decided on my death. good. but i will not die at your hands. you say the honour of the family requires that justice should be done. well, it shall be done. still i could not die like a dog. give me ten minutes to pray. you will not refuse this?" "heaven forbid!" said the old man, "and may heaven have mercy on you for all your sins." "thanks, cousins and friends," cried the squatter, "and now, wife, on your knees. let us beg forgiveness of our sins." the two old men went out, tears in their eyes, and almost inclined to be merciful. stern will prevailed. five minutes later, a double shot was heard. they rushed in. both lay dead upon the floor. justice was done. the two hunters kneeled down beside the bodies, and said a silent prayer over them. then, in the room itself, they dug a grave, and, after some little time, interred the husband and wife. then, dragging away by main force the wounded dog, they collected a lot of brushwood and other fuel. this they piled against the house and then fired. in a few minutes the whole was in flames. the dog got away, and plunged into the burning pile. when all was over and nought remained but cinders and ashes, the two men wiped away a tear and retired. chapter xxii. a desperate struggle. tom mitchell had told the truth. the plantation of joshua dickson had been attacked by a numerous party. this is how it had come about. tubash-shah and the squatter, lagrenay, excited by a common hatred, had come to an understanding. the old wretch, whose whole thoughts were bent on the vast treasure concealed in the valley, had promised the indian, not only his share of the gold, but the possession of a beautiful white girl, at least as beautiful as evening dew. he further suggested that as numank-charake would be sure to join clinton, he could kill him too. he would then have the two most beautiful wives on the prairie. the indian was easily seduced by this radiant project, which the old squatter fluttered before his eyes. an alliance defensive and offensive was struck up. it was tubash-shah who suggested the treacherous visit of the redskins on the occasion of the great marriage. in order to facilitate the attack on the settlement, old lagrenay sent a secret message to the squatters, who fell into the trap prepared for them. tubash-shah was outside, waiting to take them, when he himself was made prisoner. this nearly spoiled all. but, after only half an hour's detention, tubash escaped. he joined his expectant companions, and the plantation was at once attacked on all sides by indians. but the americans were on the watch, and received the redskins in a way that rather surprised them. tom mitchell, warned by his spies, had given them sufficient hints, while himself preparing. one hundred and fifty outlaws, under the orders of tête de plume, had been secretly sent into the fort by george clinton. he had then, with charbonneau, gone and concealed himself near lagrenay's hut. camotte had been sent to the village of the huron bisons to numank-charake, and bright-eye, to ask for the assistance of all the warriors of the tribe who could be spared. on the other hand, tom mitchell, at the head of his most daring companions, had placed himself in a position to be at hand at anytime. but if the defence had been well arranged, the attack was most fierce and desperate; the redskins fought like demons; brave, well armed, and counting on the vast superiority of their numbers, the indians rushed to the charge against the intrenchments with a ferocity quite unusual. these intrenchments had been hastily thrown up, and could not long resist such an attack. tubash-shah, at the head of a picked band of warriors, did wonders. he was a host in himself. the struggle became at one time so desperate that tom mitchell himself began to despair; then it was that he dashed off to the hut of lagrenay, and called to arms all who were collected together in deliberation. then he started again at the head of the reinforcement, like a storm cloud on the wing. again the combat seemed desperate. the war cry of the american indians and the hurrahs of the whites were mixed with the fusillade. then a rush of horse was heard, an awful war whoop, and three hundred warriors, led by numank-charake, bright-eye, and camotte, appeared on the scene. tom mitchell gave a cry of joy. he divided his terrible cavaliers into three detachments, one commanded by numank and bright-eye, gave half his outlaws to oliver, and took the rest under his own immediate orders. then at a given signal, the three troops rushed, with horrible yells and cries, upon the astonished assailants. though taken aback, the brave redskins fronted both ways, and made a most terrible defence. samuel dickson and his brother meantime contrived to enter the settlement, amid joyous acclamations. it was time; the palisades and intrenchments were giving way, and the indians were rushing in. the combat became now gigantic in its proportions. the redskins, led by tubash-shah, fought with desperate valour. he kept the _élite_ of his men together, and worked his way towards the interior of the settlement. presently he drew forth his human thighbone whistle and darted for the house. he had seen diana. the young girl, seeing the demon covered by blood and powder, brandishing his hatchet, and forcing, with a hideous cry, his horse towards the women, gave a desperate shriek of agonised terror. "ah, ah!" cried tubash-shah, in triumph; "the paleface girl. at last she is mine." he urged forward his horse, which reared with abject terror, and threw his master heavily. dardar, the faithful dog, always in attendance on diana, had seized the warhorse by the nostrils. he then let him go, and caught the indian himself by the throat. "good dog," shouted george clinton, as he ran up with charbonneau, drack, and nadeje. the battle was over. the few indians who were left threw down their arms in despair. "my daughter, oh, my daughter!" cried joshua, who came rushing from the inside of the house. "she is here, sir," said clinton. "and her abductor?" he continued. "is dead," he answered, pointing to the corpse, which the dog was worrying as he would have done a rat. "my son, i thank you," said joshua; "what do i not owe to you? take her." * * * * * two days after m. hebrard returned to the fort a wiser man. oliver proved his rank, name, and right to fortune, to the satisfaction of everybody. "tell my relatives," he said, "that as long as they leave me alone, i shall be quiet. go, and let us never meet again." a week later, after the marriage of george and diana, tom mitchell, bright-eye, oliver, and captain durand, started on the dangerous expedition undertaken by the outlaw, and of which, probably, we shall give some account at a future time. [for further adventures of bright-eye, see the "prairie flower," and the "indian scout," same publishers.] none quickie by milton lesser _dr. kinsey, meet mr. grover, the amorous adventurer. even in a world of polygamous sexual relations and legal multiple marriages, here is the nation's champion philanderer!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, october . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] simon grover always felt like a goldfish in a coptercab. the plexiglass bubble afforded full degree vision, but people could also see you from the crowded traffic lanes above a big city. "hurry," said simon grover, a small, energetic man with close-set hazel eyes and a stubborn chin. "i'm hurrying," the pilot told him with frustrating indifference. in another few moments he would be safe. he squirmed around and saw another copter rise above the express lane and close the gap between them. it had never been this close before. the aquamarine roof of the marriage building loomed ahead, then swelled up at them. the other copter buzzed closer. "don't see any landing space," the pilot said laconically. simon squinted down anxiously. the copters were lined up in neat but crowded rows on the rooftop, with hardly more than walking space between them. "hover," simon pleaded. "i'll jump." "i could lose my license." simon reached into his pocket and drew out a handful of bills. "this is important to me," he said. the pilot pocketed the money, then swooped down toward the roof. suspended grotesquely eight feet above the aquamarine surface, blades whirling, the coptercab hovered. simon grunted his thanks and slid back the door. the other copter was fanning air above them and dropping fast when simon jumped. his left leg struck the side of a parked cab and threw him off balance. he landed on his shoulder, rolled over and scrambled to his feet. he darted between the rows of copters, thankful for the partial protection their blades offered him. a parabeam zipped down at the long shadow he cast in the late afternoon sun, but in another moment he had reached the roof entrance to the marriage building and flung himself inside. breathing hard, he smoothed his rumpled clothing with shaking hands. that had been entirely too close. they thought he was fleeing because he did not want to work for a living. rot. if he were ever captured, all the romance would go from his life. he sauntered down the long, pleasant corridor lined with murals of domestic tranquility--family gathered around the dining table, father and son raking leaves in the front yard, graceful elderly couple entertaining children and grandchildren at a merry hearth, young husband and wife going to bed. he was in no hurry now, for the marriage building was legal sanctuary. he passed the long lines of registering quickies, men filing into one room, women into another. he let his glance rove the line of female quickies, wondering if his new wife would come from this group. they ranged in age from eighteen to about sixty, he guessed, and naturally they were of all conceivable types. he caught himself in time and stopped looking. it was not considered proper etiquette. rounding a turn in the corridor, simon took the slidestair down one level to where transients registered and attached himself to the end of a long line of men which was swallowed slowly by a doorway above which was the legend: marriage counselors simon checked his counterfeit registration papers and was aware of the old, familiar feeling of uncertainty. his heart bobbed up into his throat and pounded there. his palms were clammy, his fingers wouldn't keep still. would the papers pass inspection? he was almost certain they would. but he savored the other possibility although he hated its ultimate consequences. as some people craved security, so others thrived on adventure. simon lit a cigaret and waited while the line crawled forward, parallelling a line of female transients moving through another doorway. * * * * * "sit down, mr. grover," the counselor said as simon entered the room. it was a large place with a central aisle and a dozen private cubbies on either side, each one with celotex walls, a desk, two chairs, the latest in marriage literature, and a counselor. simon eased his small frame into a comfortable chair and handed his papers to the counselor. "i see you have come from philadelphia," the man said, smiling not quite professionally--which, simon knew, was the best of all professional smiles. "were the accommodations satisfactory? of course, you don't have to talk about them." "they were fine. just fine." naturally, simon did not tell the counselor about his flight from the police. "how long will you be with us in new york?" "i figure about three weeks. it depends on business, though. might be a little longer, i guess." "we'll say three weeks." the counselor scrawled something on simon's registration form. "now, mr. grover, exactly what kind of wife are you looking for?" "to tell you the truth, i haven't given it much thought yet." "splendid," the counselor was delighted with the opportunity to expound on his wares. "as you know, we have six basic types." he removed six colorful folders from six stacks on his desk and handed them to simon. "the first," he went on, "is the newlywed quickie. the red folder, mr. grover. she has just completed her honeymoon, is not pregnant, and has been married for no more than six months." simon examined the folder. on the cover was pictured a young man carrying his bride, complete with bashful smile, across the threshold of their home. there were suggestive dining room, patio and bedroom scenes inside, with appropriate captions. "the second type," explained the counselor, "is the new mother." the folder showed a charming young woman breast-feeding an infant. the counselor went on to the other types: the middle mother, a woman of about thirty with two children, one of pre-school age and one in the first three grades; the teener, with from two to five children in their teens or early twenties; the pre-gram, with any number of married children living away from home, but no grandchildren; and the grandmother. "you understand," the counselor said, "we have all types in between as well. these are merely the basics." he surveyed simon's registration papers again. "you're thirty-five, mr. grover. a fine age, i might say. you'd be suited to any type, with the exception of the grandmother." "i don't want the grandmother, anyway," simon told him. "you know, i think i'll take the newlywed this time." the counselor winked knowingly. "still a lot of get-up-and-go in the old copter, eh?" "it's spring," simon said. "yes. we find it most interesting, that certain types are favored in the various seasons. newlyweds in the spring, pre-grams in the summer, middle mothers in the fall, new mothers and grandmothers in the winter. confidentially, mr. grover, i've always longed to be a transient myself. but you have to be a quickie to hold this job, since you're in one place for such a long period of time. well, what type of newlywed did you have in mind?" simon licked his lips eagerly. in philadelphia the last time he had come close to learning the parting ritual. but it tripped him up, as usual, and he reached new york one step ahead of the police. "she must be very impressionable," simon said, "and very talkative. she must be eager to discuss the theories of multiple marriage--" "most newlyweds are," the counselor pointed out. "well, particularly so. and, of course, she must not be carrying a torch for her honeymoon husband." "that's rare these days, mr. grover." "it happened to me once, in st. louis. had an awful time." "then she probably was a misfit. after all, the institution of multiple marriages is almost eighty years old, and the _only_ form of marriage in the united states today. if we were still in the early pioneering days you might have cause to worry. ideas of propinquity still seemed important then, and people were concerned with such things as lasting relationships, though for the life of me i can't see why." "they thought it was more secure," suggested simon. "but it isn't. in the old days, statistics proved that if a man or woman was saddled with one mate too long, it often led to trouble. the old _et al_ report of shocked the world with its figures: ninety five percent of all married men had illicit relations with other women, and the figure was almost as high for women. relations with unmarried people. it's rather horrible, isn't it, mr. grover?" "i suppose so," said simon, half-listening. all he needed now was the parting ritual. a nice, impressionable, talkative newlywed girl.... "as usual," the counselor continued in a dedicated voice, "man had leaped ahead of his outmoded institutions without realizing it. the notion of marriage based largely on propinquity and permanent relationship just didn't fit the modern tempo of civilization, where transient workers dart across the continent constantly, always on the move, hardly staying in one place long enough to hang their hats, as the expression goes. marital infidelity in the old days led to crimes of passion, to divorce, to unsettled families, to children reared in orphanages or by strangers--perfect strangers, mind you--to divorce and re-marriages and so much energy and time and money wasted on second and even third courtships. "fortunately, the social institution fits the tempo of the culture today. a transient--man or woman--gets married and provides for one spouse, one family, but has the pick of the nation to choose from. even a quickie like myself is stimulated by constant variety and change. no one is ever bored. you don't have to see your original mate ever again, as long as you, as a transient, provide for her. the quickies, in their turn, will provide for you in all your subsequent marriages. you have the novelty and satisfaction of a true change in environment every time you travel, but you also have the comfort and security of a home." "this newlywed girl must also be naive," said simon. "that's important." the counselor made another notation. "you know," he said, "there is one small school of thought which claims the novelty, the verve and sparkle are lacking because the constant variation is perfectly legal. perhaps they have a point there: secrecy _is_ stimulating. but they refuse to admit we even provide for that. after all, a transient assumes the name of his temporary spouse, his quickie. no one, not even the quickie, knows his real identity. the marriage records are available to no one, not even the government, not even the police, thus preserving the sense of--well, freshness for the transients. "but i digress. have you any physical preferences, mr. grover?" "i'm not very tall. keep her down to my size, please. and i want a pretty wife." the counselor made his final notations, rolled simon's registration papers and stuffed them into a pneumotube which he dropped into a wall slot. the tube, simon knew, was being whisked to quickie records, newlywed division, where identification of the girl fitting his requirements would be made by the machine records unit of available newlyweds. last time, in philadelphia, he had selected a garrulous old grandmother and hated every moment of the two weeks he had spent with her. it had been against the recommendations of the counselor there, who had claimed the age difference would not make for harmony. the man had been right, but worse yet, the old hag had been too wily to reveal what simon had to know. "congress is considering a law," said the counselor as they waited for the return of simon's registration papers, "which would permit quickies and transients to alternate year after year. it would cause social upheaval at the beginning, but it's only fair to us quickies, don't you think?" simon shrugged. the man was starting to bother him. "i'd rather be a transient," he said. "i'm for the _status quo_." "but quickies have no choice in the matter, don't you see? we have to marry whoever comes along. my last wife--" "as a quickie, you're not supposed to talk about her." the counselor blanched at what had almost amounted to a sin. "thank you," he said, and waited in silence for the pneumotube. finally, it came, popping out of the wall slot and alighting on the desk. the counselor removed simon's papers and unrolled them, revealing a set of similar papers rolled tightly within. these he opened and spread on the desk, beckoning simon to come around behind him and take a look. the first thing simon saw was the snapshot, in the latest trivision process. the girl looked pretty enough, with a pale, heart-shaped face set off against short-cropped, shining black hair. she had enormous, child-like eyes. "how do you do?" the picture said. "i am jane-marie paige. i miss you." "see," said the counselor, "she has a lovely voice." simon nodded, picked up the trivision snapshot and held it under his nose, sniffing delicately. he liked the scent of jane-marie's perfume--not too musky, not too flowery, but that ideal compromise which indicated she would be neither too sultry nor too fragile. the counselor wrote in simon's name on her papers, printing "approx. wks" under the column for time, and handed both rolls to simon. "her address is in the second column," he said. "visit us again on your next trip to new york, mr. grover. and good luck." * * * * * by the time simon took the tubeway out to the suburban long island community in which jane-marie paige lived, the bright spring afternoon was fading into dusk, tinting the western sky with bands of color ranging from deep blue and purple through mauve to delicate, dusty pink. the smell of spring was in the air, but with the coming of night the lingering chill of winter was still apparent. it would be great, coming home again to a new wife, to a drink and an excellent home-cooked dinner, to a cozy fire perhaps--especially when you could have all that and still retain the pulse-quickening feeling of adventure. whistling, simon found maple lane and walked by the rows of spherical houses which could rotate with the sun from equinox to solstice and back again. simon could tell it was a development of newlywed homes by their small size, by the absence of baby carriages and toys on the front lawns, by the small clumps of white birch trees and windows with their curtains drawn. he found the address listed on jane-marie's registration papers and turned up the walk, noticing the small, ranch-type name post with "mr. and mrs. jane-marie paige" on it in big gold letters. "it's simon," he said as the door slid soundlessly into the curving wall. "i'm home." suddenly, jane-marie appeared there in the doorway. she must have been at one of the curtained windows, peeking out at him. there were soft lights behind her and a delicate halo circled her dark hair from the raditiara she wore. "simon," she said, barely above a whisper, a radiant smile on her face. "they called me. come in, darling." but she still barred the doorway. when he came in he came into the arms of his waiting wife, his newlywed wife, his jane-marie. "i missed you ever since they sent your picture," she breathed, while he kissed the lobes of her ears, the tip of her nose, her eyes, her warm, eager lips. "jane-marie," he said. it was genuinely thrilling to her, he sensed. it was more than that to him. it was--it was illicitly thrilling, worth all the quick exits and close calls with the police. "you'll muss me," jane-marie scolded him, drawing away and rearranging her hair under the tiara. "there. are you hungry?" "honey, i'm famished." "well, i'm making no promises. i'm not much of a cook, really. they didn't tell me how long you were going to stay, but i should improve enough so when the next--" "sh. i'll be here three weeks." "come in, come in." she took his hand in her own warm one, pressing the door button and dimming the hall light as they walked into the house. "tell me about yourself, darling. what do you do? how are you going to spend your time in new york? oh, i'm so excited. there's so much to talk about, so much to learn about each other. do you play bridge? there's a couple down the street, the wife's a transient and just got here today, but i know the husband, who likes to play bridge. do you like music? i'll turn some on." she was talkative, all right. soon simon heard the lilting strains of a strauss waltz. jane-marie pirouetted happily about the dining room table in three-quarter time and sat down, motioning simon to sit near her and not on the other side. as he adjusted his napkin she leaned her head on his shoulder and said, "i like your eyes, darling." he smiled. "they're close-set." "they are not. they're very intelligent-looking. i'll bet you're an engineer or something. i'll bet you're going to help design that new construction project in brooklyn. gee, i like your eyes." she gazed up at them demurely. the robot server wheeled in the first course along with a frosted bottle of champagne leaning gracefully in a silver chilling urn. simon popped the cork expertly, filled both glasses and raised his. "to us," he said. "to us, darling. forever and ever three weeks. i hope you like chopped liver salad," jane-marie added nervously. "i had no way of knowing, but from now on you'll get whatever you like, i promise." "it's delicious," simon said, beginning to eat. other courses followed. there was jellied consommé, roast, stuffed chicken and sweet potato pudding, a salad which simon tossed with an enthusiasm and expertness that jane-marie said was a joy to behold, dessert of brandied bing cherries, coffee and pie. and a constant stream of chatter from jane-marie. "well," said simon, patting the bulge at his waistline and sliding his belt-clasp an inch or two looser with the comfortable informality only a married man can display (and in his own home, thought simon). "i must say that was good." "i'm so glad you liked it. do you want to sit around the fire and talk, dear?" she flavored the term of endearment once more. "dear." the robot server had begun to remove the dishes from the table. simon stood up and was followed by jane-marie into the sunken living room, where he began to pile wood and kindling on the andirons in the raised-hearth fireplace. as she bent to watch him, the _décolleté_ hostess gown revealed a breathless amount of lovely white skin. "maybe we'll retire after that," simon said, trying not to sound the way he felt, which was more than mildly lecherous. jane-marie smiled a secret, small-girl smile and pulled him down on the cushion in front of the hearth, on which a bright fire was now crackling. "it's so good to have you home, darling, all to myself. will your work keep you away much? i hope not." "to tell you the truth, i'm on vacation." "that _is_ nice," jane-marie murmured dreamily. "and flattering, too, because you selected me to share your vacation." "could it be anyone but you?" simon said. "as if it could be anyone but you." which was perfectly, beautifully, delightfully true--for three weeks. "you married rather young, i see." jane-marie stroked his temples with long fingers. "oh, now, don't be so sure," she smiled. "maybe i'm older than i look." "no. you're about twenty. i guess you like marriage." "i love it. it's too early to tell, but--well, it agrees with me." "i'm glad." "glad of what, darling?" "that you married early. come here." she came and sat in his lap. he blew in her ears and at the short hairs on the nape of her neck until she laughed. "i love you," she said. "i love you so." he loved her too. it was right. she was the girl he had selected. but a sense of urgency swept over him, not only for the love they would consummate as the night grew longer, but for what he hoped to learn from her so he could have the name as well as the game--as well as that feeling of adventure which sharpened his senses so acutely. he said, "do you ever think of the times before multiple marriage became the accepted social institution? do you ever think of how those people must have felt?" "i knew you were an intellectual!" jane-marie cried instead of answering his question. "i just knew it. i could see it in your eyes, darling. oh, i do love you." he kissed her tenderly, then with fire. he could feel the passion mounting between them, but tore himself from its grasp. "don't you ever think of it?" he asked again. "well, i read a book about it once, murray's _the decline of monogamy_. they must have felt simply awful, darling. i mean, i love you, but to have to spend all that time, season after season, year after year, with the same person would--would drive you crazy. you'd get to know him so well, everything he did, the way he thought and all. oh, with you it's different. i could spend forever with you three weeks, but--" "no, honey. i mean the others. the outcasts. those who carried on adulterous relationships." jane-marie frowned in thought. he could tell the conversation interested her but thought she would have preferred to drop it. still, the conversation was flowing more smoothly than he had dared hope, and in the right direction. "i don't know," jane-marie finally admitted. "i suppose they were pioneers, sort of. i mean, flaunting social custom the way they did because they were willing to fight for a better way of life." "i agree with you," simon said. "sometimes convention restricts you and doesn't allow you to live the fullest life. you should then flaunt convention by all means, don't you think?" "i do. i do." he sighed gratefully. the seed had been planted. he now had to cultivate it for three weeks. a word here, a gesture there, a suggestion, twenty-one days of marital bliss, of gaining her confidence, of impressing her with everything he did. "well," he said, "shall we go upstairs?" he watched the color rise from jane-marie's throat and soon suffuse her face. "i was thinking mr. and mrs. busby might want to play some bridge--" "there are other nights," he said. he scattered the embers of the burning logs with the poker and went into the dining room after the bottle of champagne. with jane-marie at his side he climbed the stairs. * * * * * the shower had stopped. he could hear jane-marie humming to herself in a nervous falsetto. he didn't know whether to get under the covers or not, and finally decided jane-marie would be more at ease if he did. he had already combed his hair and brushed his teeth. at last, she came. she was lovely, his wife, in a daring black negligee. she stood there in it for a long, wonderful moment, then plunged the room into darkness. you could be a newlywed over and over again, simon thought happily. you could taste the joys of brand new parenthood not once but a hundred times. you could see the kids off to school on that memorable first day as often as you liked, see your grandchildren that first glorious time through the glass window also as often as you wished, or taste many times of an old, established relationship which was yet mysteriously new, despite the gray hairs and conditioned familiarity. it was a full life, but something was lacking. did it make him a misfit? probably, but he had his own life to lead, his own fulfillment to achieve, his own strange kinship with the early rebels who had blasted monogamy from the pages of social history. "you'll think this is silly," jane-marie whispered in the darkness. "what's that, dear? what will i think is silly?" "what i'm going to ask you." "no i won't. honest." "well--" "go on, if it will make you happy." he could sense her presence near him. "well, it isn't that i don't trust you, but there's so much of it going on lately that i thought--" "what did you think?" "the--the parting ritual. you know what it's for, darling. a safeguard." simon plunged from zenith to nadir in seconds. he would never spend those three weeks with jane-marie. he would be running again, running until he could board the tubeways in anonymity from the basement of a marriage building in some other city. but it had never happened so quickly before. "can't it wait for three weeks?" he asked, knowing the request was futile. "then it's hardly a safeguard for me, just for--for the next one. it's just lately that all those misfits have started.... i guess some people will never be satisfied." her hand touched his hand in darkness. there were finger movements. she began to chant meaningless syllables. this was it, simon knew in despair. he could not respond. it was a simple thing, but people were sworn to absolute secrecy. it was changed every few months and he had never been able to learn it. a sob escaped jane-marie's lips. "simon," she gasped. "simon, you aren't ... you're not doing...." "no," he said wearily. he sat up quickly in the darkness, and dressed. he could hear her reaching for the phone. he stood up and went to her, but she turned away. "don't you touch me. go away, leave me alone. of all the despicable ... and i thought ... i almost.... hello, police? this is mrs. jane-marie paige on maple lane. i want to report...." "goodbye," he whispered softly. "i hate you!" he left quickly, double-timing down maple lane between the rows of spherical houses. he didn't belong. he was an outlaw, a criminal, a maladjusted misfit--or worse. some people are never satisfied. the police failed to understand. to them his type was lazy, shiftless. they were drones, parasites who could reap all the advantages of multiple life without working a day. they had no one to support. but that isn't it at all, thought simon as he ran. he could hear the approaching wail of police sirens. he must hurry. perhaps in boston he would get the one stroke of luck he needed, if the police didn't catch him first. it wasn't that he was lazy and lacked the sense of responsibility which would make him support a family. everything was too patterned, too set-out-for-you, too prosaic. in his own way he courted danger and was hated for it. he sought the spice of an illicit relationship which he supposed some people always needed. he could picture pretty jane-marie crying out the whole story to the police. "that man--he was a _bachelor_!" the chronicles of count antonio by anthony hope author of the prisoner of zenda, etc. with photogravure frontispiece by s. w. van schaick new york d. appleton and company copyright, , by anthony hope. copyright, , by d. appleton and company. _to the honourable sir henry hawkins._ _my dear sir henry_: _it gives me very great pleasure to be allowed to dedicate this book to you. i hope you will accept it as a token of thanks for much kindness, of your former marshal's pleasant memory of his service, and of sincere respect for a clear-sighted, firm, and compassionate judge._ _your affectionate cousin,_ _a. h. h._ _london, august, ._ [illustration: _behold! she is free._ (chapter v.)] contents. chapter page i.--how count antonio took to the hills ii.--count antonio and the traitor prince iii.--count antonio and the prince of mantivoglia iv.--count antonio and the wizard's drug v.--count antonio and the sacred bones vi.--count antonio and the hermit of the vault vii.--count antonio and the lady of rilano viii.--the manner of count antonio's return the chronicles of count antonio. chapter i. how count antonio took to the hills. countless are the stories told of the sayings that count antonio spoke and of the deeds that he did when he dwelt an outlaw in the hills. for tales and legends gather round his name thick as the berries hang on a bush, and with the passage of every succeeding year it grows harder to discern where truth lies and where the love of wonder, working together with the sway of a great man's memory, has wrought the embroidery of its fancy on the plain robe of fact. yet, amid all that is of uncertain knowledge and so must rest, this much at least should be known and remembered for the honour of a noble family, how it fell out that count antonio, a man of high lineage, forsook the service of his prince, disdained the obligation of his rank, set law at naught, and did what seemed indeed in his own eyes to be good but was held by many to be nothing other than the work of a rebel and a brigand. yet, although it is by these names that men often speak of him, they love his memory; and i also, ambrose the franciscan, having gathered diligently all that i could come by in the archives of the city or from the lips of aged folk, have learned to love it in some sort. thus i am minded to write, before the time that i must carry what i know with me to the grave, the full and whole truth concerning antonio's flight from the city and the court, seeking in my heart, as i write, excuse for him, and finding in the record, if little else, yet a tale that lovers must read in pride and sorrow, and, if this be not too high a hope, that princes may study for profit and for warning. now it was in the tenth year of the reign of duke valentine over the city of firmola, its territories and dependent towns, that count antonio of monte velluto--having with him a youthful cousin of his, whom he loved greatly, and whom, by reason of his small stature and of a boyish gaiety he had, men called tommasino--came from his own house on the hill that fronts the great gate of the city, to the palace of the duke, with intent to ask his highness's sanction for his marriage with the lady lucia. this lady, being then seventeen years of age, loved antonio, and he her, and troth had been privily plighted between them for many months; and such was the strength and power of the love they bore the one to the other, that even to this day the old mock at young lovers who show themselves overfond, crying, "'tis lucia and antonio!" but since the lady lucia was an orphan, antonio came now to the duke, who enjoyed ward-ship over her, and setting out his passion and how that his estate was sufficient and his family such as the duke knew, prayed leave of his highness to wed her. but the duke, a crafty and subtle prince, knowing antonio's temper and the favour in which he was held by the people, counted not to augment his state and revenues by the gift of a bride so richly dowered, but chose rather to give her to a favourite of his, a man in whose devotion he could surely trust and whose disposition was to serve his master in all things fair and foul, open or secret. such an one the duke found in the lord robert de beauregard, a gentleman of provence, who had quitted his own country, having been drawn into some tumult there, and, having taken service with the duke, had risen to a great place in his esteem and confidence. therefore, when antonio preferred his request, the duke, with many a courteous regretful phrase, made him aware that the lady stood promised to robert by the irrevocable sanctity of his princely pledge. "so forget, i pray you, my good cousin antonio," said he, "forget, as young men lightly can, this desire of yours, and it shall be my charge to find you a bride full as fair as the lady lucia." but antonio's face went red from brow to chin, as he answered: "my gracious lord, i love the lady, and she me, and neither can wed another. as for my lord robert, your highness knows well that she loves him not." "a girl's love!" smiled the duke. "a girl's love! it rains and shines, and shines and rains, antonio." "it has shone on me since she knew a man when she looked on him," said antonio. and tommasino, who stood by, recking as little of the duke as of the duke's deerhound which he was patting the while, broke in, saying carelessly, "and this robert, my lord, is not the man for a pretty girl to love. he is a sour fellow." "i thank you for your counsel, my lord tommasino," smiled the duke. "yet i love him." whereat tommasino lifted his brows and patted the hound again. "it is enough," added the duke. "i have promised, antonio. it is enough." "yes, it is enough," said antonio; and he and tommasino, having bowed low, withdrew from the presence of the duke. but when he got clear outside of the duke's cabinet, antonio laid his hand on tommasino's shoulder, saying, "it is not well that robert have her." "it is mighty ill," said tommasino. and then they walked in silence to the city gate, and, in silence still, climbed the rugged hill where antonio's house stood. but the duke sent for robert de beauregard into his cabinet and said to him: "if you be wise, friend robert, little grass shall grow under your feet this side your marriage. this antonio says not much; but i have known him outrun his tongue with deeds." "if the lady were as eager as i, the matter would not halt," said robert with a laugh. "but she weeps and spits fire at me, and cries for antonio." "she will be cured after the wedding," said the duke. "but see that she be well guarded, robert; let a company of your men watch her. i have known the bride to be missing on a marriage day ere now." "if he can touch her, he may wed her," cried robert. "the pikemen are close about her house, and she can neither go in nor come forth without their knowledge." "it is well," said the duke. "yet delay not. they are stubborn men, these counts of monte velluto." now had the lady lucia been of a spirit as haughty as her lover's, it may be that she would have refused to wed robert de beauregard. but she was afraid. when antonio was with her, she had clung to him, and he loved her the more for her timidity. with him gone and forbidden to come near her, she dared not resist the duke's will nor brave his displeasure; so that a week before the day which the duke had appointed for the wedding, she sent to antonio, bidding him abandon a hope that was vain and set himself to forget a most unhappy lady. "robert shall not have her," said antonio, putting the letter in his belt. "then the time is short," said tommasino. they were walking together on the terrace before antonio's house, whence they looked on the city across the river. antonio cast his eye on the river and on the wall of the duke's garden that ran along it; fair trees, shrubs, and flowers lined the top of the wall, and the water gleamed in the sunshine. "it is strange," said antonio, musing, "that one maiden can darken for a man all the world that god lights with his sun. yet since so it is, tommasino, a man can be but a man; and being a man, he is a poor man, if he stand by while another takes his love." "and that other a stranger, and, as i swear, a cut-throat," added tommasino. when they had dined and evening began to come on, antonio made his servants saddle the best horses in his stable--though, indeed, the choice was small, for antonio was not rich as a man of his rank counts riches--and the two rode down the hill towards the city. but, as they went, antonio turned once and again in his saddle and gazed long at the old gray house, the round tower, and the narrow gate. "why look behind, and not forward?" asked tommasino. "because there is a foreboding in me," answered antonio, "that it will be long before that gate again i pass through. were there a hope of persuading you, tommasino, i would bid you turn back, and leave me to go alone on this errand." "keep your breath against when you have to run," laughed tommasino, pricking his horse and tossing his hair, dark as antonio's was fair, back from his neck. across the bridge they rode and through the gates, and having traversed the great square, came to the door of lucia's house, where it rose fronting the duke's palace. here antonio dismounted, giving his bridle into tommasino's hand, and bade the servants carry his name to the lady lucia. a stir arose among them and much whispering, till an old man, head of the servingmen, came forward, saying: "pardon, my lord, but we are commanded not to admit you to the lady lucia;" and he waved his hand towards the inner part of the porch, where antonio saw a dozen or more pikemen of the duke's guard drawn across the passage to the house; and their pikes flashed in the rays of the setting sun as they levelled them in front of their rank. some of the townsmen and apprentice lads, stout fellows, each with a staff, had gathered now around antonio, whom they loved for his feats of strength and his liberal gifts to the poor, and, understanding what was afoot, one came to him, saying: "there are some, my lord, who would enter with you if you are set on entering," and the fellow's eyes sparkled; for there was a great enmity in the town against the pikemen, and a lusty youth with a stick in his hand is never loth to find a use for it. for a moment count antonio hesitated; for they flocked closer to him, and tommasino threw him a glance of appeal and touched the hilt of his sword. but he would not that the blood of men who were themselves loved by mothers, wives, and maids, should be shed in his quarrel, and he raised his hand, bidding them be still. "i have no quarrel with the pikeman," said he, "and we must not fight against his highness's servants." the faces of the townsmen grew long in disappointment. tommasino alone laughed low, recognising in antonio's gentleness the lull that heralds a storm. the count was never more dangerous than when he praised submission. "but," continued antonio, "i would fain see the lady lucia." and with this he stepped inside the porch, signing to tommasino to stay where he was; but the lad would not, and, leaping down, ran to his kinsman and stood shoulder to shoulder with him. thus they stood facing the line of pikemen, when suddenly the opposing rank opened and robert de beauregard himself came through. starting slightly on sight of antonio, he yet bowed courteously, baring his head, and antonio, with tommasino, did the like. "what is your desire, my lord?" asked robert. "i have naught to ask of you," answered antonio, and he took a step forward. robert's hand flew to his sword, and in a moment they would have fought. but now another figure came forward with uplifted hand. it was the duke himself, and he looked on antonio with his dark smile, and antonio flushed red. "you seek me, antonio?" asked the duke. "i seek not your highness, but my plighted wife," said antonio. duke valentine smiled still. coming to antonio, he passed his arm through his, and said in most friendly fashion: "come with me to my house, and we will talk of this;" and antonio, caught fast in the choice between obedience and open revolt, went frowning across the square, the duke's arm through his, robert on the duke's other side, and, behind, tommasino with the horses. but as they went, a sudden cry came from the house they left, and a girl's face showed for an instant, tear-stained and pallid, at an open window. a shiver ran through antonio; but the duke pressing his arm, he went still in silence. at the door of the palace, a lackey took the horses from tommasino, and the four passed through the great hall and through the duke's cabinet beyond and into the garden; there the duke sat down under the wall of the garden, near by the fish-pond, and turning suddenly on antonio, spoke to him fiercely; "men have died at my hands for less," said he. "then for each of such shall you answer to god," retorted antonio, not less hotly. "you scout my commands in the face of all the city," said the duke in low stern tones. "now, by heaven, if you seek to see the girl again, i will hang you from the tower of the gate. so be warned--now--once: there shall be no second warning." he ceased, and sat with angry eyes on antonio; and robert, who stood by his master, glared as fierce. but antonio was silent for a while, and rested his arm on tommasino's shoulder. "my fathers have served and fought for your fathers," said he at last. "what has this gentleman done for the duchy?" then robert spoke suddenly and scornfully: "this he is ready to do, to punish an insolent knave that braves his highness's will." antonio seemed not to hear him, for he did not move but stood with eyes bent on the duke's face, looking whether his appeal should reach its mark. but tommasino heard; yet never a word spoke tommasino either, but he drew off the heavy riding-glove from his left hand, and it hung dangling in the fingers of his right, and he looked at the glove and at robert and at the glove again. "i would his highness were not here," said tommasino to robert with a smile. "hold your peace, boy," said robert, "or the duke will have you whipped." youth loves not to be taunted with its blessed state. "i have no more to say," cried tommasino; and without more, caring naught now for the presence of the duke, he flung his heavy glove full in robert's face, and, starting back a pace, drew his sword. then antonio knew that the die was cast, for tommasino would gain no mercy, having insulted the duke's favourite and drawn his sword in the duke's palace; and he also drew out his sword, and the pair stood facing the duke and robert de beauregard. it was but for an instant that they stood thus; then robert, who did not lack courage to resent a blow, unsheathed and rushed at the boy. antonio left his cousin to defend himself, and, bowing low to the duke, set his sword at the duke's breast, before the duke could so much as rise from his seat. "i would not touch your highness," said he, "but these gentlemen must not be interrupted." "you take me at a disadvantage," cried the duke. "if you will swear not to summon your guard, i will sheath my sword, my lord; or, if you will honour me by crossing yours on mine, you shall draw yours." the place where they sat was hidden from the palace windows, yet the duke trusted that the sound of the clashing steel would bring aid; therefore, not desiring to fight with antonio (for duke valentine loved to scheme rather than to strike), he sat still, answering nothing. and now tommasino and robert were engaged, robert attacking furiously and tommasino parrying him as coolly as though they fenced for pastime in the school. it was tommasino's fault to think of naught but the moment and he did not remember that every second might bring the guard upon them. and antonio would not call it to his mind, but he said to the duke: "the boy will kill him, sir. he is a finer swordsman than i, and marvellously active." then the duke, having been pondering on his course, and knowing antonio--sitting there with the count's sword against his breast--did by calculation what many a man braver in fight had not dared to do. there was in truth a courage in it, for all that it was born of shrewdness. for, thus with the sword on his heart, fixing a calm glance on antonio, he cried as loudly as he could, "help, help, treason!" antonio drew back his arm for the stroke; and the duke sat still; then, swift as thought, antonio laughed, bowed to duke valentine and, turning, rushed between the fighters, striking up their swords. in amazement they stood for a moment: antonio drove his sword into its sheath, and, while robert was yet astounded, he rushed on him, caught him by the waist, and, putting forth his strength, flung him clear and far into the fish-pond. then seizing tommasino by the arm he started with him at a run for the great hall. the duke rose, crying loudly, "treason, treason!" but antonio cried "treason, treason," yet louder than the duke; and presently tommasino, who had frowned at his pastime being interrupted, fell a-laughing, and between the laughs cried "treason, treason!" with antonio. and at the entrance of the hall they met a dozen pikemen running; and antonio, pointing over his shoulder, called in tones of horror, "treason, treason!" and tommasino cried, "the duke! help the duke!" so that they passed untouched through the pikemen, who hesitated an instant in bewilderment but then swept on; for they heard the duke's own voice crying still "treason, treason!" and through the hall and out to the portico passed the cousins, echoing their cries of "treason!" and every man they met went whither they pointed; and when they leapt on their horses, the very lackey that had held them dropped the bridles with hasty speed and ran into the palace, crying "treason!" then antonio, tommasino ever following, and both yet crying "treason!" dashed across the square; and on the way they met the pikemen who guarded the lady lucia, and the townsmen who were mocking and snarling at the pikemen; and to pikemen and townsmen alike they cried (though tommasino hardly could speak now for laughter and lack of breath), "treason, treason!" and all to whom they cried flocked to the palace, crying in their turn, "treason, treason!" so that people ran out of every house in the neighbourhood and hurried to the palace, crying "treason!" and every one asking his neighbour what the treason was. and thus, by the time in which a man might count a hundred, a crowd was pushing and pressing and striving round the gate of the palace, and the cousins were alone on the other side of the great square. "now thanks be to god for that idea!" gasped tommasino. but antonio gave not thanks till his meal was ended. raising his voice as he halted his horse before the lady lucia's house, he called loudly, no longer "treason!" but "lucia!" and she, knowing his voice, looked out again from the window; but some hand plucked her away as soon as she had but looked. then antonio leapt from his horse with an oath and ran to the door, and finding it unguarded, he rushed in, leaving tommasino seated on one horse and holding the other, with one eye on lucia's house and the other on the palace, praying that, by the favour of heaven, antonio might come out again before the crowd round the duke's gates discovered why it was, to a man, crying "treason!" but in the palace of the duke there was great confusion. for the pikemen, finding robert de beauregard scrambling out of the fish-pond with a drawn sword in his hand, and his highness crying "treason!" with the best of them, must have it that the traitor was none other than robert himself, and in their dutiful zeal they came nigh to making an end of him then and there, before the duke could gain silence enough to render his account of the affair audible. and when the first pikemen were informed, there came others; and these others, finding the first thronging round the duke and robert, cried out on them for the traitors, and were on the point of engaging them; and when they also had been with difficulty convinced, and the two parties, with his highness and robert, turned to the pursuit of the cousins, they found the whole of the great hall utterly blocked by a concourse of the townsmen, delighted beyond measure at the chance of an affray with the hated pikemen, who, they conceived, must beyond doubt be the wicked traitors that had risen in arms against the duke's life and throne. narrowly indeed was a great battle in the hall averted by the duke himself, who leapt upon a high seat and spoke long and earnestly to the people, persuading them that not the pikemen, but antonio and tommasino, were the traitors; which the townsmen found hard to believe, in part because they wished not to believe ill of antonio, and more inasmuch as every man there knew--and the women and children also--that antonio and tommasino, and none else of all the city had raised the alarm. but some hearkened at last; and with these and a solid wedge of the pikemen, the duke and robert, with much ado, thrust their way through the crowd and won access to the door of the palace. in what time a thousand men may be convinced, you may hope to turn one woman's mind, and at the instant that the duke gained the square with his friends and his guards, count antonio had prevailed on the lady lucia to brave his highness's wrath. it is true that he had met with some resistance from the steward, who was in robert's pay, and had tarried to buffet the fellow into obedience; and with more from an old governess, who, since she could not be buffeted, had perforce to be locked in a cupboard; yet the better part of the time had to be spent in imploring lucia herself. at last, with many fears and some tears, she had yielded, and it was with glad eyes that tommasino saw the count come forth from the door carrying lucia on his arm; and others saw him also; for a great shout came from the duke's party across the square, and the pikemen set out at a run with robert himself at their head. yet so soon as they were started, antonio also, bearing lucia in his arms, had reached where tommasino was with the horses, and an instant later he was mounted and cried, "to the gate!" and he struck in his spurs, and his horse bounded forward, tommasino following. no more than a hundred yards lay between them and the gate of the city, and before the pikemen could bar their path they had reached the gate. the gate-wardens were in the act of shutting it, having perceived the tumult; but tommasino struck at them with the flat of his sword, and they gave way before the rushing horses; and before the great gate was shut, antonio and he were on their way through, and the hoofs of their horses clattered over the bridge. thus antonio was clear of the city with his lady in his arms and tommasino his cousin safe by his side. yet they were not safe; for neither duke valentine nor robert de beauregard was a man who sat down under defeat. but few moments had passed before there issued from the gate a company of ten mounted and armed men, and robert, riding in their front, saw, hard on a mile away, the cousins heading across the plain towards the spot where the spurs of mount agnino run down; for there was the way of safety. but it was yet ten miles away. and robert and his company galloped furiously in pursuit, while duke valentine watched from the wall of the garden above the river. now count antonio was a big man and heavy, so that his horse was weighed down by the twofold burden on its back; and looking behind him, he perceived that robert's company drew nearer and yet nearer. and tommasino, looking also, said, "i doubt they are too many for us, for you have the lady in your arms. we shall not get clear of the hills." then antonio drew in his horse a little and, letting the bridle fall, took the lady lucia in both his arms and kissed her, and having thus done, lifted her and set her on tommasino's horse. "thank god," said he, "that you are no heavier than a feather." "yet two feathers may be too much," said tommasino. "ride on," said antonio. "i will check them for a time, so that you shall come safe to the outset of the hill." tommasino obeyed him; and antonio, riding more softly now, placed himself between tommasino and the pursuers. tommasino rode on with the swooning lady in his arms; but his face was grave and troubled, for, as he said, two feathers may be overmuch, and robert's company rode well and swiftly. "if antonio can stop them, it is well," said he; "but if not, i shall not reach the hills;" and he looked with no great love on the unhappy lady, for it seemed like enough that antonio would be slain for her sake, and tommasino prized him above a thousand damsels. yet he rode on, obedient. but antonio's scheme had not passed undetected by robert de beauregard; and robert, being a man of guile and cunning, swore aloud an oath that, though he died himself, yet tommasino should not carry off lucia. therefore he charged his men one and all to ride after tommasino and bring back lucia, leaving him alone to contend with antonio; and they were not loth to obey, for it was little to their taste or wish to surround antonio and kill him. thus, when the company came within fifty yards of antonio, the ranks suddenly parted; five diverged to the right, and four to the left, passing antonio in sweeping curves, so far off that he could not reach them, while robert alone rode straight at him. antonio, perceiving the stratagem, would fain have ridden again after tommasino; but robert was hard upon him, and he was in peril of being thrust through the back as he fled. so he turned and faced his enemy. but although robert had sworn so boldly before his men, his mind was not what he had declared to them, and he desired to meet antonio alone, not that he might fight a fair fight with him, but in order treacherously to deceive him--a thing he was ashamed to do before his comrades. coming up then to antonio, he reined in his horse, crying, "my lord, i bring peace from his highness." antonio wondered to hear him; yet, when robert, his sword lying untouched in its sheath, sprang from his horse and approached him, he dismounted also; and robert said to him: "i have charged them to injure neither the lady lucia nor your cousin by so much as a hair; for the duke bids me say that he will not constrain the lady." "is she then given to me?" cried antonio, his face lighting up with a marvellous eagerness. "nay, not so fast," answered robert with subtle cunning. "the duke will not give her to you now. but he will exact from you and from me alike an oath not to molest, no, not to see her, for three months, and then she shall choose as she will between us." while he spoke this fair speech, he had been drawing nearer to antonio; and antonio, not yet convinced of his honesty, drew back a pace. then robert let go hold of his horse, unbuckled his sword, flung it on the ground, and came to antonio with outstretched hands. "behold!" said he; "i am in your mercy, my lord. if you do not believe me, slay me." antonio looked at him with searching wistful eyes; he hated to war against the duke, and his heart was aflame with the hope that dwelt for him in robert's words; for he did not doubt but that neither three months, nor three years, nor three hundred years, could change his lady's love. "you speak fair, sir," said he; "but what warrant have i?" "and, save your honour, what warrant have i, who stand here unarmed before you?" asked robert. for a while antonio pondered; then he said, "my lord, i must crave your pardon for my doubt; but the matter is so great that to your word i dare not trust; but if you will ride back with your men and pray the duke to send me a promise under his own hand, to that i will trust. and meanwhile tommasino, with the lady lucia, shall abide in a safe place, and i will stay here, awaiting your return; and, if you will, let two of your men stay with me." "many a man, my lord," returned robert, "would take your caution in bad part. but let it be so. come, we will ride after my company." and he rose and caught antonio's horse by the bridle and brought it to him; "mount, my lord," said he, standing by. antonio, believing either that the man was true or that his treachery--if treachery there were in him--was foiled, and seeing him to all seeming unarmed, save for a little dagger in his belt which would hardly suffice to kill a man and was more a thing of ornament than use, set his foot in the stirrup and prepared to mount. and in so doing he turned his back on robert de beauregard. the moment for which that wicked man had schemed and lied was come. still holding antonio's stirrup with one hand, he drew, swift as lightning, from under his cloak, a dagger different far from the toy in his belt--short, strong, broad, and keen. and that moment had been antonio's last, had it not chanced that, on the instant robert drew the dagger, the horse started a pace aside, and antonio, taken unawares, stumbled forward and came near falling on the ground. his salvation lay in that stumble, for robert, having put all his strength into the blow, and then striking not antonio but empty air, in his turn staggered forward, and could not recover himself before antonio turned round, a smile at his own unwariness on his lips. then he saw the broad keen knife in the hand of robert. robert breathed quickly, and glared at him, but did not rush on him. he stood glaring, the knife in his hands, his parted lips displaying grinning teeth. not a word spoke antonio, but he drew his sword, and pointed where robert's sword lay on the grass. the traitor, recognising the grace that allowed him to take his sword, shamed, it may be, by such return for his own treachery, in silence lifted and drew it; and, withdrawing to a distance from the horses, which quietly cropped the grass, the two faced one another. calm and easy were the bearing and the air of count antonio, if the pictures of him that live drawn in the words of those who knew him be truthful; calm and easy ever was he, save when he fought; but then it seemed as though there came upon him a sort of fury akin to madness, or (as the ancients would have fabled) to some inspiration from the god of war, which transformed him utterly, imbuing him with a rage and rushing impetuosity. here lay his danger when matched with such a swordsman as was little tommasino; but for all that, few cared to meet him, some saying that, though they called themselves as brave as others, yet they seemed half appalled when count antonio set upon them; for he fought as though he must surely win and as though god were with him. thus now he darted upon robert de beauregard, in seeming recklessness of receiving thrusts himself, yet ever escaping them by his sudden resource and dexterity and ever himself attacking, leaving no space to take breath, and bewildering the other's practised skill by the dash and brilliance of his assault. and it may be also that the darkness, which was now falling fast, hindered robert the more, for antonio was famed for the keenness of his eyes by night. be these things as they may, in the very moment when robert pricked antonio in the left arm and cried out in triumph on his stroke, antonio leapt on him and drove his sword through his heart; and robert, with the sword yet in him, fell to the ground, groaning. and when antonio drew forth the sword, the man at his feet died. thus, if it be god's will, may all traitors perish. antonio looked round the plain; but it grew darker still, and even his sight did not avail for more than some threescore yards. yet he saw a dark mass on his right, distant, as he judged, that space or more. rapidly it moved: surely it was a group of men galloping, and antonio stood motionless regarding them. but they swept on, not turning whither he stood; and he, unable to tell what they did, whether they sought him or whither they went, watched them till they faded away in the darkness; and then, leaving robert where he lay, he mounted his horse and made speed towards the hills, praying that there he should find his cousin and the lady lucia, escaped from the pursuit of the duke's men. yet had he known what those dimly discerned riders bore with them, he would have been greatly moved at all costs and at every hazard to follow after them and seek to overtake them before they came to the city. on he rode towards the hills, quickly, yet not so hastily but that he scanned the ground as he went so well as the night allowed him. the moon was risen now and to see was easier. when he had covered a distance of some two miles, he perceived something lying across his path. bending to look, he found it to be the corpse of a horse: he leapt down and bent over it. it was the horse tommasino had ridden; it was hamstrung, and its throat had been cut. antonio, seeing it, in sudden apprehension of calamity, cried aloud; and to his wonder his cry was answered by a voice which came from a clump of bushes fifty yards on the right. he ran hastily to the spot, thinking nothing of his own safety nor of anything else than what had befallen his friends; and under the shelter of the bushes two men of the duke's guard, their horses tethered near them, squatted on the ground, and, between, tommasino lay full length on the ground. his face was white, his eyes closed, and a bloody bandage was about his head. one of the two by him had forced his lips open and was giving him to drink from a bottle. the other sprang up on sight of antonio and laid a hand to his sword-hilt. "peace, peace!" said antonio. "is the lad dead?" "he is not dead, my lord, but he is sore hurt." "and what do you here with him? and how did you take him?" "we came up with him here, and surrounded him; and while some of us held him in front, one cut the hamstrings of his horse from behind; and the horse fell, and with the horse the lady and the young lord. he was up in an instant; but as he rose, the lieutenant struck him on the head and dealt him the wound you see. then he could fight no more; and the lieutenant took the lady, and with the rest rode back towards the city, leaving us charged with the duty of bringing the young lord in so soon as he was in a state to come with us." "they took the lady?" "even so, my lord." "and why did they not seek for me?" the fellow--martolo was his name--smiled grimly; and his comrade, looking up, answered: "maybe they did not wish to find you, my lord. they had been eight to one, and could not have failed to take you in the end." "aye, in the end," said martolo, laughing now. "nor," added he, "had the lieutenant such great love for robert de beauregard that he would rejoice to deliver you to death for his sake, seeing that you are a monte velluto and he a rascally----" "peace! he is dead," said count antonio. "you have killed him?" they cried with one voice. "he attacked me in treachery, and i have killed him," answered antonio. for a while there was silence. then antonio asked, "the lady--did she go willingly?" "she was frightened and dazed by her fall, my lord; she knew not what she did nor what they did to her. and the lieutenant took her in front of him, and, holding her with all gentleness, so rode towards the city." "god keep her," said antonio. "amen, poor lady!" said martolo, doffing his cap. then antonio whistled to his horse, which came to his side; with a gesture he bade the men stand aside, and they obeyed him; and he gathered tommasino in his arms. "hold my stirrup, that i may mount," said he; and still they obeyed. but when they saw him mounted, with tommasino seated in front of him, martolo cried, "but, my lord, we are charged to take him back and deliver him to the duke." "and if you do?" asked antonio. martolo made a movement as of one tying a noose. "and if you do not?" asked antonio. "then we had best not show ourselves alive to the duke." antonio looked down on them. "to whom bear you allegiance?" said he. "to his highness the duke," they answered, uncovering as they spoke. "and to whom besides?" asked antonio. "to none besides," they answered, wondering. "aye, but you do," said he. "to one who wills not that you should deliver to death a lad who has done but what his honour bade him." "god's counsel god knows," said martolo. "we are dead men if we return alone to the city. you had best slay us yourself, my lord, if we may not carry the young lord with us." "you are honest lads, are you not?" he asked. "by your faces, you are men of the city." "so are we, my lord; but we serve the duke in his guard for reward." "i love the men of the city as they love me," said antonio. "and a few pence a day should not buy a man's soul as well as his body." the two men looked at one another in perplexity. the fear and deference in which they held antonio forbade them to fall on him; yet they dared not let him take tommasino. then, as they stood doubting, he spoke low and softly to them: "when he that should give law and uphold right deals wrong, and makes white black and black white, it is for gentlemen and honest men to be a law unto themselves. mount your horses, then, and follow me. and so long as i am safe, you shall be safe; and so long as i live, you shall live; and while i eat and drink, you shall have to drink and eat; and you shall be my servants. and when the time of god's will--whereof god forbid that i should doubt--is come, i will go back to her i love, and you shall go back to them that love you; and men shall say that you have proved yourselves true men and good." thus it was that two men of the duke's guard--martolo and he whom they called bena (for of his true name there is no record)--went together with count antonio and his cousin tommasino to a secret fastness in the hills; and there in the course of many days tommasino was healed of the wound which the lieutenant of the guard had given him, and rode his horse again, and held next place to antonio himself in the band that gathered round them. for there came to them every man that was wrongfully oppressed; and some came for love of adventure and because they hoped to strike good blows; and some came whom antonio would not receive, inasmuch as they were greater rogues than were those whose wrath they fled from. such is the tale of how count antonio was outlawed from the duke's peace and took to the hills. faithfully have i set it down, and whoso will may blame the count, and whoso will may praise him. for myself, i thank heaven that i am well rid of this same troublesome passion of love that likens one man to a lion and another to a fox. but the lady lucia, being brought back to the city by the lieutenant of the guard, was lodged in her own house, and the charge of her was commended by the duke into the hands of a discreet lady; and for a while his highness, for very shame, forbore to trouble her with suitors. for he said, in his bitter humour, as he looked down on the dead body of robert de beauregard: "i have lost two good servants and four strong arms through her; and mayhap, if i find her another suitor, she will rob me of yet another stalwart gentleman." so she abode, in peace indeed, but in sore desolation and sorrow, longing for the day when count antonio should come back to seek her. and again was she closely guarded by the duke. chapter ii. count antonio and the traitor prince. of all the deeds that count antonio of monte velluto did during the time that he was an outlaw in the hills (for a price had been set on his head by duke valentine), there was none that made greater stir or struck more home to the hearts of men, howsoever they chose to look upon it, than that which he performed on the high hill that faces the wicket gate on the west side of the city and is called now the hill of duke paul. indeed it was the act of a man whose own conscience was his sole guide, and who made the law which his own hand was to carry out. that it had been a crime in most men, who can doubt? that it was a crime in him, all governments must hold; and the same, i take it, must be the teaching of the church. yet not all men held it a crime, although they had not ventured it themselves, both from the greatness of the person whom the deed concerned, and also for the burden that it put on the conscience of him that did it. here, then, is the story of it, as it is still told both in the houses of the noble and in peasants' cottages. while count antonio still dwelt at the court, and had not yet fled from the wrath aroused in the duke by the count's attempt to carry off the lady lucia, the duke's ward, the nuptials of his highness had been celebrated with great magnificence and universal rejoicing; and the feasting and exultation had been most happily renewed on the birth of an infant prince, a year later. yet heavy was the price paid for this gift of heaven, for her highness the duchess, a lady of rare grace and kindliness, survived the birth of her son only three months, and then died, amidst the passionate mourning of the people, leaving the duke a prey to bitter sorrow. many say that she had turned his heart to good had she but lived, and that it was the loss of her that soured him and twisted his nature. if it be so, i pray that he has received pardon for all his sins; for his grief was great, and hardly to be assuaged even by the love he had for the little prince, from whom he would never be parted for an hour, if he could contrive to have the boy with him, and in whom he saw, with pride, the heir of his throne. both in the joy of the wedding and the grief at the duchess's death, none had made more ostentatious sign of sharing than his highness's brother, duke paul. yet hollow alike were his joy and his grief, save that he found true cause for sorrow in that the duchess left to her husband a dear memorial of their brief union. paul rivalled the duke in his caresses and his affected love for the boy, but he had lived long in the hope that his highness would not marry, and that he himself should succeed him in his place, and this hope he could not put out of his heart. nay, as time passed and the baby grew to a healthy boy, paul's thoughts took a still deeper hue of guilt. it was no longer enough for him to hope for his nephew's death, or even to meditate how he should bring it about. one wicked imagining led on, as it is wont in our sinful nature, to another, and satan whispered in paul's ear that the duke himself was short of forty by a year, that to wait for power till youth were gone was not a bold man's part, and that to contrive the child's death, leaving his father alive, was but to double the risk without halving the guilt. thus was paul induced to dwell on the death of both father and son, and to say to himself that if the father went first the son would easily follow, and that with one cunning and courageous stroke the path to the throne might be cleared. while paul pondered on these designs, there came about the events which drove count antonio from the court; and no sooner was he gone and declared in open disobedience and contumacy against the duke, than paul, seeking a handle for his plans, seemed to find one in antonio. here was a man driven from his house (which the duke had burnt), despoiled of his revenues, bereft of his love, proclaimed a free mark for whosoever would serve the duke by slaying him. where could be a better man for the purposes of a malcontent prince? and the more was paul inclined to use antonio from the fact that he had shown favour to antonio, and been wont to seek his society; so that antonio, failing to pierce the dark depths of his heart, was loyally devoted to him, and had returned an answer full of gratitude and friendship to the secret messages in which paul had sent him condolence on the mishap that had befallen him. now in the beginning of the second year of count antonio's outlawry, his highness was most mightily incensed against him, not merely because he had so won the affection of the country-folk that none would betray his hiding-place either for threats or for reward, but most chiefly by reason of a certain act which was in truth more of tommasino's doing than of antonio's. for tommasino, meeting one of the duke's farmers of taxes, had lightened him of his fat bag of money, saying that he would himself assume the honour of delivering what was fairly due to his highness, and had upon that scattered three-fourths of the spoil among the poor, and sent the beggarly remnant privily by night to the gate of the city, with a writing, "there is honour among thieves; who, then, may call princes thieves?" and this writing had been read by many, and the report of it, spreading through the city, had made men laugh. therefore the duke had sworn that by no means should antonio gain pardon save by delivering that insolent young robber to the hands of justice. thus he was highly pleased when his brother sought him in the garden (for he sat in his wonted place under the wall by the fish-pond) and bade him listen to a plan whereby the outlaws should be brought to punishment. the duke took his little son upon his knees and prayed his brother to tell his device. "you could not bring me a sweeter gift than the head of tommasino," said he, stroking the child's curls; and the child shrank closer into his arms, for the child did not love paul but feared him. "antonio knows that i love your highness," said paul, seating himself on the seat by the duke, "but he knows also that i am his friend, and a friend to the lady lucia, and a man of tender heart. would it seem to him deep treachery if i should go privately to him and tell him how that on a certain day you would go forth with your guard to camp in the spurs of mount agnino, leaving the city desolate, and that on the night of that day i could contrive that lucia should come secretly to the gate, and that it should be opened for her, so that by a sudden descent she might be seized and carried safe to his hiding-place before aid could come from your highness?" "but what should the truth be?" asked valentine. "the truth should be that while part of the guard went to the spurs of the mount, the rest should lie in ambush close inside the city gates and dash out on antonio and his company." "it is well, if he will believe." then paul laid his finger on his brother's arm. "as the clock in the tower of the cathedral strikes three on the morning of the th of the month, do you, dear brother, be in your summer-house at the corner of the garden yonder; and i will come thither and tell you if he has believed and if he has come. for by then i shall have learnt from him his mind: and we two will straightway go rouse the guards and lead the men to their appointed station, and when he approaches the gate we can lay hands on him." "how can you come to him? for we do not know where he is hid." "alas, there is not a rogue of a peasant that cannot take a letter to him!" "yet when i question them, aye, though i beat them, they know nothing!" cried valentine in chagrin. "truly, the sooner we lay him by the heels, the better for our security." "shall it be, then, as i say, my lord?" "so let it be," said the duke. "i will await you in the summer-house." paul, perceiving that his brother had no suspicions of him, and would await him in the summer-house, held his task to be already half done. for his plan was that he and antonio should come together to the summer-house, but that antonio should lie hid till paul had spoken to the duke; then paul should go out on pretext of bidding the guard make ready the ambush, and leave the duke alone with antonio. antonio then, suddenly springing forth, should slay the duke; while paul--and when he thought on this, he smiled to himself--would so contrive that a body of men should bar antonio's escape, and straightway kill him. thus should he be quit both of his brother and of antonio, and no man would live who knew how the deed was contrived. "and then," said he, "i doubt whether the poor child, bereft of all parental care, will long escape the manifold perils of infancy." thus he schemed; and when he had made all sure, and noised about the duke's intentions touching his going to the spurs of mount agnino, he himself set forth alone on his horse to seek antonio. he rode till he reached the entrance of the pass leading to the recesses of the hills. there he dismounted, and sat down on the ground; and this was at noon on the th day of the month. he had not long been sitting, when a face peered from behind a wall of moss-covered rock that fronted him, and paul cried, "is it a friend?" "a friend of whom mean you, my lord?" came from the rock. "of whom else than of count antonio?" cried paul. a silence followed and a delay; then two men stole cautiously from behind the rock, and in one of them paul knew the man they called bena, who had been of the duke's guard. the men, knowing paul, bowed low to him, and asked him his pleasure, and he commanded them to bring him to antonio. they wondered, knowing not whether he came from the duke or despite the duke; but he was urgent in his commands, and at length they tied a scarf over his eyes, and set him on his horse, and led the horse. thus they went for an hour. then they prayed him to dismount, saying that the horse could go no farther; and though paul's eyes saw nothing, he heard the whinnying and smelt the smell of horses. "here are your stables then," said he, and dismounted with a laugh. then bena took him by the hand, and the other guided his feet, and climbing up steep paths, over boulders and through little water-courses, they went, till at length bena cried, "we are at home, my lord;" and paul, tearing off his bandage, found himself on a small level spot, ringed round with stunted wind-beaten firs; and three huts stood in the middle of the space, and before one of the huts sat tommasino, composing a sonnet to a pretty peasant girl whom he had chanced to meet that day; for tommasino had ever a hospitable heart. but seeing paul, tommasino left his sonnet, and with a cry of wonder sprang to meet him; and paul took him by both hands and saluted him. that night and the morning that followed, paul abode with antonio, eating the good cheer and drinking the good wine that tommasino, who had charged himself with the care of such matters, put before him. whence they came from, paul asked not; nor did tommasino say more than that they were offerings to count antonio--but whether offerings of free-will or necessity, he said not. and during this time paul spoke much with antonio privily and apart, persuading him of his friendship, and telling most pitiful things of the harshness shown by valentine his brother to the lady lucia, and how the lady grew pale, and peaked and pined, so that the physicians knit their brows over her and the women said no drugs would patch a broken heart. thus he inflamed antonio's mind with a great rage against the duke, so that he fell to counting the men he had and wondering whether there were force to go openly against the city. but in sorrow paul answered that the pikemen were too many. "but there is a way, and a better," said paul, leaning his head near to antonio's ear. "a way whereby you may come to your own again, and rebuild your house that the duke has burnt, and enjoy the love of lucia, and hold foremost place in the duchy." "what way is that?" asked antonio in wondering eagerness. "indeed i am willing to serve his highness in any honourable service, if by that i may win his pardon and come to that i long for." "his pardon! when did he pardon?" sneered paul. to know honest men and leave them to their honesty is the last great gift of villainy. but paul had it not; and now he unfolded to antonio the plan that he had made, saving (as needs not to be said) that part of it whereby antonio himself was to meet his death. for a pretext he alleged that the duke oppressed the city, and that he, paul, was put out of favour because he had sought to protect the people, and was fallen into great suspicion. yet, judging antonio's heart by his own, he dwelt again and longer on the charms of lucia, and on the great things he would give antonio when he ruled the duchy for his nephew; for of the last crime he meditated, the death of the child, he said naught then, professing to love the child. when the tale began, a sudden start ran through antonio, and his face flushed; but he sat still and listened with unmoved face, his eyes gravely regarding paul the while. no anger did he show, nor wonder, nor scorn, nor now any eagerness; but he gazed at the prince with calm musing glance, as though he considered of some great question put before him. and when paul ended his tale, antonio sat yet silent and musing. but paul was trembling now, and he stretched out his hand and laid it on antonio's knee, and asked, with a feigned laugh that choked in the utterance, "well, friend antonio, is it a clever plan, and will you ride with me?" minute followed minute before antonio answered. at length the frown vanished from his brow, and his face grew calm and set, and he answered duke paul, saying, "it is such a plan as you, my lord, alone of all men in the duchy could make; and i will ride with you." then paul, in triumph, caught him by the hands and pressed his hands, calling him a man of fine spirit and a true friend, who should not lack reward. and all this antonio suffered silently; and in silence still he listened while paul told him how that a path led privately from the bank of the river, through a secret gate in the wall, to the summer-house where the duke was to be; of this gate he alone, saving the duke had the key; they had but to swim the river and enter by this gate. having hidden antonio, paul would talk with the duke; then he would go and carry off what remained of the guard over and above those that were gone to the hills; and antonio, having done his deed, could return by the same secret path, cross the river again, and rejoin his friends. and in a short space of time paul would recall him with honour to the city and give him lucia to wife. "and if there be a question as to the hand that dealt the blow, there is a rascal whom the duke flogged but a few days since, a steward in the palace. he deserves hanging, antonio, for a thousand things of which he is guilty, and it will trouble me little to hang him for one whereof he chances to be innocent." and duke paul laughed heartily. "i will ride with you," said antonio again. then, it being full mid-day, they sat down to dinner, paul bandying many merry sayings with tommasino, antonio being calm but not uncheerful. and when the meal was done, paul drank to the good fortune of their expedition; and antonio having drained his glass, said, "may god approve the issue," and straightway bade tommasino and martolo prepare to ride with him. then, paul being again blindfolded, they climbed down the mountain paths till they came where the horses were, and thus, as the sun began to decline, set forward, at a fair pace, duke paul and antonio leading by some few yards; while tommasino and martolo, having drunk well, and sniffing sport in front of them, sang, jested, and played pranks on one another as they passed along. but when night fell they became silent; even tommasino turned grave and checked his horse, and the space between them and the pair who led grew greater, so that it seemed to duke paul that he and antonio rode alone through the night, under the shadows of the great hills. once and again he spoke to antonio, first of the scheme, then on some light matter; but antonio did no more than move his head in assent. and antonio's face was very white, and his lips were close shut. it was midnight when duke paul and antonio reached the plain: the moon, till now hidden by the mountains, shone on them, and, seeing antonio's face more plainly, paul cried, half in jest, half in uneasiness, "come, man, look not so glum about it! 'tis but the life of a rogue." "indeed it is no more," said antonio, and he turned his eyes on duke paul. paul laughed, but with poor merriment. whence it came he knew not, but a strange sudden sense of peril and of doom had fallen on him. the massive quiet figure of antonio, riding ever close to him, silent, stern, and watchful, oppressed his spirit. suddenly antonio halted and called to martolo to bring him a lantern: one hung from martolo's saddle, and he brought it, and went back. then antonio lit the lantern and gave an ivory tablet to paul and said to him, "write me your promise." "you distrust me, then?" cried paul in a great show of indignation. "i will not go till you have written the promise." now paul was somewhat loth to write the promise, fearing that it should be found on antonio's body before he could contrive to remove it; but without it antonio declared he would not go. so paul wrote, bethinking himself that he held safe in his house at home permission from the duke to seek antonio and beguile him to the city, and that with the witness of this commission he could come off safe, even though the tablet were found on antonio. taking the peril then, rather than fail, he wrote, setting out the promises he made to antonio in case (thus he phrased it) of the death of his brother. and he delivered the tablet to antonio; and antonio, restoring the lantern to martolo, stowed the tablet about him, and they set forth again. as the clock in the tower of the cathedral, distantly booming in their ears, sounded the hour of two, they came to where the road parted. in one direction it ran level across the plain to the river and the city, and by this way they must go, if they would come to the secret gate and thence to the duke's summer-house. but the second road left the plain, and mounted the hill that faces the wicket-gate, which is now called the hill of duke paul. and at the parting of the road, antonio reined in his horse and sat silent for a great while. again paul, scanning his face, was troubled, so that martolo, who had drawn near, saw him wipe a drop from his brow. and paul said, "for what wait we, antonio? time presses, for it has gone two o'clock." then antonio drew him apart, and fixing his eyes on him, said, "what of the child? what mean you by the child? how does it profit you that the father die, if the child live?" paul, deeming that antonio doubted him and saw a snare, and holding it better to seem the greatest of villains than to stir suspicion in a man who held him in his hands, smiled cunningly, and answered, "the child will grow sickly and pine when his father is not alive to care for him." "it is enough," said antonio; and again a flush mounted on his face, and died down again, and left him pale. for some think he would have turned from his purpose, had paul meant honestly by the child. i know not. at least, the foul murder plotted against the child made him utterly relentless. "let us go on and end the matter," urged paul, full of eagerness, and, again, of that strange uneasiness born of antonio's air. "ay, we will go on and finish it," said antonio, and with that he leapt down from his horse. paul did the like, for it had been agreed that the others, with the horses, were to await antonio's return, while the count and paul went forward on foot: and tommasino and martolo, dismounting also, tied the horses to trees and stood waiting antonio's orders. "forward!" cried paul. "come, then," said antonio, and he turned to the road that mounted the hill. "it is by the other road we go," said paul. "it is by this road," said antonio, and he raised his hand and made a certain sign, whereat the swords of his friends leapt from their scabbards, and they barred the way, so that duke paul could turn nowhere save to the road that mounted the hill. then paul's face grew long, drawn, and sallow with sudden fear. "what means this?" he cried. "what means this, antonio?" "it means, my lord, that you must mount the hill with me," answered antonio, "even to the top of it, whence a man can see the city." "but for what?" "that this matter may be finished," said antonio; and, coming to paul, he laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him to the path up the hill. but paul, seeing his face and the swords of tommasino and martolo that barred all escape, seized his hand, saying, "before god, i mean you true, antonio! as christ died for us, i mean you true, antonio!" "of that i know not, and care not; yet do not swear it now by christ's name if it be not true. how meant you, my lord, by your brother and your brother's son?" paul licked his lips, for they had gone dry, and he breathed as a man pants who has run far and fast. "you are three to one," he hissed. "we shall be but man to man on the top of the hill," said antonio. then suddenly tommasino spoke unbidden. "there is a priest in the village a mile away," said he, and there was pity in his voice. "peace, tommasino! what priest has he provided for his brother?" and tommasino said no more, but he turned his eyes away from the face of duke paul: yet when he was an old man, one being in his company heard him say he dreamed yet of it. as for martolo, he bent his head and crossed himself. then paul threw himself on his knees before antonio and prayed him to let him go; but antonio seemed not to hear him, and stood silent with folded arms. yet presently he said, "take your sword then, my lord. if i fall, these shall not touch you. this much i give, though it is more than i have right to give." but paul would not take his sword, but knelt, still beseeching antonio with tears, and mingling prayers and curses in a flow of agonised words. at last antonio plucked him from the ground and sternly bade him mount the hill; and finding no help, he set out, his knees shaking beneath him, while antonio followed close upon him. and thus tommasino and martolo watched them go till the winding of the path hid them from view, when martolo fell on his knees, and tommasino drew a breath as though a load had rested on his chest. it was but a short way to the summit, but the path was steep, and the two went slowly, so that, as they came forth on the top, the first gleam of dawn caught them in its pale light. the city lay grey and drab below them, and the lonely tree, that stands to this day upon the hill, swayed in the wind with mournful murmurings. paul stumbled and sank in a heap on the ground. and antonio said to him, "if you will, pray," and went and leant against the bare trunk of the tree, a little way apart. but paul, thinking on man's mercy, not on god's, crawled on his knees across the space between and laid hold of antonio's legs. and he said nothing, but gazed up at antonio. and at the silent appeal antonio shivered for an instant, but he did not fly the gaze of paul's eyes, but looked down on him and answered, "you must die. yet there is your sword, and there a free road to the city." then paul let go antonio's legs and rose, and drew his sword. but his hand was trembling, and he could scarce stand. then antonio gave to him a flask that he carried, holding strong waters; and the wretch, drinking greedily, found some courage, and came suddenly at antonio before antonio looked for his attack. but the count eluded him, and drawing his blade awaited the attack; and paul seized again the flask that he had flung on the ground, and drained it, and mad now with the fumes rushed at antonio, shrieking curses and blasphemies. the sun rose on the moment that their blades crossed; and before its rays had shone a minute, antonio had driven his sword through the howling wretch's lung, and duke paul lay dying on the grassy hill. then count antonio stripped off his doublet and made a pillow of it for paul's head, and sat down by him, and wiped his brow, and disposed his body with such ease as seemed possible. yet he took no pains to stanch the blood or to minister to the wound, for his intent was that paul should die and not live. and paul lay some moments on his back, then twisted on his side; once he flung his legs wide and gathered them again under his body, and shivered, turning on his back again: and his jaw fell, and he died there on the top of the hill. and the count closed his eyes, and sat by him in silence for many minutes; and once he buried his face in his hands, and a single sob shook him. but now it was growing to day, and he rose, and took from the duke's waist the broad silken band that he wore, wrought with golden embroidery on a ground of royal blue. then he took paul in his arms and set him upright against the trunk of the tree, and, encircling tree and body with the rich scarf, he bound the corpse there; and he took the ivory tablet from his belt and tied the riband that hung through a hole in it to the riband of the order of st. prisian, that was round paul's neck, and he wrote on the tablet, "witness my hand--antonio of monte velluto." and he wiped the blade of his sword long and carefully on the grass till it shone pure, clean, and bright again. then he gazed awhile at the city, that grew now warm and rich in the increasing light of the sun, and turned on his heel and went down the hill by the way that he had come. at the foot, tommasino and martolo awaited him; and when he came down alone, martolo again signed the cross; but tommasino glanced one question, and, finding answer in antonio's nod, struck his open palm on the quarters of duke paul's horse and set it free to go where it would; and the horse, being free, started at a canter along the road to the city. and antonio mounted and set his face again towards the hills. for awhile he rode alone in front; but when an hour was gone, he called to tommasino, and, on the lad joining him, talked with him, not gaily indeed (that could not be), yet with calmness and cheerfulness on the matters that concerned the band. but paul's name did not cross his lips; and the manner in which he had dealt with paul on the hill rested unknown till a later time, when count antonio formally declared it, and wrote with his own hand how duke paul had died. thus, then, count antonio rode back to the hills, having executed on the body of paul that which seemed to him right and just. long had duke valentine waited for his brother in the summer-house and greatly wondered that he came not. and as the morning grew and yet paul came not, the duke feared that in some manner antonio had detected the snare, and that he held paul a prisoner; for it did not enter the duke's mind that antonio would dare to kill his brother. and when it was five o'clock, the duke, heavy-eyed for want of sleep, left the summer-house, and having traversed the garden, entered his cabinet and flung himself on a couch there; and notwithstanding his uneasiness for his brother, being now very drowsy, he fell asleep. but before he had slept long, he was roused by two of his pages, who ran in crying that duke paul's horse had come riderless to the gate of the city. and the duke sprang up, smiting his thigh, and crying, "if harm has come to him, i will not rest till i have antonio's head." so he mustered a party of his guards, some on horseback and some on foot, and passed with all speed out of the city, seeking his brother, and vowing vengeance on the insolence of count antonio. but the duke was not first out of the city; for he found a stream of townsmen flocking across the bridge; and at the end of the bridge was a gathering of men, huddled close round a peasant who stood in the centre. the pikemen made a way for his highness; and when the peasant saw him, he ran to him, and resting his hand on the neck of the duke's horse, as though he could scarce stand alone, he cried, pointing with his hand to the hill that rose to the west, "the duke paul, the duke paul!" and no more could he say. "give him a horse, one of you, and let another lead it," cried the duke. "and forward, gentlemen, whither he points!" thus they set forth, and as they went, the concourse grew, some overtaking them from the city, some who were going on their business or for pleasure into the city turning and following after the duke and his company. so that a multitude went after valentine and the peasant, and they rode together at the head. and the duke said thrice to the peasant, "what of my brother?" but the peasant, who was an old man, did but point again to the hill. at the foot of the hill, all that had horses left them in charge of the boys who were of the party, for the duke, presaging some fearful thing, would suffer none but grown men to mount with him; and thus they went forward afoot till they reached the grassy summit of the hill. and then the peasant sprang in front, crying, "there, there!" and all of them beheld the body of duke paul, bound to the tree by the embroidered scarf, his head fallen on his breast, and the ivory tablet hanging from the riband of the order of st. prisian. and a great silence fell on them all, and they stood gazing at the dead prince. but presently duke valentine went forward alone; and he knelt on one knee and bowed his head, and kissed his brother's right hand. and a shout of indignation and wrath went up from all the crowd, and they cried, "whose deed is this?" the duke minded them not, but rose to his feet and laid his hand on the ivory tablet; and he perceived that it was written by duke paul; and he read what paul had written to antonio; how that he, the duke, being dead, antonio should come to his own again, and wed lucia, and hold foremost place in the duchy. and, this read, the duke read also the subscription of count antonio--"witness my hand--antonio of monte velluto." then he was very amazed, for he had trusted his brother. yet he did not refuse the testimony of the ivory tablet nor suspect any guile or deceit in antonio. and he stood dry-eyed, looking on the dead face of duke paul. then, turning round, he cried in a loud voice, so that every man on the hill heard him, "behold the body of a traitor!" and men looked on him, and from him to the faces of one another, asking what he meant. but he spoke no other word, and went straightway down the hill, and mounted his horse again, and rode back to the city; and, having come to his palace, he sent for his little son, and went with him into the cabinet behind the great hall, where the two stayed alone together for many hours. and when the child came forth, he asked none concerning his uncle the duke paul. now all the company had followed down from the hill after the duke, and no man dared to touch the body unbidden. two days passed, and a great storm came, so that the rain beat on paul's face and the lightning blackened it. but on the third day, when the storm had ceased, the duke bade the lieutenant of the guard to go by night and bring the body of paul: and the lieutenant and his men flung a cloak over the face, and, having thus done, brought the body into the city at the break of day: yet the great square was full of folk watching in awe and silence. and they took the body to the cathedral, and buried it under the wall on the north side in the shade of a cypress tree, laying a plain flat stone over it. and duke valentine gave great sums for masses to be said for the repose of his brother's soul. yet there are few men who will go by night to the hill of duke paul; and even now when i write, there is a man in the city who has lost his senses and is an idiot: he, they say, went to the hill on the night of the th of the month wherein paul died, and came back mumbling things terrible to hear. but whether he went because he lacked his senses, or lost his senses by reason of the thing he saw when he went, i know not. thus died duke paul the traitor. yet, though the duke his brother knew that what was done upon him was nothing else than he had deserved and should have suffered had he been brought alive to justice, he was very wroth with count antonio, holding it insolence that any man should lay hands on one of his blood, and, of his own will, execute sentence upon a criminal of a degree so exalted. therefore he sent word to antonio, that if he caught him, he would hang him on the hill from the branches of the tree to which antonio had bound paul, and would leave his body there for three times three days. and, this message coming to antonio, he sent one privily by night to the gate of the city, who laid outside the gate a letter for the duke; and in the letter was written, "god chooses the hand. all is well." and count antonio abode still an outlaw in the mountains, and the lady lucia mourned in the city. chapter iii. count antonio and the prince of mantivoglia. i know of naught by which a man may better be judged than by his bearing in matters of love. what know i of love, say you--i, whose head is grey, and shaven to boot? true, it is grey, and it is shaven. but once it was brown, and the tonsure came not there till i had lived thirty years and borne arms for twelve. then came death to one i loved, and the tonsure to me. therefore, o ye proud young men and laughing girls, old ambrose knows of love, though his knowledge be only like the memory that a man has of a glorious red-gold sunset which his eyes saw a year ago: cold are the tints, gone the richness, sober and faint the picture. yet it is something; he sees no more, but he has seen; and sometimes still i seem to see a face that last i saw smiling in death. they tell me such thoughts are not fitting in me, but i doubt their doing a man much harm; for they make him take joy when others reap the happiness that he, forestalled by fate's sickle, could not garner. but enough! it is of count antonio i would write, and not of my poor self. and the story may be worth the reading--or would be, had i more skill to pen it. now in the summer of the second year of count antonio's banishment, when the fierce anger of duke valentine was yet hot for the presumption shown by the count in the matter of duke paul's death, a messenger came privily to where the band lay hidden in the hills, bringing greeting to antonio from the prince of mantivoglia, between whom and the duke there was great enmity. for in days gone by firmola had paid tribute to mantivoglia, and this burden had been broken off only some thirty years; and the prince, learning that antonio was at variance with duke valentine, perceived an opportunity, and sent to antonio, praying him very courteously to visit mantivoglia and be his guest. antonio, who knew the prince well, sent him thanks, and, having made dispositions for the safety of his company and set tommasino in charge of it, himself rode with the man they called bena, and, having crossed the frontier, came on the second day to mantivoglia. here he was received with great state, and all in the city were eager to see him, having heard how he had dealt with duke paul and how he now renounced the authority of valentine. and the prince lodged him in his palace, and prepared a banquet for him, and set him on the right hand of the princess, who was a very fair lady, learned, and of excellent wit; indeed, i have by me certain stories which she composed, and would read on summer evenings in the garden; and it may be that, if i live, i will make known certain of them. others there are that only the discreet should read; for what to one age is but mirth turns in the mind of the next to unseemliness and ribaldry. this princess, then, was very gracious to the count, and spared no effort to give him pleasure; and she asked him very many things concerning the lady lucia, saying at last, "is she fairer than i, my lord?" but antonio answered, with a laugh, "the moon is not fairer than the sun, nor the sun than the moon: yet they are different." and the princess laughed also, saying merrily, "well parried, my lord!" and she rose and went with the prince and antonio into the garden. then the prince opened to antonio what was in his mind, saying, "take what command you will in my service, and come with me against firmola; and when we have brought valentine to his knees, i will take what was my father's, and should be mine: and you shall wring from him your pardon and the hand of your lady." and the princess also entreated him. but antonio answered, "i cannot do it. if your highness rides to firmola, it is likely enough that i also may ride thither; but i shall ride to put my sword at the service of the duke. for, although he is not my friend, yet his enemies are mine." and from this they could not turn him. then the prince praised him, saying, "i love you more for denying me, antonio; and when i send word of my coming to valentine, i will tell him also of what you have done. and if we meet by the walls of firmola, we will fight like men; and, after that, you shall come again to mantivoglia;" and he drank wine with antonio, and so bade him god-speed. and the princess, when her husband was gone, looked at the count and said, "valentine will not give her to you. why will not you take her?" but antonio answered: "the price is too high." "i would not have a man who thought any price too high," cried the princess. "then your highness would mate with a rogue?" asked count antonio, smiling. "if he were one for my sake only," said she, fixing her eyes on his face and sighing lightly, as ladies sigh when they would tell something, and yet not too much nor in words that can be repeated. but antonio kissed her hand, and took leave of her; and with another sigh she watched him go. but when the middle of the next month came, the prince of mantivoglia gathered an army of three thousand men, of whom seventeen hundred were mounted, and crossed the frontier, directing his march towards firmola by way of the base of mount agnino and the road to the village of rilano. the duke, hearing of his approach, mustered his guards to the number of eight hundred and fifty men, and armed besides hard upon two thousand of the townsmen and apprentices, taking an oath of them that they would serve him loyally; for he feared and distrusted them; and of the whole force, eleven hundred had horses. but count antonio lay still in the mountains, and did not offer to come to the duke's aid. "will you not pray his leave to come and fight for him?" asked tommasino. "he will love to beat the prince without my aid, if he can," said antonio. "heaven forbid that i should seem to snatch at glory, and make a chance for myself from his necessity." so he abode two days where he was; and then there came a shepherd, who said, "my lord, the duke has marched out of the city and lay last night at rilano, and is to-day stretched across the road that leads from the spurs of agnino to rilano, his right wing resting on the river. there he waits the approach of the prince; and they say that at daybreak to-morrow the prince will attack." then antonio rose, saying, "what of the night?" now the night was very dark, and the fog hung like a grey cloak over the plain. and antonio collected all his men to the number of threescore and five, all well-armed and well-horsed; and he bade them march very silently and with great caution, and led them down into the plain. and all the night they rode softly, husbanding their strength and sparing their horses; and an hour before the break of day they passed through the outskirts of rilano and halted a mile beyond the village, seeing the fires of the duke's bivouacs stretched across the road in front of them; and beyond there were other fires where the prince of mantivoglia lay encamped. and bena said, "the prince will be too strong for the duke, my lord." "if he be, we also shall fight to-morrow, bena," answered antonio. "i trust, then, that they prove at least well matched," said bena; for he loved to fight, and yet was ashamed to wish that the duke should be defeated. then count antonio took counsel with tommasino; and they led the band very secretly across the rear of the duke's camp till they came to the river. there was a mill on the river, and by the mill a great covered barn where the sacks of grain stood; and antonio, having roused the miller, told him that he came to aid the duke, and not to fight against him, and posted his men in this great barn; so that they were behind the right wing of the duke's army, and were hidden from sight. day was dawning now: the campfires paled in the growing light, and the sounds of preparation were heard from the camp. and from the prince's quarters also came the noise of trumpets calling the men to arms. at four in the morning the battle was joined, antonio standing with tommasino and watching from the mill. now duke valentine had placed his own guards on either wing, and the townsmen in the centre; but the prince had posted the flower of his troops in the centre; and he rode there himself, surrounded by many lords and gentlemen; and with great valour and impetuosity he flung himself against the townsmen, recking little of how he fared on either wing. this careless haste did not pass unnoticed by the duke, who was a cool man and wore a good head; and he said to lorenzo, one of his lords who was with him, "if we win on right and left, it will not hurt us to lose in the middle;" and he would not strengthen the townsmen against the prince, but rather drew off more of them, and chiefly the stoutest and best equipped, whom he divided between the right wing where he himself commanded, and the left which lorenzo led. nay, men declare that he was not ill pleased to see the brunt of the strife and the heaviest loss fall on the apprentices and townsmen. for a while indeed these stood bravely; but the prince's chivalry came at them in fierce pride and gallant scorn, and bore them down with the weight of armour and horses, the prince himself leading on a white charger and with his own hand slaying glinka, who was head of the city-bands and a great champion among them. but duke valentine and lorenzo upheld the battle on the wings, and pressed back the enemy there; and the duke would not send aid to the townsmen in the centre, saying "i shall be ready for the prince as soon as the prince is ready for me, and i can spare some of those turbulent apprentices." and he smiled his crafty smile, adding, "from enemies also a wise man may suck good;" and he pressed forward on the right fighting more fiercely than was his custom. but when antonio beheld the townsmen hard pressed and being ridden down by the prince of mantivoglia's knights and saw that the duke would not aid them, he grew very hot and angry, and said to tommasino, "these men have loved my house, tommasino. it may be that i spoil his highness's plan, but are we to stand here while they perish?" "a fig for his highness's plan!" said tommasino; and bena gave a cry of joy and sprang, unbidden, on his horse. "since you are up, bena," said the count, "stay up, and let the others mount. the duke's plan, if i read it aright, is craftier than i love, and i do not choose to understand it." then, when the townsmen's line was giving way before the prince, and the apprentices, conceiving themselves to be shamefully deserted, were more of a mind to run away than to fight any more, suddenly antonio rode forth from the mill. he and his company came at full gallop; but he himself was ten yards ahead of bena and tommasino, for all that they raced after him. and he cried aloud, "to me, men of firmola, to me, antonio of monte velluto!" and they beheld him with utter astonishment and great joy. for his helmet was fallen from his head, and his fair hair gleamed in the sun, and the light of battle played on his face. and the band followed him, and, though they had for the most part no armour, yet such was the fury of their rush, and such the mettle and strength of their horses, that they made light of meeting the prince's knights in full tilt. and the townsmen cried, "it is the count! to death after the count!" and antonio raised the great sword that he carried, and rode at the marshal of the prince's palace, who was in the van of the fight, and he split helmet and head with a blow. then he came to where the prince himself was, and the great sword was raised again, and the prince rode to meet him, saying, "if i do not die now, i shall not die to-day." but when antonio saw the prince, he brought his sword to his side and bowed and turned aside, and engaged the most skilful of the mantivoglian knights. and he fought that day like a man mad; but he would not strike the prince of mantivoglia. and after a while the prince ceased to seek him; and a flatterer said to the prince, "he is bold against us, but he fears you, my lord." but the prince said, "peace, fool. go and fight." for he knew that not fear, but friendship, forbade antonio to assail him. yet by now the rout of the townsmen was stayed and they were holding their own again in good heart and courage, while both on the right and on the left the duke pressed on and held the advantage. then the prince of mantivoglia perceived that he was in a dangerous plight, for he was in peril of being worsted along his whole line; for his knights did no more than hold a doubtful balance against the townsmen and antonio's company, while the duke and lorenzo were victorious on either wing; and he knew that if the duke got in rear of him and lay between him and mount agnino, he would be sore put to it to find a means of retreat. therefore he left the centre and rode to the left of his line and himself faced duke valentine. yet slowly was he driven back, and he gave way sullenly, obstinately, and in good order, himself performing many gallant deeds, and seeking to come to a conflict with the duke. but the duke, seeing that the day was likely to be his, would not meet him and chose to expose his person to no more danger: "for," he said, "a soldier who is killed is a good soldier; but a chief who is killed save for some great object is a bad chief." and he bided his time and slowly pressed the prince back, seeking rather to win the battle than the praise of bravery. but when count antonio saw that all went well, and that the enemy were in retreat, he halted his band; and at this they murmured, bena daring to say, "my lord, we have had dinner, and may we not have supper also?" antonio smiled at bena, but would not listen. "no," said he. "his highness has won the victory by his skill and cunning. i did but move to save my friends. it is enough. shall i seek to rob him of his glory? for the ignorant folk, counting the arm more honourable than the head, will give me more glory than him if i continue in the fight." and thus, not being willing to force his aid on a man who hated to receive it, he drew off his band. awhile he waited; but when he saw that the prince was surely beaten, and that the duke held victory in his hand, he gave the word that they should return by the way they had come. "indeed," said tommasino, laughing, "it may be wisdom as well as good manners, cousin. for i would not trust myself to valentine if he be victorious, for all the service which we have done him in saving the apprentices he loves so well." so antonio's band turned and rode off from the field, and they passed through rilano. but they found the village desolate; for report had come from the field that the duke's line was broken, and that in a short space the prince of mantivoglia would advance in triumph, and having sacked rilano, would go against firmola, where there were but a few old men and boys left to guard the walls against him. and one peasant, whom they found hiding in the wood by the road, said there was panic in the city, and that many were escaping from it before the enemy should appear. "it is months since i saw firmola," said antonio with a smile. "let us ride there and reassure these timid folk. for my lord the duke has surely by now won the victory, and he will pursue the prince till he yields peace and abandons the tribute." now a great excitement rose in the band at these words; for although they had lost ten men in the battle and five more were disabled, yet they were fifty stout and ready; and it was not likely that there was any force in firmola that could oppose them. and martolo, who rode with tommasino, whispered to him, "my lord, my lord, shall we carry off the lady lucia before his highness can return?" tommasino glanced at antonio. "nay, i know not what my cousin purposes," said he. then antonio bade bena and martolo ride on ahead, taking the best horses, and tell the people at firmola that victory was with the duke, and that his highness's servant, antonio of monte velluto, was at hand to protect the city till his highness should return in triumph. and the two, going ahead while the rest of the band took their mid-day meal, met many ladies and certain rich merchants and old men escaping from the city, and turned them back, saying that all was well; and the ladies would fain have gone on and met antonio; but the merchants, hearing that he was there, made haste to get within the walls again, fearing that he would levy a toll on them for the poor, as his custom was. at this bena laughed mightily, and drew rein, saying, "these rabbits will run quicker back to their burrow than we could ride, martolo. let us rest awhile under a tree; i have a flask of wine in my saddle-bag." so they rested; and while they rested, they saw what amazed them; for a lady rode alone towards them on a palfrey, and though the merchants met her and spoke with her, yet she rode on. and when she came to the tree where bena and martolo were, they sprang up and bared their heads; for she was the lady lucia; and her face was full of fear and eagerness as she said, "no guard is kept to-day, even on helpless ladies. is it true that my lord is near?" "yes, he is near," said bena, kissing her hand. "see, there is the dust of his company on the road." "go, one of you, and say that i wait for him," she commanded; so martolo rode on to carry the news farther, and bena went to antonio and said, "heaven, my lord, sends fortune. the lady lucia has escaped from the city, and awaits you under yonder tree." and when tommasino heard this, he put out his hand suddenly and caught antonio's hand and pressed it, saying, "go alone, and bring her here: we will wait: the duke will not be here for many hours yet." then antonio rode alone to the tree where lucia was; and because he had not seen her for many months, he leapt down from his horse and came running to her, and, kneeling, kissed her hand; but she, who stood now by her palfrey's side, flung her arms about his neck and fell with tears and laughter into his arms, saying, "antonio, antonio! heaven is with us, antonio." "yes," said he. "for his highness has won the day." "have not we won the day also?" said she, reaching up and laying her hands on his shoulders. "heart of my heart," said he softly, as he looked in her eyes. "the cage is opened, and, antonio, the bird is free," she whispered, and her eyes danced and her cheek went red. "lift me to my saddle, antonio." the count obeyed her, and himself mounted; and she said, "we can reach the frontier in three hours, and there--there, antonio, none fears the duke's wrath." and antonio knew what she would say, save that she would not speak it bluntly--that there they could find a priest to marry them. and his face was pale as he smiled at her. then he laid his hand on her bridle and turned her palfrey's head towards firmola. her eyes darted a swift question at him, and she cried low, "thither, antonio?" then he answered her, bending still his look on her, "alas, i am no learned man, nor a doctor skilled in matters of casuistry and nice distinctions. i can but do what the blood that is in me tells me a gentleman should do. to-day, sweetheart--ah, will you not hide your face from me, sweetheart, that my words may not die in my mouth?--to-day our lord the duke fights against the enemies of our city, holding for us in hard battle the liberty that we have won, and bearing the banner of firmola high to heaven in victory." she listened with strained frightened face; and the horses moved at a walk towards firmola. and she laid her hand on his arm, saying again, "antonio!" "and i have fought with my lord to-day, and i would be at his side now, except that i do his pleasure better by leaving him to triumph alone. but my hand has been with him to-day, and my heart is with him to-day. tell me, sweetheart, if i rode forth to war and left you alone, would you do aught against me till i returned?" she did not answer him. "a prince's city," said he, "should be as his faithful wife; and when he goes to meet the enemy, none at home should raise a hand against him; above all may not one who has fought by his side. for to stand side by side in battle is a promise and a compact between man and man, even as though man swore to man on a holy relic." then she understood what he would say, and she looked away from him across the plain; and a tear rolled down her cheek as she said, "indeed, my lord, the error lies in my thoughts; for i fancied that your love was mine." antonio leant from his saddle and lightly touched her hair. "was that indeed your fancy?" said he. "and i prove it untrue?" "you carry me back to my prison," she said. "and you will ride away." "and so i love you not?" he asked. "no, you love me not," said she; and her voice caught in a sob. "see," said he; "we draw near to firmola, and the city gates are open; and, look, they raise a flag on the duke's palace; and there is joy for the victory that martolo has told them of. and in all the duchy there are but two black hearts that burn with treacherous thoughts against his highness, setting their own infinite joy above the honour and faith they owe him." "nay, but are there two?" she asked, turning her face from him. "in truth i would love to think there was but one," said he. "and that one beats in me, sweetheart, and so mightily, that i think it will burst the walls of my body, and i shall die." "yet we ride to firmola," said she. "yet, by christ's grace," said count antonio, "we ride to firmola." then the lady lucia suddenly dropped her bridle on the neck of her palfrey and caught antonio's right hand in her two hands and said to him, "when i pray to-night, i will pray for the cleansing of the black heart, antonio. and i will make a wreath and carry it to the duke and kiss his hand for his victory. and i will set lights in my window and flags on my house; and i will give my people a feast; and i will sing and laugh for the triumph of the city and for the freedom this day has won for us: and when i have done all this, what may i do then, antonio?" "i am so cruel," said he, "that then i would have you weep a little: yet spoil not the loveliest eyes in all the world; for if you dim them, it may be that they will not shine like stars across the plain and even into the hut where i live among the hills." "do they shine bright, antonio?" "as the gems on the gates of heaven," he answered; and he reined in his horse and gave her bridle into her hands. and then for many minutes neither spoke; and count antonio kissed her lips, and she his; and they promised with the eyes what they needed not to promise with the tongue. and the lady lucia went alone on her way to firmola. but the count sat still like a statue of marble on his horse, and watched her as she rode. and there he stayed till the gates of the city received her and the walls hid her from his sight; and the old men on the walls saw him and knew him, and asked, "does he come against us? but it was against the prince of mantivoglia that we swore to fight." and they watched him till he turned and rode at a foot's pace away from the city. and now as he rode his brow was smooth and calm and there was a smile on his lips. but when antonio had ridden two or three miles and came where he had left the band, he could see none of them. and a peasant came running to him in great fright and said, "my lord, your men are gone again to aid the duke; for the prince has done great deeds, and turned the fight, and it is again very doubtful: and my lord tommasino bade me say that he knew your mind, and was gone to fight for firmola." then antonio, wondering greatly at the news, set his horse to a gallop and passed through rilano at furious speed, and rode on towards agnino; and it was now afternoon. presently he saw the armies, but they seemed to lie idle, over against one another. and, riding on, he met bena, who was come to seek him. and bena said, "the prince and his knights have fought like devils, my lord, and the townsmen grew fearful again when you were gone; and we, coming back, have fought again. but now a truce has sounded, and the prince and the duke are meeting in conference between the armies. yet they say that no peace will be made; for the prince, taking heart from his sudden success, though he is willing to abandon the tribute, asks something in return which the duke will not grant. yet perhaps he has granted it by now, for his men are weary." "he should grant nothing," cried antonio, and galloped on again. but bena said to himself with an oath, "he has sent back the lady! the saints save us!" and followed antonio with a laugh on his face. but antonio, thinking nothing of his own safety, rode full into the ranks of the duke's guard, saying, "where does my lord talk with the prince?" and they showed him where the place was; for the prince and the duke sat alone under a tree between the two arrays. and the duke looked harsh and resolute, while the prince was very courteously entreating him. "indeed," said he, "so doubtful has the day been, my lord, that i might well refuse to abandon the tribute, and try again to-morrow the issue of the fight. but, since so many brave men have fallen on both sides, i am willing to abandon it, asking of you only such favour as would be conceded to a simple gentleman asking of his friend. and yet you will not grant it me, and thus bring peace between us and our peoples." duke valentine frowned and bit his lip; and the prince rose from where he had been seated, and lifted his hand to the sky, and said, "so be it, my lord; on your head lies the blame. for to-morrow i will attack again; and, as god lives, i will not rest till the neck of the city of firmola is under my foot, or my head rolls from my shoulders by your sword." then duke valentine paced up and down, pondering deeply. for he was a man that hated to yield aught, and beyond all else hated what the prince of mantivoglia asked of him. yet he feared greatly to refuse; for the townsmen had no stomach for another fight and had threatened to march home if he would not make peace with the prince. therefore he turned to the prince, and, frowning heavily, was about to say, "since it must be so, so let it be," when suddenly the count antonio rode up and leapt from his horse, crying, "yield nothing, my lord, yield nothing! for if you will tell me what to do, and suffer me to be your hand, we will drive the enemy over our borders with great loss." then the prince of mantivoglia fell to laughing, and he came to antonio and put his arm about his neck, saying, "peace, peace, thou foolish man!" antonio saluted him with all deference, but he answered, "i must give good counsel to my lord the duke." and he turned to the duke again, saying, "yield nothing to the prince, my lord." duke valentine's lips curved in his slow smile as he looked at antonio. "is that indeed your counsel? and will you swear, antonio, to give me your aid against the prince so long as the war lasts, if i follow it?" "truly, i swear it," cried antonio. "yet what need is there of an oath? am i not your highness's servant, bound to obey without an oath?" "nay, but you do not tell him----" began the prince angrily. duke valentine smiled again; he was ever desirous to make a show of fairness where he risked nothing by it; and he gazed a moment on antonio's face; then he answered to the prince of mantivoglia, "i know the man, my lord. i know him in his strength and in his folly. do not we know one another, antonio?" "indeed, i know not all your highness's mind," answered antonio. "well, i will tell him," said duke valentine. "this prince, antonio, has consented to a peace, and to abandon all claim to tribute from our city, on one condition; which is, that i, the duke, shall do at his demand what of my own free and sovereign will i would not do." "his demand is not fitting nor warranted by his power," said antonio; but in spite of his words the prince of mantivoglia passed his arm through his, and laughed ruefully, whispering, "peace, man, peace." "and thus i, the duke, having bowed my will to his, shall return to firmola, not beaten indeed, yet half-beaten and cowed by the power of mantivoglia." "it shall not be, my lord," cried count antonio. "yet, my lord duke, you do not tell him what the condition is," said the prince. "why, it is nothing else than that i should pardon you, and suffer you to wed the lady lucia," said duke valentine. then count antonio loosed himself from the arm of the prince and bent and kissed the prince's hand; but he said, "is this thing to come twice on a man in one day? for it is but an hour or less that i parted from the lady of whom you speak; and if her eyes could not move me, what else shall move me?" and he told them briefly of his meeting with the lady lucia. but duke valentine was wroth with the shame that a generous act rouses in a heart that knows no generosity; and the prince was yet more wroth, and he said to duke valentine, "were there any honour in you, my lord, you would not need my prayers to pardon him." at this the duke's face grew very dark; and he cried angrily, "get back to your own line, my lord, or the truce shall not save you." and he turned to antonio and said, "three hours do i give you to get hence, before i pursue." antonio bowed low to him and to the prince; and they three parted, the two princes in bitter wrath, and set again on fighting to the end, the one because he was ashamed and yet obstinate, the other for scorn of a rancour that found no place in himself. but count antonio went back to his company and drew it some little way off from both armies; and he said to tommasino, "the truce is ended, and they will fight again so soon as the men have had some rest;" and he told tommasino what had passed. then he sat silent again; but presently he laid hold of his cousin's arm, saying, "look you, tommasino, princes are sometimes fools; and hence come trouble and death to honest humble folk. it is a sore business that they fight again to-morrow, and not now for any great matter, but because they are bitter against one another on my account. cannot i stop them, tommasino?" "aye, if you have five thousand men and not thirty-five--for that is the sum of us now, counting martolo, who is back from firmola." antonio looked thoughtfully through the dusk of evening which now fell. "they will not fight to-night," he said. "i am weary of this blood-letting." and tommasino saw that there was something in his mind. now the night fell dark again and foggy, even as the night before; and none in either army dared to move, and even the sentries could see no more than a few yards before them. but antonio's men being accustomed to ride in the dark, and to find their way through mists both in plain and hill, could see more clearly; and antonio divided them into two parties, himself leading one, and giving the other into tommasino's charge. having very securely tethered their horses, they set forth, crawling on their bellies through the grass. antonio with his party made for the camp of the prince, while tommasino and his party directed their way towards the duke's bivouacs. and they saw the fires very dimly through the mist, and both parties passed the sentries unobserved, and made their way to the centre of the camps. then, on the stroke of midnight, a strange stir arose in both the camps. nothing could be seen by reason of the darkness and the mist; but suddenly cries arose, and men ran to and fro; and a cry went up from the duke's camp, "they are behind us! they are behind us! we are surrounded!" and in the prince's camp also was great fear; for from behind them, towards where the spurs of mount agnino began, there came shouts of "at them, at them! charge!" and the prince's officers, perceiving the cries to be from men of firmola (and this they knew by reason of certain differences in the phrasing of words), conceived that the duke had got behind them, and was lying across their way of retreat. then the duke, hearing the shouts in his own camp, ran out from his tent; and he was met by hundreds of the townsmen, who cried, "my lord, we are surrounded!" for antonio's men had gone to the townsmen and shewn them how they might escape more fighting; and the townsmen were nothing loth; and they insisted with the duke that a body of men on horseback had passed behind them. so the duke sent out scouts, who could see nothing of the horsemen. but then the townsmen cried, some being in the secret, others not, "then they have ridden past us, and are making for firmola. and they will do heaven knows what there. lead us after them, my lord!" and the duke was very angry; but he was also greatly afraid, for he perceived that there was a stir in the prince's camp also, and heard shouts from there, but could not distinguish what was said. and while he considered what to do, the townsmen formed their ranks and sent him word that they were for firmola; and when he threatened them with his guard, they rejoined that one death was as good as another; and the duke gnawed his nails and went pale with rage. but count antonio's men, seeing how well the plan had sped, crept again out from the camp, and returned to where they had tethered their horses, and mounted, each taking a spare horse. and before they had been there long, they heard trumpets sound in the duke's camp, and the camp was struck, and the duke and all his force began to retreat on rilano, throwing out many scouts, and moving very cautiously in the darkness and mist. yet when they came on nobody, they marched more quickly, even the duke himself now believing that the prince of mantivoglia had of a purpose allowed the stir in his camp to be seen and heard, in order that he might detach a column to firmola unobserved, and attack the city before the duke came up. therefore he now pressed on, saying, "i doubt not that the prince himself is with the troop that has gone to firmola." and all night long they marched across the plain, covering a space of eighteen miles; and just before the break of day they came to the city. thus did it fall out with the army of duke valentine. but the prince of mantivoglia had been no less bewildered; for when he sent out men to see what the cries behind the camp meant, he found no man; but he still heard scattered cries among the rising ground, where the hills began. and he in his turn saw a stir in the camp opposite to him. and, being an impetuous prince, as he had shown both in evil and in good that day, he snatched up his sword, swearing that he would find the truth of the matter, and bidding his officers wait his return and not be drawn from their position before he came again to them; and taking some of his younger knights and a few more, he passed out of his camp, and paused for a moment, bidding those with him spread themselves out in a thin line, in order the better to reconnoitre, and that, if some fell into an ambuscade, others might survive to carry the news back to the camp. and he, having given his order, himself stood resting on his sword. but in an instant, before he could so much as lift the point of his sword from the ground, silent blurred shapes came from the mist, and were in front and behind and round him; and they looked so strange that he raised his hand to cross himself; but then a scarf was thrown over his mouth, and he was seized by eight strong hands and held so that he could not struggle; and neither could he cry out by reason of the scarf across his mouth. and they that held him began to run rapidly; and he was carried out of the camp without the knowledge of any of those who were with him, and they, missing their leader, fell presently into a great consternation, and ran to and from in the gloom crying, "the prince? have you seen the prince? is his highness with you? in god's name, has the prince been this way?" but they did not find him, and they grew more confounded, stumbling against one another and being much afraid. and when the prince was nowhere to be found, they lost heart, and began to fall back towards their own borders, skirting the base of agnino. and their retreat grew quicker; and at last, when morning came, they were near the border; but the fog still wrapped all the plain in obscurity, and, robbed of their leader, they dared attempt nothing. now the prince of mantivoglia, whom his army sought thus in fear and bewilderment, was carried very quickly up to the high ground, where the rocks grew steep and close and the way led to the peak of agnino. and as he was borne along, some one bound his hands and his feet; and still he was carried up, till at last he found himself laid down gently on the ground. and though he knew no fear--for they of mantivoglia have ever been most valiant princes and strangers to all fear--yet he thought that his last hour was come, and, fearing god though he feared nothing else, he said a prayer and commended his soul to the almighty, grieving that he should not receive the last services of the church. and having done this, he lay still until the dawning day smote on his eyes and he could see; for the fog that lay dense on the plain was not in the hills, but hung between them and the plain. and he looked round, but saw no man. so he abode another hour, and then he heard a step behind him, and a man came, but whence he could not see; and the man stooped and loosed the scarf from his mouth and cut his bonds, and he sat up, uttering a cry of wonder. for count antonio stood before him, his sword sheathed by his side. and he said to the prince of mantivoglia, "do to me what you will, my lord. if you will strike me as i stand, strike. or if you will do me the honour to cross swords, my sword is ready. or, my lord, if you will depart in peace and in my great love and reverence, i will give thanks to heaven and to a noble prince." "antonio, what does this mean?" cried the prince, divided between anger and wonder. then antonio told him all that he had done: how the duke was gone back with his army to firmola, and how the prince's army had retreated towards the borders of mantivoglia; for of all this his men had informed him; and he ended, saying, "for since it seemed that i was to be the most unworthy cause of more fighting between two great princes, it came into my head that such a thing should not be. and i rejoice that now it will not; for the townsmen will not march out again this year at least, and your highness will scarce sit down before firmola with the season now far gone." "so i am baulked?" cried the prince, and he rose to his feet. "and this trick is played me by a friend!" "i am of firmola," said antonio, flushing red. "and while there was war, i might in all honour have played another trick, and carried you not hither, but to firmola." "i care not," cried the prince angrily. "it was a trick, and no fair fighting." "be it as you will, my lord," said antonio. "a man's own conscience is his only judge. will you draw your sword, my lord?" but the prince was very angry, and he answered roughly, "i will not fight with you, and i will not speak more with you. i will go." "i will lead your highness to your horse," said antonio. then he led him some hundreds of paces down the hill, and they came where a fine horse stood ready saddled. "it is not my horse," said the prince. "be not afraid, my lord. it is not mine either," said antonio smiling. "a rogue who serves me, and is called bena, forgot his manners so far as to steal it from the quarters of the duke. i pray you use some opportunity of sending it back to him, or i shall be dubbed horse-stealer with the rest." "i am glad it is not yours," said the prince, and he prepared to mount, antonio holding the stirrup for him. and when he was mounted, antonio told him how to ride, so that he should come safely to his own men, and avoid certain scouting parties of the duke that he had thrown out behind him as he marched back to firmola. and having done this, antonio stood back and bared his head and bowed. "and where is your horse?" asked the prince suddenly. "i have no horse, my lord," said antonio. "my men with all my horses have ridden back to our hiding-place in the hills. i am alone here, for i thought that your highness would kill me, and i should need no horse." "how, then, will you escape the scouting parties?" "i fear i shall not escape them, my lord," said antonio, smiling again. "and if they take you?" "of a surety i shall be hanged," said count antonio. the prince of mantivoglia gathered his brow into a heavy frown, but the corners of his lips twitched, and he did not look at antonio. and thus they rested a few moments, till suddenly the prince, unable to hold himself longer, burst into a great and merry peal of laughter; and he raised his fist and shook it at antonio, crying, "a scurvy trick, antonio! by my faith, a scurvier trick by far than that other of yours! art thou not ashamed, man? ah, you cast down your eyes! you dare not look at me, antonio." "indeed i have naught to say for this last trick, my lord," said antonio, laughing also. "indeed i must carry this knave with me!" cried the prince. "faugh, the traitor! get up behind me, traitor! clasp me by the waist, knave! closer, knave! ah, antonio, i know not in what mood heaven was when you were made! i would i had the heart to leave you to your hanging! for what a story will my princess make of this! i shall be the best-derided man in all mantivoglia." "i think not, my dear lord," said count antonio, "unless a love that a man may reckon on as his lady-love's and a chivalry that does not fail, and a valour that has set two armies all agape in wonder, be your matters for mirth in mantivoglia. and indeed, my lord, i would that i were riding to the lady i love best in the world, as your highness rides; for she might laugh till her sweet eyes ran tears so i were near to dry them." the prince put back his hand towards antonio and clasped antonio's hand, and said, "what said she when you left her, antonio? for with women love is often more than honour, and their tears rust the bright edge of a man's conscience." "her heart is even as our lady's, and with tears and smiles she left me," said antonio, and he grasped the prince's hand. "come, my lord, we must ride, or it is a prison for you and a halter for me." so they rode together in the morning on the horse that bena had stolen from among the choicest of duke valentine's, and, keeping cunningly among the spurs of the hills, they were sighted once only from afar off by the duke's scouts, and escaped at a canter, and came safe to the prince's army, where they were received with great wonder and joy. but the prince would not turn again to besiege firmola, for he had had a fill of fighting, and the season grew late for the siege of a walled town. so he returned with all his force to mantivoglia, having won by his expedition much praise of valour, and nothing else in the wide world besides; which thing indeed is so common in the wars of princes that even wise men have well-nigh ceased to wonder at it. but the princess of mantivoglia heard all that had passed with great mirth, and made many jests upon her husband; and again, lest the prince should take her jesting in evil part, more upon duke valentine. but concerning count antonio and the lady lucia she did not jest. yet one day, chancing to be alone with count antonio--for he stayed many days at the court of mantivoglia, and was treated with great honour--she said to him, with a smile and half-raised eyelids, "had i been a man, my lord antonio, i would not have returned alone from the gates of firmola. in truth, your lady needs patience for her virtue, count antonio!" "i trust, then, that heaven sends it to her, madame," said antonio. "and to you also," she retorted with a laugh. "and to her trust in you also, i pray. for an absent lover is often an absent heart, antonio, and i hear that many ladies would fain soften your exile. and what i hear, the lady lucia may hear also." "she would hear it as the idle babbling of water over stones," said antonio. "but, madame, i am glad that i have some honesty in me. for if there were not honest men and true maids in this world, i think more than a half of the wits would starve for lack of food." "mercy, mercy!" she cried. "indeed your wit has a keen edge, my lord." "yet it is not whetted on truth and honesty," said he. she answered nothing for a moment; then she drew near to him and stood before him, regarding his face; and she sighed "heigh-ho!" and again "heigh-ho!" and dropped her eyes, and raised them again to his face; and at last she said, "to some faithfulness is easy. i give no great praise to the lady lucia." and when she had said this she turned and left him, and was but little more in his company so long as he stayed at mantivoglia. and she spoke no more of the lady lucia. but when he was mounting, after bidding her farewell, she gave him a white rose from her bosom, saying carelessly, "your colour, my lord, and the best. yet god made the other roses also." "all that he made he loves, and in all there is good," said antonio, and he bowed very low, and, having kissed her hand, took the rose; and he looked into her eyes and smiled, saying, "heaven give peace where it has given wit and beauty;" and so he rode away to join his company in the hills. and the princess of mantivoglia, having watched till he was out of sight, went into dinner, and was merrier than ever she had shown herself before; so that they said, "she feared antonio and is glad that he is gone." yet that night, while her husband slept, she wept. chapter iv. count antonio and the wizard's drug. the opinion of man is ever in flux save where it is founded on the rock of true religion. what our fathers believed, we disbelieve; but often our sons shall again receive it. in olden time men held much by magic and black arts; now such are less esteemed; yet hereafter it may well be that the world will find new incantations and fresh spells, the same impulse flowing in a different channel and never utterly to be checked or stemmed by the censures of the church or the mocking of unbelievers. as for truth--in truth who knows truth? for the light of revelation shines but in few places, and for the rest we are in natural darkness, groping along unseen paths towards unknown ends. may god keep our footsteps! now towards the close of the third year of his outlawry the heart of count antonio of monte velluto had grown very sad. for it was above the space of a year since he had heard news of the lady lucia, and hard upon two since he had seen her face; so closely did duke valentine hold her prisoner in firmola. and as he walked to and fro among his men in their hiding place in the hills, his face was sorrowful. yet, coming where tommasino and bena sat together, he stopped and listened to their talk with a smile. for bena cried to tommasino, "by the saints, my lord, it is even so! my father himself had a philtre from him thirty years ago; and though, before, my mother had loathed to look on my father, yet now here am i, nine-and-twenty years of age and a child born in holy wedlock. never tell me that it is foolishness, my lord!" "of whom do you speak, bena?" asked antonio. "of the wizard of baratesta, my lord. aye, and he can do more than make a love-potion. he can show you all that shall come to you in a mirror, and make the girl you love rise before your eyes as though the shape were good flesh and blood." "all this is foolishness, bena," said count antonio. "well, god knows that," said bena. "but he did it for my father; and as he is thirty years older, he will be wiser still by now;" and bena strode off to tend his horse, somewhat angry that antonio paid so little heed to his words. "it is all foolishness, tommasino," said antonio. "they say that of many a thing which gives a man pleasure," said tommasino. "i have heard of this man before," continued the count, "and marvellous stories are told of him. now i leave what shall come to me in the hands of heaven; for to know is not to alter, and knowledge without power is but fretting of the heart; but----" and antonio broke off. "ride then, if you can safely, and beg him to show you lucia's face," said tommasino. "for to that i think you are making." "in truth i was, fool that i am," said antonio. "but be wary; for baratesta is but ten miles from the city, and his highness sleeps with an open eye." so antonio, albeit that he was in part ashamed, learnt from bena where the wizard dwelt on the bridge that is outside the gate of baratesta--for the syndic would not suffer such folk to live inside the wall--and one evening he saddled his horse and rode alone to seek the wizard, leaving tommasino in charge of the band. and as he went, he pondered, saying, "i am a fool, yet i would see her face;" and thus, still dubbing himself fool, yet still persisting, he came to the bridge of baratesta; and the wizard, who was a very old man and tall and marvellously lean, met him at the door of the house, crying, "i looked for your coming, my lord." and he took antonio's horse from him and stood it in a stable beside the house, and led antonio in, saying again, "your coming was known to me, my lord;" and he brought antonio to a chamber at the back of the house, having one window, past which the river, being then in flood, rushed with noise and fury. there were many strange things in the chamber, skulls and the forms of animals from far-off countries, great jars, basins, and retorts, and in one corner a mirror half-draped in a black cloth. "you know who i am?" asked antonio. "that needs no art," answered the wizard, "and i pretend to none in it. your face, my lord, was known to me as to any other man, from seeing you ride with the duke before your banishment." "and you knew that i rode hither to-night?" "aye," said the wizard. "for the stars told of the coming of some great man; and i turned from my toil and watched for you." "what toil?" asked antonio. "see, here is money, and i have a quiet tongue. what toil?" the wizard pointed to a heap of broken and bent pieces of base metal. "i was turning dross to gold," said he, in a fearful whisper. "can you do that?" asked antonio, smiling. "i can, my lord, though but slowly." "and hate to love?" asked count antonio. the wizard laughed harshly. "let them that prize love, seek that," said he. "it is not for me." "i would it had been; then had my errand here been a better one. for i am come to see the semblance of a maiden's face." the wizard frowned as he said, "i had looked for a greater matter. for you have a mighty enemy, my lord, and i have means of power for freeing men of their enemies." but count antonio, knowing that he spoke of some dark device of spell or poison, answered, "enough! enough! for i am a man of quick temper, and it is not well to tell me of wicked things, lest i be tempted to anticipate heaven's punishment." "i shall not die at your hands, my lord," said the wizard. "come, will you see what shall befall you?" "nay, i would but see my lady's face; a great yearning for that has come over me, and, although i take shame in it, yet it has brought me here." "you shall see it then; and if you see more, it is not by my will," said the wizard; and he quenched the lamp that burned on the table, and flung a handful of some powder on the charcoal in the stove; and the room was filled with a thick sweet-smelling vapour. and the wizard tore the black cloth off the face of the mirror and bade antonio look steadily in the mirror. antonio looked till the vapour that enveloped all the room cleared off from the face of the mirror, and the wizard, laying his hand on antonio's shoulder, said, "cry her name thrice." and antonio thrice cried "lucia!" and again waited. then something came on the polished surface of the mirror; but the wizard muttered low and angrily, for it was not the form of lucia nor of any maiden; yet presently he cried low, "look, my lord, look!" and antonio, looking, saw a dim, and shadowy face in the mirror; and the wizard began to fling his body to and fro, uttering strange whispered words; and the sweat stood in beads on his forehead. "now, now!" he cried; and antonio, with beating heart, fastened his gaze on the mirror. and as the story goes (i vouch not for it) he saw, though very dimly, the face of lucia; but more he saw also; for beside the face was his own face, and there was a rope about his neck, and the half-shaped arm of a gibbet seemed to hover above him. and he shrank back for an instant. "what more you see is not by my will," said the wizard. "what shall come is only by god's will," said antonio. "i have seen her face. it is enough." but the wizard clutched him by the arm, whispering in terror, "it is a gibbet; and the rope is about your neck." "indeed, i seem to have worn it there these three years, and it is not drawn tight yet; nor is it drawn in the mirror." "you have a good courage," said the wizard with a grim smile. "i will show you more;" and he flung another powder on the charcoal; and the shapes passed from the mirror. but another came; and the wizard, with a great cry, fell suddenly on his knees, exclaiming, "they mock me, they mock me! they show what they will, not what i will. ah, my lord, whose is the face in the mirror?" and he seized antonio again by the arm. "it is your face," said antonio; "and it is the face of a dead man, for his jaw has dropped, and his features are drawn and wrung." the wizard buried his face in his hands; and so they rested awhile till the glass of the mirror cleared; and antonio felt the body of the wizard shaking against his knee. "you are old," said antonio, "and death must come to all. maybe it is a lie of the devil; but if not, face it as a man should." but the wizard trembled still; and antonio, casting a pitiful glance on him, rose to depart. but on the instant as he moved, there came a sudden loud knocking at the door of the house, and he stood still. the wizard lifted his head to listen. "have you had warning of more visitors to-night?" asked antonio. "i know not what happens to-night," muttered the wizard. "my power is gone to-night." the knocking at the door came again, loud and impatient. "they will beat the door down if you do not open," said antonio. "i will hide myself here behind the mirror; for i cannot pass them without being seen; and if i am seen here, it is like enough that the mirror will be proved right both for you and me." so antonio hid himself, crouching down behind the mirror; and the wizard, having lit a small dim lamp, went on trembling feet to the door. and presently he came back, followed by two men whose faces were hid in their cloaks. one of them sat down, but the other stood and flung his cloak back over his shoulders; and antonio, observing him from behind the mirror, saw that he was lorenzo, the duke's favourite. then lorenzo spoke to the wizard saying, "why did you not come sooner to open the door?" "there was one here with me," said the wizard, whose air had become again composed. "and is he gone? for we would be alone." "he is not to be seen," answered the wizard. "utterly alone here you cannot be." when he heard this, lorenzo turned pale, for he did not love this midnight errand to the wizard's chamber. "but no man is here," said the wizard. a low hoarse laugh came from the man who sat. "tricks of the trade, tricks of the trade!" said he; and antonio started to hear his voice. "be sure that where a prince, a courtier, and a cheat are together, the devil makes a fourth. but there is no need to turn pale over it, lorenzo." when the wizard heard, he fell on his knees; for he knew that it was duke valentine who spoke. "look you, fellow," pursued his highness, "you owe me much thanks that you are not hanged already; for by putting an end to you i should please my clergy much and the syndic of baratesta not a little. but if you do not obey me to-night, you shall be dead before morning." "i shall not die unless it be written in the stars," said the wizard, but his voice trembled. "i know nothing of the stars," said the duke, "but i know the mind of the duke of firmola, and that is enough for my purpose." and he rose and began to walk about the chamber, examining the strange objects that were there; and thus he came in front of the mirror, and stood within half a yard of antonio. but lorenzo stood where he was, and once he crossed himself secretly and unobserved. "what would my lord the duke?" asked the wizard. "there is a certain drug," said the duke, turning round towards the wizard, "which if a man drink--or a woman, lorenzo--he can walk on his legs and use his arms, and seem to be waking and in his right mind; yet is his mind a nothing, for he knows not what he does, but does everything that one, being with him, may command, and without seeming reluctance; and again, when bidden, he will seem to lose all power of movement, and to lack his senses. i saw the thing once when i sojourned with the lord of florence; for a wizard there, having given the drug to a certain man, put him through strange antics, and he performed them all willingly." "aye, there is such a drug," said the wizard. "then give it me," said the duke; "and i give you your life and fifty pieces of gold. for i have great need of it." now when antonio heard the duke's words, he was seized with great fear; for he surmised that it was against lucia that the duke meant to use this drug; and noiselessly he loosened his sword in its sheath and bent forward again to listen. "and though my purpose is nothing to you, yet it is a benevolent purpose. is it not, lorenzo?" "it is your will, not mine, my lord," said lorenzo in a troubled voice. "mine shall be the crime, then, and yours the reward," laughed the duke. "for i will give her the drug, and she shall wed you." then antonio doubted no longer of what was afoot, nor that a plot was laid whereby lucia should be entrapped into marriage with lorenzo, since she could not be openly forced. and anger burned hotly in him. and he swore that, sooner than suffer the thing to be done, he would kill the duke there with his own hand or himself be slain. "and you alone know of this drug now, they say," the duke went on. "for the wizard of florence is dead. therefore give it me quickly." but the wizard answered, "it will not serve, my lord, that i give you the drug. with my own hand i must give it to the persons whom you would thus affect, and i must tell them what they should do." "more tricks!" said the duke scornfully. "i know your ways. give me the drug." and he would not believe what the wizard said. "it is even as i say," said the wizard. "and if your highness will carry the drug yourself, i will not vouch its operation." "give it me; for i know the appearance of it," said the duke. then the wizard, having again protested, went to a certain shelf and from some hidden recess took a small phial, and came with it to the duke, saying, "blame me not, if its operation fail." the duke examined the phial closely, and also smelt its smell. "it is the same," said he. "it will do its work." then count antonio, who believed no more than the duke what the wizard had said concerning the need of his own presence for the working of the drug, was very sorely put to it to stay quietly where he was; for if the duke rode away now with the phial, he might well find means to give it to the lady lucia before any warning could be conveyed to her. and, although the danger was great, yet his love for lucia and his fear for her overcame his prudence, and suddenly he sprang from behind the mirror, drawing his sword and crying, "give me that drug, my lord, or your life must answer for it." but fortune served him ill; for as the duke and lorenzo shrank back at his sudden appearance, and he was about to spring on them, behold, his foot caught in the folds of the black cloth that had been over the mirror and now lay on the ground, and, falling forward, he struck his head on the marble rim that ran round the charcoal stove, and, having fallen with great force, lay there like a man dead. with loud cries of triumph, the duke and lorenzo, having drawn their swords, ran upon him; and the duke planted his foot upon his neck, crying, "heaven sends a greater prize! at last, at last i have him! bind his hands, lorenzo." lorenzo bound antonio's hands as he lay there, a log for stillness. the duke turned to the wizard and a smile bent his lips. "o faithful subject and servant!" said he. "well do you requite my mercy and forbearance, by harbouring my bitterest enemies and suffering them to hear my secret counsels. had not antonio chanced to trip, it is like enough he would have slain lorenzo and me also. what shall be your reward, o faithful servant?" when the wizard of baratesta beheld the look that was on duke valentine's face, he suddenly cried aloud, "the mirror, the mirror!" and sank in a heap on the floor, trembling in every limb; for he remembered the aspect of his own face in the mirror and knew that the hour of his death had come. and he feared mightily to die; therefore he besought the duke very piteously, and told him again that from his hand alone could the drug receive its potency. and so earnest was he in this, that at last he half-won upon the duke, so that the duke wavered. and as he doubted, his eye fell on antonio; and he perceived that antonio was recovering from his swoon. "there is enough for two," said he, "in the phial; and we will put this thing to the test. but if you speak or move or make any sign, forthwith in that moment you shall die." then the duke poured half the contents of the phial into a glass and came to lorenzo and whispered to him, "if the drug works on him, and the wizard is proved to lie, the wizard shall die; but we will carry antonio with us; and when i have mustered my guard, i will hang him in the square as i have sworn. but if the drug does not work, then we must kill him here; for i fear to carry him against his will; for he is a wonderful man, full of resource, and the people also love him. therefore, if the operation of the drug fail, run him through with your sword when i give the signal." now antonio was recovering from his swoon, and he overheard part of what the duke said, but not all. as to the death of the wizard he did not hear, but he understood that the duke was about to test the effect of the drug on him, and that if it had no effect, he was to die; whereas, if its operation proved sufficient, he should go alive; and he saw here a chance for his life in case what the wizard had said should prove true. "drink, antonio," said the duke softly. "no harm comes to you. drink: it is a refreshing draught." and antonio drank the draught, the wizard looking on with parted lips and with great drops of sweat running from his forehead and thence down his cheeks to his mouth, so that his lips were salt when he licked them. and the duke, having seen that lorenzo had his sword ready for antonio, took his stand by the wizard with the dagger from his belt in his hand. and he cried to antonio, "rise." and antonio rose up. the wizard started a step towards him; but the duke showed his dagger, and said to antonio, "will you go with me to firmola, antonio?" and antonio answered, "i will go." "do you love me, antonio?" asked the duke. "aye, my lord," answered antonio. "yet you have done many wicked things against me." "true, my lord," said antonio. "is your mind then changed?" "it is, my lord," said antonio. "then leap two paces into the air," said the duke; and antonio straightway obeyed. "go down on your knees and crawl;" and antonio crawled, smiling secretly to himself. then the duke bade lorenzo mount antonio on his horse; and he commanded the wizard to follow him; and they all went out where the horses were; and the three mounted, and the wizard followed; and they came to the end of the bridge. there the duke turned sharp round and rode by the side of the rushing river. and, suddenly pausing, he said to antonio, "commend thy soul to god and leap in." and antonio commended his soul to god, and would have leapt in; but the duke caught him by the arm even as he set spurs to his horse, saying, "do not leap." and antonio stayed his leap. then the duke turned his face on the wizard, saying, "the potion works, wizard. why did you lie?" then the wizard fell on his knees, cursing hell and heaven; for he could not see how he should escape. for the potion worked. and antonio wondered what should fall out next. but duke valentine leapt down from his horse and approached the wizard, while lorenzo set his sword against antonio's breast. and the duke, desirous to make a final trial, cried again to antonio, "fling yourself from your horse." and antonio, having his arms bound, yet flung himself from his horse, and fell prone on the ground, and lay there sorely bruised. "it is enough," said the duke. "you lied, wizard." but the wizard cried, "i lied not, i lied not, my lord. slay me not, my lord! for i dare not die." but the duke caught him by the throat and drove his dagger into his breast till the fingers that held the dagger were buried in the folds of the wizard's doublet; and the duke pulled out the dagger, and, when the wizard fell, he pushed him with his foot over the brink, and the body fell with a loud splash into the river below. thus died the wizard of baratesta, who was famed above all of his day for the hidden knowledge that he had; yet he served not god, but satan, and his end was the end of a sinner. and, many days after, his body was found a hundred miles from that place; and certain charitable men, brethren of my own order, gave it burial. so that he died that same night in which the mirror had shown him his face as the face of a dead man; but whence came the vision i know not. then the duke set antonio again on his horse, and the three rode together towards firmola, and as they went, again and again the duke tested the operation of the drug, setting antonio many strange, ludicrous, and unseemly things to do and to say; and antonio did and said them all. but he wondered greatly that the drug had no power over him, and that his brain was clear and his senses all his own; nor did he then believe that the duke had, in truth, slain the wizard for any reason save that the wizard had harboured him, an outlaw, and suffered him to hear the duke's counsels: and he was grieved at the wizard's death. thus they rode through the night; and it was the hour of dawn when they came to the gates of firmola. now antonio was puzzled what he should do; for having been in a swoon, he knew not whether the duke had more of the potion; nor could he tell with certainty whether the potion would be powerless against the senses of a weak girl as it had proved against his own. therefore he said to the duke, "i pray you, my lord, give me more of that sweet drink. for it has refreshed me and set my mind at rest from all trouble." "nay, antonio, you have had enough," said the duke, bantering him. "i have another use for the rest." and they were now nearing the gates of firmola. then antonio began to moan pitifully, saying, "these bonds hurt my hands;" and he whined and did as a child would do, feigning to cry. the duke laughed in bitter triumph, saying to lorenzo, "indeed it is a princely drug that makes antonio of monte velluto like a peevish child!" and being now very secure of the power of the drug, he bade lorenzo loosen the bonds, saying to antonio, "take the reins, antonio, and ride with us into the city." and antonio answered, "i will, my good lord." "it is even as i saw when i was with the lord of florence," whispered the duke in exultation. "yet i will still have my sword ready," said lorenzo. "there is no need; he is like a tame dog," said the duke carelessly. but the duke was not minded to produce antonio to the people till all his guards were collected and under arms, and the people thus restrained by a great show of force. therefore he bade antonio cover his face with his cloak; and antonio, lorenzo's sword being still at his breast, obeyed; and thus they three rode through the gates of firmola and came to the duke's palace; and antonio did all that the duke ordered, and babbled foolishly like a bewildered child when the duke asked him questions, so that his highness laughed mightily, and, coming into the garden, sat down in his favourite place by the fish-pond, causing antonio to stand over against him. "indeed, antonio," said he, "i can do no other than hang you." "if it be your pleasure, my lord." "and then lucia shall drink of this wonderful drug also, and she will be content and obedient, and will gladly wed lorenzo. let us have her here now, and give it to her without delay. you do not fret at that, antonio? you love not the obstinate girl?" "in truth, no," laughed antonio. "she is naught to me!" and he put his hand to his head, saying perplexedly, "lucia? yes, i remember that name. who was she? was she aught to me, my lord?" then lorenzo wondered greatly, and the doubts that he had held concerning the power of the wizard's drug melted away; yet he did not laugh like the duke, but looked on antonio and said sadly to the duke, sinking his voice, "not thus should antonio of monte velluto have died." "so he dies, i care not how," answered the duke. "indeed, i love to see him a witless fool even while his body is yet alive. o rare wizard, i go near to repenting having done justice on you! go, lorenzo, to the officer of the guard and bid him fetch hither the lady lucia, and we will play the pretty comedy to the end." "will you be alone with him?" asked lorenzo. "aye; why not? see! he is tame enough," and he buffeted antonio in the face with his riding-glove. and antonio whimpered and whined. now the officer of the guard was in his lodge at the entrance of the palace, on the other side of the great hall; and lorenzo turned and went, and presently the sound of his feet on the marble floor of the hall grew faint and distant. the duke sat with the phial in his hand, smiling at antonio who crouched at his feet. and antonio drew himself on his knees quite close to the duke, and looked up in his face with a foolish empty smile. and the duke, laughing, buffeted him again. then, with a sudden spring, like the spring of that indian tiger which the mogul of delhi sent lately as a gift to the most christian king, and the king, for his diversion, made to slay deer before him at the _château_ of blois (which i myself saw, being there on a certain mission, and wonderful was the sight), count antonio, leaping, was upon the duke; and he snatched the philtre from the duke's hand and seized the duke's head in his hands and wrenched his jaw open, and he poured the contents of the phial down the duke's throat, and the duke swallowed the potion. then antonio fixed a stern and imperious glance on the duke, nailing his eyes to the duke's and the duke's to his, and he said in a voice of command, "obey! you have drunk the potion!" and still he kept his eyes on the duke's. and the duke, amazed, suddenly began to tremble, and sought to rise; and antonio took his hands off him, but said, "sit there, and move not." then, although antonio's hands were no longer upon him, yet his highness did not rise, but after a short struggle with himself sank back in his seat, and stared at antonio like a bird fascinated by a snake. and he moaned, "take away your eyes; they burn my brain. take them away." but antonio gazed all the more intently at him, saying, "be still, be still!" and holding up his arm in enforcement of his command. and antonio took from the duke the sword that he wore and the dagger wherewith the duke had killed the wizard of baratesta, he making no resistance, but sitting motionless with bewildered stare. then antonio looked round, for he knew that lorenzo would soon come. and for the last time he bent his eyes again on the duke's eyes in a very long gaze and the duke cowered and shivered, moaning, "you hurt me, you hurt me." then antonio said, "be still and speak not till i return and bid you;" and he suddenly left the duke and ran at the top of his speed along under the wall of the garden, and came where the wall ended; and there was a flight of steps leading up on to the top of the wall. running up it, antonio stood for a moment on the wall; and the river ran fifty feet below. but he heard a cry from the garden, and beheld lorenzo rushing up to the duke, and behind lorenzo, the captain of the guard and, two men who led a maiden in white. then count antonio, having commended himself to the keeping of god, leapt head foremost from the top of the wall into the river, and his body clove the water as an arrow cleaves the wand. now lorenzo marvelled greatly at what he saw, and came to the duke crying, "my lord, what does this mean? antonio flies!" but the duke answered nothing, sitting with empty eyes and lips set in a rigid smile; nor did he move. "my lord, what ails you?" cried lorenzo. yet the duke did not answer. then lorenzo's eye fell on the fragments of the phial which lay broken on the rim of the fish-pond where antonio had flung it; and he cried out in great alarm, "the potion! where is the potion?" but the duke did not answer. and lorenzo was much bewildered and in sore fear; for it seemed as though his highness's senses were gone; and lorenzo said, "by some means he has drunk the potion!" and he ran up to the duke, and caught him by the arm and shook him violently, seeking to rouse him from his stupor, and calling his name with entreaties, and crying, "he escapes, my lord; antonio escapes! rouse yourself, my lord--he escapes!" but the duke did no more than lift heavy dull eyes to lorenzo's face in puzzled inquiry. and, seeing the strange thing, the captain of the guard hurried up, and with him the lady lucia, and she said, "alas, my lord is ill!" and coming to his highness she set her cool soft hand on his hot throbbing brow, and took perfume from a silver flask that hung at her girdle, and wetted her handkerchief with it and bathed his brow, whispering soft soothing words to him, as though he had been a sick woman. for let a woman have what grudge she may against a man, yet he gains pardon for all so soon as he becomes sick enough to let her nurse and comfort him; and lucia was as tender to the duke as to the count antonio himself, and forgot all save the need of giving him ease and rousing him from his stupor. but lorenzo cried angrily, "i at least have my senses!" and he said to the captain of the guard, "i must needs stay with his highness; but antonio of monte velluto has leapt from the wall into the river. go and bring him here, dead or alive, and i will be your warrant to the duke. but if he be as when i saw him last, he will give you small trouble. for he was like a child for weakness and folly." and having said this, he turned to the duke again, and gave his aid to lucia's ministrations. now the gentleman who commanded the duke's guard at this time was a spaniard, by name corogna, and he was young, of high courage, and burning to do some great deed. therefore he said, "i pray he be as he is wont to be: yet i will bring him to the feet of my lord the duke." and he ran swiftly through the hall and called for his horse, and drawing his sword, rode alone out of the city and across the bridge, seeking antonio, and saying to himself, "what a thing if i take him! and if he slay me, why, i will show that a gentleman of andalusia can die;" yet he thought for an instant of the house where his mother lived. then he scanned the plain, and he beheld a man running some half-mile away; and the man seemed to be making for the hill on which stood the ruins of antonio's house that the duke had burnt. then corogna set spurs to his horse; but the man, whom by his stature and gait corogna knew to be antonio, ran very swiftly, and was not overtaken before he came to the hill; and he began to mount by a very steep rugged path, and he was out of sight in the trees when corogna came to the foot. and corogna's horse stumbled among the stones, and could not mount the path; so corogna sprang off his back and ran on foot up the path, sword in hand. and he came in sight of antonio round a curve of the path three parts of the way up the hill. antonio was leaning against the trunk of a tree and wringing the water out of his cloak. corogna drew near, sword in hand, and with a prayer to the holy virgin on his lips. and he trembled, not with fear, but because fate offered a great prize, and his name would be famed throughout italy if he slew or took antonio of monte velluto; and for fame, even as for a woman's smile, a young man will tremble as a coward quakes with fear. the count antonio stood as though sunk in a reverie; yet, presently, hearing corogna's tread, he raised his eyes, and smiling kindly on the young man, he said, "very strange are the ways of heaven, sir. i think that the wizard of baratesta spoke truth, and did not lie to the duke. yet i had that same power which the wizard claimed, although the duke had none over me. we are children, sir, and our game is blind-man's buff; but all are blinded, and it is but the narrowest glimpse that we obtain now and again by some clever shifting of the handkerchief. yet there are some things clear enough; as that a man should do his work, and be clean and true. what would you with me, sir? for i do not think i know you." "i am of andalusia, and my name is corogna. i am captain of his highness's guard, and i come to bring you, alive or dead, to his presence." "and are you come alone on that errand, sir?" asked antonio with a smile that he strove to smother, lest it should wound the young man's honour. "david slew goliath, my lord," said the spaniard with a bow. then count antonio held out his hand to the young man and said courteously, "sir, your valour needs no proof and fears no reproach. i pray you suffer me to go in peace. i would not fight with you, if i may avoid it honourably. for what has happened has left me more in the mood for thinking than for fighting. besides, sir, you are young, and, far off in andalusia, loving eyes, and maybe sparkling eyes, are strained to the horizon, seeking your face as you return." "what is all that, my lord?" asked corogna. "i am a man, though a young one; and i am here to carry you to the duke." and he touched antonio's sword with his, saying, "guard yourself." "it is with great pain and reluctance that i take my sword, and i call you to witness of it; but if i must, i must;" and the count took up his position and they crossed swords. now corogna was well-taught and skilful, but he did not know the cunning which antonio had learned in the school of giacomo in padua, nor had he the strength and endurance of the count. antonio would fain have wearied him out, and then, giving him some slight wound to cover his honour, have left him and escaped; but the young man came at him impetuously, and neglected to guard himself while he thrust at his enemy: once and again the count spared him; but he did not know that he had received the courtesy, and taking heart from his immunity came at antonio more fiercely again; until at last antonio, breathing a sigh, stiffened his arm, and, waiting warily for the young man again to uncover himself, thrust at his breast, and the sword's point entered hard by the young man's heart; and the young man staggered, and would have fallen, dropping his sword; but antonio cast away his own sword and supported him, stanching the blood from the wound and crying, "god send i have not killed him!" and on his speech came the voice of tommasino, saying carelessly, "here, in truth, cousin, is a good prayer wasted on a spaniard!" antonio, looking up, saw tommasino and bena. and tommasino said, "when you did not come back, we set out to seek you, fearing that you were fallen into some snare and danger. and behold, we find you nursing this young spark; and how you missed his heart, antonio, i know not, nor what giacomo of padua would say to such bungling." but antonio cared not for his cousin's words, which were spoken in a banter that a man uses to hide his true feelings; and they three set themselves to save the young man's life; for tommasino and bena had seen the better part of the fight and perceived that he was a gallant youth. but as they tended him, there came shouts and the sound of horses' hoofs mounting the hill by the winding road that led past antonio's house. and tommasino touched antonio on the shoulder, saying, "we can do no more for him; and if we linger, we must fight again." then they laid the young man down, antonio stripping off his cloak and making a pillow of it; and bena brought the horses, for they had led one with them for antonio, in case there should be need of it; and they were but just mounted when twenty of the duke's guard appeared three hundred yards away, ascending the crest of the hill. "thank heaven there are so many," said antonio, "for now we can flee without shame;" and they set spurs to their horses and fled. and certain of the duke's guard pursued, but only two or three were so well mounted as to be able to come near them; and these two or three, finding that they would be man to man, had no liking for the business, and each called out that his horse was foundered; and thus it was that none of them came up with count antonio, but all, after a while, returned together to the city, carrying the young spaniard corogna, their captain. but as they drew near to the gates, corogna opened his eyes and murmured some soft-syllabled name that they could not hear, and, having with failing fingers signed the cross, turned on his side and died. and they brought his body to the great hall of the duke's palace. there in the great hall sat duke valentine: his face was pale and his frown heavy, and he gazed on the dead body of the young man and spoke no word. yet he had loved corogna, and out of love for him had made him captain of his guard. and he passed his hand wearily across his brow, murmuring, "i cannot think, i cannot think." and the lady lucia stood by him, her hand resting on his shoulder and her eyes full of tears. but at last the strange spell which lay on the senses of the duke passed away: his eyes again had the light of reason in them, and he listened while they told him how antonio had himself escaped, and had afterwards slain corogna on the top of the hill where antonio's house had stood. and the duke was very sorry for corogna's death: and he looked round on them all, saying, "he made of me a log of wood, and not a man. for when i had drunk and looked in his eyes, it seemed to me that my eyes were bound to his, and that i looked to him for command, and to know what i should do, and that he was my god, and without his will i could not move. yes, i was then to him even as he had seemed to be to me as we rode from baratesta. and even now i am not free from this strange affection; for he seems still to be by me, and if his voice came now bidding me to do anything, by st. prisian, i should arise and do it! send my physician to me. and let this young man lie in the chapel of the blessed virgin in the cathedral, and to-morrow he shall be buried. but when i am well, and this strange affection is passed from me, and hangs no more like a fog over my brain, then i will exact the price of his death from antonio, together with the reckoning of all else in respect of which he stands in my debt." but the lady lucia, hearing this, said boldly, "my lord, it is by your deed and through your devices that this gentleman has met his death, and the blame of it is yours, and not my lord antonio's." at her bold and angry words duke valentine was roused, and the last of his languor left him; and he glared at her in wrath, crying "go to your house;" and he rose up suddenly from where he sat and went into his cabinet, lorenzo attending him. and on the day after he walked first behind the bier of corogna, and his face was very pale, but his air composed and his manner as it was wont to be. for the spell had passed and he was his own man again. but count antonio heard with great grief of the death of the young man, and was very sorry that he had been constrained to kill him, and took great blame to himself for seeking counsel of the wizard of baratesta, whence had come death to the young man no less than to the wizard himself. such is the story of the drug which the wizard of baratesta gave to duke valentine of firmola. to me it seems a strange tale, but yet it is well attested and stands on as strong a rock of testimony as anything which is told concerning the count. the truth of it i do not understand, and often i ponder of it, wondering whether the wizard of baratesta spoke truth, and why the drug which had no power over count antonio bound the senses and limbs of the duke in utter torpor and helplessness. and once, when i was thus musing over the story, there came to my cell a monk of the abbey of st. prisian, who was an old man and very learned; and i went to walk with him in the garden, and coming to the fountain we sat down by the basin; and knowing that his lore was wide and deep, i set before him all the story, asking him if he knew of this strange drug; but he smiled at me, and taking the cup that lay by the basin of the fountain, he filled it with the clear sparkling water and drank a little, and held the cup to me, saying, "i think the wizard of baratesta would have wrought the spell as well with no other drug than this." "you say a strange thing," said i. "and i do not marvel," said he, "that the duke had no power over count antonio, for he knew not how to wield such power. but neither do i wonder that power lay in count antonio to bend the mind of the duke to his will. i warrant you, ambrose, that the wonderful drug was not difficult to compound." then i understood what he meant; for he would have it that the drug was but a screen and a pretence, and that the power lay not in it, but in the man that gave it. yet surely this is to explain what is obscure by a thing more obscure, and falls thus into a fault hated of the logicians. for heaven may well have made a drug that binds the senses and limbs of men. has not the poppy some such effect? and the ancients fabled the like of the lotus plant. but can we conceive that one man should by the mere glance of his eye have such power over another as to become to him, by these means and no other, a lord and master? in truth i find that hard to believe, and i doubt whether a man may lawfully believe it. yet i know not. knowledge spreads, and men grow wiser in hidden things; and although i who write may not live till the time when the thing shall be made clear, yet it may be god's will to send such light to the men of later days that, reading this story, they may find in it nothing that is strange or unknown to their science and skill. i pray that they may use the knowledge god sends in his holy service, and not in the work of the devil, as did the wizard of baratesta. but count antonio being, by his guile and adroitness, and by that strange power which he had from the drug or whence i know not, delivered out of the hands of duke valentine, abode with his company on the hills throughout the cold of winter, expecting the day when he might win the hand of the lady lucia; and she returned to her house, and said nothing of what had befallen the duke. yet the duke showed her no tenderness, but rather used more severity with her. it is an evil service to a proud man to aid him in his day of humiliation. chapter v. count antonio and the sacred bones. there is one tale concerning count antonio of monte velluto, when he dwelt an outlaw in the hills, which men tell with fear and doubt, marvelling at the audacity of his act, and sometimes asking themselves whether he would in very truth have performed what he swore on the faith of his honour he would do, in case the duke did not accede to his demands. for the thing he threatened was such as no man of firmola dares think on without a shudder; for we of firmola prize and reverence the bones of our saint, the holy martyr prisian, above and far beyond every other relic, and they are to us as it were the sign and testimony of god's enduring favour to our country. but much will a man do for love of a woman, and antonio's temper brooked no obstacle: so that i, who know all the truth of the matter, may not doubt that he would have done even as he said, braving the wrath of heaven and making naught of the terror and consternation that had fallen on the city and the parts round about it. whether that thought of his heart was such as would gain pardon, i know not: had the thing been done, i could scarce hope even in heaven's infinite mercy. yet this story also i must tell, lest i be charged with covering up what shames antonio; for with the opinions of careless and faithless men (who are too many in this later age) i have no communion, and i tell the tale not to move laughter or loose jests, but rather that i may show to what extremity a man in nature good may be driven by harshness and the unmerited disfavour of his prince. in the third year, then, of count antonio's outlawry, his highness the duke looked on the lady lucia and found that she was of full age for marriage. therefore he resolved that she should be wed, and, since robert de beauregard, to whom he had purposed to give her, was dead, he chose from among his lords a certain gentleman of great estate and a favourite of his, by name lorenzo, and sent word to lucia that she had spent too much of her youth pining for what could not be hers, and must forthwith receive lorenzo for her husband. but lucia, being by now a woman and no more a timid girl, returned to his highness a message that she would look on no other man than antonio. on this the duke, greatly incensed, sent and took her, and set her in a convent within the city walls, and made her know that there she should abide till her life's end, or until she should obey his command; and he charged the abbess to treat her harshly and to break down her pride: and he swore that she should wed lorenzo; or, if she were obstinate, then she should take the vows of a nun in the convent. many weeks the lady lucia abode in the convent, resisting all that was urged upon her. but at last, finding no help from antonio, being sore beset and allowed no rest, she broke one day into passionate and pitiful weeping, and bade the abbess tell his highness that, since happiness was not for her in this world, she would seek to find it in heaven, and would take the vows, rendering all her estate into the duke's hand, that he might have it, and give it to lorenzo or to whom he would. which message being told to duke valentine, weary of contending with her, and perchance secretly fearing that antonio would slay lorenzo as he had slain robert, he cursed her for an obstinate wench, and bade her take the vows, and set a day for her to take them: but her estate he assumed into his own hand, and made from out of it a gift of great value to lorenzo. and lorenzo, they say, was well content thus to be quit of the matter. "for," said he, "while that devil is loose in the hills, no peace would there have been for the lady's husband." but when it came to the ears of count antonio that the lady lucia was to take the veil on the morrow of the feast of st. prisian, his rage and affliction knew no bounds. "if need be," he cried, "i will attack the city with all my men, before i will suffer it." "your men would be all killed, and she would take the veil none the less," said tommasino. for antonio had but fifty men, and although they were stout fellows and impossible to subdue so long as they stayed in the hills, yet their strength would have been nothing against a fortress and the duke's array. "then," said antonio, "i will go alone and die alone." as he spoke, he perceived martolo coming to him, and, calling him, he asked him what he would. now martolo was a devout man and had been much grieved when antonio had fallen under a sentence of excommunication by reason of a certain quarrel that he had with the abbot of the abbey of st. prisian in the hills, wherein the count had incurred the condemnation of the church, refusing, as his way was, to admit any rule save of his own conscience. yet martolo abode with antonio from love of him. and now he bowed and answered, "my lord, in three days it is the feast of st. prisian, and the sacred bones will then be carried from the shrine in the church of the saint at rilano to the city." for it was at rilano that prisian had suffered, and a rich church had been built on the spot. "i remember that it is wont to be so, martolo," answered the count. "when i dwelt with my father," said martolo, "i was accustomed to go forth with all the people of my village and meet the sacred bones, and kneeling, receive the benediction from the lord archbishop as he passed, bearing the bones in their golden casket. and the like i would do this year, my lord." "but are you not excommunicated in company with count antonio and me?" asked tommasino, lightly smiling; for tommasino also stood condemned. "i pray not. i was not named in the sentence," said martolo, signing the cross. "go in peace, martolo; but see that you are not taken by the duke's men," said count antonio. "but few of them go with the archbishop, my lord. for who would lay hands on the sacred bones? the guard is small, and i shall easily elude them." so martolo departed, and told the man they called bena what had passed; but bena was a graceless fellow and would not go with him. now when martolo was gone, count antonio sat down on a great stone and for a long while he said nothing to tommasino. but certain words out of those which martolo had spoken were echoing through his brain, and he could not put them aside; for they came again and again and again; and at last, looking up at tommasino who stood by him, he said, "tommasino, who would lay hands on the sacred bones?" tommasino looked down into his eyes; then he laid a hand on his shoulder; and antonio still looked up and repeated, "who would lay hands on the sacred bones?" tommasino's eyes grew round in wonder: he smiled, but his smile was uneasy, and he shifted his feet. "is it that you think of, antonio?" he asked in a low voice. "beside it, it would be a light thing to kill the duke in his own palace." then antonio cried, striking his fist on the palm of his hand, "are dead bones more sacred than that living soul on which the duke lays hands to force it to his will?" "the people reverence the bones as god himself," said tommasino, troubled. "i also reverence them," said antonio, and fell again into thought. but presently he rose and took tommasino's arm, and for a long while they walked to and fro. then they went and sought out certain chosen men of the band; for the greater part they dared not trust in such a matter, but turned only to them that were boldest and recked least of sacred things. to ten of such antonio opened his counsel; and by great rewards he prevailed on them to come into the plan, although they were, for all their boldness, very sore afraid lest they, laying hands on the bones, should be smitten as was he who touched the ark of the covenant. therefore antonio said, "i alone will lay hands on the golden casket; the rest of you shall but hold me harmless while i take it." "but if the lord archbishop will not let it go?" "the lord archbishop," said tommasino, "will let it go." for tommasino did not love the archbishop, because he would not remove the sentence of excommunication which he had laid upon antonio and tommasino on the prayer of the abbot of st. prisian's. now when the feast of st. prisian was come, the lord archbishop, who had ridden from the city on the eve of the feast, and had lodged in the house of the priests that served the church, went with all his train into the church, and, the rest standing afar off and veiling their eyes, took from the wall of the church, near by the high altar, the golden casket that held the bones of the blessed st. prisian. and he wrapped the casket in a rich cloth and held it high before him in his two hands. and when the people had worshipped, the archbishop left the church and entered his chair and passed through the village of rilano, the priests and attendants going first, and twelve of the duke's guard, whom the duke had sent, following after. great was the throng of folk, come from all the country round to gaze on the casket and on the procession of the lord archbishop; and most devout of them all was martolo, who rested on his knees from the moment the procession left the church till it was clear of the village. and martolo was still on his knees when he beheld go by him a party of peasants, all, save one, tall and powerful men, wearing peasants' garb and having their faces overshadowed by large hats. these men also had knelt as the casket passed, but they had risen, and were marching shoulder to shoulder behind the men of the duke's guard, a peasant behind every pikeman. martolo gazed long at them; then he moistened his lips and crossed himself, murmuring, "what does this thing mean? now god forbid----!" and, breaking off thus, he also rose and went to the house of his father, sore vexed and troubled to know what the thing might mean. but he spoke of it to none, no, not to his father, observing the vow of secrecy in all matters which he had made to count antonio. at the bounds of the village the greater part of the people ceased to follow the procession of the sacred bones, and, having received the archbishop's blessing, turned back to their own homes, where they feasted and made merry; but the twelve peasants whom martolo had seen followed the procession when it set forth for the next village, distant three miles on the road to firmola. their air manifested great devotion, for they walked with heads bent on their breasts and downcast eyes, and they spoke not once on the way; but each kept close behind a pikeman. when the procession had gone something more than a mile from the village of rilano, it came where a little stream crosses the highway; and the rains having been heavy for a week before, the stream was swollen and the ford deeper than it was wont to be. therefore the officer of the guard, thinking of no danger, bade six of his men lay down their pikes and go lift the archbishop's chair over the ford, lest the archbishop should be wetted by the water. and on hearing this order, the tallest among the peasants put his hand up to his hat and twisted the feather of it between his thumb and his forefinger: and the shortest of them whispered, "the sign! the sign!" while every man of them drew a great dagger from under his habit and held it behind his back. now by this time the priests and attendants had passed the ford; and one-half of the guard had laid down their pikes and were gone to raise the archbishop's chair, the remainder standing at their ease, leaning on their pikes and talking to one another. again the tallest peasant twisted the feather in his hat; and without speech or cry the peasants darted forward. six of them seized the pikes that lay on the ground; the remaining six sprang like wild-cats on the backs of the pikemen, circling the necks of the pikemen with their arms, pulling them back and coming near to throttling them, so that the pikemen, utterly amazed and taken full at disadvantage, staggered and fell backward, while the peasants got on the top of them and knelt on their breasts and set the great daggers at their hearts. while this passed on the road, the remainder of antonio's band--for such were the peasants--rushed into the stream and compelled the unarmed pikemen to set down the archbishop's chair in the midst, so that the water came in at the windows of the chair; and the pikemen, held at bay with their own pikes, sought to draw their poniards, but antonio cried, "slay any that draw!" and he came to the chair and opened the door of it, and, using as little force as he might, he laid hands on the casket that held the sacred bones, and wrested it from the feeble hands of the archbishop. then he and his men, standing in line, stepped backwards with the pikes levelled in front of them till they came out of the water and on to the dry road again; and one pikeman rushed at antonio, but tommasino, sparing to kill him, caught him a buffet on the side of the head with a pike, and he fell like a log in the water, and had been drowned, but that two of his comrades lifted him. then all twelve of the band being together--for the first six had risen now from off the six pikemen, having forced them, on pain of instant death, to deliver over their pikes to them--antonio, with the casket in his hands, spoke in a loud voice, "i thank god that no man is dead over this business; but if you resist, you shall die one and all. go to the city; tell the duke that i, antonio of monte velluto, have the bones of the blessed st. prisian, and carry them with me to my hiding-place in the highest parts of the hills. but if he will swear by these bones that i hold, and by his princely word, that he will not suffer the lady lucia to take the vows, nor will constrain her to wed any man, but will restore her to her own house and to her estate, then let him send the archbishop again, and i will deliver up the sacred bones. but if he will not swear, then, as god lives, to-morrow, at midnight, i will cause a great fire to be kindled on the top of the hills--a fire whose flame you shall see from the walls of the city--and in that fire will i consume the sacred bones, and i will scatter the ashes of them to the four winds. go and bear the message that i give you to the duke." and, having thus said, antonio, with his men, turned and went back at a run along the road by which they had come; but to the village of rilano they did not go, but turned aside before they came to it, and, coming to the farm of one who knew antonio, they bought of him, paying him in good coin of the duchy, three horses, which antonio, tommasino, and bena mounted; and they three rode hard for the hills, the rest following as quickly as they might; so that by nightfall they were all safely assembled in their hiding-place, and with them the bones of the blessed st. prisian. but they told not yet to the rest of the band what it was that antonio carried under his cloak; nor did martolo, when he returned from rilano, ask what had befallen, but he crossed himself many times and wore a fearful look. but tommasino came to antonio and said to him, "why did you not ask also pardon for all of us, and for yourself the hand of lucia?" "a great thing, and a thing that troubles me, i have done already," answered antonio. "therefore i will ask nothing for myself, and nothing may i ask for you or for my friends. but if i ask nothing save that right and justice be done, it may be that my sin in laying hands on the sacred bones will be the less." now after antonio and his men were gone, the archbishop's train stayed long by the stream on the road, lamenting and fearing to go forward. yet at last they went forward, and being come to the next village found all the people awaiting them at the bounds. and when the people saw the disorder of the procession, and that the pikemen had no pikes, they ran forward, eagerly asking what had befallen; and learning of the calamity, they were greatly afraid and cursed antonio; and many of them accompanied the archbishop on his way to the city, whence he came towards evening. a great concourse of people awaited his coming there, and the duke himself sat on a lofty seat in the great square, prepared to receive the sacred bones, and go with them to the cathedral, where they were to be exposed to the gaze of the people at high mass. and they set the archbishop's chair down before the duke's seat, and the archbishop came and stood before the duke, and his priests and the pikemen with him. and the duke started up from his seat, crying, "what ails you?" and sank back again, and sat waiting to hear what the archbishop should say. then the archbishop, his robes still damp and greatly disordered, his limbs trembling in anger and in fear, raised his voice; and all the multitude in the square was silent while he declared to his highness what things count antonio had done, and rehearsed the message that he had sent. but when the archbishop told how antonio had sworn that as god lived he would scatter the ashes of the sacred bones to the winds, the men caught their breath with a gasp, while the women murmured affrightedly, "christ save us;" and duke valentine dug the nails of his hand, whereon his head rested, into the flesh of his cheek. for all the city held that, according to the words st. prisian himself had uttered before he suffered, the power and prosperity of the duchy and the favour of heaven to it rested on the presence among them and the faithful preservation and veneration of those most holy relics. and the archbishop, having ended the message, cried, "god pardon my lips that repeat such words," and fell on his knees before duke valentine, crying, "justice on him, my lord, justice!" and many in the throng echoed his cry; but others, and among them a great part of the apprenticed lads who loved antonio, muttered low one to another, "but the duke has taken his sweetheart from him," and they looked on the duke with no favourable eye. then duke valentine rose from his seat and stood on the topmost step that led to it, and he called sundry of his lords and officers round him, and then he beckoned for silence, and he said, "before the sun sets to-morrow, the lady lucia shall take the vows;" and he, with his train, took their way to the palace, the pikemen clearing a path for them. and now indeed was silence; for all marvelled and were struck dumb that the duke said naught concerning the bones of st. prisian, and they searched one another's faces for the meaning of his words. but the archbishop arose, and, speaking to no man, went to the cathedral, and knelt before the altar in the chapel of st. prisian, and there abode on his knees. surely never, from that day until this hour, has such a night passed in the city of firmola. for the duke sent orders that every man of his guard should be ready to start at break of day in pursuit of antonio, and through the hours of the evening they were busied in preparing their provisions and accoutrements. but their looks were heavy and their tongues tied, for they knew, every man of them, that though the duke might at the end take antonio, yet he could not come at him before the time that antonio had said. and this the townsmen knew well also; and they gathered themselves in groups in the great square, saying, "before the duke comes at him, the sacred bones will be burnt, and what will then befall the duchy?" and those who were friendly to antonio, foremost among them being the apprenticed lads, spread themselves here and there among the people, asking cunningly whether it concerned the people of firmola more that the blessing of st. prisian should abide with them, or that a reluctant maiden should be forced to take the veil; and some grew bold to whisper under their breath that the business was a foul one, and that heaven did not send beauty and love that priests should bury them in convent walls. and the girls of the city, ever most bold by reason of their helplessness, stirred up the young men who courted them, leading them on and saying, "he is a true lover who risks his soul for his love;" or, "i would i had one who would steal the bones of st. prisian for my sake, but none such have i:" with other stirring and inflaming taunts, recklessly flung from pouting lips and from under eyes that challenged. and all the while duke valentine sat alone in his cabinet, listening to the tumult that sounded with muffled din through the walls of the palace. now there was in the city a certain furrier named peter, a turbulent fellow who had been put out of his craft-guild because he would not abide by the laws of the craft, and lived now as he best could, being maintained in large measure by those who listened to his empty and seditious conversation. this man, loving naught that there was worthy of love in count antonio, yet loved him because he defied the duke; and about midnight, having drunk much wine, he came into the square and gathered together the apprentices, saying, "i have a matter to say to you--and to you--and to you," till there were many scores of them round him: then he harangued them, and more came round; and when at last peter cried, "give us back the sacred bones!" a thousand voices answered him, "aye, give us back the bones!" and when the pikemen would have seized him, men, and women also, made a ring round him, so that he could not be taken. and sober men also, of age and substance, hearkened to him, saying, "he is a knave, but he speaks truth now." so that a very great throng assembled, every man having a staff, and many also knives; and to those that had not knives, the women and girls brought them, thrusting them into their hands; nay, sundry priests also were among the people, moaning and wringing their hands, and saying that the favour of st. prisian would be lost for ever to the city. and the square was thronged, so that a man could not move unless all moved, nor raise his hand to his head save by the favour of his neighbour. yet presently the whole mass began to move, like a great wave of water, towards the palace of the duke, where the pikemen stood in ranks, ready now to go against antonio. suddenly arose a cry, "the archbishop comes!" and the venerable man was seen, led through the crowd by peter and some more, who brought him and set him in the front ranks of the people; and peter cried boldly, "where is the duke?" but the captain of the guard came forward, sword in hand, and bade peter be still, cursing him for insolence, and shouted that the people should disperse on pain of his highness's displeasure. "where is the duke? let him come out to us!" cried peter; and the captain, despising him, struck him lightly with the flat of his sword. but peter with a cry of rage struck the captain a great blow with his staff, and the captain staggered back, blood flowing from his head. such was the beginning of the fray; for in an instant the pikemen and the people had joined battle: men cried in anger and women in fright: blood flowed, and sundry on both sides fell and rose no more; and the archbishop came near to being trodden under foot till his friends and the priests gathered round him; and when he saw that men were being slain, he wept. then the lord lorenzo hastened to the cabinet of the duke, whom he found pacing up and down, gnawing his finger-nails, and told him of what was done outside. "i care not," said the duke. "she shall take the vows! let the pikemen scatter them." lorenzo then besought him, telling him that all the city was in arms, and that the conflict would be great. but the duke said still, "she shall take the vows!" nevertheless he went with lorenzo, and came forth on to the topmost step of the portico. and when the people saw him they ceased for a moment to assail the pikemen, and cried out, "give us back the sacred bones!" "scatter these fellows!" said the duke to the captain of the guard. "my lord, they are too many. and if we scatter them now, yet when we have gone against count antonio, they may do what they will with the city." the duke stood still, pale, and again gnawing his nails; and the pikemen, finding the fight hard, gave back before the people; and the people pressed on. then peter the furrier came forward, and the hottest with him, and mocked the pikemen; and one of the pikemen suddenly thrust peter through with his pike, and the fellow fell dead; on which a great cry of rage rose from all the people, and they rushed on the pikemen again and slew and were slain; and the fight rolled up the steps even to the very feet of the duke himself. and at last, able no longer to contend with all the city, he cried, "hold! i will restore the sacred bones!" but the people would not trust him and one cried, "bring out the lady here before us and set her free, or we will burn the palace." and the archbishop came suddenly and threw himself on his knees before the duke, beseeching him that no more blood might be shed, but that the lady lucia should be set free. and the duke, now greatly afraid, sent hastily the lieutenant of the guard and ten men, who came to the convent where lucia was, and, brooking no delay, carried her with them in her bedgown, and brought and set her beside the duke in the portico of the palace. then the duke raised his hand to heaven, and before all the people he said, "behold, she is free! let her go to her own house, and her estate shall be hers again. and by my princely word and these same holy bones, i swear that she shall not take the vows, neither will i constrain her to wed any man." and when he had said this, he turned sharply round on his heel, and, looking neither to the right nor to the left, went through the great hall to his cabinet and shut the door. for his heart was very sore that he must yield to antonio's demand, and for himself he had rather a thousand times that the bones of st. prisian had been burnt. now when the duke was gone, the people brought the lady lucia to her own house, driving out the steward whom the duke had set there, and, this done, they came to the archbishop, and would not suffer him to rest or to delay one hour before he set forth to carry the duke's promise to antonio. this the archbishop was ready to do, for all that he was weary. but first he sent lorenzo to ask the duke's pleasure; and lorenzo, coming to the duke, prayed him to send two hundred pikes with the archbishop. "for," said he, "your highness has sworn nothing concerning what shall befall antonio; and so soon as he has delivered up the bones, i will set on him and bring him alive or dead to your highness." but the duke would not hearken. "the fellow's name is like stale lees of wine in my mouth," said he. "ten of my pikemen lie dead in the square, and more of the citizens. i will lose no more men over it." "yet how great a thing if we could take him!" "i will take him at my own time and in my own way," said the duke. "in god's name, leave me now." lorenzo therefore got from the duke leave for but ten men to go with the archbishop, and to go himself if he would. and thus they set out, exhorted by the people, who followed them beyond the bounds of the city, to make all speed. and when they were gone, the people came back and took up the bodies of the dead; while the pikemen also took up the bodies of such of their comrades as were slain. yet had duke valentine known what passed on the hills while the city was in tumult, it may not be doubted, for all his vexation, that he would have sent the two hundred whom lorenzo asked: never had he a fairer chance to take antonio. for when the count and those who had been with him to rilano were asleep, antonio's head resting on the golden casket, a shepherd came to the rest of the band and told them what had been done and how all the country was in an uproar. then a debate arose amongst the band, for, though they were lawless men, yet they feared god, and thought with great dread on what antonio had sworn; so that presently they came altogether, and aroused antonio, and said to him, "my lord, you have done much for us, and it may be that we have done somewhat for you. but we will not suffer the sacred bones to be burnt and scattered to the winds." "except the duke yields, i have sworn it, as god lives," answered antonio. "we care not. it shall not be, no, not though you and we die," said they. "it is well; i hear," said antonio, bowing his head. "in an hour," said they, "we will take the bones, if you will not yourself, my lord, send them back." "again i hear," said antonio, bowing his head; and the band went back to the fire round which they had been sitting, all save martolo, who came and put his hand in antonio's hand. "how now, martolo?" asked antonio. "what you will, i will, my lord," said martolo. for though he trembled when he thought of the bones of st. prisian, yet he clung always to antonio. as for bena and the others of the ten who had gone to rilano, they would now have burnt not the bones only, but the blessed saint himself, had antonio bidden them. hard men, in truth, were they, and the more reckless now, because no harm had come to them from the seizing of the bones; moreover antonio had given them good wine for supper, and they drank well. now the rest of the band being gone back to their fire and the night being very dark, in great silence and caution antonio, tommasino, martolo, bena, and their fellows--being thirteen in all--rose from their places, and taking naught with them but their swords (save that antonio carried the golden casket), they stole forth from the camp, and set their faces to climb yet higher into the heights of the hills. none spoke; one following another, they climbed the steep path that led up the mountain side; and when they had been going for the space of an hour, they heard a shout from far below them. "our flight is known," said tommasino. "shall we stand and meet them, my lord?" asked bena. "nay, not yet," said antonio; and the thirteen went forward again at the best speed they could. now they were in a deep gorge between lofty cliffs; and the gorge still tended upwards; and at length they came to the place which is now named "antonio's neck." there the rocks came nigh to meeting and utterly barring the path; yet there is a way that one man, or at most two, may pass through at one time. along this narrow tongue they passed, and, coming to the other side, found a level space on the edge of a great precipice, and antonio pointing over the precipice, they saw in the light of the day, which now was dawning, the towers and spires of firmola very far away in the plain below. "it is a better place for the fire than the other," said antonio; and bena laughed, while martolo shivered. "yet we risk being hindered by these fellows behind," said tommasino. "nay, i think not," said antonio. then he charged tommasino and all of them to busy themselves in collecting such dry sticks and brushwood as they could; and there was abundance near, for the fir-trees grew even so high. and one of the men also went and set a snare, and presently caught a wild goat, so that they had meat. but antonio took bena and set him on one side of the way where the neck opened out into the level space; and he stood on the other side of the way himself. and when they stretched out their arms, the point of bena's sword reached the hilt of antonio's. and antonio smiled, saying to bena, "he had need to be a thin man, bena, that passes between you and me." and bena nodded his head at count antonio, answering, "indeed this is as strait as the way to heaven, my lord, and leads, as it seems to me, in much the same direction." thus antonio and bena waited in the shelter of the rocks at the opening of the neck, while the rest built up a great pile of wood. then, having roasted the meat, they made their breakfast, martolo carrying portions to antonio and to bena. and, their pursuers not knowing the path so well and therefore moving less quickly, it was but three hours short of noon when they heard the voices of men from the other side of the neck. and antonio cried straightway, "come not through at your peril! yet one may come and speak with me." then a great fellow, whose name is variously given, though most of those whom i have questioned call him sancho, came through the neck, and, reaching the end of it, found the crossed swords of antonio and bena like a fence against his breast. and he saw also the great pile of wood, and resting now on the top of it the golden casket that held the sacred bones. and he said to antonio, "my lord, we love you; but sooner than that the bones should be burnt, we will kill you and all that are with you." but antonio answered, "i also love you, sancho; yet you and all your company shall die sooner than my oath shall be broken." "your soul shall answer for it, my lord," said sancho. "you speak truly," answered antonio. then sancho went back through the neck and took counsel with his fellows; and they made him their chief, and promised to be obedient to all that he ordered. and he said, "let two run at their highest speed through the neck: it may be they will die, but the bones must be saved. and after them, two more, and again two. and i will be of the first two." but they would not suffer him to be of the first two, although he prevailed that he should be of the last two. and the six, being chosen, drew their swords and with a cry rushed into the neck. antonio, hearing their feet, said to bena, "a quick blow is as good as a slow, bena." and even as he spoke the first two came to the opening of the neck. but antonio and bena struck at them before they came out of the narrowest part or could wield their swords freely; and the second two coming on, bena struck at one and wounded him in the breast, and he wounded bena in the face over the right eye, and then bena slew him; while antonio slew his man at his first stroke. and the fifth man and sancho, the sixth, coming on, antonio cried loudly, "are you mad, are you mad? we could hold the neck against a hundred." but they would not stop, and antonio slew the fifth, and bena was in the act to strike at sancho, but antonio suddenly dashed sancho's sword from his hand, and caught him a mighty buffet, so that he fell sprawling on the bodies of the five that were dead. "go back, fool, go back!" cried antonio. and sancho, answering nothing, gathered himself up and went back; for he perceived now that not with the loss of half of his men would he get by antonio and bena; and beyond them stood tommasino with ten whom he knew to be of the stoutest of the band. "it is a sore day's work, bena," cried antonio, looking at the dead bodies. "if a man be too great a fool to keep himself alive, my lord, he must die," answered bena; and he pushed the bodies a little further back into the neck with his foot. then sancho's company took counsel again; for, much as they reverenced the sacred bones, there was none of them eager to enter the neck. thus they were at a loss, till the shepherd who had come along with them spoke to sancho, saying, "at the cost of a long journey you may come at him; for there is a way round that i can lead you by. but you will not traverse it in less than twelve or thirteen hours, taking necessary rest by the way." but sancho, counting the time, cried, "it will serve! for although a thousand came against him, yet the count will not burn the bones before the time of his oath." therefore he left fifteen men to hold the neck, in case antonio should offer to return back through it, and with the rest he followed the shepherd in great stealth and quiet; by reason of which, and of the rock between them, antonio knew not what was done, but thought that the whole company lay still on the other side of the neck. thus the day wore to evening as the archbishop with the lord lorenzo and the guards came to the spur of the hills; and here they found a man waiting, who cried to them, "do you bring the duke's promise to the count antonio?" "yes, we bring it," said they. "i am charged," said he, "to lead the archbishop and one other after the count." but since the archbishop could not climb the hills, being old and weary, lorenzo constrained the man to take with him four of the guards besides; and the four bore the archbishop along. thus they were led through the secret tracks in the hills, and these lorenzo tried to engrave on his memory, that he might come again. but the way was long and devious, and it was hard to mark it. thus going, they came to the huts, and passing the huts, still climbed wearily till they arrived near to the neck. it was then night, and, as they guessed, hard on the time when antonio had sworn to burn the sacred bones; therefore they pressed on more and more, and came at last to the entrance of the neck. here they found the fifteen, and lorenzo, running up, cried aloud, "we bring the promise, we bring the promise!" but scarcely had he spoken these words, when a sudden great shout came from the other side of the neck; and lorenzo, drawing his sword, rushed into the neck, the fifteen following, yet leaving a space between him and them, lest they should see him fall, pierced by antonio and bena. and lorenzo stumbled and fell over the five dead bodies which lay in the way of the neck. uttering a cry, "what are these?" he scrambled again to his feet, and passed unhurt through the mouth of the neck, and the fifteen followed after him, while the guards supported the archbishop in their hands, his chair being too wide to pass through the neck. and when thus they all came through, wild and strange was the sight they saw. for it chanced that at the same time sancho's company had completed their circuit, and had burst from behind upon antonio and the twelve. and when the twelve saw them, they retreated to the great pile and made a ring round it, and stood there ready to die rather than allow sancho's men to reach the pile. it was then midnight and the time of count antonio's oath. count antonio stood on the top of the great pile; at his feet lay the golden casket containing the sacred bones, and in his hand was a torch. and he cried aloud, "hold them, while i fire the pile!" and he leapt down and came to the side of the pile and laid his torch to the pile. and in an instant the flames shot up, for the pile was dry. now when sancho's men saw the pile alight, with shouts of horror and of terror they charged at the top of their speed against the twelve who guarded the pile. and lorenzo and his men also rushed; but the cries of sancho's company, together with the answering defiance of the twelve, drowned the cries of lorenzo; and antonio and the twelve knew not that lorenzo was come. and the flames of the pile grew, and the highest tongue of flame licked the side of the golden casket. but antonio's voice rose above all, as he stood, aye, almost within the ambit of the fire, and cried, "hold them a moment, tommasino--a moment, bena--and the thing is done!" then lorenzo tore his casque from his head and flung down his sword, and rushed unarmed between antonio's men and sancho's men, shouting louder than he had thought ever to shout, "the promise! the promise!" and at the same moment (so it is told, i but tell it as it is told) there came from heaven a great flash of lightning, which, aiding the glare of the flames, fully revealed the features of lorenzo. back fell sancho's men, and antonio's arrested their swords. and then they all cried as men cry in great joy, "the promise! the promise!" and for a moment all stood still where they were. but the flames leapt higher; and, as antonio had said, they were seen by the great throng that gazed from the city walls; and they were seen by duke valentine as he watched from the wall of his garden by the river; and he went pale, gnawing his nails. then the count antonio sprang on the burning pile, though it seemed that no man could pass alive through it. yet god was with him, and he gained the top of it, and, stooping, seized the golden casket and flung it down, clear of the pile, even at the lord lorenzo's feet; and when lorenzo sought to lift it, the heat of it blistered his hands, and he cried out with pain. but count antonio, choked by the smoke, his hair and his eyebrows scorched by the fire, staggered half-way down the pile and there sank on his knees. and there he had died, but that tommasino, bena, and sancho, each eager to outstrip the other, rushed in and drew him forth, and fetched water and gave it to him, so that he breathed again and lived. but the flames leapt higher and higher; and they said on the city walls, "god help us! god help us! the sacred bones are burnt!" and women, aye, and men too, fell to weeping, and there was great sorrow, fear, and desolation. and the duke gnawed his nails even to the quick, and spat the blood from his mouth, cursing antonio. but lorenzo, having perceived that the greater number was against antonio, cried out to sancho's men, "seize him and bring him here!" for the duke's promise carried no safety to antonio. but sancho answered him, "now that the sacred bones are safe, we have no quarrel with my lord antonio;" and he and his men went and laid down their swords by the feet of antonio, where he lay on the ground, his head on tommasino's lap. so that the whole band were now round antonio, and lorenzo had but four with him. "he asks war!" growled bena to tommasino. "shall he not have war, my lord?" and tommasino laughed, answering, "here is a drunkard of blood!" but count antonio, raising himself, said, "is the archbishop here?" then lorenzo went and brought the archbishop, who, coming, stood before antonio, and rehearsed to him the oath that duke valentine had taken, and told him how the lady lucia was already free and in her own house, and made him aware also of the great tumult that had happened in the city. and antonio listened to his tale in silence. then the archbishop raised a hand towards heaven and spoke in a solemn and sad voice, "behold, there are ten of the duke's guard dead in the city, and there are twelve of the townsmen dead; and here, in the opening of the neck, there lie dead five men of those who followed you, my lord. twenty-and-seven men are there that have died over this business. i pray more have not died in the city since i set forth. and for what has this been done, my lord? and more than the death of all these is there. for these sacred bones have been foully and irreligiously stolen and carried away, used with vile irreverence and brought into imminent hazard of utter destruction: and had they been destroyed and their ashes scattered to the four winds, according to your blasphemous oath, i know not what would have befallen the country where such an act was done. and for what has this been done, my lord? it has been done that a proud and violent man may have his will, and that his passion may be satisfied. heavy indeed is the burden on your soul my lord; yes, on your soul is the weight of sacrilege and of much blood." the archbishop ceased, and his hand dropped to his side. the flames on the pile were burning low, and a stillness fell on all the company. but at last count antonio rose to his feet and stood with his elbow on tommasino's shoulder, leaning on tommasino. his face was weary and sad, and he was very pale, save where in one spot the flame had scorched his cheek to an angry red. and looking round on the archbishop, and on the lord lorenzo, and on them all, he answered sadly, "in truth, my lord archbishop, my burden is heavy. for i am an outlaw, and excommunicated. twenty-and-seven men have died through my act, and i have used the sacred bones foully, and brought them into imminent peril of total destruction, according to my oath. all this is true, my lord. and yet i know not. for almighty god, whom all we, whether honest men or knaves, men of law or lawless, humbly worship--almighty god has his own scales, my lord. and i know not which thing be in those scales the heavier; that twenty-and-seven men should die, and that the bones of the blessed st. prisian should be brought in peril, aye, or should be utterly destroyed; or again that one weak girl, who has no protection save in the justice and pity of men, should be denied justice and bereft of pity, and that no man should hearken to her weeping. say, my lord--for it is yours to teach and mine to learn--which of these things should god count the greater sin? and for myself i have asked nothing; and for my friends here, whom i love--yes, even those i have killed for my oath's sake, i loved--i have dared to ask nothing. but i asked only that justice should be done and mercy regarded. where, my lord, is the greater sin?" but the archbishop answered not a word to count antonio; but he and the lord lorenzo came and lifted the golden casket, and, no man of antonio's company seeking to hinder them, they went back with it to the city and showed it to the people; and after that the people had rejoiced greatly that the sacred bones, which they had thought to be destroyed, were safe, the archbishop carried the golden casket back to the shrine in the village of rilano, where it rests till this day. but count antonio buried the five men of his band whom he and bena had slain, and with the rest he abode still in the hills, while the lady lucia dwelt in her own house in the city; and the duke, honouring the oath which he had sworn before all the people, did not seek to constrain her to wed any man, and restored to her the estate that he had taken from her. yet the duke hated count antonio the more for what he had done, and sought the more eagerly how he might take him and put him to death. chapter vi. count antonio and the hermit of the vault. among the stories concerning the count antonio which were told to me in answer to my questioning (whereof i have rejected many as being no better than idle tales), there was one that met me often and yet seemed strange and impossible to believe; for it was said that he had during the time of his outlawry once spent several days in the vault of the peschetti, and there suffered things that pass human understanding. this vault lies near to the church of st. john the theologian, in the suburb of baratesta, on the banks of the river; and the peschetti had a palace hard by, and were a family of high nobility, and allied by blood to the house of monte velluto. but i could find no warrant for the story of antonio's sojourn in the vault, and although many insisted that the tale was true, yet they could not tell how nor why the count came to be in the vault; until at length i chanced on an aged woman who had heard the truth of the matter from her grandmother, and she made me acquainted with the story, pouring on me a flood of garrulous gossip, from which i have chosen as much as concerns the purpose. and here i set it down; for i believe it to be true, and i would omit nothing that touches the count, so i can be sure that what i write is based on truth. when count antonio had dwelt in the hills for the space of three years and nine months, it chanced that cesare, last of the peschetti, died; and he made a will on his death-bed whereby he bequeathed to count antonio his lands and also a store of money, and many ornaments of gold, and jewels; for antonio's mother had been of the house of the peschetti, and cesare loved antonio, although he had not dared to give him countenance for fear of the duke's anger; yet, knowing himself to be dying, he bequeathed everything to him, for the duke's wrath could not hurt a dead man. and so soon as he was dead, his steward giuseppe sent secretly and in haste to antonio, saying, "my lord, you cannot take the lands or the house; but, if you will be wise, come quickly and take the money and the jewels; for i hear that his highness the duke, declaring that an outlaw has no right and can inherit nothing, will send and seize the treasure." now antonio, though grieved at the death of cesare, was glad to hear of the treasure; for he was often hard put to it to maintain his company and those who depended on him for bread. so he pondered anxiously how he might reach the palace of the peschetti and lay hands on the treasure and return safely; for at this time duke valentine had posted above a hundred of his guard in the plain, and this troop watched all the approaches to the hills so that the band could not ride forth in a body unless it were prepared to do battle with the guards. nor did antonio desire to weaken the band, lest the guards, learning that the bravest were away, should venture an attack. therefore he would not take tommasino or bena or any of the stoutest with him; but he took four young men who had come to him from firmola, having fallen into the duke's displeasure through brawling with his guards. these he mounted on good horses, and, having made a circuit to avoid the encampment in the plain, he came to cesare's house on the day before that appointed for the funeral. giuseppe came to meet him, and led him where the dead man lay, and, after the count had gazed on his face and kissed his forehead, they two went to the treasury, and giuseppe delivered the treasure to antonio; and antonio made him a present of value and confirmed him in his stewardship, although it was not likely that the duke would suffer him to exercise any power, inasmuch as his highness had declared his intention of forfeiting the estate into his own hand. now it chanced that one of the young men, being regaled with wine, drank very freely, and began to talk loud and boastfully of his master's achievements as the servants sat under the trees in front of the house; and there was with them a certain tailor, a lame man, who had furnished mourning garments for the funeral. the tailor, learning that antonio was come, said nothing, and seemed not to hear nor understand the drunken youth's talk; but at an early moment he took his departure and straightway hobbled as fast as his lame leg would let him to the syndic of baratesta, a very busy and ambitious fellow, who longed greatly to win the duke's favour. and the tailor set the price of five pieces of gold and the ordering of a new gown on the news he brought; and the syndic having agreed, the tailor cried, "antonio of monte velluto is at the house of the peschetti, and his band is not with him. if you hasten, you may catch him." at this the syndic exulted very greatly; for the duke's commissaries would not arrive to assume possession of the house in his name till the morrow, by which time antonio would be gone; and the syndic rubbed his hands, saying, "if i can take him my glory will be great, and the gratitude of his highness also." and he gathered together all his constables, and hard upon twenty discharged soldiers who dwelt in the town, and the fifteen men of the duke's who were stationed at baratesta to gather his highness's dues; and thus, with a force of about fifty men, he set out in great haste for the house of the peschetti, and was almost come there, before a little boy ran to giuseppe crying that the syndic and all the constables and many besides were coming to the house. and giuseppe, who had but three men-servants of an age to fight, the other five being old (for cesare had loved to keep those who served him well, even when their power grew less than their will), and moreover perceived that antonio's four were young and untried, wrung his hands and hastened to the count with the news, saying, "yet weak as we are, we can die for you, my lord." "heaven forbid!" said antonio, looking out of the window. "are they all townsmen that come with this syndic?" "alas, no, my lord. there are certain of the duke's men, and i see among the rest men who have spent their days under arms, either in his highness's service or in free companies." "then," said antonio, smiling, "unless i am to share cesare's funeral, i had best be gone. for i have seen too much fighting to be ashamed to run away from it." "but, my lord, they are at the gates." "and is there no other gate?" "none, my lord, save the little gate in the wall there; and see, the syndic has posted ten men there." "and he will search the house?" "i fear that he will, my lord. for he must have tidings of your coming." "then where is my horse?" said count antonio; and giuseppe showed him where the horse stood in the shadow of the portico. "do not let the syndic know," added antonio, "that the young men are of my company, and send them away in safety." "but what do you, my lord?" cried giuseppe. "what i have done before, giuseppe. i ride for life," answered the count. then the count, delaying no more, ran lightly down the stairs, leapt on his horse, and, drawing his sword, rode forth from the portico; and he was among the syndic's company before they thought to see him; and he struck right and left with his sword; and they fell back before him in fear, yet striking at him as they shrank away; and he had come clean off, but for one grizzly-haired fellow who had served much in free companies and learnt cunning; for he stooped low, avoiding the sweep of antonio's sword, and stabbed the horse in its belly, and stood wiping his knife and saying, "my legs are old. i have done my part. do yours; the horse will not go far." in truth the horse was wounded to death, and its bowels protruded from the wound; and antonio felt it falter and stumble. yet the gallant beast carried him for half a mile, and then he sprang off, fearing it would fall under him as he sat and he be crushed by it; and he drew his sword across its throat that it might not linger in pain, and then ran on foot, hearing the cries of the syndic's company as it pressed on behind him. and thus, running, he came to the church of st. john and to the vault of the peschetti by it; two men were at work preparing for cesare's funeral, and the door of the vault was open. antonio hurled one man to the right and the other to the left, and rushed into the vault; for his breath failed, and there was no chance for his life were he overtaken in the open; and before the men regained their feet, he pulled the door of the vault close and sank on his knee inside, panting, and holding his sword in readiness to slay any who entered. then the syndic and his company came and called on him to surrender. and antonio cried, "come and take me." then the syndic bade the workmen pull open the door; but antonio held it with one hand against them both. yet at last they drew it a little open; and antonio lunged with his sword through the aperture and wounded the syndic in the leg, so that he stumbled backwards with an oath. and after that none was willing to enter first, until the grizzly-haired fellow came up; but he, seeing the aperture, rushed at it sword in hand, fearing no man, not even count antonio. but he could not touch antonio, and he also fell back with a sore gash in his cheek; and antonio laughed, saying, "shall i surrender, syndic?" now the syndic was very urgent in his desire to take antonio, but his men shook their heads, and he himself could not stand because of the sword-thrust in his leg; and, instead of fighting, his company began to tell of the wonderful deeds antonio had done, and they grew no bolder by this; and the grizzly-haired fellow mocked them, saying that he would go again at the aperture if two more would attempt it with him; but none offered. and the syndic raged and rebuked them, but he could not hurt them, being unable to stand on his feet; so that one said boldly, "why should we die? the duke's commissaries will be here to-morrow with a company of the guard. let the count stay in the vault till then. he is in safe keeping; and when he sees the guard he will surrender. it is likely enough that a great lord like the count would rather die than give up his sword to the syndic." whereat the syndic was very ill pleased, but all the rest mighty well pleased; and, having heard this counsel, they could by no means be persuaded to attack afresh, but they let antonio draw the door close again, being in truth glad to see the last of his sword. therefore the syndic, having no choice, set twenty to guard the entrance of the vault and prepared to depart. but he cried to antonio, again bidding him to surrender, for the guard would come to-morrow, and then at least he could not hope to resist. "aye, but to-morrow is to-morrow, master syndic," laughed antonio. "go, get your leg dressed, and leave to-morrow till it dawn." so the syndic went home and the rest with him, leaving the twenty on guard. and to this day, if a man hath more love for fighting than skill in it, folk call him a syndic of baratesta. count antonio, being thus left in the vault, and perceiving that he would not be further molested that day, looked round; and though no daylight reached the vault, he could see, for the workmen had set a lamp there and it still burnt. around him were the coffins of all the peschetti who had died in five hundred years; and the air was heavy and stifling. antonio took the lamp and walked round the vault, which was of circular form; and he perceived one coffin standing upright against the wall of the vault, as though there had been no room for it on the shelves. then he sat down again, and, being weary, leant his head against the wall and soon slept; for a man whose conscience is easy and whose head has sense in it may sleep as well in a vault as in a bedchamber. yet the air of the vault oppressed him, and he slept but lightly and uneasily. and, if a proof be needed how legends gather round the count's name, i have heard many wonderful stories of what happened to him in the vault; how he held converse with dead peschetti, how they told him things which it is not given to men to know, and how a certain beautiful lady, who had been dead two hundred years, having been slain by her lover in a jealous rage, came forth from the coffin, with her hair all dishevelled and a great wound yet bleeding in her bosom, and sang a low sweet wild love-song to him as he lay, and would not leave him though he bade her soul rest in the name of christ and the saints. but that any of these things happened i do not believe. it was late when the count awoke, and the lamp had burnt out, so that the vault was utterly dark. and as the count roused himself, a sound strange in the place fell on his ear; for a man talked, and his talk was not such as one uses who speaks aloud his own musings to himself when he is alone (a trick men come by who live solitary), but he seemed to question others and to answer them, saying, "aye," and "no," and "alas, sweet friend!" and so forth, all in a low even voice; and now and again he would sigh, and once he laughed bitterly. then the count raised his voice, "who is there?" and the other voice answered, "which of you speaks? the tones are not known to me. yet i know all the peschetti who are here." and antonio answered, "i am not of the peschetti save by my mother; my name is antonio of monte velluto." on this a cry came from the darkness, as of a man greatly troubled and alarmed; and after that there was silence for a space. and antonio said, "there is naught to fear; i seek to save myself, not to hurt another. but how do you, a living man, come to be in this vault, and with whom do you speak?" then came the sound of steel striking on a flint, and presently a spark, and a torch was lighted; and antonio beheld before him, in the glow of the torch, the figure of a man who crouched on the floor of the vault over against him; his hair was long and tangled, his beard grew to his waist, and he was naked save for a cloth about his loins; and his eyes gleamed dark and wild as he gazed on antonio in seeming fright and bewilderment. then the count, knowing that a man collects his thoughts while another speaks, told the man who he was and how he came there, and (because the man's eyes still wondered) how that he was an outlaw these three years and more because he would not bow to the duke's will: and when he had told all, he ceased. then the man came crawling closer to him, and, holding the torch to his face, scanned his face, saying, "surely he is alive!" and again he was silent, but after a while he spoke. "for twenty-and-three years," he said, "i have dwelt here among the dead; and to the dead i talk, and they are my friends and companions. for i hear their voices, and they come out of their coffins and greet me; yet now they are silent and still because you are here." "but how can you live here?" cried antonio. "for you must starve for lack of food, and come near to suffocation in the air of this vault." the man set his hand to his brow and frowned, and said sadly, "indeed i have forgotten much, yet i remember a certain night when the devil came into me, and in black fury and jealousy i laid wait by the door of the room where my wife was; and we had been wedded but a few months. there was a man who was my friend, and he came to my wife secretly, seeking to warn her that i was suspected of treason to the prince: yes, in all things he was my friend; for when i stabbed him as he came to the door, and, rushing in, stabbed her also, she did not die till she had told me all; and then she smiled sweetly at me, saying, "our friend will forgive, dear husband, for you did not know; and i forgive the blow your love dealt me: kiss me and let me die here in your arms." and i kissed her, and she died. then i laid her on her bed, and i went forth from my home; and i wandered many days. then i sought to kill myself, but i could not, for a voice seemed to say, 'what penitence is there in death? lo, it is sweet, paolo!' so i did not kill myself; but i took an oath to live apart from men till god should in his mercy send me death. and coming in my wanderings to the river that runs by baratesta, i found a little hollow in the bank of the river, and i lay down there; and none pursued me, for the duke of firmola cared not for a crime done in mantivoglia. and for a year i dwelt in my little cave: then it was noised about that i dwelt there, and fools began to call me, who was the vilest sinner born, a holy hermit, and they came to me to ask prayers. so i begged from one a pick, and i worked on the face of the rock, and made a passage through it. and i swore to look no more on the light of the sun, but abode in the recesses that i had hollowed out. and i go no more to the mouth of the cave, save once a day at nightfall, when i drink of the water of the river and take the broken meats they leave for me." "but here--how came you here?" cried antonio. "i broke through one day by chance, as i worked on the rock; and, seeing the vault, i made a passage with much labour; and having done this, i hid it with a coffin; and now i dwell here with the dead, expecting the time when in god's mercy i also shall be allowed to die. but to-day i fled back through the passage, for men came and opened the vault and let in the sunshine, which i might not see. pray for me, sir; i have need of prayers." "now god comfort you," said count antonio softly. "of a truth, sir, a man who knows his sin and grieves for it in his heart hath in god's eyes no longer any sin. so is it sweetly taught in the most holy scriptures. therefore take comfort; for your friend will forgive even as the gentle lady who loved you forgave; and christ has no less forgiveness than they." "i know not," said the hermit, groaning heavily. "i question the dead who lie here concerning these things, but they may not tell me." "indeed, poor man, they can tell nothing," said antonio gently; for he perceived that the man was subject to a madness and deluded by fancied visions and voices. "yet i love to talk to them of the time when i also shall be dead." "god comfort you," said count antonio again. now while antonio and the hermit talked, one of those who guarded the vault chanced to lay his ear against the door, listening whether antonio moved, and he heard, to his great dread and consternation, the voice of another who talked with antonio: most of what was said he did not hear, but he heard antonio say, "god comfort you," and the hermit answer something and groan heavily. and the legs of the listener shook under him, and he cried to his comrades that the dead talked with antonio, he himself being from fright more dead than alive. then all came and listened; and still the voice of another talked with antonio; so that the guards were struck with terror and looked in one another's faces, saying, "the dead speak! the count speaks with the dead! christ and the blessed mother of christ and the saints protect us!" and they looked neither to right nor left, but sat quaking on the ground about the door of the vault; and presently one ran and told the syndic, and he caused himself to be carried thither in his chair; and he also heard, and was very greatly afraid, saying, "this antonio of monte velluto is a fearful man." and the report spread throughout baratesta that count antonio talked with the dead in the vault of the peschetti; whence came, i doubt not, the foolish tales of which i have made mention. a seed is enough: men's tongues water it and it grows to a great plant. nor did any man think that it was the hermit who talked; for although they knew of his cave, they did not know nor imagine of the passage he had made, and his voice was utterly strange, seeing that he had spoken no word to any living man for twenty years, till he spoke with the count that night. therefore the whole of baratesta was in great fear; and they came to a certain learned priest, who was priest of the church of st. john, and told him. and he arose and came in great haste, and offered prayers outside the vault, and bade the unquiet spirits rest; but he did not offer to enter, nor did any one of them; but they all said, "we had determined even before to await the duke's guard, and that is still the wiser thing." for a great while the hermit could not understand what antonio wanted of him; for his thoughts were on his own state and with the dead; but at length having understood that antonio would be guided through the passage and brought to the mouth of the cave, in the hope of finding means to escape before the duke's commissaries came with the guard, he murmured wonderingly, "do you then desire to live?" and rose, and led antonio where the coffin stood upright against the wall as antonio had seen it; but it was now moved a little to one side, and there was a narrow opening, through which the count had much ado to pass; and in his struggles he upset the coffin, and it fell with a great crash; whereat all who were outside the vault fled suddenly to a distance of a hundred yards or more in panic, expecting now to see the door of the vault open and the dead walk forth: nor could they be persuaded to come nearer again. but antonio, with a great effort, made his way through the opening, and followed the hermit along a narrow rough-hewn way, antonio's shoulders grazing the rock on either side as he went; and having pursued this way for fifteen or twenty paces, they turned to the right sharply, and went on another ten paces, and, having passed through another narrow opening, were in the cave; and the river glistened before their eyes, for it was now dawn. and the hermit, perceiving that it was dawn, and fearing to see the sun, turned to flee back to the vault; but antonio, being full of pity for him, detained him, and besought him to abandon his manner of life, assuring him that certainly by now his sin was purged: and when the hermit would not listen, antonio followed him back to the opening that led into the vault, and, forgetting his own peril, reasoned with him for the space of an hour or more, but could not prevail. so at last he bade him farewell very sorrowfully, telling him that god had made him that day the instrument of saving a man's life, which should be to him a sign of favour and forgiveness; but the hermit shook his head and passed into the vault, and antonio heard him again talking to the dead peschetti, and answering questions that his own disordered brain invented. thus it was full morning when antonio came again to the little cave by the river, and bethought him what he should do for his own safety. and suddenly, looking across the river, he beheld a gentleman whom he knew, one lepardo, a commissary of the duke's, and with him thirty of the duke's guard; and they were riding very fast; for, having started at midnight to avoid the heat of the sun (it being high summer), so soon as they reached the outskirts of baratesta, they had heard that antonio was in the vault, and were now pressing on to cross the bridge and come upon him. and antonio knew that lepardo was a man of courage and hardihood, and would be prevented by nothing from entering the vault. but on a sudden lepardo checked his horse, uttering a loud cry; for to his great amazement he had seen antonio as antonio looked forth from the cave, and he could not tell how he came to be there: and antonio at once withdrew himself into the shadow of the cave. now the banks of the stream on the side on which lepardo rode were high and precipitous, and, although it was summer, yet the stream was too deep for him to wade, and flowed quickly; yet at lepardo's bidding, six of his stoutest men prepared to leap down the bank and go in search of antonio; and antonio, discerning that they would do this, and blaming himself for his rashness in looking out so incautiously, was greatly at a loss what to do; for now he was hemmed in on either side; and he saw nothing but to sell his life dearly and do some deed that should ornament his death. so he retreated again along the passage and passed through the opening into the vault; and he summoned the hermit to aid him, and between them they set not one only, but a dozen of the coffins of the peschetti against the opening, laying them lengthwise and piling one on the top of the other hoping that lepardo's men would not discover the opening, or would at least be delayed some time before they could thrust away the coffins and come through. then antonio took his place by the gate of the vault again, sword in hand, saying grimly to the hermit, "if you seek death, sir, he will be hereabouts before long." but the count antonio was not a man whom his friends would abandon to death unaided; and while the syndic was watching antonio, the four young men who were with the count made their escape from cesare's house; and, having separated from one another, rode by four different ways towards the hills, using much wariness. yet three of them were caught by the duke's company that watched in the plain, and, having been soundly flogged, were set to work as servants in the camp. but the fourth came safe to the hills, and found there tommasino and bena; and tommasino, hearing of antonio's state, started with bena and eighteen more to rescue him or die with him. and they fell in with a scouting party of the duke's, and slew every man of them to the number of five, losing two of their own number; but thus they escaped, there being none left to carry news to the camp; and they rode furiously, and, by the time they came near baratesta, they were not more than a mile behind lepardo's company. but lepardo, when he had detached the six men to watch antonio, rode on hastily to find the syndic, and learn from him the meaning of what he had seen; and thus tommasino, coming opposite to the mouth of the hermit's cave, saw no more than six horses tethered on the river bank, having the duke's escutcheon wrought on their saddle-cloths. then he leapt down, and, running to the edge of the bank, saw a man disappearing into the mouth of the cave, dripping wet; and this man was the last of the six who had swum the river, and were now groping their way with great caution along the narrow track that the hermit had made. now tommasino understood no more than lepardo that there was any opening from the cave to the vault, but he thought that the duke's men did not swim the river for their pleasure, and he bade bena take five and watch what should happen, while he rode on with the rest. "if they come out again immediately," he said, "you will have them at a disadvantage; but if they do not come out, go in after them; for i know not what they are doing unless they are seeking my cousin or laying some trap for him." then tommasino rode after lepardo; and bena, having given the duke's men but the briefest space in which to come out again from the cave, prepared to go after them. and the duke's men were now much alarmed; for the last man told them of the armed men on the bank opposite, and that they did not wear the duke's badge; so the six retreated up the passage very silently, but they could not find any opening, for it grew darker at every step, and they became much out of heart. then bena's men crossed the river and entered the mouth of the cave after them. thus there was fair likelihood of good fighting both in the passage and by the gate of the vault. but the count antonio, not knowing that any of his band were near, had ceased to hope for his life, and he sat calm and ready, sword in hand, while the hermit withdrew to a corner of the vault, and crouched there muttering his mad answers and questions, and ever and again hailing some one of the dead peschetti by name as though he saw him. then suddenly a coffin fell with a loud crash from the top of the heap on to the floor; for the duke's men had found the opening and were pushing at it with hand and shoulder. antonio sprang to his feet and left the gate and went and stood ready by the pile of coffins. but again on a sudden came a tumult from beyond the opening; for bena and his five also were now in the passage, and the foremost of them--who indeed was bena himself--had come upon the hindmost of the duke's men, and the six, finding an enemy behind them, pushed yet more fiercely and strenuously against the coffins. and no man in the passage saw any man, it being utterly dark; and they could not use their swords for lack of space, but drew their daggers and thrust fiercely when they felt a man's body near. so in the dark they pushed and wrestled and struggled and stabbed, and the sound of their tumult filled all the vault and spread beyond, being heard outside; and many outside crossed themselves for fear, saying, "hell is broke loose! god save us!" but at that moment came lepardo and his company; and he, having leapt from his horse and heard from the syndic that antonio was in very truth in the vault, drew his sword and came at the head of his men to the door; and hearing the tumult from within, he cried in scorn, "these are no ghosts!" and himself with his boldest rushed at the door, and they laid hold on the handles of it and wrenched it open. but antonio, perceiving that the door was wrenched open, and not yet understanding that any of his friends were near, suddenly flung himself prone on the floor by the wall of the vault, behind two of the coffins which the efforts of the duke's men had dislodged; and there he lay hidden; so that lepardo, when he rushed in, saw no man, for the corner where the hermit crouched was dark; but the voice of the madman came, saying, "welcome! do you bring me another of the peschetti? he is welcome!" then the duke's men, having pushed aside all the coffins save one, came tumbling and scrambling over into the vault, where they found lepardo and his followers; and hot on their heels came bena and his five, so that the vault was full of men. and now from outside also came the clatter of hoofs and hoarse cries and the clash of steel; for tommasino had come, and had fallen with great fury on those of lepardo's men who were outside and on the syndic's levies that watched from afar off. and fierce was the battle outside; yet it was fiercer inside, where men fought in a half-light, scarcely knowing with whom they fought, and tripping hither and thither over the coffins of the peschetti that were strewn about the floor. then the count antonio arose from where he lay and he cried aloud, "to me, to me! to me, antonio of monte velluto!" and he rushed to the entrance of the vault. bena, hailing the count's voice, and cutting down one who barred the way, ran to antonio in great joy to find him alive and whole. and antonio came at lepardo, who stood his onset bravely, although greatly bewildered to find a party of antonio's men where he had looked for antonio alone. and he cried to his men to rally round him, and, keeping his face and his blade towards the count, began to fall back towards the mouth of the vault, in order to rejoin his men outside; for there also he perceived that there was an enemy. thus lepardo fell back, and antonio pressed on. but, unnoticed by any, the mad hermit now sprang forth from the corner where he had been; and, as antonio was about to thrust at lepardo, the hermit caught him by the arm, and with the strength of frenzy drew him back, and thrust himself forward, running even on the point of lepardo's sword that was ready for count antonio; and the sword of lepardo passed through the breast of the hermit of the vault, and protruded behind his back between his shoulders; and he fell prone on the floor of the vault, crying exultantly, "death! thanks be to god, death!" and then and there he died of the thrust that lepardo gave him. but antonio with bena and three more--for two of bena's five were slain--drove lepardo and his men back before them, and thus won their way to the gate of the vault, where, to their joy, they found that tommasino more than held his own; for he had scattered lepardo's men, and the syndic's were in full flight, save eight or ten of the old soldiers who had served in free companies; and these stood in a group, their swords in their right hands and daggers in the left, determined to die dearly; and the grizzly-haired fellow who had killed antonio's horse had assumed command of them. "here are some fellows worth fighting, my lord," said bena to tommasino joyfully. "let us meet them, my lord, man for man, an equal number of us." for although bena had killed one man and maimed another in the vault, he saw no reason for staying his hand. "aye, bena," laughed tommasino. "these fellows deserve to die at the hands of men like us." but while they prepared to attack, antonio cried suddenly, "let them be! there are enough men dead over this matter of cesare's treasure." and he compelled tommasino and bena to come with him, although they were very reluctant; and they seized horses that had belonged to lepardo's men; and, one of tommasino's men also being dead, bena took his horse. then antonio said to the men of the free companies, "what is your quarrel with me? i do but take what is mine. go in peace. this syndic is no master of yours." but the men shook their heads and stood their ground. then antonio turned and rode to the entrance of the vault where his band was now besieging lepardo, and he cried to lepardo, "confer with me, sir. you can come forth safely." and lepardo came out from the vault, having lost there no fewer than five men, and having others wounded; and he was himself wounded in his right arm and could not hold his sword. then the count said to him, "sir, it is no shame for a man to yield when fortune is against him. and i trust that i am one to whom a gentleman may yield without shame. see, the syndic's men are fled, and yours are scattered, and these men, who stand bravely together, are not enough to resist me." and lepardo answered sadly--for he was very sorry that he had failed to take antonio--"indeed, my lord, we are worsted. for we are not ten men against one, as i think they should be who seek to overcome my lord antonio." to this antonio bowed most courteously, saying, "nay, it is rather fortune, sir." and lepardo said, "yet we can die, in case you put unseemly conditions on us, my lord." "there is no condition save that you fight no more against me to-day," said antonio. "so let it be, my lord," said lepardo; and to this the men of the free companies also agreed, and they mingled with antonio's band, and two of them joined themselves to antonio that day, and were with him henceforward, one being afterwards slain on mount agnino, and the other preserving his life through all the perils that beset the count's company. then antonio went back to the house of cesare, and brought forth the body of cesare, and, having come to the vault, he caused those who had been slain to be carried out, and set the coffins again in decent order, and laid cesare, the last of the house, there. but when the corpse of the hermit was brought out, all marvelled very greatly, and had much compassion for him when they heard from the lips of count antonio his pitiful story; and antonio bestowed out of the moneys that he had from cesare a large sum that masses might be said for the soul of the hermit. "for of a surety," said the count, "it was heaven's will that through his misfortune and the strange madness that came upon him my life should be saved." these things done, antonio gathered his band, and, having taken farewell of lepardo and commended him for the valour of his struggle, prepared to ride back to the hills. and his face was grave, for he was considering earnestly how he should escape the hundred men who lay watching for him in the plain. but while he considered, tommasino came to him and said, "all baratesta is ours, cousin. cannot we get a change of coat, and thus ride with less notice from the duke's camp?" and antonio laughed also, and they sent and caught twenty men of baratesta, grave merchants and petty traders, and among them bena laid hold of the syndic, and brought him in his chair to antonio; and the count said to the syndic, "it is ill meddling with the affairs of better men, master syndic. off with that gown of yours!" and they stripped the syndic of his gown, and antonio put on the gown. thus the syndic had need very speedily of the new gown which he had contracted to purchase of the lame tailor as the price of the tailor's information. and all antonio's men clothed themselves like merchants and traders, antonio in the syndic's gown taking his place at their head; and thus soberly attired, they rode out soberly from baratesta, neither lepardo nor any of his men being able to restrain themselves from laughter to see them go; and most strange of all was bena, who wore an old man's gown of red cloth trimmed with fur. it was now noon, and the band rode slowly, for the sun was very hot, and several times they paused to take shelter under clumps of trees, so that the afternoon waned before they came in sight of the duke's encampment. soon then they were seen in their turn; and a young officer of the guard with three men came pricking towards them to learn their business; and antonio hunched the syndic's gown about his neck and pulled his cap down over his eyes, and thus received the officer. and the officer was deluded and did not know him, but said, "is there news, syndic?" "yes, there is news," said antonio. "the hermit of the vault of the peschetti is dead at baratesta." "i know naught of him," said the officer. by this time antonio's men had all crowded round the officer and his companions, hemming them in on every side; and those that watched from the duke's camp saw the merchants and traders flocking round the officer, and said to themselves, "they are offering wares to him." but antonio said, "how, sir? you have never heard of the hermit of the vault?" "i have not, syndic," said the officer. "he was a man, sir," said antonio, "who dwelt with the dead in a vault, and was so enamoured of death, that he greeted it as a man greets a dear friend who has tarried overlong in coming." "in truth, a strange mood!" cried the officer. "i think this hermit was mad." "i also think so," said antonio. "i cannot doubt of it," cried the officer. "then, sir, you are not of his mind?" asked antonio, smiling. "you would not sleep this night with the dead, nor hold out your hands to death as to a dear friend?" "by st. prisian, no," said the young officer with a laugh. "for this world is well enough, syndic, and i have sundry trifling sins that i would be quit of, before i face another." "if that be so, sir," said antonio, "return to him who sent you, and say that the syndic of baratesta rides here with a company of friends and that his business is lawful and open to no suspicion." and even as antonio spoke, every man drew his dagger, and there were three daggers at the heart of the officer and three at the heart of each of the men with him. "for by saying this," continued the count, fixing his eyes on the officer, "and by no other means can you escape immediate death." then the officer looked to right and left, being very much bewildered; but tommasino touched him on the arm and said, "you have fallen, sir, into the hands of the count antonio. take an oath to do as he bids you, and save your life." and antonio took off the syndic's cap and showed his face; and bena rolled up the sleeve of his old man's gown and showed the muscles of his arm. "the count antonio!" cried the officer and his men in great dismay. "yes; and we are four to one," said tommasino. "you have no choice, sir, between the oath and immediate death. and it seems to me that you are indeed not of the mind of the hermit of the vault." but the officer cried, "my honour will not suffer this oath, my lord." and, hearing this, bena advanced his dagger. but antonio smiled again and said, "then i will not force it on you, sir. but this much i must force on you--to swear to abide here for half-an-hour, and during that time to send no word and make no sign to your camp." to this the officer, having no choice between it and death, agreed; and antonio, leaving him, rode forward softly; and, riding softly, he passed within half-a-mile of the duke's encampment. but at this moment the officer, seeing antonio far away, broke his oath, and shouted loudly, "it is antonio of monte velluto;" and set spurs to his horse. then antonio's brow grew dark and he said, "ride on swiftly, all of you, to the hills, and leave me here." "my lord!" said tommasino, beseeching him. "ride on!" said antonio sternly. "ride at a gallop. you will draw them off from me." and they dared not disobey him, but all rode on. and now there was a stir in the duke's camp, men running for their arms and their horses. but antonio's band set themselves to a gallop, making straight for the hills; and the commander of the duke's guard did not know what to make of the matter; for he had heard the officer cry "antonio," but did not understand what he meant; therefore there was a short delay before the pursuit after the band was afoot; and the band thus gained an advantage, and antonio turned away, saying, "it is enough. they will come safe to the hills." but he himself drew his sword and set spurs to his horse, and he rode towards where the young officer was. and at first the officer came boldly to meet him; then he wavered, and his cheek went pale; and he said to the men who rode with him, "we are four to one." but one of them answered, "four to two, sir." "what do you mean?" cried the officer. "i see none coming towards us but count antonio himself." "is not god also against oath-breakers?" said the fellow, and he looked at his comrades. and they nodded their heads to him; for they were afraid to fight by the side of a man who had broken his oath. moreover the figure of the count was very terrible; and the three turned aside and left the young officer alone. now by this time the whole of the duke's encampment was astir; but they followed not after antonio, but after tommasino and the rest of the band; for they did not know antonio in the syndic's gown. thus the young officer was left alone to meet antonio; and when he saw this his heart failed him and his courage sank, and he dared not await antonio, but he turned and set spurs to his horse, and fled away from antonio across the plain. and antonio pursued after him, and was now very near upon him; so that the officer saw that he would soon be overtaken, and the reins fell from his hand and he sat on his horse like a man smitten with a palsy, shaking and trembling: and his horse, being unguided, stumbled as it went, and the officer fell off from it; and he lay very still on the ground. then count antonio came up where the officer was, and sat on his horse, holding his drawn sword in his hand; and in an instant the officer began to raise himself; and, when he stood up, he saw antonio with his sword drawn. and antonio said, "shall men without honour live?" then the officer gazed into the eyes of the count antonio; and the sweat burst forth on his forehead. a sudden strange choking cry came from him; he dropped his sword from his hand, and with both hands he suddenly clasped his heart, uttering now a great cry of pain and having his face wrung with agony. thus he stood for an instant, clutching his heart with both his hands, his mouth twisted fearfully, and then he dropped on to the ground and lay still. and the count antonio sheathed his sword, and bared his head, saying, "it is not my sword, but god's." and he turned and put his horse to a gallop and rode away, not seeking to pass the duke's encampment, but directing his way towards the village of rilano; and there he found shelter in the house of a friend for some hours, and when night fell, made his way safely back to the hills, and found that the duke's men had abandoned the pursuit of his company and that all of them were alive and safe. but when they came to take up the young officer who had been false to his oath, he was dead; whether from fright at the aspect of count antonio and the imminent doom with which he was threatened, or by some immediate judgment of heaven, i know not. for very various are the dealings of god with man. for one crime he will slay and tarry not, and so, perchance, was it meted out to that officer; but with another man his way is different, and he suffers him to live long days, mindful of his sin, in self-hatred and self-scorn, and will not send him the relief of death, how much soever the wretch may pray for it. thus it was that god dealt with the hermit of the vault of the peschetti, who did not find death till he had sought it for twenty-and-three years. i doubt not that in all there is purpose; even as was shown in the manner wherein the hermit, being himself bound and tied to a miserable life, was an instrument in saving the life of count antonio. chapter vii. count antonio and the lady of rilano. from the lips of tommasino himself, who was cousin to count antonio, greatly loved by him, and partaker of all his enterprises during the time of his sojourn as an outlaw in the hills, this, the story of the lady of rilano, came to my venerable brother in christ, niccolo; and the same niccolo, being a very old man, told it to me, so that i know that the story is true and every part of it, and tread here not on the doubtful ground of legend, but on the firm rock of the word of honest men. there is indeed one thing doubtful, tommasino himself being unable to know the verity of it; yet that one thing is of small moment, for it is no more than whether the lady came first to duke valentine, offering her aid, or whether the duke, who since the affair of the sacred bones had been ever active in laying schemes against antonio, cast his eyes on the lady, and, perceiving that she was very fair and likely to serve his turn, sent for her, and persuaded her by gifts and by the promise of a great marriage to take the task in hand. be that as it may, it is certain that in the fourth year of count antonio's outlawry, the lady venusta came from rilano, where she dwelt, and talked alone with the duke in his cabinet; so that men (and women with greater urgency) asked what his highness did to take such a one into his counsels; for he had himself forbidden her to live in the city and constrained her to abide in her house at rilano, by reason of reports touching her fair fame. nor did she then stay in firmola, but, having had audience of the duke, returned straightway to rilano, and for the space of three weeks rested there; and the duke told nothing to his lords of what had passed between him and the lady, while the count antonio and his friends knew not so much as that the duke had held conference with the lady; for great penalties had been decreed against any man who sent word to antonio of what passed in firmola, and the pikemen kept strict guard on all who left or entered the city, so that it was rather like a town besieged than the chief place of a peaceful realm. now at this time, considering that his hiding-place was too well known to the lord lorenzo and certain of the duke's guard, count antonio descended from the hills by night, and, having crossed the plain, carrying all his equipment with him, mounted again into the heights of mount agnino and pitched his camp in and about a certain cave, which is protected on two sides by high rocks and on the third by the steep banks of a river, and can be approached by one path only. this cave was known to the duke, but he could not force it without great loss, so that antonio was well nigh as safe as when his hiding-place had been unknown; and yet he was nearer by half to the city, and but seven miles as a bird flies from the village of rilano where the lady venusta dwelt; although to one who travelled by the only path that a man could go upright on his feet the distance was hard on eleven miles. but no other place was so near, and from rilano antonio drew the better part of the provisions and stores of which he had need, procuring them secretly from the people, who were very strictly enjoined by the duke to furnish him with nothing under pain of forfeiture of all their goods. yet one day, when the man they called bena and a dozen more rode in the evening through rilano, returning towards the cave, the maid-servant of venusta met them, and, with her, men bearing a great cask of fine wine, and the maid-servant said to bena, "my mistress bids you drink; for good men should not suffer thirst." but bena answered her, asking, "do you know who we are?" "aye, i know, and my lady knows," said the girl. "but my lady says that if she must live at rilano, then she will do what she pleases in rilano." bena and his men looked at one another, for they knew of his highness's proclamation, but the day having been hot, they being weary, the wine seeming good, and a woman knowing her own business best, at last they drank heartily, and, rendering much thanks, rode on and told tommasino what had been done. and tommasino having told antonio, the count was angry with bena, saying that his gluttony would bring trouble on the lady venusta. "she should not tempt a man," said bena sullenly. all these things happened on the second day of the week; and on the fourth, towards evening, as antonio and tommasino sat in front of the cave, they saw coming towards them one of the band named luigi, a big fellow who had done good service and was also a merry jovial man that took the lead in good-fellowship. and in his arms luigi bore the lady venusta. her gown was dishevelled and torn, and the velvet shoes on her feet were cut almost to shreds, and she lay back in luigi's arms, pale and exhausted. luigi came and set her down gently before antonio, saying, "my lord, three miles from here, in the steepest and roughest part of the way, i found this lady sunk on the ground and half-swooning: when i raised her and asked how she came where she was, and in such a plight, she could answer nothing save, 'count antonio! carry me to count antonio!' so i have brought her in obedience to her request." as luigi ended, venusta opened her eyes, and, rising to her knees, held out her hands in supplication, saying, "protect me, my lord, protect me. for the duke has sent me word that to-morrow night he will burn my house and all that it holds, and will take me and lodge me in prison, and so use me there that i may know what befalls those who give aid to traitors. and all this comes upon me, my lord, because i gave a draught of wine to your men when they were thirsty." "i feared this thing," said antonio, "and deeply i grieve at it. but i am loth to go in open war against the duke; moreover in the plain he would be too strong for me. what then can i do? for here is no place in which a lady, the more if she be alone and unattended, can be lodged with seemliness." "if the choice be between this and a prison----" said venusta with a faint sorrowful smile. "yet it might be that i could convey you beyond his highness's power," pursued antonio. "but i fear you could not travel far to-night." "indeed i am weary even to death," moaned venusta. "there is nothing for it but that to-night at least she rest here," said antonio to tommasino. tommasino frowned. "when woman comes in," said he behind the screen of his hand, "safety flies out." "better fly safety than courtesy and kindness, cousin," said count antonio, and tommasino ceased to dissuade him, although he was uneasy concerning the coming of venusta. that night, therefore, all made their camp outside, and gave the cave to venusta for her use, having made a curtain of green boughs across its mouth. but again the next day venusta was too sick for travel; nay, she seemed very sick, and she prayed luigi to go to rilano and seek a physician; and luigi, antonio having granted him permission, went, and returned saying that no physician dared come in face of his highness's proclamation; but the truth was that luigi was in the pay of venusta and of the duke, and had sought by his journey not a physician, but means of informing the duke how venusta had sped, and of seeking counsel from him as to what should next be done. and that day and for four days more venusta abode in the cave, protesting that she could not travel; and antonio used her with great courtesy, above all when he heard that the duke, having stayed to muster all his force for fear of antonio, had at length appointed the next day for the burning of her house at rilano and the carrying off of all her goods. these tidings he gave her, and though he spoke gently, she fell at once into great distress, declaring that she had not believed the duke would carry out his purpose, and weeping for her jewels and prized possessions which were in the house. now count antonio, though no true man could call him fool, had yet a simplicity nobler it may be than the suspicious wisdom of those who, reading other hearts by their own, count all men rogues and all women wanton: and when he saw the lady weeping for the trinkets and her loved toys and trifles, he said, "nay, though i cannot meet the duke face to face, yet i will ride now and come there before him, and bring what you value most from the house." "you will be taken," said she, and she gazed at him with timid admiring eyes. "i had rather a thousand times lose the jewels than that you should run into danger, my lord. for i owe to you liberty, and perhaps life." "i will leave tommasino to guard you and ride at once," and antonio rose to his feet, smiling at her for her foolish fears. then a thing that seemed strange happened. for antonio gave a sudden cry of pain. and behold, he had set his foot on the point of a dagger that was on the ground near to the lady venusta; and the dagger ran deep into his foot, for it was resting on a stone and the point sloped upwards, so that he trod full and with all his weight on the point; and he sank back on the ground with the dagger in his foot. how came the dagger there? how came it to rest against the stone? none could tell then, though it seems plain to him that considers now. none then thought that the lady who fled to antonio as though he were her lover, and lavished tears and sighs on him, had placed it there. nor that honest luigi, who made such moan of his carelessness in dropping his poniard, had taken more pains over the losing of his weapon than most men over the preservation of theirs. luigi cursed himself, and the lady cried out on fate; and count antonio consoled both of them, saying that the wound would soon be well, and that it was too light a matter for a lady to dim her bright eyes for the sake of it. yet light as the matter was, it was enough for venusta's purpose and for the scheme of duke valentine. for count antonio could neither mount his horse nor go afoot to venusta's house in rilano; and, if the jewels were to be saved and the lady's tears dried (mightily, she declared with pretty self-reproach, was she ashamed to think of the jewels beside antonio's hurt, but yet they were dear to her), then tommasino must go in his place to rilano. "and take all save bena and two more," said antonio. "for the duke will not come here if he goes to rilano." "i," said bena, "am neither nurse nor physician nor woman. let martolo stay; he says there is already too much blood on his conscience; and let me go, for there is not so much as i could bear on mine, and maybe we shall have a chance of an encounter with the foreguard of the duke." but venusta said to antonio, "let both of these men go, and let luigi stay. for he is a clever fellow, and will aid me in tending your wound." "so be it," said antonio. "let luigi and the two youngest stay; and do the rest of you go, and return as speedily as you may. and the lady venusta shall, of her great goodness, dress my wound, which pains me more than such a trifle should." thus the whole band, saving luigi and two youths, rode off early in the morning with tommasino, their intent being to reach rilano and get clear of it again before the duke came thither from the city: and venusta sent no message to the duke, seeing that all had fallen out most prosperously and as had been arranged between them. for the duke was not in truth minded to go at all to rilano; but at earliest dawn, before tommasino had set forth, the lord lorenzo left the city with a hundred pikemen; more he would not take, fearing to be delayed if his troop were too large; and he made a great circuit, avoiding rilano and the country adjacent to it. so that by mid-day tommasino was come with thirty-and-four men (the whole strength of the band except the three with antonio) to rilano, and, meeting with no resistance, entered venusta's house, and took all that was precious in it, and loaded their horses with the rich tapestries and the choicest of the furnishings; and then, having regaled themselves with good cheer, started in the afternoon to ride back to the cave, tommasino and bena grumbling to one another because they had chanced on no fighting, but not daring to tarry by reason of antonio's orders. but their lamentations were without need; for when they came to the pass of mount agnino, there at the entrance of the road which led up to the cave, by the side of the river, was encamped a force of eighty pikemen under the lieutenant of the guard. thus skilfully had the lord lorenzo performed his duty, and cut off tommasino and his company from all access to the cave; and now he himself was gone with twenty men up the mountain path, to take antonio according to the scheme of the duke and the lady venusta. but bena and tommasino were sore aghast, and said to one another, "there is treachery. what are we to do?" for the eighty of the duke's men were posted strongly, and it was a great hazard to attack them. yet this risk they would have run, for they were ready rather to die than to sit there idle while antonio was taken; and in all likelihood they would have died, had the lieutenant obeyed the orders which lorenzo had given him and rested where he was, covered by the hill and the river. but the lieutenant was a young man, of hot temper and impetuous, and to his mistaken pride it seemed as though it were cowardice for eighty men to shrink from attacking thirty-and-five, and for the duke's guards to play for advantage in a contest with a band of robbers. moreover tommasino's men taunted his men, crying to them to come down and fight like men in the open. therefore, counting on a sure victory and the pardon it would gain, about three o'clock in the afternoon he cried, "let us have at these rascals!" and to tommasino's great joy, his troop remounted their horses and made ready to charge from their position. then tommasino said, "we are all ready to face the enemy for my lord and cousin's sake. but i have need now of those who will run away for his sake." then he laid his plans that when the lieutenant's troop charged, his men should not stand their ground. and five men he placed on one extremity of his line, bena at their head; and four others with himself he posted at the other extremity; also he spread out his line very wide, so that it stretched on either side beyond the line of the lieutenant. and he bade the twenty-and-five in the centre not abide the onset, but turn and flee at a gallop, trusting to the speed of their horses for escape. and he made them fling away all that they had brought from the lady venusta's house, that they might ride the lighter. "and i pray god," said he, "that you will escape alive; but if you do not, it is only what your oath to my lord constrains you to. but you and i, bena, with our men, will ride, not back towards the plain, but on towards the hills, and it may be that we shall thus get ahead of the lieutenant; and once we are ahead of him in the hilly ground, he will not catch us before we come to the cave." "unless," began bena, "there be another party----" "hist!" said tommasino, and he whispered to bena, "they will fear if they hear all." then the duke's men came forth, and it fell out as tommasino had planned; for the body of the duke's men, when they saw tommasino's rank broken and his band flying, set up a great shout of scorn and triumph, and dug spurs into their horses and pursued the runaways. and the runaways rode at their top speed, and, having come nearly to rilano without being caught, they were three of them overtaken and captured by the well at the entrance to the village; but the rest, wheeling to the right, dashed across the plain, making for antonio's old hiding-place; and, having lost two more of their number whose horses failed, and having slain four of the guard who pursued incautiously ahead of the rest, they reached the spurs of the hills, and there scattered, every man by himself, and found refuge, some in the woods, some in shepherds' huts; so they came off with their lives. but the men with tommasino and bena had ridden straight for the hill-road, and had passed the lieutenant before he apprehended tommasino's scheme. then he cried aloud to his men, and eight of them, hearing him, checked their horses, but could not understand what he desired of them till he cried aloud again, and pointed with his hand towards where the ten, tommasino leading and bena in the rear, had gained the hill-road and were riding up it as swiftly as their horses could mount. then the lieutenant, cursing his own folly, gathered them, and they rode after tommasino and bena. "be of good heart," said the lieutenant. "they are between us and the company of my lord lorenzo." yet though he said this, his mind was not at ease; for the horses of his men, being unaccustomed to the hills, could not mount the road as did the sure-footed mountain-horses ridden by tommasino's company, and the space widened between them; and at last tommasino's company disappeared from sight, at the point where the track turned sharp to the left, round a great jutting rock that stood across the way and left room for but three men to ride abreast between river and rock. then the lieutenant drew rein and took counsel with his men, for he feared that tommasino would wait for him behind the jutting rock and dash out on his flank as he rode round. therefore for a while he considered, and a while longer he allowed for the breathing of the horses; and then with great caution rode on towards the jutting rock, which lay about the half of a mile from him. and when he came near it, he and his men heard a voice cry, "quiet, quiet! they are close now!" "they will dash at us as we go round," said the lieutenant. "and we can go no more than three together," said one of the guards. "are you all ready?" said the voice behind the cliff, in accents that but just reached round the rock. "not a sound, for your lives!" yet a sound there was, as of a jingling bit, and then again an angry, "curse you, you clumsy fool, be still." and then all was still. "they are ready for us now," whispered a guard, with an uneasy smile. "i will go," said the lieutenant. "which two of you will lead the way with me?" but the men grumbled, saying, "it is the way to death that you ask us to lead, sir." then the lieutenant drew his men back, and as they retreated they made a noise great hoping to make tommasino think they were gone. and, having thus withdrawn some five hundred paces, they rested in utter quiet for half an hour. and it was then late afternoon. and the lieutenant said, "i will go first alone, and in all likelihood i shall be slain; but do you follow immediately after me and avenge my death." and this they, being ashamed for their first refusal, promised to do. then the lieutenant rode softly forward till he came within twenty yards of the rock, and he clapped spurs to his horse and shouted, and, followed close by his men crying, "for god and our duke!" charged round the jutting rock. and behold, on the other side of it was not a man! and of tommasino and his company naught was to be seen--for they had used the last hour to put a great distance between them and their pursuers--save that away, far up the road, in the waning light of the sun, was to be dimly perceived the figure of a man on horseback, who waved his hat to them and, turning, was in an instant lost to view. and this man was bena, who, by himself and without a blow, had held the passage of the jutting rock for hard on an hour, and thus given time to tommasino to ride on and come upon the rear of lorenzo's company before the lieutenant and his men could hem them in on the other side. thus had the day worn to evening, and long had the day seemed to antonio, who sat before the mouth of the cave, with venusta by his side. all day they had sat thus alone, for luigi and the two youths had gone to set snares in the wood behind the cave--or such was the pretext luigi made; and antonio had let them go, charging them to keep in earshot. as the long day passed, antonio, seeking to entertain the lady and find amusement for her through the hours, began to recount to her all that he had done, how he had seized the sacred bones, the manner of his difference with the abbot of st. prisian, and much else. but of the killing of duke paul he would not speak; nor did he speak of his love for lucia till venusta pressed him, making parade of great sympathy for him. but when he had set his tongue to the task, he grew eloquent, his eyes gleamed and his cheek flushed, and he spoke in the low reverent voice that a true lover uses when he speaks of his mistress, as though his wonted accents were too common and mean for her name. and venusta sat listening, casting now and again a look at him out of her deep eyes, and finding his eyes never on hers but filled with the fancied vision of lucia. and at last, growing impatient with him, she broke out petulantly, "is this girl, then, different from all others, that you speak of her as though she were a goddess?" "i would not have spoken of her but that you pressed me," laughed antonio. "yet in my eyes she is a goddess, as every maid should be to her lover." venusta caught a twig from the ground and broke it sharp across. "boys' talk!" said she, and flung the broken twig away. antonio laughed gently, and leant back, resting on the rock. "may be," said he. "yet is there none who talks boys' talk for you?" "i love men," said she, "not boys. and if i were a man i think i would love a woman, not a goddess." "it is heaven's chance, i doubt not," said antonio, laughing again. "had you and i chanced to love, we should not have quarrelled with the boys' talk nor at the name of goddess." she flushed suddenly and bit her lip, but she answered in raillery, "indeed had it been so, a marvel of a lover i should have had! for you have not seen your mistress for many, many months, and yet you are faithful to her. are you not, my lord?" "small credit not to wander where you love to rest," said antonio. "and yet youth goes in waiting, and delights missed come not again," said she, leaning towards him with a light in her eyes, and scanning his fair hair and bronzed cheek, his broad shoulders and the sinewy hands that nursed his knee. "it may well be that they will not come to me," he said. "for the duke has a halter ready for my throat, if by force or guile he can take me." she started at these words, searching his face; but he was calm and innocent of any hidden meaning. she forced a laugh as she said, twisting a curl of her hair round her finger, "the more reason to waste no time, my lord antonio." antonio shook his head and said lightly, "but i think he cannot take me by force, and i know of no man in all the duchy that would betray me to a shameful death." "and of no woman?" she asked, glancing at him from under drooping lashes. "no, for i have wronged none; and women are not cruel." "yet there may be some, my lord, who call you cruel and therefore would be cruel in vengeance. a lover faithful as you can have but one friend among women." "i know of none such," he laughed. "and surely the vengeance would be too great for the offence, if there were such." "nay, i know not that," said venusta, frowning. "i would trust myself to any woman, even though the duke offered her great rewards, aye, as readily as i put faith in lucia herself, or in you." "you couple me with her?" "in that matter most readily," said antonio. "but in nothing else?" she asked, flushing again in anger, for still his eyes were distant, and he turned them never on her. "you must pardon me," he said. "my eyes are blinded." for a moment she sat silent; then she said in a low voice, "but blind eyes have learned to see before now, my lord." then antonio set his eyes on her; and now she could not meet them, but turned her burning face away. for her soul was in tumult, and she knew not now whether she loved or hated him, nor whether she would save or still betray him. and the trust he had in her gnawed her guilty heart. so that a sudden passion seized her, and she caught antonio by the arm, crying, "but if a woman held your life in her hand and asked your love as its price, antonio?" "such a thing could not be," said he, wondering. "nay, but it might. and if it were?" and antonio, marvelling more and more at her vehemence, answered, "love is dear, and honour is dear; but we of monte velluto hold life of no great price." "yet it is a fearful and shameful thing to hang from the city wall." "there are worse things," said he. "but indeed i count not to do it;" and he laughed again. venusta sprang to her feet and paced the space between the cave and the river bank with restless steps. once she flung her hands above her head and clasped them; then, holding them clasped in front of her, she stood by antonio and bent over him, till her hair, falling forward as she stooped, brushed his forehead and mingled with his fair locks; and she breathed softly his name, "antonio, antonio!" at this he looked up with a great start, stretching up his hand as though to check her; but he said nothing. and she, suddenly sobbing, fell on her knees by him; yet, as suddenly, she ceased to sob, and a smile came on her lips, and she leant towards him, saying again, "antonio." "i pray you, i pray you," said he, seeking to stay her courteously. then, careless of her secret, she flashed out in wrath, "ah, you scorn me, my lord! you care nothing for me. i am dirt to you. yet i hold your life in my hand!" and then in an instant she grew again softened, beseeching, "am i so hideous, dear lord, that death is better than my love? for if you will love me, i will save you." "i know not how my life is in your hands," said he, glad to catch at that and leave the rest of what venusta said. "is there any path that leads higher up into the mountains?" she asked. "yes, there is one," said he; "but if need came now, i could not climb it with this wounded foot of mine." "luigi and the young men could carry you?" "yes; but what need? tommasino and the band will return soon." but she caught him by the hand, crying, "rise, rise; call the men and let them carry you. come, there is no time for lingering. and if i save you, my lord antonio----?" and a yearning question sounded in her voice. "if you save me a thousand times, i can do nothing else than pray you spare me what is more painful than death to me," said he, looking away from her and being himself in great confusion. "come, come," she cried. "call them! perhaps some day----! call them, antonio." but as she spoke, before antonio could call, there came a loud cry from the wood behind the cave, the cry of a man in some great strait. antonio's hand flew to his sword, and he rose to his feet, and stood leaning on his sword. then he cried aloud to luigi. and in a moment luigi and one of the youths came running; and luigi, casting one glance at venusta, said breathlessly, "my lord, jacopo's foot slipped, and the poor fellow has fallen down a precipice thirty feet deep on to the rocks below, and we fear that he is sore hurt." venusta sprang a step forward, for she suspected (what the truth was) that luigi himself had aided the slipping of jacopo's foot by a sudden lurch against him; but she said nothing, and antonio bade luigi go quick and look after jacopo, and take the other youth with him. "but we shall leave you unguarded, my lord," said luigi with a cunning show of solicitude. "i am in no present danger, and the youth may be dying. go speedily," said antonio. luigi turned, and with the other youth (tommasino told niccolo his name, but niccolo had forgotten it) rushed off; and even as he went, venusta cried, "it is a lie! you yourself brought it about!" but luigi did not hear her, and antonio, left again alone, asked her, "what mean you?" "nay, i mean naught," said she, affrighted, and, when faced by his inquiring eyes, not daring to confess her treachery. "i hope the lad is not killed," said antonio. "i care not for a thousand lads. think of yourself, my lord!" and planning to rouse antonio without betraying herself, she said, "i distrust this man luigi. is he faithful? the duke can offer great rewards." "he has served me well. i have no reason to mistrust him," said antonio. "ah, you trust every one!" she cried in passion and in scorn of his simplicity. "you trust luigi! you trust me!" "why not?" said he. "but indeed now i have no choice. for they cannot carry both jacopo and me up the path." "jacopo! you would stay for jacopo?" she flashed out fiercely. "if nothing else, yet my oath would bind me not to leave him while he lives. for we of the band are all bound to one another as brethren by an oath, and it would look ill if i, for whom they all have given much, were the first to break the oath. so here i am, and here i must stay," and antonio ended smiling, and, his foot hurting him while he stood, sat down again and rested against the rock. it was now late, and evening fell; and venusta knew that the duke's men should soon be upon them. and she sat down near antonio and buried her face in her hands, and she wept. for antonio had so won on her by his honour and his gentleness, and most of all by his loyal clinging to the poor boy jacopo, that she could not think of her treachery without loathing and horror. yet she dared not tell him; that now seemed worse to her than death. and while they sat thus, luigi came and told antonio that the youth was sore hurt and that they could not lift him. "then stay by him," said antonio. "i need nothing." and luigi bowed, and, turning, went back to the other youth, and bade him stay by jacopo, while he went by antonio's orders to seek for some one to aid in carrying him. "i may chance," said he, "to find some shepherds." so he went, not to seek shepherds, but to seek the duke's men, and tell them that they might safely come upon antonio, for he had now none to guard him. then antonio said to venusta, "why do you sit and weep?" for he thought that she wept because he had scorned the love in which her words declared her to hold him, and he was sorry. but she made no answer. and he went on, "i pray you, do not weep. for think not that i am blind to your beauty or to the sweet kindness which you have bestowed upon me. and in all things that i may, i will truly and faithfully serve you to my death." then she raised her head and she said, "that will not be long, antonio." "i know not, but for so long as it may be," said he. "it will not be long," she said again, and burst into quick passionate sobs, that shook her and left her at last breathless and exhausted. antonio looked at her for a while and said, "there is something that you do not tell me. yet if it be anything that causes you pain or shame, you may tell me as readily as you would any man. for i am not a hard man, and i have many things on my own conscience that forbid me to judge harshly of another." she raised her head and she lifted her hand into the air. the stillness of evening had fallen, and a light wind blew up from the plain. there seemed no sound save from the flowing of the river and the gentle rustle of the trees. "hark!" said she. "hark! hark!" and with every repetition of the word her voice rose till it ended in a cry of terror. antonio set his hand to his ear and listened intently. "it is the sound of men's feet on the rocky path," said he, smiling. "tommasino returns, and i doubt not that he brings your jewels with him. will you not give him a smiling welcome? aye, and to me also your smiles would be welcome. for your weeping melts my heart, and the dimness of your eyes is like a cloud across the sun." venusta's sobs had ceased, and she looked at antonio with a face calm, white, and set. "it is not the lord tommasino," she said. "the men you hear are the duke's men;" and then and there she told him the whole. yet she spoke as though neither he nor any other were there, but as though she rehearsed for her own ear some lesson that she had learnt; so lifeless and monotonous was her voice as it related the shameful thing. and at last she ended saying, "thus in an hour you will be dead, or captured and held for a worse death. it is i who have done it." and she bent her head again to meet her hands; yet she did not cover her face, but rested her chin on her hands, and her eyes were fixed immovably on count antonio. for the space of a minute or two he sat silent. then he said, "i fear, then, that tommasino and the rest have had a fight against great odds. but they are stout fellows, tommasino, and old bena, and the rest. i hope it is well with them." then, after a pause, he went on, "yes, the sound of the steps comes nearer. they will be here before long now. but i had not thought it of luigi. the rogue! i trust they will not find the two lads." venusta sat silent, waiting for him to reproach her. he read her thought on her face, and he smiled at her, and said to her, "go and meet them; or go, if you will, away up the path. for you should not be here when the end comes." then she flung herself at his feet, asking forgiveness, but finding no word for her prayer. "aye, aye," said he gently. "but of god you must ask it in prayers and good deeds." and he dragged himself to the cave and set himself with his back against the rock and his face towards the path along which the duke's men must come. and he called again to venusta, saying, "i pray you, do not stay here." but she heeded him not, but sat again on the ground, her chin resting on her hands and her eyes on his. "hark, they are near now!" said he. and he looked round at sky and trees, and at the rippling swift river, and at the long dark shadows of the hills; and he listened to the faint sounds of the birds and living creatures in the wood. and a great lust of life came over him, and for a moment his lip quivered and his head fell; he was very loth to die. yet soon he smiled again and raised his head, and so leant easily against the rock. now the lord lorenzo and his twenty men, conceiving that the lieutenant of the guard could without difficulty hold tommasino, had come along leisurely, desiring to be in good order and not weary when they met antonio; for they feared him. and thus it was evening when they came near the cave and halted a moment to make their plans; and here luigi met them and told them how antonio was alone and unguarded. but lorenzo desired, if it were possible, to take antonio alive and carry him alive to the duke, knowing that thus he would win his highness's greatest thanks. and while they talked of how this might best be effected, they in their turn heard the sound of men coming up the road, this sound being made by tommasino, bena, and their party, who had ridden as fast as the weariness of their horses let them. but because they had ridden fast, their horses were foundered, and they had dismounted, and were now coming on foot; and lorenzo heard them coming just as he also had decided to go forward on foot, and had caused the horses to be led into the wood and tethered there. and he asked, "who are these?" then one of his men, a skilled woodsman and hunter, listening, answered, "they are short of a dozen, my lord. they must be come with tidings from the lieutenant of the guard. for they would be more if the lieutenant came himself, or if by chance tommasino's band had eluded him." "come," said lorenzo. "the capture of the count must be ours, not theirs. let us go forward without delay." thus lorenzo and his men pushed on; and but the half of a mile behind came tommasino and his; and again, three or four miles behind them, came the lieutenant and his; and all these companies were pressing on towards the cave where antonio and venusta were. but tommasino's men still marched the quicker, and they gained on lorenzo, while the lieutenant did not gain on them; yet by reason of the unceasing windings of the way, as it twisted round rocks and skirted precipices, they did not come in sight of lorenzo, nor did he see them; indeed he thought now of nothing but of coming first on antonio, and of securing the glory of taking him before the lieutenant came up. and tommasino, drawing near the cave, gave his men orders to walk very silently; for he hoped to surprise lorenzo unawares. thus, as the sun sank out of sight, lorenzo came to the cave and to the open space between it and the river, and beheld antonio standing with his back against the rock and his drawn sword in his hand, and venusta crouched on the ground some paces away. when venusta saw lorenzo, she gave a sharp stifled cry, but did not move: antonio smiled, and drew himself to his full height. "your tricks have served you well, my lord," he said. "here i am alone and crippled." "then yield yourself," said lorenzo. "we are twenty to one." "i will not yield," said antonio. "i can die here as well as at firmola, and a thrust is better than a noose." then lorenzo, being a gentleman of high spirit and courage, waved his men back; and they stood still ten paces off, watching intently as lorenzo advanced towards antonio, for, though antonio was lamed, yet they looked to see fine fighting. and lorenzo advanced towards antonio, and said again, "yield yourself, my lord." "i will not yield," said antonio again. at this instant the woodsman who was with lorenzo raised his hand to his ear and listened for a moment; but tommasino came softly, and the woodsman was deceived. "it is but leaves," he said, and turned again to watch lorenzo. and that lord now sprang fiercely on antonio and the swords crossed. and as they crossed, venusta crawled on her knees nearer, and as the swords played, nearer still she came, none noticing her, till at length she was within three yards of lorenzo. he now was pressing antonio hard, for the count was in great pain from his foot, and as often as he was compelled to rest his weight on it, it came near to failing him, nor could he follow up any advantage he might gain against lorenzo. thus passed three or four minutes in the encounter. and the woodsman cried, "hark! here comes the lieutenant. quick, my lord, or you lose half the glory!" then lorenzo sprang afresh on antonio. yet as he sprang, another sprang also; and as that other sprang there rose a shout from lorenzo's men; yet they did not rush to aid in the capture of antonio, but turned themselves round. for bena, with tommasino at his heels, had shot among them like a stone hurled from a catapult; and this man bena was a great fighter; and now he was all aflame with love and fear for count antonio. and he crashed through their ranks, and split the head of the woodsman with the heavy sword he carried; and thus he came to lorenzo. but there in amazement he stood still. for antonio and lorenzo had dropped their points and fought no more; but both stood with their eyes on the slim figure of a girl that lay on the ground between them; and blood was pouring from a wound in her breast, and she moaned softly. and while the rest fought fiercely, these three stood looking on the girl; and lorenzo looked also on his sword, which was dyed three inches up the blade. for as he thrust most fiercely at antonio, venusta had sprung at him with the spring of a young tiger, a dagger flashing in her hand, and in the instinct that sudden danger brings he had turned his blade against her; and the point of it was deep in her breast before he drew it back with horror and a cry of "heavens! i have killed her!" and she fell full on the ground at the feet of count antonio, who had stood motionless in astonishment, with his sword in rest. now the stillness and secrecy of tommasino's approach had served him well, for he had come upon lorenzo's men when they had no thought of an enemy, but stood crowded together, shoulder to shoulder; and several of them were slain and more hurt before they could use their swords to any purpose; but tommasino's men had fallen on them with great fury, and had broken through them even as bena had, and, getting above them, were now, step by step, driving them down the path, and formed a rampart between them and the three who stood by the dying lady. and when bena perceived this advantage, wasting little thought on venusta (he was a hard man, this bena), he cried to antonio, "leave him to me, my lord. we have him sure!" and in an instant he would have sprung at lorenzo, who, finding himself between two enemies, knew that his state was perilous, but was yet minded to defend himself. but antonio suddenly cried in a loud voice, "stay!" and arrested by his voice, all stood still, lorenzo where he was, tommasino and his men at the top of the path, and the guards just below them. and antonio, leaning on his sword, stepped a pace forward and said to lorenzo, "my lord, the dice have fallen against you. but i would not fight over this lady's body. the truth of all she did i know, yet she has at the last died that i might live. see, my men are between you and your men." "it is the hazard of war," said lorenzo. "aye," said bena. "he had killed you, my lord antonio, had we not come." but antonio pointed to the body of venusta. and she, at the instant, moaned again, and turned on her back, and gasped, and died: yet just before she died, her eyes sought antonio's eyes, and he dropped suddenly on his knees beside her, and took her hand and kissed her brow. and they saw that she smiled in dying. then lorenzo brushed a hand across his eyes and said to antonio, "suffer me to go back with my men, and for a week there shall be a truce between us." "let it be so," said antonio. and bena smiled, for he knew that the lieutenant of the guard must now be near at hand. but this he did not tell antonio, fearing that antonio would tell lorenzo. then lorenzo, with uncovered head, passed through the rank of tommasino's men; and he took up his dead, and with them went down the path, leaving venusta where she lay. and when he had gone two miles, he met the lieutenant and his party, pressing on. yet when the two companies had joined, they were no more than seventeen whole and sound men, so many of lorenzo's had tommasino's party slain or hurt. therefore lorenzo in his heart was not much grieved at the truce, for it had been hard with seventeen to force the path to the cave against ten, all unhurt and sound. and, having sorely chidden the lieutenant of the guard, he rode back, and rested that night in venusta's house at rilano, and the next day rode on to firmola, and told duke valentine how the expedition had sped. then said duke valentine, "force i have tried, and guile i have tried, and yet this man is delivered from my hand. fortune fights for him;" and in chagrin and displeasure he went into his cabinet, and spoke to no man, and showed himself nowhere in the city, for the space of three days. but the townsmen, though they dared make no display, rejoiced that antonio was safe, and the more because the duke had laid so cunning and treacherous a snare for him. now antonio, tommasino, and the rest, when they were left alone, stood round the corpse of venusta, and antonio told them briefly all the story of her treachery as she herself had told it to him. and when he had finished the tale, bena cried, "she has deserved her death." but tommasino stooped down and composed her limbs and her raiment gently with his hand, and when he rose up his eyes were dim, and he said, "yes;" but at the last she gave her life for antonio. and though she deserved death, it grieves me that she is gone to her account thus, without confession, pardon, or the rites of holy church. then antonio said, "behold, her death is her confession, and the same should be her pardon. and for the rites----" he bent over her, and he dipped the tip of his finger in the lady's blood that had flowed from her wounded breast; and lightly with his finger-tip he signed the cross in her own blood on her brow. "that," said he, "shall be her unction; and i think, tommasino, it will serve." thus the lady venusta died, and they carried her body down to rilano and buried it there. and in after-days a tomb was raised over her, which may still be seen. but count antonio, being rejoined by such of his company as had escaped by flight from the pursuit of the duke's troop, abode still in the hills, and albeit that his force was less, yet by the dread of his name and of the deeds that he had done he still defied the power of the duke, and was not brought to submission. and whether the poor youth whom luigi pushed over the precipice lived or died, niccolo knew not. but luigi, having entered the service of the duke, played false to him also, and, being convicted on sure evidence of taking to himself certain moneys that the duke had charged him to distribute to the poor, was hanged in the great square a year to the very day after venusta died; whereat let him grieve who will; i grieve not. chapter viii. the manner of count antonio's return. in all that i have written concerning count antonio, i have striven to say that only which is surely based on truth and attested by credible witness, and have left on one side the more marvellous tales such as the credulity of ignorance and the fond licence of legend are wont to weave. but as to the manner of his return there is no room for uncertainty, for the whole account of it was recorded in the archives of the city by order of duke valentine the good, son and successor to that duke who outlawed antonio; to which archives i, ambrose, have had full access; and i have now free permission to make known so much of them as may serve for the proper understanding of the matter. and this same task is one to which i set my pen willingly, conceiving that the story is worthy of being known to every man in the duchy; for while many may censure the things that antonio did in the days of his sojourn in the hills, there can, i think, be none that will not look with approval on his bearing in this last hap of fortune. indeed he was a gallant gentleman; and if, for that, i forgive him his sins too readily, in like manner may our good st. prisian intercede that my sins be forgiven me. five years had the count dwelt in the hills; five years had the lady lucia mourned in the city; five years had duke valentine laid plans and schemes. then it fell out that a sickness came upon the city and the country round it; many died, and more were sore stricken but by the mercy of god narrowly escaped. among those that suffered were the duke himself, and at the same time a certain gentleman, by name count philip of garda, a friend of antonio's, and yet an obedient servant to the duke. now when antonio heard that philip lay sick, he sent to him a rich gift of choice meats and fruits by the hand of tommasino. and tommasino came with six of the band and delivered the gift, and might have ridden back in all safety, as did the six who came with him. but philip had a fair daughter, and tommasino, caught by her charms, made bold to linger at philip's house, trusting that his presence there would not be known to the duke, and venturing his own neck for the smiles of red lips and the glances of bright eyes, as young men have since this old world began. but one of the duke's spies, of whom he maintained many, brought word to him of tommasino's rashness; and as tommasino at last rode forth privily in the evening, singing a love-song and hugging in his bosom a glove that the lady had suffered him to carry off, he came suddenly into an ambush of the duke's guard, was pulled violently from his horse, and before he could so much as draw his sword, behold, his arms were seized, and the lord lorenzo stood before him, with doffed cap and mocking smile! "my glove is like to cost me dear," said tommasino. "indeed, my lord," answered lorenzo, "i fear there will be a reckoning for it." then he gave the word, and they set tommasino bound on his horse, and rode without drawing rein to the city. and when the duke heard the next morning of tommasino's capture, he raised himself on his couch, where he lay in the shade by the fish-pond under the wall of his garden. "this is sweet medicine for my sickness," said he. "on the third day from now, at noon, he shall die. bid them raise a great gibbet in front of my palace, so high that it shall be seen from every part of the city and from beyond the walls; and on that gibbet tommasino shall hang, that all men may know that i, valentine, am duke and lord of firmola." and he lay back again, pale and faint. but when word came to antonio that tommasino was taken, he withdrew himself from the rest of the band who were lamenting the untoward chance, and walked by himself to and fro for a long while. and he gazed once on the picture of the lady lucia which was always round his neck. then he sat down and wrote a letter to the duke, saying, "my gracious lord, i am here with fifty men, stout and brave fellows; and if my cousin dies, there shall be no peace in the duchy. but my heart is heavy already for those that have died in my quarrel, and i may not endure tommasino's death. therefore let tommasino go, and grant full pardon and oblivion to him and to all who are here with me, and swear to do this with a binding oath; and then i will come and deliver myself to you, and suffer such doom as seems good to your highness. may almighty god assuage your highness's sickness and keep you in all things.--antonio of monte velluto." and this letter he sent to the duke valentine, who, having received it, pondered long, but at last said to lorenzo, "i do not love to let tommasino go, nor to pardon these lawless knaves; yet for five years i have pursued antonio and have not taken him. and i am weary, and the country is racked and troubled by our strife." "with antonio dead, all would be quiet, my lord," said lorenzo. then the duke's eyes flashed and he said, "it shall be so. and bid them strengthen the gibbet, for antonio is a large man; and he shall surely hang on it." now lorenzo was somewhat grieved, for he esteemed antonio; yet he obeyed the duke's commands, and took from the duke a letter for antonio, wherein his highness swore to all that antonio asked, and bade him come alone or with one companion only into the city on the day that had been before appointed for the hanging of tommasino. and, further, the lord lorenzo gathered together all the pikemen and every man that served the duke, and placed them all on guard, and proclaimed that any man besides found carrying arms in the city should be held as the duke's enemy. for he feared that the townsmen who loved antonio would attempt something on his behalf. but when the townsmen saw the great force that lorenzo had gathered, they dared attempt nothing, although they were sore grieved and lamented bitterly. and the lady lucia, looking from the window of her house, beheld those who were erecting the gibbet, and wept for her lover. as for tommasino, when he heard that he was not to be hanged, but to be set free, and antonio to suffer death in his stead, he was like a man mad, and his rage and grief could not be restrained; for he declared that he would not live if antonio died, and did not cease to reproach himself bitterly. therefore the lord lorenzo held him confined in his own house, lest he should do himself some harm, or endeavour by some desperate device to prevent antonio from fulfilling his purpose; but he treated him with all courtesy, for he was sorry for his plight. now count antonio feared his companions and did not dare to tell them of what he had done, lest their obedience should fail under a strain so great, and they should by force prevent his going to the city. therefore he told them to rest quiet in their camp, while he, with bena, went about certain necessary business; and he bade them farewell, enjoining them most strictly to do nothing against the duke. "for," said he, "although i may not tell you fully what the business is on which i go, yet i have good hope that his highness is favourably inclined to you, and that in a short space you will receive from him pardon for all your offences. and that pardon i charge you to accept with gratitude, and, having accepted it, be thenceforward loyal servants to his highness." "but will the duke pardon you also, my lord, and the lord tommasino?" asked martolo. "he will pardon tommasino also," answered antonio. "and be assured that i shall suffer nothing." and having said this, he shook every man by the hand, thanking them for the love and service they had shown him; and he and bena were accompanied by all of them to the foot of mount agnino; and there, in the early morning of the appointed day, antonio mounted his horse and rode with bena into the plain. and as they rode, bena said to him, "my lord, why does the duke grant this pardon?" "because i give him what he asks as the price of it, bena," answered antonio; and they rode on for a while. but when bena saw that antonio turned his horse not towards rilano, but directly across the plain towards firmola, he said, "my lord, whither are we riding?" "we are riding to the city, bena," answered antonio. "there is no cause for fear; we go by leave and on the invitation of his highness." "but will he let us go again?" asked bena. "you will be free to go when you will," answered antonio, "and me the duke will himself send forth from the city when i am ready to go." for lorenzo had promised in the duke's name that antonio's body, after it had hung three days on the gibbet, should be carried from the city to the church of st. prisian at rilano, and there interred with fitting ceremony. "yet i do not like this ride of ours," grumbled bena. "nay, i like it not myself," said antonio, smiling. "but for the good of my cousin and of all our company, we must go forward." and he stopped for a moment and added, "swear to me, bena, by st. prisian, to obey in all i bid you in the city to-day, and not to draw your sword unless i draw mine." "do i not always obey you, my lord?" asked bena. "but swear to me." "well, then, i swear," said bena, "though in truth, my lord, your word is full as strong to me as any oath, whether by prisian or another." for this man whom they called bena was a godless man, and one that held holy things in light esteem. but he was a fine fighter and a loyal servant, and god's mercy is infinite. it may be his heart was turned at last; though indeed i have found no record of it. "my lord, will you see my lady lucia in the city?" asked bena. "i trust at the least to see her face at her window," answered antonio. "will you have speech with her, my lord?" "if his highness will grant me that favour, bena." "ah, i know now why you smiled, my lord, as you rode, just now. it will be a bright day for you." and bena laughed. "indeed," said antonio, "i trust that the day may be bright for me. yes, bright as the light of heaven." "there is no light brighter than the eyes of the girl a man loves," said bena. "yes, there is one," said antonio. but bena did not understand his meaning. thus they rode till it wanted only two hours of noon; and then they were within five miles of the city, and bena, looking, beheld the great gibbet rising above the walls of the city and standing forth grim and black in front of the marble face of the cathedral. "what is that, my lord," he cried, "which towers above the walls of the city?" "is it not enough to know when we come there?" answered antonio. then bena sighed, and said to antonio, "i find it in my heart, my lord, to be half sorry that the duke pardons us; for we lived a fine merry life in the hills. yet it will be pleasant to live at ease: and we have adventures enough to tell our sweethearts, aye, and our children too, when we grow old, and they come round us and ask us for stories of our youth. i hope my boys will be good at a fight, my lord, and serve your sons as i have served you." "it may be god's will that i leave no sons to bear my name, bena." "i do not think that," said bena with a laugh. they were now passing the hill on which stood the blackened walls of antonio's house, which duke valentine had burnt. bena cried out at the sight. "you will need to spend much in rebuilding it," said he. "perhaps his highness has provided another dwelling for me," said antonio. "to-night he will surely lodge you, my lord, in his own palace, or, may be, with my lord lorenzo." "wherever it may be, i shall sleep soundly," said antonio. now they were come near to the city, and they saw a body of pikemen coming out to meet them, the lieutenant of the guard at the head. and when they met, the lieutenant bowed to antonio, who greeted him most courteously; and the pikemen spread themselves in front and behind and on both sides of antonio and bena, and thus they went on towards the bridge and the city gate. but bena eyed the pikemen with no love, and moved restlessly in his saddle. "these fellows," said he to antonio, "hem us in, my lord. shall i make my horse threaten their toes a little, so that they may give us more room?" "let them be," said antonio. "it is not for long, bena." at the entrance of the gate stood lorenzo, awaiting the count, and there they dismounted, and antonio passed through the gate with lorenzo, bena being close to him on the other side. and when bena saw the great force of pikemen, and, behind their ranks, a mighty throng of people, and when he saw the tall gibbet and understood what it was, suddenly his face went red and his hand flew to his sword. but antonio caught his arm, saying, "my sword is not drawn, bena." "my lord, what does it mean?" cried bena in a loud voice, so that lorenzo heard and stayed his steps and looked at bena. "does he not know?" he asked of antonio. "he does not know yet," said antonio. and to bena he said, "i have need of your sword, bena. give it me." "my sword, my lord?" "yes, your sword." bena looked at him with wondering frightened eyes; but slowly he unbuckled his sword from his belt and gave it to antonio. and antonio unbuckled his own sword also and gave them both to the lieutenant of the guard, saying, "sir, i pray you to restore bena's to him in the evening, and mine to me when i go forth to rilano." but bena clutched at antonio's arm, crying again, "what does it mean, my lord?" then antonio took him by the hand and said, "are we to be afraid now of what we have often faced together with light hearts, bena?" "are we to die?" asked bena. "you are to live and beget those brave boys, bena. but it is otherwise with me," said antonio. then the lord lorenzo, who had looked in bena's eyes, signed to four pikemen to come near, and they came and stood near bena; for lorenzo feared that he would not suffer antonio to die without seeking to save him or to die with him. "nay, let him alone," said antonio. "you will obey me of your free-will, bena?" "yes, my lord," said bena; and he looked up at the gibbet; and then he caught antonio's hand and kissed it a score of times; and he began to sob as a child sobs. and the guard, among whom were some that had felt his arm, marvelled to see him thus moved. "let us go on," said antonio. "it is hard on noon, and i must keep my tryst with his highness." "his highness awaits my lord by the fish-pond in the garden," said lorenzo; and he led antonio to the palace and brought him through the great hall and so to the fish-pond; and by it the duke lay propped on pillows, yet very richly arrayed; and his little son sat by him. now lorenzo stood aloof, but antonio came, and, kneeling, kissed the duke's hand, and then rose and stood before the duke. but the boy cried, "why, it is my lord antonio! have you come back to live in the city, my lord antonio? ah, i am glad of it!" "nay, i have not come to live in the city, my little lord," said antonio. "whither do you go then?" asked the boy. "his highness sends me on a journey," said antonio. "is it far?" "yes, it is far," said antonio with a smile. "i wish he would send another and let you stay; then we could play at robbers again in the great hall," said the little duke. "father, can you find no other lord to go in antonio's place?" the duke turned his face, pale and wasted with sickness, and his eyes, that seemed larger and deeper than they had been before, upon his son. "i can send none but antonio," said he. and calling to lorenzo, he bade him take the boy. but the boy went reluctantly, telling antonio that he must return speedily. "for you promised," said he, "to teach me how to use my sword." and the duke signed with his hand to lorenzo, who lifted the boy and carried him away, leaving antonio alone with the duke. "i have set my seal to the pardons as i swore," said the duke; "and tommasino shall be free this evening; and all that he and the rest have done against me shall be forgotten from this hour. have you any cause of complaint against me?" "none, my lord," said count antonio. "is there anything that you ask of me?" "nothing, my lord. yet if it be your highness's pleasure that i should have speech with the lady lucia and with my cousin, i should be well pleased." "you will see them yonder in the square," said the duke. "but otherwise you shall not see them." then lorenzo returned, and he led antonio to a chamber and gave him meat and wine; and while antonio ate, the lord archbishop, having heard that he was come, came in great haste; and the venerable man was very urgent with antonio that he should make his peace with heaven, so that, having confessed his sins and sought absolution, he might be relieved of the sentence of excommunication under which he lay, and be comforted with the rites of the church before he died. "for there are many wild and wicked deeds on your conscience," said the archbishop, "and above all, the things that you did touching the abbot of st. prisian, and yet more impiously touching the sacred bones." "indeed i have many sins to confess," said antonio; "but, my lord archbishop, concerning the abbot and concerning the sacred bones i have nothing to confess. for even now, when i stand on the threshold of death, i can perceive nothing that i did save what i could not leave undone." then the archbishop besought him very earnestly, and even with tears; but antonio would own no sin in these matters, and therefore the archbishop could not relieve him from his sentence nor give him the holy comforts, but left him and returned to his own house in great distress of spirit. the lord lorenzo now came again to antonio and said to him, "my lord, it wants but a few moments of noon." therefore antonio rose and went with him; and they came through the great hall, and, a strong escort being about them, took their stand at the foot of the palace steps. then the duke was borne out on his couch, high on the shoulders of his lackeys, and was set down on the topmost step: and silence having been proclaimed, the duke spoke to antonio; but so weak was his voice that none heard save those who were very near. "antonio of monte velluto," said he, "it may be that in god's purposes i myself have not long to live. yet it is long enough for me to uphold and vindicate that princely power which the same god has committed to my hands. that power you have outraged; many of my faithful friends you have slain; against both me and the church you have lifted your hand. go then to your death, that men may know the fate of traitors and of rebels." antonio bowed low to his highness; but, not being invited by the duke to speak, he said naught, but suffered lorenzo to lead him across the square; and as he went, he passed where four pikemen stood by bena, ready to lay hold on him if he moved; and bena fell on his knees and again kissed antonio's hand. and antonio, passing on, saw two young lords, followers of lorenzo. and between them stood tommasino; their arms were through tommasino's arms and they held him, though lovingly, yet firmly; and he had no sword. "may i speak with tommasino?" asked antonio. "his highness has forbidden it," said lorenzo; but antonio paused for a moment before tommasino; and tommasino, greatly moved, cried piteously to him that he might die with him. and antonio kissed him, and, with a shake of his head, passed on. thus then he came to the gibbet, and mounted with lorenzo on to the scaffold that was underneath the gibbet. and when he was seen there, a great groan went up from the people, and the apprenticed lads, who were all gathered together on the left side of the gibbet, murmured so fiercely and stirred so restlessly that the pikemen faced round, turning their backs towards the scaffold, and laid their pikes in rest. then the hour of noon struck from the clock in the tower of the cathedral; and the master of the duke's household, who stood by the couch of his master, turned his eyes to the duke's face, seeking the signal for antonio's death; which when he received, he would sign to the executioner to set the rope round the count's neck; for the man stood by antonio with the rope in his hand, and antonio was already in his shirt. but when the master of the household looked at the duke, the duke made him no signal; yet the duke had not fainted from his sickness, for he was propped on his elbow, his face was eager, and his gaze was set intently across the square; and his physician, who was near, spoke to him softly, saying, "my lord, they await the signal." but the duke waved him aside impatiently, and gazed still across the square. and, seeing his highness thus gazing intently, the master of the household and the physician and all the rest who were about the duke's person looked also; and they saw the lady lucia coming forth from her house, clad all in white. antonio also saw her from where he stood on the scaffold, for the people made a way for her, and the pikemen let her pass through their ranks; so that she walked alone across the middle of the great square; and the eyes of all, leaving antonio, were fixed upon her. her face was very pale, and her hair fell on her shoulders; but she walked firmly and swiftly, and she turned neither to right nor left, but made straight for the spot where the duke lay. and he, seeing her coming, moaned once, and passed his hand thrice across his eyes, and raised himself yet higher on his arm, leaning towards her over the side of the couch. again he passed his hand across his brow; and the physician regarded him very intently, yet dared not again seek to rouse his attention, and imposed silence on the master of the household, who had asked in low tones, "what ails his highness?" then the lady lucia, having reached the foot of the steps, stood still there, her eyes on the duke. very fair was she, and sad, and she seemed rather some beautiful unsubstantial vision than a living maiden; and though she strove to form words with her lips, yet no words came; therefore it was by her muteness that she besought pity for herself and pardon for her lover. but the duke, leaning yet further towards her, had fallen, but that the physician, kneeling, passed his arm round his body and held him up; and he said in low hoarse tones and like a man that is amazed and full of awe, and yet moved with a gladness so great that he cannot believe in it, "who is it? who is it?" and the lady lucia still could not answer him. and he, craning towards her, spoke to her in entreaty, "margherita, margherita!" then indeed all marvelled; for the name that the duke spoke was the name by which that princess who had been his wife and was dead had been called; and they perceived that his highness, overcome by his sickness, had lost discernment, and conceived the lady lucia to be not herself but the spirit of his dead love come to him from heaven, to which delusion her white robes and her death-like pallor might well incline him. and now the wonder and fear left his face, and there came in place of them a great joy and rapture, so that his sunk eyes gleamed, his lips quivered, and he beckoned with his hand, murmuring, "i am ready, i am ready, margherita!" and while this passed, all who were too distant to hear the duke's words wondered that the signal came not, but supposed that the lady lucia had interceded for count antonio, and that his highness was now answering her prayer: and they hoped that he would grant it. and antonio stood on the scaffold between the lord lorenzo and the executioner; and his eyes were set on lucia. then the duke spoke again to the lady lucia, saying, "i have been lonely, very lonely. how pale your face is, my sweet! come to me. i cannot come to you, for i am very sick." and he held out his hand towards her again. but she was now sore bewildered, for she could not understand the words which his highness used to her, and she looked round, seeking some one who might tell her what they meant, but none moved from his place or came near to her; and at last she found voice enough to say in soft tones, "antonio, my lord, the count antonio!" "aye, i know that you loved him," said the duke. "but since then he has done great crimes, and he must die. yet speak not of him now, but come here to me, margherita." then, with wavering tread, she came towards him, mounting the first of the steps, and she said, "i know not what you would, my lord, nor why you call me by the name of margherita. i am lucia, and i come to ask antonio's life." "lucia, lucia?" said he, and his face grew doubtful. "nay, but you are my margherita," he said. "no, my lord," she answered, as with trembling uncertain feet she mounted, till she stood but one step below where his couch was placed; and then she fell on her knees on the highest step and clasped her hands, crying, "have mercy, my lord, have mercy! think, my dear lord, how i love him; for if he dies, i must die also, my lord. ah, my lord, you have known love. you loved our sweet lady margherita; was not her name now on your lips? so i love antonio, so he loves me. ah, my lord, christ jesus teaches pity!" and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. then the duke, his physician and now the master of the household also supporting him, stretched himself over the edge of his couch, and, putting out his hand with feverish strength, plucked the lady lucia's hands away from her face and gazed at her face. and when he had gazed a moment, he gave a great cry, "ah, god!" and flung his arms up above his head and fell back into the arms of his physician, who laid him down on his couch, where he lay motionless, his eyes shut and his chin resting on his breast. and all looked at the physician, but he answered, "nay, he is not dead yet." "why tarries the signal?" asked antonio of lorenzo on the scaffold. "it must be that the lady lucia beseeches him for your life, my lord," answered lorenzo. "indeed heartily do i wish the duke would hearken to her prayer." "he will not turn for her," said antonio. but presently the report of what had passed spread from those round the duke to the pikemen, and they, loving a marvel as most men do, must needs tell it to the people, and a murmur of wonder arose, and the report reached the guards at the scaffold, who came and told lorenzo, in the hearing of antonio, of the strange delusion that had come upon the duke. "he must be sick to death," said lorenzo. "i pray not," said count antonio. "for though he is a stern man, yet he is an able and just prince, and this fancy of his is very pitiful." "do you spare pity for him?" asked lorenzo. "shall i not pity all who have lost their loves?" answered antonio with a smile, and his eye rested on the form of the lady lucia kneeling by the duke's couch. for hard on half an hour the duke lay as he had fallen, but at last, his physician having used all his skill to rouse him, he opened his eyes; and he clutched his physician's hand and pointed to lucia, asking, "who is she?" "it is the lady lucia, my lord," answered the physician. "and there was none else?" asked the duke in a low tremulous whisper. "i saw no other, my lord." "but i saw her," said the duke. "i saw her even as i saw her last, when she lay on her bed and they took the child out of her dead arms." "it was the weakness of your malady, my lord, that made the vision before your eyes." "alas, was it no more?" moaned the duke. "indeed, i am very weak; there is a blur before my eyes. i cannot see who this lady is that kneels before me. who is she, and what ails her?" and having said this in fretful weary tones, he lay back on his pillow gasping. then the master of the household came forward and said to him, "my lord, this is the lady lucia, and she kneels before your highness praying for the life of count antonio, because she loves him." now the name of count antonio, when spoken to him, moved the duke more than all the ministrations of his physician; he roused himself once again, crying, "antonio! i had forgotten antonio. does he still live?" "your highness has not given the signal for his death." "have i not? then here----" he moved his hand, but with a great cry the lady lucia sprang forward and seized his hand before he could raise it, kneeling to him and crying, "no, no, my lord, no, no, no!" and the duke had no strength to fling her off, but he gasped, "free me from her!" and the master of the household, terrified lest in her passion she should do violence to his highness, roughly tore her hands from the duke's hand, and the duke, released, sat up on his couch, and he said, in a strange hard voice that was heard of all, even to the scaffold, and yet seemed not the voice that they knew as his, "let antonio----" but then he stopped; he choked in his throat, and, catching at his shirt, tore it loose from him. "let antonio!"----he cried again. "let antonio!"----and he sat there for an instant; and his eyes grew dim, the intelligence departing from them; once again he opened his lips, but nothing came from them save a gasp; and with a thud he fell back on his pillows, and, having rolled once on his side, turned again on his back and lay still. and a great hush fell on every man in the square, and they looked in one another's faces, but found no answer. for valentine, duke and lord of firmola, was dead of his sickness at the moment when he had sought to send antonio to death. thus marvellously did heaven in its high purposes deal with him. "his highness is dead," said the physician. and the master of the household, as his duty was, came to the front of the duke's couch, and, standing there before all the people, broke the wand of his office, and let the broken fragments fall upon the marble steps; and he cried aloud, "hear all of you! it hath pleased almighty god to take unto himself the soul of the noble and illustrious prince, valentine, duke and lord of firmola. may his soul find peace!" but there came from the people no answering cry of "amen," as, according to the custom of the duchy, should have come. for they were amazed at the manner of this death; and many crossed themselves in fear, and women sobbed. and lorenzo, standing on the scaffold by antonio, was struck with wonder and fear, and clutched antonio's arm, crying, "can it be that the duke is dead?" and antonio bowed his head, answering, "may christ receive his soul!" then the master of the household came forward again and cried, "hear all of you! according to the high pleasure and appointment of almighty god, the noble and illustrious prince, valentine, second of that name, is from this hour duke and lord of firmola; whom obey, serve, and honour, all of you. may his rule be prosperous!" and this time there came a low murmur of "amen" from the people. but before more could pass, there was a sudden commotion in the square before the scaffold. for bena, seeing what was done, and knowing that the duke was dead, had glanced at the pikemen who stood near; and when he saw that they looked not at him but towards where the master of the household stood, he sprang forward and ran like a deer to the scaffold; and he leapt up to the scaffold before any could hinder him, and he cried in a mighty loud voice, saying, "by what warrant do you hold my lord a prisoner?" then the apprentices raised a great cheer and with one accord pressed upon the pikemen, who, amazed by all that had passed, gave way before them; and the apprentices broke their bounds and surged like a billow of the sea up to the foot of the scaffold, shouting antonio's name; and the young lords who held tommasino came with him and broke through and reached the scaffold; for they feared for lorenzo, and yet would not let tommasino go: and lorenzo was sore at a loss, but he drew his sword and cried that he would slay any man that touched antonio, until the right of the matter should be known. "indeed, if you will give me a sword, i will slay him myself," said antonio. "for i stand here by my own will, and according to the promise i gave to the duke; and if there be lawful authority to hang me, hang me; but if not, dispose of me as the laws of the duchy bid." "i have no authority," said lorenzo, "save what the duke gave; and now he is dead." then the count antonio fastened his shirt again about his neck and put on his doublet; and he signed to bena to stand on one side of him, and he bade the young lords loose tommasino. and he said to lorenzo, "let us go together to the palace." and now he was smiling. then they came down from the scaffold and passed across the square, a great multitude following them. and when they came to the steps of the palace, the duke's body was covered with a rich brocaded cloth that some hand had brought from his cabinet; and the little duke stood there with his hand in the master of the household's hand; and the child was weeping bitterly, for he was very frightened; and over against him stood the lady lucia, motionless as though she had been turned to stone; for the strange thing that had come about through her approaching of the duke had bewildered her brain. but when the boy saw antonio he let go the hand he held and ran to antonio and leapt into his arms. then antonio lifted him and showed him to the people, who hailed him for duke; and antonio set him down and knelt before him and kissed his hand. and the child cried, "now that my father is dead, antonio, you must not go on your journey, but you must stay with me. for if i am duke, i must learn to use my sword without delay, and no man but you shall teach me." "shall i not go on my journey, my lord?" asked antonio. "no, you shall not go," said the little duke. then antonio turned to the lords who stood round and said, "behold, my lords, his highness pardons me." but the lords doubted; and they said to antonio, "nay, but he does not know what he does in pardoning you." "he understands as well, i think," said antonio, "as his father understood when he sent me to death. indeed, my lords, it is not children only who know not what they do." and at this speech tommasino smiled and bena laughed gruffly. but the lords, bidding antonio rest where he was till they returned, retired with the little duke into the palace, and sent word hastily to the archbishop that he should join them there and deliberate with them as to what it might be best to do. and when they were thus gone in, antonio said, "i may not move, but the lady lucia is free to move." then tommasino went to the lady and spoke to her softly, telling her that antonio desired to speak with her; and she gave tommasino her hand, and he led her to antonio, who stood within the portico, screened from the sight of the people. and there they were left alone. but meanwhile the whole body of the townsmen and the apprentices had gathered before the palace, and their one cry was for antonio. for the fear of the duke being no longer upon them, and the pikemen not knowing whom to obey and being therefore disordered, the people became very bold, and they had stormed the palace, had not one come to antonio and implored him so show himself, that the people might know that he was safe. therefore he came forward with the lady lucia, who was now no more bewildered, nor petrified with fear or astonishment, but was weeping with her eyes and smiling with her lips and clinging to antonio's arm. and when the people saw them thus, they set up a great shout, that was heard far beyond the city walls; and the apprenticed lads turned and ran in a body across the square, and swarmed on to the scaffold. and then and there they plucked down the gibbet and worked so fiercely that in the space of half an hour there was none of it left. and now the archbishop with the lords came forth from the council chamber, and the little duke with them. and they caused the servants to remove the body of the dead duke, and they set his son on a high seat, and put a sceptre in his hand. and the archbishop offered up a prayer before the people; and, having done this, he turned to antonio and said, "my lord antonio, most anxiously have his highness and we of his council considered of this matter; and it has seemed to us all--my own in truth was the sole reluctant voice, and now i also am brought to the same mind--that whereas the virtuous purposes of princes are meet to be remembered and made perpetual by faithful fulfilment after their death, yet the errors of which they, being mortal, are guilty should not overlive them nor be suffered to endure when they have passed away. and though we are not blind to your offences, yet we judge that in the beginning the fault was not yours. therefore his highness decrees your pardon for all offences against his civil state and power. and i myself, who hold authority higher than any earthly might, seeing in what this day has witnessed the finger of god himself, do not fight against it, but will pray you, so soon as you may fit yourself thereunto by prayer and meditation, to come in a humble mind and seek again the blessing of the church. for in what you did right and in what you outstepped right, god himself must one day judge, and i will seek to judge of it no more." "my lord," said antonio, "i have done much wrong. yet i will own no wrong in the matter of the abbot nor in that of the sacred bones." but the lord archbishop smiled at antonio, and antonio bent and kissed the ring that was on his finger; and the old man laid his hand for a moment on antonio's head, saying, "it may be that god works sometimes in ways that i may not see." thus then it was that the count antonio was restored to his place, and came again to firmola; and, having been relieved of the sentence of excommunication that had been laid upon him, he was wedded in the cathedral to the lady lucia as soon as the days of mourning for the duke had passed. and great was the joy in the city at their wedding; for every maid and every man saw in the triumph of antonio's love a sign of the favour of heaven to those who love with a pure and abiding passion. so they made great feasts, and were marvellously merry; and bena let not the day go by without plighting his troth to a comely damsel, saying with a twinkle in his eye that the count antonio would have need of his sons, whose services he had promised to him as they rode together across the plain on the morning when antonio had supposed that he was to die. nor would bena give any other reason whatsoever for the marriage. nevertheless it is likely that there were others. but whether bena fulfilled his promise i know not; for, as i have said, so little is known concerning him that his true name does not survive, and it has proved an impossible thing to discover whether any of his descendants yet live in firmola. if it chance that they do, i trust that they fight as well, and serve as loyally, and pray better than he. but martolo has left those that bear his name, and a great-grandson of his is at this very time huntsman to the monastery of st. prisian, where i have seen and talked with him many times. the task which i laid upon myself thus finds its end. for there is no need for me to tell of the after-deeds of count antonio of monte velluto, nor how, in the space of a few months, he was chosen by all the lords to be ruler and protector of the state during the infancy of the duke; in which high office he did many notable deeds, both of war and peace, and raised the duchy to a great height of power, and conferred many favours on the townsmen of firmola, whom he loved and cherished because they had not forsaken him nor ceased to love him during all the years that he dwelt an outlaw in the hills. and he built again his house on the hill which duke valentine had burnt, and dwelt there with lucia, and with tommasino also, until tommasino took to wife that same lady for whose sake he had lingered and thus fallen into the hands of the lord lorenzo, and went and dwelt at rilano, where those of his house still dwell. but when the young duke came of an age to reign, the count antonio delivered his charge into his hand, yet continued to counsel him, and was very high in authority. and neighbouring princes also sought his aid and his counsel, and he was greatly honoured of all men. thus if there were aught in his youth that merits censure, it may be held that he blotted out the shame of it by his after-life, for his later days were filled with honourable service to his prince and to his country. yet the heart of man is a vain thing; for when i, who am known to have learnt all that can be recovered from the mists of past times concerning count antonio, am asked--and whether it be by men or women, by boys or girls, aye, or by toddling infants--to tell them a tale of the great count antonio, it is not of the prudent ruler, nor of the wise counsellor, nay, nor even of the leader of the duke's army, that they would hear, but always of antonio when he was an outlaw, banned by his prince and by the church, living by the light of his own heart and by the strength of his own hand, secured only by the love and duty of the lawless men who followed him, and risking his life every day and every hour for the sake of the bright eyes of that lady who waited for him in the city. and when i, thinking to check this perversity, bid them look rather on his more worthy and sober days, they answer with a laugh, "but why, father, do you not write the story of those more worthy and sober days?" nor will they believe when i say that it is but because the deeds of those days are elsewhere recorded. in good truth, i believe that in our hearts we love a lawless man! here, then, ye perverse children, are the stories; they are all that you shall have from me. read them; may they teach you to be true comrades, faithful lovers of one maid, and, since strife must needs come until god's pleasure bring peace to reign on earth, able, when occasion calls, to give and take good blows. aye, never laugh. i have said it. a churchman is a man. the black arrow a tale of the two roses robert louis stevenson illustrated by n. c. wyeth [illustration] new york charles scribner's sons mcmxxxiii copyright, , by charles scribner's sons printed in the united states of america _all rights reserved._ _no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the permission of charles scribner's sons._ critic on the hearth: no one but myself knows what i have suffered, nor what my books have gained, by your unsleeping watchfulness and admirable pertinacity. and now here is a volume that goes into the world and lacks your _imprimatur_: a strange thing in our joint lives; and the reason of it stranger still! i have watched with interest, with pain, and at length with amusement, your unavailing attempts to peruse _the black arrow_; and i think i should lack humour indeed, if i let the occasion slip and did not place your name in the fly-leaf of the only book of mine that you have never read--and never will read. that others may display more constancy is still my hope. the tale was written years ago for a particular audience and (i may say) in rivalry with a particular author; i think i should do well to name him, mr. alfred r. phillips. it was not without its reward at the time. i could not, indeed, displace mr. phillips from his well-won priority; but in the eyes of readers who thought less than nothing of _treasure island_, _the black arrow_ was supposed to mark a clear advance. those who read volumes and those who read story papers belong to different worlds. the verdict on _treasure island_ was reversed in the other court; i wonder, will it be the same with its successor? r. l. s. saranac lake, april , contents prologue page john amend-all book i the two lads chapter i. at the sign of the sun in kettley ii. in the fen iii. the fen ferry iv. a greenwood company v. "bloody as the hunter" vi. to the day's end vii. the hooded face book ii the moat house i. dick asks questions ii. the two oaths iii. the room over the chapel iv. the passage v. how dick changed sides book iii my lord foxham i. the house by the shore ii. a skirmish in the dark iii. st. bride's cross iv. the "good hope" v. the "good hope" (_continued_) vi. the "good hope" (_concluded_) book iv the disguise i. the den ii. "in mine enemies' house" iii. the dead spy iv. in the abbey church v. earl risingham vi. arblaster again book v crookback i. the shrill trumpet ii. the battle of shoreby iii. the battle of shoreby (_concluded_) iv. the sack of shoreby v. night in the woods: alicia risingham vi. night in the woods (_concluded_): dick and joan vii. dick's revenge viii. conclusion illustrations facing page "now, mark me, mine host," sir daniel said, "follow but mine orders and i shall be your good lord ever" in the fork, like a mastheaded seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat side, pierced by arrows "we must be in the dungeons," dick remarked the little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under every gust of wind and lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion and holding his head forward like a hunting-dog upon the scent, ... studied out their path first came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as the winter, clinging to sir daniel's arm there were seven or eight assailants, and but one to keep head against them "but be at rest; the black arrow flieth nevermore" prologue prologue john amend-all on a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, the bell upon tunstall moat house was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. far and near, in the forest and in the fields along the river, people began to desert their labours and hurry towards the sound; and in tunstall hamlet a group of poor countryfolk stood wondering at the summons. tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old king henry vi., wore much the same appearance as it wears to-day. a score or so of houses, heavily framed with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascending from the river. at the foot, the road crossed a bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on its way to the moat house, and further forth to holywood abbey. half-way up the village, the church stood among yews. on every side the slopes were crowned and the view bounded by the green elms and greening oak-trees of the forest. hard by the bridge, there was a stone cross upon a knoll, and here the group had collected--half-a-dozen women and one tall fellow in a russet smock--discussing what the bell betided. an express had gone through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunk a pot of ale in the saddle, not daring to dismount for the hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant himself of what was forward, and only bore sealed letters from sir daniel brackley to sir oliver oates, the parson, who kept the moat house in the master's absence. but now there was the noise of a horse; and soon, out of the edge of the wood and over the echoing bridge, there rode up young master richard shelton, sir daniel's ward. he, at the least, would know, and they hailed him and begged him to explain. he drew bridle willingly enough--a young fellow not yet eighteen, sun-browned and grey-eyed, in a jacket of deer's leather, with a black velvet collar, a green hood upon his head, and a steel cross-bow at his back. the express, it appeared, had brought great news. a battle was impending. sir daniel had sent for every man that could draw a bow or carry a bill to go post-haste to kettley, under pain of his severe displeasure; but for whom they were to fight, or of where the battle was expected, dick knew nothing. sir oliver would come shortly himself, and bennet hatch was arming at that moment, for he it was who should lead the party. "it is the ruin of this kind land," a woman said. "if the barons live at war, ploughfolk must eat roots." "nay," said dick, "every man that follows shall have sixpence a day, and archers twelve." "if they live," returned the woman, "that may very well be; but how if they die, my master?" "they cannot better die than for their natural lord," said dick. "no natural lord of mine," said the man in the smock. "i followed the walsinghams; so we all did down brierly way, till two years ago, come candlemas. and now i must side with brackley! it was the law that did it; call ye that natural? but now, what with sir daniel and what with sir oliver--that knows more of law than honesty--i have no natural lord but poor king harry the sixt, god bless him!--the poor innocent that cannot tell his right hand from his left." "ye speak with an ill tongue, friend," answered dick, "to miscall your good master and my lord the king in the same libel. but king harry--praised be the saints!--has come again into his right mind, and will have all things peaceably ordained. and as for sir daniel, y'are very brave behind his back. but i will be no tale-bearer; and let that suffice." "i say no harm of you, master richard," returned the peasant. "y'are a lad; but when ye come to a man's inches, ye will find ye have an empty pocket. i say no more: the saints help sir daniel's neighbours, and the blessed maid protect his wards!" "clipsby," said richard, "you speak what i cannot hear with honour. sir daniel is my good master, and my guardian." "come, now, will ye read me a riddle?" returned clipsby. "on whose side is sir daniel?" "i know not," said dick, colouring a little; for his guardian had changed sides continually in the troubles of that period, and every change had brought him some increase of fortune. "ay," returned clipsby, "you, nor no man. for, indeed, he is one that goes to bed lancaster and gets up york." just then the bridge rang under horse-shoe iron, and the party turned and saw bennet hatch come galloping--a brown-faced, grizzled fellow, heavy of hand and grim of mien, armed with sword and spear, a steel salet on his head, a leather jack upon his body. he was a great man in these parts; sir daniel's right hand in peace and war, and at that time, by his master's interest, bailiff of the hundred. "clipsby," he shouted, "off to the moat house, and send all other laggards the same gate. bowyer will give you jack and salet. we must ride before curfew. look to it: he that is last at the lych-gate sir daniel shall reward. look to it right well! i know you for a man of naught. nance," he added, to one of the women, "is old appleyard up town?" "i'll warrant you," replied the woman. "in his field, for sure." so the group dispersed, and while clipsby walked leisurely over the bridge, bennet and young shelton rode up the road together, through the village and past the church. "ye will see the old shrew," said bennet. "he will waste more time grumbling and prating of harry the fift than would serve a man to shoe a horse. and all because he has been to the french wars!" the house to which they were bound was the last in the village, standing alone among lilacs; and beyond it, on three sides, there was open meadow rising towards the borders of the wood. hatch dismounted, threw his rein over the fence, and walked down the field, dick keeping close at his elbow, to where the old soldier was digging, knee-deep in his cabbages, and now and again, in a cracked voice, singing a snatch of song. he was all dressed in leather, only his hood and tippet were of black frieze, and tied with scarlet; his face was like a walnut-shell, both for colour and wrinkles; but his old grey eye was still clear enough, and his sight unabated. perhaps he was deaf; perhaps he thought it unworthy of an old archer of agincourt to pay any heed to such disturbances; but neither the surly notes of the alarm bell, nor the near approach of bennet and the lad, appeared at all to move him; and he continued obstinately digging, and piped up, very thin and shaky: "now, dear lady, if thy will be, i pray you that you will rue on me." "nick appleyard," said hatch, "sir oliver commends him to you, and bids that ye shall come within this hour to the moat house, there to take command." the old fellow looked up. "save you, my masters!" he said, grinning. "and where goeth master hatch?" "master hatch is off to kettley, with every man that we can horse," returned bennet. "there is a fight toward, it seems, and my lord stays a reinforcement." "ay, verily," returned appleyard. "and what will ye leave me to garrison withal?" "i leave you six good men, and sir oliver to boot," answered hatch. "it'll not hold the place," said appleyard; "the number sufficeth not. it would take two-score to make it good." "why, it's for that we came to you, old shrew!" replied the other. "who else is there but you that could do aught in such a house with such a garrison?" "ay! when the pinch comes, ye remember the old shoe," returned nick. "there is not a man of you can back a horse or hold a bill; and as for archery--st. michael! if old harry the fift were back again, he would stand and let ye shoot at him for a farthen a shoot!" "nay, nick, there's some can draw a good bow yet," said bennet. "draw a good bow!" cried appleyard. "yes! but who'll shoot me a good shoot? it's there the eye comes in, and the head between your shoulders. now, what might you call a long shoot, bennet hatch?" "well," said bennet, looking about him, "it would be a long shoot from here into the forest." "ay, it would be a longish shoot," said the old fellow, turning to look over his shoulder; and then he put up his hand over his eyes, and stood staring. "why, what are you looking at?" asked bennet, with a chuckle. "do you see harry the fift?" the veteran continued looking up the hill in silence. the sun shone broadly over the shelving meadows; a few white sheep wandered browsing; all was still but the distant jangle of the bell. "what is it, appleyard?" asked dick. "why, the birds," said appleyard. and, sure enough, over the top of the forest, where it ran down in a tongue among the meadows, and ended in a pair of goodly green elms, about a bowshot from the field where they were standing, a flight of birds was skimming to and fro, in evident disorder. "what of the birds?" said bennet. "ay!" returned appleyard, "y'are a wise man to go to war, master bennet. birds are a good sentry; in forest places they be the first line of battle. look you, now, if we lay here in camp, there might be archers skulking down to get the wind of us; and here would you be, none the wiser!" "why, old shrew," said hatch, "there be no men nearer us than sir daniel's, at kettley; y'are as safe as in london tower; and ye raise scares upon a man for a few chaffinches and sparrows!" "hear him!" grinned appleyard. "how many a rogue would give his two crop ears to have a shoot at either of us? st. michael, man! they hate us like two polecats!" "well, sooth it is, they hate sir daniel," answered hatch, a little sobered. "ay, they hate sir daniel, and they hate every man that serves with him," said appleyard; "and in the first order of hating, they hate bennet hatch and old nicholas the bow-man. see ye here: if there was a stout fellow yonder in the wood-edge, and you and i stood fair for him--as, by st. george, we stand!--which, think ye, would he choose?" "you, for a good wager," answered hatch. "my surcoat to a leather belt, it would be you!" cried the old archer. "ye burned grimstone, bennet--they'll ne'er forgive you that, my master. and as for me, i'll soon be in a good place, god grant, and out of bow-shoot--ay, and cannon-shoot--of all their malices. i am an old man, and draw fast to homeward, where the bed is ready. but for you, bennet, y'are to remain behind here at your own peril, and if ye come to my years unhanged, the old true-blue english spirit will be dead." "y'are the shrewishest old dolt in tunstall forest," returned hatch, visibly ruffled by these threats. "get ye to your arms before sir oliver come, and leave prating for one good while. an' ye had talked so much with harry the fift, his ears would ha' been richer than his pocket." an arrow sang in the air, like a huge hornet; it struck old appleyard between the shoulder-blades, and pierced him clean through, and he fell forward on his face among the cabbages. hatch, with a broken cry, leapt into the air; then, stooping double, he ran for the cover of the house. and in the meanwhile dick shelton had dropped behind a lilac, and had his cross-bow bent and shouldered, covering the point of the forest. not a leaf stirred. the sheep were patiently browsing; the birds had settled. but there lay the old man, with a cloth-yard arrow standing in his back; and there were hatch holding to the gable, and dick crouching and ready behind the lilac bush. "d'ye see aught?" cried hatch. "not a twig stirs," said dick. "i think shame to leave him lying," said bennet, coming forward once more with hesitating steps and a very pale countenance. "keep a good eye on the wood, master shelton--keep a clear eye on the wood. the saints assoil us! here was a good shoot!" bennet raised the old archer on his knee. he was not yet dead; his face worked, and his eyes shut and opened like machinery, and he had a most horrible, ugly look of one in pain. "can ye hear, old nick?" asked hatch. "have ye a last wish before ye wend, old brother?" "pluck out the shaft, and let me pass, a' mary's name!" gasped appleyard. "i be done with old england. pluck it out!" "master dick," said bennet, "come hither, and pull me a good pull upon the arrow. he would fain pass, the poor sinner." dick laid down his cross-bow, and pulling hard upon the arrow, drew it forth. a gush of blood followed; the old archer scrambled half upon his feet, called once upon the name of god, and then fell dead. hatch, upon his knees among the cabbages, prayed fervently for the welfare of the passing spirit. but even as he prayed, it was plain that his mind was still divided, and he kept ever an eye upon the corner of the wood from which the shot had come. when he had done, he got to his feet again, drew off one of his mailed gauntlets, and wiped his pale face, which was all wet with terror. "ay," he said, "it'll be my turn next." "who hath done this, bennet?" richard asked, still holding the arrow in his hand. "nay, the saints know," said hatch. "here are a good two-score christian souls that we have hunted out of house and holding, he and i. he has paid his shot, poor shrew, nor will it be long, mayhap, ere i pay mine. sir daniel driveth overhard." "this is a strange shaft," said the lad, looking at the arrow in his hand. "ay, by my faith!" cried bennet. "black, and black-feathered. here is an ill-favoured shaft, by my sooth! for black, they say, bodes burial. and here be words written. wipe the blood away. what read ye?" "'_appulyaird fro jon amend-all,_'" read shelton. "what should this betoken?" "nay, i like it not," returned the retainer, shaking his head. "john amend-all! here is a rogue's name for those that be up in the world! but why stand we here to make a mark? take him by the knees, good master shelton, while i lift him by the shoulders, and let us lay him in his house. this will be a rare shog to poor sir oliver; he will turn paper colour; he will pray like a windmill." they took up the old archer, and carried him between them into his house, where he had dwelt alone. and there they laid him on the floor, out of regard for the mattress and sought, as best they might, to straighten and compose his limbs. appleyard's house was clean and bare. there was a bed, with a blue cover, a cupboard, a great chest, a pair of joint-stools, a hinged table in the chimney-corner, and hung upon the wall the old soldier's armoury of bows and defensive armour. hatch began to look about him curiously. "nick had money," he said. "he may have had three-score pounds put by. i would i could light upon't! when ye lose an old friend, master richard, the best consolation is to heir him. see, now, this chest. i would go a mighty wager there is a bushel of gold therein. he had a strong hand to get, and a hard hand to keep withal, had appleyard the archer. now may god rest his spirit! near eighty year he was afoot and about, and ever getting; but now he's on the broad of his back, poor shrew, and no more lacketh; and if his chattels came to a good friend, he would be merrier, methinks, in heaven." "come, hatch," said dick, "respect his stone-blind eyes. would ye rob the man before his body? nay, he would walk!" hatch made several signs of the cross; but by this time his natural complexion had returned, and he was not easily to be dashed from any purpose. it would have gone hard with the chest had not the gate sounded, and presently after the door of the house opened and admitted a tall, portly, ruddy, black-eyed man of near fifty, in a surplice and black robe. "appleyard--" the newcomer was saying, as he entered; but he stopped dead. "ave maria!" he cried. "saints be our shield! what cheer is this?" "cold cheer with appleyard, sir parson," answered hatch, with perfect cheerfulness. "shot at his own door, and alighteth even now at purgatory gates. ay! there, if tales be true, he shall lack neither coal nor candle." sir oliver groped his way to a joint-stool, and sat down upon it, sick and white. "this is a judgment! o, a great stroke!" he sobbed, and rattled off a leash of prayers. hatch meanwhile reverently doffed his salet and knelt down. "ay, bennet," said the priest, somewhat recovering, "and what may this be? what enemy hath done this?" "here, sir oliver, is the arrow. see, it is written upon with words," said dick. "nay," cried the priest, "this is a foul hearing! john amend-all! a right lollardy word. and black of hue, as for an omen! sirs, this knave arrow likes me not. but it importeth rather to take counsel. who should this be? bethink you, bennet. of so many black ill-willers, which should he be that doth so hardily outface us? simnel? i do much question it. the walsinghams? nay, they are not yet so broken; they still think to have the law over us, when times change. there was simon malmesbury, too. how think ye, bennet?" "what think ye, sir," returned hatch, "of ellis duckworth?" "nay, bennet, never. nay, not he," said the priest. "there cometh never any rising, bennet, from below--so all judicious chroniclers concord in their opinion; but rebellion travelleth ever downward from above; and when dick, tom, and harry take them to their bills, look ever narrowly to see what lord is profited thereby. now, sir daniel, having once more joined him to the queen's party, is in ill odour with the yorkist lords. thence, bennet, comes the blow--by what procuring, i yet seek; but therein lies the nerve of this discomfiture." "an't please you, sir oliver," said bennet, "the axles are so hot in this country that i have long been smelling fire. so did this poor sinner, appleyard. and, by your leave, men's spirits are so foully inclined to all of us, that it needs neither york nor lancaster to spur them on. hear my plain thoughts: you, that are a clerk, and sir daniel, that sails on any wind, ye have taken many men's goods, and beaten and hanged not a few. y'are called to count for this; in the end, i wot not how, ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched. but give me leave, sir oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards." "nay, bennet, y'are in the wrong. bennet, ye should be glad to be corrected," said sir oliver. "y'are a prater, bennet, a talker, a babbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears. mend it, bennet, mend it." "nay, i say no more. have it as ye list," said the retainer. the priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung about his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel. with these he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with sir daniel's arms, hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded, somewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse. "'tis time we were on the road, sir oliver," said hatch, as he held the priest's stirrup while he mounted. "ay; but, bennet, things are changed," returned the parson. "there is now no appleyard--rest his soul!--to keep the garrison. i shall keep you, bennet. i must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black arrows. 'the arrow that flieth by day,' saith the evangel; i have no mind of the context; nay, i am a sluggard priest, i am too deep in men's affairs. well, let us ride forth, master hatch. the jackmen should be at the church by now." so they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing the tails of the parson's cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. they had passed three of the scattered houses that make up tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn, they saw the church before them. ten or a dozen houses clustered immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the meadows. at the lych-gate, near a score of men were gathered, some in the saddle, some standing by their horses' heads. they were variously armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better men and the fair equipments were already with sir daniel in the field. "we have not done amiss, praised be the cross of holywood! sir daniel will be right well content," observed the priest, inwardly numbering the troop. "who goes? stand! if ye be true!" shouted bennet. a man was seen slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels for the forest. the men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the stranger's presence, woke and scattered. those who had dismounted began scrambling into the saddle; the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape them. hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in the dust. and though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a lead for any hope of capture. the wisest of all had been dick shelton. instead of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped his cross-bow from his back, bent it, and set a quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned to bennet and asked if he should shoot. "shoot! shoot!" cried the priest, with sanguinary violence. "cover him, master dick," said bennet. "bring me him down like a ripe apple." the fugitive was now within but a few leaps of safety; but this last part of the meadow ran very steeply up-hill; and the man ran slower in proportion. what with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half desire that he might miss. the quarrel sped. the man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from hatch and the pursuers. but they were counting their corn before the harvest. the man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap in a bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood. "and the plague go with him!" cried bennet. "he has thieves' heels; he can run, by st. banbury! but you touched him, master shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good i grudge him less!" "nay, but what made he by the church?" asked sir oliver. "i am shrewdly afeared there has been mischief here. clipsby, good fellow, get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews." clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned, carrying a paper. "this writing was pinned to the church door," he said, handing it to the parson. "i found naught else, sir parson." "now, by the power of mother church," cried sir oliver, "but this runs hard on sacrilege! for the king's good pleasure, or the lord of the manor--well! but that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should fasten papers to the chancel door--nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard; and men have burned for matters of less weight. but what have we here? the light falls apace. good master richard, y' have young eyes. read me, i pray, this libel." dick shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. it contained some lines of very rugged doggerel, hardly even rhyming, written in a gross character, and most uncouthly spelt. with the spelling somewhat bettered, this is how they ran: "i had four blak arrows under my belt, four for the greefs that i have felt, four for the nomber of ill menne that have opressid me now and then. one is gone; one is wele sped; old apulyaird is ded. one is for maister bennet hatch, that burned grimstone, walls and thatch. one for sir oliver oates, that cut sir harry shelton's throat. sir daniel, ye shull have the fourt; we shall think it fair sport. ye shull each have your own part, a blak arrow in each blak heart. get ye to your knees for to pray: ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay! "jon amend-all of the green wood, and his jolly fellaweship. "item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres of your following." "now, well-a-day for charity and the christian graces!" cried sir oliver, lamentably. "sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse. i will swear upon the cross of holywood i am as innocent of that good knight's hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened. neither was his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there still live credible witnesses to show." "it boots not, sir parson," said bennet. "here is unseasonable talk." "nay, master bennet, not so. keep ye in your due place, good bennet," answered the priest. "i shall make mine innocence appear. i will, upon no consideration, lose my poor life in error. i take all men to witness that i am clear of this matter. i was not even in the moat house. i was sent of an errand before nine upon the clock----" "sir oliver," said hatch, interrupting, "since it please you not to stop this sermon, i will take other means. goffe, sound to horse." and while the tucket was sounding, bennet moved close to the bewildered parson, and whispered violently in his ear. dick shelton saw the priest's eye turned upon him for an instant in a startled glance. he had some cause for thought; for this sir harry shelton was his own natural father. but he said never a word, and kept his countenance unmoved. hatch and sir oliver discussed together for awhile their altered situation; ten men, it was decided between them, should be reserved, not only to garrison the moat house, but to escort the priest across the wood. in the meantime, as bennet was to remain behind, the command of the reinforcement was given to master shelton. indeed, there was no choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave beyond his age. although his youth had been spent in these rough, country places, the lad had been well taught in letters by sir oliver, and hatch himself had shown him the management of arms and the first principles of command. bennet had always been kind and helpful; he was one of those who are cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly faithful and well willing to their friends; and now, while sir oliver entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, sir daniel brackley, bennet came up to his pupil to wish him god-speed upon his enterprise. "ye must go the long way about, master shelton," he said; "round by the bridge, for your life! keep a sure man fifty paces afore you, to draw shots; and go softly till y'are past the wood. if the rogues fall upon you, ride for't; ye will do naught by standing. and keep ever forward, master shelton; turn me not back again, an ye love your life; there is no help in tunstall, mind ye that. and now, since ye go to the great wars about the king, and i continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of my life, and the saints alone can certify if we shall meet again below, i give you my last counsels now at your riding. keep an eye on sir daniel; he is unsure. put not your trust in the jack-priest; he intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is a hand-gun for sir daniel! get your good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it. and think ever a paternoster while on bennet hatch. there are worse rogues afoot than bennet. so, god-speed!" "and heaven be with you, bennet!" returned dick. "ye were a good friend to meward, and so i shall say ever." "and, look ye, master," added hatch, with a certain embarrassment, "if this amend-all should get a shaft into me, ye might, mayhap, lay out a gold mark or mayhap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff with me in purgatory." "ye shall have your will of it, bennet," answered dick. "but, what cheer, man! we shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale than masses." "the saints so grant it, master dick!" returned the other. "but here comes sir oliver. an he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen, he would be a brave man-at-arms." sir oliver gave dick a sealed packet, with this superscription: "to my ryght worchypful master. sir daniel brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in haste." and dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set forth westward up the village. book i the two lads chapter i at the sign of the sun in kettley sir daniel and his men lay in and about kettley that night, warmly quartered and well patrolled. but the knight of tunstall was one who never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after midnight to squeeze poor neighbours. he was one who trafficked greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the king, procure unjust decisions in his favour; or, if that was too roundabout, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on his influence and sir oliver's cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched. kettley was one such place; it had come very lately into his clutches; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to overawe discontent that he had led his troops that way. by two in the morning, sir daniel sat in the inn room, close by the fireside, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of kettley. by his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale. he had taken off his visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage resting on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine-coloured cloak. at the lower end of the room about a dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay asleep on benches; and somewhat nearer hand, a young lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched in a mantle on the floor. the host of the sun stood before the great man. "now, mark me, mine host," sir daniel said, "follow but mine orders, and i shall be your good lord ever. i must have good men for head boroughs, and i will have adam-a-more high constable; see to it narrowly. if other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost. for those that have paid rent to walsingham i shall take good measure--you among the rest, mine host." "good knight," said the host, "i will swear upon the cross of holywood i did but pay to walsingham upon compulsion. nay, bully knight, i love not the rogue walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight. give me a great lord like you. nay; ask me among the neighbours, i am stout for brackley." "it may be," said sir daniel, drily. "ye shall then pay twice." the innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily. "bring up yon fellow, selden!" cried the knight. and one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen fever. "sirrah," said sir daniel, "your name?" [illustration: _"now, mark me, mine host," sir daniel said, "follow but mine orders, and i shall be your good lord ever"_] "an't please your worship," replied the man, "my name is condall--condall of shoreby, at your good worship's pleasure." "i have heard you ill reported on," returned the knight. "ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; y'are heavily suspicioned of the death of severals. how, fellow, are ye so bold? but i will bring you down." "right honourable and my reverend lord," the man cried, "here is some hodge-podge, saving your good presence. i am but a poor private man, and have hurt none." "the under-sheriff did report of you most vilely," said the knight. "'seize me,' saith he, 'that tyndal of shoreby.'" "condall, my good lord; condall is my poor name," said the unfortunate. "condall or tyndal, it is all one," replied sir daniel, coolly. "for, by my sooth, y'are here, and i do mightily suspect your honesty. if ye would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound." "for twenty pound, my good lord!" cried condall. "here is midsummer madness! my whole estate amounteth not to seventy shillings." "condall or tyndal," returned sir daniel, grinning, "i will run my peril of that loss. write me down twenty, and when i have recovered all i may, i will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest." "alas! my good lord, it may not be; i have no skill to write," said condall. "well-a-day!" returned the knight. "here, then, is no remedy. yet i would fain have spared you, tyndal, had my conscience suffered. selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where i may see him at my riding. fare ye well, good master condall, dear master tyndal; y'are post-haste for paradise; fare ye then well!" "nay, my right pleasant lord," replied condall, forcing an obsequious smile, "an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, i will even, with all my poor skill, do your good bidding." "friend," quoth sir daniel, "ye will now write two-score. go to! y'are too cunning for a livelihood of seventy shillings. selden, see him write me this in good form, and have it duly witnessed." and sir daniel, who was a very merry knight, none merrier in england, took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back, smiling. meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and looked about him with a scare. "hither," said sir daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright. "by the rood!" he cried, "a sturdy boy!" the lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted a look of hate out of his dark eyes. now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his age. his face looked somewhat older in expression, but it was as smooth as a young child's; and in bone and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat awkward of gait. "ye have called me, sir daniel," he said. "was it to laugh at my poor plight?" "nay, now, let laugh," said the knight. "good shrew, let laugh, i pray you. an ye could see yourself, i warrant ye would laugh the first." "well," cried the lad, flushing, "ye shall answer this when ye answer for the other. laugh while yet ye may!" "nay, now, good cousin," replied sir daniel, with some earnestness, "think not that i mock at you, except in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends. i will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go to! and cherish you exceedingly. i took you, indeed, roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth i shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. ye shall be mrs. shelton--lady shelton, by my troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. tut! ye will not shy for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy. they are no rogues who laugh, good cousin. good mine host, lay me a meal now for my cousin, master john. sit ye down, sweetheart, and eat." "nay," said master john, "i will break no bread. since ye force me to this sin, i will fast for my soul's interest. but, good mine host, i pray you of courtesy give me a cup of fair water; i shall be much beholden to your courtesy indeed." "ye shall have a dispensation, go to!" cried the knight. "shalt be well shriven, by my faith! content you, then, and eat." but the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding. in an hour or two, there rose a stir in the village of sentries challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; and then a troop drew up by the inn door, and richard shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon the threshold. "save you, sir daniel," he said. "how! dickie shelton!" cried the knight; and at the mention of dick's name the other lad looked curiously across. "what maketh bennet hatch?" "please you, sir knight, to take cognisance of this packet from sir oliver, wherein are all things fully stated," answered richard, presenting the priest's letter. "and please you farther, ye were best make all speed to risingham; for on the way hither we encountered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my lord of risingham was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence." "how say you? sore bested?" returned the knight. "nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good richard. as the world goes in this poor realm of england, he that rides softliest rides surest. delay, they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men; mark it, dick. but let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought. selden, a link here at the door!" and sir daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops. he was an unpopular neighbour and an unpopular master; but as a leader in war he was well beloved by those who rode behind his pennant. his dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the soldiers' comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to the taste of the bold blades in jack and salet. "nay, by the rood!" he cried, "what poor dogs are these? here be some as crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear. friends, ye shall ride in the front of the battle; i can spare you, friends. mark me this old villain on the piebald! a two-year mutton riding on a hog would look more soldierly! ha! clipsby, are ye there, old rat? y'are a man i could lose with a good heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull's eye painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; sirrah, ye shall show me the way." "i will show you any way, sir daniel, but the way to change sides," returned clipsby, sturdily. sir daniel laughed a guffaw. "why, well said!" he cried. "hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to! i will forgive you for that merry word. selden, see them fed, both man and brute." the knight re-entered the inn. "now, friend dick," he said, "fall to. here is good ale and bacon. eat, while that i read." sir daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow darkened. when he had done he sat a little, musing. then he looked sharply at his ward. "dick," said he, "y' have seen this penny rhyme?" the lad replied in the affirmative. "it bears your father's name," continued the knight; "and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, accused of slaying him." "he did most eagerly deny it," answered dick. "he did?" cried the knight, very sharply. "heed him not. he has a loose tongue; he babbles like a jack-sparrow. some day, when i may find the leisure, dick, i will myself more fully inform you of these matters. there was one duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be got." "it befell at the moat house?" dick ventured, with a beating at his heart. "it befell between the moat house and holywood," replied sir daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at dick's face. "and now," added the knight, "speed you with your meal; ye shall return to tunstall with a line from me." dick's face fell sorely. "prithee, sir daniel," he cried, "send one of the villains! i beseech you let me to the battle. i can strike a stroke, i promise you." "i misdoubt it not," replied sir daniel, sitting down to write. "but here, dick, is no honour to be won. i lie in kettley till i have sure tidings of the war, and then ride to join me with the conqueror. cry not on cowardice; it is but wisdom, dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king's name and custody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain of the morrow. toss-pot and shuttle-wit run in, but my lord good-counsel sits o' one side, waiting." with that, sir daniel, turning his back to dick, and quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this business of the black arrow stuck sorely in his throat. meanwhile, young shelton was going on heartily enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear. "make not a sign, i do beseech you," said the voice, "but of your charity tell me the straight way to holywood. beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose." "take the path by the windmill," answered dick, in the same tone; "it will bring you to till ferry; there inquire again." and without turning his head, he fell again to eating. but with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called master john stealthily creeping from the room. "why," thought dick, "he is as young as i. 'good boy' doth he call me? an i had known, i should have seen the varlet hanged ere i had told him. well, if he goes through the fen, i may come up with him and pull his ears." half an hour later, sir daniel gave dick the letter, and bade him speed to the moat house. and, again, some half an hour after dick's departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my lord of risingham. "sir daniel," the messenger said, "ye lose great honour, by my sooth! the fight began again this morning ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and scattered their right wing. only the main battle standeth fast. an we had your fresh men, we should tilt you them all into the river. what, sir knight! will ye be the last? it stands not with your good credit." "nay," cried the knight, "i was but now upon the march. selden, sound me the tucket. sir, i am with you on the instant. it is not two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger. what would ye have? spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger. bustle, boys!" by this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from all sides sir daniel's men poured into the main street and formed before the inn. they had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers, cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. the chief part were in sir daniel's livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their array. the best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry reinforcement of the night before. sir daniel looked with pride along the line. "here be the lads to serve you in a pinch," he said. "they are pretty men, indeed," replied the messenger. "it but augments my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier." "well," said the knight, "what would ye? the beginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir messenger"; and he mounted into his saddle. "why! how now!" he cried. "john! joanna! nay, by the sacred rood! where is she? host, where is that girl?" "girl, sir daniel?" cried the landlord. "nay, sir, i saw no girl." "boy, then, dotard!" cried the knight. "could ye not see it was a wench? she in the murrey-coloured mantle--she that broke her fast with water, rogue--where is she?" "nay, the saints bless us! master john, ye called him," said the host. "well, i thought none evil. he is gone. i saw him--her--i saw her in the stable a good hour agone; 'a was saddling a grey horse." "now, by the rood!" cried sir daniel, "the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more." "sir knight," observed the messenger, with bitterness, "while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of england is elsewhere being lost and won." "it is well said," replied sir daniel. "selden, fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down. i care not what it cost; but, at my returning, let me find her at the moat house. be it upon your head. and now, sir messenger, we march." and the troop broke into a good trot, and selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of kettley, with the staring villagers. chapter ii in the fen it was near six in the may morning when dick began to ride down into the fen upon his homeward way. the sky was all blue; the jolly wind blew loud and steady; the windmill sails were spinning; and the willows over all the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn. he had been all night in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he rode right merrily. the path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks but kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and the extreme top of tunstall forest far before. on either hand there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous bogs, as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray the traveller. the path lay almost straight through the morass. it was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stagnant waters of the fen. about a mile from kettley, dick came to one such break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and confused the eye. the gap, besides, was more than usually long; it was a place where any stranger might come readily to mischief; and dick bethought him, with something like a pang, of the lad whom he had so imperfectly directed. as for himself, one look backward to where the windmill sails were turning black against the blue of heaven--one look forward to the high ground of tunstall forest, and he was sufficiently directed and held straight on, the water washing to his horse's knees, as safe as on a highway. half-way across, and when he had already sighted the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still spasmodically struggling. instantly, as though it had divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast began to neigh most piercingly. it rolled, meanwhile, a bloodshot eye, insane with terror; and as it sprawled wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose and buzzed about it in the air. "alack!" thought dick, "can the poor lad have perished? there is his horse, for certain--a brave grey! nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, i will do all man can to help thee. shalt not lie there to drown by inches!" and he made ready his cross-bow, and put a quarrel through the creature's head. dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, somewhat sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him for any sign of his less happy predecessor in the way. "i would i had dared to tell him further," he thought; "for i fear he has miscarried in the slough." and just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon his name from the causeway-side, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad's face peering from a clump of reeds. "are ye there?" he said, reining in. "ye lay so close among the reeds that i had passed you by. i saw your horse bemired, and put him from his agony; which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful rider, ye had done yourself. but come forth out of your hiding. here be none to trouble you." "nay, good boy, i have no arms, nor skill to use them if i had," replied the other, stepping forth upon the pathway. "why call me 'boy'?" cried dick. "y'are not, i trow, the elder of us twain." "good master shelton," said the other, "prithee forgive me. i have none the least intention to offend. rather i would in every way beseech your gentleness and favour, for i am now worse bested than ever, having lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. to have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit upon! and before all," he added, looking ruefully upon his clothes--"before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!" "tut!" cried dick. "would ye mind a ducking? blood of wound or dust of travel--that's a man's adornment." "nay, then, i like him better plain," observed the lad. "but, prithee, how shall i do? prithee, good master richard, help me with your good counsel. if i come not safe to holywood, i am undone." "nay," said dick, dismounting, "i will give more than counsel. take my horse, and i will run awhile, and when i am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier." so the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, dick with his hand upon the other's knee. "how call ye your name?" asked dick. "call me john matcham," replied the lad. "and what make ye to holywood?" dick continued. "i seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress me," was the answer. "the good abbot of holywood is a strong pillar to the weak." "and how came ye with sir daniel, master matcham?" pursued dick. "nay," cried the other, "by the abuse of force! he hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed me till i could 'a' wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot! i was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely. nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!" "would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?" said dick. "'tis a valiant knight, and hath a hand of iron. an he guessed i had made or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with me." "ay, poor boy," returned the other, "y'are his ward, i know it. by the same token, so am i, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage--i wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by." "boy again!" said dick. "nay, then, shall i call you girl, good richard?" asked matcham. "never a girl for me," returned dick. "i do abjure the crew of them!" "ye speak boyishly," said the other. "ye think more of them than ye pretend." "not i," said dick, stoutly. "they come not in my mind. a plague of them, say i! give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. i never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men's clothes in spite of nature." master matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray. "what make ye?" dick inquired. "i pray for her spirit," answered the other, with a somewhat troubled voice. "for a witch's spirit?" dick cried. "but pray for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in europe, was this joan of arc. old appleyard the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been mahoun. nay, she was a brave wench." "well, but, good master richard," resumed matcham, "an ye like maids so little, y'are no true natural man; for god made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man's hope and woman's comfort." "faugh!" said dick. "y'are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women. an ye think i be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, backsword, or bow and arrow, i will prove my manhood on your body." "nay, i am no fighter," said matcham, eagerly. "i mean no tittle of offence. i meant but pleasantry. and if i talk of women, it is because i heard ye were to marry." "i to marry!" dick exclaimed. "well, it is the first i hear of it. and with whom was i to marry?" "one joan sedley," replied matcham, colouring. "it was sir daniel's doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, i have heard the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. it seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bridegroom." "well! marriage is like death, it comes to all," said dick, with resignation. "and she bemoaned herself? i pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me! do i bemoan myself? not i. an i be to marry, i will marry dry-eyed! but if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or foul? and is she shrewish or pleasant?" "nay, what matters it?" said matcham. "an y'are to marry, ye can but marry. what matters foul or fair? these be but toys. y'are no milksop, master richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow." "it is well said," replied shelton. "little i reck." "your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord," said matcham. "she shall have the lord heaven made her for," returned dick. "i trow there be worse as well as better." "ah, the poor wench!" cried the other. "and why so poor?" asked dick. "to wed a man of wood," replied his companion. "o me, for a wooden husband!" "i think i be a man of wood, indeed," said dick, "to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, i trow." "good dick, forgive me," cried the other. "nay, y'are the best heart in england; i but laughed. forgive me now, sweet dick." "nay, no fool words," returned dick, a little embarrassed by his companion's warmth. "no harm is done. i am not touchy, praise the saints." and at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough flourish of sir daniel's trumpeter. "hark!" said dick, "the tucket soundeth." "ay," said matcham, "they have found my flight, and now i am unhorsed!" and he became pale as death. "nay, what cheer!" returned dick. "y' have a long start, and we are near the ferry. and it is i, methinks, that am unhorsed." "alack, i shall be taken!" cried the fugitive. "dick, kind dick, beseech ye help me but a little!" "why, now, what aileth thee?" said dick. "methinks i help you very patently. but my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! and see ye here, john matcham--sith john matcham is your name--i, richard shelton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in holywood. the saints so do to me again if i default you. come, pick me up a good heart, sir whiteface. the way betters here; spur me the horse. go faster! faster! nay, mind not for me; i can run like a deer." so, with the horse trotting hard, and dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainer of the fen, and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferryman's hut. chapter iii the fen ferry the river till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets. it was a dingy stream; but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful. the wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue. a creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman's hut lay snugly. it was of wattle and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof. dick went to the door and opened it. within, upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man, but lean and shaken by the country fever. "hey, master shelton," he said, "be ye for the ferry? ill times, ill times! look to yourself. there is a fellowship abroad. ye were better turn round on your two heels and try the bridge." "nay; time's in the saddle," answered dick. "time will ride, hugh ferryman. i am hot in haste." "a wilful man!" returned the ferryman, rising. "an ye win safe to the moat house, y' have done lucky; but i say no more." and then catching sight of matcham, "who be this?" he asked, as he paused, blinking, on the threshold of his cabin. "it is my kinsman, master matcham," answered dick. "give ye good day, good ferryman," said matcham, who had dismounted, and now came forward, leading the horse. "launch me your boat, i prithee; we are sore in haste." the gaunt ferryman continued staring. "by the mass!" he cried at length, and laughed with open throat. matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and dick, with an angry countenance, put his hand on the lout's shoulder. "how now, churl!" he cried. "fall to thy business, and leave mocking thy betters." hugh ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and shoved it a little forth into the deep water. then dick led in the horse, and matcham followed. "ye be mortal small made, master," said hugh, with a wide grin; "something o' the wrong model, belike. nay, master shelton, i am for you," he added, getting to his oars. "a cat may look at a king. i did but take a shot of the eye at master matcham." "sirrah, no more words," said dick. "bend me your back." they were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up and down the river. everywhere it was enclosed with islands. clay banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dipping and piping. there was no sign of man in the labyrinth of waters. "my master," said the ferryman, keeping the boat steady with one oar, "i have a shrew guess that john-a-fenne is on the island. he bears me a black grudge to all sir daniel's. how if i turned me up stream and landed you an arrow-flight above the path? ye were best not meddle with john fenne." "how, then, is he of this company?" asked dick. "nay, mum is the word," said hugh. "but i would go up water, dick. how if master matcham came by an arrow?" and he laughed again. "be it so, hugh," answered dick. "look ye, then," pursued hugh. "sith it shall so be, unsling me your cross-bow--so: now make it ready--good; place me a quarrel. ay, keep it so, and look upon me grimly." "what meaneth this?" asked dick. "why, my master, if i steal you across, it must be under force or fear," replied the ferryman; "for else, if john fenne got wind of it, he were like to prove my most distressful neighbour." "do these churls ride so roughly?" dick inquired. "do they command sir daniel's own ferry?" "nay," whispered the ferryman, winking. "mark me! sir daniel shall down. his time is out. he shall down. mum!" and he bent over his oars. they pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and came softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank. then hugh held water in mid-stream. "i must land you here among the willows," he said. "here is no path but willow swamps and quagmires," answered dick. "master shelton," replied hugh, "i dare not take ye nearer down, for your own sake now. he watcheth me the ferry, lying on his bow. all that go by and owe sir daniel good-will, he shooteth down like rabbits. i heard him swear it by the rood. an i had not known you of old days--ay, and from so high upward--i would 'a' let you go on; but for old days' remembrance, and because ye had this toy with you that's not fit for wounds or warfare, i did risk my two poor ears to have you over whole. content you; i can no more, on my salvation!" hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong man breasting roughly through the wood. "a murrain!" cried hugh. "he was on the upper island all the while!" he pulled straight for shore. "threat me with your bow, good dick; threat me with it plain," he added. "i have tried to save your skins, save you mine!" the boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash. matcham, pale, but steady and alert, at a sign from dick, ran along the thwarts and leaped ashore; dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to follow, but what with the animal's bulk, and what with the closeness of the thicket, both stuck fast. the horse neighed and trampled; and the boat, which was swinging in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with violence. "it may not be, hugh; here is no landing," cried dick; but he still struggled valiantly with the obstinate thicket and the startled animal. a tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a long-bow in his hand. dick saw him for an instant, with the corner of his eye, bending the bow with a great effort, his face crimson with hurry. "who goes?" he shouted. "hugh, who goes?" "'tis master shelton, john," replied the ferryman. "stand, dick shelton!" bawled the man upon the island. "ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood! stand! back out, hugh ferryman." dick cried a taunting answer. "nay, then, ye shall go afoot," returned the man; and he let drive an arrow. the horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony and terror; the boat capsized, and the next moment all were struggling in the eddies of the river. when dick came up, he was within a yard of the bank; and before his eyes were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that instantly began to drag him forward. it was the riding-rod, that matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp. "by the mass!" cried dick, as he was helped ashore, "that makes a life i owe you. i swim like a cannon-ball." and he turned instantly towards the island. midway over, hugh ferryman was swimming with his upturned boat, while john-a-fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled to him to hurry. "come, jack," said shelton, "run for it! ere hugh can hale his barge across, or the pair of 'em can get it righted, we may be out of cry." and adding example to his words, he began to run, dodging among the willows, and in marshy places leaping from tussock to tussock. he had no time to look for his direction; all he could do was to turn his back upon the river, and put all his heart to running. presently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was still in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of solid turf, where elms began to mingle with the willows. but here matcham, who had been dragging far into the rear, threw himself fairly down. "leave me, dick!" he cried, pantingly; "i can no more." dick turned, and came back to where his companion lay. "nay, jack, leave thee!" he cried. "that were a knave's trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save my life. drowning, in sooth; for why i did not pull you in along with me, the saints alone can tell!" "nay," said matcham, "i would 'a' saved us both, good dick, for i can swim." "can ye so?" cried dick, with open eyes. it was the one manly accomplishment of which he was himself incapable. in the order of the things that he admired, next to having killed a man in single fight came swimming. "well," he said, "here is a lesson to despise no man. i promised to care for you as far as holywood, and, by the rood, jack, y'are more capable to care for me." "well, dick, we're friends now," said matcham. "nay, i never was unfriends," answered dick. "y'are a brave lad in your way, albeit something of a milksop, too. i never met your like before this day. but, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on. here is no place for chatter." "my foot hurts shrewdly," said matcham. "nay, i had forgot your foot," returned dick. "well, we must go the gentlier. i would i knew rightly where we were. i have clean lost the path; yet that may be for the better, too. an they watch the ferry, they watch the path, belike, as well. i would sir daniel were back with two-score men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves. come, jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew. nay, y'are not tall enough. what age are ye, for a wager?--twelve?" "nay, i am sixteen," said matcham. "y'are poorly grown to height, then," answered dick. "but take my hand. we shall go softly, never fear. i owe you a life; i am a good repayer, jack, of good or evil." they began to go forward up the slope. "we must hit the road, early or late," continued dick; "and then for a fresh start. by the mass! but y' 'ave a rickety hand, jack. if i had a hand like that, i would think shame. i tell you," he went on, with a sudden chuckle, "i swear by the mass i believe hugh ferryman took you for a maid." "nay, never!" cried the other, colouring high. "a' did, though, for a wager!" dick exclaimed. "small blame to him. ye look liker maid than man; and i tell you more--y'are a strange-looking rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, jack, ye would be right fair--ye would. ye would be well favoured for a wench." "well," said matcham, "ye know right well that i am none." "nay, i know that; i do but jest," said dick. "ye'll be a man before your mother, jack. what cheer, my bully! ye shall strike shrewd strokes. now, which, i marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, jack? for knighted i shall be, or die for't. 'sir richard shelton, knight': it soundeth bravely. but 'sir john matcham' soundeth not amiss." "prithee, dick, stop till i drink," said the other, pausing where a little clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a pocket. "and o, dick, if i might come by anything to eat!--my very heart aches with hunger." "why, fool, did ye not eat at kettley?" asked dick. "i had made a vow--it was a sin i had been led into," stammered matcham; "but now, if it were but dry bread, i would eat it greedily." "sit ye, then, and eat," said dick, "while that i scout a little forward for the road." and he took a wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread and pieces of dry bacon, and, while matcham fell heartily to, struck farther forth among the trees. a little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where a streamlet soaked among dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown and stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of willow and elm. the continued tossing and pouring of the wind among the leaves sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was for the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for all that dick went cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking sharply about him as he went. suddenly a doe passed like a shadow through the underwood in front of him, and he paused, disgusted at the chance. this part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent before him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing farther, he turned him to the nearest well-grown tree, and rapidly began to climb. luck had served him well. the oak on which he had mounted was one of the tallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours by a fathom and a half; and when dick had clambered into the topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in the great wind, he saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as kettley, and the till wandering among woody islets, and in front of him, the white line of highroad winding through the forest. the boat had been righted--it was even now midway on the ferry. beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught moving but the wind. he was about to descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit upon a string of moving points about the middle of the fen. plainly a small troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down the trunk and returned across the wood for his companion. chapter iv a greenwood company matcham was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the outwood, crossed the road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of tunstall forest. the trees grew more and more in groves, with healthy places in between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. the ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and hillocks. and with every step of the ascent the wind still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the gusts like fishing-rods. they had just entered one of the clearings, when dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward towards the shelter of the grove. matcham, in great bewilderment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated his companion's course; and it was not until they had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain. for all reply, dick pointed with his finger. at the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of foliage clear against the sky. for about fifty feet above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid like a column. at that level, it split into two massive boughs; and in the fork, like a mastheaded seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide. the sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly rolling his head from side to side, with the regularity of a machine. the lads exchanged glances. "let us try to the left," said dick. "we had near fallen foully, jack." ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten path. "here is a piece of forest that i know not," dick remarked. "where goeth me this track?" "let us even try," said matcham. a few yards farther, the path came to the top of a ridge and began to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. at the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins of a house. "what may this be?" whispered matcham. "nay, by the mass, i know not," answered dick. "i am all at sea. let us go warily." with beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns. here and there, they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit trees and pot herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden. yet a little farther and they came forth before the ruins of the house. it had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. a dry ditch was dug deep about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by a fallen rafter. the two farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their empty windows; but the remainder of the building had collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed with fire. already in the interior a few plants were springing green among the chinks. "now i bethink me," whispered dick, "this must be grimstone. it was a hold of one simon malmesbury; sir daniel was his bane! 'twas bennet hatch that burned it, now five years agone. in sooth, 'twas pity, for it was a fair house." down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was both warm and still; and matcham, laying one hand upon dick's arm, held up a warning finger. "hist!" he said. then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. it was twice repeated ere they recognised its nature. it was the sound of a big man clearing his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing. "then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws: 'what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?' and gamelyn made answer--he looked never adown: 'o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town!'" the singer paused, a faint clink of iron followed, and then silence. [illustration: _in the fork, like a mastheaded seaman, there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and wide_] the two lads stood looking at each other. whoever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just beyond the ruin. and suddenly the colour came into matcham's face, and next moment he had crossed the fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge pile of lumber that filled the interior of the roofless house. dick would have withheld him, had he been in time; as it was, he was fain to follow. right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church. into this the lads silently lowered themselves. there they were perfectly concealed, and through an arrow-loophole commanded a view upon the farther side. peering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their predicament. to retreat was impossible; they scarce dared to breathe. upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron caldron bubbled and steamed above a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound of their clambering among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt. plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caldron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear. a little farther off, another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butterfly hovering above his face. all this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme verge, a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and part of a deer's carcase hung upon a flowering hawthorn. presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring and singing. "'o, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,'" he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it. "o, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do. but if we meet with the good king's deer to shoot a shaft into." still as he sang, he took from time to time another spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced cook. at length, apparently, he judged the mess was ready; for taking the horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls. the other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and looked about him. "how now, brother?" he said. "dinner?" "ay, sot," replied the cook, "dinner it is, and a dry dinner, too, with neither ale nor bread. but there is little pleasure in the greenwood now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set aside the rain and the white frosts; he had his heart's desire both of ale and wine. but now are men's spirits dead; and this john amend-all, save us and guard us! but a stuffed booby to scare crows withal." "nay," returned the other, "y'are too set on meat and drinking, lawless. bide ye a bit; the good time cometh." "look ye," returned the cook, "i have even waited for this good time sith that i was so high. i have been a grey friar; i have been a king's archer; i have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and i have been in greenwood before this, forsooth! and shot the king's deer. what cometh of it? naught! i were better to have bided in the cloister. john abbot availeth more than john amend-all. by 'r lady! here they come." one after another, tall, likely fellows began to stroll into the lawn. each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the caldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. they were very variously equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger at their sides. they came in the silence of hunger, and scarce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to meat. there were, perhaps, a score of them already gathered, when a sound of suppressed cheering arose close by among the hawthorns, and immediately after five or six woodmen carrying a stretcher debouched upon the lawn. a tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear in his hand. "lads!" he cried, "good fellows all, and my right merry friends, y' have sung this while on a dry whistle and lived at little ease. but what said i ever? abide fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift. and lo! here is her little firstling--even that good creature, ale!" there was a murmur of applause as the bearers set down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask. "and now haste ye, boys," the man continued. "there is work toward. a handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is their wear; they are our butts--they shall all taste arrows--no man of them shall struggle through this wood. for, lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us most foully wronged; for some they have lost lands, and some friends; and some they have been outlawed--all oppressed! who, then, hath done this evil? sir daniel, by the rood! shall he then profit? shall he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? shall he suck the bone he robbed us of? i trow not. he getteth him strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain--i have a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him." lawless the cook was by this time already at his second horn of ale. he raised it, as if to pledge the speaker. "master ellis," he said, "y'are for vengeance--well it becometh you!--but your poor brother o' the greenwood, that had never lands to lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the profit of the thing. he had liever a gold noble and a pottle of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory." "lawless," replied the other, "to reach the moat house, sir daniel must pass the forest. we shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any battle. then, when he hath got to earth with such ragged handful as escapeth us--all his great friends fallen and fled away, and none to give him aid--we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the fall of him. 'tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner for us all." "ay," returned lawless, "i have eaten many of these dinners beforehand; but the cooking of them is hot work, good master ellis. and meanwhile what do we? we make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink." "y'are untrue, will lawless. ye still smell of the grey friars' buttery; greed is your undoing," answered ellis. "we took twenty pounds from appleyard. we took seven marks from the messenger last night. a day ago we had fifty from the merchant." "and to-day," said one of the men, "i stopped a fat pardoner riding apace for holywood. here is his purse." ellis counted the contents. "five-score shillings!" he grumbled. "fool, he had more in his sandal, or stitched into his tippet. y'are but a child, tom cuckow; ye have lost the fish." but, for all that, ellis pocketed the purse with nonchalance. he stood leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest. they, in various attitudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liberally washed it down with ale. this was a good day; they were in luck; but business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating. the first-comers had by this time even despatched their dinner. some lay down upon the grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-constrictors; others talked together, or overhauled their weapons; and one, whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing: "here is no law in good green shaw, here is no lack of meat; 'tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, in summer, when all is sweet. "come winter again, with wind and rain-- come winter, with snow and sleet, get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, and sit by the fire and eat." all this while the two lads had listened and lain close; only richard had unslung his cross-bow, and held ready in one hand the windac, or grappling-iron that he used to bend it. otherwise they had not dared to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a scene upon a theatre. but now there came a strange interruption. the tall chimney which overtopped the remainder of the ruins rose right above their hiding-place. there came a whistle in the air, and then a sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their ears. some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the chimney-top. matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he instantly stifled, and even dick started with surprise, and dropped the windac from his fingers. but to the fellows on the lawn, this shaft was an expected signal. they were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. ellis held up his hand; his face had suddenly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of his eyes shone in his sun-brown face. "lads," he said, "ye know your places. let not one man's soul escape you. appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table. i have three men whom i will bitterly avenge--harry shelton, simon malmesbury, and"--striking his broad bosom--"and ellis duckworth, by the mass!" another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns. "'tis not sir daniel!" he panted. "they are but seven. is the arrow gone?" "it struck but now," replied ellis. "a murrain!" cried the messenger. "methought i heard it whistle. and i go dinnerless!" in the space of a minute, some running, some walking sharply, according as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the black arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house; and the caldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer's carcase on the hawthorn, remained alone to testify they had been there. chapter v "bloody as the hunter" the lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind. then they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint, clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter. matcham had picked up the windac and went first, dick following stiffly, with his cross-bow on his arm. "and now," said matcham, "forth to holywood." "to holywood!" cried dick, "when good fellows stand shot? not i! i would see you hanged first, jack!" "ye would leave me, would ye?" matcham asked. "ay, by my sooth!" returned dick. "an i be not in time to warn these lads, i will go die with them. what! would ye have me leave my own men that i have lived among? i trow not! give me my windac." but there was nothing further from matcham's mind. "dick," he said, "ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to holywood. would ye be forsworn? would you desert me--a perjurer?" "nay, i sware for the best," returned dick. "i meant it too; but now! but look ye, jack, turn again with me. let me but warn these men, and, if needs must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and i will on again to holywood and purge mine oath." "ye but deride me," answered matcham. "these men ye go to succour are the same that hunt me to my ruin." dick scratched his head. "i cannot help it, jack," he said. "here is no remedy. what would ye? ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of death. death!" he added. "think of it! what a murrain do ye keep me here for? give me the windac. st. george! shall they all die?" "richard shelton," said matcham, looking him squarely in the face, "would ye, then, join party with sir daniel? have ye not ears? heard ye not this ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own kindly blood and the father that men slew? 'harry shelton,' he said; and sir harry shelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven." "what would ye?" dick cried again. "would ye have me credit thieves?" "nay, i have heard it before now," returned matcham. "the fame goeth currently, it was sir daniel slew him. he slew him under oath; in his own house he shed the innocent blood. heaven wearies for the avenging on't; and you--the man's son--ye go about to comfort and defend the murderer!" "jack," cried the lad, "i know not. it may be; what know i? but, see here: this man hath bred me up and fostered me, and his men i have hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril--o, man, if i did that, i were stark dead to honour! nay, jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me to be base." "but your father, dick?" said matcham, somewhat wavering. "your father? and your oath to me? ye took the saints to witness." "my father?" cried shelton. "nay, he would have me go! if sir daniel slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay sir daniel; but neither him nor his will i desert in peril. and for mine oath, good jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. for the lives' sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free." "i, dick? never!" returned matcham. "an ye leave me, y'are forsworn, and so i shall declare it." "my blood heats," said dick. "give me the windac! give it me!" "i'll not," said matcham. "i'll save you in your teeth." "not?" cried dick. "i'll make you!" "try it," said the other. they stood, looking in each other's eyes, each ready for a spring. then dick leaped; and though matcham turned instantly and fled, in two bounds he was overtaken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, and dick stood across him, flushed and menacing, with doubled fist. matcham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of resistance. dick bent his bow. "i'll teach you!" he cried, fiercely. "oath or no oath, ye may go hang for me!" and he turned and began to run. matcham was on his feet at once, and began running after him. "what d'ye want?" cried dick, stopping. "what make ye after me? stand off!" "i will follow an i please," said matcham. "this wood is free to me." "stand back, by 'r lady!" returned dick, raising his bow. "ah, y'are a brave boy!" retorted matcham. "shoot!" dick lowered his weapon in some confusion. "see here," he said. "y' have done me ill enough. go, then. go your way in fair wise; or, whether i will or not, i must even drive you to it." "well," said matcham, doggedly, "y'are the stronger. do your worst. i shall not leave to follow thee, dick, unless thou makest me," he added. dick was almost beside himself. it went against his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and, for the life of him, he knew no other way to rid himself of this unwelcome and, as he began to think, perhaps untrue companion. "y'are mad, i think," he cried. "fool-fellow, i am hasting to your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, go i thither." "i care not, dick," replied the lad. "if y'are bound to die, dick, i'll die too. i would liever go with you to prison than to go free without you." "well," returned the other, "i may stand no longer prating. follow me, if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you, mark ye that. shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy." so saying, dick took once more to his heels, keeping in the margin of the thicket and looking briskly about him as he went. at a good pace he rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quarters of the wood. to the left a little eminence appeared, spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs. "i shall see from there," he thought, and struck for it across a heathy clearing. he had gone but a few yards, when matcham touched him on the arm, and pointed. to the eastward of the summit there was a dip, and, as it were, a valley passing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following another, dick saw half a score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear, ellis duckworth in person. one after another gained the top, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the farther side, until the last was gone. dick looked at matcham with a kindlier eye. "so y'are to be true to me, jack?" he asked. "i thought ye were of the other party." matcham began to sob. "what cheer!" cried dick. "now the saints behold us! would ye snivel for a word?" "ye hurt me," sobbed matcham. "ye hurt me when ye threw me down. y'are a coward to abuse your strength." "nay, that is fool's talk," said dick, roughly. "y' had no title to my windac, master john. i would 'a' done right to have well basted you. if ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come." matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, seeing that dick continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence and not so much as looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to run in turn. but the ground was very difficult and steep; dick had already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he had long since come to the summit, crawled forward through the firs, and ensconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before matcham, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side. below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the short cut from tunstall hamlet wound downwards to the ferry. it was well beaten, and the eye followed it easily from point to point. here it was bordered by open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every hundred yards it ran beside an ambush. far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel salets, and from time to time, as the trees opened, selden and his men could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon sir daniel's mission. the wind had somewhat fallen, but still tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warning from the troubled conduct of the birds. "now, mark," dick whispered. "they be already well advanced into the wood; their safety lieth rather in continuing forward. but see ye where this wide glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, these two-score trees make like an island? there were their safety. an they but come sound as far as that, i will make shift to warn them. but my heart misgiveth me; they are but seven against so many, and they but carry cross-bows. the long-bow, jack, will have the uppermost ever." meanwhile, selden and his men still wound up the path, ignorant of their danger, and momently drew nearer hand. once, indeed, they paused, drew into a group, and seemed to point and listen. but it was something from far away across the plain that had arrested their attention--a hollow growl of cannon that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told of the great battle. it was worth a thought, to be sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus become audible in tunstall forest, the fight must have rolled ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore against sir daniel and the lords of the dark rose. but presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single tongue of forest ran down to join the road. they were but just abreast of this, when an arrow shone flying. one of the men threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass. even from where the boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men's voices crying out; they could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dismount. a second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. the man who was dismounting lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing hoofs. the four who still kept the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road from tunstall. from every clump they passed an arrow sped. soon a horse fell, but the rider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a second shot despatched him. another man fell; then another horse; out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in different directions, the noise of the galloping of three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance. all this time not one of the assailants had for a moment shown himself. here and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain. the solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road beside his fallen charger. he had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of timber, pointed out by dick. he was not, perhaps, five hundred yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expectation. but nothing came; and the man began to pluck up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow. at the same time, by something in his action, dick recognised selden. at this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the woods there went up the sound of laughter. a score of men, at least, for this was the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this cruel and untimely mirth. then an arrow glanced over selden's shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back. another dart struck quivering at his heel. he made for the cover. a third shaft leaped out right in his face, and fell short in front of him. and then the laughter was repeated loudly, rising and re-echoing from different thickets. it was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse. the skirmish was well over; farther down the road, a fellow in green was already calmly gathering the arrows; and now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner in his torture. selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his cross-bow, and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood. chance favoured him, for a slight cry responded. then, throwing down his weapon, selden began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a straight line for dick and matcham. the companions of the black arrow now began to shoot in earnest. but they were properly served; their chance had past; most of them had now to shoot against the sun; and selden, as he ran, bounded from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim. best of all, by turning up the glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the confusion of the foresters' counsels soon became apparent. a whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice. it was repeated from another quarter. the woods on either side became full of the sound of people bursting through the underwood; and a bewildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the thicket. selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but still would miss. it began to appear as if he might escape. dick had his bow armed, ready to support him; even matcham, forgetful of his interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive; and both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts. he was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him and he fell. he was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction. dick leaped to his feet and waved to him. "here!" he cried. "this way! here is help! nay, run, fellow--run!" but just then a second arrow struck selden in the shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, and, piercing through his jack, brought him, like a stone, to earth. "o, the poor heart!" cried matcham, with clasped hands. and dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery. ten to one he had speedily been shot--for the foresters were furious with themselves, and taken unawares by dick's appearance in the rear of their position--but instantly, out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of ellis duckworth. "hold!" it roared. "shoot not! take him alive! it is young shelton--harry's son." and immediately after a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was again taken up and repeated farther off. the whistle, it appeared, was john amend-all's battle trumpet, by which he published his directions. "ah, foul fortune!" cried dick. "we are undone. swiftly, jack, come swiftly!" and the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that covered the summit of the hill. chapter vi to the day's end it was, indeed, high time for them to run. on every side the company of the black arrow was making for the hill. some, being better runners, or having open ground to run upon, had far outstripped the others, and were already close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side. dick plunged into the nearest cover. it was a tall grove of oaks, firm underfoot and clear of underbrush, and as it lay down-hill, they made good speed. there followed next a piece of open, which dick avoided, holding to his left. two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same course. thus it followed that, while the lads, bending continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to the highroad and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pursuers were leaning to the other hand, and running towards tunstall. the lads paused to breathe. there was no sound of pursuit. dick put his ear to the ground, and still there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure, still made a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain. "on again," said dick; and, tired as they were, and matcham limping with his injured foot, they pulled themselves together, and once more pelted down the hill. three minutes later, they were breasting through a low thicket of evergreen. high overhead, the tall trees made a continuous roof of foliage. it was a pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and except for the hollies among which the lads were struggling, open and smoothly swarded. on the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove. "stand!" cried a voice. and there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly drew an arrow to the head and covered them. matcham stopped with a cry; but dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as he went. the other, whether he was startled by the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot; he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, dick bounded at his throat, and sent him sprawling backward on the turf. the arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang. the disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and descended twice. then came a couple of groans, and then dick rose to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart. "on!" said dick; and he once more pelted forward, matcham trailing in the rear. to say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. matcham had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for dick, his knees were like lead. but they kept up the form of running with undiminished courage. presently they came to the end of the grove. it stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards before them, was the highroad from risingham to shoreby, lying, at this point, between two even walls of forest. at the sight dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder. it was at first like the rush of a very high gust of wind, but soon it became more definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of horses; and then, in a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. they rode as for their lives, in complete disorder; some of them were wounded; riderless horses galloped at their side with bloody saddles. they were plainly fugitives from the great battle. the noise of their passage had scarce begun to die away towards shoreby, before fresh hoofs came echoing in their wake, and another deserter clattered down the road; this time a single rider and, by his splendid armour, a man of high degree. close after him there followed several baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses as if for life. these must have run early in the day; but their cowardice was not to save them. for just before they came abreast of where the lads stood wondering, a man in hacked armour, and seemingly beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of a sword, began to cut the drivers down. some leaped from their places and plunged into the wood; the others he sabred as they sat, cursing them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human. all this time the noise in the distance had continued to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, the cries of men, a great, confused rumour, came swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the rout of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down the road. dick stood sombre. he had meant to follow the highway till the turn for holywood, and now he had to change his plan. but above all, he had recognised the colours of earl risingham, and he knew that the battle had gone finally against the rose of lancaster. had sir daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of york, and was he forfeit to honour? it was an ugly choice. "come," he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, he began to walk forward through the grove, with matcham limping in his rear. for some time they continued to thread the forest in silence. it was now growing late; the sun was setting in the plain beyond kettley; the tree-tops overhead glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow darker and the chill of the night to fall. "if there were anything to eat!" cried dick, suddenly, pausing as he spoke. matcham sat down and began to weep. "ye can weep for your own supper, but when it was to save men's lives, your heart was hard enough," said dick, contemptuously. "y' 'ave seven deaths upon your conscience, master john; i'll ne'er forgive you that." "conscience!" cried matcham, looking fiercely up. "mine! and ye have the man's red blood upon your dagger! and wherefore did ye slay him, the poor soul? he drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his hand, and spared you! 'tis as brave to kill a kitten, as a man that not defends himself." dick was struck dumb. "i slew him fair. i ran me in upon his bow," he cried. "it was a coward blow," returned matcham. "y'are but a lout and bully, master dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see you truckle at his boot! ye care not for vengeance, neither--for your father's death that goes unpaid, and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice. but if there come but a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!" dick was too furious to observe that "she." "marry!" he cried, "and here is news! of any two the one will still be stronger. the better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well served. ye deserve a belting, master matcham, for your ill-guidance and unthankfulness to meward; and what ye deserve ye shall have." and dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still preserved the appearance of composure, began to unbuckle his belt. "here shall be your supper," he said, grimly. matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white as a sheet, but he looked dick steadily in the face, and never moved. dick took a step, swinging the belt. then he paused, embarrassed by the large eyes and the thin, weary face of his companion. his courage began to subside. "say ye were in the wrong, then," he said, lamely. "nay," said matcham, "i was in the right. come, cruel! i be lame; i be weary; i resist not; i ne'er did thee hurt; come, beat me--coward!" dick raised the belt at this last provocation; but matcham winced and drew himself together with so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed him yet again. the strap fell by his side, and he stood irresolute, feeling like a fool. "a plague upon thee, shrew!" he said. "an ye be so feeble of hand, ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. but i'll be hanged before i beat you!" and he put on his belt again. "beat you i will not," he continued; "but forgive you?--never. i knew ye not; ye were my master's enemy; i lent you my horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y' 'ave called me a man o' wood, a coward, and a bully. nay, by the mass! the measure is filled, and runneth over. 'tis a great thing to be weak, i trow: ye can do your worst, yet shall none punish you; ye may steal a man's weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;--y'are weak, forsooth! nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and crieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through! tut! fool words!" "and yet ye beat me not," returned matcham. "let be," said dick--"let be. i will instruct you. y' 'ave been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and, beyond all question, saved me from the river. nay, i had forgotten it; i am as thankless as thyself. but, come, let us on. an we be for holywood this night, ay, or to-morrow early, we had best set forward speedily." but though dick had talked himself back into his usual good-humour, matcham had forgiven him nothing. his violence, the recollection of the forester whom he had slain--above all, the vision of the upraised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten. "i will thank you, for the form's sake," said matcham. "but, in sooth, good master shelton, i had liever find my way alone. here is a wide wood; prithee, let each choose his path; i owe you a dinner and a lesson. fare ye well!" "nay," cried dick, "if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with you!" each turned aside, and they began walking off severally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel. but dick had not gone ten paces ere his name was called, and matcham came running after. "dick," he said, "it were unmannerly to part so coldly. here is my hand, and my heart with it. for all that wherein you have so excellently served and helped me--not for the form, but from the heart, i thank you. fare ye right well." "well, lad," returned dick, taking the hand which was offered him, "good speed to you, if speed you may. but i misdoubt it shrewdly. y'are too disputatious." so then they separated for the second time; and presently it was dick who was running after matcham. "here," he said, "take my cross-bow; shalt not go unarmed." "a cross-bow!" said matcham. "nay, boy, i have neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill to aim with it. it were no help to me, good boy. but yet i thank you." the night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read each other's face. "i will go some little way with you," said dick. "the night is dark. i would fain leave you on a path, at least. my mind misgiveth me, y'are likely to be lost." without any more words, he began to walk forward, and the other once more followed him. the blackness grew thicker and thicker. only here and there, in open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars. in the distance, the noise of the rout of the lancastrian army still continued to be faintly audible; but with every step they left it farther in the rear. at the end of half an hour of silent progress they came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. it glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern and islanded with clumps of yew. and here they paused and looked upon each other. "y'are weary?" dick said. "nay, i am so weary," answered matcham, "that methinks i could lie down and die." "i hear the chiding of a river," returned dick. "let us go so far forth, for i am sore athirst." the ground sloped down gently; and, sure enough, in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river, running among willows. here they threw themselves down together by the brink; and putting their mouths to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill. "dick," said matcham, "it may not be. i can no more." "i saw a pit as we came down," said dick. "let us lie down therein and sleep." "nay, but with all my heart!" cried matcham. the pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles hung upon one hedge, and made a partial shelter; and there the two lads lay down, keeping close together for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten. and soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under the dew and stars they rested peacefully. chapter vii the hooded face they awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours. half starved and over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. and as they thus lay, the clang of a bell fell suddenly upon their ears. "a bell!" said dick, sitting up. "can we be, then, so near to holywood?" a little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning. "nay, what should this betoken?" said dick, who was now broad awake. "it is some one walking," returned matcham, "and the bell tolleth ever as he moves." "i see that well," said dick. "but wherefore? what maketh he in tunstall woods? jack," he added, "laugh at me an ye will, but i like not the hollow sound of it." "nay," said matcham, with a shiver, "it hath a doleful note. an the day were not come----" but just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a space. "it is as though the bearer had run for a paternoster while, and then leaped the river," dick observed. "and now beginneth he again to pace soberly forward," added matcham. "nay," returned dick--"nay, not so soberly, jack. 'tis a man that walketh you right speedily. 'tis a man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried business. see ye not how swift the beating draweth near?" "it is now close by," said matcham. they were now on the edge of the pit; and as the pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, up to the thick woods that closed it in. the daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of white foot-path wandering among the gorse. it passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran the whole length of the clearing, east and west. by the line of its course, dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the moat house. upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared. it paused a little, and seemed to look about; and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath. at every step the bell clanked. face, it had none; a white hood, not even pierced with eye-holes, veiled the head; and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death. "a leper!" said dick, hoarsely. "his touch is death," said matcham. "let us run." "not so," returned dick. "see ye not?--he is stone blind. he guideth him with a staff. let us lie still; the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by and hurt us not. alas, poor soul, and we should rather pity him!" "i will pity him when he is by," replied matcham. the blind leper was now about half-way towards them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his veiled face. he had been a tall man before he was bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he walked with a vigorous step. the dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen before his countenance, and the knowledge that he was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut out for ever from the touch of his fellow-men, filled the lads' bosoms with dismay; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to desert them. as he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full upon the lads. "mary be my shield! he sees us!" said matcham, faintly. "hush!" whispered dick. "he doth but hearken. he is blind, fool!" the leper looked or listened, whichever he was really doing, for some seconds. then he began to move on again, but presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. even dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected. but soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any further hesitation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods. "he saw us," said matcham. "i could swear it!" "tut!" returned dick, recovering some sparks of courage. "he but heard us. he was in fear, poor soul! an ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled or a bird cried 'peep.'" "dick, good dick, he saw us," repeated matcham. "when a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, dick. this was seeing; it was not hearing. he means foully. hark, else, if his bell be not stopped!" such was the case. the bell rang no longer. "nay," said dick, "i like not that. nay," he cried again, "i like that little. what may this betoken? let us go, by the mass!" "he hath gone east," added matcham. "good dick, let us go westward straight; i shall not breathe till i have my back turned upon that leper." "jack, y'are too cowardly," replied dick. "we shall go fair for holywood, or as fair, at least, as i can guide you, and that will be due north." they were afoot at once, passed the stream upon some stepping-stones, and began to mount on the other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of the wood. the ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads somewhat wandered. they were weary, besides, with yesterday's exertions and the lack of food, and they moved but heavily and dragged their feet among the sand. presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. his bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of a man who sees. next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket. the lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror-struck. "certain, he pursueth us," said dick--"certain! he held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound. now may the saints aid and guide us, for i have no strength to combat pestilence!" "what maketh he?" cried matcham. "what doth he want? who ever heard the like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates? hath he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him? dick, there is below this something deeper." "nay, i care not," moaned dick; "the strength is gone out of me; my legs are like water. the saints be mine assistance!" "would ye lie there idle?" cried matcham. "let us back into the open. we have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares." "not i," said dick. "my time is come, and peradventure he may pass us by." "bend me, then, your bow!" cried the other. "what! will ye be a man?" dick crossed himself. "would ye have me shoot upon a leper?" he cried. "the hand would fail me. nay, now," he added--"nay, now, let be! with sound men i will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers. which this is i wot not. one or other, heaven be our protection!" "now," said matcham, "if this be man's courage, what a poor thing is man! but sith ye will do naught, let us lie close." then came a single, broken jangle on the bell. "he hath missed his hold upon the clapper," whispered matcham. "saints! how near he is!" but dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering. soon they saw a piece of the white robe between some bushes; then the leper's head was thrust forth from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew. to their stretched senses, the whole bush appeared alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other's heart. suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open close by, and ran straight upon the lads. they, shrieking aloud, separated and began to run different ways. but their horrible enemy fastened upon matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner. the lad gave one scream that echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor's arms. dick heard the cry and turned. he saw matcham fall; and on the instant his spirit and his strength revived. with a cry of pity and anger, he unslung and bent his arblast. but ere he had time to shoot, the leper held up his hand. "hold your shot, dickon!" cried a familiar voice. "hold your shot, mad wag! know ye not a friend?" and then laying down matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the features of sir daniel brackley. "sir daniel!" cried dick. "ay, by the mass, sir daniel!" returned the knight. "would ye shoot upon your guardian, rogue? but here is this----" and there he broke off, and pointing to matcham, asked: "how call ye him, dick?" "nay," said dick, "i call him master matcham. know ye him not? he said ye knew him!" "ay," replied sir daniel, "i know the lad"; and he chuckled. "but he has fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for! hey, dick? did i put the fear of death upon you?" "indeed, sir daniel, ye did that," said dick, and sighed again at the mere recollection. "nay, sir, saving your respect, i had as lief 'a' met the devil in person; and to speak truth, i am yet all a-quake. but what made ye, sir, in such a guise?" sir daniel's brow grew suddenly black with anger. "what made i?" he said. "ye do well to mind me of it! what? i skulked for my poor life in my own wood of tunstall, dick. we were ill sped at the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout. where be all my good men-at-arms? dick, by the mass, i know not! we were swept down; the shot fell thick among us; i have not seen one man in my own colours since i saw three fall. for myself, i came sound to shoreby, and being mindful of the black arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came softly by the path for the moat house. there is no disguise to be compared with it; the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest; they would all turn pale to hear it. at length i came by you and matcham. i could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished at the finding you together. moreover, in the open, where i had to go slowly and tap with my staff, i feared to disclose myself. but see," he added, "this poor shrew begins a little to revive. a little good canary will comfort me the heart of it." the knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually to consciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to another. "what cheer, jack!" said dick. "it was no leper, after all; it was sir daniel! see!" "swallow me a good draught of this," said the knight. "this will give you manhood. thereafter, i will give you both a meal, and we shall all three on to tunstall. for, dick," he continued, laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, "i will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks me sorely to be safe between four walls. not since i backed a horse have i been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and livelihood, and to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down. but i be not yet shent. some of my lads will pick me their way home. hatch hath ten fellows; selden, he had six. nay, we shall soon be strong again; and if i can but buy my peace with my right fortunate and undeserving lord of york, why, dick, we'll be a man again and go a-horseback!" and so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged his ward in dumb show. "selden," dick faltered--"selden--" and he paused again. sir daniel put down the wine untasted. "how!" he cried, in a changed voice. "selden? speak! what of selden?" dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre. the knight heard in silence; but as he listened, his countenance became convulsed with rage and grief. "now here," he cried, "on my right hand, i swear to avenge it! if that i fail, if that i spill not ten men's souls for each, may this hand wither from my body! i broke this duckworth like a rush; i beggared him to his door; i burned the thatch above his head; i drove him from this country; and now, cometh he back to beard me? nay, but, duckworth, this time it shall go bitter hard!" he was silent for some time, his face working. "eat!" he cried, suddenly. "and you here," he added to matcham, "swear me an oath to follow straight to the moat house." "i will pledge mine honour," replied matcham. "what make i with your honour?" cried the knight. "swear me upon your mother's welfare!" matcham gave the required oath; and sir daniel readjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his bell and staff. to see him once more in that appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two companions. but the knight was soon upon his feet. "eat with despatch," he said, "and follow me yarely to mine house." and with that he set forth again into the woods; and presently after the bell began to sound, numbering his steps, and the two lads sat by their untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up-hill into the distance. "and so ye go to tunstall?" dick inquired. "yea, verily," said matcham, "when needs must! i am braver behind sir daniel's back than to his face." they ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs. two hours later, they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of tunstall house. "here," said matcham, pausing, "ye shall take your leave of your friend jack, whom y'are to see no more. come, dick, forgive him what he did amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you." "and wherefore so?" asked dick. "an we both go to tunstall, i shall see you yet again, i trow, and that right often." "ye'll never again see poor jack matcham," replied the other, "that was so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye'll not see him more, dick, by mine honour!" he held his arms open, and the lads embraced and kissed. "and, dick," continued matcham, "my spirit bodeth ill. y'are now to see a new sir daniel; for heretofore hath all prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now, methinks, when his fate hath come upon him, and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us. he may be brave in battle, but he hath the liar's eye; there is fear in his eye, dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf! we go down into that house, st. mary guide us forth again!" and so they continued their descent in silence, and came out at last before sir daniel's forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady, flanked with round towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied waters of the moat. even as they appeared, the doors were opened, the bridge lowered, and sir daniel himself, with hatch and the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them. book ii the moat house chapter i dick asks questions the moat house stood not far from the rough forest road. externally, it was a compact rectangle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at the top. within, it enclosed a narrow court. the moat was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed by a single drawbridge. it was supplied with water by a trench, leading to a forest pool and commanded, through its whole length, from the battlements of the two southern towers. except that one or two tall and thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence. in the court, dick found a part of the garrison, busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily discussing the chances of a siege. some were making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been disused; but even as they worked, they shook their heads. twelve of sir daniel's party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to the moat house. but out of this dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at risingham in the disorder of the rout, one by john amend-all's marksmen as he crossed the forest. this raised the force of the garrison, counting hatch, sir daniel, and young shelton, to twenty-two effective men. and more might be continually expected to arrive. the danger lay not therefore in the lack of men. it was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed the spirits of the garrison. for their open foes of the party of york, in these most changing times, they felt but a far-away concern. "the world," as people said in those days, "might change again" before harm came. but for their neighbours in the wood, they trembled. it was not sir daniel alone who was a mark for hatred. his men, conscious of impunity, had carried themselves cruelly through all the country. harsh commands had been harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of oppression or barbarity. and now, by the fortune of war, sir daniel had become powerless to protect his instruments; now, by the issue of some hours of battle, at which many of them had not been present, they had all become punishable traitors to the state, outside the buckler of the law, a shrunken company in a poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of what they might expect. [illustration: _lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat side, pierced by arrows_] at different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neighing in terror to the gate. two were from selden's troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with sir daniel to the field. lastly, a little before dawn, a spearman had come staggering to the moat side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in, his spirit had departed; but by the words that he uttered in his agony, he must have been the last survivor of a considerable company of men. hatch himself showed, under his sun-brown, the pallor of anxiety; and when he had taken dick aside and learned the fate of selden, he fell on a stone bench and fairly wept. the others, from where they sat on stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ventured to inquire the cause of his emotion. "nay, master shelton," said hatch, at last--"nay, but what said i? we shall all go. selden was a man of his hands; he was like a brother to me. well, he has gone second; well, we shall all follow! for what said their knave rhyme?--'a black arrow in each black heart.' was it not so it went? appleyard, selden, smith, old humphrey gone; and there lieth poor john carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest." dick gave ear. out of a low window, hard by where they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his ear. "lieth he there?" he asked. "ay, in the second porter's chamber," answered hatch. "we could not bear him further, soul and body were so bitterly at odds. at every step we lifted him, he thought to wend. but now, methinks, it is the soul that suffereth. ever for the priest he crieth, and sir oliver, i wot not why, still cometh not. 'twill be a long shrift; but poor appleyard and poor selden, they had none." dick stooped to the window and looked in. the little cell was low and dark, but he could make out the wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet. "carter, poor friend, how goeth it?" he asked. "master shelton," returned the man, in an excited whisper, "for the dear light of heaven, bring the priest. alack, i am sped; i am brought very low down; my hurt is to the death. ye may do me no more service; this shall be the last. now, for my poor soul's interest, and as a loyal gentleman, bestir you; for i have that matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep." he groaned, and dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or terror. just then sir daniel appeared upon the threshold of the hall. he had a letter in one hand. "lads," he said, "we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it? rather it imputeth to get speedily again to saddle. this old harry the sixt has had the undermost. wash we, then, our hands of him. i have a good friend that rideth next the duke, the lord of wensleydale. well, i have writ a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future. doubt not but he will lend a favourable ear. a prayer without gifts is like a song without music: i surfeit him with promises, boys--i spare not to promise. what, then, is lacking? nay, a great thing--wherefore should i deceive you?--a great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it. the woods--y'are not ignorant of that--lie thick with our ill-willers. haste is most needful; but without sleight and caution all is naught. which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear me it to my lord of wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?" one man instantly arose. "i will, an't like you," said he. "i will even risk my carcase." "nay, dicky bowyer, not so," returned the knight. "it likes me not. y'are sly indeed, but not speedy. ye were a laggard ever." "an't be so, sir daniel, here am i," cried another. "the saints forfend!" said the knight. "y'are speedy, but not sly. ye would blunder me head-foremost into john amend-all's camp. i thank you both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be." then hatch offered himself, and he also was refused. "i want you here, good bennet; y'are my right hand, indeed," returned the knight; and then several coming forward in a group, sir daniel at length selected one and gave him the letter. "now," he said, "upon your good speed and better discretion we do all depend. bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks, i will have purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. but mark it well, throgmorton: the matter is not easy. ye must steal forth under night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross till i know not, neither by the bridge nor ferry." "i can swim," returned throgmorton. "i will come soundly, fear not." "well, friend, get ye to the buttery," replied sir daniel. "ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown ale." and with that he turned back into the hall. "sir daniel hath a wise tongue," said hatch, aside, to dick. "see, now, where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plainly to his company. here is a danger, 'a saith, and here difficulty; and jesteth in the very saying. nay, by st. barbary, he is a born captain! not a man but he is some deal heartened up! see how they fall again to work." this praise of sir daniel put a thought in the lad's head. "bennet," he said, "how came my father by his end?" "ask me not that," replied hatch. "i had no hand nor knowledge in it; furthermore, i will even be silent, master dick. for look you, in a man's own business there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of common talk, not so. ask me sir oliver--ay, or carter, if ye will; not me." and hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving dick in a muse. "wherefore would he not tell me?" thought the lad. "and wherefore named he carter? carter--nay, then carter had a hand in it, perchance." he entered the house, and passing some little way along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay groaning. at his entrance carter started eagerly. "have ye brought the priest?" he cried. "not yet awhile," returned dick. "y' 'ave a word to tell me first. how came my father, harry shelton, by his death?" the man's face altered instantly. "i know not," he replied, doggedly. "nay, ye know well," returned dick. "seek not to put me by." "i tell you i know not," repeated carter. "then," said dick, "ye shall die unshriven. here am i, and here shall stay. there shall no priest come near you, rest assured. for of what avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a hand in? and without penitence, confession is but mockery." "ye say what ye mean not, master dick," said carter, composedly. "it is ill threatening the dying, and becometh you (to speak truth) little. and for as little as it commends you, it shall serve you less. stay, an ye please. ye will condemn my soul--ye shall learn nothing! there is my last word to you." and the wounded man turned upon the other side. now, dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his threat. but he made one more effort. "carter," he said, "mistake me not. i know ye were but an instrument in the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; i would not bear heavily on such an one. but i begin to learn upon many sides that this great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father. prithee, then, good carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure good-will and honest penitence give me a word of help." the wounded man lay silent; nor, say what dick pleased, could he extract another word from him. "well," said dick, "i will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, i would not be willingly in fault to any, least of all to one upon the last change." again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans he had suppressed; and as dick turned and left the room, he was filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude. "and yet," he thought, "of what use is courage without wit? had his hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the secret louder than words. nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me. sir daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing." dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy heart. at that hour, in the ebb of sir daniel's fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of the black arrow and proscribed by the victorious yorkists, was dick, also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and taught him, who had severely punished, indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth? the necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel. "pray heaven he be innocent!" he said. and then steps sounded on the flagging, and sir oliver came gravely towards the lad. "one seeketh you earnestly," said dick. "i am upon the way, good richard," said the priest. "it is this poor carter. alack, he is beyond cure." "and yet his soul is sicker than his body," answered dick. "have ye seen him?" asked sir oliver, with a manifest start. "i do but come from him," replied dick. "what said he? what said he?" snapped the priest, with extraordinary eagerness. "he but cried for you the more piteously, sir oliver. it were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is grievous," returned the lad. "i am straight for him," was the reply. "well, we have all our sins. we must all come to our latter day, good richard." "ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly," answered dick. the priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried on. "he, too!" thought dick--"he, that taught me in piety! nay, then, what a world is this, if all that care for me be blood-guilty of my father's death? vengeance! alas! what a sore fate is mine, if i must be avenged upon my friends!" the thought put matcham in his head. he smiled at the remembrance of his strange companion, and then wondered where he was. ever since they had come together to the doors of the moat house the younger lad had disappeared, and dick began to weary for a word with him. about an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by sir oliver, the company gathered in the hall for dinner. it was a long, low apartment, strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with arras in a design of savage men and questioning bloodhounds; here and there hung spears and bows and bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst the table, fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the diners. neither sir daniel nor his lady made their appearance. sir oliver himself was absent, and here again there was no word of matcham. dick began to grow alarmed, to recall his companion's melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play had befallen him in that house. after dinner he found goody hatch, who was hurrying to my lady brackley. "goody," he said, "where is master matcham, i prithee? i saw ye go in with him when we arrived." the old woman laughed aloud. "ah, master dick," she said, "y' have a famous bright eye in your head, to be sure!" and laughed again. "nay, but where is he, indeed?" persisted dick. "ye will never see him more," she returned--"never. it is sure." "an i do not," returned the lad, "i will know the reason why. he came not hither of his full free will; such as i am, i am his best protector, and i will see him justly used. there be too many mysteries; i do begin to weary of the game!" but as dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. it was bennet hatch that had come unperceived behind him. with a jerk of his thumb, the retainer dismissed his wife. "friend dick," he said, as soon as they were alone, "are ye a moon-struck natural? an ye leave not certain things in peace, ye were better in the salt sea than here in tunstall moat house. y' have questioned me; y' have baited carter; y' have frighted the jack-priest with hints. bear ye more wisely, fool; and even now, when sir daniel calleth you, show me a smooth face for the love of wisdom. y'are to be sharply questioned. look to your answers." "hatch," returned dick, "in all this i smell a guilty conscience." "an ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood," replied bennet. "i do but warn you. and here cometh one to call you." and indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came across the court to summon dick into the presence of sir daniel. chapter ii the two oaths sir daniel was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire, awaiting dick's arrival. none was by except sir oliver, and he sat discreetly backward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary. "y' have sent for me, sir daniel?" said young shelton. "i have sent for you, indeed," replied the knight. "for what cometh to mine ears? have i been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to credit ill of me? or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit my party? by the mass, your father was not so! those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather. but you, dick, y'are a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance." "an't please you, sir daniel, not so," returned dick, firmly. "i am grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due. and before more is said, i thank you, and i thank sir oliver; y' have great claims upon me both--none can have more; i were a hound if i forgot them." "it is well," said sir daniel; and then, rising into anger: "gratitude and faith are words, dick shelton," he continued; "but i look to deeds. in this hour of my peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and thirst for my destruction, what doth gratitude? what doth faith? i have but a little company remaining; is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts with your insidious whisperings? save me from such gratitude! but, come, now, what is it ye wish? speak; we are here to answer. if ye have aught against me, stand forth and say it." "sir," replied dick, "my father fell when i was yet a child. it hath come to mine ears that he was foully done by. it hath come to mine ears--for i will not dissemble--that ye had a hand in his undoing. and in all verity, i shall not be at peace in mine own mind, nor very clear to help you, till i have certain resolution of these doubts." sir daniel sat down in a deep settle. he took his chin in his hand and looked at dick fixedly. "and ye think i would be guardian to the man's son that i had murdered?" he asked. "nay," said dick, "pardon me if i answer churlishly; but indeed ye know right well a wardship is most profitable. all these years have ye not enjoyed my revenues, and led my men? have ye not still my marriage? i wot not what it may be worth--it is worth something. pardon me again; but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser baseness." "when i was a lad of your years," returned sir daniel, sternly, "my mind had not so turned upon suspicions. and sir oliver here," he added, "why should he, a priest, be guilty of this act?" "nay, sir daniel," said dick, "but where the master biddeth there will the dog go. it is well known this priest is but your instrument. i speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies. even as i speak, so would i be answered. and answer get i none! ye but put more questions. i rede ye be ware, sir daniel; for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my doubts." "i will answer you fairly, master richard," said the knight. "were i to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, i were no honest man. but i will be just even in anger. come to me with these words when y'are grown and come to man's estate, and i am no longer your guardian, and so helpless to resent them. come to me then, and i will answer you as ye merit, with a buffet in the mouth. till then ye have two courses: either swallow me down these insults, keep a silent tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else--the door standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies--go." the spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they were accompanied, staggered dick; and yet he could not but observe that he had got no answer. "i desire nothing more earnestly, sir daniel, than to believe you," he replied. "assure me ye are free from this." "will ye take my word of honour, dick?" inquired the knight. "that would i," answered the lad. "i give it you," returned sir daniel. "upon my word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, and as i shall answer for my deeds hereafter, i had no hand nor portion in your father's death." he extended his hand, and dick took it eagerly. neither of them observed the priest, who, at the pronunciation of that solemn and false oath, had half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse. "ah," cried dick, "ye must find it in your great-heartedness to pardon me! i was a churl, indeed, to doubt of you. but ye have my hand upon it; i will doubt no more." "nay, dick," replied sir daniel, "y'are forgiven. ye know not the world and its calumnious nature." "i was the more to blame," added dick, "in that the rogues pointed, not directly at yourself, but at sir oliver." as he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and paused in the middle of the last word. this tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were relaxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when dick's eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out aloud, like some wild animal, and buried his face in his hands. sir daniel was by him in two strides, and shook him fiercely by the shoulder. at the same moment dick's suspicions reawakened. "nay," he said, "sir oliver may swear also. 'twas him they accused." "he shall swear," said the knight. sir oliver speechlessly waved his arms. "ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear," cried sir daniel, beside himself with fury. "here, upon this book, ye shall swear," he continued, picking up the breviary, which had fallen to the ground. "what! ye make me doubt you! swear, i say; swear!" but the priest was still incapable of speech. his terror of sir daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him. and just then, through the high, stained-glass window of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering, in the midst of the long table. sir oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the knight, followed by dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest corkscrew stair to the battlements. the sentries were all on the alert. the sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded hills of the forest which enclosed the view. there was no sign of a besieger. "whence came that shot?" asked the knight. "from yonder clump, sir daniel," returned a sentinel. the knight stood a little, musing. then he turned to dick. "dick," he said, "keep me an eye upon these men; i leave you in charge here. as for the priest, he shall clear himself, or i will know the reason why. i do almost begin to share in your suspicions. he shall swear, trust me, or we shall prove him guilty." dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giving him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to the hall. his first glance was for the arrow. it was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear. again there was some writing: one word--"earthed." "ay," he broke out, "they know i am home, then. earthed! ay, but there is not a dog among them fit to dig me out." sir oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet. "alack, sir daniel!" he moaned, "y' 'ave sworn a dread oath; y'are doomed to the end of time." "ay," returned the knight, "i have sworn an oath, indeed, thou chucklehead; but thyself shalt swear a greater. it shall be on the blessed cross of holywood. look to it; get the words ready. it shall be sworn to-night." "now, may heaven lighten you!" replied the priest; "may heaven incline your heart from this iniquity!" "look you, my good father," said sir daniel, "if y'are for piety, i say no more; ye begin late, that is all. but if y'are in any sense bent upon wisdom, hear me. this lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp. i have a need for him, for i would sell his marriage. but i tell you, in all plainness, if that he continue to weary me, he shall go join his father. i give orders now to change him to the chamber above the chapel. if that ye can swear your innocency with a good, solid oath and an assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and i will spare him. if that ye stammer or blench, or anyways boggle at the swearing, he will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die. there is for your thinking on." "the chamber above the chapel!" gasped the priest. "that same," replied the knight. "so if ye desire to save him, save him; and if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace! for an i had been a hasty man, i would already have put my sword through you, for your intolerable cowardice and folly. have ye chosen? say!" "i have chosen," said the priest. "heaven pardon me, i will do evil for good. i will swear for the lad's sake." "so is it best!" said sir daniel. "send for him, then, speedily. ye shall see him alone. yet i shall have an eye on you. i shall be here in the panel room." the knight raised the arras and let it fall again behind him. there was the sound of a spring opening; then followed the creaking of trod stairs. sir oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror and contrition. "nay, if he is in the chapel room," the priest murmured, "were it at my soul's cost, i must save him." three minutes later, dick, who had been summoned by another messenger, found sir oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale. "richard shelton," he said, "ye have required an oath from me. i might complain, i might deny you; but my heart is moved towards you for the past, and i will even content you as ye choose. by the true cross of holywood, i did not slay your father." "sir oliver," returned dick, "when first we read john amend-all's paper, i was convinced of so much. but suffer me to put two questions. ye did not slay him; granted. but had ye no hand in it?" "none," said sir oliver. and at the same time he began to contort his face, and signal with his mouth and eyebrows, like one who desired to convey a warning, yet dared not utter a sound. dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at the empty hall. "what make ye?" he inquired. "why, naught," returned the priest, hastily smoothing his countenance. "i make naught; i do but suffer; i am sick. i--i--prithee, dick, i must begone. on the true cross of holywood, i am clean innocent alike of violence or treachery. content ye, good lad. farewell!" and he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity. dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes wandering about the room, his face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion, and amusement. gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. he raised his head, and, as he did so, violently started. high upon the wall there was the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. with one hand he held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear. his face was dark, for he was meant to represent an african. now, here was what had startled richard shelton. the sun had moved away from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings. in this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him with a white eyelid. he continued staring at the eye. the light shone upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was alive. again the white eyelid closed upon it for a fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone. there could be no mistake. the live eye that had been watching him through a hole in the tapestry was gone. the firelight no longer shone on a reflecting surface. and instantly dick awoke to the terrors of his position. hatch's warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him from the wall, ran together in his mind. he saw he had been put upon his trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of some miracle, he was lost. "if i cannot get me forth out of this house," he thought, "i am dead man! and this poor matcham, too--to what a cockatrice's nest have i not led him!" he was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new chamber. "a new chamber?" he repeated. "wherefore so? what chamber?" "'tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger. "it hath stood long empty," said dick, musing. "what manner of room is it?" "nay, a brave room," returned the man. "but yet"--lowering his voice--"they call it haunted." "haunted?" repeated dick, with a chill. "i have not heard of it. nay, then, and by whom?" the messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "by the sacrist of st. john's," he said. "they had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning--whew!--he was gone. the devil had taken him, they said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before." dick followed the man with black forebodings. chapter iii the room over the chapel from the battlements nothing further was observed. the sun journeyed westward, and at last went down; but, to the eyes of all these eager sentinels, no living thing appeared in the neighbourhood of tunstall house. when the night was at length fairly come, throgmorton was led to a room overlooking an angle of the moat. thence he was lowered with every precaution; the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief period; then a black figure was observed to land by the branches of a willow and crawl away among the grass. for some half-hour sir daniel and hatch stood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet. the messenger had got away in safety. sir daniel's brow grew clearer. he turned to hatch. "bennet," he said, "this john amend-all is no more than a man, ye see. he sleepeth. we will make a good end of him, go to!" all the afternoon and evening, dick had been ordered hither and thither, one command following another, till he was bewildered with the number and the hurry of commissions. all that time he had seen no more of sir oliver, and nothing of matcham; and yet both the priest and the young lad ran continually in his mind. it was now his chief purpose to escape from tunstall moat house as speedily as might be; and yet, before he went, he desired a word with both of these. at length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment. it was large, low, and somewhat dark. the window looked upon the moat, and although it was so high up, it was heavily barred. the bed was luxurious, with one pillow of down and one of lavender, and a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses. all about the walls were cupboards, locked and padlocked, and concealed from view by hangings of dark-coloured arras. dick made the round, lifting the arras, sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cupboards. he assured himself that the door was strong and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp upon a bracket, and once more looked all around. for what reason had he been given this chamber? it was larger and finer than his own. could it conceal a snare? was there a secret entrance? was it, indeed, haunted? his blood ran a little chilly in his veins. immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads. below him, he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was the hall. certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye that had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that. was it not more than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and, if so, that it had an opening in his room? to sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy. he made his weapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the door. if ill was intended, he would sell his life dear. the sound of many feet, the challenge, and the password sounded overhead along the battlements; the watch was being changed. and just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it grew a little louder; then a whisper: "dick, dick, it is i!" dick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted matcham. he was very pale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other. "shut me the door," he whispered. "swift, dick! this house is full of spies; i hear their feet follow me in the corridors; i hear them breathe behind the arras." "well, content you," returned dick, "it is closed. we are safe for this while, if there be safety anywhere within these walls. but my heart is glad to see you. by the mass, lad, i thought ye were sped! where hid ye?" "it matters not," returned matcham. "since we be met, it matters not. but, dick, are your eyes open? have they told you of to-morrow's doings?" "not they," replied dick. "what make they to-morrow?" "to-morrow, or to-night, i know not," said the other, "but one time or other, dick, they do intend upon your life. i had the proof of it; i have heard them whisper; nay, they as good as told me." "ay," returned dick, "is it so? i had thought as much." and he told him the day's occurrences at length. when it was done, matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the apartment. "no," he said, "there is no entrance visible. yet 'tis a pure certainty there is one. dick, i will stay by you. an y'are to die, i will die with you. and i can help--look! i have stolen a dagger--i will do my best! and meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally-port we could get opened, or any window that we might descend by, i will most joyfully face any jeopardy to flee with you." "jack," said dick, "by the mass, jack, y'are the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all england! give me your hand, jack." and he grasped the other's hand in silence. "i will tell you," he resumed. "there is a window, out of which the messenger descended; the rope should still be in the chamber. 'tis a hope." "hist!" said matcham. both gave ear. there was a sound below the floor; then it paused, and then began again. "some one walketh in the room below," whispered matcham. "nay," returned dick, "there is no room below; we are above the chapel. it is my murderer in the secret passage. well, let him come; it shall go hard with him"; and he ground his teeth. "blow me the lights out," said the other. "perchance he will betray himself." they blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. the footfalls underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible. several times they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning in a lock, followed by a considerable silence. presently the steps began again, and then, all of a sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner. it widened; a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. they could see the strong hand pushing it up; and dick raised his cross-bow, waiting for the head to follow. but now there came an interruption. from a distant corner of the moat house shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying aloud upon a name. this noise had plainly disconcerted the murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died away in the distance. here was a moment's respite. dick breathed deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the disturbance which had interrupted the attack, and which was now rather increasing than diminishing. all about the moat house feet were running, doors were opening and slamming, and still the voice of sir daniel towered above all this bustle, shouting for "joanna." "joanna!" repeated dick. "why, who the murrain should this be? here is no joanna, nor ever hath been. what meaneth it?" matcham was silent. he seemed to have drawn further away. but only a little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the apartment, where the pair were, the darkness was complete. "jack," said dick, "i wot not where ye were all day. saw ye this joanna?" "nay," returned matcham, "i saw her not." "nor heard tell of her?" he pursued. the steps drew nearer. sir daniel was still roaring the name of joanna from the courtyard. "did ye hear of her?" repeated dick. "i heard of her," said matcham. "how your voice twitters! what aileth you?" said dick. "'tis a most excellent good fortune, this joanna; it will take their minds from us." "dick," cried matcham, "i am lost; we are both lost. let us flee if there be yet time. they will not rest till they have found me. or, see! let me go forth; when they have found me, ye may flee. let me forth, dick--good dick, let me away!" she was groping for the bolt, when dick at last comprehended. "by the mass!" he cried, "y'are no jack; y'are joanna sedley; y'are the maid that would not marry me!" the girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. dick, too, was silent for a little; then he spoke again. "joanna," he said, "y' 'ave saved my life, and i have saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies--ay, and i took my belt to thrash you; and all that time i thought ye were a boy. but now death has me, and my time's out, and before i die i must say this: y' are the best maid and the bravest under heaven, and, if only i could live, i would marry you blithely; and, live or die, i love you." she answered nothing. "come," he said, "speak up, jack. come, be a good maid, and say ye love me!" "why, dick," she cried, "would i be here?" "well, see ye here," continued dick, "an we but escape whole we'll marry; and an we're to die, we die, and there's an end on't. but now that i think, how found ye my chamber?" "i asked it of dame hatch," she answered. "well, the dame's staunch," he answered; "she'll not tell upon you. we have time before us." and just then, as if to contradict his words, feet came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on the door. "here!" cried a voice. "open, master dick; open!" dick neither moved nor answered. "it is all over," said the girl; and she put her arms about dick's neck. one after another, men came trooping to the door. then sir daniel arrived himself, and there was a sudden cessation of the noise. "dick," cried the knight, "be not an ass. the seven sleepers had been awake ere now. we know she is within there. open, then, the door, man." dick was again silent. "down with it," said sir daniel. and immediately his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot and fist. solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would soon have given way; but once more fortune interfered. over the thunder-storm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard; it was followed by another; shouts ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the wood. in the first moment of alarm it sounded as if the foresters were carrying the moat house by assault. and sir daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon dick's chamber, hurried to defend the walls. "now," cried dick, "we are saved." he seized the great old bedstead with both hands, and bent himself in vain to move it. "help me, jack. for your life's sake, help me stoutly!" he cried. between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it endwise to the chamber door. "ye do but make things worse," said joanna, sadly. "he will then enter by the trap." "not so," replied dick. "he durst not tell his secret to so many. it is by the trap that we shall flee. hark! the attack is over. nay, it was none!" it had, indeed, been no attack; it was the arrival of another party of stragglers from the defeat of risingham that had disturbed sir daniel. they had run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they had been admitted by the great gate; and now, with a great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements and arms, they were dismounting in the court. "he will return anon," said dick. "to the trap!" he lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room. the open chink through which some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, dick thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt. the trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. seizing it with their hands, the two young folk threw it back. it disclosed a few steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp. "now," said dick, "go first and take the lamp. i will follow to close the trap." so they descended one after the other, and as dick lowered the trap, the blows began once again to thunder on the panels of the door. chapter iv the passage the passage in which dick and joanna now found themselves was narrow, dirty, and short. at the other end of it, a door stood partly open; the same door, without doubt, that they had heard the man unlocking. heavy cobwebs hung from the roof; and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the lightest tread. beyond the door there were two branches, at right angles. dick chose one of them at random, and the pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow of the chapel roof. the top of the arched ceiling rose like a whale's back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. here and there were spy-holes, concealed, on the other side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down through one of these, dick saw the paved floor of the chapel--the altar, with its burning tapers--and stretched before it on the steps, the figure of sir oliver praying with uplifted hands. at the other end, they descended a few steps. the passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and presently they came to a round hole about the size of a man's eye, and dick, looking down through it, beheld the interior of the hall, and some half-a-dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a venison pie. these were certainly some of the late arrivals. "here is no help," said dick. "let us try back." "nay," said joanna; "maybe the passage goeth farther." and she pushed on. but a few yards farther the passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers occupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side. they retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to explore the other branch. it was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little breakneck stairs, until even dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts. at length it grew both narrower and lower; the stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of the rats. "we must be in the dungeons," dick remarked. "and still there is no outlet," added joanna. "nay, but an outlet there must be!" dick answered. presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of steps. on the top of that there was a solid flag of stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs. it was immovable. "some one holdeth it," suggested joanna. [illustration: _"we must be in the dungeons," dick remarked_] "not so," said dick; "for were a man strong as ten, he must still yield a little. but this resisteth like dead rock. there is a weight upon the trap. here is no issue; and, by my sooth, good jack, we are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle bones. sit ye then down, and let us talk. after awhile we shall return, when perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and, who knoweth? we may break out and stand a chance. but, in my poor opinion, we are as good as shent." "dick!" she cried, "alas the day that ever ye should have seen me! for like a most unhappy and unthankful maid, it is i have led you hither." "what cheer!" returned dick. "it was all written, and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass. but tell me a little what manner of a maid ye are, and how ye came into sir daniel's hands; that will do better than to bemoan yourself, whether for your sake or mine." "i am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother," said joanna; "and for my great misfortune, dick, and hitherto for yours, i am a rich marriage. my lord foxham had me to ward; yet it appears sir daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and a right dear price he paid for it. so here was i, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which should marry me, and i still at nurse! well, then the world changed, and there was a new chancellor, and sir daniel bought the warding of me over the lord foxham's head. and then the world changed again, and lord foxham bought my marriage over sir daniel's; and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two of them. but still lord foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me. and at last i was to be married--or sold, if ye like it better. five hundred pounds lord foxham was to get for me. hamley was the groom's name, and to-morrow, dick, of all days in the year, was i to be betrothed. had it not come to sir daniel, i had been wedded, sure--and never seen thee, dick--dear dick!" and here she took his hand, and kissed it, with the prettiest grace; and dick drew her hand to him and did the like. "well," she went on, "sir daniel took me unawares in the garden, and made me dress in these men's clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, besides, they fit me not. he rode with me to kettley, as ye saw, telling me i was to marry you; but i, in my heart, made sure i would marry hamley in his teeth." "ay!" cried dick, "and so ye loved this hamley!" "nay," replied joanna, "not i. i did but hate sir daniel. and then, dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned towards you in mine own despite; and now, if we can in any way compass it, i would marry you with right good-will. and if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, still ye'll be dear to me. while my heart beats, it'll be true to you." "and i," said dick, "that never cared a straw for any manner of woman until now, i took to you when i thought ye were a boy. i had a pity to you, and knew not why. when i would have belted you, the hand failed me. but when ye owned ye were a maid, jack--for still i will call you jack--i made sure ye were the maid for me. hark!" he said, breaking off--"one cometh." and indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies. dick reconnoitred his position. the sudden turn gave him a post of vantage. he could thus shoot in safety from the cover of the wall. but it was plain the light was too near him, and, running some way forward, he set down the lamp in the middle of the passage, and then returned to watch. presently, at the far end of the passage, bennet hove in sight. he seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which made him the better mark. "stand, bennet!" cried dick. "another step, and y'are dead." "so here ye are," returned hatch, peering forward into the darkness. "i see you not. aha! y' 'ave done wisely, dick; y' 'ave put your lamp before you. by my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave body, i do rejoice to see ye profit of my lessons! and now, what make ye? what seek ye here? why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? and have ye the young gentlewoman there?" "nay, bennet, it is i should question and you answer," replied dick. "why am i in this jeopardy of my life? why do men come privily to slay me in my bed? why am i now fleeing in mine own guardian's strong house, and from the friends that i have lived among and never injured?" "master dick, master dick," said bennet, "what told i you? y'are brave, but the most uncrafty lad that i can think upon!" "well," returned dick, "i see ye know all, and that i am doomed indeed. it is well. here, where i am, i stay. let sir daniel get me out if he be able!" hatch was silent for a space. "hark ye," he began, "i return to sir daniel, to tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, it was to that end he sent me. but you, if ye are no fool, had best be gone ere i return." "be gone!" repeated dick. "i would be gone already, an i wist how. i cannot move the trap." "put me your hand into the corner, and see what ye find there," replied bennet. "throgmorton's rope is still in the brown chamber. fare ye well." and hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of the passage. dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint. at one corner of the trap there was a deep cavity in the wall. pushing his arm into the aperture, dick found an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. there followed a snapping noise, and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed. they were free of the passage. a little exercise of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. a torch or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene. chapter v how dick changed sides dick, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way up-stairs and along the corridor. in the brown chamber the rope had been made fast to the frame of an exceeding heavy and ancient bed. it had not been detached, and dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night. joan stood by; but as the rope lengthened, and still dick continued to pay it out, extreme fear began to conquer her resolution. "dick," she said, "is it so deep? i may not essay it. i should infallibly fall, good dick." it was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke. dick started; the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a splash into the moat. instantly, from the battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, "who goes?" "a murrain!" cried dick. "we are paid now! down with you--take the rope." "i cannot," she cried, recoiling. "an ye cannot, no more can i," said shelton. "how can i swim the moat without you? do you desert me, then?" "dick," she gasped, "i cannot. the strength is gone from me." "by the mass, then, we are all shent!" he shouted, stamping with his foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to close it. before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon him from the other side. he struggled for a second; then, feeling himself overpowered, ran back to the window. the girl had fallen against the wall in the embrasure of the window; she was more than half insensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was limp and unresponsive. at the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold upon him. the first he poniarded at a blow, and the others falling back for a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip. the cord was knotted, which made it the easier to descend; but so furious was dick's hurry, and so small his experience of such gymnastics, that he span round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against the rugged stonework of the wall. the air roared in his ears; he saw the stars overhead, and the reflected stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before the tempest. and then he lost hold, and fell, and soused head over ears into the icy water. when he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly lightened of his weight, was swinging wildly to and fro. there was a red glow overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of several torches and a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces. he saw the men's eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he was too far below, the light reached him not, and they looked in vain. and now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he began to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the moat, still keeping his head above water. in this way he got much more than half-way over; indeed the bank was almost within reach, before the rope began to draw him back by its own weight. taking his courage in both hands, he left go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of willow that had already, that same evening, helped sir daniel's messenger to land. he went down, rose again, sank a second time, and then his hand caught a branch, and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and still half uncertain of his escape. but all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which had so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements. arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, thick like driving hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down--flared through the air in its swift passage--stuck for a moment on the edge of the bank, where it burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire--and then, in a good hour for dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, and was instantly extinguished. it had served its purpose. the marksmen had had time to see the willow, and dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang higher up the bank, and ran for his life, he was yet not quick enough to escape a shot. an arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his head. the pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had no sooner got upon the level than he took to his heels and ran straight before him in the dark, without a thought for the direction of his flight. for a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when at length he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way from the moat house, though he could still see the torches moving to and fro along its battlements. he leaned against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised, wounded, alone, and unarmed. for all that, he had saved his life for that bout; and though joanna remained behind in the power of sir daniel, he neither blamed himself for an accident that it had been beyond his power to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl herself. sir daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a young gentlewoman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him to account. it was more probable he would make haste to marry her to some friend of his own. "well," thought dick, "between then and now i will find me the means to bring that traitor under; for i think, by the mass, that i be now absolved from any gratitude or obligation; and when war is open, there is a fair chance for all." in the meanwhile, here he was in a sore plight. for some little way farther he struggled forward through the forest; but what with the pain of his wounds, the darkness of the night, and the extreme uneasiness and confusion of his mind, he soon became equally unable to guide himself or to continue to push through the close undergrowth, and he was fain at length to sit down and lean his back against a tree. when he awoke from something betwixt sleep and swooning, the grey of the morning had begun to take the place of night. a little chilly breeze was bustling among the trees, and as he still sat staring before him, only half awake, he became aware of something dark that swung to and fro among the branches, some hundred yards in front of him. the progressive brightening of the day and the return of his own senses at last enabled him to recognise the object. it was a man hanging from the bough of a tall oak. his head had fallen forward on his breast; but at every stronger puff of wind his body span round and round, and his legs and arms tossed, like some ridiculous plaything. dick clambered to his feet, and, staggering and leaning on the tree-trunks as he went, drew near to this grim object. the bough was perhaps twenty feet above the ground, and the poor fellow had been drawn up so high by his executioners that his boots swung clear above dick's reach; and as his hood had been drawn over his face, it was impossible to recognise the man. dick looked about him right and left; and at last he perceived that the other end of the cord had been made fast to the trunk of a little hawthorn which grew, thick with blossom, under the lofty arcade of the oak. with his dagger, which alone remained to him of all his arms, young shelton severed the rope, and instantly, with a dead thump, the corpse fell in a heap upon the ground. dick raised the hood; it was throgmorton, sir daniel's messenger. he had not gone far upon his errand. a paper, which had apparently escaped the notice of the men of the black arrow, stuck from the bosom of his doublet, and dick, pulling it forth, found it was sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale. "come," thought he, "if the world changes yet again, i may have here the wherewithal to shame sir daniel--nay, and perchance to bring him to the block." and he put the paper in his own bosom, said a prayer over the dead man, and set forth again through the woods. his fatigue and weakness increased; his ears sang, his steps faltered, his mind at intervals failed him, so low had he been brought by loss of blood. doubtless he made many deviations from his true path, but at last he came out upon the highroad, not very far from tunstall hamlet. a rough voice bid him stand. "stand?" repeated dick. "by the mass, but i am nearer falling." and he suited the action to the word, and fell all his length upon the road. two men came forth out of the thicket, each in green forest jerkin, each with long-bow and quiver and short sword. "why, lawless," said the younger of the two, "it is young shelton." "ay, this will be as good as bread to john amend-all," returned the other. "though, faith, he hath been to the wars. here is a tear in his scalp that must 'a' cost him many a good ounce of blood." "and here," added greensheve, "is a hole in his shoulder that must have pricked him well. who hath done this, think ye? if it be one of ours, he may all to prayer; ellis will give him a short shrift and a long rope." "up with the cub," said lawless. "clap him on my back." and then, when dick had been hoisted to his shoulders, and he had taken the lad's arms about his neck, and got a firm hold of him, the ex-grey friar added: "keep ye the post, brother greensheve. i will on with him by myself." so greensheve returned to his ambush on the wayside, and lawless trudged down the hill, whistling as he went, with dick, still in a dead faint, comfortably settled on his shoulders. the sun rose as he came out of the skirts of the wood and saw tunstall hamlet straggling up the opposite hill. all seemed quiet, but a strong post of some half a score of archers lay close by the bridge on either side of the road, and, as soon as they perceived lawless with his burthen, began to bestir themselves and set arrow to string like vigilant sentries. "who goes?" cried the man in command. "will lawless, by the rood--ye know me as well as your own hand," returned the outlaw, contemptuously. "give the word, lawless," returned the other. "now, heaven lighten thee, thou great fool," replied lawless. "did i not tell it thee myself? but ye are all mad for this playing at soldiers. when i am in the greenwood, give me greenwood ways; and my word for this tide is: 'a fig for all mock soldiery!'" "lawless, ye but show an ill example; give us the word, fool jester," said the commander of the post. "and if i had forgotten it?" asked the other. "an ye had forgotten it--as i know y' 'ave not--by the mass, i would clap an arrow into your big body," returned the first. "nay, an y'are so ill a jester," said lawless, "ye shall have your word for me. 'duckworth and shelton' is the word; and here, to the illustration, is shelton on my shoulders, and to duckworth do i carry him." "pass, lawless," said the sentry. "and where is john?" asked the grey friar. "he holdeth a court, by the mass, and taketh rents as to the manner born!" cried another of the company. so it proved. when lawless got as far up the village as the little inn, he found ellis duckworth surrounded by sir daniel's tenants, and, by the right of his good company of archers, coolly taking rents, and giving written receipts in return for them. by the faces of the tenants, it was plain how little this proceeding pleased them; for they argued very rightly that they would simply have to pay them twice. as soon as he knew what had brought lawless, ellis dismissed the remainder of the tenants, and, with every mark of interest and apprehension, conducted dick into an inner chamber of the inn. there the lad's hurts were looked to; and he was recalled, by simple remedies, to consciousness. "dear lad," said ellis, pressing his hand, "y'are in a friend's hands that loved your father, and loves you for his sake. rest ye a little quietly, for ye are somewhat out of case. then shall ye tell me your story, and betwixt the two of us we shall find a remedy for all." a little later in the day, and after dick had awakened from a comfortable slumber to find himself still very weak, but clearer in mind and easier in body, ellis returned, and sitting down by the bedside, begged him, in the name of his father, to relate the circumstance of his escape from tunstall moat house. there was something in the strength of duckworth's frame, in the honesty of his brown face, in the clearness and shrewdness of his eyes, that moved dick to obey him; and from first to last the lad told him the story of his two days' adventures. "well," said ellis, when he had done, "see what the kind saints have done for you, dick shelton, not alone to save your body in so numerous and deadly perils, but to bring you into my hands that have no dearer wish than to assist your father's son. be but true to me--and i see y'are true--and betwixt you and me, we shall bring that false-heart traitor to the death." "will ye assault the house?" asked dick. "i were mad, indeed, to think of it," returned ellis. "he hath too much power; his men gather to him; those that gave me the slip last night, and by the mass came in so handily for you--those have made him safe. nay, dick, to the contrary, thou and i and my brave bowmen, we must all slip from this forest speedily, and leave sir daniel free." "my mind misgiveth me for jack," said the lad. "for jack!" repeated duckworth. "o, i see, for the wench! nay, dick, i promise you, if there come talk of any marriage we shall act at once; till then, or till the time is ripe, we shall all disappear, even like shadows at morning; sir daniel shall look east and west, and see none enemies; he shall think, by the mass, that he hath dreamed awhile, and hath now awakened in his bed. but our four eyes, dick, shall follow him right close, and our four hands--so help us all the army of the saints!--shall bring that traitor low!" * * * * * two days later sir daniel's garrison had grown to such a strength that he ventured on a sally, and at the head of some two-score horsemen, pushed without opposition as far as tunstall hamlet. not an arrow flew, not a man stirred in the thicket; the bridge was no longer guarded, but stood open to all comers; and as sir daniel crossed it, he saw the villagers looking timidly from their doors. presently one of them, taking heart of grace, came forward, and with the lowliest salutations, presented a letter to the knight. his face darkened as he read the contents. it ran thus: _to the most untrue and cruel gentylman, sir daniel brackley, knyght, these:_ i fynde ye were untrue and unkynd fro the first. ye have my father's blood upon your hands; let be, it will not wasshe. some day ye shall perish by my procurement, so much i let you to wytte; and i let you to wytte farther, that if ye seek to wed to any other the gentylwoman, mistresse joan sedley, whom that i am bound upon a great oath to wed myself, the blow will be very swift. the first step therinne will be thy first step to the grave. ric. shelton. book iii my lord foxham chapter i the house by the shore months had passed away since richard shelton made his escape from the hands of his guardian. these months had been eventful for england. the party of lancaster, which was then in the very article of death, had once more raised its head. the yorkists defeated and dispersed, their leader butchered on the field, it seemed, for a very brief season in the winter following upon the events already recorded, as if the house of lancaster had finally triumphed over its foes. the small town of shoreby-on-the-till was full of the lancastrian nobles of the neighbourhood. earl risingham was there, with three hundred men-at-arms; lord shoreby, with two hundred; sir daniel himself, high in favour and once more growing rich on confiscations, lay in a house of his own, on the main street, with three-score men. the world had changed indeed. it was a black, bitter cold evening in the first week of january, with a hard frost, a high wind, and every likelihood of snow before the morning. in an obscure alehouse in a by-street near the harbour, three or four men sat drinking ale and eating a hasty mess of eggs. they were all likely, lusty, weather-beaten fellows, hard of hand, bold of eye; and though they wore plain tabards, like country ploughmen, even a drunken soldier might have looked twice before he sought a quarrel in such company. a little apart before the huge fire sat a younger man, almost a boy, dressed in much the same fashion, though it was easy to see by his looks that he was better born, and might have worn a sword, had the time suited. "nay," said one of the men at the table, "i like it not. ill will come of it. this is no place for jolly fellows. a jolly fellow loveth open country, good cover, and scarce foes; but here we are shut in a town, girt about with enemies; and, for the bull's-eye of misfortune, see if it snow not ere the morning." "'tis for master shelton there," said another, nodding his head towards the lad before the fire. "i will do much for master shelton," returned the first; "but to come to the gallows for any man--nay, brothers, not that!" the door of the inn opened, and another man entered hastily and approached the youth before the fire. "master shelton," he said, "sir daniel goeth forth with a pair of links and four archers." dick (for this was our young friend) rose instantly to his feet. "lawless," he said, "ye will take john capper's watch. greensheve, follow with me. capper, lead forward. we will follow him this time, an he go to york." the next moment they were outside in the dark street, and capper, the man who had just come, pointed to where two torches flared in the wind at a little distance. the town was already sound asleep; no one moved upon the streets, and there was nothing easier than to follow the party without observation. the two link-bearers went first; next followed a single man, whose long cloak blew about him in the wind; and the rear was brought up by the four archers, each with his bow upon his arm. they moved at a brisk walk, threading the intricate lanes and drawing nearer to the shore. "he hath gone each night in this direction?" asked dick, in a whisper. "this is the third night running, master shelton," returned capper, "and still at the same hour and with the same small following, as though his end were secret." sir daniel and his six men were now come to the outskirts of the country. shoreby was an open town, and though the lancastrian lords who lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the open country. the lane which sir daniel had been following came to an abrupt end. before him there was a stretch of rough down, and the noise of the sea-surf was audible upon one hand. there were no guards in the neighbourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town. dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their chase, and presently, as they came forth from between the houses and could see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another torch drawing near from another direction. "hey," said dick, "i smell treason." meanwhile, sir daniel had come to a full halt. the torches were stuck into the sand, and the men lay down, as if to await the arrival of the other party. this drew near at a good rate. it consisted of four men only--a pair of archers, a varlet with a link, and a cloaked gentleman walking in their midst. "is it you, my lord?" cried sir daniel. "it is i, indeed; and if ever true knight gave proof i am that man," replied the leader of the second troop; "for who would not rather face giants, sorcerers, or pagans, than this pinching cold?" "my lord," returned sir daniel, "beauty will be the more beholden, misdoubt it not. but shall we forth? for the sooner ye have seen my merchandise, the sooner shall we both get home." "but why keep ye her here, good knight?" inquired the other. "an she be so young, and so fair, and so wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth among her mates? ye would soon make her a good marriage, and no need to freeze your fingers and risk arrow-shots by going abroad at such untimely seasons in the dark." "i have told you, my lord," replied sir daniel, "the reason thereof concerneth me only. neither do i purpose to explain it further. suffice it, that if ye be weary of your old gossip, daniel brackley, publish it abroad that y'are to wed joanna sedley, and i give you my word ye will be quit of him right soon. ye will find him with an arrow in his back." meantime the two gentlemen were walking briskly forward over the down; the three torches going before them, stooping against the wind and scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up by the six archers. close upon the heels of these, dick followed. he had, of course, heard no word of this conversation; but he had recognised in the second of the speakers old lord shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputation, whom even sir daniel affected, in public, to condemn. presently they came close down upon the beach. the air smelt salt; the noise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden, there stood a small house of two storeys, with stables and other offices. the foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and after the whole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on the other side. dick and his men were thus excluded from any farther following, unless they should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap. they sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. the red glow of the torches moved up and down and to and fro within the enclosure, as if the link-bearers steadily patrolled the garden. twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party issued forth again upon the down; and sir daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation, separated and turned severally homeward, each with his own following of men and lights. as soon as the sound of their steps had been swallowed by the wind, dick got to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching with the cold. "capper, ye will give me a back up," he said. they advanced, all three, to the wall; capper stooped, and dick, getting upon his shoulders, clambered on to the cope-stone. "now, greensheve," whispered dick, "follow me up here; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be the less seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand if i fall foully on the other side." and so saying he dropped into the garden. it was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house. the wind whistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach; there was no other sound. cautiously dick footed it forth, stumbling among bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise of gravel underfoot told him that he had struck upon an alley. here he paused, and taking his cross-bow from where he kept it concealed under his long tabard, he prepared it for instant action, and went forward once more with greater resolution and assurance. the path led him straight to the group of buildings. all seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of the house were secured by crazy shutters; the stables were open and empty; there was no hay in the hay-loft, no corn in the corn-box. any one would have supposed the place to be deserted. but dick had good reason to think otherwise. he continued his inspection, visiting the offices, trying all the windows. at length he came round to the sea-side of the house, and there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper windows. he stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement of a shadow on the wall of the apartment. then he remembered that, in the stable, his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, and he returned with all despatch to bring it. the ladder was very short, but yet, by standing on the topmost round, he could bring his hands as high as the iron bars of the windows; and seizing these, he raised his body by main force until his eyes commanded the interior of the room. two persons were within; the first he readily knew to be dame hatch; the second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroidered dress--could that be joanna sedley? his old wood-companion, jack, whom he had thought to punish with a belt? he dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of amazement. he had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a being, and he was instantly taken with a feeling of diffidence. but he had little opportunity for thought. a low "hist!" sounded from close by, and he hastened to descend the ladder. "who goes?" he whispered. "greensheve," came the reply, in tones similarly guarded. "what want ye?" asked dick. "the house is watched, master shelton," returned the outlaw. "we are not alone to watch it; for even as i lay on my belly on the wall i saw men prowling in the dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the other." "by my sooth," said dick, "but this is passing strange! were they not men of sir daniel's?" "nay, sir, that they were not," returned greensheve; "for if i have eyes in my head, every man-jack of them weareth me a white badge in his bonnet, something chequered with dark." "white, chequered with dark," repeated dick. "faith, 'tis a badge i know not. it is none of this country's badges. well, an that be so, let us slip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an evil posture for defence. beyond all question there are men of sir daniel's in that house, and to be taken between two shots is a beggarman's position. take me this ladder; i must leave it where i found it." they returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the place where they had entered. capper had taken greensheve's position on the cope, and now he leaned down his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up. cautiously and silently, they dropped again upon the other side; nor did they dare to speak until they had returned to their old ambush in the gorse. "now, john capper," said dick, "back with you to shoreby, even as for your life. bring me instantly what men ye can collect. here shall be the rendezvous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at hand before they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the entering in of the town. greensheve and i lie here to watch. speed ye, john capper, and the saints aid you to despatch. and now, greensheve," he continued, as soon as capper had departed, "let thou and i go round about the garden in a wide circuit. i would fain see whether thine eyes betrayed thee." keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting by every height and hollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing. on the third side the garden wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the distance necessary to their purpose, they had to go some way down upon the sands. although the tide was still pretty far out, the surf was so high, and the sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of froth and water came careering over the expanse, and dick and greensheve made this part of their inspection wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep as to the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the german ocean. suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like a faint chinese shadow, violently signalling with both arms. as he dropped again to the earth, another arose a little farther on and repeated the same performance. and so, like a silent watchword, these gesticulations made the round of the beleaguered garden. "they keep good watch," dick whispered. "let us back to land, good master," answered greensheve. "we stand here too open; for, look ye, when the seas break heavy and white out there behind us, they shall see us plainly against the foam." "ye speak sooth," returned dick. "ashore with us, right speedily." chapter ii a skirmish in the dark thoroughly drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their position in the gorse. "i pray heaven that capper make good speed!" said dick. "i vow a candle to st. mary of shoreby if he come before the hour!" "y'are in a hurry, master dick?" asked greensheve. "ay, good fellow," answered dick; "for in that house lieth my lady, whom i love, and who should these be that lie about her secretly by night? unfriends, for sure!" "well," returned greensheve, "an john come speedily, we shall give a good account of them. they are not two-score at the outside--i judge so by the spacing of their sentries--and, taken where they are, lying so widely, one score would scatter them like sparrows. and yet, master dick, an she be in sir daniel's power already, it will little hurt that she should change into another's. who should these be?" "i do suspect the lord of shoreby," dick replied. "when came they?" "they began to come, master dick," said greensheve, "about the time ye crossed the wall. i had not lain there the space of a minute ere i marked the first of the knaves crawling round the corner." the last light had been already extinguished in the little house when they were wading in the wash of the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at what moment the lurking men about the garden wall might make their onslaught. of two evils, dick preferred the least. he preferred that joanna should remain under the guardianship of sir daniel rather than pass into the clutches of lord shoreby; and his mind was made up, if the house should be assaulted, to come at once to the relief of the besieged. but the time passed, and still there was no movement. from quarter of an hour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall, as if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his scattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of the little house lay undisturbed. presently dick's reinforcements began to arrive. the night was not yet old before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse. separating these into two bodies, he took the command of the smaller himself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of greensheve. "now, kit," said he to this last, "take me your men to the near angle of the garden wall upon the beach. post them strongly, and wait till that ye hear me falling on upon the other side. it is those upon the sea-front that i would fain make certain of, for there will be the leader. the rest will run; even let them. and now, lads, let no man draw an arrow; ye will but hurt friends. take to the steel, and keep to the steel; and if we have the uppermost, i promise every man of you a gold noble when i come to mine estate." out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined peasantry, whom duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of his revenge, some of the boldest and the most experienced in war had volunteered to follow richard shelton. the service of watching sir daniel's movements in the town of shoreby had from the first been irksome to their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble loudly and threaten to disperse. the prospect of a sharp encounter and possible spoils restored them to good-humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle. their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore bonnets strengthened by iron plates; and, for offensive armour, swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them in a posture to engage even regular feudal troops. the bows, quivers, and tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set resolutely forward. dick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took position himself a few paces in front. then they all shouted with one voice, and closed upon the enemy. these, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided. before they had time to get their courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout of onslaught sounded in their ears from the far side of the enclosure. thereupon they gave themselves up for lost and ran. in this way the two small troops of the men of the black arrow closed upon the sea-front of the garden wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it were, between two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran for their lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the darkness. for all that, the fight was but beginning. dick's outlaws, although they had the advantage of the surprise, were still considerably outnumbered by the men they had surrounded. the tide had flowed, in the meanwhile; the beach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field, between the surf and the garden wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious, and deadly contest. the strangers were well armed; they fell in silence upon their assailants; and the affray became a series of single combats. dick, who had come first into the mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut down at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him, hotly, he was fain to give ground before their onset. one of these two was a huge fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword, which he brandished like a switch. against this opponent, with his reach of arm and the length and weight of his weapon, dick and his bill were quite defenceless; and had the other continued to join vigorously in the attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen. this second man, however, less in stature and slower in his movements, paused for a moment to peer about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the sounds of the battle. the giant still pursued his advantage, and still dick fled before him, spying for his chance. then the huge blade flashed and descended, and the lad, leaping on one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwards with his bill. a roar of agony responded, and, before the wounded man could raise his formidable weapon, dick, twice repeating his blow, had brought him to the ground. the next moment he was engaged, upon more equal terms, with his second pursuer. here there was no great difference in size, and though the man, fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, dick more than made it up by his greater agility on foot. neither at first gained any obvious advantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; and presently dick found that they had crossed the whole width of the beach, and were now fighting above the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. here his own superior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or less at the discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon his own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adversary was bent upon drawing him farther and farther away. dick ground his teeth. he determined to decide the combat instantly; and when the wash of the next wave had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in, caught a blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his opponent. the man went down backwards, with dick still upon the top of him; and the next wave, speedily succeeding to the last, buried him below a rush of water. while he was still submerged, dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and rose to his feet, victorious. "yield ye!" he said. "i give you life." "i yield me," said the other, getting to his knees. "ye fight, like a young man, ignorantly and foolhardily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight bravely!" dick turned to the beach. the combat was still raging doubtfully in the night; over the hoarse roar of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and cries of pain and the shout of battle resounded. "lead me to your captain, youth," said the conquered knight. "it is fit this butchery should cease." "sir," replied dick, "so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the poor gentleman who here addresses you is he." "call off your dogs, then, and i will bid my villains hold," returned the other. there was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late opponent, and dick instantly dismissed all fears of treachery. "lay down your arms, men!" cried the stranger knight. "i have yielded me, upon promise of life." the tone of the stranger was one of absolute command, and almost instantly the din and confusion of the mellay ceased. "lawless," cried dick, "are ye safe?" "ay," cried lawless, "safe and hearty." "light me the lantern," said dick. "is not sir daniel here?" inquired the knight. "sir daniel?" echoed dick. "now, by the rood, i pray not. it would go ill with me if he were." "ill with _you_, fair sir?" inquired the other. "nay, then, if ye be not of sir daniel's party, i profess i comprehend no longer. wherefore, then, fell ye upon mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very fiery friend? to what earthly purpose? and, to make a clear end of questioning, to what good gentleman have i surrendered?" but before dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close by. dick could see the speaker's black and white badge, and the respectful salute which he addressed to his superior. "my lord," said he, "if these gentlemen be unfriends to sir daniel, it is pity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were tenfold greater that either they or we should linger here. the watchers in the house----unless they be all dead or deaf----have heard our hammering this quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town; and unless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, both of us, by a fresh foe." "hawksley is in the right," added the lord. "how please ye, sir? whither shall we march?" "nay, my lord," said dick, "go where ye will for me. i do begin to suspect we have some ground of friendship, and if, indeed, i began our acquaintance somewhat ruggedly, i would not churlishly continue. let us, then, separate, my lord, you laying your right hand in mine; and at the hour and place that ye shall name, let us encounter and agree." "y'are too trustful, boy," said the other; "but this time your trust is not misplaced. i will meet you at the point of day at st. bride's cross. come, lads, follow!" the strangers disappeared from the scene with a rapidity that seemed suspicious; and while the outlaws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead bodies, dick made once more the circuit of the garden wall to examine the front of the house. in a little upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light set; and as it would certainly be visible in town from the back windows of sir daniel's mansion, he doubted not that this was the signal feared by hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the knight of tunstall would arrive upon the scene. he put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to him as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from townward. back to the beach he went hurrying. but the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already wading seaward to commit it to the mercies of the deep. a few minutes later, when there debouched out of the nearest lanes of shoreby some two-score horsemen, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop of their steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea was entirely silent and deserted. meanwhile, dick and his men had returned to the alehouse of the goat and bagpipes to snatch some hours of sleep before the morning tryst. chapter iii st. bride's cross st. bride's cross stood a little way back from shoreby, on the skirts of tunstall forest. two roads met: one, from holywood across the forest; one, that road from risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. here the two joined issue, and went on together down the hill to shoreby; and a little back from the point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the ancient and weather-beaten cross. here, then, about seven in the morning, dick arrived. it was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey and silver with the hoar-frost, and the day began to break in the east with many colours of purple and orange. dick set him down upon the lowest step of the cross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides. he had not long to wait. down the road from holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a surcoat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid charger. twenty yards behind him followed a clump of lances; but these halted as soon as they came in view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the fur surcoat continued to advance alone. his visor was raised, and showed a countenance of great command and dignity, answerable to the richness of his attire and arms. and it was with some confusion of manner that dick arose from the cross and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner. "i thank you, my lord, for your exactitude," he said, louting very low. "will it please your lordship to set foot to earth?" "are ye here alone, young man?" inquired the other. "i was not so simple," answered dick; "and, to be plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on their weapons." "y' 'ave done wisely," said the lord. "it pleaseth me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, and more like a savage saracen lunatic than any christian warrior. but it becomes not me to complain that had the undermost." "ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye so fell," returned dick; "but had the waves not holpen me, it was i that should have had the worst. ye were pleased to make me yours with several dagger marks, which i still carry. and in fine, my lord, methinks i had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that little blind-man's mellay on the beach." "y'are shrewd enough to make light of it, i see," returned the stranger. "nay, my lord, not shrewd," replied dick, "in that i shoot at no advantage to myself. but when, by the light of this new day, i see how stout a knight hath yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the darkness, and the surf--and how easily the battle had gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic as myself--think it not strange, my lord, if i feel confounded with my victory." "ye speak well," said the stranger. "your name?" "my name, an't like you, is shelton," answered dick. "men call me the lord foxham," added the other. "then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye are guardian to the sweetest maid in england," replied dick; "and for your ransom, and the ransom of such as were taken with you on the beach, there will be no uncertainty of terms. i pray you, my lord, of your good-will and charity, yield me the hand of my mistress, joan sedley; and take ye, upon the other part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, and (if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till i die." "but are ye not ward to sir daniel? methought, if y'are harry shelton's son, that i had heard it so reported," said lord foxham. "will it please you, my lord, to alight? i would fain tell you fully who i am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands. beseech you, my lord, take place upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and judge me with allowance." and so saying, dick lent a hand to lord foxham to dismount; led him up the knoll to the cross; installed him in the place where he had himself been sitting; and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner, related the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening before. lord foxham listened gravely, and when dick had done, "master shelton," he said, "ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what fortune y' 'ave had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye have noways deserved. be of a good cheer; for ye have made a friend who is devoid neither of power nor favour. for yourself, although it fits not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, i must own ye are both brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in peace; a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing. for your estates, ye will never see them till the world shall change again; so long as lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall sir daniel enjoy them for his own. for my ward, it is another matter; i had promised her before to a gentleman a kinsman of my house, one hamley; the promise is old----" "ay, my lord, and now sir daniel hath promised her to my lord shoreby," interrupted dick. "and his promise, for all it is but young, is still the likelier to be made good." "'tis the plain truth," returned his lordship. "and considering, moreover, that i am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my bare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other hands, i will so far consent. aid me with your good fellows----" "my lord," cried dick, "they are these same outlaws that ye blame me for consorting with." "let them be what they will, they can fight," returned lord foxham. "help me, then; and if between us we regain the maid, upon my knightly honour, she shall marry you!" dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leaping up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son. "come," he said, "an y'are to marry joan, we must be early friends." chapter iv the "good hope" an hour thereafter, dick was back at the goat and bagpipes, breaking his fast, and receiving the report of his messengers and sentries. duckworth was still absent from shoreby; and this was frequently the case, for he played many parts in the world, shared many different interests, and conducted many various affairs. he had founded that fellowship of the black arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money; and yet among those who knew him best, he was thought to be the agent and emissary of the great king-maker of england, richard, earl of warwick. in his absence, at any rate, it fell upon richard shelton to command affairs in shoreby; and, as he sat at meat, his mind was full of care, and his face heavy with consideration. it had been determined, between him and the lord foxham, to make one bold stroke that evening, and, by brute force, to set joanna free. the obstacles, however, were many; and as one after another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more discomfortable news. sir daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night before. he had increased the garrison of the house in the garden; but not content with that, he had stationed horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that he might have instant word of any movement. meanwhile, in the court of his mansion, steeds stood saddled, and the riders, armed at every point, awaited but the signal to ride. the adventure of the night appeared more and more difficult of execution, till suddenly dick's countenance lightened. "lawless!" he cried, "you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?" "master dick," replied lawless, "if ye would back me, i would agree to steal york minster." presently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour. it was a considerable basin, lying among sand-hills, and surrounded with patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the town. many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor, or had been drawn up on the beach. a long duration of bad weather had driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the great trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one another, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind, promised no improvement but rather threatened a more serious storm in the immediate future. the seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part slunk ashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns. many of the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the day wore on, and the weather offered no appearance of improvement, the number was continually being augmented. it was to these deserted ships, and, above all, to those of them that lay far out, that lawless directed his attention; while dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the shipmen in a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his immediate surroundings and concerns in the agreeable recollection of lord foxham's promise. he was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. it was lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay somewhat by itself, and within but a little of the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering swell. a pale gleam of winter sunshine fell, at that moment, on the vessel's deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in this momentary glitter dick could see a couple of men hauling the skiff alongside. "there, sir," said lawless, "mark ye it well! there is the ship for to-night." presently the skiff put out from the vessel's side, and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore, lawless turned to a loiterer. "how call ye her?" he asked, pointing to the little vessel. "they call her the _good hope_, of dartmouth," replied the loiterer. "her captain, arblaster by name. he pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff." this was all that lawless wanted. hurriedly thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading. there he took up his position, and as soon as they were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the _good hope_. "what! gossip arblaster!" he cried. "why, ye be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood! and is that the _good hope_? ay, i would know her among ten thousand!--a sweet shear, a sweet boat! but marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? i have come into mine estate which doubtless ye remember to have heard on. i am now rich; i have left to sail upon the sea; i do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale. come, fellow; thy hand upon't! come, drink with an old shipfellow!" skipper arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather-beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious amazement and distrust. but the name of an estate, and a certain air of tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which lawless very well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable grasp. "nay," he said, "i cannot mind you. but what o' that? i would drink with any man, gossip, and so would my man tom. man tom," he added, addressing his follower, "here is my gossip, whose name i cannot mind, but no doubt a very good seaman. let's go drink with him and his shore friend." lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less crowded than those nearer to the centre of the port. it was but a shed of timber, much like a blockhouse in the backwoods of to-day, and was coarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and boards set upon barrels to play the part of tables. in the middle, and besieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreck-wood blazed and vomited thick smoke. "ay, now," said lawless, "here is a shipman's joy--a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring in the roof! here's to the _good hope_! may she ride easy!" "ay," said skipper arblaster, "'tis good weather to be ashore in, that is sooth. man tom, how say ye to that? gossip, ye speak well, though i can never think upon your name; but ye speak very well. may the _good hope_ ride easy! amen!" "friend dickon," resumed lawless, addressing his commander, "ye have certain matters on hand, unless i err? well, prithee be about them incontinently. for here i be with the choice of all good company, two tough old shipmen; and till that ye return i will go warrant these brave fellows will bide here and drink me cup for cup. we are not like shore-men, we old, tough tarry-johns!" "it is well meant," returned the skipper. "ye can go, boy; for i will keep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew--ay, and by st. mary, till the sun get up again! for, look ye, when a man hath been long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and let him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched." thus encouraged upon all hands, dick rose, saluted his company, and going forth again into the gusty afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to the goat and bagpipes. thence he sent word to my lord foxham that, so soon as ever the evening closed, they would have a stout boat to keep the sea in. and then leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had some experience of the sea, he returned himself to the harbour and the little sandy creek. the skiff of the _good hope_ lay among many others, from which it was easily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility. indeed, when dick and his two men had taken their places, and begun to put forth out of the creek into the open harbour, the little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point of sinking. the _good hope_, as we have said, was anchored far out, where the swell was heaviest. no other vessel lay nearer than several cables' length; those that were the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather further concealed the movements of the outlaws from all possible espial. in a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and the skiff was dancing at the stern. the _good hope_ was captured. [illustration: _the little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under every gust of wind_] she was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and amid-ships, but open in the stern. she carried one mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a lugger. it would seem that skipper arblaster had made an excellent venture, for the hold was full of pieces of french wine; and in the little cabin, besides the virgin mary in the bulkhead which proved the captain's piety, there were many lock-fast chests and cupboards, which showed him to be rich and careful. a dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, furiously barked and bit the heels of the boarders; but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door shut upon his just resentment. a lamp was lit and fixed in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the shore; one of the wine pieces in the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent gascony emptied to the adventure of the evening; and then, while one of the outlaws began to get ready his bow and arrows and prepare to hold the ship against all comers, the other hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held on, waiting for dick. "well, jack, keep me a good watch," said the young commander, preparing to follow his subordinate. "ye will do right well." "why," returned jack, "i shall do excellent well indeed, so long as we lie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the harbour--see, there she trembles! nay, the poor shrew heard the words, and the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs. but look, master dick! how black the weather gathers!" the darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. great billows heaved up out of the blackness, one after another; and one after another the _good hope_ buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the farther side. a thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the deck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging. "in sooth, it looketh evilly," said dick, "but what cheer! 'tis but a squall, and presently it will blow over." but, in spite of his words, he was depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the _good hope_ and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed of oars, he crossed himself devoutly, and recommended to heaven the lives of all who should adventure on the sea. at the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the outlaws. to these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark without delay. a little farther up the beach dick found lord foxham hurrying in quest of him, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour covered by a long russet mantle of a poor appearance. "young shelton," he said, "are ye for sea, then, truly?" "my lord," replied richard, "they lie about the house with horsemen; it may not be reached from the land side without alarum; and sir daniel once advertised of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good end than, saving your presence, we could ride upon the wind. now, in going round by sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much outweighteth all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and bear off the maid." "well," returned lord foxham, "lead on. i will, in some sort, follow you for shame's sake; but i own i would i were in bed." "here, then," said dick. "hither we go to fetch our pilot." and he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to a portion of his men. some of these he found lingering round the door outside; others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near as possible to where they saw their comrade, gathered close about lawless and the two shipmen. these, to judge by the distempered countenance and cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; and as richard entered, closely followed by lord foxham, they were all three tuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the gale. the young leader cast a rapid glance about the shed. the fire had just been replenished, and gave forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was difficult to see clearly in the farther corners. it was plain, however, that the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests. satisfied upon this point, in case of any failure in the operation of his plan, dick strode up to the table and resumed his place upon the bench. "hey?" cried the skipper, tipsily, "who are ye, hey?" "i want a word with you without, master arblaster," returned dick; "and here is what we shall talk of." and he showed him a gold noble in the glimmer of the firelight. the shipman's eyes burned, although he still failed to recognise our hero. "ay, boy," he said, "i am with you. gossip, i will be back anon. drink fair, gossip"; and, taking dick's arm to steady his uneven steps, he walked to the door of the alehouse. as soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and bound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to another, and a good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and crop into a neighbouring hay-barn. presently, his man tom, similarly secured, was tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth reflections for the night. and now, as the time for concealment had gone by, lord foxham's followers were summoned by a preconcerted signal, and the party, boldly taking possession of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the ship. long before the last man had climbed to the deck of the _good hope_, the sound of furious shouting from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs. but it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge. out of some forty fighting men now mustered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, and could play the part of mariners. with the aid of these, a slice of sail was got upon her. the cable was cut. lawless, vacillating on his feet, and still shouting the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller in his hands: and the _good hope_ began to flit forward into the darkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour bar. richard took his place beside the weather rigging. except for the ship's own lantern, and for some lights in shoreby town, that were already fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit. only from time to time, as the _good hope_ swooped dizzily down into the valley of the rollers, a crest would break--a great cataract of snowy foam would leap in one instant into being--and, in an instant more, would stream into the wake and vanish. many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick, and had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo. and what with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continued drunken bravado of lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest heart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the result. but lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the ship across the breakers, struck the lee of a great sand-bank, where they sailed for awhile in smooth water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay ducking and grinding in the dark. chapter v the "good hope" (continued) the pier was not far distant from the house in which joanna lay; it now only remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a strong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive. they might then regard themselves as done with the _good hope_; it had placed them on the rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater measure of hope in the direction of the forest and my lord foxham's reserve. to get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick, all were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of the night had cowed their spirits. they made a rush upon the pier; my lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in front; and this impulse of rabblement was not restrained without a certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case. when some degree of order had been restored, dick, with a few chosen men, set forth in advance. the darkness on shore, by contrast with the flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the howling and whistling of the gale drowned any lesser noise. he had scarce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a lull of the wind; and in this he seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of horses and the clash of arms. checking his immediate followers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even setting foot upon the down; and here he made sure he could detect the shape of men and horses moving. a strong discouragement assailed him. if their enemies were really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the shoreward end of the pier, he and lord foxham were taken in a posture of very poor defence, the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow causeway. he gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon. it proved to be a signal far more than he desired. instantly there fell, through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain. in this first discharge, lord foxham was struck down; hawksley had him carried on board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) without guidance. that was perhaps the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow. at the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, dick held his own with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when in the twinkling of an eye the tide turned against the party from the ship. some one cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. "on board, lads, for your lives!" cried another. a third, with the true instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats: "we are betrayed!" and in a moment the whole mass of men went surging and jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry. one coward thrust off the ship's stern, while another still held her by the bows. the fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell back and perished in the sea. some were cut down upon the pier by the pursuers. many were injured on the ship's deck in the blind haste and terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on both. at last, and whether by design or accident, the bows of the _good hope_ were liberated; and the ever-ready lawless, who had maintained his place at the helm through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her on the proper tack. the ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its scuppers running blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and struggling in the dark. thereupon, lawless sheathed his dagger, and turning to his next neighbour, "i have left my mark on them, gossip," said he, "the yelping, coward hounds." now, while they were all leaping and struggling for their lives, the men had not appeared to observe the rough shoves and cutting stabs with which lawless had held his post in the confusion. but perhaps they had already begun to understand somewhat more clearly, or perhaps another ear had overheard, the helmsman's speech. panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, as if to wipe out the memory of their fault, will sometimes run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordination. so it was now; and the same men who had thrown away their weapons and been hauled, feet-foremost, into the _good hope_, began to cry out upon their leaders, and demand that some one should be punished. this growing ill-feeling turned upon lawless. in order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had put the head of the _good hope_ to seaward. "what!" bawled one of the grumblers, "he carrieth us to seaward!" "'tis sooth," cried another. "nay, we are betrayed for sure." and they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abominable oaths bade lawless go about-ship and bring them speedily ashore. lawless, grinding his teeth, continued in silence to steer the true course, guiding the _good hope_ among the formidable billows. to their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, between drink and dignity he scorned to make reply. the malcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, "crowing for courage." presently they would be fit for any extremity of injustice or ingratitude. dick began to mount by the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got beforehand. "lads," he began, "y'are right wooden heads, i think. for to get back, by the mass, we must have an offing, must we not? and this old lawless----" some one struck the speaker on the mouth, and the next moment, as a fire springs among dry straw, he was felled upon the deck, trampled under the feet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions. at this the wrath of lawless rose and broke. "steer yourselves," he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the result, he left the helm. the _good hope_ was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell. she subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side. a wave, like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with a staggering blow, she plunged head-foremost through that liquid hill. the green water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a man's knees; the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a beast that has been deadly wounded. six or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and as for the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to bellow to the saints and wail upon lawless to come back and take the tiller. nor did lawless wait to be twice bidden. the terrible result of his fling of just resentment sobered him completely. he knew, better than any one on board, how nearly the _good hope_ had gone bodily down below their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the sea, that the peril was by no means over. dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose wading to his knees in the swamped well of the stern, and crept to the old helmsman's side. "lawless," he said, "we do all depend on you; y'are a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in the management of ships; i shall put three sure men to watch upon your safety." "bootless, my master, bootless," said the steersman, peering forward through the dark. "we come every moment somewhat clearer of these sand-banks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and for all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs. for, my master, 'tis a right mystery, but true, there never yet was a bad man that was a good shipman. none but the honest and the bold can endure me this tossing of a ship." "nay, lawless," said dick, laughing, "that is a right shipman's by-word, and hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind. but, prithee, how go we? do we lie well? are we in good case?" "master shelton," replied lawless, "i have been a grey friar--i praise fortune--an archer, a thief, and a shipman. of all these coats, i had the best fancy to die in the grey friar's, as ye may readily conceive, and the least fancy to die in john shipman's tarry jacket; and that for two excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man suddenly; and second, for the horror of that great, salt smother and welter under my foot here"--and lawless stamped with his foot. "howbeit," he went on, "an i die not a sailor's death, and that this night, i shall owe a tall candle to our lady." "is it so?" asked dick. "it is right so," replied the outlaw. "do ye not feel how heavy and dull she moves upon the waves? do ye not hear the water washing in her hold? she will scarce mind the rudder even now. bide till she has settled a bit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like a twist of string." "ye speak with a good courage," returned dick. "ye are not then appalled?" "why, master," answered lawless, "if ever a man had an ill crew to come to port with, it is i--a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on't. well, ye may wonder, but i keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that i be to drown, i will drown with a bright eye, master shelton, and a steady hand." dick returned no answer; but he was surprised to find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, and fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set forth upon his quest for three sure men. the great bulk of the men had now deserted the deck, which was continually wetted with the flying sprays, and where they lay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind. they had gathered, instead, into the hold of the merchandise, among the butts of wine, and lighted by two swinging lanterns. here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in arblaster's gascony wine. but as the _good hope_ continued to tear through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in air and deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions diminished with every moment and with every lurch. many sat apart, tending their hurts, but the majority were already prostrated with sickness, and lay moaning in the bilge. greensheve, cuckow, and a young fellow of lord foxham's whom dick had already remarked for his intelligence and spirit, were still, however, both fit to understand and willing to obey. these dick set, as a body-guard, about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look at the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin, whither lord foxham had been carried by his servants. chapter vi the "good hope" (concluded) the moans of the wounded baron blended with the wailing of the ship's dog. the poor animal, whether he was merely sick at heart to be separated from his friends, or whether he indeed recognised some peril in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above the roar of wave and weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, in these sounds, the knell of the _good hope_. lord foxham had been laid in a berth upon a fur cloak. a little lamp burned dim before the virgin in the bulkhead, and by its glimmer dick could see the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man. "i am sore hurt," said he. "come near to my side, young shelton; let there be one by me who, at least, is gentle born; for after having lived nobly and richly all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that i should get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, in a foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls." "nay, my lord," said dick, "i pray rather to the saints that ye will recover you of your hurt, and come soon and sound ashore." "how!" demanded his lordship. "come sound ashore? there is, then, a question of it?" "the ship laboureth--the sea is grievous and contrary," replied the lad; "and by what i can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do well, indeed, if we come dry-shod to land." "ha!" said the baron, gloomily, "thus shall every terror attend upon the passage of my soul! sir, pray rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, than to be fooled and fluted all through life, as to the pipe and tabour, and, in the last hour, be plunged among misfortunes! howbeit, i have that upon my mind that must not be delayed. we have no priest aboard?" "none," replied dick. "here, then, to my secular interests," resumed lord foxham: "ye must be as good a friend to me dead, as i found you a gallant enemy when i was living. i fall in an evil hour for me, for england, and for them that trusted me. my men are being brought by hamley--he that was your rival; they will rendezvous in the long holm at holywood; this ring from off my finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and i shall write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding hamley yield to you the damsel. will he obey? i know not." "but, my lord, what orders?" inquired dick. "ay," quoth the baron, "ay--the orders"; and he looked upon dick with hesitation. "are ye lancaster or york?" he asked, at length. "i shame to say it," answered dick, "i can scarce clearly answer. but so much i think is certain: since i serve with ellis duckworth, i serve the house of york. well, if that be so, i declare for york." "it is well," returned the other; "it is exceeding well. for, truly, had ye said lancaster, i wot not for the world what i had done. but sith ye are for york, follow me. i came hither but to watch these lords at shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, richard of gloucester,[ ] prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them. i have made me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and these i was to deliver to my young lord on sunday, an hour before noon, at st. bride's cross beside the forest. this tryst i am not like to keep, but i pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pestilence withhold you from the hour and place, for the welfare of england lieth upon this cast." [ ] at the date of this story, richard crookback could not have been created duke of gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader's leave, he shall so be called. "i do soberly take this upon me," said dick. "in so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be done." "it is good," said the wounded man. "my lord duke shall order you further, and if ye obey him with spirit and good-will, then is your fortune made. give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till that i write these words for you." he wrote a note "to his worshipful kinsman, sir john hamley"; and then a second, which he left without external superscripture. "this is for the duke," he said. "the word is 'england and edward,' and the counter, 'england and york.'" "and joanna, my lord?" asked dick. "nay, ye must get joanna how ye can," replied the baron. "i have named you for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for yourself, boy. i have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my life. more could no man do." by this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and dick, putting the precious papers in his bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him to repose. the day was beginning to break, cold and blue, with flying squalls of snow. close under the lee of the _good hope_, the coast lay in alternate rocky headlands and sandy bays; and farther inland the wooded hill-tops of tunstall showed along the sky. both the wind and the sea had gone down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves. lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhospitable coast. "are we going ashore?" asked dick. "ay," said lawless, "unless we get first to the bottom." and just then the ship rose so languidly to meet a sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, that dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the arm. "by the mass!" cried dick, as the bows of the _good hope_ reappeared above the foam, "i thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my throat." in the waist, greensheve, hawksley, and the better men of both companies were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these dick joined himself, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament. but, even as he worked, every sea that struck the poor ship, and every one of her dull lurches, as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled him with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of death. presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below a promontory; a piece of ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and, above that, again, a house appeared, crowning a down. inside the bay the seas ran gaily, raised the _good hope_ upon their foam-flecked shoulders, carried her beyond the control of the steersman, and in a moment dropped her, with a great concussion, on the sand, and began to break over her half-mast high, and roll her to and fro. another great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in; and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more dangerous breakers, wedged upon a bank. "now, boys," cried lawless, "the saints have had a care of us, indeed. the tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge." a barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter they could find from the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around, and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits. dick, meanwhile, returned to lord foxham, who lay in great perplexity and fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of the blow. "my lord," said young shelton, "fear not at all; the saints are plainly for us; the seas have cast us high upon a shoal, and as soon as the tide hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet." it was nearly an hour before the vessel was sufficiently deserted by the ebbing sea, and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly before them through a veil of driving snow. upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing the movements of the new arrivals. "they might draw near and offer us some comfort," dick remarked. "well, an' they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them," said hawksley. "the sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed the better for my poor lord." but they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock, before the men, with one consent, rose suddenly to their feet, and poured a flight of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company. "back! back!" cried his lordship. "beware, in heaven's name, that ye reply not." "nay," cried greensheve, pulling an arrow from his leather jack. "we are in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, and three-parts frozen; but for the love of old england, what aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor country people in distress?" "they take us to be french pirates," answered lord foxham. "in these most troublesome and degenerate days we cannot keep our own shores of england; but our old enemies, whom we once chased on sea and land, do now range at pleasure, robbing and slaughtering and burning. it is the pity and reproach of this poor land." the men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, while they trailed upward from the beach and wound inland among desolate sand-hills; for a mile or so they even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a sign, to pour another volley on the weary and dispirited fugitives; and it was only when, striking at length upon a firm highroad, dick began to call his men to some more martial order, that these jealous guardians of the coast of england silently disappeared among the snow. they had done what they desired; they had protected their own homes and farms, their own families and cattle; and their private interest being thus secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the frenchmen should carry blood and fire to every other parish in the realm of england. book iv the disguise chapter i the den the place where dick had struck the line of a highroad was not far from holywood, and within nine or ten miles of shoreby-on-the-till; and here, after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies separated. lord foxham's followers departed, carrying their wounded master towards the comfort and security of the great abbey; and dick, as he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder of his troop of volunteers. some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they grumbled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders. dick emptied his purse among them, leaving himself nothing; thanked them for the courage they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus somewhat softened the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way, either severally or in pairs, to shoreby and the goat and bagpipes. for his own part, influenced by what he had seen on board of the _good hope_, he chose lawless to be his companion on the walk. the snow was falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; and the whole world was blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation. there was great danger of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, and holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among dangers. about a mile into the forest they came to a place where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks. even in the narrow horizon of the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be recognised; and lawless evidently recognised it with particular delight. "now, master richard," said he, "an y'are not too proud to be the guest of a man who is neither a gentleman by birth nor so much as a good christian, i can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the marrow in your frozen bones." "lead on, will," answered dick. "a cup of wine and a good fire! nay, i would go a far way round to see them." lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that had now drifted a quarter full of snow. on the verge, a great beech-tree hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy underwood, bodily disappeared into the earth. [illustration: _and lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion and holding his head forward like a hunting-dog upon the scent, ... studied out their path_] the beech had, in some violent gale, been half uprooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of turf; and it was under this that old lawless had dug out his forest hiding-place. the roots served him for rafters, the turf was his thatch; for walls and floor he had his mother the earth. rude as it was, the hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the presence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron, showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a digging beast. though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of this earth cavern, yet was the air much warmer than without; and when lawless had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze and crackle on the hearth, the place assumed, even to the eye, an air of comfort and of home. with a sigh of great contentment, lawless spread his broad hands before the fire, and seemed to breathe the smoke. "here, then," he said, "is this old lawless's rabbit-hole; pray heaven there come no terrier! far i have rolled hither and thither, and here and about, since that i was fourteen years of mine age and first ran away from mine abbey, with the sacrist's gold chain and a mass-book that i sold for four marks. i have been in england and france and burgundy, and in spain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and upon the sea, which is no man's country. but here is my place, master shelton. this is my native land, this burrow in the earth! come rain or wind--and whether it's april, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my bed--or whether it's winter, and i sit alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin redbreast twitters in the woods--here, is my church and market, and my wife and child. it's here i come back to, and it's here, so please the saints, that i would like to die." "'tis a warm corner, to be sure," replied dick, "and a pleasant, and a well hid." "it had need to be," returned lawless, "for an they found it, master shelton, it would break my heart. but here," he added, burrowing with his stout fingers in the sandy floor, "here is my wine cellar; and ye shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo." sure enough, after but a little digging, he produced a big leathern bottle of about a gallon, nearly three-parts full of a very heady and sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire had been replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm. "master shelton," observed the outlaw, "y' 'ave had two mischances this last while, and y'are like to lose the maid--do i take it aright?" "aright!" returned dick, nodding his head. "well, now," continued lawless, "hear an old fool that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh-hand all! ye go too much on other people's errands, master dick. ye go on ellis's; but he desireth rather the death of sir daniel. ye go on lord foxham's; well--the saints preserve him!--doubtless he meaneth well. but go ye upon your own, good dick. come right to the maid's side. court her, lest that she forget you. be ready; and when the chance shall come, off with her at the saddle-bow." "ay, but, lawless, beyond doubt she is now in sir daniel's own mansion," answered dick. "thither, then, go we," replied the outlaw. dick stared at him. "nay, i mean it," nodded lawless. "and if y'are of so little faith, and stumble at a word, see here!" and the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest, and dipping and groping deep among its contents, produced first a friar's robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, heavy enough to be counted as a weapon. "here," he said, "is for you. on with them!" and then, when dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise, lawless produced some colours and a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cunning, to disguise his face. the eyebrows he thickened and produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a little service; while, by a few lines around the eye, he changed the expression and increased the apparent age of this young monk. "now," he resumed, "when i have done the like, we shall make as bonny a pair of friars as the eye could wish. boldly to sir daniel's we shall go, and there be hospitably welcome for the love of mother church." "and how, dear lawless," cried the lad, "shall i repay you?" "tut, brother," replied the outlaw, "i do naught but for my pleasure. mind not for me. i am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself. when that i lack, i have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery bell--i do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, i do most usually take." the old rogue made a humorous grimace; and although dick was displeased to lie under so great favours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet unable to restrain his mirth. with that, lawless returned to the big chest, and was soon similarly disguised; but, below his gown, dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of black arrows. "wherefore do ye that?" asked the lad. "wherefore arrows, when ye take no bow?" "nay," replied lawless, lightly, "'tis like there will be heads broke--not to say backs--ere you and i win sound from where we're going to; and if any fall, i would our fellowship should come by the credit on't. a black arrow, master dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth you who writ the bill." "an ye prepare so carefully," said dick, "i have here some papers that, for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better left behind than found upon my body. where shall i conceal them, will?" "nay," replied lawless, "i will go forth into the wood and whistle me three verses of a song; meanwhile, do you bury them where ye please, and smooth the sand upon the place." "never!" cried richard. "i trust you, man. i were base indeed if i not trusted you." "brother, y'are but a child," replied the old outlaw, pausing and turning his face upon dick from the threshold of the den. "i am a kind old christian, and no traitor to men's blood, and no sparer of mine own in a friend's jeopardy. but, fool, child, i am a thief by trade and birth and habit. if my bottle were empty and my mouth dry, i would rob you, dear child, as sure as i love, honour, and admire your parts and person! can it be clearer spoken? no." and he stumped forth through the bushes with a snap of his big fingers. dick, thus left alone, after a wondering thought upon the inconsistencies of his companion's character, hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his papers. one only he reserved to carry along with him, since it in nowise compromised his friends, and yet might serve him, in a pinch, against sir daniel. that was the knight's own letter to lord wensleydale, sent by throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at risingham, and found next day by dick upon the body of the messenger. then, treading down the embers of the fire, dick left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. each looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the disguise. "yet i would it were but summer and a clear day," grumbled the outlaw, "that i might see myself in the mirror of a pool. there be many of sir daniel's men that know me; and if we fell to be recognised, there might be two words for you, brother, but as for me, in a paternoster while, i should be kicking in a rope's-end." thus they set forth together along the road to shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near along the margin of the forest, coming forth, from time to time, in the open country, and passing beside poor folks' houses and small farms. presently at sight of one of these, lawless pulled up. "brother martin," he said, in a voice capitally disguised, and suited to his monkish robe, "let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners. _pax vobiscum!_ ay," he added, in his own voice, "'tis as i feared; i have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good master shelton, ye must suffer me to practise in these country places, before that i risk my fat neck by entering sir daniel's. but look ye a little, what an excellent thing it is to be a jack-of-all-trades! an i had not been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone down in the _good hope_; an i had not been a thief, i could not have painted me your face; and but that i had been a grey friar, and sung loud in the choir, and ate hearty at the board, i could not have carried this disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us out and barked at us for shams." he was by this time close to the window of the farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in. "nay," he cried, "better and better. we shall here try our false faces with a vengeance, and have a merry jest on brother capper to boot." and so saying, he opened the door and led the way into the house. three of their own company sat at the table, greedily eating. their daggers, stuck beside them in the board, and the black and menacing looks which they continued to shower upon the people of the house, proved that they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour. on the two monks, who now, with a sort of humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the farm, they seemed to turn with a particular resentment; and one--it was john capper in person--who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and rudely ordered them away. "we want no beggars here!" he cried. but another--although he was as far from recognising dick and lawless--inclined to more moderate counsels. "not so," he cried. "we be strong men, and take; these be weak, and crave; but in the latter end these shall be uppermost and we below. mind him not, my father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a benediction." "y'are men of a light mind, carnal, and accursed," said the monk. "now, may the saints forbid that ever i should drink with such companions! but here, for the pity i bear to sinners, here i do leave you a blessed relic, the which, for your souls' interest, i bid you kiss and cherish." so far lawless thundered upon them like a preaching friar; but with these words he drew from under his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board in front of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same instant, and, taking dick along with him, was out of the room and out of sight among the falling snow before they had time to utter a word or move a finger. "so," he said, "we have proved our false faces, master shelton. i will now adventure my poor carcase where ye please." "good!" returned richard. "it irks me to be doing. set we on for shoreby!" chapter ii "in mine enemies' house" sir daniel's residence in shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of thatch. to the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit-trees, alleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from the far end by the tower of the abbey church. the house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue of a greater person than sir daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub. the court rang with arms and horseshoe-iron; the kitchens roared with cookery like a bees'-hive; minstrels, and the players of instruments, and the cries of tumblers, sounded from the hall. sir daniel, in his profusion, in the gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with lord shoreby, and eclipsed lord risingham. all guests were made welcome. minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, the sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes, and enchantments, and along with these every sort of priest, friar, or pilgrim, were made welcome to the lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards of the long dining-hall. on the afternoon following the wreck of the _good hope_, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of the court, were all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to sir daniel's establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and blue, partly nondescript strangers attracted to the town by greed, and received by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion of the time. the snow, which still fell without interruption, the extreme chill of the air, and the approach of night, combined to keep them under shelter. wine, ale, and money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in the straw of the barn, many were still drunken from the noontide meal. to the eye of a modern it would have looked like the sack of a city; to the eye of a contemporary it was like any other rich and noble household at a festive season. two monks--a young and an old--had arrived late, and were now warming themselves at a bonfire in a corner of the shed. a mixed crowd surrounded them--jugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these the elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged so many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily increased in number. the younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognised dick shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself away. he listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by the grave expression of his countenance, he made but little account of his companion's pleasantries. at last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession entering by the main gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction. two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were followed by a pair of waiting-women and four stout men-at-arms. the next moment they had disappeared within the house; and dick, slipping through the crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit. "the taller of these twain was lady brackley," he thought; "and where lady brackley is, joan will not be far." at the door of the house the four men-at-arms had ceased to follow, and the ladies were now mounting the stairway of polished oak, under no better escort than that of the two waiting-women. dick followed close behind. it was already the dusk of the day; and in the house the darkness of the night had almost come. on the stair-landings, torches flared in iron holders; down the long, tapestried corridors, a lamp burned by every door. and where the door stood open, dick could look in upon arras-covered walls and rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light of the wood fires. two floors were passed, and at every landing the younger and shorter of the two ladies had looked back keenly at the monk. he, keeping his eyes lowered, and affecting the demure manners that suited his disguise, had but seen her once, and was unaware that he had attracted her attention. and now, on the third floor, the party separated, the younger lady continuing to ascend alone, the other, followed by the waiting-maids, descending the corridor to the right. dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to the corner, thrust forth his head and followed the three women with his eyes. without turning or looking behind them, they continued to descend the corridor. "it is right well," thought dick. "let me but know my lady brackley's chamber, and it will go hard an i find not dame hatch upon an errand." and just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to grapple his assailant. he was somewhat abashed to find, in the person whom he had so roughly seized, the short young lady in the furs. she, on her part, was shocked and terrified beyond expression, and hung trembling in his grasp. "madam," said dick, releasing her, "i cry you a thousand pardons; but i have no eyes behind, and, by the mass, i could not tell ye were a maid." the girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and surprise by suspicion. dick, who could read these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that hostile house. "fair maid," he said, affecting easiness, "suffer me to kiss your hand, in token ye forgive my roughness, and i will even go." "y'are a strange monk, young sir," returned the young lady, looking him both boldly and shrewdly in the face; "and now that my first astonishment hath somewhat passed away, i can spy the layman in each word you utter. what do ye here? why are ye thus sacrilegiously tricked out? come ye in peace or war? and why spy ye after lady brackley like a thief?" "madam," quoth dick, "of one thing i pray you to be very sure: i am no thief. and even if i come here in war, as in some degree i do, i make no war upon fair maids, and i hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and to leave me be. for, indeed, fair mistress, cry out--if such be your pleasure--cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman before you is merely a dead man. i cannot think ye would be cruel," added dick; and taking the girl's hand gently in both of his, he looked at her with courteous admiration. "are ye, then, a spy--a yorkist?" asked the maid. "madam," he replied, "i am indeed a yorkist, and, in some sort, a spy. but that which bringeth me into this house, the same which will win for me the pity and interest of your kind heart, is neither of york nor lancaster. i will wholly put my life in your discretion. i am a lover, and my name----" but here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly upon dick's mouth, looked hastily up and down and east and west, and, seeing the coast clear, began to drag the young man, with great strength and vehemence, up-stairs. "hush!" she said, "and come! shalt talk hereafter." somewhat bewildered, dick suffered himself to be pulled up-stairs, bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of the others, by a blazing log upon the hearth. "now," said the young lady, forcing him down upon a stool, "sit ye there and attend my sovereign good pleasure. i have life and death over you, and i will not scruple to abuse my power. look to yourself; y' 'ave cruelly mauled my arm. he knew not i was a maid, quoth he! had he known i was a maid, he had ta'en his belt to me, forsooth!" and with these words, she whipped out of the room and left dick gaping with wonder, and not very sure if he were dreaming or awake. "ta'en my belt to her!" he repeated. "ta'en my belt to her!" and the recollection of that evening in the forest flowed back upon his mind, and he once more saw matcham's wincing body and beseeching eyes. and then he was recalled to the dangers of the present. in the next room he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which sounded strangely near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet once more began. as he stood hearkening, he saw the arras wave along the wall; there was the sound of a door being opened, the hangings divided, and, lamp in hand, joanna sedley entered the apartment. she was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm colours, such as befit the winter and the snow. upon her head, her hair had been gathered together and became her as a crown. and she, who had seemed so little and so awkward in the attire of matcham, was now tall like a young willow, and swam across the floor as though she scorned the drudgery of walking. without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the young monk. "what make ye here, good brother?" she inquired. "ye are doubtless ill-directed. whom do ye require?" and she set her lamp upon the bracket. "joanna," said dick; and then his voice failed him. "joanna," he began again, "ye said ye loved me; and the more fool i, but i believed it!" "dick!" she cried. "dick!" and then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful and tall young lady made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck and gave him a hundred kisses all in one. "oh, the fool fellow!" she cried. "oh, dear dick! oh, if ye could see yourself! alack!" she added, pausing. "i have spoilt you, dick! i have knocked some of the paint off. but that can be mended. what cannot be mended, dick--or i much fear it cannot!--is my marriage with lord shoreby." "is it decided, then?" asked the lad. "to-morrow, before noon, dick, in the abbey church," she answered, "john matcham and joanna sedley both shall come to a right miserable end. there is no help in tears, or i could weep mine eyes out. i have not spared myself to pray, but heaven frowns on my petition. and, dear dick--good dick--but that ye can get me forth of this house before the morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye." "nay," said dick, "not i; i will never say that word. 'tis like despair; but while there's life, joanna, there is hope. yet will i hope. ay, by the mass, and triumph! look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did i not follow--did i not rouse good men--did i not stake my life upon the quarrel? and now that i have seen you for what ye are--the fairest maid and stateliest of england--think ye i would turn?--if the deep sea were there, i would straight through it; if the way were full of lions, i would scatter them like mice." "ay," she said, drily, "ye make a great ado about a sky-blue robe!" "nay, joan," protested dick, "'tis not alone the robe. but, lass, ye were disguised. here am i disguised; and, to the proof, do i not cut a figure of fun--a right fool's figure?" "ay, dick, an' that ye do!" she answered, smiling. "well, then!" he returned, triumphant. "so was it with you, poor matcham, in the forest. in sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at. but now!" so they ran on, holding each other by both hands, exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and melting minutes into seconds; and so they might have continued all night long. but presently there was a noise behind them; and they were aware of the short young lady, with her finger on her lips. "saints!" she cried, "but what a noise ye keep! can ye not speak in compass? and now, joanna, my fair maid of the woods, what will ye give your gossip for bringing you your sweetheart?" joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced her fierily. "and you, sir," added the young lady, "what do ye give me?" "madam," said dick, "i would fain offer to pay you in the same money." "come, then," said the lady, "it is permitted you." but dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand. "what ails ye at my face, fair sir?" she inquired, curtseying to the very ground; and then, when dick had at length and most tepidly embraced her, "joanna," she added, "your sweetheart is very backwards under your eyes; but i warrant you, when first we met, he was more ready. i am all black and blue, wench; trust me never, if i be not black and blue! and now," she continued, "have ye said your sayings? for i must speedily dismiss the paladin." but at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so early. "and supper?" asked the young lady. "must we not go down to supper?" "nay, to be sure!" cried joan. "i had forgotten." "hide me, then," said dick, "put me behind the arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so that i may be here on your return. indeed, fair lady," he added, "bear this in mind, that we are sore bested, and may never look upon each other's face from this night forward till we die." at this the young lady melted; and when, a little after, the bell summoned sir daniel's household to the board, dick was planted very stiffly against the wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry permitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to see into the room. he had not been long in this position, when he was somewhat strangely disturbed. the silence in that upper storey of the house, was only broken by the flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log in the chimney; but presently, to dick's strained hearing, there came the sound of some one walking with extreme precaution; and soon after the door opened, and a little black-faced, dwarfish fellow, in lord shoreby's colours, pushed first his head, and then his crooked body, into the chamber. his mouth was open, as though to hear the better; and his eyes, which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro. he went round and round the room, striking here and there upon the hangings; but dick, by a miracle, escaped his notice. then he looked below the furniture, and examined the lamp; and, at last, with an air of cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as silently as he had come, when down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes on the floor, examined it, and, with every signal of delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt. dick's heart sank, for the object in question was a tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to him that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign delight in his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to his master, the baron. he was half tempted to throw aside the arras, fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the risk of his life, remove the tell-tale token. and while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was added. a voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began to be audible from the stair; and presently after, uneven, wandering, and heavy footsteps sounded without along the passage. "what make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood shaws?" sang the voice. "what make ye here? hey! sots, what make ye here?" it added, with a rattle of drunken laughter; and then, once more breaking into song: "if ye should drink the clary wine, fat friar john, ye friend o' mine-- if i should eat, and ye should drink, who shall sing the mass, d'ye think?" lawless, alas! rolling drunk, was wandering the house, seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off the effect of his potations. dick inwardly raged. the spy, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the chamber, and was gone from richard's eyes. what was to be done? if he lost touch of lawless for the night, he was left impotent, whether to plan or carry forth joanna's rescue. if, on the other hand, he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal consequences ensue. it was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that dick decided. slipping from behind the tapestry, he stood ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a warning hand upraised. lawless, flushed crimson, with his eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still unsteadily nearer. at last he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of dick's imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name. dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously. "beast!" he hissed--"beast and no man! it is worse than treachery to be so witless. we may all be shent for thy sotting." but lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried to clap young shelton on the back. and just then dick's quick ear caught a rapid brushing in the arras. he leaped towards the sound, and the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging had been torn down, and dick and the spy were sprawling together in its folds. over and over they rolled, grappling for each other's throat, and still baffled by the arras, and still silent in their deadly fury. but dick was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay prostrate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the long poniard, ceased to breathe. chapter iii the dead spy throughout this furious and rapid passage, lawless had looked on helplessly, and even when all was over, and dick, already re-arisen to his feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant bustle in the lower storeys of the house, the old outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring on the face of the dead man. "it is well," said dick, at length; "they have not heard us, praise the saints! but, now, what shall i do with this poor spy? at least, i will take my tassel from his wallet." so saying, dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter addressed to lord wensleydale, and sealed with my lord shoreby's seal. the name awoke dick's recollection; and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. it was short, but, to dick's delight, it gave evident proof that lord shoreby was treacherously corresponding with the house of york. the young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and implements about him, and so now, bending a knee beside the body of the dead spy, he was able to write these words upon a corner of the paper: my lord of shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot ye why your man is ded? but let me rede you, marry not. jon amend-all. he laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and then lawless, who had been looking on upon these last manoeuvres with some flickering returns of intelligence, suddenly drew a black arrow from below his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. the sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, cruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from young shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed. "nay, i will have the credit for mine order," he hiccupped. "my jolly boys must have the credit on't--the credit, brother"; and then, shutting his eyes tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began to thunder, in a formidable voice: "if ye should drink the clary wine"-- "peace, sot!" cried dick, and thrust him hard against the wall. "in two words--if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than wit in him--in two words, and, a-mary's name, begone out of this house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me also! faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, i may forget that i am in some sort your captain and in some your debtor! go!" the sham monk was now, in some degree, recovering the use of his intelligence; and the ring in dick's voice, and the glitter in dick's eye, stamped home the meaning of his words. "by the mass," cried lawless, "an i be not wanted, i can go"; and he turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder down-stairs, lurching against the wall. so soon as he was out of sight, dick returned to his hiding-place, resolutely fixed to see the matter out. wisdom, indeed, moved him to be gone; but love and curiosity were stronger. time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras. the fire in the room began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to smoke. and still there was no word of the return of any one to these upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum and clatter of the supper party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall of the snow, shoreby town lay silent upon every side. at length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair; and presently after several of sir daniel's guests arrived upon the landing, and, turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the body of the spy. some ran forward and some back, and all together began to cry aloud. at the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants of that great house, came flying from every direction, and began to join their voices to the tumult. soon a way was cleared, and sir daniel came forth in person, followed by the bridegroom of the morrow, my lord shoreby. "my lord," said sir daniel, "have i not told you of this knave black arrow? to the proof, behold it! there it stands, and, by the rood, my gossip, in a man of yours, or one that stole your colours!" "in good sooth, it was a man of mine," replied lord shoreby, hanging back. "i would i had more such. he was keen as a beagle and secret as a mole." "ay, gossip, truly?" asked sir daniel, keenly. "and what came he smelling up so many stairs in my poor mansion? but he will smell no more." "an't please you, sir daniel," said one, "here is a paper written upon with some matter, pinned upon his breast." "give it me, arrow and all," said the knight. and when he had taken into his hand the shaft, he continued for some time to gaze upon it in a sullen musing. "ay," he said, addressing lord shoreby, "here is a hate that followeth hard and close upon my heels. this black stick, or its just likeness, shall yet bring me down. and, gossip, suffer a plain knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee! 'tis like a sickness--it still hangeth, hangeth upon the limbs. but let us see what they have written. it is as i thought, my lord; y'are marked, like an old oak, by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the axe. but what wrote ye in a letter?" lord shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, read it, crumpled it between his hands, and overcoming the reluctance which had hitherto withheld him from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside the body and eagerly groped in the wallet. he rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled countenance. "gossip," he said, "i have indeed lost a letter here that much imported; and could i lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should incontinently grace a halter. but let us, first of all, secure the issues of the house. here is enough harm already, by st. george!" sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and yet another about the bonfire in the shed. sir daniel's followers were supplemented by lord shoreby's; there was thus no lack of men or weapons to make the house secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be there. meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow and deposited in the abbey church. it was not until these dispositions had been taken, and all had returned to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew richard shelton from his place of concealment, and made a full report to him of what had passed. he, upon his side, recounted the visit of the spy, his dangerous discovery, and speedy end. joanna leaned back very faint against the curtained wall. "it will avail but little," she said. "i shall be wed to-morrow, in the morning, after all!" "what!" cried her friend. "and here is our paladin that driveth lions like mice! ye have little faith, of a surety. but come, friend lion-driver, give us some comfort; speak, and let us hear bold counsels." dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words; but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly. "truly," said he, "we are in straits. yet, could i but win out of this house for half an hour, i do honestly tell myself that all might still go well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented." "and for the lions," mimicked the girl, "they shall be driven." "i crave your excuse," said dick. "i speak not now in any boasting humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if i get not forth of this house and through these sentinels, i can do less than naught. take me, i pray you, rightly." "why said ye he was rustic, joan?" the girl inquired. "i warrant he hath a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold is his speech at pleasure. what would ye more?" "nay," sighed joanna, with a smile, "they have changed me my friend dick, 'tis sure enough. when i beheld him, he was rough indeed. but it matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and i must still be lady shoreby!" "nay, then," said dick, "i will even make the adventure. a friar is not much regarded; and if i found a good fairy to lead me up, i may find another belike to carry me down. how call they the name of this spy?" "rutter," said the young lady; "and an excellent good name to call him by. but how mean ye, lion-driver? what is in your mind to do?" "to offer boldly to go forth," returned dick; "and if any stop me, to keep an unchanged countenance, and say i go to pray for rutter. they will be praying over his poor clay even now." "the device is somewhat simple," replied the girl, "yet it may hold." "nay," said young shelton, "it is no device, but mere boldness, which serveth often better in great straits." "ye say true," she said. "well, go, a-mary's name, and may heaven speed you! ye leave here a poor maid that loves you entirely, and another that is most heartily your friend. be wary, for their sakes, and make not shipwreck of your safety." "ay," added joanna, "go, dick. ye run no more peril, whether ye go or stay. go; ye take my heart with you; the saints defend you!" dick passed the first sentry with so assured a countenance that the fellow merely fidgeted and stared; but at the second landing the man carried his spear across and bade him name his business. "_pax vobiscum,_" answered dick. "i go to pray over the body of this poor rutter." "like enough," returned the sentry; "but to go alone is not permitted you." he leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill. "one cometh!" he cried; and then motioned dick to pass. at the foot of the stair he found the guard afoot and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of the post ordered four men out to accompany him to the church. "let him not slip, my lads," he said. "bring him to sir oliver, on your lives!" the door was then opened; one of the men took dick by either arm, another marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on the string, brought up the rear. in this order they proceeded through the garden, under the thick darkness of the night and the scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly illuminated windows of the abbey church. at the western portal a picket of archers stood, taking what shelter they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with the snow; and it was not until dick's conductors had exchanged a word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of the sacred edifice. the church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private chapels of illustrious families. in the midst of the choir the dead spy lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier. a hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the choir, and on the steps of the high altar a priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass. upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures arose, and, coming down the steps which elevated the level of the choir above that of the nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought him to the church. out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge, empty building caught up their words, and hollowly repeated and repeated them along the aisles. "a monk!" returned sir oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the report of the archer. "my brother, i looked not for your coming," he added, turning to young shelton. "in all civility, who are ye? and at whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?" dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to sir oliver to move a pace or two aside from the archers; and, so soon as the priest had done so, "i cannot hope to deceive you, sir," he said. "my life is in your hands." sir oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a space he was silent. "richard," he said, "what brings you here, i know not; but i much misdoubt it to be evil. nevertheless, for the kindness that was, i would not willingly deliver you to harm. ye shall sit all night beside me in the stalls: ye shall sit there till my lord of shoreby be married, and the party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no evil, in the end ye shall go whither ye will. but if your purpose be bloody, it shall return upon your head. amen!" and the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the altar. with that, he spoke a few words more to the soldiers, and taking dick by the hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his own, where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions. his mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering. three of the soldiers, he observed, instead of returning to the house, had got them quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that they had done so by sir oliver's command. here, then, he was trapped. here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in the morning, he must see his sweetheart married to another man before his eyes. but, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built himself up in patience to await the issue. chapter iv in the abbey church in shoreby abbey church the prayers were kept up all night without cessation, now with the singing of psalms, now with a note or two upon the bell. rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. there he lay, meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead hands crossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning. once only, in the course of the hours, sir oliver leaned across to his captive. "richard," he whispered, "my son, if ye mean me evil, i will certify, on my soul's welfare, ye design upon an innocent man. sinful in the eye of heaven i do declare myself; but sinful as against you i am not, neither have been ever." "my father," returned dick, in the same tone of voice, "trust me, i design nothing; but as for your innocence, i may not forget that ye cleared yourself but lamely." "a man may be innocently guilty," replied the priest. "he may be set blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant of its true scope. so it was with me. i did decoy your father to his death; but as heaven sees us in this sacred place, i knew not what i did." "it may be," returned dick. "but see what a strange web ye have woven, that i should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge; that ye should both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. methinks, if ye had been all your life a true man and good priest, ye would neither thus fear nor thus detest me. and now to your prayers. i do obey you, since needs must; but i will not be burthened with your company." the priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had almost touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man borne down below a weight of care. he joined no longer in the psalms; but dick could hear the beads rattle though his fingers and the prayers a-pattering between his teeth. yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to struggle through the painted casements of the church, and to put to shame the glimmer of the tapers. the light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently through the southeastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the walls. the storm was over; the great clouds had disburthened their snow and fled farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry winter landscape sheathed in white. a bustle of church officers followed; the bier was carried forth to the deadhouse, and the stains of blood were cleansed from off the tiles, that no such ill-omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of lord shoreby. at the same time, the very ecclesiastics who had been so dismally engaged all night began to put on morning faces, to do honour to the merrier ceremony which was about to follow. and further to announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town began to assemble and fall to prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the confessionals. favoured by this stir, it was of course easily possible for any man to avoid the vigilance of sir daniel's sentries at the door; and presently dick, looking about him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than will lawless, still in his monk's habit. the outlaw, at the same moment, recognised his leader, and privily signed to him with hand and eye. now, dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him in his own predicament; and he signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to begone. lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a pillar, and dick breathed again. what, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked by the sleeve and to find the old robber installed beside him, upon the next seat, and, to all appearance, plunged in his devotions! instantly sir oliver arose from his place, and, gliding behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle. if the priest's suspicions had been so lightly wakened, the harm was already done, and lawless a prisoner in the church. "move not," whispered dick. "we are in the plaguiest pass, thanks, before all things, to thy swinishness of yestereven. when ye saw me here, so strangely seated where i have neither right nor interest, what a murrain! could ye not smell harm and get ye gone from evil?" "nay," returned lawless, "i thought ye had heard from ellis, and were here on duty." "ellis!" echoed dick. "is ellis, then, returned?" "for sure," replied the outlaw. "he came last night, and belted me sore for being in wine--so there ye are avenged, my master. a furious man is ellis duckworth! he hath ridden me hot-spur from craven to prevent this marriage; and, master dick, ye know the way of him--do so he will!" "nay, then," returned dick, with composure, "you and i, my poor brother, are dead men; for i sit here a prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was to answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar. i had a fair choice, by the rood! to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life! well, the cast is thrown--it is to be my life." "by the mass," cried lawless, half arising, "i am gone!" but dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder. "friend lawless, sit ye still," he said. "an ye have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the chancel arch; see ye not that, even upon the motion of your rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept you? yield ye, friend. ye were bold aboard ship, when ye thought to die a sea-death; be bold again, now that y'are to die presently upon the gallows." "master dick," gasped lawless, "the thing hath come upon me somewhat of the suddenest. but give me a moment till i fetch my breath again; and, by the mass, i will be as stout-hearted as yourself." "here is my bold fellow!" returned dick. "and yet, lawless, it goes hard against the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing, wherefore whine?" "nay, that indeed!" chimed lawless. "and a fig for death, at worst! it has to be done, my master, soon or late. and hanging in a good quarrel is an easy death, they say, though i could never hear of any that came back to say so." and so saying, the stout old rascal leaned back in his stall, folded his arms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and unconcern. "and for the matter of that," dick added, "it is yet our best chance to keep quiet. we wot not yet what duckworth purposes; and when all is said, and if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it." now that they ceased talking, they were aware of a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music which steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier. the bells in the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, and a greater and greater concourse of people to crowd into the church, shuffling the snow from off their feet, and clapping and blowing in their hands. the western door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the shrewd air of the morning; and in short, it became plain by every sign that lord shoreby desired to be married very early in the day, and that the wedding-train was drawing near. some of lord shoreby's men now cleared a passage down the middle aisle, forcing the people back with lance-stocks; and just then, outside the portal, the secular musicians could be descried drawing near over the frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet in the face with lusty blowing, the drummers and the cymbalists beating as for a wager. these, as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on either side, and, marking time to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the snow. as they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was the variety and gaiety of their attire, such the displays of silk and velvet, fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a wall. first came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as winter, clinging to sir daniel's arm, and attended, as bridesmaid, by the short young lady who had befriended dick the night before. close behind, in the most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot; and as he passed the threshold of the sacred building and doffed his hat, his bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion. and now came the hour of ellis duckworth. dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward, and eyes and arms uplifted. following these signs, he beheld three or four men with bent bows, leaning from the clerestory gallery. at the same instant they delivered their discharge, and before the clamour and cries of the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ear, they had flitted from their perch and disappeared. the nave was full of swaying heads and voices screaming; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased, and though the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even to the chamber where the ringers were leaping on their ropes, and they also desisted from their merry labours. right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows. the bride had fainted. sir daniel stood, towering above the crowd in his surprise and anger, a cloth-yard shaft quivering in his left forearm, and his face streaming blood from another which had grazed his brow. long before any search could be made for them, the authors of this tragic interruption had clattered down a turn-pike stair and decamped by a postern door. but dick and lawless still remained in pawn; they had, indeed, arisen on the first alarm, and pushed manfully to gain the door; but what with the narrowness of the stalls and the crowding of terrified priests and choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed their places. and now, pale with horror, sir oliver rose to his feet and called upon sir daniel, pointing with one hand to dick. "here," he cried, "is richard shelton--alas the hour!--blood guilty! seize him!--bid him be seized! for all our lives' sakes, take him and bind him surely! he hath sworn our fall." sir daniel was blinded by anger--blinded by the hot blood that still streamed across his face. [illustration: _first came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as the winter, clinging to sir daniel's arm_] "where?" he bellowed. "hale him forth! by the cross of holywood, but he shall rue this hour!" the crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid rough hands on dick, dragged him head-foremost from the stall, and thrust him by the shoulders down the chancel steps. lawless, on his part, sat as still as a mouse. sir daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared blinkingly upon his captive. "ay," he said, "treacherous and insolent, i have thee fast; and by all potent oaths, for every drop of blood that now trickles in mine eyes, i will wring a groan out of thy carcase. away with him!" he added. "here is no place! off with him to my house. i will number every joint of thy body with a torture." but dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his voice. "sanctuary!" he shouted. "sanctuary! ho, there, my fathers! they would drag me from the church!" "from the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy," added a tall man, magnificently dressed. "on what probation?" cried dick. "they do accuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have not proved one tittle. i was, in truth, a suitor for this damsel's hand; and she, i will be bold to say it, repaid my suit with favour. but what then? to love a maid is no offence, i trow--nay, nor to gain her love. in all else, i stand here free from guiltiness." there was a murmur of approval among the bystanders, so boldly dick declared his innocence; but at the same time a throng of accusers arose upon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in sir daniel's house, how he wore a sacrilegious disguise; and in the midst of the babel, sir oliver indicated lawless, both by voice and gesture, as accomplice to the fact. he, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and set beside his leader. the feelings of the crowd rose high on either side, and while some dragged the prisoners to and fro to favour their escape, others cursed and struck them with their fists. dick's ears rang and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling in the eddies of a furious river. but the tall man who had already answered dick, by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence and order in the mob. "search them," he said, "for arms. we may so judge of their intentions." upon dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his favour, until one man officiously drew it from its sheath, and found it still uncleansed of the blood of rutter. at this there was a great shout among sir daniel's followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture and an imperious glance. but when it came to the turn of lawless, there was found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had been shot. "how say ye now?" asked the tall man, frowningly, of dick. "sir," replied dick, "i am here in sanctuary, is it not so? well, sir, i see by your bearing that ye are high in station, and i read in your countenance the marks of piety and justice. to you, then, i will yield me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advantage of this holy place. but rather than to be yielded into the discretion of that man--whom i do here accuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my natural father and the unjust retainer of my lands and revenues--rather than that, i would beseech you, under favour, with your own gentle hand, to despatch me on the spot. your own ears have heard him, how before that i was proven guilty he did threaten me with torments. it standeth not with your own honour to deliver me to my sworn enemy and old oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that i be guilty indeed, to slay me mercifully." "my lord," cried sir daniel, "ye will not hearken to this wolf? his bloody dagger reeks him the lie into his face." "nay, but suffer me, good knight," returned the tall stranger; "your own vehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself." and here the bride, who had come to herself some minutes past and looked wildly on upon this scene, broke loose from those that held her, and fell upon her knees before the last speaker. "my lord of risingham," she cried, "hear me, in justice. i am here in this man's custody by mere force, reft from mine own people. since that day i had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the face of man--but from him only--richard shelton--whom they now accuse and labour to undo. my lord, if he was yesternight in sir daniel's mansion, it was i that brought him there; he came but at my prayer, and thought to do no hurt. while yet sir daniel was a good lord to him, he fought with them of the black arrow loyally; but when his foul guardian sought his life by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul's sake, out of that bloody house, whither was he to turn--he, helpless and penniless? or if he be fallen among ill company, whom should ye blame--the lad that was unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust?" and then the short young lady fell on her knees by joanna's side. "and i, my good lord and natural uncle," she added, "i can bear testimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this maiden saith is true. it was i, unworthy, that did lead the young man in." earl risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased, he still stood silent for a space. then he gave joanna his hand to arise, though it was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who had called herself his niece. "sir daniel," he said, "here is a right intricate affair, the which, with your good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust. content ye, then; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and in the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have your hurts attended. the air is shrewd, and i would not ye took cold upon these scratches." he made a sign with his hand; it was passed down the nave by obsequious servants, who waited there upon his smallest gesture. instantly, without the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal archers and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the colours and wearing the badge of lord risingham, began to file into the church, took dick and lawless from those who still detained them, and closing their files about the prisoners, marched forth again and disappeared. as they were passing, joanna held both her hands to dick and cried him her farewell; and the bridesmaid, nothing downcast by her uncle's evident displeasure, blew him a kiss, with a "keep your heart up, lion-driver!" that for the first time since the accident called up a smile to the faces of the crowd. chapter v earl risingham earl risingham, although by far the most important person then in shoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the extreme outskirts of the town. nothing but the armed men at the doors, and the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced the temporary residence of a great lord. thus it was that, from lack of space, dick and lawless were clapped into the same apartment. "well spoken, master richard," said the outlaw; "it was excellently well spoken, and, for my part, i thank you cordially. here we are in good hands; we shall be justly tried, and, some time this evening, decently hanged on the same tree." "indeed, my poor friend, i do believe it," answered dick. "yet have we a string to our bow," returned lawless. "ellis duckworth is a man out of ten thousand; he holdeth you right near his heart, both for your own and for your father's sake; and knowing you guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and heaven to bear you clear." "it may not be," said dick. "what can he do? he hath but a handful. alack, if it were but to-morrow--could i but keep a certain tryst an hour before noon to-morrow--all were, i think, otherwise. but now there is no help." "well," concluded lawless, "an ye will stand to it for my innocence, i will stand to it for yours, and that stoutly. it shall naught avail us; but an i be to hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing." and then, while dick gave himself over to his reflections, the old rogue curled himself down into a corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, and composed himself to sleep. soon he was loudly snoring, so utterly had his long life of hardship and adventure blunted the sense of apprehension. it was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door was opened and dick taken forth and led up-stairs to where, in a warm cabinet, earl risingham sat musing over the fire. on his captive's entrance he looked up. "sir," he said, "i knew your father, who was a man of honour, and this inclineth me to be the more lenient; but i may not hide from you that heavy charges lie against your character. ye do consort with murderers and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have carried war against the king's peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye are found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy's house; a man is slain that very evening----" "an it like you, my lord," dick interposed, "i will at once avow my guilt, such as it is. i slew this fellow rutter; and to the proof"--searching in his bosom--"here is a letter from his wallet." lord risingham took the letter, and opened and read it twice. "ye have read this?" he inquired. "i have read it," answered dick. "are ye for york or lancaster?" the earl demanded. "my lord, it was but a little while back that i was asked that question, and knew not how to answer it," said dick; "but having answered once, i will not vary. my lord, i am for york." the earl nodded approvingly. "honestly replied," he said. "but wherefore, then, deliver me this letter?" "nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides arrayed?" cried dick. "i would they were, young gentleman," returned the earl; "and i do at least approve your saying. there is more youth than guile in you, i do perceive; and were not sir daniel a mighty man upon our side, i were half tempted to espouse your quarrel. for i have inquired, and it appears ye have been hardly dealt with, and have much excuse. but look ye, sir, i am, before all else, a leader in the queen's interest; and though by nature a just man, as i believe, and leaning even to the excess of mercy, yet must i order my goings for my party's interest, and, to keep sir daniel, i would go far about." "my lord," returned dick, "ye will think me very bold to counsel you; but do ye count upon sir daniel's faith? methought he had changed sides intolerably often." "nay, it is the way of england. what would ye have?" the earl demanded. "but ye are unjust to the knight of tunstall; and as faith goes, in this unfaithful generation, he hath of late been honourably true to us of lancaster. even in our last reverses he stood firm." "an it pleased you, then," said dick, "to cast your eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change your thought of him"; and he handed to the earl sir daniel's letter to lord wensleydale. the effect upon the earl's countenance was instant; he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. "ye have read this also?" he asked. "even so," said dick. "it is your lordship's own estate he offers to lord wensleydale?" "it is my own estate, even as ye say!" returned the earl. "i am your bedesman for this letter. it hath shown me a fox's hole. command me, master shelton; i will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with, york or lancaster, true man or thief, i do now set you at freedom. go, a-mary's name! but judge it right that i retain and hang your fellow, lawless. the crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some open punishment should follow." "my lord, i make it my first suit to you to spare him also," pleaded dick. "it is an old, condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, master shelton," said the earl. "he hath been gallows-ripe this score of years. and, whether for one thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after, where is the great choice?" "yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither," answered dick, "and i were churlish and thankless to desert him." "master shelton, ye are troublesome," replied the earl, severely. "it is an evil way to prosper in this world. howbeit, and to be quit of your importunity, i will once more humour you. go, then, together; but go warily, and get swiftly out of shoreby town. for this sir daniel (whom may the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to have your blood." "my lord, i do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some brief date to pay you some of it in service," replied dick, as he turned from the apartment. chapter vi arblaster again when dick and lawless were suffered to steal, by a back way, out of the house where lord risingham held his garrison, the evening had already come. they paused in shelter of the garden wall to consult on their best course. the danger was extreme. if one of sir daniel's men caught sight of them and raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and butchered instantly. and not only was the town of shoreby a mere net of peril for their lives, but to make for the open country was to run the risk of the patrols. a little way off, upon some open ground, they spied a windmill standing; and hard by that, a very large granary with open doors. "how if we lay there until the night fall?" dick proposed. and lawless having no better suggestion to offer, they made a straight push for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door among some straw. the daylight rapidly departed; and presently the moon was silvering the frozen snow. now or never was their opportunity to gain the goat and bagpipes unobserved and change their tell-tale garments. yet even then it was advisable to go round by the outskirts, and not run the gauntlet of the market-place, where, in the concourse of people, they stood the more imminent peril to be recognised and slain. this course was a long one. it took them not far from the house by the beach, now lying dark and silent, and brought them forth at last by the margin of the harbour. many of the ships, as they could see by the clear moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profiting by the calm sky, proceeded for more distant parts; answerably to this, the rude alehouses along the beach (although, in defiance of the curfew law, they still shone with fire and candle) were no longer thronged with customers, and no longer echoed to the chorus of sea-songs. hastily, half running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee, they plunged through the deep snow and threaded the labyrinth of marine lumber; and they were already more than half-way round the harbour when, as they were passing close before an alehouse, the door suddenly opened and let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures. instantly they stopped, and made believe to be engaged in earnest conversation. three men, one after another, came out of the alehouse, and the last closed the door behind him. all three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood wavering in the moonlight, like men who knew not what they would be after. the tallest of the three was talking in a loud, lamentable voice. "seven pieces of as good gascony as ever a tapster broached," he was saying, "the best ship out o' the port o' dartmouth, a virgin mary parcel-gilt, thirteen pounds of good gold money----" "i have had losses, too," interrupted one of the others. "i have had losses of mine own, gossip arblaster. i was robbed at martinmas of five shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing." dick's heart smote him at what he heard. until that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss of the _good hope_; so careless, in those days, were men who wore arms of the goods and interests of their inferiors. but this sudden encounter reminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill-ending of his enterprise; and both he and lawless turned their heads the other way, to avoid the chance of recognition. the ship's dog had, however, made his escape from the wreck and found his way back again to shoreby. he was now at arblaster's heels, and suddenly sniffing and pricking his ears, he darted forward and began to bark furiously at the two sham friars. his master unsteadily followed him. "hey, shipmates!" he cried. "have ye ever a penny piece for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed by pirates? i am a man that would have paid for you both o' thursday morning; and now here i be, o' saturday night, begging for a flagon of ale! ask my man tom, if ye misdoubt me. seven pieces of good gascon wine, a ship that was mine own, and was my father's before me, a blessed mary of plane-tree wood and parcel-gilt, and thirteen pounds in gold and silver. hey! what say ye? a man that fought the french, too; for i have fought the french; i have cut more french throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails out of dartmouth. come, a penny piece." neither dick nor lawless durst answer him a word, lest he should recognise their voices; and they stood there as helpless as a ship ashore, not knowing where to turn nor what to hope. "are ye dumb, boy?" inquired the skipper. "mates," he added, with a hiccup, "they be dumb. i like not this manner of discourtesy; for an a man be dumb, so be as he's courteous, he will still speak when he was spoken to, methinks." by this time the sailor, tom, who was a man of great personal strength, seemed to have conceived some suspicion of these two speechless figures; and being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly before him, took lawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that he held his tongue. to this the outlaw, thinking all was over, made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand, and, calling upon dick to follow him, took to his heels among the lumber. the affair passed in a second. before dick could run at all, arblaster had him in his arms; tom, crawling on his face, had caught him by one foot, and the third man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above his head. it was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance, that now bowed down the spirits of young shelton; it was the profound humiliation to have escaped sir daniel, convinced lord risingham, and now fall helpless in the hands of this old, drunken sailor; and not merely helpless, but, as his conscience loudly told him when it was too late, actually guilty--actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he had stolen and lost. "bring me him back into the alehouse, till i see his face," said arblaster. "nay, nay," returned tom; "but let us first unload his wallet, lest the other lads cry share." but though he was searched from head to foot, not a penny was found upon him; nothing but lord foxham's signet, which they plucked savagely from his finger. "turn me him to the moon," said the skipper; and taking dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his head into the air. "blessed virgin!" he cried, "it is the pirate!" "hey!" cried tom. "by the virgin of bordeaux, it is the man himself!" repeated arblaster. "what, sea-thief, do i hold you?" he cried. "where is my ship? where is my wine? hey! have i you in my hands? tom, give me one end of a cord here; i will so truss me this sea-thief, hand and foot together, like a basting turkey--marry, i will so bind him up--and thereafter i will so beat--so beat him!" and so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about dick's limbs with the dexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull. when he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands--as helpless as the dead. the skipper held him at arm's length, and laughed aloud. then he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him about, and furiously kicked and kicked him. anger rose up in dick's bosom like a storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped him all his length upon the sand and turned to consult with his companions, he instantly regained command of his temper. here was a momentary respite; ere they began again to torture him, he might have found some method to escape from this degrading and fatal misadventure. presently, sure enough, and while his captors were still discussing what to do with him, he took heart of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, addressed them. "my masters," he began, "are ye gone clean foolish? here hath heaven put into your hands as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman had--such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not find again--and, by the mass! what do ye? beat me?--nay; so would an angry child! but for long-headed tarry-johns, that fear not fire nor water, and that love gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise." "ay," said tom, "now y'are trussed ye would cozen us." "cozen you!" repeated dick. "nay, if ye be fools, it would be easy. but if ye be shrewd fellows, as i trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your interest lies. when i took your ship from you, we were many, we were well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that array? one incontestably that hath much gold. and if he, being already rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face of storms--bethink you once more--shall there not be a treasure somewhere hidden?" "what meaneth he?" asked one of the men. "why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine," continued dick, "forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather buckle to an adventure worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make or mar you for ever. but take me up from where i lie, and let us go somewhere near at hand and talk across a flagon, for i am sore and frozen, and my mouth is half among the snow." "he seeks but to cozen us," said tom, contemptuously. "cozen! cozen!" cried the third man. "i would i could see the man that could cozen me! he were a cozener indeed! nay, i was not born yesterday. i can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for my part, gossip arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man. shall we go hear him, indeed? say, shall we go hear him?" "i would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good master pirret," returned arblaster. "how say ye, tom? but then the wallet is empty." "i will pay," said the other--"i will pay. i would fain see this matter out; i do believe, upon my conscience, there is gold in it." "nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!" cried tom. "gossip arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too much liberty," returned master pirret. "would ye be led by a hired man? fy, fy!" "peace, fellow!" said arblaster, addressing tom. "will ye put your oar in? truly a fine pass, when the crew is to correct the skipper!" "well, then, go your way," said tom; "i wash my hands of you." "set him, then, upon his feet," said master pirret. "i know a privy place where we may drink and discourse." "if i am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at liberty," said dick, when he had been once more planted upright like a post. "he saith true," laughed pirret. "truly, he could not walk accoutred as he is. give it a slit--out with your knife and slit it, gossip." even arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his companion continued to insist, and dick had the sense to keep the merest wooden indifference of expression, and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied his prisoner's feet and legs. not only did this enable dick to walk; but the whole network of his bonds being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back begin to move more freely, and could hope, with time and trouble, to entirely disengage it. so much he owed already to the owlish silliness and greed of master pirret. that worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted them to the very same rude alehouse where lawless had taken arblaster on the day of the gale. it was now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, radiating the most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the landlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both pirret and arblaster stretched forth their legs and squared their elbows like men bent upon a pleasant hour. the table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a pair of barrels; and each of the four curiously-assorted cronies sat at one side of the square, pirret facing arblaster, and dick opposite to the common sailor. "and now, young man," said pirret, "to your tale. it doth appear, indeed, that ye have somewhat abused our gossip arblaster; but what then? make it up to him--show him but this chance to become wealthy--and i will go pledge he will forgive you." so far dick had spoken pretty much at random; but it was now necessary, under the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the all-important signet. to squander time was the first necessity. the longer his stay lasted, the more would his captors drink, and the surer should he be when he attempted his escape. well, dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much the tale of ali baba, with shoreby and tunstall forest substituted for the east, and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than diminished. as the reader is aware, it is an excellent story, and has but one drawback--that it is not true; and so, as these three simple shipmen now heard it for the first time, their eyes stood out of their faces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger's. pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while dick was still artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed the second. here was the position of the parties towards the end: arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his stool. even tom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated in proportion. meanwhile, dick had gradually wormed his right arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to risk all. "and so," said pirret, "y'are one of these?" "i was made so," replied dick, "against my will; but an i could but get a sack or two of gold coin to my share, i should be a fool indeed to continue dwelling in a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a soldier. here be we four; good! let us, then, go forth into the forest to-morrow ere the sun be up. could we come honestly by a donkey, it were better; but an we cannot, we have our four strong backs, and i warrant me we shall come home staggering." pirret licked his lips. "and this magic," he said--"this password, whereby the cave is opened--how call ye it, friend?" "nay, none know the word but the three chiefs," returned dick; "but here is your great good fortune, that, on this very evening, i should be the bearer of a spell to open it. it is a thing not trusted twice a year beyond the captain's wallet." "a spell!" said arblaster, half awakening, and squinting upon dick with one eye. "aroint thee! no spells! i be a good christian. ask my man tom, else." "nay, but this is white magic," said dick. "it doth naught with the devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets." "ay, ay," said pirret; "'tis but white magic, gossip. there is no sin therein, i do assure you. but proceed, good youth. this spell--in what should it consist?" "nay, that i will incontinently show you," answered dick. "have ye there the ring ye took from my finger? good! now hold it forth before you by the extreme finger-ends, at the arm's length, and over against the shining of these embers. 'tis so exactly. thus, then, is the spell." with a haggard glance, dick saw the coast was clear between him and the door. he put up an internal prayer. then whipping forth his arm, he made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same instant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon the seaman tom. he, poor soul, went down bawling under the ruins; and before arblaster understood that anything was wrong, or pirret could collect his dazzled wits, dick had run to the door and escaped into the moonlit night. the moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the open ground about the harbour bright as day; and young shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber, was a conspicuous figure from afar. tom and pirret followed him with shouts; from every drinking-shop they were joined by others whom their cries aroused; and presently a whole fleet of sailors was in full pursuit. but jack ashore was a bad runner, even in the fifteenth century, and dick, besides, had a start, which he rapidly improved, until, as he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane, he even paused and looked laughingly behind him. upon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen of shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and tailing out rearward in isolated clumps. every man was shouting or screaming; every man was gesticulating with both arms in air; some one was continually falling; and to complete the picture, when one fell, a dozen would fall upon the top of him. the confused mass of sound which they rolled up as high as to the moon was partly comical and partly terrifying to the fugitive whom they were hunting. in itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman in the port could run him down. but the mere volume of noise, in so far as it must awake all the sleepers in shoreby and bring all the skulking sentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the front. so, spying a dark doorway at a corner, he whipped briskly into it, and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all red with hurry and white with tumbles in the snow. it was a long while, indeed, before this great invasion of the town by the harbour came to an end, and it was long before silence was restored. for long, lost sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting through the streets in all directions and in every quarter of the town. quarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than one dead body remained behind upon the snow. when, a full hour later, the last seaman returned grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular tavern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was absolutely sure that he had now forgotten. by next morning there were many strange stories flying; and a little while after, the legend of the devil's nocturnal visit was an article of faith with all the lads of shoreby. but the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, set free young shelton from his cold imprisonment in the doorway. for some time after, there was a great activity of patrols; and special parties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or other of the great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually broken. the night was already well spent before dick ventured from his hiding-place and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the goat and bagpipes. as the law required, there was neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found an end of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders, and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost in slumber. book v crookback chapter i the shrill trumpet very early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, dick arose, changed his garments, armed himself once more like a gentleman, and set forth for lawless's den in the forest. there, it will be remembered, he had left lord foxham's papers; and to get these and be back in time for the tryst with the young duke of gloucester could only be managed by an early start and the most vigorous walking. the frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril. the moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear and cheerful. there was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least temptation to delay. dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between shoreby and the forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred yards below the cross of st. bride, when, through the stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he thought he had never heard the match of it for audibility. it was blown once, and then hurriedly a second time; and then the clash of steel succeeded. at this young shelton pricked his ears, and drawing his sword, ran forward up the hill. presently he came in sight of the cross, and was aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road before it. there were seven or eight assailants, and but one to keep head against them; but so active and dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge and scatter his opponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the whole in check. still, it was by a miracle that he continued his defence, and at any moment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life would be a forfeit. "hold ye well, sir! here is help!" cried richard; and forgetting that he was alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular, "to the arrow! to the arrow!" he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants. these were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at this surprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon dick. four against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight; the sparks flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell--in the stir of the fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the head, and though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill-sail. [illustration: _there were seven or eight assailants, and but one to keep head against them_] meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced trumpet that began the alarm. next moment, indeed, his foes were on him, and he was once more charging and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to his knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand, with the same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed. but that ear-piercing summons had been heard at last. there was a muffled rushing in the snow; and in a good hour for dick, who saw the sword-points glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, and with visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or his sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to speak, a passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after another from their perches, and had presently doubled the array. the original assailants, seeing themselves outnumbered and surrounded, threw down their arms without a word. "seize me these fellows!" said the hero of the trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he drew near to dick and looked him in the face. dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find in one who had displayed such strength, skill, and energy, a lad no older than himself--slightly deformed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance.[ ] the eyes, however, were very clear and bold. [ ] richard crookback would have been really far younger at this date. "sir," said this lad, "ye came in good time for me, and none too early." "my lord," returned dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence of a great personage, "ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman that i believe ye had managed them single-handed. howbeit, it was certainly well for me that your men delayed no longer than they did." "how knew ye who i was?" demanded the stranger. "even now, my lord," dick answered, "i am ignorant of whom i speak with." "is it so?" asked the other. "and yet ye threw yourself head-first into this unequal battle." "i saw one man valiantly contending against many," replied dick, "and i had thought myself dishonoured not to bear him aid." a singular sneer played about the young nobleman's mouth as he made answer: "these are very brave words. but to the more essential--are ye lancaster or york?" "my lord, i make no secret; i am clear for york," dick answered. "by the mass!" replied the other, "it is well for you." and so saying, he turned towards one of his followers. "let me see," he continued, in the same sneering and cruel tones--"let me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen. truss me them up." there were but five survivors of the attacking party. archers seized them by the arms; they were hurried to the borders of the wood, and each placed below a tree of suitable dimension; the rope was adjusted; an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered overhead; and before a minute was over, and without a word passing upon either hand, the five men were swinging by the neck. "and now," cried the deformed leader, "back to your posts, and when i summon you next, be readier to attend." "my lord duke," said one man, "beseech you, tarry not here alone. keep but a handful of lances at your hand." "fellow," said the duke, "i have forborne to chide you for your slowness. cross me not, therefore. i trust my hand and arm, for all that i be crooked. ye were backwards when the trumpet sounded; and ye are now too forward with your counsels. but it is ever so; last with the lance and first with tongue. let it be reversed." and with a gesture that was not without a sort of dangerous nobility, he waved them off. the footmen climbed again to their seats behind the men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away and disappeared in twenty different directions, under the cover of the forest. the day was by this time beginning to break, and the stars to fade. the first grey glimmer of dawn shone upon the countenances of the two young men, who now turned once more to face each other. "here," said the duke, "ye have seen my vengeance, which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready. but i would not have you, for all christendom, suppose me thankless. you that came to my aid with a good sword and a better courage--unless that ye recoil from my misshapeness--come to my heart." and so saying, the young leader held out his arms for an embrace. in the bottom of his heart dick already entertained a great terror and some hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so worded that it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, to refuse or hesitate; and he hastened to comply. "and now, my lord duke," he said, when he had regained his freedom, "do i suppose aright? are ye my lord duke of gloucester?" "i am richard of gloucester," returned the other. "and you--how call they you?" dick told him his name, and presented lord foxham's signet, which the duke immediately recognised. "ye come too soon," he said; "but why should i complain? ye are like me, that was here at watch two hours before the day. but this is the first sally of mine arms; upon this adventure, master shelton, shall i make or mar the quality of my renown. there lie mine enemies, under two old, skilled captains--risingham and brackley--well posted for strength, i do believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, enclosed betwixt the sea, the harbour, and the river. methinks, shelton, here were a great blow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly." "i do think so, indeed," cried dick, warming. "have ye my lord foxham's notes?" inquired the duke. and then, dick, having explained how he was without them for the moment, made himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own knowledge. "and for mine own part, my lord duke," he added, "an ye had men enough, i would fall on even at this present. for, look ye, at the peep of day the watches of the night are over; but by day they keep neither watch nor ward--only scour the outskirts with horsemen. now, then, when the night watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their morning cup--now were the time to break them." "how many do ye count?" asked gloucester. "they number not two thousand," dick replied. "i have seven hundred in the woods behind us," said the duke; "seven hundred follow from kettley, and will be here anon; behind these, and further, are four hundred more; and my lord foxham hath five hundred half a day from here, at holywood. shall we attend their coming, or fall on?" "my lord," said dick, "when ye hanged these five poor rogues ye did decide the question. churls although they were, in these uneasy times they will be lacked and looked for, and the alarm be given. therefore, my lord, if ye do count upon the advantage of a surprise, ye have not, in my poor opinion, one whole hour in front of you." "i do think so indeed," returned crookback. "well, before an hour, ye shall be in the thick on't, winning spurs. a swift man to holywood, carrying lord foxham's signet; another along the road to speed my laggards! nay, shelton, by the rood, it may be done!" therewith he once more set his trumpet to his lips and blew. this time he was not long kept waiting. in a moment the open space about the cross was filled with horse and foot. richard of gloucester took his place upon the steps, and despatched messenger after messenger to hasten the concentration of the seven hundred men that lay hidden in the immediate neighbourhood among the woods; and before a quarter of an hour had passed, all his dispositions being taken, he put himself at their head, and began to move down the hill towards shoreby. his plan was simple. he was to seize a quarter of the town of shoreby lying on the right hand of the highroad and make his position good there in the narrow lanes until his reinforcements followed. if lord risingham chose to retreat, richard would follow upon his rear, and take him between two fires; or, if he preferred to hold the town, he would be shut in a trap, there to be gradually overwhelmed by force of numbers. there was but one danger, but that was imminent and great--gloucester's seven hundred might be rolled up and cut to pieces in the first encounter, and, to avoid this, it was needful to make the surprise of their arrival as complete as possible. the footmen, therefore, were all once more taken up behind the riders, and dick had the signal honour meted out to him of mounting behind gloucester himself. for as far as there was any cover the troops moved slowly, and when they came near the end of the trees that lined the highway, stopped to breathe and reconnoitre. the sun was now well up, shining with a frosty brightness out of a yellow halo, and right over against the luminary, shoreby, a field of snowy roofs and ruddy gables, was rolling up its columns of morning smoke. gloucester turned round to dick. "in that poor place," he said, "where people are cooking breakfast, either you shall gain your spurs and i begin a life of mighty honour and glory in the world's eye, or both of us, as i conceive it, shall fall dead and be unheard of. two richards are we. well, then, richard shelton, they shall be heard about, these two! their swords shall not ring more loudly on men's helmets than their names shall ring in people's ears." dick was astonished at so great a hunger after fame, expressed with so great vehemence of voice and language, and he answered very sensibly and quietly, that, for his part, he promised he would do his duty, and doubted not of victory if every one did the like. by this time the horses were well breathed, and the leader holding up his, sword and giving rein, the whole troop of chargers broke into the gallop and thundered, with their double load of fighting men, down the remainder of the hill and across the snow-covered plain that still divided them from shoreby. chapter ii the battle of shoreby the whole distance to be crossed was not above a quarter of a mile. but they had no sooner debouched beyond the cover of the trees than they were aware of people fleeing and screaming in the snowy meadows upon either hand. almost at the same moment a great rumour began to arise, and spread and grow continually louder in the town; and they were not yet half-way to the nearest house before the bells began to ring backwards from the steeple. the young duke ground his teeth together. by these so early signals of alarm he feared to find his enemies prepared; and if he failed to gain a footing in the town, he knew that his small party would soon be broken and exterminated in the open. in the town, however, the lancastrians were far from being in so good a posture. it was as dick had said. the night-guard had already doffed their harness; the rest were still hanging--unlatched, unbraced, all unprepared for battle--about their quarters; and in the whole of shoreby there were not, perhaps, fifty men full armed, or fifty chargers ready to be mounted. the beating of the bells, the terrifying summons of men who ran about the streets crying and beating upon the doors, aroused in an incredibly short space at least two-score out of that half-hundred. these got speedily to horse, and, the alarm still flying wild and contrary, galloped in different directions. thus it befell that, when richard of gloucester reached the first house of shoreby, he was met in the mouth of the street by a mere handful of lances, whom he swept before his onset as the storm chases the bark. a hundred paces into the town, dick shelton touched the duke's arm; the duke, in answer, gathered his reins, put the shrill trumpet to his mouth, and blowing a concerted point, turned to the right hand out of the direct advance. swerving like a single rider, his whole command turned after him, and, still at the full gallop of the chargers, swept up the narrow by-street. only the last score of riders drew rein and faced about in the entrance; the footmen, whom they carried behind them, leapt at the same instant to the earth, and began, some to bend their bows, and others to break into and secure the houses upon either hand. surprised at this sudden change of direction, and daunted by the firm front of the rear-guard, the few lancastrians, after a momentary consultation, turned and rode farther into town to seek for reinforcements. the quarter of the town upon which, by the advice of dick, richard of gloucester had now seized, consisted of five small streets of poor and ill-inhabited houses, occupying a very gentle eminence, and lying open towards the back. the five streets being each secured by a good guard, the reserve would thus occupy the centre, out of shot, and yet ready to carry aid wherever it was needed. such was the poorness of the neighbourhood that none of the lancastrian lords, and but few of their retainers, had been lodged therein; and the inhabitants, with one accord, deserted their houses and fled, squalling, along the streets or over garden walls. in the centre, where the five ways all met, a somewhat ill-favoured alehouse displayed the sign of the chequers; and here the duke of gloucester chose his headquarters for the day. to dick he assigned the guard of one of the five streets. "go," he said, "win your spurs. win glory for me: one richard for another. i tell you, if i rise, ye shall rise by the same ladder. go," he added, shaking him by the hand. but, as soon as dick was gone, he turned to a little shabby archer at his elbow. "go, dutton, and that right speedily," he added. "follow that lad. if ye find him faithful, ye answer for his safety, a head for a head. woe unto you, if ye return without him! but if he be faithless--or, for one instant, ye misdoubt him--stab him from behind." in the meanwhile dick hastened to secure his post. the street he had to guard was very narrow, and closely lined with houses, which projected and overhung the roadway; but narrow and dark as it was, since it opened upon the market-place of the town, the main issue of the battle would probably fall to be decided on that spot. the market-place was full of townspeople fleeing in disorder; but there was as yet no sign of any foeman ready to attack, and dick judged he had some time before him to make ready his defence. the two houses at the end stood deserted, with open doors, as the inhabitants had left them in their flight, and from these he had the furniture hastily tossed forth and piled into a barrier in the entry of the lane. a hundred men were placed at his disposal, and of these he threw the more part into the houses, where they might lie in shelter and deliver their arrows from the windows. with the rest, under his own immediate eye, he lined the barricade. meanwhile the utmost uproar and confusion had continued to prevail throughout the town; and what with the hurried clashing of bells, the sounding of trumpets, the swift movement of bodies of horse, the cries of the commanders, and the shrieks of women, the noise was almost deafening to the ear. presently, little by little, the tumult began to subside; and soon after, files of men in armour and bodies of archers began to assemble and form in line of battle in the market-place. a large portion of this body were in murrey and blue, and in the mounted knight who ordered their array dick recognised sir daniel brackley. then there befell a long pause, which was followed by the almost simultaneous sounding of four trumpets from four different quarters of the town. a fifth rang in answer from the market-place, and at the same moment the files began to move, and a shower of arrows rattled about the barricade, and sounded like blows upon the walls of the two flanking houses. the attack had begun, by a common signal, on all the five issues of the quarter. gloucester was beleaguered upon every side; and dick judged, if he would make good his post, he must rely entirely on the hundred men of his command. seven volleys of arrows followed one upon the other, and in the very thick of the discharges dick was touched from behind upon the arm, and found a page holding out to him a leathern jack, strengthened with bright plates of mail. "it is from my lord of gloucester," said the page. "he hath observed, sir richard, that ye went unarmed." dick, with a glow at his heart at being so addressed, got to his feet and, with the assistance of the page, donned the defensive coat. even as he did so, two arrows rattled harmlessly upon the plates, and a third struck down the page, mortally wounded, at his feet. meantime the whole body of the enemy had been steadily drawing nearer across the market-place; and by this time were so close at hand that dick gave the order to return their shot. immediately, from behind the barrier and from the windows of the houses, a counterblast of arrows sped, carrying death. but the lancastrians, as if they had but waited for a signal, shouted loudly in answer; and began to close at a run upon the barrier, the horsemen still hanging back, with visors lowered. then followed an obstinate and deadly struggle, hand to hand. the assailants, wielding their falchions with one hand, strove with the other to drag down the structure of the barricade. on the other side, the parts were reversed; and the defenders exposed themselves like madmen to protect their rampart. so for some minutes the contest raged almost in silence, friend and foe falling one upon another. but it is always the easier to destroy; and when a single note upon the tucket recalled the attacking party from this desperate service, much of the barricade had been removed piecemeal, and the whole fabric had sunk to half its height, and tottered to a general fall. and now the footmen in the market-place fell back, at a run, on every side. the horsemen, who had been standing in a line two deep, wheeled suddenly, and made their flank into their front; and as swift as a striking adder, the long, steel-clad column was launched upon the ruinous barricade. of the first two horsemen, one fell, rider and steed, and was ridden down by his companions. the second leaped clean upon the summit of the rampart, transpiercing an archer with his lance. almost in the same instant he was dragged from the saddle and his horse despatched. and then the full weight and impetus of the charge burst upon and scattered the defenders. the men-at-arms, surmounting their fallen comrades, and carried onward by the fury of their onslaught, dashed through dick's broken line and poured thundering up the lane beyond, as a stream bestrides and pours across a broken dam. yet was the fight not over. still, in the narrow jaws of the entrance, dick and a few survivors plied their bills like woodmen; and already, across the width of the passage, there had been formed a second, a higher, and a more effectual rampart of fallen men and disembowelled horses, lashing in the agonies of death. baffled by this fresh obstacle, the remainder of the cavalry fell back; and as, at the sight of this movement, the flight of arrows redoubled from the casements of the houses, their retreat had, for a moment, almost degenerated into flight. almost at the same time, those who had crossed the barricade and charged farther up the street, being met before the door of the chequers by the formidable hunchback and the whole reserve of the yorkists, began to come scattering backwards, in the excess of disarray and terror. dick and his fellows faced about, fresh men poured out of the houses; a cruel blast of arrows met the fugitives full in the face, while gloucester was already riding down their rear; in the inside of a minute and a half there was no living lancastrian in the street. then, and not till then, did dick hold up his reeking blade and give the word to cheer. meanwhile gloucester dismounted from his horse and came forward to inspect the post. his face was as pale as linen; but his eyes shone in his head like some strange jewel, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse and broken with the exultation of battle and success. he looked at the rampart, which neither friend nor foe could now approach without precaution, so fiercely did the horses struggle in the throes of death, and at the sight of that great carnage he smiled upon one side. "despatch these horses," he said; "they keep you from your vantage. richard shelton," he added, "ye have pleased me. kneel." the lancastrians had already resumed their archery, and the shafts fell thick in the mouth of the street; but the duke, minding them not at all, deliberately drew his sword and dubbed richard a knight upon the spot. "and now, sir richard," he continued, "if that ye see lord risingham, send me an express upon the instant. were it your last man, let me hear of it incontinently. i had rather venture the post than lose my stroke at him. for mark me, all of ye," he added, raising his voice, "if earl risingham fall by another hand than mine, i shall count this victory a defeat." "my lord duke," said one of his attendants, "is your grace not weary of exposing his dear life unneedfully? why tarry we here?" "catesby," returned the duke, "here is the battle, not elsewhere. the rest are but feigned onslaughts. here must we vanquish. and for the exposure--if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you upon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory worth a life. howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other posts. sir richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry, where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. him can we trust. but mark it, sir richard, ye are not yet done. the worst is yet to ward. sleep not." he came right up to young shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and taking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the blood had nearly spurted. dick quailed before his eyes. the insane excitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein filled him with dismay about the future. this young duke's was indeed a gallant spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in the days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it was to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of death. chapter iii the battle of shoreby (concluded) dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him. the arrow-shot had somewhat slackened. on all sides the enemy were falling back; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered all over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered arrows. on his own side the loss had been cruel. the jaws of the little street and the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and out of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not seventy left who could still stand to arms. at the same time, the day was passing. the first reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any moment; and the lancastrians, already shaken by the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an ill temper to support a fresh invader. there was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and this, in the frosty winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon. dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant archer, binding a cut in his arm. "it was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge us twice." "sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought right well for york, and better for yourself. never hath man in so brief space prevailed so greatly on the duke's affections. that he should have entrusted such a post to one he knew not is a marvel. but look to your head, sir richard! if ye be vanquished--ay, if ye give way one foot's breadth--axe or cord shall punish it; and i am set if ye do aught doubtful, i will tell you honestly, here to stab you from behind." dick looked at the little man in amaze. "you!" he cried. "and from behind!" "it is right so," returned the archer; "and because i like not the affair i tell it you. ye must make the post good, sir richard, at your peril. o, our crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior; but, whether in cold blood or in hot, he will have all things done exact to his commandment. if any fail or hinder, they shall die the death." "now, by the saints!" cried richard, "is this so? and will men follow such a leader?" "nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the other; "for if he be exact to punish, he is most open-handed to reward. and if he spare not the blood and sweat of others, he is ever liberal of his own, still in the first front of battle, still the last to sleep. he will go far, will crookback dick o' gloucester!" the young knight, if he had before been brave and vigilant, was now all the more inclined to watchfulness and courage. his sudden favour, he began to perceive, had brought perils in its train. and he turned from the archer, and once more scanned anxiously the market-place. it lay empty as before. "i like not this quietude," he said. "doubtless they prepare us some surprise." and, as if in answer to his remark, the archers began once more to advance against the barricade, and the arrows to fall thick. but there was something hesitating in the attack. they came not on roundly, but seemed rather to await a further signal. dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a hidden danger. and sure enough, about half-way up the little street, a door was suddenly opened from within, and the house continued, for some seconds, and both by door and window, to disgorge a torrent of lancastrian archers. these, as they leaped down, hurriedly stood to their ranks, bent their bows, and proceeded to pour upon dick's rear a flight of arrows. at the same time, the assailants in the market-place redoubled their shot, and began to close in stoutly upon the barricade. dick called down his whole command out of the houses, and facing them both ways, and encouraging their valour both by word and gesture, returned as best he could the double shower of shafts that fell about his post. meanwhile house after house was opened in the street, and the lancastrians continued to pour out of the doors and leap down from the windows, shouting victory, until the number of enemies upon dick's rear was almost equal to the number in his face. it was plain that he could hold the post no longer; what was worse, even if he could have held it, it had now become useless; and the whole yorkist army lay in a posture of helplessness upon the brink of a complete disaster. the men behind him formed the vital flaw in the general defence; and it was upon these that dick turned, charging at the head of his men. so vigorous was the attack, that the lancastrian archers gave ground and staggered, and, at last, breaking their ranks, began to crowd back into the houses from which they had so recently and so vain-gloriously sallied. meanwhile the men from the market-place had swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell on hotly upon the other side; and dick must once again face about, and proceed to drive them back. once again the spirit of his men prevailed; they cleared the street in a triumphant style, but even as they did so the others issued again out of the houses, and took them, a third time, upon the rear. the yorkists began to be scattered; several times dick found himself alone among his foes and plying his bright sword for life; several times he was conscious of a hurt. and meanwhile the fight swayed to and fro in the street without determinate result. suddenly dick was aware of a great trumpeting about the outskirts of the town. the war-cry of york began to be rolled up to heaven, as by many and triumphant voices. and at the same time the men in front of him began to give ground rapidly, streaming out of the street and back upon the market-place. some one gave the word to fly. trumpets were blown distractedly, some for a rally, some to charge. it was plain that a great blow had been struck, and the lancastrians were thrown, at least for the moment, into full disorder, and some degree of panic. and then, like a theatre trick, there followed the last act of shoreby battle. the men in front of richard turned tail, like a dog that has been whistled home, and fled like the wind. at the same moment there came through the market-place a storm of horsemen, fleeing and pursuing, the lancastrians turning back to strike with the sword, the yorkists riding them down at the point of the lance. conspicuous in the mellay, dick beheld the crookback. he was already giving a foretaste of that furious valour and skill to cut his way across the ranks of war, which, years afterwards upon the field of bosworth, and when he was stained with crimes, almost sufficed to change the fortunes of the day and the destiny of the english throne. evading, striking, riding down, he so forced and so manoeuvred his strong horse, so aptly defended himself, and so liberally scattered death to his opponents, that he was now far ahead of the foremost of his knights, hewing his way, with the truncheon of a bloody sword, to where lord risingham was rallying the bravest. a moment more and they had met; the tall, splendid, and famous warrior against the deformed and sickly boy. yet shelton had never a doubt of the result; and when the fight next opened for a moment, the figure of the earl had disappeared; but still, in the first of the danger, crookback dick was launching his big horse and plying the truncheon of his sword. thus, by shelton's courage in holding the mouth of the street against the first attack, and by the opportune arrival of his seven hundred reinforcements, the lad, who was afterwards to be handed down to the execration of posterity under the name of richard iii., had won his first considerable fight. chapter iv the sack of shoreby there was not a foe left within striking distance; and dick, as he looked ruefully about him on the remainder of his gallant force, began to count the cost of victory. he was himself, now that the danger was ended, so stiff and sore, so bruised and cut and broken, and, above all, so utterly exhausted by his desperate and unremitting labours in the fight, that he seemed incapable of any fresh exertion. but this was not yet the hour for repose. shoreby had been taken by assault; and though an open town, and not in any manner to be charged with the resistance, it was plain that these rough fighters would be not less rough now that the fight was over, and that the more horrid part of war would fall to be enacted. richard of gloucester was not the captain to protect the citizens from his infuriated soldiery; and even if he had the will, it might be questioned if he had the power. it was, therefore, dick's business to find and to protect joanna; and with that end he looked about him at the faces of his men. the three or four who seemed likeliest to be obedient and to keep sober he drew aside; and promising them a rich reward and a special recommendation to the duke, led them across the market-place, now empty of horsemen, and into the streets upon the farther side. every here and there small combats of from two to a dozen still raged upon the open street; here and there a house was being besieged, the defenders throwing out stools and tables on the heads of the assailants. the snow was strewn with arms and corpses; but except for these partial combats the streets were deserted, and the houses, some standing open, and some shuttered and barricaded, had for the most part ceased to give out smoke. dick, threading the skirts of these skirmishers, led his followers briskly in the direction of the abbey church; but when he came the length of the main street, a cry of horror broke from his lips. sir daniel's great house had been carried by assault. the gates hung in splinters from the hinges, and a double throng kept pouring in and out through the entrance, seeking and carrying booty. meanwhile, in the upper storeys, some resistance was still being offered to the pillagers; for just as dick came within eyeshot of the building, a casement was burst open from within, and a poor wretch in murrey and blue, screaming and resisting, was forced through the embrasure and tossed into the street below. the most sickening apprehension fell upon dick. he ran forward like one possessed, forced his way into the house among the foremost, and mounted without pause to the chamber on the third floor where he had last parted from joanna. it was a mere wreck; the furniture had been overthrown, the cupboards broken open, and in one place a trailing corner of the arras lay smouldering on the embers of the fire. dick, almost without thinking, trod out the incipient conflagration, and then stood bewildered. sir daniel, sir oliver, joanna, all were gone; but whether butchered in the rout or safe escaped from shoreby, who should say? he caught a passing archer by the tabard. "fellow," he asked, "were ye here when this house was taken?" "let be," said the archer. "a murrain! let be, or i strike." "hark ye," returned richard, "two can play at that. stand and be plain." but the man, flushed with drink and battle, struck dick upon the shoulder with one hand, while with the other he twitched away his garment. thereupon the full wrath of the young leader burst from his control. he seized the fellow in his strong embrace, and crushed him on the plates of his mailed bosom like a child; then, holding him at arm's length, he bid him speak as he valued life. "i pray you mercy!" gasped the archer. "an i had thought ye were so angry i would 'a' been charier of crossing you. i was here indeed." "know ye sir daniel?" pursued dick. "well do i know him," returned the man. "was he in the mansion?" "ay, sir, he was," answered the archer; "but even as we entered by the yard gate he rode forth by the garden." "alone?" cried dick. "he may 'a' had a score of lances with him," said the man. "lances! no women, then?" asked shelton. "troth, i saw not," said the archer. "but there were none in the house, if that be your quest." "i thank you," said dick. "here is a piece for your pains." but groping in his wallet, dick found nothing. "inquire for me to-morrow," he added--"richard shelt--sir richard shelton," he corrected, "and i will see you handsomely rewarded." and then an idea struck dick. he hastily descended to the courtyard, ran with all his might across the garden, and came to the great door of the church. it stood wide open; within, every corner of the pavement was crowded with fugitive burghers, surrounded by their families and laden with the most precious of their possessions, while, at the high altar, priests in full canonicals were imploring the mercy of god. even as dick entered, the loud chorus began to thunder in the vaulted roofs. he hurried through the groups of refugees, and came to the door of the stair that led into the steeple. and here a tall churchman stepped before him and arrested his advance. "whither, my son?" he asked, severely. "my father," answered dick, "i am here upon an errand of expedition. stay me not. i command here for my lord of gloucester." "for my lord of gloucester?" repeated the priest. "hath, then, the battle gone so sore?" "the battle, father, is at an end, lancaster clean sped, my lord of risingham--heaven rest him!--left upon the field. and now, with your good leave, i follow mine affairs." and thrusting on one side the priest, who seemed stupefied at the news, dick pushed open the door and rattled up the stairs four at a bound, and without pause or stumble, till he stepped upon the open platform at the top. shoreby church tower not only commanded the town, as in a map, but looked far, on both sides, over sea and land. it was now near upon noon; the day exceeding bright, the snow dazzling. and as dick looked around him, he could measure the consequences of the battle. a confused, growling uproar reached him from the streets, and now and then, but very rarely, the clash of steel. not a ship, not so much as a skiff remained in harbour; but the sea was dotted with sails and row-boats laden with fugitives. on shore, too, the surface of the snowy meadows was broken up with bands of horsemen, some cutting their way towards the borders of the forest, others, who were doubtless of the yorkist side, stoutly interposing and beating them back upon the town. over all the open ground there lay a prodigious quantity of fallen men and horses, clearly defined upon the snow. to complete the picture, those of the foot soldiers as had not found place upon a ship still kept up an archery combat on the borders of the port, and from the cover of the shoreside taverns. in that quarter, also, one or two houses had been fired, and the smoke towered high in the frosty sunlight, and blew off to sea in voluminous folds. already close upon the margin of the woods, and somewhat in the line of holywood, one particular clump of fleeing horsemen riveted the attention of the young watcher on the tower. it was fairly numerous; in no other quarter of the field did so many lancastrians still hold together; thus they had left a wide, discoloured wake upon the snow, and dick was able to trace them step by step from where they had left the town. while dick stood watching them, they had gained, unopposed, the first fringe of the leafless forest, and, turning a little from their direction, the sun fell for a moment full on their array, as it was relieved against the dusky wood. "murrey and blue!" cried dick. "i swear it--murrey and blue!" the next moment he was descending the stairway. it was now his business to seek out the duke of gloucester, who alone, in the disorder of the forces, might be able to supply him with a sufficiency of men. the fighting in the main town was now practically at an end; and as dick ran hither and thither, seeking the commander, the streets were thick with wandering soldiers, some laden with more booty than they could well stagger under, others shouting drunk. none of them, when questioned, had the least notion of the duke's whereabouts; and, at last, it was by sheer good fortune that dick found him, where he sat in the saddle directing operations to dislodge the archers from the harbour side. "sir richard shelton, ye are well found," he said. "i owe you one thing that i value little, my life; and one that i can never pay you for, this victory. catesby, if i had ten such captains as sir richard, i would march forthright on london. but now, sir, claim your reward." "freely, my lord," said dick, "freely and loudly. one hath escaped to whom i owe some grudges, and taken with him one whom i owe love and service. give me, then, fifty lances, that i may pursue; and for any obligation that your graciousness is pleased to allow, it shall be clean discharged." "how call ye him?" inquired the duke. "sir daniel brackley," answered richard. "out upon him, double-face!" cried gloucester. "here is no reward, sir richard; here is fresh service offered, and, if that ye bring his head to me, a fresh debt upon my conscience. catesby, get him these lances; and you, sir, bethink ye, in the meanwhile, what pleasure, honour, or profit it shall be mine to give you." just then the yorkist skirmishers carried one of the shoreside taverns, swarming in upon it on three sides, and driving out or taking its defenders. crookback dick was pleased to cheer the exploit, and pushing his horse a little nearer, called to see the prisoners. there were four or five of them--two men of my lord shoreby's and one of lord risingham's among the number, and last, but in dick's eyes not least, a tall, shambling, grizzled old shipman, between drunk and sober, and with a dog whimpering and jumping at his heels. the young duke passed them for a moment under a severe review. "good," he said. "hang them." and he turned the other way to watch the progress of the fight. "my lord," said dick, "so please you, i have found my reward. grant me the life and liberty of yon old shipman." gloucester turned and looked the speaker in the face. "sir richard," he said, "i make not war with peacock's feathers, but steel shafts. those that are mine enemies i slay, and that without excuse or favour. for, bethink ye, in this realm of england, that is so torn in pieces, there is not a man of mine but hath a brother or a friend upon the other party. if, then, i did begin to grant these pardons, i might sheathe my sword." "it may be so, my lord; and yet i will be overbold, and, at the risk of your disfavour, recall your lordship's promise," replied dick. richard of gloucester flushed. "mark it right well," he said, harshly. "i love not mercy, nor yet mercymongers. ye have this day laid the foundations of high fortune. if ye oppose to me my word, which i have plighted, i will yield. but, by the glory of heaven, there your favour dies!" "mine is the loss," said dick. "give him his sailor," said the duke; and wheeling his horse, he turned his back upon young shelton. dick was nor glad nor sorry. he had seen too much of the young duke to set great store on his affection; and the origin and growth of his own favour had been too flimsy and too rapid to inspire much confidence. one thing alone he feared--that the vindictive leader might revoke the offer of the lances. but here he did justice neither to gloucester's honour (such as it was) nor, above all, to his decision. if he had once judged dick to be the right man to pursue sir daniel, he was not one to change; and he soon proved it by shouting after catesby to be speedy, for the paladin was waiting. in the meanwhile, dick turned to the old shipman, who had seemed equally indifferent to his condemnation and to his subsequent release. "arblaster," said dick, "i have done you ill; but now, by the rood, i think i have cleared the score." but the old skipper only looked upon him dully and held his peace. "come," continued dick, "a life is a life, old shrew, and it is more than ships or liquor. say ye forgive me; for if your life be worth nothing to you, it hath cost me the beginnings of my fortune. come, i have paid for it dearly; be not so churlish." "an i had had my ship," said arblaster, "i would 'a' been forth and safe on the high seas--i and my man tom. but ye took my ship, gossip, and i'm a beggar; and for my man tom, a knave fellow in russet shot him down. 'murrain!' quoth he, and spake never again. 'murrain' was the last of his words, and the poor spirit of him passed. 'a will never sail no more, will my tom." dick was seized with unavailing penitence and pity; he sought to take the skipper's hand, but arblaster avoided his touch. "nay," said he, "let be. y' have played the devil with me, and let that content you." the words died in richard's throat. he saw, through tears, the poor old man, bemused with liquor and sorrow, go shambling away, with bowed head, across the snow, and the unnoticed dog whimpering at his heels, and for the first time began to understand the desperate game that we play in life; and how a thing once done is not to be changed or remedied, by any penitence. but there was no time left to him for vain regret. catesby had now collected the horsemen, and riding up to dick he dismounted, and offered him his own horse. "this morning," he said, "i was somewhat jealous of your favour; it hath not been of a long growth; and now, sir richard, it is with a very good heart that i offer you this horse--to ride away with." "suffer me yet a moment," replied dick. "this favour of mine--whereupon was it founded?" "upon your name," answered catesby. "it is my lord's chief superstition. were my name richard, i should be an earl to-morrow." "well, sir, i thank you," returned dick; "and since i am little likely to follow these great fortunes, i will even say farewell. i will not pretend i was displeased to think myself upon the road to fortune; but i will not pretend, neither, that i am over-sorry to be done with it. command and riches, they are brave things, to be sure; but a word in your ear--yon duke of yours, he is a fearsome lad." catesby laughed. "nay," said he, "of a verity he that rides with crooked dick will ride deep. well, god keep us all from evil! speed ye well." thereupon dick put himself at the head of his men, and giving the word of command, rode off. he made straight across the town, following what he supposed to be the route of sir daniel, and spying around for any signs that might decide if he were right. the streets were strewn with the dead and the wounded, whose fate, in the bitter frost, was far the more pitiable. gangs of the victors went from house to house, pillaging and stabbing, and sometimes singing together as they went. from different quarters, as he rode on, the sounds of violence and outrage came to young shelton's ears; now the blows of the sledge-hammer on some barricaded door, and now the miserable shrieks of women. dick's heart had just been awakened. he had just seen the cruel consequences of his own behaviour; and the thought of the sum of misery that was now acting in the whole of shoreby filled him with despair. at length he reached the outskirts, and there, sure enough, he saw straight before him the same broad, beaten track across the snow that he had marked from the summit of the church. here, then, he went the faster on; but still, as he rode, he kept a bright eye upon the fallen men and horses that lay beside the track. many of these, he was relieved to see, wore sir daniel's colours, and the faces of some, who lay upon their back, he even recognised. about half-way between the town and the forest, those whom he was following had plainly been assailed by archers; for the corpses lay pretty closely scattered, each pierced by an arrow. and here dick spied among the rest the body of a very young lad, whose face was somehow hauntingly familiar to him. he halted his troop, dismounted, and raised the lad's head. as he did so, the hood fell back, and a profusion of long brown hair unrolled itself. at the same time the eyes opened. "ah! lion driver!" said a feeble voice. "she is farther on. ride--ride fast!" and then the poor young lady fainted once again. one of dick's men carried a flask of some strong cordial, and with this dick succeeded in reviving consciousness. then he took joanna's friend upon his saddle-bow, and once more pushed toward the forest. "why do ye take me?" said the girl. "ye but delay your speed." "nay, mistress risingham," replied dick. "shoreby is full of blood and drunkenness and riot. here ye are safe; content ye." "i will not be beholden to any of your faction," she cried; "set me down." "madam, ye know not what ye say," returned dick. "y'are hurt----" "i am not," she said. "it was my horse was slain." "it matters not one jot," replied richard. "ye are here in the midst of open snow, and compassed about with enemies. whether ye will or not, i carry you with me. glad am i to have the occasion; for thus shall i repay some portion of our debt." for a little while she was silent. then, very suddenly, she asked: "my uncle?" "my lord risingham?" returned dick. "i would i had good news to give you, madam; but i have none. i saw him once in the battle, and once only. let us hope the best." chapter v night in the woods: alicia risingham it was almost certain that sir daniel had made for the moat house; but, considering the heavy snow, the lateness of the hour, and the necessity under which he would lie of avoiding the few roads and striking across the wood, it was equally certain that he could not hope to reach it ere the morrow. there were two courses open to dick: either to continue to follow in the knight's trail, and, if he were able, to fall upon him that very night in camp, or to strike out a path of his own, and seek to place himself between sir daniel and his destination. either scheme was open to serious objection, and dick, who feared to expose joanna to the hazards of a fight, had not yet decided between them when he reached the borders of the wood. at this point sir daniel had turned a little to his left, and then plunged straight under a grove of very lofty timber. his party had then formed to a narrower front, in order to pass between the trees, and the track was trod proportionally deeper in the snow. the eye followed it, under the leafless tracery of the oaks, running direct and narrow; the trees stood over it, with knotty joints and the great, uplifted forest of their boughs; there was no sound, whether of man or beast--not so much as the stirring of a robin; and over the field of snow the winter sun lay golden among netted shadows. "how say ye," asked dick of one of the men, "to follow straight on, or strike across for tunstall?" "sir richard," replied the man-at-arms, "i would follow the line until they scatter." "ye are, doubtless, right," returned dick; "but we came right hastily upon the errand, even as the time commanded. here are no houses, neither for food nor shelter, and by the morrow's dawn we shall know both cold fingers and an empty belly. how say ye, lads? will ye stand a pinch for expedition's sake, or shall we turn by holywood and sup with mother church? the case being somewhat doubtful, i will drive no man; yet if ye would suffer me to lead you, ye would choose the first." the men answered, almost with one voice, that they would follow sir richard where he would. and dick, setting spur to his horse, began once more to go forward. the snow in the trail had been trodden very hard, and the pursuers had thus a great advantage over the pursued. they pushed on, indeed, at a round trot, two hundred hoofs beating alternately on the dull pavement of the snow, and the jingle of weapons and the snorting of horses raising a warlike noise along the arches of the silent wood. presently, the wide slot of the pursued came out upon the highroad from holywood; it was there, for a moment, indistinguishable; and, where it once more plunged into the unbeaten snow upon the farther side, dick was surprised to see it narrower and lighter trod. plainly, profiting by the road, sir daniel had begun already to scatter his command. at all hazards, one chance being equal to another, dick continued to pursue the straight trail; and that, after an hour's riding, in which it led into the very depths of the forest, suddenly split, like a bursting shell, into two dozen others, leading to every point of the compass. dick drew bridle in despair. the short winter's day was near an end; the sun, a dull red orange, shorn of rays, swam low among the leafless thickets; the shadows were a mile long upon the snow; the frost bit cruelly at the finger-nails; and the breath and steam of the horses mounted in a cloud. "well, we are outwitted," dick confessed. "strike we for holywood, after all. it is still nearer us than tunstall--or should be by the station of the sun." so they wheeled to their left, turning their backs on the red shield of sun, and made across country for the abbey. but now times were changed with them; they could no longer spank forth briskly on a path beaten firm by the passage of their foes, and for a goal to which that path itself conducted them. now they must plough at a dull pace through the encumbering snow, continually pausing to decide their course, continually floundering in drifts. the sun soon left them; the glow of the west decayed; and presently they were wandering in a shadow of blackness, under frosty stars. presently, indeed, the moon would clear the hill-tops, and they might resume their march. but till then, every random step might carry them wider of their march. there was nothing for it but to camp and wait. sentries were posted; a spot of ground was cleared of snow, and, after some failures, a good fire blazed in the midst. the men-at-arms sat close about this forest hearth, sharing such provisions as they had, and passing about the flask; and dick, having collected the most delicate of the rough and scanty fare, brought it to lord risingham's niece, where she sat apart from the soldiery against a tree. she sat upon one horse-cloth, wrapped in another, and stared straight before her at the firelit scene. at the offer of food she started, like one wakened from a dream, and then silently refused. "madam," said dick, "let me beseech you, punish me not so cruelly. wherein i have offended you, i know not; i have, indeed, carried you away, but with a friendly violence; i have, indeed, exposed you to the inclemency of night, but the hurry that lies upon me hath for its end the preservation of another, who is no less frail and no less unfriended than yourself. at least, madam, punish not yourself; and eat, if not for hunger, then for strength." "i will eat nothing at the hands that slew my kinsman," she replied. "dear madam," dick cried, "i swear to you upon the rood i touched him not." "swear to me that he still lives," she returned. "i will not palter with you," answered dick. "pity bids me to wound you. in my heart i do believe him dead." "and ye ask me to eat!" she cried. "ay, and they call you 'sir'! y' have won your spurs by my good kinsman's murder. and had i not been fool and traitor both, and saved you in your enemy's house, ye should have died the death, and he--he that was worth twelve of you--were living." "i did but my man's best, even as your kinsman did upon the other party," answered dick. "were he still living--as i vow to heaven i wish it!--he would praise, not blame me." "sir daniel hath told me," she replied. "he marked you at the barricade. upon you, he saith, their party foundered; it was you that won the battle. well, then, it was you that killed my good lord risingham, as sure as though ye had strangled him. and ye would have me eat with you--and your hands not washed from killing? but sir daniel hath sworn your downfall. he 'tis that will avenge me!" the unfortunate dick was plunged in gloom. old arblaster returned upon his mind, and he groaned aloud. "do ye hold me so guilty?" he said; "you that defended me--you that are joanna's friend?" "what made ye in the battle?" she retorted. "y'are of no party; y'are but a lad--but legs and body, without government of wit or counsel! wherefore did ye fight? for the love of hurt, pardy!" "nay," cried dick, "i know not. but as the realm of england goes, if that a poor gentleman fight not upon the one side, perforce he must fight upon the other. he may not stand alone; 'tis not in nature." "they that have no judgment should not draw the sword," replied the young lady. "ye that fight but for a hazard, what are ye but a butcher? war is but noble by the cause, and y' have disgraced it." "madam," said the miserable dick, "i do partly see mine error. i have made too much haste; i have been busy before my time. already i stole a ship--thinking, i do swear it, to do well--and thereby brought about the death of many innocent, and the grief and ruin of a poor old man whose face this very day hath stabbed me like a dagger. and for this morning, i did but design to do myself credit, and get fame to marry with, and, behold! i have brought about the death of your dear kinsman that was good to me. and what besides, i know not. for, alas! i may have set york upon the throne, and that may be the worser cause, and may do hurt to england. o, madam, i do see my sin. i am unfit for life. i will, for penance' sake and to avoid worse evil, once i have finished this adventure, get me to a cloister. i will forswear joanna and the trade of arms. i will be a friar, and pray for your good kinsman's spirit all my days." it appeared to dick, in this extremity of his humiliation and repentance, that the young lady had laughed. raising his countenance, he found her looking down upon him, in the firelight, with a somewhat peculiar but not unkind expression. "madam," he cried, thinking the laughter to have been an illusion of his hearing, but still, from her changed looks, hoping to have touched her heart, "madam, will not this content you? i give up all to undo what i have done amiss; i make heaven certain for lord risingham. and all this upon the very day that i have won my spurs, and thought myself the happiest young gentleman on ground." "o boy," she said--"good boy!" and then, to the extreme surprise of dick, she first very tenderly wiped the tears away from his cheeks, and then, as if yielding to a sudden impulse, threw both her arms about his neck, drew up his face, and kissed him. a pitiful bewilderment came over simple-minded dick. "but come," she said, with great cheerfulness, "you that are a captain, ye must eat. why sup ye not?" "dear mistress risingham," replied dick, "i did but wait first upon my prisoner; but, to say truth, penitence will no longer suffer me to endure the sight of food. i were better to fast, dear lady, and to pray." "call me alicia," she said; "are we not old friends? and now, come, i will eat with you, bit for bit and sup for sup; so if ye eat not, neither will i; but if ye eat hearty, i will dine like a ploughman." so there and then she fell to; and dick, who had an excellent stomach, proceeded to bear her company, at first with great reluctance, but gradually, as he entered into the spirit, with more and more vigour and devotion: until, at last, he forgot even to watch his model, and most heartily repaired the expenses of his day of labour and excitement. "lion-driver," she said, at length, "ye do not admire a maid in a man's jerkin?" the moon was now up; and they were only waiting to repose the wearied horses. by the moon's light, the still penitent but now well-fed richard beheld her looking somewhat coquettishly down upon him. "madam--" he stammered, surprised at this new turn in her manners. "nay," she interrupted, "it skills not to deny; joanna hath told me, but come, sir lion-driver, look at me--am i so homely--come!" and she made bright eyes at him. "ye are something smallish, indeed--" began dick. and here again she interrupted him, this time with a ringing peal of laughter that completed his confusion and surprise. "smallish!" she cried. "nay, now, be honest as ye are bold; i am a dwarf, or little better; but for all that--come, tell me!--for all that, passably fair to look upon; is't not so?" "nay, madam, exceedingly fair," said the distressed knight, pitifully trying to seem easy. "and a man would be right glad to wed me?" she pursued. "o, madam, right glad!" agreed dick. "call me alicia," said she. "alicia," quoth sir richard. "well, then, lion-driver," she continued, "sith that ye slew my kinsman, and left me without stay, ye owe me, in honour, every reparation; do ye not?" "i do, madam," said dick. "although, upon my heart, i do hold me but partially guilty of that brave knight's blood." "would ye evade me?" she cried. "madam, not so. i have told you; at your bidding, i will even turn me a monk," said richard. "then, in honour, ye belong to me?" she concluded. "in honour, madam, i suppose--" began the young man. "go to!" she interrupted; "ye are too full of catches. in honour do ye belong to me, till ye have paid the evil?" "in honour, i do," said dick. "hear, then," she continued. "ye would make but a sad friar, methinks; and since i am to dispose of you at pleasure, i will even take you for my husband. nay, now, no words!" cried she. "they will avail you nothing. for see how just it is, that you who deprived me of one home, should supply me with another. and as for joanna, she will be the first, believe me, to commend the change; for, after all, as we be dear friends, what matters it with which of us ye wed? not one whit!" "madam," said dick, "i will go into a cloister, an ye please to bid me; but to wed with any one in this big world besides joanna sedley is what i will consent to neither for man's force nor yet for lady's pleasure. pardon me if i speak my plain thoughts plainly; but where a maid is very bold, a poor man must even be the bolder." "dick," she said, "ye sweet boy, ye must come and kiss me for that word. nay, fear not, ye shall kiss me for joanna; and when we meet, i shall give it back to her, and say i stole it. and as for what ye owe me, why, dear simpleton, methinks ye were not alone in that great battle; and even if york be on the throne, it was not you that set him there. but for a good, sweet, honest heart, dick, y'are all that; and if i could find it in my soul to envy your joanna anything, i would even envy her your love." chapter vi night in the woods (concluded): dick and joan the horses had by this time finished the small store of provender, and fully breathed from their fatigues. at dick's command, the fire was smothered in snow; and while his men got once more wearily to saddle, he himself, remembering, somewhat late, true woodland caution, chose a tall oak and nimbly clambered to the topmost fork. hence he could look far abroad on the moonlit and snow-paven forest. on the south-west, dark against the horizon, stood those upland, heathy quarters where he and joanna had met with the terrifying misadventure of the leper. and there his eye was caught by a spot of ruddy brightness no bigger than a needle's eye. he blamed himself sharply for his previous neglect. were that, as it appeared to be, the shining of sir daniel's camp-fire, he should long ago have seen and marched for it; above all, he should, for no consideration, have announced his neighbourhood by lighting a fire of his own. but now he must no longer squander valuable hours. the direct way to the uplands was about two miles in length; but it was crossed by a very deep, precipitous dingle, impassable to mounted men; and for the sake of speed, it seemed to dick advisable to desert the horses and attempt the adventure on foot. ten men were left to guard the horses; signals were agreed upon by which they could communicate in case of need; and dick set forth at the head of the remainder, alicia risingham walking stoutly by his side. the men had freed themselves of heavy armour, and left behind their lances; and they now marched with a very good spirit in the frozen snow, and under the exhilarating lustre of the moon. the descent into the dingle, where a stream strained sobbing through the snow and ice, was effected with silence and order; and on the farther side, being then within a short half-mile of where dick had seen the glimmer of the fire, the party halted to breathe before the attack. in the vast silence of the wood, the lightest sounds were audible from far; and alicia, who was keen of hearing, held up her finger warningly and stooped to listen. all followed her example; but besides the groans of the choked brook in the dingle close behind, and the barking of a fox at a distance of many miles among the forest, to dick's acutest hearkening, not a breath was audible. "but yet, for sure, i heard the clash of harness," whispered alicia. "madam," returned dick, who was more afraid of that young lady than of ten stout warriors, "i would not hint ye were mistaken; but it might well have come from either of the camps." "it came not thence. it came from westward," she declared. "it may be what it will," returned dick; "and it must be as heaven please. reck we not a jot, but push on the livelier, and put it to the touch. up, friends--enough breathed." as they advanced, the snow became more and more trampled with hoof-marks, and it was plain that they were drawing near to the encampment of a considerable force of mounted men. presently they could see the smoke pouring from among the trees, ruddily coloured on its lower edge and scattering bright sparks. and here, pursuant to dick's orders, his men began to open out, creeping stealthily in the covert, to surround on every side the camp of their opponents. he himself, placing alicia in the shelter of a bulky oak, stole straight forth in the direction of the fire. at last, through an opening of the wood, his eye embraced the scene of the encampment. the fire had been built upon a heathy hummock of the ground, surrounded on three sides by thicket, and it now burned very strong, roaring aloud and brandishing flames. around it there sat not quite a dozen people, warmly cloaked; but though the neighbouring snow was trampled down as by a regiment, dick looked in vain for any horse. he began to have a terrible misgiving that he was out-manoeuvred. at the same time, in a tall man with a steel salet, who was spreading his hands before the blaze, he recognised his old friend and still kindly enemy, bennet hatch; and in two others, sitting a little back, he made out, even in their male disguise, joanna sedley and sir daniel's wife. "well," thought he to himself, "even if i lose my horses, let me get my joanna, and why should i complain?" and then, from the farther side of the encampment, there came a little whistle, announcing that his men had joined, and the investment was complete. bennet, at the sound, started to his feet; but ere he had time to spring upon his arms, dick hailed him. "bennet," he said--"bennet, old friend, yield ye. ye will but spill men's lives in vain, if ye resist." "'tis master shelton, by st. barbary!" cried hatch. "yield me? ye ask much. what force have ye?" "i tell you, bennet, ye are both outnumbered and begirt," said dick. "cæsar and charlemagne would cry for quarter. i have two-score men at my whistle, and with one shoot of arrows i could answer for you all." "master dick," said bennet, "it goes against my heart; but i must do my duty. the saints help you!" and therewith he raised a little tucket to his mouth and wound a rousing call. then followed a moment of confusion; for while dick, fearing for the ladies, still hesitated to give the word to shoot, hatch's little band sprang to their weapons and formed back to back as for a fierce resistance. in the hurry of their change of place, joanna sprang from her seat and ran like an arrow to her lover's side. "here, dick!" she cried, as she clasped his hand in hers. but dick still stood irresolute; he was yet young to the more deplorable necessities of war, and the thought of old lady brackley checked the command upon his tongue. his own men became restive. some of them cried on him by name; others, of their own accord, began to shoot; and at the first discharge poor bennet bit the dust. then dick awoke. "on!" he cried. "shoot, boys, and keep to cover. england and york!" but just then the dull beat of many horses on the snow suddenly arose in the hollow ear of the night, and, with incredible swiftness, drew nearer and swelled louder. at the same time, answering tuckets repeated and repeated hatch's call. "rally, rally!" cried dick. "rally upon me! rally for your lives!" but his men--afoot, scattered, taken in the hour when they had counted on an easy triumph--began instead to give ground severally, and either stood wavering or dispersed into the thickets. and when the first of the horsemen came charging through the open avenues and fiercely riding their steeds into the underwood, a few stragglers were overthrown or speared among the brush, but the bulk of dick's command had simply melted at the rumour of their coming. dick stood for a moment, bitterly recognising the fruits of his precipitate and unwise valour. sir daniel had seen the fire; he had moved out with his main force, whether to attack his pursuers or to take them in the rear if they should venture the assault. his had been throughout the part of a sagacious captain; dick's the conduct of an eager boy. and here was the young knight, his sweetheart, indeed, holding him tightly by the hand, but otherwise alone, his whole command of men and horses dispersed in the night and the wide forest, like a paper of pins in a hay barn. "the saints enlighten me!" he thought. "it is well i was knighted for this morning's matter; this doth me little honour." and thereupon, still holding joanna, he began to run. the silence of the night was now shattered by the shouts of the men of tunstall, as they galloped hither and thither, hunting fugitives; and dick broke boldly through the underwood and ran straight before him like a deer. the silver clearness of the moon upon the open snow increased, by contrast, the obscurity of the thickets; and the extreme dispersion of the vanquished led the pursuers into widely divergent paths. hence, in but a little while, dick and joanna paused, in a close covert, and heard the sounds of the pursuit, scattering abroad, indeed, in all directions, but yet fainting already in the distance. "an i had but kept a reserve of them together," dick cried, bitterly, "i could have turned the tables yet! well, we live and learn; next time it shall go better, by the rood." "nay, dick," said joanna, "what matters it? here we are together once again." he looked at her, and there she was--john matcham, as of yore, in hose and doublet. but now he knew her; now, even in that ungainly dress, she smiled upon him, bright with love; and his heart was transported with joy. "sweetheart," he said, "if ye forgive this blunderer, what care i? make we direct for holywood; there lieth your good guardian and my better friend, lord foxham. there shall we be wed; and whether poor or wealthy, famous or unknown, what matters it? this day, dear love, i won my spurs; i was commended by great men for my valour; i thought myself the goodliest man of war in all broad england. then, first, i fell out of my favour with the great; and now have i been well thrashed, and clean lost my soldiers. there was a downfall for conceit! but, dear, i care not--dear, if ye still love me and will wed, i would have my knighthood done away, and mind it not a jot." "my dick!" she cried. "and did they knight you?" "ay, dear, ye are my lady now," he answered, fondly; "or ye shall, ere noon to-morrow--will ye not?" "that will i, dick, with a glad heart," she answered. "ay, sir? methought ye were to be a monk!" said a voice in their ears. "alicia!" cried joanna. "even so," replied the young lady, coming forward. "alicia, whom ye left for dead, and whom your lion-driver found, and brought to life again, and, by my sooth, made love to, if ye want to know!" "i'll not believe it," cried joanna. "dick!" "dick!" mimicked alicia. "dick, indeed! ay, fair sir, and ye desert poor damsels in distress," she continued, turning to the young knight. "ye leave them planted behind oaks. but they say true--the age of chivalry is dead." "madam," cried dick, in despair, "upon my soul i had forgotten you outright. madam, ye must try to pardon me. ye see, i had new found joanna!" "i did not suppose that ye had done it o' purpose," she retorted. "but i will be cruelly avenged. i will tell a secret to my lady shelton--she that is to be," she added, curtseying. "joanna," she continued, "i believe, upon my soul, your sweetheart is a bold fellow in a fight, but he is, let me tell you plainly, the softest-hearted simpleton in england. go to--ye may do your pleasure with him! and now, fool children, first kiss me, either one of you, for luck and kindness; and then kiss each other just one minute by the glass, and not one second longer; and then let us all three set forth for holywood as fast as we can stir; for these woods, methinks, are full of peril and exceeding cold." "but did my dick make love to you?" asked joanna, clinging to her sweetheart's side. "nay, fool girl," returned alicia; "it was i made love to him. i offered to marry him, indeed; but he bade me go marry with my likes. these were his words. nay, that i will say: he is more plain than pleasant. but now, children, for the sake of sense, set forward. shall we go once more over the dingle, or push straight for holywood?" "why," said dick, "i would like dearly to get upon a horse; for i have been sore mauled and beaten, one way and another, these last days, and my poor body is one bruise. but how think ye? if the men, upon the alarm of the fighting, had fled away, we should have gone about for nothing. 'tis but some three short miles to holywood direct; the bell hath not beat nine; the snow is pretty firm to walk upon, the moon clear; how if we went even as we are?" "agreed," cried alicia; but joanna only pressed upon dick's arm. forth, then, they went, through open leafless groves and down snow-clad alleys, under the white face of the winter moon; dick and joanna walking hand in hand and in a heaven of pleasure; and their light-minded companion, her own bereavements heartily forgotten, followed a pace or two behind, now rallying them upon their silence, and now drawing happy pictures of their future and united lives. still, indeed, in the distance of the wood, the riders of tunstall might be heard urging their pursuit; and from time to time cries or the clash of steel announced the shock of enemies. but in these young folk, bred among the alarms of war, and fresh from such a multiplicity of dangers, neither fear nor pity could be lightly wakened. content to find the sounds still drawing farther and farther away, they gave up their hearts to the enjoyment of the hour, walking already, as alicia put it, in a wedding procession; and neither the rude solitude of the forest, nor the cold of the freezing night, had any force to shadow or distract their happiness. at length, from a rising hill, they looked below them on the dell of holywood. the great windows of the forest abbey shone with torch and candle; its high pinnacles and spires arose very clear and silent, and the gold rood upon the topmost summit glittered brightly in the moon. all about it, in the open glade, camp-fires were burning, and the ground was thick with huts; and across the midst of the picture the frozen river curved. "by the mass," said richard, "there are lord foxham's fellows still encamped. the messenger hath certainly miscarried. well, then, so better. we have power at hand to face sir daniel." but if lord foxham's men still lay encamped in the long holm at holywood, it was from a different reason from the one supposed by dick. they had marched, indeed, for shoreby; but ere they were half-way thither, a second messenger met them, and bade them return to their morning's camp, to bar the road against lancastrian fugitives, and to be so much nearer to the main army of york. for richard of gloucester, having finished the battle and stamped out his foes in that district, was already on the march to rejoin his brother; and not long after the return of my lord foxham's retainers, crookback himself drew rein before the abbey door. it was in honour of this august visitor that the windows shone with lights; and at the hour of dick's arrival with his sweetheart and her friend, the whole ducal party was being entertained in the refectory with the splendour of that powerful and luxurious monastery. dick, not quite with his good-will, was brought before them. gloucester, sick with fatigue, sat leaning upon one hand his white and terrifying countenance; lord foxham, half recovered from his wound, was in a place of honour on his left. "how, sir?" asked richard. "have ye brought me sir daniel's head?" "my lord duke," replied dick, stoutly enough, but with a qualm at heart, "i have not even the good fortune to return with my command. i have been, so please your grace, well beaten." gloucester looked upon him with a formidable frown. "i gave you fifty lances,[ ] sir," he said. [ ] technically, the term "lance" included a not quite certain number of foot soldiers attached to the man-at-arms. "my lord duke, i had but fifty men-at-arms," replied the young knight. "how is this?" said gloucester. "he did ask me fifty lances." "may it please your grace," replied catesby, smoothly, "for a pursuit we gave him but the horsemen." "it is well," replied richard, adding, "shelton, ye may go." "stay!" said lord foxham. "this young man likewise had a charge from me. it may be he hath better sped. say, master shelton, have ye found the maid?" "i praise the saints, my lord," said dick, "she is in this house." "is it even so? well, then, my lord the duke," resumed lord foxham, "with your good-will, to-morrow, before the army march, i do propose a marriage. this young squire----" "young knight," interrupted catesby. "say ye so, sir william?" cried lord foxham. "i did myself, and for good service, dub him knight," said gloucester. "he hath twice manfully served me. it is not valour of hands, it is a man's mind of iron, that he lacks. he will not rise, lord foxham. 'tis a fellow that will fight indeed bravely in a mellay, but hath a capon's heart. howbeit, if he is to marry, marry him in the name of mary, and be done!" "nay, he is a brave lad--i know it," said lord foxham. "content ye, then, sir richard. i have compounded this affair with master hamley, and to-morrow ye shall wed." whereupon dick judged it prudent to withdraw; but he was not yet clear of the refectory, when a man, but newly alighted at the gate, came running four stairs at a bound, and, brushing through the abbey servants, threw himself on one knee before the duke. "victory, my lord," he cried. and before dick had got to the chamber set apart for him as lord foxham's guest, the troops in the holm were cheering around their fires; for upon that same day, not twenty miles away, a second crushing blow had been dealt to the power of lancaster. chapter vii dick's revenge the next morning dick was afoot before the sun, and having dressed himself to the best advantage with the aid of the lord foxham's baggage, and got good reports of joan, he set forth on foot to walk away his impatience. for some while he made rounds among the soldiery, who were getting to arms in the wintry twilight of the dawn and by the red glow of torches; but gradually he strolled farther afield, and at length passed clean beyond the outposts, and walked alone in the frozen forest, waiting for the sun. his thoughts were both quiet and happy. his brief favour with the duke he could not find it in his heart to mourn; with joan to wife, and my lord foxham for a faithful patron, he looked most happily upon the future; and in the past he found but little to regret. as he thus strolled and pondered, the solemn light of the morning grew more clear, the east was already coloured by the sun, and a little scathing wind blew up the frozen snow. he turned to go home; but even as he turned, his eye lit upon a figure behind a tree. "stand!" he cried. "who goes?" the figure stepped forth and waved its hand like a dumb person. it was arrayed like a pilgrim, the hood lowered over the face, but dick, in an instant, recognised sir daniel. he strode up to him, drawing his sword; and the knight, putting his hand in his bosom, as if to seize a hidden weapon, steadfastly awaited his approach. "well, dickon," said sir daniel, "how is it to be? do ye make war upon the fallen?" "i made no war upon your life," replied the lad; "i was your true friend until ye sought for mine; but ye have sought for it greedily." "nay--self-defence," replied the knight. "and now, boy, the news of this battle, and the presence of yon crooked devil here in mine own wood, have broken me beyond all help. i go to holywood for sanctuary; thence overseas, with what i can carry, and to begin life again in burgundy or france." "ye may not go to holywood," said dick. "how! may not?" asked the knight. "look ye, sir daniel, this is my marriage morn," said dick; "and yon sun that is to rise will make the brightest day that ever shone for me. your life is forfeit--doubly forfeit, for my father's death and your own practices to meward. but i myself have done amiss; i have brought about men's deaths; and upon this glad day i will be neither judge nor hangman. an ye were the devil, i would not lay a hand on you. an ye were the devil, ye might go where ye will for me. seek god's forgiveness; mine ye have freely. but to go on to holywood is different. i carry arms for york, and i will suffer no spy within their lines. hold it, then, for certain, if ye set one foot before another, i will uplift my voice and call the nearest post to seize you." "ye mock me," said sir daniel. "i have no safety out of holywood." "i care no more," returned richard. "i let you go east, west, or south; north i will not. holywood is shut against you. go, and seek not to return. for, once ye are gone, i will warn every post about this army, and there will be so shrewd a watch upon all pilgrims that, once again, were ye the very devil, ye would find it ruin to make the essay." "ye doom me," said sir daniel, gloomily. "i doom you not," returned richard. "if it so please you to set your valour against mine, come on; and though i fear it be disloyal to my party, i will take the challenge openly and fully, fight you with mine own single strength, and call for none to help me. so shall i avenge my father, with a perfect conscience." "ay," said sir daniel, "y' have a long sword against my dagger." "i rely upon heaven only," answered dick, casting his sword some way behind him on the snow. "now, if your ill-fate bids you, come; and, under the pleasure of the almighty, i make myself bold to feed your bones to foxes." "i did but try you, dickon," returned the knight, with an uneasy semblance of a laugh. "i would not spill your blood." "go, then, ere it be too late," replied shelton. "in five minutes i will call the post. i do perceive that i am too long-suffering. had but our places been reversed, i should have been bound hand and foot some minutes past." "well, dickon, i will go," replied sir daniel. "when we next meet, it shall repent you that ye were so harsh." and with these words, the knight turned and began to move off under the trees. dick watched him with strangely-mingled feelings, as he went, swiftly and warily, and ever and again turning a wicked eye upon the lad who had spared him, and whom he still suspected. there was upon one side of where he went a thicket, strongly matted with green ivy, and, even in its winter state, impervious to the eye. herein, all of a sudden, a bow sounded like a note of music. an arrow flew, and with a great, choked cry of agony and anger, the knight of tunstall threw up his hands and fell forward in the snow. dick bounded to his side and raised him. his face desperately worked; his whole body was shaken by contorting spasms. "is the arrow black?" he gasped. "it is black," replied dick, gravely. and then, before he could add one word, a desperate seizure of pain shook the wounded man from head to foot, so that his body leaped in dick's supporting arms, and with the extremity of that pang his spirit fled in silence. the young man laid him back gently on the snow and prayed for that unprepared and guilty spirit, and as he prayed the sun came up at a bound, and the robins began chirping in the ivy. when he rose to his feet, he found another man upon his knees but a few steps behind him, and, still with uncovered head, he waited until that prayer also should be over. it took long; the man, with his head bowed and his face covered with his hands, prayed like one in a great disorder or distress of mind; and by the bow that lay beside him, dick judged that he was no other than the archer who had laid sir daniel low. at length he, also, rose, and showed the countenance of ellis duckworth. "richard," he said, very gravely, "i heard you. ye took the better part and pardoned; i took the worse, and there lies the clay of mine enemy. pray for me." and he wrung him by the hand. "sir," said richard, "i will pray for you, indeed; though how i may prevail i wot not. but if ye have so long pursued revenge, and find it now of such a sorry flavour, bethink ye, were it not well to pardon others? hatch--he is dead, poor shrew! i would have spared a better; and for sir daniel, here lies his body. but for the priest, if i might anywise prevail, i would have you let him go." a flash came into the eyes of ellis duckworth. "nay," he said, "the devil is still strong within me. but be at rest; the black arrow flieth nevermore--the fellowship is broken. they that still live shall come to their quiet and ripe end, in heaven's good time, for me; and for yourself, go where your better fortune calls you, and think no more of ellis." [illustration: _"but be at rest; the black arrow flieth nevermore"_] chapter viii conclusion about nine in the morning, lord foxham was leading his ward, once more dressed as befitted her sex, and followed by alicia risingham, to the church of holywood, when richard crookback, his brow already heavy with cares, crossed their path and paused. "is this the maid?" he asked; and when lord foxham had replied in the affirmative, "minion," he added, "hold up your face until i see its favour." he looked upon her sourly for a little. "ye are fair," he said at last, "and, as they tell me, dowered. how if i offered you a brave marriage, as became your face and parentage?" "my lord duke," replied joanna, "may it please your grace, i had rather wed with sir richard." "how so?" he asked, harshly. "marry but the man i name to you, and he shall be my lord, and you my lady, before night. for sir richard, let me tell you plainly, he will die sir richard." "i ask no more of heaven, my lord, than but to die sir richard's wife," returned joanna. "look ye at that, my lord," said gloucester, turning to lord foxham. "here be a pair for you. the lad, when for good services i gave him his choice of my favour, chose but the grace of an old, drunken shipman. i did warn him freely, but he was stout in his besottedness. 'here dieth your favour,' said i; and he, my lord, with a most assured impertinence, 'mine be the loss,' quoth he. it shall be so, by the rood!" "said he so?" cried alicia. "then well said, lion-driver!" "who is this?" asked the duke. "a prisoner of sir richard's," answered lord foxham; "mistress alicia risingham." "see that she be married to a sure man," said the duke. "i had thought of my kinsman, hamley, an it like your grace," returned lord foxham. "he hath well served the cause." "it likes me well," said richard. "let them be wedded speedily. say, fair maid, will you wed?" "my lord duke," said alicia, "so as the man is straight--" and there, in a perfect consternation, the voice died on her tongue. "he is straight, my mistress," replied richard, calmly. "i am the only crookback of my party; we are else passably well shapen. ladies, and you, my lord," he added, with a sudden change to grave courtesy, "judge me not too churlish if i leave you. a captain, in the time of war, hath not the ordering of his hours." and with a very handsome salutation he passed on, followed by his officers. "alack," cried alicia, "i am shent!" "ye know him not," replied lord foxham. "it is but a trifle; he hath already clean forgot your words." "he is, then, the very flower of knighthood," said alicia. "nay, he but mindeth other things," returned lord foxham. "tarry we no more." in the chancel they found dick waiting, attended by a few young men; and there were he and joan united. when they came forth again, happy and yet serious, into the frosty air and sunlight, the long files of the army were already winding forward up the road; already the duke of gloucester's banner was unfolded and began to move from before the abbey in a clump of spears; and behind it, girt by steel-clad knights, the bold, black-hearted, and ambitious hunchback moved on towards his brief kingdom and his lasting infamy. but the wedding party turned upon the other side, and sat down, with sober merriment, to breakfast. the father cellarer attended on their wants, and sat with them at table. hamley, all jealousy forgotten, began to ply the nowise loth alicia with courtship. and there, amid the sounding of tuckets and the clash of armoured soldiery and horses continually moving forth, dick and joan sat side by side, tenderly held hands, and looked, with ever growing affection, in each other's eyes. thenceforth the dust and blood of that unruly epoch passed them by. they dwelt apart from alarms in the green forest where their love began. two old men in the meanwhile enjoyed pensions in great prosperity and peace, and with perhaps a superfluity of ale and wine, in tunstall hamlet. one had been all his life a shipman, and continued to the last to lament his man tom. the other, who had been a bit of everything, turned in the end towards piety, and made a most religious death under the name of brother honestus in the neighbouring abbey. so lawless had his will, and died a friar. * * * * * transcriber's notes obvious typographical errors have been corrected, and hyphenation made consistent within the text. common contractions have been closed up (e.g. 'tis rather than 't is). where this would lead to two apostrophes together, the space has been retained (e.g. y' 'ave). the oe ligature has been replaced by oe. all other spelling and punctuation has been left as in the original text. italics are marked with underscores _like this_. all illustrations in the text are marked with the caption "_copyright by charles scribner's sons_." for ease of reading, this has been removed and placed here. where full-page illustrations fall within a paragraph, they have been moved to the end of the preceding paragraph. this text contains three footnotes, marked in the text as [ ], [ ] and [ ]. the footnotes follow the paragraphs to which they refer.