THE BAILIFF 
 
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 TEWKESBURY 
 
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 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY
 
 THE 
 
 BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY 
 
 BY 
 
 C. E. D. PHELPS AND LEIGH NORTH 
 
 Illustrated 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & COMPANY 
 1893
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 BY A. C. MCCLURG & Co. 
 A. D. 1893.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 CHAPTER 1 5 
 
 " Come, shall we go and kill us venison?" 
 
 CHAPTER II 12 
 
 " Where should a father be so well 
 As in the bosom of his family? " 
 
 CHAPTER III . .17 
 
 " Drest in a little brief authority." 
 
 CHAPTER IV 23 
 
 " The fountains of my daily life 
 Are through thy friendship fair." 
 
 CHAPTER V 30 
 
 " The crooked stick and the grey goose wing, 
 Without them England were but a fling." 
 
 CHAPTER VI 36 
 
 " A man at arms must now serve on his knees, 
 And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms." 
 
 CHAPTER VII 41 
 
 " Thus shall it be clone unto the man 
 Whom the king delighteth to honor." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 46 
 
 "The bitter arrow leaped forth, thirsting to drink blood."
 
 l CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 51 
 
 " The daily waiting on the fractious chair, 
 The nightly vigil by the feverish bed." 
 
 CHAPTER X 59 
 
 " Slightit love is sair to bide." 
 
 CHAPTER XI 64 
 
 " Where may she wander now, whither betake her." 
 
 CHAPTER XII 70 
 
 " Come, Sir, throw us that you have about you." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 79 
 
 " But still he bet and bounst upon the dore, 
 And at the portals thondred hideously, 
 That all the peece he shaked from the flore." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 91 
 
 " Sound sleep be thine ! Sound cause to sleep hast thou." 
 
 CHAPTER XV 101 
 
 " In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 
 Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI no 
 
 "Then felt I like some watcher of the skies, 
 When a new planet swims into his ken." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 118 
 
 " The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 In which I told another's love 
 Interpreted my own." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 126 
 
 " And to be wroth with one we love 
 Doth work like madness in the brain."
 
 CONTENTS. Ill 
 
 Page. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 133 
 
 " I'll buckler thee against a million." 
 
 CHAPTER XX * ' . . 143 
 
 " So long as thou doest well unto thyself, 
 Men will speak good of thee." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 152 
 
 " The guests are met, the feast is set, 
 Mayst hear the merry din." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 165 
 
 " He kepte his pacient a ful gret del 
 In houres by his magik naturel." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. . 175 
 
 " Death doth ride 
 Ever at the horseman's side." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 181 
 
 "The winter snow and hail did never come so thick 
 As on the houses' sides the bearded arrows stick." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV 191 
 
 " And when life's sweet fable ends, 
 Soul and body part like friends." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 195 
 
 " Cras ingens iterabimus sequor."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Come, shall we go and kill us venison?" SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 IT was about eight o'clock on a bright cool 
 October evening some three hundred years ago. 
 The moon, nearly at the full, was cleaving her way 
 upward through a shell of dappled clouds, and 
 throwing tree-shadows across the glades of a park 
 in mid- England. Two young men were seated on 
 the turf beside a recently felled log, not upon it, 
 but crouched in its shade, and still further screened 
 by the long fan-like limb of a young beech which 
 spread directly over their heads. As far as their 
 forms could be distinguished, they were both 
 youths of twenty or thereabouts : one, a stout 
 clownish fellow in leather jerkin, leggings and 
 heavy clouted shoes. Coiled round his arm were 
 two or three horse-hair nooses, and a newly-killed 
 hare lay at his side. 
 
 The other, of slighter build, wore the doublet, 
 hose, and boots of a gentleman, though daylight 
 would have shown them grievously soiled and 
 tattered. Over this array, either for the sake of 
 warmth or partial disguise, he had huddled a rough 
 frieze jacket. Apparently, he was less used to 
 weather than his companion, for he fidgeted 
 about, rubbing his hands, shrugging his shoulders, 
 and beating his feet on the ground. At length he 
 rose and began swinging his arms, whereat the 
 leatherclad youth broke silence.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Thee'd best keep close, Joe Tuff," said he, in 
 drawling dialect. " Keeper'll see thee, sure as 
 death." 
 
 "And what care I?" replied Tuff, angrily, after 
 a quick stealthy look around. " This pestilent 
 damp has crept into my very bones. And I'll tell 
 thee somewhat more, Hewlett," he went on. 
 "First, if the keeper should see 
 me, a word to Sir Thomas would 
 set all right ; and in the next place 
 I'll be called Master Turf, an' it 
 like ye. If I have come out for 
 a run with you and your company, 
 it makes me not of you. As the 
 Latin poet says, 'Odi profanum 
 vulgus.' " 
 
 "Thou mayst die at Farnum 
 village, for all I care," returned 
 the other : " 'Tis naught to me ; 
 and 'tis naught to me either how 
 easy thou canst get off the gaol or 
 the stocks if the keepers take thee ; 
 only, an' thou's so great wi' Sir 
 Tummas, I hope thee'll speak a 
 good word for us. But call thee 
 Measter ! Thee that ran ragged 
 wi' me about Shottery village, till 
 Sir Tummas took thee up, and 
 put thee to school, and made thee 
 his clerk ! Thee, that's wearing t' young squire's 
 cast cloathes at this minute, I'll lay a wager ! Noa, 
 noa, we'll ha' no meastering here." 
 
 Tuff scowled malignantly, clenching his fist ; but 
 as Hewlett sat quite unmoved, he broke into a 
 forced laugh. "'Twas all a jest, Bob," said he. 
 "Canst not take a jest? Come, what hour is 't? 
 And how long have we to bide here yet?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 7 
 
 Hewlett turned his face toward the sky. " Nigh 
 time for 'em," said he. " I bid them meet here 
 when the moon was three hour high. She's near 
 it now." 
 
 "And you're sure of them? " 
 
 "Sure of Will o' Stratford," replied Bob. "But 
 t' other lad has a good bit to cover. Tewkesbury's 
 five-an'-twenty mile away." 
 
 " D'ye mean that he comes from Tewkesbury to- 
 night? He must be a brave walker." 
 
 Hewlett nodded. " He is that," he answered. 
 " I mind when he were in Shottery ten year agone, 
 not a lad could race again him." 
 
 " Shottery ? But you said he came from Tewkes- 
 bury?" 
 
 "Ay, does he. His feyther's a mustard-man 
 there. But when t' sore fever were there ten year 
 agone, his mother died, and he were sent up to 
 's aunt at Shottery. He bided there a twel'- 
 month, an 's feyther wedded again. But t' owd 
 man holds a bit o' mead here, and Will's sent up 
 to sell t' ricks nigh Michaelmas every year. I took 
 to him wonderful then, though a little chap he's 
 five year older nor me and I ne'er miss to see 
 him. And this time, says I to him, ' Doant ye 
 want to ha' a bit o' fun wi' us again? ' ' I'm rare 
 and old for it,' says he, ' but I'll come for one last 
 bout.' So I set t' night, and spoke to you and 
 Will o' Stratford." 
 
 " He's named Will, too, then ?" said Tuff. " Two 
 Wills ; we'll see which is the stronger. What's his 
 other name?" 
 
 Hewlett looked puzzled. " I doant rightly 
 mind ; 'tis Kelp, or Sells, or summat like that. I 
 just call him Will. Here comes one or t' other." 
 
 A slight crackling sound was heard in the
 
 8 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 distance, and Hewlett, taking up a dead stick, 
 snapped it twice ucross. 
 
 " That's t' sign," said he. 
 
 The branches parted, and a tall, lithe young 
 man stepped out of the shadows. He wore dark 
 green hose, a short tunic of the same color, with a 
 broad leather belt, a cap with a cock's feather on 
 one side, and a bow and case of arrows at his 
 back. 
 
 " Well met, Will," said Bob, taking his hand. 
 " This be Joe Tuff. Joe, here's my friend Will o' 
 Tewkesbury. What dost ail, Joe?" For Tuff drew 
 back, and affected a sudden fit of sneezing. 
 
 " Chevvks Chewks Chewkesbury mustard ! " 
 he jerked out, with violent contortions. 
 
 "I'll try a clap o' the pate to cure thee," said 
 the new comer ; and as Tuff doubled up in a fresh 
 paroxysm, he sent him heels over head with a sound 
 box on the ear. 
 
 " How now, lad ? does Tewkesbury mustard 
 sting?" 
 
 Tuff rose, and fell back into the shade, nibbing 
 his ear, and muttering something about not for- 
 getting. 
 
 " Here's Will o' Stratford," said Hewlett, and a 
 fourth young man in grey joined the party. 
 
 " How goes it, minions of moonlight? " he cried, 
 in a singularly musical and resonant voice. "Shall 
 we be merry? Shall we strike a deer extempore? " 
 
 " No such luck," said Tuff. " Bob, here, bears all 
 the game we're like to find. But how hast left 
 wife and child, Goodman Will ? ' Tis no safe 
 sport this for a married man." 
 
 " Nay," replied the youth, "Nan must take her 
 chance. An' I'm laid by the heels, I trust I shall 
 become the stocks as well as another. But to our 
 gear. Which way, Bob?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 9 
 
 " Over yon, where t' beck crosses path," replied 
 Hewlett. " Come and I'll set ye in place." 
 
 They rose and followed Bob along the border of 
 the woods, walking in single file, and keeping in 
 the shadow. The rippling sound of water was soon 
 heard, and after breaking their way through a 
 thicket of alders and willows, they halted where 
 the brook crossed a winding wood road. 
 
 "Here ye are," whispered Bob. " Keep close, 
 doant speak loud ; y're none so far from t' Hall 
 now. I know where t' deer feed ; I'll go about, 
 and drive 'em this way. Wind's in their back, and 
 they'll none see ye till they're right near. Then 
 shoot. Texvkesbury Will, you've bow and shafts 
 I see. Will o' Stratford eh? What? Naught 
 but a quarter-staff ? Well, one good shot's enow. 
 Ye've all knives for flaying he should fall i' t' 
 beck and I'll soon be here to help. Eh ! " as 
 the moon shone strongly on the young men's 
 faces, " how like you two \Vills are to each other ! 
 Ye might be brothers. Well, look for t' herd or 
 many minutes." And splashing along the edges of 
 the stream, he was presently lost to view. 
 
 The three waited, conversing in low tones. 
 
 " He said you two might be brothers," said Tuff, 
 "and no doubt you'll agree like brothers." 
 
 " Dost think us like, then," asked he of Strat- 
 ford, "like as the two wise men of Syracuse?" 
 
 " I mind them well," said Tuff, " they fought in 
 the siege, methinks." 
 
 " Nay," said the other, " they faced it out well, 
 but fought not. And as we speak of fighting, 
 brother Will, canst draw a good bow? " 
 
 " The bow's good enow," said Tewkesbury Will, 
 " but I mistrust the bowman. I ne'er shot yet at 
 deer. Prithee, do thou take it, and prove thy 
 skill."
 
 10 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 After a little demur, the Stratford youth took 
 the bow and shafts, giving his staff in their place. 
 And scarcely had the change been effected when 
 a low "Hist!" from Tuff warned them of the 
 deer's approach. 
 
 For a few seconds, all were still as stone. The 
 moon, now almost at the zenith, shone brightly 
 down on the mossy road, the gleaming brook, and 
 the three figures one leaning on his staff, one 
 with his hand on the bowstring, and one crouching 
 low in shadow, clutching at his knife. Then the 
 thud of light hoofs was heard on the turf, and a 
 noble buck dashed round the turn, and bore 
 straight down upon them. Drawing his arrow to 
 the head, Stratford Will let it fly fair at the deer's 
 breast. But at the very instant, checking his 
 speed, the buck lowered his head. The shaft, 
 striking a tine of his antlers, glanced upward into 
 the air, and the deer, snorting with fright, wheeled 
 short to the left, and was in cover ere the archer 
 could seize another arrow. 
 
 The baffled poachers looked at each other, but 
 no time was given them for words before two men 
 armed with musketoons sprang from behind a. huge 
 tree, and shouting " Stand, ye rogues ! Stand, 
 knaves ! " rushed in upon them. The foremost 
 discharged his piece at Tewkesbury Will, but 
 missed his aim. Throwing down the weapon he 
 drew a short sword, and aimed a blow at the 
 young man's head, which Will cleverly parried with 
 his staff, only receiving a slight wound on the arm, 
 and dealing the keeper, in turn, a blow on the skull 
 which staggered him. Improving his advantage, 
 Will was about to close, when Tuff caught him by 
 the ankle from behind, and threw him flat on his 
 face. The keeper was on him in an instant, and
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. II 
 
 holding him firmly down, had his hands bound in 
 a trice. The other keeper, meanwhile, with his 
 musket at Stratford Will's breast, held him at bay 
 till his comrade tied him also. 
 
 " A good haul," said the taller, most active, and 
 evidently superior keeper, taking off his hat, and 
 rubbing his smarting crown. " A good haul. But 
 where's t' other fellow, Dick? Methought I saw 
 three." 
 
 "So did I, Master Powdrell," replied the 
 underling, " but he's none here. He mun ha' run 
 for 't." 
 
 "Well, well," answered Powdrell, "belike 'twas 
 a stump. But we mun get em up to Hall or Sir 
 Tummas is abed. Gi' me thy musket, Dick. Take 
 up his bow and bolts. Move on afore, ye knaves, 
 and mind ye, no running, or I'll scatter the little 
 brains ye have." 
 
 They turned up the road, and were presently 
 joined by a third keeper, dragging with him the 
 luckless Hewlett. No words were exchanged by 
 the captives, and few by the keepers, until after 
 skirting a high wall for some distance, they 
 entered a gateway, and saw before them the long 
 brick front of Charlecote Hall.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Where should a father be so well 
 As in the bosom of his family? " 
 
 French Song. 
 
 SIR THOMAS LUCY sat at supper with his family. 
 The Squire of Charlecote was but recently re- 
 turned from a long day's hunting, as his huge be- 
 spattered boots, rusty spurs, and the riding cloak 
 hung on his chair back, testified. His doublet, 
 shaped and stiffened with buckram almost into the 
 similitude of armor, rose closely under his pointed 
 beard and long iron-grey hair, the ruff, then a 
 usual complement of male or female costume, hav- 
 ing been laid aside as unsuited to the exigencies of 
 the chase. Jovial by nature, he was now in ex- 
 tremely good humor, for a fresh fox's brush 
 against the chimney-piece showed that the gallant 
 knight had that day been first in at the death. 
 The remnants of a large pasty, a round of beef, and 
 a dish of eels, indicated the proverbial appetite of 
 the hunter, who was now applying himself to the 
 flagon, and between draughts relating the adven- 
 tures of the day to an audience of three. 
 
 Lady Joyce Lucy, a mature but still comely ma- 
 tron, sat at the board head, regarding her lord's 
 potations with some anxiety, and lending an atten- 
 tive but uninterested ear to his discourse. Her 
 ladyship wore a half-round farthingale and bodice 
 of dark satin over a petticoat of murrey-colored 
 cloth. Her coif, pinners and ruff were of finest 
 lace, but save a single ring, she wore no ornaments. 
 Sir Thomas' son and heir, a young man some- 
 what over twenty, who had, followed the chase
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 13 
 
 with him all day, sat on one side of the table. 
 The youth had changed his riding gear for a suit 
 of grey velvet, but, quite overpowered by the exer- 
 cise which had only invigorated his sturdy sire, 
 nodded and blinked behind a half-emptied cup, 
 wearily awaiting the sign of dismissal. 
 
 But Sir Thomas had at least one enthusiastic 
 hearer. Fronting the young squire, but with her 
 face turned towards his father, her eyes shining 
 like stars, her cheeks glowing, and the teeth just 
 seen through her parted lips, sat Mistress Dorothy
 
 14 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Lucy, a distant cousin of Sir Thomas, though com- 
 monly called his niece. She was a girl of about 
 fifteen, habited in a peach-colored gown, slashed 
 on neck and sleeves to show the white lining. A 
 knot of blue ribbon, just matching her eyes, held 
 back her short, brown curls, and two pearls set in 
 gold, her greatest treasures, dangled from her small 
 ears. She was now intent on the narrative of her 
 uncle, whom she firmly believed to be the greatest, 
 wisest, and bravest of men. 
 
 " So, as I said," went on Sir Thomas, " the first 
 fox gave us a quick run, but got to earth ere long. 
 We next beat Chelmsley Wood, and soon started 
 another. And which hound of them all, d'ye think, 
 first hit off the scent? Another cup of sack, An- 
 drew. Why, Ajax here. Thou knowest Ajax, my 
 lady?" 
 
 " The black dog, is 't not, Sir Thomas ? " an- 
 swered Lady Lucy, scanning the group of hounds 
 before the great fire. 
 
 " Nay, nay," replied Sir Thomas, testily. " I 
 had thought thou knewest some of them, Dame. 
 I'll be bound Dorothy could pick him out. Canst 
 tell us, Doll?" 
 
 " In sooth I can, Uncle," replied the girl. " The 
 spotted one with the torn ear is Ajax : and the 
 black one is Neptune, his brother the grooms 
 call them Jack and Nipper and the others are 
 Juno and Tray. Then, besides " 
 
 " Peace, child," interposed Lady Lucy. " Thy 
 uncle is answered." 
 
 " Well done ! well done, wench ! " cried Sir 
 Thomas. " We'll make a huntress of thee soon. 
 I've my eye on a palfrey for thee, and shall go 
 with me some fine day next month. And I war- 
 rant 'twill not be long ere every young fellow
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 15 
 
 round will risk his neck to be first to bring the 
 brush to Mistress Dorothy, and win a smile 
 
 " Truly, Sir Thomas," said his lady, " you do 
 great wrong to put such thoughts in Dorothy's 
 head. She is yet but a child." 
 
 Sir Thomas made a grimace, and took a long 
 draught. "Where was I?" said he. "Ay, ay. 
 The fox went straight away to the south, through 
 Hopton hills, and over the heads of Nen Water. 
 More than one lay wallowing in the ditches or we 
 got through. We killed at last near Guest Farm 
 a run of two hours good and thy old uncle was in 
 at the death next to the huntsman. Andrew, 
 another cup of sack." 
 
 "Niece Dorothy," said the lady of the house, 
 " 'tis time thou and I went to our oratory." And 
 she rose from her chair. 
 
 Andrew stepped to the door, and opened it for 
 his lady's passage ; but finding some one without, 
 parleyed with him a minute, and then returning 
 addressed Sir Thomas. " Please your Worship, 
 Powdrell and the other keepers are here wi' three 
 porchers they ha' just ta'en in the park ; and will 
 your Worship be pleased to see them now, or shall 
 they put them in ward till morn ? " 
 
 Sir Thomas turned himself impatiently. " Poach- 
 ers ? Plague on 't ! a man has no rest ! Bid Pow- 
 drell put them in the strong room over night ; I'll 
 have this evening to myself. Nay, stay. I had 
 forgot : I sit at assize to-morrow with Sir John 
 Dempster. Have them up to the hall ; mayhap I 
 can despatch the business now. Bring my furred 
 gown, Andrew ; and send Master Tuff down with all 
 speed." 
 
 The servant bowed and departed. Sir Thomas 
 took another draught, and rose reluctantly from
 
 1 6 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 his chair. He was just leaving the room, when a 
 sudden whim seized his fancy, and he turned to 
 his niece and son, who, having risen, respectfully 
 awaited his departure. 
 
 " Niece Doll," said he, " thou hast never yet 
 seen me in the judgment seat : wilt go now, and 
 hear me give sentence upon these rogues? " 
 
 " Nay, Sir Thomas," remonstrated his lady, 
 " methinks it ill becomes a young damsel of her 
 breeding to be in presence with such rude fellows, 
 and at this hour." 
 
 The girl hung back, looking anxiously from one 
 to the other. 
 
 "What say'st, wench?" asked Sir Thomas. 
 "Wilt go, or no?" 
 
 " Prithee, good aunt if my uncle will have me, 
 I would fain go I will take my muffler, and stand 
 quiet as any mouse behind his chair," faltered 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " It were more seemly that she abode here with 
 me," urged her aunt, sternly. 
 
 " Tush, tush ! " replied Sir Thomas, " she shall 
 take no harm. Tom, fence thy cousin on t' other 
 side. Come with me, both." And taking his 
 niece's hand, he led her from the room, his son 
 bringing up the rear. Lady Lucy looked after 
 them for a moment with an expression of grave 
 displeasure, and then swept away to her own 
 apartment.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Brest in a little brief authority." SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 SIR THOMAS paused a few moments on the 
 threshold of the hall to adjust his gown, a delay 
 which gave Dorothy time to send a maid, who 
 stood near, for a muffler, wherewith she veiled her 
 face, after the manner of a modern oriental female. 
 
 The apartment they now entered was the largest 
 in the house. At one end was a dais, upon which 
 gave the inner door. Here stood the Justice's 
 chair, with a table before it, on which two wax 
 candles flared in the draughts which played through 
 the long and lofty room. In front were a desk 
 and stool. On one side a servant was replenish- 
 ing the fire in the great chimney; along the 
 opposite wall torches in iron branches alternated 
 with, and flashed upon stands of pikes and hal- 
 berds, corslets and helmets, some of which had 
 done service under Cceur-de-Lion. Near the 
 outer door stood the keepers with their prisoners, 
 and as the great man entered all louted low. 
 
 "Set yonder joint-stool for Mistress Dorothy, 
 lads," called Sir Thomas authoritatively, as one or 
 two men-servants came forward, "here at my 
 right hand. Son Thomas, stand close beside her 
 with thy sword. Where is Master Tuff? I bade 
 thee fetch him, Andrew." 
 
 " Please your Worship," replied the man, " I 
 sought in his closet, and then below stairs, and 
 none had seen him." 
 
 " Go look again, send more," commanded the 
 Justice, who felt himself at a loss without his
 
 1 8 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 quick-witted clerk. " He is ever to seek when 
 needed. Powdrell, put these fellows forward, that 
 I may fetch their misdeeds to the light." 
 
 The three poachers were accordingly brought 
 nearer the dais, and Sir Thomas entered on an 
 exordium calculated to impress both them and 
 his niece. 
 
 " Fellows, ye stand before me as infringers of 
 more laws than one the lex sobrietatis, or law 
 of temperance, for I warrant ye had well drunken 
 ere ye set forth to rob the lex lasa majestatis, 
 for what saith the poet, ' Non equitem invideo, 
 miror magistratus,' which is, being translated, ' I 
 respect a knight, and still more a magistrate', and 
 both these dignities have ye dishonored in my 
 person lastly, the lex silvce, or forest law how, 
 ye know best. And what color of excuse have ye, 
 forsooth? Have not I, myself, rebuilt Charlecote 
 Manor, that 'tis an honor and a glory to the 
 country side ? Have I not enlarged and beautified 
 the park, planted it with goodly trees, and for- 
 bidden a right of way therein to none (by day at 
 least) save manifest and sturdy rogues? Nay, 
 have I not, even within the last few years, brought 
 in, at great charges to myself, a breed of deer, 
 which, if unharmed, cannot fail to increase and 
 multiply wondrously? All this I have done, like 
 a good landlord and master, who considers not 
 himself ; and yet iniquity doth so abound that a 
 sort of losels stick not to enter in, robbing me of 
 the fruit of my labors, bringing discredit on the 
 name of that is, on the county of Warwick 
 and " 
 
 Here the Squire, whose eloquence had begun 
 something to fail him, was interrupted by his 
 delinquent clerk, who burst into the room as
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 19 
 
 though pursued by witches. A very hasty toilet 
 had not obliterated the traces of his flight through 
 the park, and his soaked boots and briar-torn 
 hands might have told a tale to sharper eyes than 
 the knight's. 
 
 " What means this, sirrah ? " asked Sir Thomas, 
 turning a gloomy brow toward his subordinate. 
 " Is it fitting that justice, in her very seat, should 
 wait on the pleasure of a scrivener?" 
 
 " I humbly crave your Worship's pardon," re- 
 plied Tuff, bowing down to the ground. " I knew 
 not that your Worship was returned from the hunt ; 
 and I had leave from her ladyship to go see my 
 mother, who is grievously ill." 
 
 "Dost love thy mother? " asked his employer. 
 
 " She is most dear to me, your Worship," an- 
 swered Tuff, who even then could not refrain from 
 a sorry play upon words. 
 
 " Well go to " replied Sir Thomas, " get 
 thy ink-horn and make ready to take down the 
 testimony and names : and let neither slumber nor 
 sick-beds keep thee again from thy duty." 
 
 Tuff, once more bowing low, drew the stopper 
 from his ink-horn, took a pen from above his ear, 
 and kneeling at his desk, for want of the stool 
 which Dorothy occupied, prepared for his work. 
 Meanwhile a little by-play went on behind him. 
 
 " Sir," said the domestic, who had been sent for 
 Tuff, to the young squire, " my Lady would speak 
 with you." 
 
 In truth, the good lady had been so disturbed 
 in mind at the thought of her niece in such com- 
 pany, that she finally sent for her son, resolved 
 even to risk her lord's displeasure by recalling the 
 damsel, if she seemed in the way of harm. 
 
 "Have I your leave to depart, Sir Thomas?" 
 asked the youth.
 
 20 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " How? speak with thy lady mother? Ay : she 
 still fears for Dorothy, I trow. Go thy ways ; tell 
 her the maiden is safe as in Warwick Castle. 
 Leave Andrew in thy stead, till thou come again." 
 
 The young man departed ; but, finding his 
 mother's fears not readily soothed, did not return 
 for some time. 
 
 Meanwhile the one keeper testified to taking 
 Hewlett with the hare in his possession, and the 
 others related how they had lain in ambush by the 
 brook. Sir Thomas listened composedly until he 
 heard of the shot at the deer, when he blazed up 
 into sudden anger. 
 
 "The buck, say'st thou? the five-tined buck? 
 The very one I had marked for my own coursing 
 next season ! Dick, go forth instantly, come not 
 back till thou find him. By my faith, it shall go 
 hard with these fellows if he be hurt to death. 
 And 'twas you lad in grey drew the bow, and ye 
 have it there? Nay, I must sort ye. What's thy 
 name, sirrah?" inquired the Squire (who, as will 
 be observed, had somewhat inverted the usual 
 order of proceedings), turning to the nearest cul- 
 prit. 
 
 " Bob Hewlett, your Worship." 
 
 " And thine ? " to the youth in green. 
 
 " Will Helpes." 
 
 " And thine, my brave bowman?" 
 
 " William Shakespeare." 
 
 That name, now heard with veneration through- 
 out the civilized world, produced very different 
 effects three centuries ago in the Warwick justice- 
 hall. The Squire started up, purple with fury. 
 
 " What's this?" he roared, with a hearty impre- 
 cation. " Shakespeare ? I marvel I knew thee 
 not sooner. Why, thou frontless rogue, thou hast
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV. 2l 
 
 been here once, yea, twice, before, and I let thee 
 go with a warning, for the sake of thy father and 
 family. Ay, and I'll be bound 'twas thou writ yon 
 scurril ballad on me, and pinned it on my park 
 gates, where thou deservest to be hanged thyself. 
 Was't not so? Hast naught to say? Speak up, 
 knave, and look me in the face, if thou darest ! " 
 
 Slowly Shakespeare raised his head, and looked 
 full at his judge with those wondrous eyes the 
 brightest, deepest, wisest, that ever shone under 
 mortal brows. The effect was magical. Sir Thomas 
 sank into his chair, the torrent of invective stayed 
 on his lips, and the angry flush dying from his 
 cheeks, while Dorothy half rose, the muffler falling 
 back, and her face irradiated as with sunrise. 
 
 A few seconds passed. Then Shakespeare 
 dropped his eyes again, and Sir Thomas, with a 
 gasp like a spent diver's, drew himself up. 
 
 " Master Tuff," said he, in steady but guarded 
 tones, " make out an order for the committal of 
 William Shakespeare to Warwick gaol. Powdrell, 
 see that the gyves be ready, and a cart to take him 
 thither ; put him into the strong-room for the night. 
 Son Thomas, art there ? Lend me thy arm." 
 
 " Please your Worship," said Powdrell, as the 
 squire was about to leave the room, " shall we 
 lock 'em up all three ? " 
 
 " Let the others go let them go what care 
 I?" said Sir Thomas impatiently. "Here, ye 
 knaves ye see the example of your fellow be 
 warned I promise ye he shall suffer go your 
 way. Lock him up safe, Powdrell, give him no 
 meat to-night; his stomach must come down." 
 And the Justice departed with his niece and son, 
 while the offenders were led in the directions he 
 had indicated.
 
 22 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Alack ! " murmured Sir Thomas, as he laid 
 his head on his pillow that night, " I would I had 
 the trick of that Shakespeare's face. Could I but 
 look out of his eyes, I might be Lord Keeper ere 
 I die ! "
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "The fountains of my daily life 
 Are through thy friendship fair." 
 
 EMERSON. 
 
 WHEN the heir of Charlecote left the hall at his 
 mother's summons, after traversing a passage or 
 two, and ascending the wide stairs, he stopped 
 before a door and scratched thereon with his nail, 
 a classic fashion then revived. At the answer, he 
 raised the latch and entered. Lady Lucy, her coif 
 removed, and her abundant hair, scarcely touched 
 by time, falling over her shoulders, was seated in 
 an elbow chair by the fireplace. One small square 
 of carpet, then a costly rarity, lay at the side of 
 the great canopied bedstead, but otherwise the 
 boards were bare. 
 
 "Son," asked his mother anxiously, "dost think 
 Dorothy is safe below? I seldom speak my word 
 against thy father's, but I like not to have her sit 
 there, with no woman near." 
 
 " Rest you easy, Madam," replied the young 
 man, " the princess is quite safe from the salvages." 
 There was a covert sneer in his voice. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Lady Lucy, " speak not thus. 
 ' Tis a dear sweet girl, and I would have thee love 
 her as a sister. We must never show them how 
 we care for them, but I feel moved at times to kiss 
 her, and call her some pet name which were a 
 sad weakness, and would be her ruin. Hark ! is 
 not that thy father's voice in anger? Go down, 
 Tom, thou may'st be needed. Heaven keep us 
 all from harm ! "
 
 24 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 The youth left the room, but, by no means hasten- 
 ing his steps, only arrived just as the court broke up. 
 The hour was late, and Charlecote Manor was soon 
 wrapped in silence. 
 
 But silence means not always slumber, as one 
 inmate of the Hall was proving. Midnight had 
 passed, and still Dorothy Lucy leaned from her 
 casement, despite the chill autumn air, while 
 memories and fancies chased one another through 
 her brain. 
 
 "Who can he be?" she thought. "Is it some 
 knight in disguise ? Nay my uncle knew him, 
 and spoke his name. Sure, I have heard it before. 
 Shakespeare Shakespeare yes, they dwell in 
 Stratford. But how came he by such a look? He 
 is like Apollo, in the book my aunt chid me so for 
 reading. And he must go to one of those fearsome 
 gaols, perchance be hanged, and all for shooting 
 at a deer. It must not be ! " She started up and 
 walked to and fro. " But what to do ? Shall I 
 go down and seek for the strong-room key? But 
 my uncle would be angered, my aunt call me 
 unmaidenly " 
 
 She turned to the window, and again looked 
 forth. Suddenly she caught a murmur of voices 
 in the shrubbery, and, stretching further out, 
 presently saw a female figure come hurrying from 
 the shadows across the gravel path, and disappear 
 under one of the back entrances. Stepping from 
 her door, Dorothy passed into the large upper 
 hall, just as light feet came creeping up the back 
 stair, and by the moonlight which streamed through 
 the high western window she recognized one of the 
 housemaids. 
 
 " What dost thou here, Cicely? " said she. "" I 
 feared some one had broke in."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 25 
 
 "Is't thou, Mistress Dorothy? " replied the girl, 
 suppressing a scream. " I did but go down to 
 fetch a pitcher o' watter fro' t' kitchen." 
 
 " Cicely," said Dorothy, gravely, " tell me no 
 falsehoods. I saw thee on the path without but 
 now." 
 
 " Nay, Mistress," answered the maid rudely, 
 " happen thou did'st see one o' Nan laundress' 
 clouts flap o' the drying lines. There are o'er 
 many heads i' this hoose for one poor wench to 
 please 'em all." And adding under her breath some- 
 thing about "prying and spying," she was making 
 at the garret stair. 
 
 "Why dost flout me thus, Cicely?" said 
 Dorothy. " I never was aught but kind to thee. 
 An' thou wilt say no more, my Lady must hear of 
 this." 
 
 The girl fell on her knees, and burst into 
 smothered sobs. 
 
 "Oh, Mistress Dorothy," she choked out, 
 " forgi' me. I mind how thou broughtst me drink 
 last year, when 'twas thought I had t' plague, and 
 none would come nigh me. I'll tell thee all. I 
 did but goo down to moder's t' see poor broder 
 Robin, as has listed for a sodger, and goos away 
 by daylight; and as I fared back through park 
 but ye'll none believe me " 
 
 "Go on, Cicely," said Dorothy. 
 
 " I met wi' a tall strappan' lad, as I knew for 
 one o' th' porchers as his Worship let goo last night. 
 I saw 'em then, as they past the scullery hatch. 
 I were for showin un' a clean pair o' heels, but a' 
 spoke me fair and bid me stop. An' what think 
 ye he axed me for? Not a kiss, nor none such 
 folly, but if I could na' find strong-room key, an' 
 put him in place o' t' other lad, Chake what 
 did keeper say were his name? "
 
 26 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Shakespeare." 
 
 " Ay, so." 
 
 "And what didst thou say?" queried Dorothy. 
 
 " Whoy, I bid un hold's prate, or I'd call Hugh 
 gardner, an' loose t' mastiff; so I coom'd away." 
 
 " Cicely, Cicely," said Dorothy, hurriedly, "lose 
 not a moment, come with me quickly ! " 
 
 And seizing the girl by the arm, she hastened 
 her down to the garden door. With some help 
 from the staring and astonished maid, she drew the 
 bar from its mortises, slid the bolts, and they stood 
 looking out from a small porch which had been 
 built into an angle of the structure. 
 
 " Now, Cicely," said Dorothy, " if thou lov'st 
 me, speed. Find the youth thou wast speaking 
 with I will stay here, and call help, should he 
 mean harm bring him hither show him the 
 little window of the strong-room get the ladder, 
 if thou canst let him save his friend." 
 
 " But, Mistress," stammered the girl, overborne 
 by Dorothy's impetuosity, yet doubting the at- 
 tempt, and fearful of consequences, " why should 
 us try what be t' good ? Sir Tummas 'ull be 
 mortal angry." 
 
 " Fear nothing," said Dorothy, " do as I bid 
 thee. I will bear thee out with Sir Thomas, and 
 take the blame, if blame there be." 
 
 Cicely, with a bewildered air, hastened toward 
 the shrubbery, and was seen ere long returning 
 with a tall young man, to whom she was apparently 
 explaining her sudden change of purpose. Lead- 
 ing him round an angle of the house, they passed 
 under a wall so thickly overgrown with ivy that 
 only by close scrutiny was a small window to be 
 discovered some twelve feet from the ground 
 among the clustering leaves.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 2^ 
 
 "That's t' hole," whispered Cicely, " but there 
 be two bars across. I'll look for ladder. Gardner 
 were pruning a tree here to-day." And she began 
 peering among the bushes. 
 
 " It shall not need," said the youth, whom we 
 have seen appear in the last chapter as Will of 
 Tewkesbury. 
 
 Taking the quarter-staff, which had been re- 
 turned to him on leaving the hall, he retreated a 
 few paces, made a short run forward, 'and setting 
 the pole in the ground, with a powerful spring 
 heaved himself high into the air, timing his leap so 
 well that the staff fell lightly against the wall, while 
 he remained clinging with both hands to the up- 
 right stanchion of the window. Breaking away, 
 with a few strong jerks, the transverse bar, which 
 was old and rusted, he forced himself through the 
 aperture. Cicely, returning to her mistress, re- 
 ported the success of the enterprise thus far, and 
 then went back to await its completion. 
 
 The young man, meanwhile, hanging from the 
 stanchion on the inside, as far as he could reach, 
 called in a low voice, " Have a care," and dropped 
 lightly to the floor beside the prisoner. 
 
 " How now? " asked Shakespeare, " com'st thou 
 from the clouds, on a moonbeam ladder?" 
 
 " Nay," answered the other, " I am he shall be 
 thy ladder. Mistress Dorothy, whom thou sawest 
 in the hall, got speech of me through her maid, 
 and showed me the way hither. Change jerkins 
 with me, get on my shoulders, and draw thyself 
 out of this hole." 
 
 " But there is no way to draw thee after." 
 
 " Nay, I will stay here to answer Sir Thomas." 
 
 " What, run away, and leave my friend to pay 
 all? Not so, I fear naught the Justice can do to 
 me."
 
 28 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Will," said the .rescuer, taking his friend's 
 hand, "be ruled. I am here now, and but one 
 can get out. Thou hast wife and child, I have 
 none. I am the elder and should have kept thee 
 hence. The bow was mine, and I lent it thee, or 
 they had charged me with the shot. Sir Thomas 
 will ne'er know me from thee, and I will seek bail 
 from my father. Thou seest thus that my fault is 
 the heavier, and that my blame will be lighter. 
 And were it otherwise, I were no true friend if I 
 would not dare the worst for thy sake. Come, 
 time presses, up and away." 
 
 " Thou art well styled," said Shakespeare, " for 
 thy name is Helpes, and so is thy nature. But 
 methinks 'tis cowardly thus to steal off." 
 
 " Not a whit, not a whit ! " replied Helpes, re- 
 moving his coat, and urging his companion to do 
 the same. " 'Twill soon be over for me. Speed 
 thou to London I have oft heard thee say thou 
 wouldst be with the players there and I warrant 
 thou couldst write with the best of them. Go 
 be a great man but forget not thy old fellow." 
 
 "Thou art the best of friends," said Shake- 
 speare, "and I'll remember thee while memory 
 lives." 
 
 The youths embraced, and then Helpes, raising 
 his friend on his shoulders, lifted him' within reach 
 of the window, and still further facilitated his 
 egress by pushing under his feet. Next moment 
 Shakespeare dropped to the ground, and stood by 
 Cicely's side. 
 
 " Prithee, good maid," said he, " bring me to 
 thy lady. I would fain kiss her hand, and thank 
 her for her help." 
 
 " Thou kiss her hand ! " ejaculated Cicely, 
 " Dost mind she's a Lucy of Charlecote? "
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 29 
 
 " Faith, I know it," replied the youth, " and 
 bravely she becomes the name. But an' she were 
 the queen, worse than Will Shakespeare kiss her 
 hand each day^* 
 
 He stepped toward the porch, Cicely beside 
 him. Dorothy, greatly agitated, still stood in the 
 doorway. 
 
 " Gentle lady," said he, doffing his cap, " I would 
 pay my thanks for the debt of my safety." 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Dorothy, " I shall ne'er regret 
 what I have done." 
 
 " In truth thou shalt not," he replied, and drop- 
 ping on one knee, he pressed his lips to her hand. 
 
 "There, measter," exclaimed Cicely, "ne'er 
 forget thou'st kissed t' hand of a Lucy ! " 
 
 " It shall be well remembered," answered the 
 youth : and next moment he disappeared in the 
 shadows,
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " The crooked stick and the grey goose wing, 
 Without them England were but a fling." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 PERHAPS the soundest sleeper in the Hall for the 
 rest of the night was William Helpes. Wearied in 
 body by his long journey and the exciting vigil 
 
 which had followed, 
 relieved in mind by 
 the knowledge of his 
 friend's escape, he lay 
 coiled up on a heap of 
 straw, his knees drawn 
 up to his chin, his hands 
 clasped over the back 
 of his neck, wrapped in 
 such profound repose 
 that the unbarring and 
 opening of the door did 
 not rouse him, and it 
 was only when Powdrell 
 stirred him with his 
 foot, and roughly shout- 
 ed, "Come on, I tell 
 thee ! " that he arose. 
 
 The keeper bore in 
 one hand a bunch of 
 keys, and in the other 
 a rusty pair of fetters, 
 with chain attached, which he was about to fit on 
 the young man's ankles. But Will drew back.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 31 
 
 " Did Sir Thomas order thee to iron me ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 " Ay, marry, did he," replied Powdrell. 
 
 " I prithee, friend," said Helpes, " let me go 
 unbound. I promise thee not to flee." 
 
 " Promises are sooner broke than leg-bolts," 
 returned the other, " but come before Sir Tummas 
 as thou art, and unless he says otherways, thou 
 shalt be shackled, willy-nilly." And, indicating 
 the way, he closely followed his prisoner into the 
 hall. Here the other keepers were in waiting, and 
 Sir Thomas presently appeared with his clerk. 
 
 " Hast found the buck? " was his first query. 
 
 " Ay, your Worship," replied Dick, " and he 
 is safe and sound as heart could wish." 
 
 " Tis well very well, though no thanks to 
 this Shakespeare. And hast the cart and mare 
 without ? " 
 
 "Ay, your Worship." 
 
 " Give me yon warrant, Master Tuff," said the 
 Justice. And taking a pen, he proceeded to affix 
 his sign-manual. Meantime, the culprit kept his 
 face turned toward the ground, in some fear of 
 detection. 
 
 " And now," commanded the knight, " let my 
 horse be ready saddled in half an hour. I'll break 
 my fast the while. Have the fellow away." 
 
 " Ben't we to iron him, your Worship ? " asked 
 Powdrell, approaching with the fetters. 
 
 " Surely," said Sir Thomas, " but stay," looking 
 more closely at the youth, " hath he much hurt? " 
 
 And indeed, the slight wound which he had re- 
 ceived from Powdrell's sword the evening before, 
 aggravated by his efforts at the window, had bled 
 not a little during the night, and conspicuously 
 stained his sleeve.
 
 32 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Tis naught naught, your Worship," said 
 Helpes, looking up involuntarily. 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed Sir Thomas, glancing more 
 keenly at him, " what was that ? Look at me, and 
 speak again." 
 
 " I said that my hurt was naught, your Worship," 
 returned Helpes, feeling that evasion would do him 
 no good, and looking steadily but respectfully at 
 the Squire. 
 
 Slowly and falteringly Sir Thomas raised his eyes 
 to the prisoner's. But his air of apprehension al- 
 most instantly disappeared. The clear and honest 
 orbs which looked back into his were not those of 
 the mind-king. 
 
 " Thou art not Shakespeare ! " exclaimed the 
 Justice. " Where is he ? Powdrell, go bring him 
 in." 
 
 " If this be not Shakespeare, your Worship, I 
 know not where he is," replied the man. " There 
 was none else in the strong-room." 
 
 " Where is Shakespeare ? and who art thou ? and 
 how cam'st thou here?" demanded Sir Thomas, 
 turning on the prisoner. 
 
 " Your Worship," answered Helpes, " Shake- 
 speare is, I trust, well forward on the London road. 
 I am Will Helpes, of Tewkesbury, whom your Wor- 
 ship was pleased to let go last night, along with 
 Bob Hewlett ; and I came here by taking my 
 friend's place in the strong-room." 
 
 " How? Through the keyhole? " 
 
 " Nay, your Worship ; through the window, 
 which is something larger than a keyhole. I 
 clomb up by help of my staff, tore out one bar, 
 dropt in, and pushed him out." 
 
 " But wherefore?" 
 
 " I had been his friend for ten years, your Wor- 
 ship," replied Helpes.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 33 
 
 " And when earnest thou from Tewkesbury?" 
 
 " I left the town an hour ere sunset, yestreen." 
 
 " And wast here ere ten? Thou should'st go 
 for a running footman. But dost see what a load 
 of offences rest on thee? Beside the poaching 
 and theft, thou hast broken and entered a peace- 
 ful house, and hast compounded a felony by this 
 knave's escape." 
 
 " Sir, I am at your mercy," answered Helpes. 
 
 The magistrate remained silent for some min- 
 utes, gazing at the floor. 
 
 " Thou art a stout fellow," said he at last, " and 
 it were pity such limbs as thine should rot in gaol. 
 Go, get thee back to Tewkesbury. Mark this 
 is without prejudice to that rogue, Shakespeare, 
 who, if he come into our hands, shall be made the 
 example he deserves. We will keep the artillery, 
 lest thou should'st be drawn to the woods again ; 
 but for thyself, go free." 
 
 The youth bowed, muttering a few words of 
 acknowledgment, hesitated, turned toward the 
 door, and finally threw himself before Sir Thomas. 
 
 " Oh, sir," he exclaimed, " I pray you let me 
 have the bow !" 
 
 "By my faith, friend," said Sir Thomas, with 
 amazed displeasure, " thou dost not lack assurance ! 
 I grant thee fair quarter, and thou must needs 
 march out with all the honors of war." 
 
 " Sir Thomas," replied Helpes, "I must seem 
 most thankless. But hear me speak. The bow 
 was lent me to use at the butts by an old man 
 in Tewkesbury almshouse, who saith his sire bore 
 it at the fight in the ' Bloody meadow ' there. 
 ' Tis his only joy and pride. I think no day passes 
 that he doth not rub it with oil or wax, and his 
 greatest pleasure is to sit in the sun o' summer
 
 34 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 evenings, twanging on the string, and telling his 
 tale of the battle to any who will listen. Sure I 
 am he would soon die without it. I promised to 
 bring it again by sunset to-night. It was ill done 
 of me 'to ask the loan or make the promise, as I 
 now see, but it pities me to think on his case. I 
 beg your Worship to send me to gaol, and let him 
 have his bow." 
 
 " Powdrell," said Sir Thomas, " bring me this 
 same bow." 
 
 Powdrell, stepping to a corner in the passage, 
 took out the bow, wrapped in a cloth, and laid it 
 before his master, who, unrolling the wrapper, 
 scrutinized the weapon closely. 
 
 The use of the long bow, though rapidly failing, 
 was not altogether discontinued, and the knight, a 
 keen sportsman, could well appreciate the worth of 
 the specimen in his hands. Shaped of the finest 
 yew, black as ebony, and smooth as glass from 
 constant polishing, yielding slightly at the merest 
 touch, yet strong and elastic as steel when fully 
 bent, it was a weapon to have delighted Ascham's 
 eye. 
 
 "A finer I never saw," said Sir Thomas at last. 
 " Didst say 'twas bent at Tewkesbury fight? " 
 
 "Ay, your Worship." 
 
 "And on the right side, I'll warrant," continued 
 the magistrate with increasing interest. 
 
 " 'Twas drawn for the house of Lancaster, your 
 Worship." 
 
 " I knew it. I knew it ! " cried the knight. 
 "A good cause, a good bow. Will Helpes, thou 
 hast thy weapon, thy liberty, and the pardon of 
 Thomas Lucy for all offences committed against 
 him. Thou mayst have a chance to draw this bow 
 for old England yet, for truly thy ancient beads-
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 35 
 
 man could not do better than leave it thee as a 
 legacy. Put by your committal, Master Tuff. 
 Have away the cart and horse to the harvest-field. 
 Give the lad somewhat to break his fast, Powdrell. 
 Fare thee well." 
 
 Powdrell would have detained the young man a 
 comfortable time (as he expressed it) to tell his 
 tale and drink down unkindness, but Helpes 
 would only stay for a cup of ale and slice of 
 bread, and was soon on his way down the valley 
 of the Avon.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " A man at arms must now serve on his knees, 
 And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 THE sun of mid-afternoon shone warmly upon 
 a group of old men clustered around the door of 
 Tewkesbury almshouse. The building, one of the 
 earliest of its kind, was a long low structure of 
 
 coarse pale bricks not yet mellowed by time, with 
 a roof of red tiles and one huge chimney. 
 
 Such of the inmates as could stir out were now 
 gathered together, clad in rough blue gowns, then 
 worn in age by men almost as universally as by
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 37 
 
 women. That modern solace of enforced leisure, 
 tobacco, had not yet crossed the sea, but one or 
 two were chewing dried clover blossoms. 
 
 "Sir George be gone, I hear," said Treddles, a 
 blear-eyed old man, referring to the death of a 
 local dignitary. 
 
 "Ay, ay," replied Noorth, who had lost a fore- 
 tooth, and whistled at every 's,' " and I be main 
 glad on 't. Shant ha' to bow to 'n no more 
 commin' down t' street." 
 
 " Nay," remonstrated Treddles, " 'a were a good 
 gentleman, and gi'd us a groat by times." 
 
 "What o' that?" said Noorth, impatiently, 
 " 'twas na' half what he might ha' gi'n. But that 
 were allays thy way, Treddles, throw thee a copper, 
 and thou'd swear 'twere gold." 
 
 " Poor folk ha' hard lots, sure-ly, sure-ly," threw 
 in a third, leaning on a crutch, " but we'n summat 
 to thank Heavens for in a good wall at our back, 
 and tight roof o'er head by night." 
 
 " I tell thee, Batter, thou'rt clean deceived," 
 declared the sibilant Noorth. " Ah, in the good old 
 times of our grandsires, 'twere different. Then a 
 poor man could bide in his own snug house, when 
 he were past work, and goo up to the good Fathers 
 every day for 's dole, and the blessing as went 
 wi' 't, and none to let him in 's way ; but now he be 
 Jbaled off to a place like this, as is no better nor 
 a prison. And prisoners we're all like to be soon, 
 sick or sound," he proceeded, hitting on a new 
 cause of complaint, " for I hears the Queen have 
 sent down a carter for town, as has done well 
 wi'out since ever 'twere built, and a Bailey to be 
 set up in town-hall, as I'd liever see hangman at 
 street end to clap us all in chains." 
 
 " VVhoy, whoy," said Batter, rather taken aback, 
 I'd thought as how 't would be a fine sight as
 
 38 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 ever were : an' I mean'd to halt down to see 't, if 
 day were fair." 
 
 "Then ye doant think t' conduit '11 run wi' 
 wine, as I've heer'd on? " asked Treddles doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " Wine ! " scoffed Noorth, " ay, ye were allays 
 a droothy body, Treddles, but doant think upon 't, 
 an' there be a cask or two o' bad ale broached, ye 
 may gi' thanks on your knees. Take my word for 
 't, there'll be naught else to wet a poor body's 
 whistle." 
 
 " T' cask's not broached as '11 wet thy whistle, 
 Noorth," remarked Treddles, nudging the cripple : 
 and both cackled hilariously. 
 
 " Come, Hinckley, tell us thy mind on the 
 morrow's doings," remarked Noorth hastily, turn- 
 ing to a fourth old man, who had not yet spoken, 
 and whose right hand twitched nervously to and 
 fro, as over the strings of some instrument. 
 
 " The morrow the morrow " murmured the 
 other, " ay, he said he'd fetch it back to-night. 
 An' then I'll go wi' sun, an' get place on a door- 
 stone I know in High street, and wait till t' Queen, 
 Lord bless her ! comes on her white palfrey, an' 
 then I'll howd it up and cry, ' Your Majesty, here's 
 t' bow was drawn for your feyther's house at 
 Tewkesbury fight ! ' Ah, I warrant she'll be rare 
 an' pleased ! " 
 
 " What's he prating on?" asked Noorth, with 
 disgust, turning to Batter. 
 
 " Doen't thou mind," said the lame man, " he's 
 allays telling the tale how 's sire fought in the 
 bloody mead over yon with the bow as he lent to 
 young Measter Helpes yestreen?" 
 
 " Ay, so. Well, he were a fool to loan 't, but I 
 hope as he'll ne'er get it back. 'Twill save me
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 39 
 
 that weary long tale as he's allays strivin' to ding 
 my ears wi'." 
 
 " Here cooms 's suster," said Treddles. " Hap- 
 pen she'll fetch un out o's maze." 
 
 A short, stout, brisk-looking woman drew near, 
 carrying a bunch of keys in one hand, and a small 
 parcel in the other. 
 
 " Save ye all," said she in general greeting. 
 "How dost thee, broder? See I've brought 
 'ee a pair o' warm hosen for 't winter." She held 
 out her parcel to Hinckley, who took it passively, 
 but made no reply. 
 
 " What ailed him ? " she asked. " Hath he had 
 a stroke?" 
 
 " Nay," replied Batter, " he be mournin' for 's 
 bow as he lent Measter Helpes." 
 
 " Measter Helpes?" answered the woman. 
 " Why, I seed 'n but now near t' gates, comin'" 
 this way." 
 
 " Had he bow wi' 'n? " demanded her brother, 
 sharply. 
 
 " I knaw n't," said she, " but here he comes. 
 Thee'll soon see." 
 
 All eyes were raised in the direction of a young 
 man who, turning the corner, came slowly up the 
 little street. His limping gait, bloody sleeve, and 
 clothes first soaked and then caked with dust, told 
 something of the toils and privations through which 
 he had passed ; but the bright eye and ruddy 
 cheek showed neither spirit nor strength had yet 
 failed him. 
 
 " Here's thy bow, gaffer," said he, reaching the 
 weapon to old Hinckley. " I thank thee for the 
 loan, and have brought it back in time. Sun's yet 
 two hours high." 
 
 The old man, undoing the case with trembling
 
 40 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 fingers, examined his treasure closely ere he be- 
 stowed word or look on the bearer. 
 
 "It's main safe," said he at last, "main safe. 
 Maybe a bit scratched. But 't will wear off. But 
 wheer hast had it? Wert in a fray? " 
 
 " Nay," said Helpes, laughing, " I'll ne'er tell 
 thee where I've been, save that I've walked near 
 three-score miles in twenty-four hours, swam the 
 river twice, and have a wondrous longing to my 
 supper. Good-even to ye all." And turning 
 away, he soon was lost sight. 
 
 "Ah, Suster Annot, a bachelor like that's worth 
 any maid's having," said Hinckley, who regarded 
 his sister, some fifteen years his junior, as a young 
 and marriageable damsel. " I hope he's na' come 
 by much harm. Didst see his sleeve ? " 
 
 " Ay, did I," put in Batter, " and it's none the 
 same jerkin he set out wi' yesterday, more by 
 token." 
 
 " He'll ha' bin in some alehouse brawl, I trow," 
 said Noorth. 
 
 " Nay," exclaimed Hinckley, grasping the bow, 
 which seemed to have restored his strength and 
 speech, " I'll warrant him none of your brawlers. 
 He'll ha' got the hurt in some good cause, such as 
 this bow were first bent in, when Queen Marget 
 an' her son ' 
 
 " Nay, if thou's for that tune again, I'll dance 
 off," snarled Noorth, rising and entering the house, 
 whither a clanging bell soon summoned the others.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Thus shall it be done unto the man whom the king de- 
 lighteth to honor." Book of Esther. 
 
 WITH the first peep of dawn next day, Tewkes- 
 bury discovered a scene of unusual animation, the 
 greater part of the humbler sort, both male and 
 female, being busy with hoes, brooms, buckets, 
 and barrows in cleaning Tewkesbury High Street, 
 from the gates to the town hall. As this task had 
 scarce been attempted, much less achieved, within 
 the memory of man, it well needed the scores of 
 laborers employed, who consoled themselves for 
 their unwonted toil, and the enforced silence 
 which would prevail later in the day, by a Babel 
 of gossip and clamor. 
 
 " Eh, goodwife Barm," cried a ferryman, hold- 
 ing up an enormous specimen of foot-gear on his 
 rake, "here's one o' thy owd clouted shoon, I've 
 digged out o' t' muck. Tis well seen why thou's 
 gone barefoot these three year." 
 
 " Thou liest, thou knave," returned the baker's 
 wife, flinging the remnant of water in her bucket 
 over him, " 'twould make two o' mine. 'Tis thy 
 wherry laid up here for want o' use." 
 
 A laugh at the expense of the ferryman, who 
 was well known to be fonder of the ale-can than 
 the oar, did not at all improve his temper, and 
 blows seemed imminent, when a cry was raised, 
 " Here they come ! " and two parochial officers 
 were seen at a distance, slowly marching down the (
 
 42 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 street, apparently to examine into the progress of 
 the work. 
 
 Parting to right and left before these dignitaries, 
 and working with desperate energy, the men hurl- 
 ing the mud into alleys, yards, and even doorways, 
 and the women sluicing the stones with water, the 
 officials found the street before them in a fair state 
 of cleanliness, and having walked slowly to the 
 gates, returned^at the same pace to the Hall, be- 
 tween the ducking and grinning lines of laborers. 
 
 By nine o'clock all preparations were well for- 
 ward. The conduit, despite Noorth's prediction, 
 was really running wine slowly and intermittent- 
 ly indeed, and sending forth a much diluted fluid 
 which some of the bolder spirits did not scruple 
 to term " cask- rinsings," but still indubitably wine. 
 
 Our friend Noorth, however, was possessed of 
 another grievance. The sheriff's wisdom having 
 conceived that her Majesty's envoy could not but 
 be pleased with a sight of the paupers whom they 
 had among them, the six who could go on foot 
 were ordered out to form a part of the show, 
 instead of being allowed to roam whither they 
 would : and being set closely together on a bench 
 against a most disreputable breach in the church 
 porch, performed a double office. Noorth com- 
 plained as loudly as he dared, and did not fail to 
 point out to his fellows that this was the beginning 
 of their slavery under the new order of things. 
 
 By ten, the procession had formed in the 
 meadow without the city gates ; and shortly after- 
 ward a flourish of trumpets announced the ap- 
 proach of the Queen's envoy, Sir Henry Systen. 
 
 The sheriff and the other city officials awaited 
 him at the gates, and dutifully presented the keys. 
 
 Meanwhile the six old paupers sat in their places,
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 43 
 
 holding each man his bow, crutch, or staff, as the 
 case might be, and craning their necks to get the 
 first glimpse of the train. 
 
 " Ye mun tell Symes and me all goes by, 
 Noorth," said Paxon, " for our eyes be too failed 
 to trust." 
 
 " Well," grumbled Noorth, " here coom'th Sir 
 
 Henry Systen, as be Queen's envoy, wi' carter 
 in's hand " 
 
 " Where be t' Queen? " cried Hinckley, seizing 
 his bow, and starting fonvard. 
 
 " Sit down, ye fool ! Sit down !" said Noorth, 
 " hold thy peace, and doant put me out ; we'll 
 none see t' Queen to-day. Next is t' Bailey as is 
 to be, wi' two lads bearing t' gilt swan behind him,
 
 44 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 as is whispering good words in 's ear. Next be 
 the gentry o' horse-back, wi' a band o' hackbut- 
 men. And here's a line o' townsmen in green. 
 Eh ! there's young Will Helpes among 'em, in a 
 deal better trim nor he were yestreen." 
 
 " What be that singing? " asked old Symes. 
 
 " 7 Tis the mustard-men," answered Noorth. 
 
 But Tewkesbury's chief industry demands a 
 more particular mention. 
 
 First came James Helpes, Will's father, bearing 
 the golden pot of mustard which was to be sent 
 to the Queen. He was followed by two youths 
 carrying vases containing plants of mustard which 
 had been reared under shelter for this occasion. 
 Next, drawn by three yellow horses, came a large 
 open cart, on which stood four journeymen, hard 
 at work. One was grinding the mustard seed, 
 another mixing and stirring it with oil, a third 
 making it up into balls, which the fourth now and 
 then flung among the crowd, while all roared lus- 
 tily the following stave : 
 
 " Here we stand together clustered, 
 Round our fiery English mustard; 
 French and Spaniard long have blustered, 
 But they fear our balls of mustard; 
 Beef and venison, pigeon, bustard, 
 All are better for our mustard; 
 'Sooth, we'll break his knavish costard, 
 Will not sing the praise of mustard ! " 
 
 " There," said Noorth, when the cart had pass- 
 ed, " t' halberd men and bowyers come next, and 
 we be to follow. A murrain o' those who thrust 
 out such poor bodies for their own pride ! " 
 
 The paupers accordingly rose, and tottered as 
 well as they could the short distance to the Town 
 Hall, which entering, they were provided with 
 seats near the door.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 45 
 
 The Charter having been read, and the Bailiff 
 installed, it remained for him to express his sense 
 of the honor thus conferred, which he did some- 
 what as follows : 
 
 " Right Honorable Sir, and Envoy of her Most 
 Gracious Majesty : though our town be small, yet 
 doubt not but it holdeth more true and loyal hearts 
 than another in England ; as a measure of mustard 
 seed containeth more hot and fiery particles than 
 a measure of any other corn, though twice as great ; 
 in some proof whereof, we offer her Majesty this 
 golden pot, with the fruit of our industry : and for 
 me, that am set as the first pilot of so goodly a 
 vessel, I trust so to discharge my duty as not to 
 disgrace the choice of the Queen, whom God 
 preserve ! " 
 
 The golden mustard pot was then placed before 
 Sir Henry, -who replied : " Most worshipful Bailiff: 
 Fear not but we think you shall acquit you well 
 in this your charge, as indeed you shall neither be 
 shamed by the glory, nor puffed up by the mis- 
 carriage, of those who have gone before you. The 
 welfare of this town lieth near her Majesty's heart, 
 which shall be cheered by^the report of your loyalty, 
 as her eyes and palate by your fair gift. Well do 
 we hope that Tewkesbury, from her small begin- 
 nings, may grow, in the light of her Majesty's 
 favor, as her own mustard plant, unto a mighty 
 stature. And so, God save the Queen ! " 
 
 Here followed great shouting and hurling up of 
 caps, and the audience dispersed to spend the rest 
 of the day in games, feasting, and mirth.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " The bitter arrow leaped forth, thirsting to drink blood." 
 
 HOMER. 
 
 NEARLY two years had rolled away since the 
 events last related. It was a windy August even- 
 ing, with occasional dashes of rain and rumblings 
 of distant thunder, and again Powdrell strayed in 
 the woods of Charlecote park. But a change had 
 passed on his appearance, and a still greater on 
 his manner. His clothing and face showed the 
 marks of hardship and exposure, his shoulder bore 
 the Lucy badge no longer, and instead of the bold 
 and confident air of one who possesses at least 
 partial authority, he had the defiant but stealthy 
 demeanor of a .trespasser. He followed the wind- 
 ings of the little stream before named for some 
 distance, until he reached a spot where it widened 
 into a small marshy pool. Here a squat, heavy 
 fellow of most forbidding aspect awaited him. 
 
 " Well met, Master Powdrell ! " said he. 
 
 "I'm none so sure o' that," replied Powdrell. 
 " I like ill to turn traitor ; and I am half i' the 
 mind to throw the job up." 
 
 " Nay, nay, thee '11 ne'er do that," said the 
 other, soothingly. " Thou's promised us a score 
 o' birds th' night ; and all's ready for taking 'em 
 away. We'n none do wi' out thee, thou knows the 
 woods so well." 
 
 " I did know the woods well,' said the ex- 
 keeper, " but now I seem to see every tree o' 
 
 46
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 47 
 
 another side than I did afore. An' Sir Tummas 
 were a good master to me for twelve year." 
 
 " Nay, but to turn thee off at last for a bit o' 
 drinking," persisted the tempter, " sure a' de- 
 serves to lose." 
 
 " It were na' that alone," said Powdrell, " but 
 i' th' spring I overrid one o' th' horses as died. 
 'Twere o' Sir Tummas' errand, and a' could na' 
 say th' blame were mine ; but it gi'd him a handle. 
 Then a young fawn broke 's neck on a tree. 'T 
 were out o' season, the flesh were na' fit for gen- 
 try, and I deemed 'twere no harm to sell it to 
 some country folk, and pouch th' money. But 
 that mean-hearted rogue, Tuff, got th' tale by th' 
 end and dressed it out for his Worship. And 
 then, as ill luck would ha' it, when I were sent for 
 up to Hall about it, I had drunk more than I were 
 fit to carry. So wi't all, I were turned out o' 
 place." 
 
 As he ceased, there came a bright flash and roll 
 of thunder, nearer than before. Powdrell started 
 and winced. The other looked up in wonder. 
 
 "Thou ben't feared, sure, for a flash like that?" 
 
 " Nay," replied Powdrell, " a wise woman told 
 me, twenty years agone, that I'd die by a blow 
 from heaven ; an' I think on 't, whiles, when t' light- 
 ning comes." 
 
 " I'd best leave thee," said the stout man. 
 "What wi' pityin' Sir Tummus, an' fearin' for thy- 
 self, thee's fit for naught." 
 
 " I'll ne'er be called coward," said Powdrell, 
 fiercely. " Come on, ha' it over wi' soon as may 
 be ; an' no more o' that, or I'll fell thee." 
 
 The ill assorted companions accordingly pur- 
 sued their way some distance further, until Pow- 
 drell, stooping, drew a net closely bundled together
 
 48 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESCURY. 
 
 from under a bush. " Here 't be ; little I thought 
 ever to come to this. Now follow on." 
 
 He wound about to left and right, pressing 
 swiftly forward as if desirous of shaking off his 
 confederate, who, however, stuck closely at his 
 heels, until they rounded a thick coppice, and saw 
 before them the pheasant-roost the forms of 
 the birds just discernible among the branches, at 
 something more than a man's height from the 
 ground. 
 
 " Be we to knock 'em down now? " asked the 
 stranger, looking about for a stick. 
 
 " Ay, ye fool ! " said Powdrell, " knock down 
 one, and ha' the rest take wing. I know a better 
 trick." 
 
 Striking a light, he took a roll of sulphur from 
 his pocket, which having ignited, he placed slightly 
 to windward of the sleeping birds, so that the 
 breeze, broken by the coppice, carried the fumes 
 among them. 
 
 " Now," said he, as the first bird began to waver 
 on its perch, "be handy wi' the net but what's 
 that? More o' thy fellows coming ?" 
 
 " Nay," stammered the other, " I bid none 
 come." 
 
 " It '11 be the new keepers," muttered Powdrell, 
 stamping the sulphur into the ground, "here this 
 way." 
 
 They retreated a short distance, but soon heard 
 the voices of a second party. 
 
 "We're right i' their track! Nay 'tis too 
 late to run. Set thy back agen a tree, move not a 
 finger, and happen they '11 pass us by." 
 
 This plan might have succeeded, had both been 
 equally steady of nerve ; but the stout man, after 
 holding his ground a few moments, finding the
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 49 
 
 suspense too much for him, slipped round his tree 
 just as three figures appeared, and took to his 
 heels with a frightful crackling of dry twigs. Pow- 
 drell, seeing concealment was useless, started for- 
 ward ; laying an arrow on his bow-string. 
 
 "Yield thee !" shouted the others, presenting 
 their pieces. 
 
 "Not wi'out a blow," shouted Powdrell ; and 
 launching the shaft at his adversaries, he snatched 
 another from his quiver. The arrow found its 
 mark in the breast of the youngest forester, who 
 fell to the ground. 
 
 " He's killed him ! He's killed t' young squire ! " 
 exclaimed the others, falling back into cover. 
 
 Powdrell, with a cry of horror, fled, he knew 
 not whither. When he recovered his senses, he 
 was stretched at the foot of an oak. 
 
 " I should na' be lying here asleep," he mut- 
 tered, unable at first to collect his thoughts. " T' 
 porchers may be busy. Eh ! What be I but a 
 porcher myself? an' I ha' shot Sir Tummas' son !" 
 
 A faint sound of voices was now heard, proceed- 
 ing apparently from both sides. 
 
 " They'll ha' brought help to carry him away," 
 he murmured, " and now they've come for me." 
 
 Rising on his feet, he drew out another arrow, 
 and settling himself firmly, stood waiting, with an 
 occasional glance upward. The confused buzzing 
 of many tongues in consultation grew louder and 
 louder, until it was evident that he was completely 
 surrounded 
 
 " 'Tis an ill end," he sighed, " but might be 
 worse. Now, witch, let thy words come true ! " 
 
 Drawing his string to the utmost, he pointed his 
 shaft to the zenith, let it fly, and throwing down 
 his bow, stood with folded arms. Several rushed
 
 50 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 forward to seize him, but even as they did so, the 
 whiz of the descending missile was heard, and the 
 arrow, striking fairly on his crown, stretched him 
 lifeless upon the earth.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "The daily waiting on the fractious chair, 
 The nightly vigil by the feverish bed. " 
 
 PRAED. 
 
 THE heir of Charlecote, however, was not 
 dead. Suffering from a severe wound in the 
 shoulder, he was conveyed to his father's house, 
 where he lay for many days in fevered agony. 
 
 He first recoveied consciousness on a fair 
 September evening. The light of sunset shone 
 through the window, close shut and curtained as 
 it was, and enabled him to distinguish the figure 
 of his cousin Dorothy, sitting by the table with 
 a bit of lacework in her hand, occasionally draw- 
 ing a long sigh of distress, as she breathed the 
 hot stifling air then considered necessary for an 
 invalid. Warm as the day was, a huge fire blazed 
 in the chimney, while screens fenced every cre- 
 vice. 
 
 For a few minutes the wounded youth gazed in 
 silence, and then faltered out, " Drink, Dorothy, 
 drink ! "" 
 
 " Oh, cousin ! " exclaimed the girl, springing 
 up "thou'rt surely better ! Oh, how glad " 
 
 "Drink, I tell thee !" repeated the sufferer, in 
 a tone as imperious as his feeble voice could 
 command ; and Dorothy, softly approaching the 
 bedside, poured out a spoonful of some liquid, and 
 held it to his lips. 
 
 "More, more!" he gasped, swallowing it 1 
 eagerly. 
 
 61
 
 52 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Nay, cousin, I dare not. The leech forbade it. 
 I will call my aunt. I did but take her place for 
 an hour." 
 
 "What said the leech of me?" asked the 
 invalid. 
 
 " He said there was hope, but thou must be 
 still." 
 
 " Tis well," replied Thomas ; and closing his 
 eyes, remained perfectly quiet, while Dorothy 
 slipped away to her aunt. 
 
 The young man's improvement was steady, 
 though not rapid ; and before many days he was 
 pronounced out of danger. His convalescence was 
 slow, however, and his arm useless for some time ; 
 and every device that could amuse an exacting and 
 capricious temper was called into play. It soon 
 became evident that while no one perfectly suc- 
 ceeded in the task- of diverting him, Dorothy could 
 do so best and longest. With his father he had 
 very little in common, and Sir Thomas's loud 
 voice and heavy step jarred on his son's weakened 
 nerves. Lady Lucy had never been a good reader 
 or a quick observer, and her well-meant efforts to 
 improve the occasion were unwelcome. But 
 Dorothy was ever ready to read when her cousin 
 demanded it, in a clear soft voice, was never vexed 
 when he silenced her ; while the graphic manner 
 in which she would narrate the trivial events of 
 the day, or the news brought by an occasional 
 visitor, made her, whom hitherto he had noticed 
 but little, an object of considerable interest in his 
 eyes. Lady Lucy viewed this companionship with 
 mingled pleasure and alarm, and resolved to bring 
 it to an end as soon as settled health should make 
 her son a person to be either crossed or reasoned 
 with.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 53 
 
 " In faith, Dorothy," said Thomas one day, after 
 she had permitted him to win a game of spillikins, 
 in spite of his unfair play, and then read " Ogier 
 the Dane " to him for an hour, "a man might do 
 worse than have thee always near, to hearten him 
 up." 
 
 " Nay, cousin," replied Dorothy, " 'Tis but 
 little I can do, and I am well repaid if it can make 
 thee forget thy pain awhile." 
 
 "True, thou canst do little, but 'tis done 
 willingly. Go on with thy Ogier. I would I had 
 had his shield in the park, to fence me against yon 
 villain's arrow." 
 
 " Dorothy grows a fair maid," he observed to 
 his mother next day. 
 
 " True, son," she answered, " ' Twill soon be 
 time for her to wed. Thy father speaks of Master 
 Wardell's son." 
 
 " What, madam," cried Thomas starting, " hath 
 she a liking to him?" 
 
 " Nay, I trust not," replied Lady Lucy. " It 
 were not seemly she should. Perchance they may 
 have seen each other at the hunting last winter. 
 But the stripling is well spoken of, and thy father 
 will see that she goes not dowerless." 
 
 " Nay, if every maid of the Lucy name is to look 
 to Sir Thomas for a portion, he bids fair to go cold 
 himself," muttered the youth. 
 
 " Son, I like not this," said his mother gravely. 
 " ' Twill be but a few pounds, that Sir Thomas 
 can well spare. Sure, thou dost not grudge it 
 her?" 
 
 " I grudge naught but this valiant grief in mine 
 arm," answered the young man ; and his mother's 
 anxiety being thus aroused, the subject of matri- 
 mony was dropped for a while.
 
 54 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 But Thomas had now a new theme for medita- 
 tion. Dorothy, whom he had long regarded as a 
 permanent fixture in the house, and whose use to 
 himself had lately become so apparent, was now, 
 it seemed, in a fair way to change her home ; and 
 not only this, but to carry some portion of the 
 Lucy wealth with her. Before he slept, he re- 
 solved to come to an understanding with her on 
 the morrow. 
 
 The next day was wet and gloomy, and the in- 
 valid's spirits correspondingly low ; but when 
 Dorothy, after a solitary game of battledore and 
 shuttlecock in the gallery, entered flushed and 
 sparkling, the clouds within doors were quite swept 
 away. Thomas looked up in astonishment, and 
 vowed silently he had never seen a lovelier girl. 
 
 " Prithee, Dorothy," said he, after the usual 
 inquiries as to his health, " fetch thy lute, and sing 
 to me a while ; I am not in humor for the book 
 to-day." 
 
 Dorothy's voice was one of those intended for 
 a single hearer : sweet and fresh, but untrained 
 and weak. Her cousin was in no critical mood, 
 and as she sang the few ballads she knew, some- 
 thing like affection stirred in his heart. 
 
 "'The willow-tree,' Dorothy," said heat length. 
 The maiden hesitated a moment, and then began 
 the song he desired. The plaintive ditty was too 
 much for her, however ; and in the middle of the 
 last verse her voice failed, and the tears began to 
 flow. Thomas was quickly at her side. 
 
 "Dorothy, sweet," said he, " what ails thee? I 
 sought not to make thee weep." 
 
 " 'Twas the song t'was the song ! " said 
 Dorothy, wiping away her tears. " I was foolish 
 heed it not."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 55 
 
 " Nay, I cannot but be moved when thou 
 grievest. Come, 'tis but a few silly jangling 
 words think on 't no more. I have weightier 
 matter in hand. Dost love me, Dorothy ? " 
 
 "Surely I love thee, cousin," the girl replied 
 wondering. 
 
 " Not ' I love thee, cousin? that last word spoils 
 all. Come, be not coy, but listen. Wilt wed me, 
 and be Lady of Charlecote? " 
 
 " I had not thought thou wouldst put such a 
 jest upon an orphan maid," said Dorothy, rising 
 proudly, and offering to leave the room. 
 
 " 'Tis no jest, Dorothy ; I speak sad tongue : 
 Come, give me thy answer." 
 
 " Nay, cousin if in sooth thou mean'st me the 
 honor nay, it can never be." 
 
 "Tut, tut,," said Thomas, smiling confidently, 
 " I was ready for this. I know what a maid's nay- 
 say means. Well I wot thy father, tho' our dis- 
 tant cousin, was a broken, landless man, and thy 
 mother but a yeoman's daughter that thou owest 
 all to Sir Thomas, and hast not a groat to thy 
 dowry. But what then? Never a Lucy yet was 
 niggard of soul, or aught but generous to those be- 
 neath him. Come, an end of this. Say thou wilt 
 have me to thy husband." 
 
 "Thy mother thy father " said the girl, 
 controlling her rising temper, " how would they 
 brook thy wedding one so mean and humble as 
 thou hast named me?" 
 
 "Ah, sits the wind there?" said Thomas, with 
 an embarrassed laugh. " Faith, I have thought on 
 't myself. ' Twill not be one word or two will 
 quiet them ; and I know they looked higher for 
 me. Sir Thomas was ne'er the man to give up all 
 for love, as I have done ; and he will stamp and
 
 56 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 swear a while, no doubt. But when all's said and 
 done, he cannot get another son and heir ; and if 
 I talk a space of going to the Spanish wars, my 
 mother will droop her flag. We shall find a way, 
 Dorothy we shall find a way." 
 
 "Spare all this trouble," exclaimed Dorothy, 
 with a flame in her eyes. " Thomas Lucy, I will 
 never wed thee never never ! " 
 
 The youth stared contemptuously. 
 
 " Thou hast been at these new fashioned play- 
 books, I see," said he, " but methinks thou hast 
 chosen thy part rarely ill. Mayst try my patience 
 too far. A proffer of marriage is a tender babe 
 'twill abide nor storm nor heat." 
 
 " Let it die and be buried, then," retorted the 
 girl, " only so can I ever think well of thee again. 
 Speak no more to me of this. In time, I may for- 
 get thy words." 
 
 "Think well, Dorothy venture not too far. 
 Dost really mean to refuse the luck hath come in 
 thy way? " 
 
 " In truth I do ; nor shall I ever call it luck." 
 
 " 'Tis well very well, " uttered her cousin, 
 biting his nails and glowering at the floor. " A 
 Lucy of Charlecote waits cap in hand on no one. 
 Ay, this is to set a beggar on horseback. 'Twas 
 but yesterday my lady mother told me how a fair 
 match had been carved out for thee ay, and a 
 fair portion too, as perchance thou knew'st. And 
 thus loaded with favor, thou hast dared to to 
 " Not being able exactly to define Dorothy's 
 offence, he went off on another course. " I would 
 I knew who hath forestalled me. Is 't this same 
 Wardell? or some squire of dames at Warwick, 
 when my father carried thee to see the players 
 there? or one of the players themselves? Faith,
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 57 
 
 this parish is become their best recruiting ground. 
 Tis not long since that scurvy thieving rogue, 
 Shakespeare, fled away to join a band of the knaves 
 at London." 
 
 " Cousin, I have borne this too long," said 
 
 Dorothy, taking up her lute. " Thou mayst rail at 
 me, but I prithee hold thy peace on better men 
 than thyself." 
 
 " Better men ! what means she ? Dost speak of 
 this same Shakespeare ? I mind me now, thou wast 
 in the hall at his trial thou didst smile when Sir
 
 58 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Thomas told of his escape this is why thou art 
 ever poring on play books, and looking for 
 players. Why, thou silly fool, he hath wife and 
 babes " Dorothy covered her face with her 
 hands " and hath he dared to look to thee ? By 
 this light, I'll have his blood ! Ellis Ellis ! " he 
 shouted, raising his voice till the walls rang. 
 
 The deaf old woman, who waited near the door, 
 came tottering forward. 
 
 " Your honor's pleasure ? " 
 
 " Bid Dickon saddle the roan horse have my 
 boots ready below fetch me a cup of wine." 
 He turned a moment to the cabinet, and took out 
 some money, while the domestic hobbled away. 
 " Fare thee well, Dorothy, thou shalt soon hear 
 brave news from London ! " he exclaimed, and, 
 snatching his sword and cloak, rushed from the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Slightit love is sair to bide." 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 LADY LUCY, who had been visiting some old and 
 infirm folk at the village, entered the Hall on one 
 side as her son left it on the other. Unaware of 
 his departure, she tranquilly proceeded to her own 
 room, her little dog trotting after, and the basket 
 on her arm, which had gone forth loaded with 
 cakes and pottage, now filled with dried herbs and 
 flowers by those who had nothing else to give. 
 
 Having laid aside her cloak and hood, she went 
 to her son's apartments. Even then, had she 
 looked from the south window, she might have 
 seen his rapidly diminishing figure, as his horse 
 bore' him down the London road; but she passed 
 on, and a grove soon hid the rider's form. 
 
 She entered the ante-room, and was surprised to 
 find it empty and disordered. An overthrown 
 chair the open cabinet one or two books 
 and papers lying on the floor seemed to indicate 
 a scene of some kind. She passed on into the 
 bed- room that also was vacant. Hastily sum- 
 moning a maid, she bade her go down to the 
 stables and offices, and see if her son were there, 
 while she herself looked through the upper floor. 
 Her search was vain, and the girl soon came hurry- 
 ing back. 
 
 " Hast found him ? " asked the mistress. 
 
 " Nay, my Lady but John groom, he do say, 
 as how Naunt Ellis came some half hour gone wi' 
 
 5 69
 
 60 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 word for Dickon to saddle t' young red horse. An' 
 scarce were he at door, when t' young squire 
 came out booted and spurred, as he haven't put 
 foot over threshold sin' a' were brought in hurt a 
 month agone as ever were. An' then a' got to 
 horse, and drank t' cup as Naunt brought him, 
 an' away a' went down t' road fast as beast could 
 lay legs to ground." 
 
 " Left he no word? " 
 
 " Ay ; a' said, says John, 'Tell Sir Tummas I ha' 
 gear in hand may keep me three days or four.' 
 An" Mistress Dorothy leanin' fro' t' window, wi' 
 face as white as her kerchief 
 
 "Enough," said Lady Lucy. "Thou mayst go 
 now. Perchance he hath ridden to the races." 
 And waiting until the staring girl had left, she took 
 the way to Dorothy's room. Here her first sum- 
 mons met no response ; but at length her niece, 
 pale, tearful and terrified, opened the door. 
 
 "Dorothy," said the aunt, "come with me. I 
 must hold some converse with thee." And she led 
 the way to her own room, where she seated herself 
 in the great chair, while Dorothy leaned against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Dorothy," began Lady Lucy, after her lips had 
 moved silently a few moments, " said my son aught 
 to thee wherefore he left the Hall? " 
 
 Dorothy remained speechless. 
 
 " Speak," said her aunt. " Thou knowest I would 
 not ask thee of his comings or goings at a common 
 time, as 'twere a child ; but he hath lost blood, he 
 is still weak, he spake of pain in his wound but 
 yesterday. Hast been with him to-day?" 
 
 "Yea, my Lady." 
 
 "And did he speak wildly? Dost think the 
 fever had come on him again? "
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 6 1 
 
 " Yea nay, I think I think he had no 
 fever." 
 
 "Then why went he? Dost not know?" 
 
 " He he went to London. He wished to see 
 the players there," equivocated the girl. 
 
 " The players? He never loved stage plays, nor 
 in sooth do I. And to go at such a time, and in 
 such haste was he in spirits? or had aught 
 crossed him?" 
 
 Dorothy, fearing she had already said too much, 
 remained silent a moment, and then began to sob 
 convulsively. 
 
 " Niece," said Lady Lucy, " I know not what 
 thou mean'st ; this is too great a coil for me. Sir 
 Thomas will shortly return, and he must speak 
 with thee. Until then, go to thy room." 
 
 Dorothy crept away to her chamber, where she 
 spent an hour in painful musings. The moment 
 she had gazed on Shakespeare had fixed his face 
 indelibly on her memory. She had never for- 
 gotten the look of those wonderful eyes, and her 
 maiden fancy had created an ideal of his person- 
 ality upon which she had loved to dwell. Like 
 the first blush of the early dawn it had illumined 
 her soul, intangible, pure, innocent as the dreams 
 of childhood, and into this mystic region her 
 cousin's rough speech seemed to force itself like 
 some harsh and unwelcome intruder. No thought 
 of the stranger as a possible lover had entered her 
 mind, but she felt instinctively that none would 
 comprehend her, and disgrace might attach to 
 any mention of her feelings. As soon would she 
 see the sun darkened as sully the fair image of 
 her thought. Thus tossed in spirit she waited, 
 and had reached no determination when a knock
 
 62 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 was heard without, and a voice summoned her to 
 her uncle's presence. 
 
 The Squire and his lady sat side by side, in the 
 north parlor, looking graver and sterner than 
 Dorothy had ever seen them both at once, and 
 her first thought was, " How did I ever dare to 
 laugh and jest in their presence, or call them Aunt 
 and Uncle?" 
 
 Bidding the serving man, who had brought her 
 down, place a chair and go, Sir Thomas began in 
 a cold unnatural voice, apparently assumed as 
 being equally removed from anger or kindness. 
 
 " Dorothy Lucy, old Ellis hath told us that my 
 son and thou met this morning ; that thou didst 
 sing to him ; that in a while she heard voices in 
 anger, tho' she caught not the words ; that at last 
 he bade fetch his boots, and a stirrup cup, and 
 saddle a horse ; and then rode away. What sayst 
 to this? Why did ye quarrel?" 
 
 Again Dorothy was silent. 
 
 " Speak ; didst thou bid him go? " 
 
 " Nay, truly." 
 
 "Then what took him? Thou hast said he 
 went to the players; but did he tell thee no 
 more? " 
 
 The girl could not reply. 
 
 " If thou hast driven him from his reason and 
 his home by any charm, or spell, or philter, be 
 sure thou shalt sorely repent. Dost remember the 
 witch was taken last year? " 
 
 Dorothy shuddered and trembled. 
 
 " Nay, Sir Thomas," said the lady, " fright her 
 not thus. She is yet young." 
 
 " I meant not to harm her. An she would 
 but speak, none would be kinder than I. Come, 
 niece," softening his tone, "tell us the truth.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 63 
 
 Mayhap the lad hath made thee some silly flattery, 
 and then ridden away, and thou weep'st for his 
 going. Is't so? " 
 
 " Sir Thomas," said Dorothy, feeling she must 
 answer, "thou hast ever been kind and good to 
 me ; I grieve to trouble thee. 'Twas not of my 
 will thy son went ; I pray he may come to no 
 harm ; but I wept not for his going, for I love him 
 not ; nor can I tell his errand." 
 
 Her judges looked at each other. 
 
 "She speaks riddles," said Sir Thomas, "but 
 must tell them ere long. 'Tis hard to lose son and 
 niece in one day, for I loved her well, and I 
 thought to give her a bridal would not have 
 shamed my daughter. But now, ungracious, flout- 
 ing wench ! she will not speak out fair, and she 
 loves him not, forsooth ! let her wait till she be 
 asked ! Get thee to thy chamber ! Thou shall 
 have four and twenty hours to think on't ; then, if 
 my son comes not back, thou must tell truth, or it 
 shall be worse for thee. Go, I say ! " And 
 Dorothy fled hastily from the parlor.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "Where may she wander now, whither betake her?" 
 
 MILTON. 
 
 DOROTHY spent her evening alone, and rested 
 ill ; but before she slept had arrived at a great de- 
 cision. 
 
 "I must leave Charlecote Hall," she said to 
 herself. " I cannot answer my uncle as he would 
 have me, nor abide his anger if I continue silent. 
 I will go to Tewkesbury and find Nurse Hinckley. 
 Surely she will take me in, and teach me some 
 way to live for a time ; perchance my cousin will 
 repent of his purpose and return. Then my uncle 
 will be good to me again. The country folk have 
 ever demeaned themselves well to me, and I have 
 oft heard say Tewkesbury was but a day's journey 
 hence." (In truth, Dorothy, after the death of 
 her parents in her infancy, had been nursed by 
 Dame Hinckley at Tewkesbury until her fifth year, 
 when Sir Thomas and his lady had taken her 
 thence, and reared her as their own.) 
 
 With the first peep of dawn Dorothy was awake, 
 rejoiced to find that the day promised to be fair. 
 After commending herself fervently to the care of 
 Heaven, she put on a plain dark gown and her 
 strongest foot-gear, made up her treasured pearl- 
 earrings and two pieces of gold Sir Thomas had 
 given her into a close parcel, which she placed in 
 her bosom. A few small coins, which she thought 
 would be sufficient for the day's expenses, were in
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 65 
 
 the pouch at her girdle. A muffler, and short 
 cloak with hood, completed her array. 
 
 Prepared for the journey, she paused with her 
 hand on the door and looked around the bower 
 she had inhabited for twelve happy years. There 
 hung her pretty gowns (she wondered if she 
 should ever wear them again), there lay her lute, 
 with one string broken, which she had struck 
 against the wall when hastening from her cousin's 
 room ; and there, an unfinished piece of embroid- 
 ery. 
 
 Turning away with a sigh, she stepped lightly 
 down the hall till she came to the chamber of her 
 uncle and aunt. Here she paused a moment, and 
 then kissed the panel of the door. 
 
 " They were ever kind to me," she whispered, 
 "and sure they will be again." 
 
 Softly descending the stairs, she let herself out 
 at a side door, and at sunrise was a mile from the 
 Hall. Concerning Tewkesbury she had many 
 indistinct memories, and but two correct ideas. 
 One of these was, that it lay upon the Avon ; the 
 other, that it was within a day's journey. But 
 what constituted a day's journey she had yet to 
 learn. 
 
 While in the neighborhood of Charlecote, where 
 her face was known, her progress was not unpleas- 
 ant. The few laborers whom she met going early 
 to their work touched their hats respectfully, and 
 a milkmaid, coming from the pasture with her 
 steaming pails, was but too happy to supply the 
 young lady with a draught, which, with a cake of 
 bread saved from supper, made a tolerable break- 
 fast. 
 
 It was a glorious autumn morning. A few high 
 clouds drifted across the heavens, the Avon flashed
 
 66 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 and glittered in the sun among the willow copses, 
 and the thick foliage, not yet crisped by frost, and 
 fresh from yesterday's showers, rivalled the bravery 
 of May. Dorothy felt that her adventure would 
 prosper, and wondered she had entertained any 
 misgivings. 
 
 As she proceeded further from her uncle's do- 
 main, however, the demeanor of the peasants 
 began to alter. At that period it was for the 
 stranger to prove that he was not an enemy ; and 
 those who could not compel respect were likely to 
 want it. First with astonishment, and then with 
 alarm, Dorothy marked the increasing surliness of 
 the cottagers of whom she asked her way ; and 
 after one old beldam had driven her from the door 
 with coarse abuse, and another had threatened to 
 set the dogs on her, she felt that the river would 
 be her best guide, and determined not to lose 
 sight of it again. This, however, necessitated 
 various short cuts across the water meadows, in 
 one of which she almost lost her shoes, and was 
 sadly bemired. 
 
 It was near the end of harvest, and all the 
 villagers who could be afoot, and some who could 
 not, were out to shear the corn. Almost every 
 grainfield she passed was full of busy life. In 
 some the reapers were just beginning their task, 
 in others completing it : here the laborers were 
 setting and capping the shocks ; and there the 
 wains were already busy drawing them to the 
 stack-yard. Dorothy would have rejoiced in the 
 sight a few days before, but now, as she plodded 
 heavily along the miry lanes, she almost envied the 
 harvesters for being near their homes. 
 
 It was about ten in the morning, when, sorely 
 weary, she stopped under a great tree to watch
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 67 
 
 one such company. Some fifteen couples of men 
 and women were coming down the slope, laying 
 low the yellow corn before them ; the man in each 
 case bent to his work with a curious diving 
 motion, like an Indian swimming, gathering the 
 stalks together with his left arm, and then, quickly 
 ripping his sickle through the straw, flinging it 
 sideways to the woman, who snatched it together, 
 and bound it into sheaves. Behind them walked 
 the steward, watching that none lagged, and ex- 
 amining the sheaves for ill-made bands, while after 
 him a score of gleaners, old folk and children, 
 pounced on every scattered stem, and gradually 
 accumulated bundles of their own. 
 
 As Dorothy lingered, the overseer, pausing in 
 his march, and glancing up at the sun, cried 
 " Howd your hand ! " Instantly work was dropped, 
 and the peasants, clustering together, and bringing 
 forth their luncheon, began to eat with all the zest 
 of careless toil. 
 
 Dorothy squeezed through the hedgerow, and 
 gazed wistfully at the food the nearest group of 
 half-clad, half-savage women were devouring, but, 
 warned by recent experience, durst not ask. 
 Presently, however, one of them, after a look or 
 two in her direction, arose, and bringing her half 
 a loaf on a bunch of fresh leaves, together with a 
 wooden cup of ale, asked, " If she would be pleased 
 to taste their fare." 
 
 Dorothy thanked her, declined the ale, but ate 
 of the coarse gritty loaf with more relish than 
 might have been expected. The woman stood 
 waiting by. Dorothy looked at her form, scarcely 
 covered by the rags she wore, her shoulders and 
 arms burnt and tanned by the sun, her wrists and 
 hands rough and raw with binding the sheaves. 
 "Art not very weary?" asked the girl.
 
 05 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Weary, Mis'ess?" said the woman, with a 
 bright smile. "What? wi' savin' the good corn? 
 Nay, nay ; 'tis like gold to huz. Ne'er a finer 
 har'st can I mind ; th' rood in our home croft be 
 all sheared ; an' what wi' that an' Gaffer's gleanin', 
 we'll ha' bread till Lady-day of our own hand. 
 Nor t' loaf will be none so dear for poor folk as 
 has to buy. Eh, but three year agone were a hard 
 
 time. Ye'll be fro' t' great house ? " Dorothy 
 nodded. "Then ye'll mind t' winter. I lost two 
 bairns, an' me an' my master were nigh clammed." 
 
 "Is thy husband here?" 
 
 " Ay, Mis'ess ; we be all here. There's feyther 
 an' my eldest lad wi' th' gleaners ; here's my two 
 little uns," pointing to two young children asleep 
 on a tattered cloak, " and yon's my goodman," 
 nodding at a burly shock-headed fellow, who
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 69 
 
 grinned and tugged his forelock on catching the 
 lady's eye. " But time be up I mun go." 
 
 The steward cried " Strike in ! " and all sprang 
 to their work again. Dorothy bent over the 
 babies, tucked a silver penny into the hand of 
 each, and went on her way. 
 
 Gradually the grain fields became fewer, as her 
 road lay over a succession of low wooded hills, 
 each a little higher than the last. Here she met 
 with a hideous and importunate cripple, who could 
 make very good speed on his crutches, who pur- 
 sued her a long way, first with entreaties and then 
 with demands, and from whom she finally escaped 
 only by scattering most of her money on the 
 ground, and fleeing while he gathered it up. 
 
 Footsore and trembling, she gained the top of 
 another hill, and looked down on a scene of 
 matchless beauty. A broad fair vale lay before 
 her, with gardens and orchards smiling to the sun, 
 the Avon flowing gently in the midst, and on its 
 further bank a goodly town, which must surely be 
 Tewkesbury. True it was that the river seemed 
 less than she remembered it, nor did the tall 
 square tower which rose from tile and thatch recall 
 the Abbey : but she set this down to the imperfect 
 judgment of childhood, and felt wondrously 
 cheered to think she had accomplished her journey 
 a little after noonday.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Come, Sir, throw us that you have about you." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE river was yet to be crossed, and two small 
 coins remained of her store, which she hoped 
 would content the ferryman. But between her 
 and the probable position of the ferry stood an 
 alehouse hight the "Monster"; and round its 
 door slouched a group of brutal -looking fellows, 
 whom she feared to pass. Hidden in a thicket 
 by the road side, she was debating whether to 
 make a circuit through the fields, or wait for the 
 loungers to disperse, when a horse was brought 
 round, and a gentleman, judging by his habit, 
 issued from the tavern. Hoping that this person's 
 presence would be a restraint on the others, she 
 set forward hastily. But the traveller, mounting 
 more quickly than she had expected, and throwing 
 a penny to the groom, came cantering up the hill 
 at the best pace he could muster. As he drew 
 near, it seemed to Dorothy that she recognized 
 him. She looked again. Yes ; in spite of his gay 
 striped doublet and plumed bonnet, it was her 
 uncle's clerk. 
 
 "Master Tuff!" she exclaimed, stepping for- 
 ward, too glad of a familiar face to remember how 
 little she liked it. 
 
 " Mistress Dorothy Lucy ! " he ejaculated, pull- 
 ing up, and tumbling down from his horse. 
 " How fare you ? Is Sir Thomas near ? " And
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 71 
 
 plucking out his feather, he clapped it into the 
 bonnet, and began to fumble at a roll behind his 
 saddle. 
 
 "Nay, Master Tuff," she replied, "I am here 
 alone and afoot." 
 
 Tuff's expression slowly changed. He replaced 
 his plume, looked Dorothy over, and finally in- 
 quired " wherein he could serve her." 
 
 " 'Tis no great charge," she answered. " If 
 thou wilt fetch me past yonder fellows, and point 
 out the ferry whereby I may pass over to Tewkes- 
 bury, I shall be much bounden to thee." 
 
 " Sure, Mistress Dorothy, here is some mistake. 
 This is Evesham town. Tewkesbury is a dozen 
 mile down the stream."" 
 
 " What shall I do? "cried Dorothy in dismay. 
 " I am so grievously wearied." And the tears be- 
 gan to start. 
 
 Tuff attempted to console her, first saying he 
 might misjudge the distance, next wondering if rest 
 would not restore her, and finally swearing that 
 rather than see a lady thus distressed, he would 
 himself bring her some miles on the way. 
 
 " Cheer up, Mistress Dorothy," said he. " I 
 had moneys to collect for Sir Thomas in Evesham, 
 but the business was soon dispatched, and he looks 
 not for me till the morrow. I can well spare some 
 hours. 'Tis a sorry jade this, but sure he will 
 carry double for a time, and I will pad his bones 
 for thee a bit." So saying he spread out the roll 
 behind his saddle (which strangely resembled his 
 every-day doublet) into a sort of cushion, helped 
 Dorothy up, mounted before her, and turned down 
 the hill again. They rode past the alehouse, Tuff 
 calling magnificently to the loungers to clear the 
 way, whereat the fellows, though they leered and
 
 72 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 whispered, did draw somewhat apart, and refrained 
 from open insult. 
 
 " Tis an ill house that, Mistress Dorothy," said 
 Tuff, when they were beyond earshot, " filled with 
 brawlers and bullies ; but a quiet boldness soon 
 puts them down. Marry, when I entered the 
 room and called for my wine, there were two 
 rufflers looked on me as fierce as you please. At 
 that I smote off the bottle neck with my sword, 
 crying, ' I hope naught but wine may be spilt here 
 to-day,' and they sat mum as mice." 
 
 Dorothy, not knowing how much of this was 
 true, kept silence, and Tuff went on. 
 
 " Sir Thomas hath laid a great charge on me, 
 but I warrant ye, he knows whom to trust. Do 
 but heft this bag," he touched a heavy pouch at 
 his side. " I trow a good heart and a stout arm 
 are needed to carry this safe past the thieves that 
 beset the ways." 
 
 Dorothy answered civilly that " she well believed 
 Master Tuff would not fail in aught Sir Thomas 
 might trust him with." 
 
 The poor beast they rode now began to halt 
 and groan beneath his double burden, and Tuff at 
 length got down and walked alongside, holding the 
 bridle. 
 
 " I must needs say, Mistress Dorothy," he re- 
 marked, after hearing of her adventure with the 
 cripple, " it was ill thought on to go trudging thus 
 to Tewkesbury alone." 
 
 " Sir," said Dorothy, haughtily, " in this matter 
 I will be answerable only to mine uncle." 
 
 Tuff muttered some apology, and they passed 
 on a while in silence, when Dorothy, feeling that 
 she had perhaps been ungracious toward a man 
 who had gone out of his way to serve her, asked 
 if he knew the road well.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 73 
 
 " Surely," he answered, " many a time have I 
 taken it. The river cranks far to the north here, 
 but we shall strike it again." 
 
 Not many words were needed to put him at his 
 ease, and he was soon in the full tide of boasting 
 again, pouring forth his own brave deeds, past, 
 present and future. He had now considerably 
 shaken off his habitual respect for Dorothy, and 
 several times forgot to prefix her name with the 
 usual title of courtesy. 
 
 They stopped a moment at another hostelry to 
 water the horse, and Tuff emerged more pot- 
 valiant than ever, cocking his hat and threatening 
 to " cleave to the teeth " a stable lad who stood in 
 his way. His conversation thereafter turned upon 
 sea fights and pirates ; and he was avowing, with 
 meaning looks at Dorothy, that if any girl of spirit 
 would go with him ne would throw up Sir Thomas' 
 service and be off to the Spanish Main, when 
 some object ahead seemed to cool him suddenly. 
 
 " There, Dorothy," said he, "when we have got 
 through this wood thou mayst see Tewkesbury. 
 But who is this stops our way ? A marvellous ill- 
 favored fellow, as I live. By your leave, I'll mount 
 again. This sort are sooner overcrowed by a 
 cavalier than a footman." 
 
 The man, however, did not seem at all likely to 
 be overcrowed, for he kept his place until they 
 had nearly reached him, when, presenting a pistol, 
 he cried, " Stand and deliver ! " 
 
 A resolute and well-mounted man might have 
 ridden down the robber, but Tuff was neither the 
 one nor the other. He hesitated, swallowed several 
 times, clutched feebly at his sword, and then, as a 
 rustling in the bushes seemed to announce rein- 
 forcements for the enemy, wheeled his horse round
 
 74 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 so suddenly that Dorothy was jostled from her 
 place. She grasped at his belt to save herself, but 
 the ill-mended girdle broke, and she came heavily 
 to the ground, while Tuff, driving home his spurs, 
 scoured away at top speed. 
 
 Stunned for the moment, she presently re- 
 covered to find three or four villainous-looking 
 fellows round her, one of whom was untying the 
 pouch attached to the broken belt, another exam- 
 ining her hands for rings, and all abusing their 
 comrade for allowing Tuff to escape. 
 
 " His horse was naught, and I see not that he 
 matters," the sentinel was replying, " when he 
 hath left purse and maid both behind. But soft ! 
 here comes the Captain." 
 
 The quarrelsome voices were somewhat hushed 
 as a tall, powerful man about forty, of better 
 appearance than the others, stepped into the road. 
 
 Dorothy rose and approached him, trembling 
 inwardly, but addressing him with a composed 
 look. 
 
 " Sir, if I speak to a soldier, I doubt not I may 
 trust in his honor to do what yon coward groom 
 hath failed of, and see me safe into Tewkesbury." 
 
 The man, who had expected some very different 
 speech, hesitated, looked embarrassed, took off 
 his hat and scratched his head. 
 
 " I did bear pike in Holland a score of years 
 ago," said he, "but I had well nigh forgot it. 
 Come, lady," bowing to Dorothy, "'I prithee take 
 my arm to pur poor house 'tis hard by and 
 rest thee a while, and taste some food, while I find 
 a way to bring thee forward. What, lads, have ye 
 a prize there?" as the money-bag caught his eye. 
 " Cut the thong, Tom, turn it out on this broad 
 stump ye shall share alike, if it be not gold."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 75 
 
 Pulling out his knife, Tom obeyed, and poured 
 out the contents of the pouch. But in place of a 
 mass of silver, only four or five shillings lay on the 
 stump, while a heap of pebbles rolled to the 
 ground. Dorothy gazed with wonder at this new 
 proof of Tuffs duplicity, and the disappointed 
 thieves burst into threats and curses. Their 
 leader allowed them to rave for a few moments, 
 and then commanded silence. 
 
 " This is no talk for the lady's ears," said he. 
 " Take up the shillings there's twelve pence 
 each, and got with little labor. This way, Mis- 
 tress," and he led her up a narrow overgrown path. 
 
 Dorothy soon felt the spring and crackle of 
 gravel beneath her feet, and observed that the elm 
 trees on either side grew in so regular a succes- 
 sion as to indicate artificial planting, though now
 
 76 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 crowded by a wilderness of saplings and briars. 
 Her companion held aside branches, pointed out 
 obstacles, and seemed every time he spoke to re- 
 call some phrase or accent of the gentleman. 
 
 "Didst say thou hadst served abroad, sir?" 
 Dorothy ventured, when the way became a little 
 clearer. 
 
 The robber stopped and gazed on the fair 
 childish face, so full of trouble, yet set to look 
 brave and cheerful. 
 
 "Many a time have I thought," said he, "when 
 a young fellow in Holland, how sweet those words 
 would be from an English lady's lips, and 'tis thus 
 I hear them first ! " He paused a moment, then 
 went on vehemently : " A captain at one and 
 twenty ill luck at cards caught dipping into 
 the colonel's purse broke for a thief ye see 
 the rest ! " 
 
 They passed between two stone gate-posts, 
 scarcely visible amid brambles and weeds, and 
 emerged on an open space, once the lawn before 
 a large stone house, which, however, as well as its 
 surroundings, was in sad decay. The chimneys 
 were copeless and jagged, the roof fallen in here 
 and there, the upper casements hanging by one 
 hinge, or altogether gone, the walls stained with 
 leakage. Only the door and the few lower shutters 
 were strong and sound, amid general dilapidation, 
 reminding Dorothy of a hedger she had once seen 
 at work, hatless, ill shod, and tattered, but with 
 his hands and arms protected by thick, strong 
 leather gloves. 
 
 " 'Tis a fine old place," said the Captain, "but 
 gone to ruin. The family left long ago, and 'twill 
 not serve us many years. Nay, lady, look not 
 there," seeing Dorothy's eyes straying to the
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 77 
 
 right, " here is the fairer prospect, thou mayst see 
 the river through yon gap ; 'tis said they called it 
 the Lady's Loop." 
 
 But Dorothy had already caught sight of a spec- 
 tacle she well knew from hearsay, which made her 
 heart stand still. From a tall, withered tree 
 swung a network of chains enclosing a few tattered 
 rags and bleaching bones. Her courage gave way, 
 and almost swooning with terror, she was helped 
 indoors. 
 
 The Captain placed her in a chair, and some 
 colloquy ensued between him and various other 
 persons, which she marked but little. At length 
 a most evil-faced old woman came forward with a 
 glass of wine, and when she had tasted it offered 
 to take her to a room. Dorothy followed the hag 
 up the stone stairs and along the corridor to a 
 small room at the east end of the building. The 
 apartment was but a few feet square and had a 
 window scarce six inches wide, but seemed clean 
 and weather tight. 
 
 While her guide fumbled at the lock, Dorothy 
 extracted her two pieces of gold from the packet, 
 and giving them to the woman hoped she would 
 stand her friend. 
 
 The crone looked at them carelessly for a 
 moment, and then remarked "they should go to 
 the Captain." 
 
 "Will he harm me?" asked the girl. 
 
 " Nay, I known't," was the reply. " May be 
 not. The Captain's rarely taken wi' thee. Why, 
 he bid me not search thee, and I ne'er heard that 
 fro' him before. Perchance he'll wed thee, if thou 
 canst manage well." 
 
 "Speak not of it ! " said Dorothy shuddering. 
 
 " What, wench, "was the surprised answer, "not
 
 78 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 wed t' Captain ? Thou mayst do worse, I can tell 
 thee. But an thee likst it not, I'm as well 
 pleased." 
 
 " Oh, save me ! save me ! " cried Dorothy. 
 " Are you a woman ? " 
 
 "I was one once," was the reply. 
 
 " Then help me ! Have you never a daughter ? " 
 
 "Nay, none. I had one lad they hanged 
 him. Then I joined t' band. I ha' naught more 
 to fear in t' world or to hope, s'ave it be to see the 
 pride o' they smirking gentles brought down." 
 
 She locked the door and departed, leaving 
 Dorothy a prey to the most fearful anticipations.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " But still he bet and bounst upon the dore, 
 And at the portals thondred hideously, 
 That all the peece he shaked from the flore." 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 IT was nearly sunset, and several young men 
 stood on the bowling green at Tewkesbury, pre- 
 paring for a game. Among them was William 
 Helpes, now a man approaching thirty. His tall 
 spare frame showed agility and endurance rather 
 than great muscular power, while his quick eye 
 and steady hand bespoke him an expert in the 
 sport. He was just stooping for the first cast, 
 when an exclamation from one of his companions 
 made him look around. 
 
 "What is't, lad?" 
 
 " Look yonder ! " cried the other, pointing to 
 the ferry, within sight of which they stood. 
 
 The ferryman was urging his craft to the further 
 bank, where stood a man trying to raise a fallen 
 horse. Failing in this after one or two efforts, he 
 ran to the boat, jumped in, and seizing a spare 
 pole, sped the passage with voice and arm. 
 
 "T lad's in haste," remarked one. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis fear," said William, as shouts of 
 " Help ! Murder ! Thieves ! " became audible 
 from the passenger. " Let us go and see what he 
 ails." And pulling on his jerkin he led the way. 
 
 The man in the boat redoubled his cries as he 
 drew near, and leaping to land, rushed into their 
 midst as if pursued.
 
 8o THE BAILIFF* OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 "What's amiss?" inquired Helpes. "Who is 
 murdered and robbed? I see none slain, unless 
 it be thy horse yonder." 
 
 "I I am murdered and robbed!" shrieked 
 Tuff, for he it was. 
 
 "Thou seem'st in brave case for a murdered 
 man," said Will. " Quit thy halloaing. Is this 
 some jest thou wouldst put on us? " 
 
 " Nay, ye shall hear," answered Tuff, becoming 
 somewhat calmer. "I set forth from Evesham 
 this morning with a goodly sum of money and a 
 fair lady of noble family, who had been placed in 
 my charge to bring to Tewkesbury. I carried her 
 through more perils than one ye may see I'm 
 not he to be frighted by odds but some four 
 miles hence, as we passed through a most dismal 
 wood " 
 
 "Ay, ay; Gibbet Hill house." 
 
 " Full a score of villains set on us, and took 
 from me all but horse and life." 
 
 " So thou didst run away and leave the lady to 
 shift for herself? A most trusty squire ! " 
 
 " I did all man could," whined the craven. " I 
 struck down two, but they dazzled me with this 
 blow," he pointed to a cut along his temple, 
 made, in truth, by a branch in his hasty flight 
 " they snatched my pouch they bore off the 
 lady one had dragged me from the saddle, but 
 my belt burst in his hold I saw naught left but 
 ride for help. I struck into a by-way, made the 
 round of the ford, and came hither^ as the nearest 
 town." 
 
 "Thou say'st the lady was carried off? " 
 
 "Ay, truly. I heard her shriek, but was blinded 
 with the blow." 
 
 "And who is she?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 8 1 
 
 "Tis safest name no names," replied Tuff, who, 
 now he found himself in safety, was recovering his 
 wonted caution. 
 
 "Nay, tell me. We stir not hence for bubbles." 
 
 " Come hither, then." And as William stooped 
 close to him he whispered, " 'Tis Mistress Dorothy 
 Lucy, niece of Sir Thomas, of Charlecote." 
 
 "Mistress Dorothy?" said Will with quickened 
 interest, as he recollected the bright young face 
 beside Sir Thomas' chair. " And thou couldst 
 leave her and fly? but it skills not talking." 
 Turning to the rest he shouted, " Lads, here is a 
 noble lady mewed up in yonder nest of thieves. 
 \Vho will go save her?" 
 
 " I ! " " I ! " " I ! " said several voices, and -a 
 cheer was raised ; but one or two faint hearts be- 
 gan to suggest difficulties. 
 
 " 'Tis four mile hence " 
 
 "The night draws on " 
 
 "A crew of bold villains " 
 
 " A troop of horse were needed " 
 
 "As luck will have it," cried Helpes, "yonder 
 goes Master Sheriff, taking his evening walk along 
 the Ham. I will go speak to him." He hurried 
 off, dragging Tuff along, and hastened forth his 
 tale. 
 
 The Sheriff, an elderly, heavy man, listened and 
 stroked his beard. 
 
 " 'Tis a most grievous wrong indeed," said he, 
 " and shall have remedy. Rest ye here to-night, 
 come before me at the town hall to-morrow, let us 
 take thy testimony, a summons shall be issued, 
 and justice done." 
 
 Tuff began to slink off. 
 
 " Sir, sir," exclaimed Will, " this is no time for 
 delay ! What may be done should be done now.
 
 $2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Let a few of us go forward, I pray, and at least 
 keep track of these rogues till thy constables come 
 up." 
 
 The Sheriff looked at him in reflecting sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Thou speakest boldly," said he, " but I think 
 thou mayst be trusted. Here 'tis something 
 beyond rules but, William Helpes, I appoint 
 thee my deputy, with power to call a posse of any 
 and all, in the Queen's name, whom God pre- 
 serve ! " 
 
 William uttered the customary formula, and took 
 the Sheriff's staff. 
 
 "Here, friend," said he, overtaking the retreat- 
 ing Tuff, and grasping his arm, " we part not yet. 
 Lads, I have authority to lead ye now. Hal 
 Winn," he went over some eight or ten names, 
 "get ye muskets and powder, meet me here as 
 soon as may be. Hal, I prithee bring my sword, 
 it hangs at the door-post of my room." 
 
 In a few minutes the company was again as- 
 sembled. 
 
 "Now forward into the boat," said Helpes. 
 " Thrust ye over speedily, Jack, and then return if 
 perchance more may come after." 
 
 The ferry was soon crossed. Tuff wished to 
 take his horse, who had by this time risen and was 
 cropping the grass, his bridle among his feet ; but 
 this Helpes would by no means permit, and order- 
 ing a lad who stood near to stable him for the 
 night, they proceeded on their way as rapidly as 
 possible, only stopping now and then to make 
 requisition on the farms for help. 
 
 The peasants, however, who suffered little from 
 the robbers, but feared them much, were full of 
 excuses. One pleaded age and infirmities
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 83 
 
 another had just been taken with sore pains in his 
 joints another prayed to stay with his wife, who 
 lay at the last gasp, and another would certainly 
 follow Master Deputy as soon as his men came 
 from the field. 
 
 Thus it happened that when, on the verge of 
 twilight, they reached the highwaymen's retreat, 
 the force was only augumented by four or five 
 laborers with forks and axes, and an idiot known 
 as " Silly Tom." 
 
 The house was dark, silent, and apparently un- 
 inhabited. 
 
 " We must call a parley," said William. " Sim- 
 kin, thou hast the horn, I see, set a white clout on 
 yonder pole, and come forward with me. Nay, 
 Master Tuff, step in between us, an' it please ye. 
 The rest of ye keep your pieces charged, be ready 
 to reply if they fire." 
 
 The three advanced to the house, where Simkin 
 blew a blast on his horn, then another, and 
 another, while Helpes knocked loudly at the door. 
 The posse, meanwhile, watched and commented 
 from the shadow of the wood. 
 
 " Hast been here before, Dick? " asked one. 
 
 " Nay, not I," said the other. " 'Tis a gashly 
 place. Is that t' fellow was hanged in chains I 
 see yonder? " 
 
 " Ay, that's him." 
 
 " How came it about? " 
 
 "Tell us the tale, Riggs, you're the oldest 
 here." 
 
 " I'm none old enow to mind it," said the man 
 thus distinguished. " 'Twere fifty year agone. But 
 I've oft heard feyther tell on 't. Ye see, 'twere a 
 good old family lived there, an' there were one 
 son, an' naught would do but he must go see
 
 84 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 furrin parts. So away he went, and were gone 
 seven year an' more, an' naught heard from him, 
 an' every one thought him dead. So's cousin 
 come in for 't place, when owd man died a 
 worthless young chap, as turned out 's aunt an' 
 cousins t' first day he could, ground down t' poor 
 folk, an' kept t' worst company. 'A had been here 
 scarst a year, when t' heir, him as all tho't dead, ye 
 mind, comes home from furrin parts wi' his 
 pockets full o' gold, an' looked well on by all. He 
 comes up to place here, an' meets his cousin on a 
 fine summer even. 'A goes up to him, holding 
 out 's hand, an' speaking him fair, an' t' young 
 rascal were that angered as he whips out sword, 
 an' runs him through the heart." 
 There was a long sigh of horror. 
 " 'A got to horse an' away, but 'a were soon 
 took, an' fetched back, an' tried an' hung on that 
 very tree, by where he kills his cousin. They say 
 as his ghost walks here now. T' family would none 
 come back none could live in t' house it went 
 to ruin, as ye see and a bit ago these cut- 
 purses took their quarters here." 
 
 " They do say," observed one of the rustics, 
 who had drawn in closely, " as t' band has a way 
 under ground five mile long, as comes out on t' 
 other side river." 
 
 "I'd none wonder. But look ! there's some one 
 at last." 
 
 And indeed, in answer to the repeated sum- 
 mons, an old woman thrust her head from an 
 upper window, and asked "what they wanted?" 
 
 " Open he're ! " shouted Helpes. "Open, in the 
 Queen's name ! " 
 
 "Whom should I open till?" 
 " To the deputy sheriff of Tewkesbury, and his 
 posse."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 85 
 
 " What do t' depity shreeve want wi' huz? " 
 
 "Here is a subject of the Queen's Majesty," re- 
 plied Helpes, " has been foully misused on the 
 highway hard by, and robbed of his purse ; and a 
 lady under his charge has been carried off here, 
 as we have reason to believe." 
 
 "There's no lady here," replied the hag, "an' 
 no robbers neither. Go yer ways, go yer ways ; 
 dunnts fright a poor owd woman an' her sick son 
 to death." 
 
 " Open here, I say," cried Will. " If the man 
 who hath had such wrong can find neither the lady 
 nor his property, or recognize the men who robbed 
 him, none shall be harmed : but keep us here no 
 longer. I have authority to enter and search " 
 he held up his staff, " and yonder band of good 
 men and true to help. Open, in Queen Elizabeth's 
 name, or we beat down the door ! " 
 
 "At your peril ! " shouted a rough voice, and a 
 half dozen shots were discharged from as many 
 windows. The muskets levelled against the 
 Deputy and his companions were charged with 
 bird-shot, so they suffered no great harm ; but 
 Tuff, stung by a stray pellet or two, broke from the 
 others with a howl of terror, and, taking to his 
 heels, was seen no more that night. 
 
 Helpes and Simkin fell back more slowly, and 
 joined the posse, whom they found in a very tur- 
 bulent and demoralized condition. 
 
 Having restored some degree of order, various 
 plans of attack were discussed. One suggestion, 
 that a number of them should raise a log upon 
 their shoulders, and charge at the door, was at- 
 tempted, but the wounding of the foremost caused 
 the downfall of all and showed the plan imprac- 
 ticable.
 
 86 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Skirmishers were then thrown out from right to 
 left, but found the underwood cleared away about 
 the house on every side, so that no cover could be 
 had for assault. A dropping fire was meanwhile 
 exchanged between besieged and besiegers, with 
 some slight damage to the latter, who however 
 were mostly covered by trees and stones. 
 
 Some two hours had worn away in this fruitless 
 manner, and proposals to retreat were becoming 
 numerous, when Silly Tom, who had disappeared 
 some time before, came up to Helpes with a face 
 of grinning importance. 
 
 " I'n done for 'n now, Measter ; I'n fired t' 
 thack," and a dark cloud of smoke tinged beneath 
 with ruddy light, which began to rise from the rear 
 of the building, showed he spoke true. 
 
 "Hurrah!" cried the bystanders. "Well 
 done, Tom ! The rats will soon be smoked out 
 now." 
 
 " Ay," said Helpes, " the rats will be smoked 
 out, no doubt : but how with the prize they have 
 taken? The lady will either be slain or carried 
 off. Wait ye here a moment, that I may get sight 
 of yon end window again. Methought I heard a 
 cry there." 
 
 He rushed off to reach the east end of the 
 building. Meantime, the harvest moon, rising 
 above the horizon, poured a flood of mellow light 
 across wood and field, illuminating the tree-tops 
 and the grass, and accentuating the deepest 
 shadows. Presently he came hastily back. 
 
 "I saw her !" he cried. "She is in the east 
 room. She looked from the window and put forth 
 her hand, the casement is too narrow for aught 
 else. We must break in ere the fire has got too 
 far, or the gang has carried her off." 
 
 "But how?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 8 7 
 
 " I'll show ye." He sprang out on the clear 
 ground, waved his arms and shouted. Several 
 muskets were discharged from the windows, but 
 none took effect. 
 
 " Now, now ! " he cried, snatching a crowbar 
 from one of the laborers. " Quick, ere they can 
 reload: one of ye 
 come with me the 
 rest stand ready to 
 charge in when the 
 door goes down ! " 
 
 He dashed across 
 the open, followed 
 by Henry Winn with 
 an axe, and in a min- 
 ute they were batter- 
 ing the door with 
 alternate blows, shel- 
 tered from the upper 
 windows by the over- 
 hanging porch roof, 
 while, owing to the 
 thickness of the wall, 
 no gun could be 
 brought to bear on 
 them from the narrow hall window, from which 
 the best aimed shots had hitherto come. 
 
 "Lay on, lay on!" shouted Helpes. i'Strike 
 an' 'twere an anvil nay, blunt not thy edge, 
 Hal leave the iron to me. Again, again we 
 have it now ! " 
 
 The upper hinge burst, and the door fell back ; 
 but as it did so a fiery jet sprang from the open- 
 ing, and Winn fell with a groan. 
 
 " Hast much hurt, lad ? " asked Will. 
 
 " 'Twill last my life, methinks," replied his
 
 88 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 friend. " I'm shot thro' the neck, but heed me 
 not finish thy work." 
 
 He rose, and crawled aside, while the others 
 came rushing on after their leader, who, driving 
 in the door, found a barricade of chairs, tables and 
 benches piled in his way ; while in the back of the 
 hall, now fast filling with smoke from the increas- 
 ing fire, the robbers could be seen filing one by 
 one down an open cellar way. 
 
 With calls to " stand and surrender," the deputy 
 and his posse forced their way through and over 
 the barrier, but not till all had disappeared save 
 one fellow, who stood half way down the steps 
 with his hand on the door. 
 
 "Where is the lady?" cried Will, drawing his 
 sword, and springing forward. 
 
 " Seek her above," answered the ruffian. 
 " There's a barrel of powder, and match alight, to 
 help ye." 
 
 He fired a pistol at Helpes, slammed down the 
 flap, and vanished. 
 
 Breathless, giddy, and wounded in the forearm 
 by three slugs, Will dropped his sword, and leaned 
 a few seconds against the wall. His friends 
 crowded round with eager enquiries. 
 
 " 'Tis naught, a scratch," he replied, recovering 
 himself, "Come, up the stair!" and he placed 
 his foot on the lowest step. 
 
 "Nay," interposed Riggs, "did ye not hear what 
 he said o' powder? Hark ! Hark ! " 
 
 And in the silence which followed they could 
 hear that most fearful of sounds, in a confined 
 space the hissing sputter of a lighted fuse. 
 
 With the instinct of self-preservation, most 
 rushed at the door ; but one or two held William 
 back.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 89 
 
 " I'll lay my life there's none there ; ye'll ne'er 
 find her 
 
 "Thou'lt be riding the night breeze next 
 minute 
 
 " The nearer heaven ! " he answered ; and re- 
 leasing himself, rushed up the stair alone. 
 
 He reached the upper hall, now hot and thick 
 with smoke, calling aloud, "Mistress Dorothy 
 Mistress Lucy "Dorothy, where art thou? " 
 
 " Here, here ! " called a voice through the 
 darkness. 
 
 Groping his way, he reached a door, and threw 
 his weight against it. The lock yielded, and he 
 stood in Dorothy Lucy's presence. 
 
 A sharp report a roar like the bursting of a 
 volcano, followed by an outward rush of sulphur- 
 scented air and the floor heaved upward and 
 disappeared .from sight, the front wall falling in, and 
 the tiles pouring in a clattering avalanche from 
 the roof. The flames, which now had a strong hold 
 on the west end of the building, sank for an in- 
 stant, and then burst forth with redoubled fury. 
 
 " He's dead, for certain," said one of the posse, 
 who from a safe distance viewed the scene. " 'A 
 were a brave lad, but 'a wouldn't hear reason." 
 
 " Nay, nay, there 'a comes ! " cried another ; 
 and a hearty cheer was raised, as, clambering down 
 the heap of rubbish the explosion had left, William 
 appeared, with Dorothy in his arms. 
 
 Several horsemen had now come up, whose 
 steeds were made useful in conveying the wounded 
 men, of whom there were five, one dangerously 
 hurt. Will Helpes, declaring his injury a trifle, 
 walked to Tewkesbury at Dorothy's bridle rein, nor 
 relinquished his charge till she was safe in Dame 
 Hinckley's arms.
 
 9 o 
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 But long after their departure the flames, roar- 
 ing upward into the sky, lighted up the country for 
 miles around, and proclaimed Gibbet Hill house a 
 thing of the past.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Sound sleep be thine ! Sound cause to sleep hast thou ! " 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 DOROTHY'S waking next morning was gradual and 
 troubled. The thread of light which crept in 
 through Dame Hinckley's garret window, despite 
 the loving care with which it had been curtained, 
 recalled to her fevered mind the silver line of the 
 Avon, which yesterday she had so feared to lose 
 sight of, and on it seemed to float in succession 
 the various forms she had met : the woman bind- 
 ing sheaves, the cripple and the alehouse ruffians, 
 Tuff and the robber captain, all ending in a scene 
 of darkness, smoke, and tumult, through which the 
 face of Shakespeare came breaking like a star, and 
 from which she would rouse herself with an effort, 
 only to begin anew the weary round. 
 
 At length, resolutely disengaging herself from 
 these visions, she sat up, and looked about her. 
 She saw a garret but little larger than the great 
 four-post bedstead which she had occupied so 
 many years at Charlecote, and, small as it was, 
 almost bare of furniture. The pallet on which she 
 lay, a stool at her side, whereon a cup of milk had 
 been placed, and a spinning-wheel, were the only 
 articles she could perceive, except her own cloth- 
 ing and a little of the dame's. She rose and 
 dressed herself, feeling very weak, and lame from 
 head to foot, from the unwonted exertions of yes- 
 terday. Much in need of some sustenance, she 
 drank the milk, and then tried to compose her
 
 92 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 thoughts sufficiently to appreciate her position. 
 Slowly the later events of the night came back to 
 her, and she could faintly recollect, after that 
 momentary vision of the face which had burst 
 through the thunder-cloud of assault, a long and 
 weary night ride through miry ways, ending with 
 the clatter of paved streets, and the clasp of wel- 
 coming arms. 
 
 She drew the cloak from the window, and 
 looked forth, but hastily replaced it again on find- 
 ing that she could almost have touched the gable 
 of the opposite house, and that a slatternly woman 
 was gazing with great interest from the aperture 
 fronting her own, both casement frames, covered 
 with thin oiled linen, having been swung back to 
 admit air. The neighbor directed a torrent, first 
 of inquiry, then of sarcasm, and finally of abuse, 
 against the veil between them, to which Dorothy 
 made no answer, but withdrew herself into the 
 furthest corner of the room. She had seen the 
 sun high in heaven during her brief glance with- 
 out, and it was evident that the morning must be 
 far advanced. But still there was no sign of 
 Dame Hinckley. 
 
 At last a step, which strove to be a light one, 
 was heard on the stair, and the worthy woman, 
 softly raising the latch, crept into the room, 
 starting with surprise as she saw Dorothy up and 
 dressed. 
 
 " My service to ye, Mistress Dorothy," said she, 
 curtseying formally ; and then, as the girl held 
 out her arms, she caught her in her own, crying, 
 and caressing her with the old names of baby- 
 hood. " Eh, poppet ! Eh, sweeting ! but 'tis good 
 to have ye here ! Never was a fairer sight in 
 these four walls. I thought not ever to see ye
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 93 
 
 again, but ye are welcome as flowers in May. 
 Tis a poor place for a Lucy, but " 
 
 " Nay, nurse," said Dorothy, who had thought 
 much upon this matter. " Call me not a Lucy 
 I will be Dorothy Markham." And she 
 added, under breath, " I have wedded poverty 
 now ; I must change my name." 
 
 Dame Hinckley looked amazed. " Markham ? 
 Sure, 'twas thy mother's name, and a truer, nor a 
 better woman never stepped ; but but well, 
 an' thou'lt have it so, 'tis not for me to say thee 
 nay. Thou knowest best, and wilt pardon a silly 
 owd woman if she forgets by times." 
 
 " I fear me," said Dorothy, " I have been but a
 
 94 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 sluggard this day. On the morrow I will strive to 
 rise as soon as thou." 
 
 " Thou mayn't do that," said the dame. " Thou'll 
 ne'er blind thy pretty eyes wi' rising, as I do, wi' 
 sun all summer, and before him in winter. Tis 
 well enow for an owd maid like me, but not for a 
 young one." 
 
 " But why must get thee out so early, nurse? " 
 "To set open church-doors," replied Dame 
 Hinckley proudly. I ha' done it these ten year. 
 Gaffer Hedge, t' sexton, grows owd an' failed, and 
 a' were never fond on work at 's best. So I goes 
 down every morn, an opes t' doors, an' takes a 
 besom till 't' floor, an redds t' place : an' Sundays 
 an' High days I lays cushions for t' gentry, an' sees 
 Sir Richard's gown and bands ready, an' keeps 
 t' lads bashed. I does mostly all but ring t' bells 
 an' dig t' graves. I has a dole from Sir Richard, 
 an' summat from Gaffer Hedge, an' wi' Christmas- 
 box an' Whissun-vails, I nigh pay for roof an' 
 board. Then at even 'tis all to close again, mind 
 ye." 
 
 "Then thou goest twice i' th' day?" 
 " Ay do I : but I'm ne'er away at night, my 
 pretty : never fear, I'll not leave thee then." 
 " But does no one ever let thee in thy work? " 
 "Ay, ay," said the dame. "A host o' sturdy 
 beggars would fain come in for shelter o' dirty 
 days : but I never let 'em further than the porch, 
 as theer shoon 'ud mucky t' floor shameful : T' 
 lads are for hop-scotch an' marbles on t' flags at 
 door, an' away or I can clout 'em o' th' head ; an' 
 only last Friday, as ever were, an owd body slips 
 in when my back were turned, an' flumps down o' 
 her knees at chancel-steps; but I soon had her 
 out, I promise ye. ' 'Tis no place for praying this,"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBL RY. 95 
 
 says I, an' marches her to door faster nor she 
 came." 
 
 " Nurse," said Dorothy, " my head aches sadly. 
 Dost think I might go down to the street awhile 
 for air?" 
 
 Dame Hinckley looked grave and considered a 
 minute. 
 
 "If thou canst bear it, dearie," said she, "me- 
 thinks 'twere best not stir out till even. Town 
 were all agog last night, when Depity an' poss 
 came in. Full a hundred bold fellows were reel- 
 ing about, and swearin' how 'twere a sad grief they 
 were too late to go along : and only Master Helpes 
 gave 'em the slip, an' brought thee round a back 
 way, while throng were running after wounded 
 men, I'm feared house would ha' been torn down 
 o'er our heads by morn. But when I win back 
 from church, ere curfew sounds, I'll take thee out 
 a bit : then if any ask after thee, I'll say 'tis my 
 niece come to bide wi' me awhile. I ha' told 
 truth these fifty year, an' got a name will carry 
 one tale through." 
 
 Dorothy looked up and was about to speak 
 hastily : but remembering how long Sir Thomas 
 had called her niece, kept silence. 
 
 "But here stand I!" cried Dame Hinckley, 
 " my hands hanging to my arms an' the light going 
 to waste. Lay thee down again, dear, rest if thee 
 cannot sleep ; I mun get to my wheel." 
 
 And taking a bunch of flax from a hutch in the 
 wall, she seated herself, and began to draw out the 
 fine smooth thread from the whirling wheel with a 
 dexterity born of long practice ; while Dorothy, 
 laying down her aching head on the sack of chaff 
 which served for a pillow, sank into deeper slum- 
 ber than before. She was wakened at noon for a
 
 96 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 meal, but would only eat a little bread and water, 
 and then relapsed into oblivion ; while Dame 
 Hinckly, gladly devouring a double portion of 
 broad-beans, turned to her work again. 
 
 It was near sundown when the sleeper was 
 roused by a touch on the shoulder. Her nurse 
 stood beside her with a look of triumphant weari- 
 ness, holding up some yarn. 
 
 "There, dearie, I ha' done three hanks to-day, 
 for all; I could do four at my best; but three's 
 none so bad for a woman nigh threescore. Dost 
 feel well enow to get up an' snod thyself, while I 
 be gone to church? Then we'll take a turn, an' 
 ha' our bit o' supper after." 
 
 Dorothy, having arranged her hair and dress as 
 neatly as possible without mirror, pins or brushes, 
 seated herself by the window, and looked at the 
 receding corbelled house front opposite, and the 
 street below, so narrow and crooked that she could 
 only see a few yards in either direction. The 
 smell and sound of many frying suppers (each 
 savory, but as a whole malodorous) rose to her 
 point of espial, and for a moment she remembered 
 regretfully the breezy park at Charlecote. But 
 she saw her nurse approaching with love in her 
 face, and all else was for the time forgotten. 
 
 " I ha' borrowed a cloak of gossip Jenkins, as 
 thou'd best wear," said the dame entering. 
 
 Dorothy looked at the dingy garment presented 
 with great disfavor. " I have one of my own," 
 said she. 
 
 " 'Twill none do," answered the other decidedly. 
 " Art too much t' lady in thy worst gear. Thou 
 knowst naught of life, heaven forbid ; but t' more 
 thou canst look, ay, an' talk, ay, an' feel like my 
 niece, while thou bidst here, the better. I've none 
 angered thee, sure?" bending forward anxiously.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 97 
 
 " No, no," replied Dorothy, swallowing her 
 feeling. 
 
 "Why that's well, dearling. Come wi' me. 
 " And the two descended the strait and creaking 
 stair. They passed along the tortuous alley to- 
 ward High Street, Dorothy drawing the hood 
 closely round her face, and Dame Hinckley, who 
 was a person of some consequence in her way, 
 elbowing aside all who obstructed her charge's 
 progress, and bestowing on one impudent youth a 
 buffet which sent him into the kennel. 
 
 "Dost mind t' lane, dear?" she inquired, 
 " Many a time thou's played on these stones 
 Keep t' wall, Kate, a murrain to thee ! Jan 
 Cobbler's dead, and 's son has new painted t' sign ; 
 thy first shoon were clouted there ; here's t' 
 baker's shop, where wouldst hold by t' bulk, an' cry 
 for sweet cakes Jem Plack, where art shoving 
 thyself? if I take a stick in hand, I'll send thee to 
 t' cooper wi' a noggin to mend. Here's t' High 
 Street, dearie; is 't not a fine sight?" And the 
 worthy soul, who in truth believed that Tewkesbury's 
 chief thoroughfare had no fellow, stood a few 
 moments, looking up and down with an air of 
 complacency good to behold. 
 
 Her face clouded presently, however, and she 
 began hurrying Dorothy back into the alley. 
 
 " Is it time to go yet? " asked the girl. 
 
 " Full time. Dost see yon power of gallants 
 coming? There's no breaking their heads; and 
 if they get sight o' thee, worse may follow." 
 
 She pushed Dorothy hastily along, but ere they 
 reached the door, one of the company had nearly 
 overtaken them. For an instant the maiden's 
 soul leaped into her eyes, as she sa\V a hint of the 
 face which had dwelt in her thoughts for two years.
 
 98 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 A second glance, however, showed her mistake. 
 Dame Hinckley advanced, bristling up like a hen, 
 but soon dropped her guard. 
 
 "What, is 't thou, Master Helpes?" she ex- 
 claimed, drawing a long breath. " For sure, I 
 thought 'twas one of these young whipsters will 
 ne'er be stopped or spoken ; but come in come 
 in" she got them within the street door 
 " Master Helpes, thou must know Mistress Dorothy 
 Markham." 
 
 "I came," said the young man, doffing his cap, 
 " to pay my respect to Mistress Dorothy, and hope 
 she is none the worse for last night." 
 
 Dorothy murmured her thanks. 
 
 "And I have some trifle here," he continued, 
 tendering a brace of wild fowl, " I hope thou'lt 
 try, Dame, to change thy Sunday dinner withal." 
 
 " Eh," said Dame Hinckley, taking the game, 
 " 'tis long or I've seen the like. My properest 
 thanks to thee, Master Helpes. But how's this?" 
 observing that his arm and hand were bandaged. 
 " Did they peck thy fingers or thou couldst wring 
 their necks?" 
 
 " Nay, 'tis but a touch I got last night." 
 
 "What, sir?" said Dorothy, "wast hurt in 
 saving me? Is it a burn? Hath aught been 
 done to heal it ? " 
 
 "The barber hath picked out the slugs," re- 
 plied Helpes, " and it must needs be sore a few 
 days." 
 
 " Come up to my room," said Dame Hinckley, 
 " let me get the bottle of balm, and thou needst 
 not say that. I'll lay the fowls here, and Giles 
 Baker will roast me them for Sunday." 
 
 They ascended to the garret, the balsam 
 and some clean linen were produced, and the
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 99 
 
 arm unbound. It proved to be badly lacerated 
 and inflamed. 
 
 " Go look from the window, child," said the 
 Dame, seeing that Dorothy had turned very white. 
 "This is no sight for thee." 
 
 "Nay," said the girl, "what another can bear, 
 I trust I can look on. If Master Helpes will 
 permit " 
 
 And taking the place of her good-hearted but 
 rough-handed nurse, she anointed and bound up 
 the wound with a gentleness and skill learned 
 from the mistress of Charlecote. 
 
 " I thank thee, lady," said Helpes when the 
 operation was completed, " thou dost me too 
 much honor." 
 
 " Nay," said Dorothy earnestly, " 'tis for me to 
 thank thee, who didst save me yesternight from a 
 fearful death. Thou must think me most ungrate- 
 ful, but in sooth my head is so wildered I scarce 
 know who or where I am." 
 
 " I shall ever esteem myself most happy in that 
 I was able to serve thee," he replied, moving 
 towards the door. Dorothy held out her hand. 
 Helpes bowed low over it, and with a " Good- 
 even, Mistress Dorcthy god-den, Dame," left 
 the room. 
 
 " There's true blood there," said Dame Hinckley. 
 "Didst mark how he said naught of 's hurt? A 
 clown may lay on like a thrasher, but if 's skin's 
 broke, ye hear on't. And when he came up to 
 this poor place, never a wink did he give to wall 
 or plenishing, but looked right on us. Ay, the 
 family may be burgess, but they come of gentles 
 I've heard they're kin to the Dacres." 
 
 While she spoke, she had heaped a few bits of 
 charcoal into a small brasier. Then running
 
 100 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 hastily down stairs, she returned with a live coal 
 on a heap of ashes in her palm. 
 
 " T light goes fast," said she, "but mayhap 
 there's time." 
 
 A piece of cheese and half a loaf were now set 
 forth, and the dame began toasting the former at 
 the coals, after blowing them to a glow. The 
 bread was sliced, and the meal just ready, when a 
 few heavy strokes sounded from the church tower. 
 
 " I feared it," said she, " there's t' curfew, but 
 we're just i' time." 
 
 Throwing the coals on the hearth, she covered 
 them with ashes, and supper was eaten in darkness. 
 
 Dorothy was soon ready for slumber, but Dame 
 Hinckley firmly refused to share the pallet. 
 
 " I know my place better," said she. " I'm full 
 as well here, in my cloak, wi' my back to wall. 
 Feyther were full o' ashmy, an' I find it creep on 
 me." 
 
 Not all Dorothy could say moved her, and ere 
 long nurse and nursling were deep in repose.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " In sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound 
 Within the Sonnet's scanty plot of ground." 
 
 WORDSWORTH. 
 
 DAME HIXCKLEY was away at her church duties 
 early next morning, but Dorothy rose before her 
 return and began to meditate what she could do 
 to increase the family income. Of the Dame's 
 two sources of revenue, one was out of the ques- 
 tion, but surely she could spin. She said as much 
 on her nurse's return, but was met with a dubious 
 look. 
 
 " So many women spin," urged Dorothy, " it 
 cannot be hard to learn." 
 
 " None so hard, take it early," replied the 
 Dame. " But young as thee is, my pretty, I'm 
 feared thee's too owd for that. Or best say, 
 hoped; for a sin and shame it were that Lucy 
 fingers should twirl a distaff." 
 
 " Remember, nurse," said Dorothy, laughing, 
 "they are Markham fingers. Come, let me try." 
 
 And despite remonstrance, she sat down at the 
 wheel, where she met with the usual fate of begin- 
 ners pinched her foot, cut her fingers with the 
 thread, and so forth ; still she persevered, and at 
 the end of an hour had produced three or four 
 yards of very slack and uneven twist. 
 
 " How much would that be worth, nurse? " she 
 asked in the pride of first achievement. 
 
 " Let's see," said the Dame. " Happen 'twould 
 ay, thee's been at work an hour it might be 
 a hank a day." 101
 
 IO2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " And what is a hank worth ? " 
 
 " A penny," was the crushing reply. " As I 
 towd thee, at my best I could spin four hanks a 
 day and earn a groat." 
 
 "Then I can only earn a penny a day," said 
 Dorothy, appalled. " Oh, nurse, I have but come 
 to be a burden on you ! I wish but stay 
 she drew from her bosom the little packet con- 
 taining her ear-rings. 
 
 " Here, nurse, take these to the goldsmith and 
 sell them. Sure they will keep me a year." 
 
 " Nay, sweet, none o' that. A burden ! Is 't 
 not the grandest honor to me to have a Lu I 
 mean, a lady, biding wi' me in these poor walls, 
 gien I did na love her? And doant I love thee 
 wi' all my heart? and doesn't thou do me more 
 good wi' thy pretty face, an' pretty speech, nor 
 thou wast the bravest spinster in 't shire ? Sell thy 
 fair ear-rings, quotha ! Wouldst ha' t' owd woman 
 be ta'en for a thief ? Put 'em by, dear, put 'em 
 by ; they must hang in thy ears when thy wedding 
 day comes." 
 
 "There will be no wedding day for me," said 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " So they all say to owd nurses, but never one 
 to right young gentleman. Thou'lt be a fair bride 
 yet, an' I only hope I may live to busk thee." 
 
 " I wish," said the girl, " I had those gold pieces 
 I gave the woman at what call they the 
 robbers'?" 
 
 " Gibbet Hill house, dost mean?" 
 
 Dorothy shivered at the ugly name. 
 
 " Nay, don't be feared. None will see 't more. 
 Tis burnt clean wi' t' ground, they tell me. But 
 how came thee gi-ing any money there ? that sort 
 mostly take; an' how? but I crave thy pardon, 
 here be I axing for what 's no matter o' mine."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKKSBURY. 103 
 
 " I'll tell thee all the tale, nurse," said Dorothy, 
 " except why I left my uncle's house : that must 
 not be spoken of." 
 
 Dame Hinckley nodded. " By thy leave, dear, 
 I'll get to my spinning the while : t' day runs on." 
 And seating herself at the wheel, in which position 
 Dorothy regarded her with a considerable accession 
 of respect, she prepared ear and mind for her 
 nursling's story. 
 
 Dorothy began with her early walk in the Charle- 
 cote fields, and then down the Avon. The good 
 dame listened with the deepest interest. Many 
 were her expressions of commiseration for Dor- 
 othy, great the scorn she heaped on Tuff; and 
 after twice breaking her thread, a thing which, as 
 she remarked, did not happen once a week, she 
 was compelled to cease her work. 
 
 Only the conclusion of the story need be given 
 in the narrator's own words. 
 
 " I heard them call without, ' Open, in the 
 Queen's name,' and then the guns firing. After a 
 time, just as the moon was rising, I saw some one 
 near my window. I called, and put out my arm. 
 More I could not, it was so strait. Soon after, the 
 Captain I knew his voice came to my door, 
 the which I had fastened as well as I might, told 
 me the house was fired, and none should harm me 
 if I would come forth, and away with them by the 
 underground passage. I made him no answer, and 
 methinks he must have been shot, for just as he 
 began to speak again, he cried out, and fell against 
 the door. Some came stamping up, and carried 
 him off Then the smoke gathered thick, and I 
 knew little more till one broke the door with a 
 great noise, and bore me out. There was a weary 
 ride, which seemed like a dream, and then thou 
 didst take me in."
 
 IO4 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Ay, dear," replied the dame, embracing her, 
 "and I trust ever to keep thee safe from such 
 another fearsome night. There's no doubt some 
 o' t' gang were killed," s'he went on, repeating the 
 rumors of the town, "an' o' our side, poor Hal 
 Winn is like to die." 
 
 She had now resumed her wheel and was plying 
 it briskly; as if to make up for lost time. 
 
 " Oh, this is dreadful ! " cried Dorothy. " How 
 many lives have been lost through me ! " 
 
 " 'Twould ha' been none t' better, gif thine had 
 been lost too. Gi' thanks for that." 
 
 "I do, I have," returned the girl. "But all 
 this has come of my leaving home Charlecote, I 
 mean and yet I could not stay." 
 
 She remained musing the rest of the morning, 
 and at dinner could not eat her share of bean- 
 porridge. Her nurse was much distressed. 
 
 " 'Tis coming from country air to this close 
 alley," said she. " I be wonted to 't. No reek 
 ne'er turns my stomach ; but in course 'tis differ- 
 ent wi' a lady. But to-morrow's Sunday, and we'll 
 ha' t' brace o' fowl Master Helpes brought, an' I 
 hope thou canst pick some o' them. Lay thee 
 down now, and we'll take t' air again at even." 
 
 Dorothy rested and dozed most of the after- 
 noon, until Dame Hinckley came hurrying in. 
 
 "I ha' got back a bit sooner than common," 
 she panted, " an' as good luck will ha' 't, there's a 
 bull-fight on the Ham, an' every rudesby in town 
 gone to 't. So we may find t' way clear." 
 
 The faded old cloak was again brought forth. 
 
 "I hate to wrap thee up in this, but 'tis safest. 
 By-and-by I'll say, ' My niece has gotten a new 
 cloak,' an' thou canst put on thy own. Eh ! how 
 th' gossips ha' pestered me about thee this day !
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 105 
 
 An' I durst na' gi' one o' them a clout, for fear 
 'twould make all worse. I ha' held my hand so 
 oft, I hope to be forgi'n for the lies I'n told." 
 
 They descended to the alley, which they found 
 deserted by all the boys, nearly all the men, and 
 most of the younger women ; and consequently 
 reached the High street much sooner and more 
 easily than on the previous day. 
 
 " Bull-fight's yonder," said Dame Hinckley 
 laconically, pointing westward. " Dost hear 'em 
 shout? " 
 
 And indeed, the roars of alternate applause and 
 terror, mingled with the hoarse bellowing of the 
 baited animal, were distinctly audible from some 
 half-mile's distance. 
 
 "Thou'd none care to go look on from t' wall?" 
 she added, inquiringly.
 
 106 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " said Dorothy, shrinking away. 
 
 " Thou 's right, no doubt," replied her nurse, in 
 a slightly disappointed tone. " It might na' be 
 safe I ha' been to many a one in my time 
 but surely thou is right 'tis no place for owd 
 women or young ladies." 
 
 She turned away and led Dorothy down the 
 street, pointing out the objects of interest. 
 
 " Yen's t' Abbey, an' Town-Hall at street end 
 thou'll mind them an' here's Sir Richard's 
 house, an' t' Bailey's, as is last made an' here's 
 where t' king supped, after t' fight in Bloody 
 Meadow my broder '11 be proud to tell thee o' 
 that an' down this way lives Master Helpes and 
 his sire." 
 
 She was turning down the indicated way, but 
 Dorothy stopped her. 
 
 " Not there," she objected. 
 
 "Nay, why not?" said the Dame. "They're 
 all at bull-bait, for sure. I'd ha' thee see t' 
 windows. No gentle in town has fairer, an' just 
 put in, as t' feyther must roll in money to do it." 
 
 They advanced along the street, and soon came 
 to a commodious grey stone house standing back 
 from the roadway, a spacious garden at one side, 
 and every window fitted with glass casements, the 
 bright lead of whose lattices announced their very 
 recent introduction. 
 
 " Are they not fine ? " said the Dame. " Eh, I 
 forgot. Thou's well used to the like at Charle- 
 cote. But there's few such here." 
 
 Her voice aroused no less a person than William 
 Helpes himself, who sprang up from a bench under 
 one of the great apple-trees, and came forward to 
 the wall, thrusting some papers into his doublet 
 front.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 1 07 
 
 " Will it please you enter, Mistress Dorothy?" 
 said he, bowing and holding open the gate. 
 
 " Nay, gramercy," said Dorothy, blushing. 
 "We did but come abroad to take the air. I 
 wonder much to fmd thee from the brave sport 
 yonder." 
 
 " I was never o'er fond on 't," he answered, 
 "still I have gone or now, and might again, if I 
 durst trust my arm in such a throng." 
 
 " I crave thy pardon, Master Helpes ! " exclaimed 
 the girl, "that I asked not for it sooner. Hast 
 thou much pain? " 
 
 " Nay, 'tis not worth naming," replied Helpes, 
 reddening in his turn. " I meant not to complain. 
 Thy care hath done wonders, the grief is gone, 
 and I hope to use it by the Monday." 
 
 " It glads me to hear this. And poor Master 
 Winn, Nurse Hinckley tells me of. Is there any 
 hope?" 
 
 " Great hope," said Will, emphatically. " He 
 lost much blood, but is now stouter, and they say 
 he shall do well." 
 
 Both professed their joy at this news. There 
 was a short pause, and again Helpes pressed them 
 to enter. 
 
 " Not so, sir," said Dorothy. "We have already 
 detained thee from thy studies too long." 
 
 " My studies? I did but while away tho time." 
 
 " Think not to carry it off thus, sir. I saw thee 
 put thy author carefully away, and I see now that 
 thou art longing to return co him." 
 
 " In sooth, 'twas no such weighty matter of 
 Tully or Plutarch as thou mayst think. I was 
 reading of sonnets." 
 
 "Sonnets? Master Petrarch's, I suppose. I 
 have seen a dozen of them Englished."
 
 108 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Nay, these be not Petrarch's, and they need 
 no putting into English, for they were writ in' t." 
 
 " An Englishman write sonnets ? Hath he done 
 it well?" 
 
 " By thy leave, lady, I'll show' thee one, and thou 
 shalt say if Petrarch hath done better." 
 
 And taking out one of the manuscripts in his 
 bosom, he read aloud : 
 
 " When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 1 all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on thee; and then my state 
 (Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth), sings hymns at heaven's gate. 
 For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings, 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings." 
 
 He read well, not without expression, and in a 
 deep melodious voice quite different from his 
 ordinary conversational tone ; while the absence 
 of the hesitation so common in reading manu- 
 script showed how often he must have perused the 
 poem. 
 
 Dorothy stood motionless, the old cloak falling 
 to the ground, while recollection and admiration 
 mingled in her features. As William glanced at 
 her, it flashed across him that two years before, in 
 the hall at Charlecote, her look and attitude had 
 been much the same. 
 
 " 'Tis fairly writ, indeed," she said at length, 
 much more coldly than she felt. " 'Twould pass 
 with some of Petrarch's, I doubt not. And who 
 is the poet? And what fair lady doth he praise 
 thus?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 109 
 
 " The poet hath no name as yet," said Helpes, 
 " but he cannot want it long. And I conceive " 
 slightly coloring " the sonnet is writ to a 
 friend." 
 
 "Oh, sure a friend could not inspire him thus? 
 But hast thou more of these sonnets, Master 
 Helpes? I would fain see if he giveth such good 
 measure to every comer." 
 
 " Nay, lady, an thou'lt turn inspector, I'll be 
 proud to lead thee through the market. But" 
 
 Here Dame Hinckley, who had sauntered to a 
 little distance, came bustling up. " Come away ! " 
 she cried to Dorothy. " Baiting's over ; didst not 
 hear the clapping just now ? 'Tis near night, an' 
 every knave will soon be back. Hood thyself, an' 
 hasten. God-den, Master Helpes : nay, come not 
 wi' us ; come the morrow if thou lik'st, an' ha' thy 
 arm swaddled again." And seizing the girl by the 
 hand, she dragged her off, with but scant time for 
 leave-takings. 
 
 " A stout young man, an' a good-hearted, an' a' 
 will be rich some day," she panted out, as they 
 sped through the darkening streets. " But I like 
 not to see him wi's papers an' books ; what ha' any 
 but priests an' lawers to do wi' them ? That's the 
 next way to spoil t' eyes an' t' stomach. He'd do 
 rarely, were 't not for that. But I trust thou mayst 
 help to keep him fro' them, as I'm felly mistook if 
 he looks in a book soon again when thou art 
 near."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "Then felt I like some watcher of the skies, 
 When a new planet swims into his ken." 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 DOROTHY woke next morning at her nurse's call 
 to find the good woman standing at her bedside, 
 dressed in her best array. 
 
 . " I'n opened church doors as I'm wont," said 
 she, " now put thee on, while I get t' Sunday ale 
 an' white loaf, an' then we mun haste away ; I've 
 half town to seat." 
 
 The girl was soon ready for her breakfast, and 
 did justice to the wheaten loaf, though she could 
 only be prevailed on to sip of the ale. 
 
 " I like ill to ha' thee wear yon grimy clout to 
 church," said the Dame, "but well I wot thy gay 
 hood will draw more than wise men's eyes. Stay ! 
 I ha 't. Turn 't outside in 'tis a sad-colored 
 lining now 'twill do." 
 
 They set forth accordingly, Dorothy's costume, 
 from hood to shoes, undergoing the closest scru- 
 tiny from the women, and what could be seen of 
 her features being as narrowly scanned by the 
 men. Several youths, whose pasty faces, gnarled 
 hands, or awkward gait, told their occupations 
 more plainly than ruffles or swords could deny 
 them, showed signs of making up to her, but were 
 in every case repulsed by the truculent mien of 
 her guardian. 
 
 " I fear none o' these half-sirs," said Dame 
 Hinckley, as she repelled the advances of one
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. Ill 
 
 smirking lad. " I ha' made better stand back ; 
 yet I hope 'twill not be long or there's a stronger 
 arm than t' owd woman's for thee to lean on." 
 
 Arrived at the church, Dorothy was placed in a 
 dark corner, whence, almost unseen, she could 
 view the exertions of her nurse properly to mar- 
 shal the congregation. No court master of cere- 
 monies could have a better idea of the grades of 
 rank than had Dame Hinckley, in her way, and 
 nothing was left untried by her, from an entreating 
 look to a heavy thump, that might help on the end 
 she sought. 
 
 The long sermon was at last over, and the pair 
 reached home again, the dame fetching a sigh of 
 relief as she shot the bolt. 
 
 " That's well done," said she, " but 'tis a heavy 
 charge, a fair young lady. If I can but keep thee 
 fro' t' gentry ! But here comes baker's lad, wi' 
 t' roast fowl." 
 
 Dinner was scarcely over when William Helpes 
 made his appearance, clad in a suit of rich 
 material, but sober color, with no attempt to shine 
 above his rank by the use of silk or plumes ; while 
 instead of the long rapier then worn by fashion- 
 ables, a short straight back sword, with a small 
 buckler hanging on its hilt, swung by his side. 
 
 The first inquiries were after his arm ; and, much 
 against his will, he was obliged to submit to 
 another examination and dressing of the wound, 
 which however appeared so much improved that 
 it was not likely to need further attention. 
 
 " I came," said he, when this business was over, 
 " to ask Mistress Dorothy if she would not take 
 the air upon the Ham this fine even." 
 
 "What thinkst thou, nurse?" said Dorothy 
 aside. " Were' t well I went? Is 't safe?"
 
 112 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Thou canst not be safer than with Master 
 Helpes." 
 
 " But thou must come too." 
 
 " Surely. I'll be proud to follow ye to meadow, 
 town, market or church.' 
 
 Dorothy bit her lip, and turning to Helpes said 
 that she would be glad of the walk. He accord- 
 ingly went down to the street to wait until they 
 should be ready. 
 
 " Nurse," said Dorothy, as she donned her gear, 
 " thou hast twice or thrice broke jests on Master 
 Helpes and myself, which may not pass. I go 
 with him now, for I would not be disgracious to 
 one who hath served me so nearly, and suffered 
 therefor ; but I think not ever to marry ; and even 
 were 't not so with me, thou knowest a Lucy may 
 not wed out of her rank." 
 
 "Thy father thought a Markham might," was 
 the answer. 
 
 Dorothy flushed angrily, and was only pacified 
 by Dame Hinckley's begging pardon, and promis- 
 ing not to repeat the offence. 
 
 The three were soon on their way to the Ham, 
 Dorothy leaning on Helpes' arm, and her nurse 
 walking a little behind. 
 
 " 'Tis a fair town this," she began. 
 
 "Ay, in sooth," replied Helpes. "Hast seen 
 the Abbey and the Town Hall?" Dorothy 
 nodded. " And the ' Bloody Meadow ' ? and the 
 river? 'Tis said there's no fairer river in Britain 
 than the Severn. Thou shouldst take boat on it 
 some day and row down. And at the spring tides, 
 if thou'lt walk by it i' the spate, thou mayst see 
 the eger come up, foaming like a boar 'Tis a 
 sight worth seeing." 
 
 They had now entered the Ham. The great
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 meadow was scattered over with detached couples 
 and small companies of the townsfolk, some stroll- 
 ing and resting, some engaged in games of various 
 kinds, or watching the performances of mounte- 
 banks and jugglers. 
 Turning to the least 
 frequented part, they 
 were soon in toler- 
 able quiet. 
 
 " Master Helpes," 
 said Dorothy pres- 
 ently, "hath thy poet 
 writ but one sonnet, ^ 
 and that to a friend ? <>. , 
 I would hear how he _^ 
 doth address a lady." 
 
 " He hath many < 
 such," said William, '"\ 
 "but I fear one only 
 is in my memory. 
 Wilt thou choose to 
 hear it?" 
 
 Dorothy signified 
 her pleasure, and the 
 young man began : 
 
 " When in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, 
 In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights, 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have expressed 
 Even such a beauty as you master now, 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring, 
 And for they looked but with divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing. 
 So we, which now behold these present days, 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise."
 
 114 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV. 
 
 Dorothy listened with close attention, scarcely 
 drawing breath. 
 
 " Tis beautiful," said she when he had finished, 
 " most beautiful ; but how dost know that he ad- 
 dresses a lady here, Master Helpes? He says not 
 even ' she ' ; much less mentions a name." 
 
 "Thou art ill to please," answered her com- 
 panion, " last time we spoke on this, thou wouldst 
 have it friendship could not inspire ; and now 
 thou askest for proof that this is not to a friend." 
 
 "I think indeed proof is needed," said Dorothy. 
 
 " But see, he speaks of her beauty ; sure, a man 
 would not praise another man's beauty." 
 
 " Why not, when he hath just spoke of ' lovely 
 knights ' ? " 
 
 " But likewise of ' ladies dead.' " 
 
 "Well, an' 't be to a lady dead, we shall not 
 quarrel. But I would fain see one to a living lady. 
 Hath he any such? " 
 
 " In sooth, I think so. I have some half score 
 at home. I will look thee one out." 
 
 " Half score ? Have a care thou abuse not my 
 belief, Master Helpes. I shall begin to think thou 
 hast writ these same sonnets to thyself." 
 
 " I trust I am no such false coxcomb " be- 
 gan Helpes, very hotly ; then, collecting himself, 
 " I prithee pardon my warmth, lady ; Tewkesbury 
 temper is soon up. But I tell thee naught but 
 truth. I know that these sonnets, which I shall 
 ever uphold for the best, were writ to diverse 
 persons ; some to a friend, some to a lady." 
 
 As Dorothy did not immediately answer, he 
 added, lowering his voice almost to a whisper, " I 
 must seem the rudest clown in Britain ; but I 
 should sorely grieve to offend thee." 
 
 "Nay," said the girl smiling, "Tewkesbury
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 115 
 
 temper hath served me so well of late, I must not 
 quarrel with it ; in truth, I am not angry." 
 
 She held out her hand, which he took and 
 closely pressed. 
 
 "Then thou knowest this poet?" she resumed. 
 "Some grave and weighty ancient, I trow, with a 
 bald pate, and a great beard." 
 
 " Not so ; he is some four years younger than 
 myself." 
 
 "Thou art most exact," laughed Dorothy. " It 
 should seem, then, that he stands between us." 
 
 "Ay," said William, "but as a bridge, I trust, 
 not as a wall." 
 
 "I have heard that sore battles have been 
 fought on bridges ; but I hope we shall not fall at 
 strife over him." 
 
 " I should count it a sad mischance to fall at 
 strife with thee, Mistress ; tho' thou mayest think 
 I have given but an indifferent sample of my 
 peaceful humor." 
 
 "Thou wouldst fight for thy friend, no doubt, as 
 well as thou didst for thy for a stranger : yet I 
 can conceive of thee as most peaceful by times : 
 but to take up the tale again, sir, where dwells this 
 poet? and what is his name?" 
 
 " He dwells in London, now ; that is, for the 
 time," said Helpes, halting and stammering as he 
 began to reflect whether it were wise to tell Sir 
 Thomas' niece too much of Shakespeare. 
 
 "Was he of this town?" pursued Dorothy. 
 
 " Nay, from Stratford." 
 
 "And his name? " 
 
 " William, like mine own," replied Helpes, curtly. 
 
 Dorothy durst ask no more. Conviction was 
 almost certainty, and though drawn on by a sort 
 of fascination in her last inquiries, she felt that
 
 Il6 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV. 
 
 the name of Shakespeare would be more than 
 she could bear. Alternately flushing and pal- 
 ing, she walked on for some distance in perfect 
 silence. 
 
 Helpes, who had feared at one time that he 
 should be driven either to rudeness or falsehood, 
 was at first relieved, but presently, looking at his 
 charge, felt more concern for her than comfort 
 for himself. 
 
 " Thou art not well, Mistress Dorothy," he cried, 
 " sure, this walk hath been too much for thee." 
 
 " Nay, I am well enow," she answered. " But 
 let us stand awhile. See how far Dame Hinckley 
 lags behind." 
 
 They stood a few moments, and then Dorothy 
 attempted a new subject. " Thy father is well, I 
 trust, Master Helpes?" 
 
 " Ay, hale and hearty," said Will. " He spends 
 his life between his house and the works. He 
 hath prospered in the business, and bred me up 
 to it; but I love the fields better. I go next 
 Thursday to see to some land of his near Charle- 
 cote." 
 
 " If it charge thee not too heavily," said Dorothy, 
 as carelessly as she could, " I would ask thee to 
 bring me back word how my uncle and his family 
 do." 
 
 " I shall be sure to tell thee." 
 
 " But speak not of me there," said she, trying 
 to remember exactly how much Helpes knew of 
 her position, and whether she had said aught at 
 the time of her rescue beyond asking to be con- 
 veyed to her nurse's home. " I may abide here 
 some while." 
 
 Her companion bowed silently. 
 
 " And, Master Helpes, if thou canst find space
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 117 
 
 to bring me another of thy friend's sonnets ere 
 thou goest, I shall like well." 
 
 " I will certainly do so." 
 
 Dame Hinckley now came up, and the three 
 took their way into the town.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 In which I told another's love 
 Interpreted mine own." 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 DOROTHY saw no more of William Helpes until 
 Wednesday evening, and had abundant oppor- 
 tunity for reflecting on her discovery of the per- 
 sonality of his poet friend. At his name all the 
 remembrances connected with him had rushed 
 over her like a flood, and she began to wonder if 
 her fate were not in some way connected with 
 his. 
 
 " I must be wary," she thought. " One care- 
 less speech of praise from me hath been enough 
 to drive me from my uncle's house, and send my 
 poor- cousin, perchance, to his death. I must 
 take heed that this brave and honest townsman 
 be not estranged from his friend through me." 
 
 In the meantime she had the satisfaction of 
 some employment, as Dame Hinckley had pro- 
 cured her the materials for a piece of embroidery, 
 and assured her of its ready sale to one of the great 
 ladies of the town. 
 
 She was sitting at her frame during the Dame's 
 usual evening absence, when she heard a rap at 
 the door below, and on looking out, perceived 
 Helpes standing expectantly anear the house front. 
 Not liking either to go out or to admit him while 
 alone, she went down, and opened a small case- 
 ment window beside the doorway.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. IIQ 
 
 " Good-even, Mistress Dorothy," said he, smil- 
 ing before he bowed. " I go up the river early on 
 the morrow, and shall be pleased to serve thee in 
 any way." 
 
 " I thank thee, sir," said Dorothy, acknowledg- 
 ing his greeting, and surmising that he spoke thus 
 vaguely with respect to listeners. " I trust thou 
 wilt have fair angling. The luces on the heads of 
 Avon should be in good case. Pray fetch me 
 what thou canst of them." 
 
 " I know them well," replied William. " 'Tis 
 a brave fish, and thou shalt have all I can bring of 
 them. But here is another of the sonnets we 
 spoke upon, which I have copied out for thee. I 
 trust thou wilt like it well. And though he speak 
 of his years and weariness, thou knowest that is 
 how the youngest write." 
 
 Dorothy took the roll, and was about to open it. 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Helpes, laughing and coloring, 
 " I prithee read it not till I am gone." 
 
 But she had already begun the lines : 
 
 " That time of year thou dost in me behold 
 
 When yellow leaves, or few, or none, do hang 
 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 
 Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 In me thou seest the twilight of such day 
 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 
 Which by and by black night doth take away, 
 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 
 In me thou seest the glowing of such fire 
 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 
 Consumed with that which it was nourished by. 
 
 This thou perceivest which makes thy love more strong, 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long." 
 
 " He writes indeed like a youth of a great age," 
 she said. 
 
 " Well spoken, lady ! " exclaimed Helpes. " He
 
 I2O THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 is truly a youth of a great age. When he was 
 but sixteen, methought he knew more than the 
 oldest man in the land ; yet high-mettled as any 
 barb. Seest thou here, how smoothly and how 
 fairly he speaks of these dismal sights, and makes 
 a sweet melody of them all? Few things there 
 are his limbeck cannot still ; naught ever came 
 amiss to him or from him." 
 
 Dorothy listened in some surprise to this 
 eulogy. 
 
 " 'Twere sad pity, Master Helpes," said she, 
 " that I had read this alone, as thou didst desire. 
 I had not then heard how well thou canst speak 
 for a friend." 
 
 " He needs not my well speaking," answered Will, 
 " but 'tis right I should show I can value him." 
 
 " Hast known him long?" 
 
 " Great part of our lives ; and did I wish for 
 fame, I would choose none better than to be 
 spoken on as his friend." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Dorothy, " I wish thee all suc- 
 cess. But wilt not enter? I see my good nurse 
 come up the way." 
 
 " Nay, nay, I cannot stay. I did but come to 
 say I should be three days gone. Look thou for 
 a fair budget of luces." 
 
 He bowed and departed, while Dorothy, hasten- 
 ing up stairs, was at work again ere Dame Hinck- 
 ley's entrance. 
 
 At the first moment of leisure and solitude, she 
 examined the roll William had left with her. It 
 contained the sonnet, fairly enough copied out, 
 though with one or two small erasures and altera- 
 tions ; and at the foot, among some ornamental 
 flourishes, stood the cramped title " Willra 
 Shaksper."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 121 
 
 The confirmation of her belief was at first al- 
 most grateful, as she felt that she need no longer 
 struggle against so many proofs, and that her ad- 
 miration for Shakespeare was becoming justified. 
 No longer need she think of him as the com- 
 panion, ill assorted it might be, but still the com- 
 panion, of poachers and vagabonds. The jewel had 
 now found its proper setting : and she would 
 scarcely have felt surprise at hearing that the ris- 
 ing poet would soon become the greatest man in 
 England. Again and again the face which had 
 quelled an angry judge, and inspired a careless 
 child, rose before her mental vision, till she was in 
 a frame little short of worship. 
 
 Helpes, who had proved himself capable of win- 
 ning and appreciating such a friend, was also 
 raised not a little in' her opinion, which his courage 
 and kindness had already made favorable. 
 
 While such musings as these occupied her mind, 
 the greater part of each day was spent at her 
 frame, the embroidery growing rapidly under her 
 skilful fingers, to the great admiration of her worthy 
 nurse. 
 
 On Saturday evening, just as Dame Hinckley 
 was setting out on her wonted journey to the 
 church, Dorothy heard some parley below, and 
 presently the good woman came posting up. 
 
 " Master Helpes seeks thee, dear," said she. 
 " Eh ! but thou's made him forget his manners. 
 'A ne'er bade me god-den, but says forthright, ' Is 
 Mistress Dorothy within?' staring past me, an' I 
 were t' doorpost. ' She's within,' says I, ' an' 
 within she stays, if thou casnt speak an owd friend 
 fair.' Then 'a came down, I trow." 
 
 Dorothy made no answer, nor even turned her 
 head.
 
 122 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Come, come ! " said the dame, " dunnot sit 
 there no longer. T' light goes. Come, he has 
 much to tell thee. Ye may walk to church wi' me, 
 an hear t' news, while I redd up. Come, thou 's 
 not tasted fresh air these two days." 
 
 Suffering herself to be persuaded, the girl took 
 her cloak and followed her nurse down stairs. 
 Helpes, with a face impatient for happiness, stood 
 at the threshold ; and a vainer damsel might have 
 been enlightened by the eager gladness of his 
 greeting. Quietly returning his salutation, she 
 took his arm, and the pair followed Dame Hinck- 
 ley along the street. 
 
 " I walks behind ye when ye go a pleasuring, 
 as reason is," the good woman had said, " but 
 now I be in church service." 
 
 "And what news from Charlecote, Master 
 Helpes?" inquired Dorothy. "Are my uncle and 
 aunt and and my cousin well ? " In spite of her 
 determination to speak firmly, she could not keep 
 a little tremor from her voice, as she named the 
 cause of her wanderings. 
 
 " Sir Thomas and his lady were in good health, 
 as I was told," replied Will. "Thy cousin was just 
 returned from London, and 'tis said he shall soon 
 wed Master Arnold's daughter." 
 
 As he uttered the last words he looked askance 
 at Dorothy, to satisfy a suspicion of jealousy. 
 But the joyful relief she showed dispelled his 
 doubts. 
 
 " I am glad indeed to hear this," said she. 
 " I know naught of Mistress Arnold, but no doubt 
 she is well chosen, and 'twill bring his mother 
 great content." 
 
 They walked on for some time in silence, Helpes 
 considering if he should tell Dorothy more of what
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 123 
 
 he had learned, which was, that she was commonly 
 supposed to have fled to London by concert with 
 her cousin : that Sir Thomas, in this belief, had 
 made various fruitless efforts to trace her in that 
 direction, until his son's return had partly per- 
 suaded him of his mistake : and that now, fearful 
 of some other escapade on the young man's part, 
 he was hastening on his marriage. Joe Tuff, who 
 could have thrown much light on these matters, 
 had judged it best to keep the tale of Dorothy's 
 adventures to himself. 
 
 While he thus pondered his companion ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 " I have to thank thee for the sonnet, Master 
 Helpes, 'twas fairly writ, indeed : notably the 
 name of the author." 
 
 "Was 't so? " exclaimed Helpes. "Did I copy 
 that with the rest? I meant it not. But no 
 matter. Many will know the name or long, me- 
 thinks." 
 
 "Through thee?" 
 
 "Nay, through himself." 
 
 " Thou believest him capable of much, then ? " 
 
 "Of all save unfaith or cowardice." 
 
 Dorothy perhaps had never felt more kindly to- 
 wards Helpes than when he thus spoke the praises 
 of the friend who was destined to be in some sort 
 his rival : and the smiles which lighted her face 
 drove from William's mind all thought of prudence 
 or delay. They were now waiting without the 
 church for the Dame's reappearance, and ere he 
 knew what he did Will had taken Dorothy's hand 
 and begun his speech. 
 
 "Mistress Lucy," said he, "a poor townsman, 
 such as I, may scarce dare to ask aught of a lady 
 if it be not to give up all for his sake. Wilt
 
 124 
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TF.WKF.SBURY. 
 
 have me to thy husband? I love thee truly, and 
 that's more than e'er I said to any woman since 
 my mother died. If thou canst wed a burgess' 
 son, he will never give thee room to repent." 
 
 Before he had finished Dorothy had drawn away 
 her hand and the color began mounting in her 
 face. 
 
 " Master Helpes, thou hast done so much for 
 me of late that I would fain say nay as softly as I 
 can : but nay it must be."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 125 
 
 " I have frighted thee perchance," said he, 
 " I spoke too soon : but give me leave to wait 
 awhile. What?" as Dorothy determinedly shook 
 her head, "is 't vain? Then I'll trouble thee no 
 more : only tell me, prithee, am I too late ? hath 
 some luckier man stept in before?" as his 
 thoughts again reverted to her cousin. 
 
 " Nay, not so," said Dorothy. "There is no 
 other that is ," her ideal ever in mind, 
 "no other whom I love or would wed." 
 
 Helpes turned his face away for a few moments, 
 and when he next spoke it was in an altered voice. 
 
 " May I see thee still by times, Mistress Dor- 
 othy ? I should grieve to lose thee wholly ; and 
 some day I may serve thee again." 
 
 " I shall ever be glad to see Master Helpes, as 
 at first," replied the girl. 
 
 Dame Hinckley now appeared, and the three 
 took their way homeward, much more silently than 
 they had come. Helpes made some excuse to 
 depart at the alley corner, to the great discontent 
 of the Dame.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " And to be wroth with one we love 
 Doth work like madness in the brain." 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 IT was a glorious day late in April, a year and a 
 half after the events of the last chapter. A soft 
 southerly wind drove great masses of cloud across 
 the sky. Now and then a brief shower would come 
 leaping down, followed by a radiant sunburst and 
 a fleeting rainbow, while from every side sounded 
 the joyous cries of beast and bird, exulting in 
 another lease of life. 
 
 Two young men walked the Ham in close con- 
 versation : William Helpes, and his friend Shakes- 
 peare. The former was little changed, save that 
 he wore deep mourning ; the latter may best be 
 described by saying that his countenance, fulfilling 
 the promise of early youth, bore the look of one 
 coming into his kingdom. 
 
 "And when didst say thy father sickened?" 
 asked the poet of Helpes, who had been explain- 
 ing some of his affairs. 
 
 " Near Yule-tide." 
 
 "And his' death followed hard upon?" 
 
 Helpes nodded. 
 
 " Well, thou hast done all proper rites and decked 
 his tomb ; and see, thou stand'st alone. Why 
 dost not wed, as I have bid thee so oft? " 
 
 " Truly, thou hast spared neither precept nor 
 example," replied William, smiling, " but thou 
 knowest two words go to that bargain." 
 120
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESP.URY. 127 
 
 " Nay, fear not the woman-word. Twill not be 
 wanting. Where is she would disdain thee?" 
 
 " Thou hast ever spoke well for me, Will," said 
 the other, " but let any man troubled with vanity 
 go courting, and I'll warrant him a cure." 
 
 "That speech had ill-luck to its sire," said 
 Shakespeare. " Who is the fair Touch-me-not, I 
 prithee?" 
 
 " That I must not say. Let us speak of more 
 likely matters. How come on the plays?" 
 
 " As a tired horse comes on," said the young 
 dramatist. " 'Tis ill vamping other men's shoon. 
 But I have somewhat of mine own in hand prom- 
 ises better, methinks." 
 
 "Ay, let's hear it soon. Now thou hast seen 
 the court ladies, thou canst fashion forth as fair 
 dames as any, I'll be bound." 
 
 "Thou might'st think so. But she who hath 
 been my chiefest model saw never court or camp. 
 Thou rememberest the eve I lay in Charlecote 
 keep, till thou, good fellow, cam'st to take me out? 
 Her face was before me then, as in a midsummer- 
 night's dream, and 'tis in the tables of my memory 
 still." 
 
 " Mayhap," said Helpes, with sparkling eye, but 
 strained voice, " 'tis one with the lady of thy 
 sonnets?" 
 
 " I care not if I say it is." 
 
 "And hast ever seen her since then? " 
 
 " Nay, not I. She has married some clod-pate, 
 'tis most like, and I would not choose to hear that 
 any had brought her down to a nurse and chroni- 
 cler of ale." 
 
 " I prithee, Will, tell me her name," urged 
 Helpes, in a voice of such distress that the other 
 stopped and looked at him in puzzled wonder.
 
 128 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Nay, 'tis a bargain," said he at length, "if 
 them' It tell me what I asked but now - the name 
 of thy snow-cold love." 
 
 " 'Tis better we name no names, mayhap," said 
 Helpes after a minute's reflection. " Let us go 
 down to the river and write on the sand." 
 
 A few steps brought them to the Avon's bank, 
 and each, turning from the other, traced with his 
 stick on the smooth beach ; then, changing places, 
 read what had been written. 
 
 Shakespeare, with little delay, effaced both 
 names, and walked rapidly away. Helpes, looking 
 about him in bewilderment for some moments, 
 followed more slowly. 
 
 "Thou art not angry, Will, I trust?" said he, 
 when at length he overtook him. 
 
 "We have wasted time," said Shakespeare, 
 curtly ; " one writing had served us both." 
 
 " Wilt come down to the bowling green, and 
 have a game?" asked Helpes. 
 
 " Nay, not now," said the other. " I must get 
 back to mine easy inn. I'll write thee from there, 
 should I leave as speedily as the time demands. 
 Fare thee well, Will : we part not unkindly, but 
 he grasped the townsman's hand and walked 
 swiftly, tho' with slightly halting gait, toward the 
 walls. 
 
 Helpes knew better than to press him further in 
 his present mood, and turned homeward to spend 
 a lonely evening, wavering between grief, indigna- 
 tion and pride. 
 
 By the morning, however, solicitude had con- 
 quered, and he went down early to the tavern, de- 
 termined to leave no means untried towards a 
 reconciliation. 
 
 But the gaping lad who admitted him informed
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 129 
 
 him that " Measter Shakespeare had gone with t' 
 first peep o' dawn." 
 
 "And left he no word for me?" asked Helpes, 
 execrating his own tardiness. 
 
 " Ay," said the youth scratching his head, " He 
 bid me gi' thee this." And he drew from his 
 pocket a crumpled scrap of paper and held it out 
 to Helpes, who, taking it, quitted the house. 
 
 On reaching a quiet place his first care was to 
 smooth out the paper, and peruse the sonnets 
 written thereon, which ran as follows : 
 
 " Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flattering the mountain tops with sovran eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 Gilding the streams with heavenly alchemy, 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
 
 130 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. 
 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
 
 With all triumphant splendor on thy brow, 
 
 But out? alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
 
 The region cloud hath masked him from me now. 
 
 Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; 
 
 Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth." 
 
 " Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day, 
 And make me travel forth without my cloak, 
 To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way, 
 Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke? 
 'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break 
 To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face, 
 For no man well of such a salve can speak, 
 That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace, 
 Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief 
 Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss; 
 The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief 
 To him that. bears the strong offence's cross. 
 Ah, but those tears are pearls which thy love sheds, 
 And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds." 
 
 With a groan he crushed the paper in his hands, 
 and turned homeward. As he plodded along 
 with hanging head, he nearly ran against some one 
 coming in the opposite direction, and, looking up, 
 recognized Dorothy Lucy. 
 
 "Good morrow, lady," said he. "Thou art 
 early afoot." 
 
 " I came to bring the lotion from the leech for 
 my nurse," replied Dorothy. "'Twas forgot last 
 night, and she will go to the church each day, as 
 is her wont, though the palsy cramps her sadly." 
 
 " 'Tis an ill complaint," answered Helpes. " But 
 thou art happy to have some one to care for, and 
 not hie to an empty house, as I." 
 
 " Nay, but thy mother 
 
 " My step-mother, thou meanst. Didst not 
 hear ? She hath taken all her portion, and gone to
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 131 
 
 her folk at Gloucester, and left none but serving 
 men and maids, who call me master to my face, 
 and tell each other behind my back th^t I'll ne'er 
 fill my father's shoon." 
 
 " A good servant minds a good master long," 
 answered Dorothy, quoting one of her nurse's 
 sayings. 
 
 " True, he was a good master, and a good sire ; 
 the more lonely house. An if I might hope that 
 some one would yet take pity on me, and " 
 
 " Thou must not speak thus, Master Helpes," 
 interposed Dorothy, seeing whither he tended. 
 "Thou hast neighbors and friends " 
 
 " Friends ! " said he bitterly. " Ay, I'm bravely 
 off for friends, who have just fallen out with the 
 best of them." 
 
 " Thy best friend would sure not fall out with 
 thee so readily, if at any wise," said Dorothy, 
 vaguely, uncertain whether he spoke of her or 
 no. 
 
 " I said not the blame was his," replied Will. 
 " The sun's a fair sight on the fields ; but when he 
 shines into the chimney corner, and puts out the 
 bit of firing a poor man has laid by for his need, 
 'tis none so well." 
 
 To this oracular remark the girl made no 
 response, but saying she must despatch her busi- 
 ness, moved onward. 
 
 " May I not do thine errand for thee, or with 
 thee, Mistress Dorothy? " 
 
 " Nay, not so." 
 
 " Is there naught I can do to pleasure thee ? " 
 
 " Ay, surely, bring me another of those sonnets 
 thou hadst once in such good store. Or hath thy 
 poet dropt the pen, perchance ? " 
 
 " He'll ne'er do that. I feared to weary thee,
 
 13 2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 but shalt see one ere long," hesitated Helpes, 
 conscious of the paper in his doublet front. 
 
 " Tis a bargain, then," said Dorothy, passing on 
 her way. 
 
 She found Dame Hinckley groaning on the floor, 
 her temper no way improved by a sharp attack 
 of rheumatism. 
 
 "Thou's been long enow," she said querulously. 
 " The leech kept thee without, I wot, while he 
 mended his last nap. An he knew whom he 
 served, he'd stir 's bones. Plague on 's worthless 
 stuff, a drop o' mother's herb drink 'ud pass it 
 all." 
 
 "Lie down again, nurse," said Dorothy, gently 
 applying the lotion. " The sexton's daughter said 
 she would do thy part to-day, if need were." 
 
 " Ay, ay, she'd be rarely glad to step into my 
 shoon, but I'm none dead yet. When t' summer 
 comes, and I'm less gnawn wi' cramp, I'll gi' her 
 a leaf o' palm for her head, an she likes. But 'tis 
 vain strivin' wi' her, poor doited body, as I heard 
 her say t'other day Master Helpes should wed a lady 
 fro' t' south. 'Twere grief to howd my tongue ; but 
 I could ha' towd her he looked no further than 's 
 own river-head. Ay, ay, dearie, thou's comin' 
 round never tell me"- as Dorothy turned her 
 head away " thou's comin' round. Didna I see 
 thee go about last week, rathan walk aneath Rob 
 Mason's ladder? We all know that should mean no 
 wedding for thee this year. Ay, thou'lt be a fair 
 bride or winter comes again ; an' after that, 'tis 
 little matter how soon t' owd woman is aneath the 
 mouls."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " I'll buckler thee against a million." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 DOROTHY, who could only obtain privacy when 
 left alone in the garret by Dame Hinckley, sat 
 down at her embroidery frame, and plied the 
 needle diligently. 
 
 " I grow old fast," she thought, with one of 
 those exaggerated fits of self pity not uncommon 
 at nineteen. " My hands are seamed and scarred 
 like those of two-score with this rough work,"- 
 this indeed was the truest part of her indictment 
 " my cheek, sure, is falling away, and I found a grey 
 hair yestreen. Nurse, yonder, cannot live but few 
 more seasons ; and since the stay I gave him this 
 morn, methinks Master Helpes will come no more. 
 I would not see him as a lover, but 'tis sad to 
 have no friend left." And more than one tear fell 
 among the seed pearls of her pattern. 
 
 That week and another passed but gloomily 
 away. Dame Hinckley, though, as she expressed 
 it, "holding like a rope" to her church duties, 
 was now too lame for spinning, and faint but ter- 
 rific mutterings from the Spanish war-cloud gath- 
 ering on the southern coast penetrated even to 
 secluded Tewkesbury. William Helpes had not vis- 
 ited the house for a fortnight, and both the Dame 
 and Dorothy began to surmise that his constancy 
 had been tried too far. Their resultant feelings 
 differed, yet not so widely as might have been sup- 
 posed. The Dame mingled praises of true-hearted 
 
 188
 
 134 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 gentlemen, and denunciations of double-faced 
 loons, in the most inconsistent manner, while Doro- 
 thy, though avowing frequently to herself that the 
 end she sought that of making Master Helpes 
 forget her was at last attained, always found a 
 small grain either of contempt, irritation, or it 
 could not possibly be grief mingling with her 
 deep content at the consummation of her wishes. 
 
 The Sunday afternoon came round, and Dorothy, 
 who had remained at home, sat by the open case- 
 ment of the garret, striving for a breath of fresh 
 air, and suffering from the heat of an unusually 
 warm spring evening. " Alas, these changes," 
 she thought. " 'Tis scarce two months ago one 
 shook with cold in this same room, and now, one 
 scantly breathes." 
 
 As she meditated thus she was aware pf a well- 
 dressed man coming slowly up the street, scan- 
 ning the windows and doors on either side as 
 intently as his care to avoid the pools and rubbish 
 heaps in his way would permit. 
 
 For one moment her heart leaped more lightly 
 than her judgment or reason approved the next, 
 when she saw it was not he on whose absence she 
 had made so many efforts at complacency. 
 
 Realizing suddenly that she, was leaning further 
 out and gazing more earnestly than became a 
 modest maiden, she drew back, but not before 
 she had been recognized by the stranger, who, 
 halting and flourishing his plumed hat, called in 
 a low but penetrating voice, " Mistress Dorothy, as 
 I think ! " She was silent, and he spoke again 
 more loudly. 
 
 " Doth Mistress Lu that is Dorothy, dwell here, 
 or at the Hall?" 
 
 Fearing lest more should be said then it were
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 135 
 
 well for the neighbors to hear, Dorothy looked 
 forth. 
 
 "What are your commands, sir?" she asked, in 
 as vulgar and servile a tone as she could assume. 
 
 " Dost not remember me?" inquired the man. 
 "I am an old friend, who hast much to say to 
 thee ; prithee come down." 
 
 "I will come to the little wicket," said Dorothy, 
 as faces began to appear at the nearest casements. 
 "Thou must not stand halloaing thus in the way." 
 And hoping that she had well combined civility 
 and reproof, she hastened down the stair. The 
 stranger awaited her with his face pressed close to 
 the grate beside the door. 
 
 " Dost not know me ? " he asked again. 
 
 "Not I, sir." 
 
 "Well, let me in, and thou shalt know that, 
 and many more weighty matters, which I have 
 come post to tell thee." 
 
 "Thy pardon, sir," said Dorothy firmly, "This 
 is the home of my aunt, Mistress Annot Hinckley, 
 and none may enter here while she is hence." 
 
 "Thy aunt? Dame Hinckley!" ejaculated the 
 other. " I" faith, I'm rarely sorry for thee. 
 Didst not hear she .was taken for a witch but 
 now?" 
 
 " O, Heaven help us ! " cried Dorothy, her heart 
 sinking and fluttering at these words, in those 
 days both dreadful and frequent. " Where is 
 she? Take me to her, sir. Sure thou canst do 
 somewhat to help. My poor nurse, that never 
 harmed any ! And Sir Richard, too, can say he 
 hath known her many a year " 
 
 By this time she had unbarred the door and 
 was about to sally forth ; but the visitor, stretching 
 his arm across, stopped her way.
 
 136 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "There is no such haste," said he. "Thou hast 
 done enow. I did but try a master key on this 
 same door, and it hath served me well." 
 
 "But my nurse " stammered the girl. 
 
 "She's safe and well. Mark what I said. I 
 asked if thou hadst not heard she was taken." 
 
 " From none but thee." 
 
 "Neither had I." 
 
 "Then then 'twas a cruel speech," faltered 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " Nay, nay, pretty one, an old friend's jest 
 be not angry. Sure thou knowest me now. 
 This same beard," stroking the appendage as he 
 spoke, " may have altered me somewhat ; but 
 dost not mind the day I squired thee from 
 Evesham?" And Joe Tuff, for he it was, smirked 
 and beamed as if recalling some valiant exploit. 
 
 " I remember thee now, sir," said Dorothy, her 
 indignation gathering as her strength returned, 
 " and I can truly say thy nature has not altered 
 with thy face. The words thou hast just spoke 
 are of a piece with that day's gallant deeds." 
 
 "Tush," said Tuff, whose brazen assurance was 
 not readily overthrown, " I did the best I could 
 for thee : many a man had sought his own safety, 
 nor ridden to bring thee help. But let it pass, 
 and tell me how thou dost. Faith, thou looks but 
 sadly," not waiting a reply. " Beauty endures 
 not long : but thou mayest pass yet a while. 
 'Twill joy thee to hear I have left Sir Thomas 
 my blood could brook a servitor's place no longer 
 and set up for mine own hand as law scrivener 
 in Evesham, where I doubt not to do well." 
 
 " I trust there is no doubt on that matter," 
 replied the girl, " and to my poor thinking thou 
 wert best to return to Evesham as soon as may 
 be, nor come hither again."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 137 
 
 "What ails the wench?" said Tuff. "Why, I 
 came here o' purpose to seek thee, Dorothy 
 think on that. I'm a rising man, and thou art 
 none so fair as thou wert, or I remembered : but 
 I. seek a wife, and care not if I take thee." 
 
 " Sir," said Dorothy trembling and flushing, 
 
 " didst make hither to insult an orphan ? Leave 
 me, and come no, more." And she endeavored 
 to close the door. But her unwelcome guest, jam- 
 ming himself between the posts, blocked the attempt. 
 " In vain ! " he laughed at Dorothy's efforts. 
 " Thou dost not shuffle me off so readily. Hast
 
 138 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 never a manchet or cup of ale to offer for old 
 times' sake? Why this is but a -churlish treat- 
 ment, but if naught else offers, I'll have a kiss." 
 And passing his arm around her waist, he sought 
 to make his words good. Dorothy, calling for 
 help and turning her face away, thrust him off 
 with all her strength. The half dozen persons 
 who had gathered around the door looked on in 
 huge delight. 
 
 " To her, lad ! To her ! " cried a cobbler rub- 
 bing his hands. 
 
 "There's no harm in a kiss," wheezed an old 
 crone, " an Madam did na' like him, she should 
 ha' kept t' door." And she burst into coarse 
 laughter, wherein a couple of laundry-girls most 
 heartily joined. 
 
 "What means this, knave?" cried a stern voice, 
 and William Helpes' hand clutched Tuff by the 
 collar. " Barest thou treat a lady thus ? " And 
 with a powerful fling he hurled the scrivener 
 through the row of bystanders (two of whom 
 measured their length upon the stones) and 
 against the wall of the opposite house, where he 
 fell in a collapsed heap. 
 
 "Hath he hurt thee, dearest?" asked Helpes, 
 turning to Dorothy. 
 
 " Nay, not yet," sobbed the girl, " but never 
 came help in better time." 
 
 " I'll be revenged, yet," snarled Tuff, gathering 
 himself up. 
 
 "Revenged, thou cur!" said the other con- 
 temptuously. " And you," turning to the throng, 
 " Call ye yourself good townsmen or neighbors, 
 that could stand and look on thus? " 
 
 " Blame me not, Master Helpes," said the cob- 
 bler, fawningly, " he took me off guard, but now
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 13.9 
 
 what say ye, gossips, to take him down and 
 duck him in the river? " 
 
 With a shout of approval, all rushed on Tuff, 
 who, dropping his cloak and staff, and springing 
 away, flew down the lane at a pace that left little 
 hope for his pursuers, who however followed at 
 their best speed out of sight and hearing. 
 
 Helpes and Dorothy remained standing alone 
 together in the doorway until the cries of pack 
 and quarry had died away. 
 
 " I must go now," said Will curtly. 
 
 Dorothy looked up surprised. 
 
 " Nay, think me not rude. It glads me to have 
 done thee some service, but the need is past 
 and and " gazing at the fair and well loved 
 face before him " I must needs speak if I stay, 
 and speak of matters which please thee not, as I 
 know too well. Of a hand that would fight and 
 fend for thee at need a heart that lies at thy feet 
 
 a life which thou only canst light or darken. 
 Tell me, Dorothy, shall I stay or go? " 
 
 There was a minute's pause. Then Dorothy, 
 looking up with a smile, tho' the tears ran down 
 her face, whispered " Stay," and Will caught her 
 in his arms. 
 
 The shouts and wrangling of the returning 
 troop roused the pair from their new Eden. " We 
 must not stand here," said Dorothy sliding from 
 her lover's embrace. " I cannot bid thee enter, 
 and I would not drive thee forth." 
 
 "We will both go forth," said Will. "Come 
 with me to the church, as oft aforetime ; we shall 
 meet thy nurse there, and I trust she will not ban 
 us." 
 
 Dorothy reached her hood, and the two set out, 
 passing by the bowing and panting throng.
 
 140 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "We've gi'en un a good run, Measter." "He 
 were well winded ere we lost un." " Stout legs, 
 weak spirit." Such were the ejaculations. 
 
 " Thank ye thank ye, friends," said Helpes. 
 " I knew your hearts were right. Here's some- 
 what to slake your throats, after the chase." 
 
 And distributing three or four shillings, he 
 strode away, holding his head high, and drawing 
 Dorothy's arm close under his with a new air of 
 ownership. 
 
 " 'Twill be a match, for sure," said the old 
 woman who had so recently led in laughter. " Bless 
 her bonny face, and his broad shouthers, there 
 be no finer couple i' the town." 
 
 " A sturdy blade as need be," acquiesced the 
 cobbler. " Look at 's iron fists, an' long cham- 
 pion arms. Didst see how he trowled yon fellow 
 o'er the way, as 'twere a biass bowl." 
 
 " Thou shouldst know, friend," said the tailor, 
 " for thou didst sprawl i' th' mire from a touch of 
 that same bowl." 
 
 "Enow o' that, Snip enow o' that," growled 
 the cobbler, and both adjourned to the ale-can. 
 
 " Is't possible thou canst love me, dearest?" 
 Will was saying. " A gentle lady like thee to wed 
 such a rough burgess ? " 
 
 "Miscall not thyself," said the girl, with play- 
 ful authority. "Any lady in the land might prize 
 such a true and loyal heart." 
 
 "A doubting heart, I fear me, sweetest," he 
 answered. " Hadst thou given me a third refusal, 
 I had never dared speak again,' 
 
 " But how didst chance to come at my very 
 time of need? " 
 
 "Thy own bidding. 'Twas but now I came 
 by the sonnet thou didst ask for, and I sped to 
 bring it. May I read it thee now?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 141 
 
 They were by this time entering the church. 
 
 " Dost think 'tis right to read it here ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Thou wilt say so when hast heard." 
 
 They found a seat, and Will took out the paper. 
 "Nay, 'tis not this," he said frowning. "I have 
 it now." He thrust back the first manuscript, 
 and produced another. 
 
 The spring wind and sunlight poured through 
 open door and lofty window, rustling and wav- 
 ing the ancient banners, and touching brass and 
 marble till they shone through the shadow ; while 
 far away sounded the faint chant of a final an- 
 them. In a low, deep voice Helpes read aloud 
 the immortal sonnet : 
 
 "Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediment; love is not love, 
 Which alters when it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove. 
 
 no ! it is an ever fixed mark, 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 
 
 Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 
 If this be error, and upon me proved, 
 
 1 never writ, nor no man ever loved." 
 
 " Could such words have better time or place ? " 
 said William. "Here we plight our troth." 
 
 They kissed each other, bowed in prayer a 
 minute, and then left the church. Dame Hinckley 
 awaited them at the porch, and her joy can 
 scarcely be imagined. She went from laughter to 
 congratulations, and thence to tears, which ex- 
 hausted her so much that Will and Dorothy were 
 "obliged to lead her home.
 
 142 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 It was not till Helpes was well toward his own 
 house, after a promise to return early on the mor- 
 row, that he again drew out the first manuscript 
 he had produced in the church. 
 
 " 'Twas meant for her," he murmured, "but she 
 reads it not yet. Some day, perchance. She 
 might like ill I were led by it, but sure 'tis no 
 shame to be moved by such as he." 
 
 He perused the lines again, and we may look 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 " Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou knowest thy estimate; 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing, 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 For how do I hold thee, but by thy granting? 
 And for that riches where is my deserving? 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter 
 In sleep a king; but waking no such matter."
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " So long as thou doest well unto thyself, men will speak 
 good of thee." Psalms. 
 
 IT may easily be supposed that the discussions 
 of ways and means were many and long. When 
 they concerned the wedding of a damsel of Doro- 
 thy's high birth and breeding, but present lowly 
 condition, such must naturally be the case. Wil- 
 liam Helpes, whose possessions, for one in his 
 station, were more than ample, wished her to 
 move into a better lodging, which he would pro- 
 vide. But here Dorothy was firm. 
 
 "This roof sheltered me first," said she, "and 
 here I will abide until I go to my husband's 
 house." 
 
 " Well," said Helpes, " if you will not leave it 
 sooner ye both must do so later. Dame Hinckley, 
 thou comest to us for life the day we wed." 
 
 The good woman's cup of joy was now full. 
 She had grieved a little, secretly, over a solitary 
 old age, and to be thus transported to a great 
 house, presided over by her darling, was the best 
 earth could have given. 
 
 "I thank ye, Master Helpes," said she. " 'Tis 
 what few men would offer. I have lived here many 
 a year and here I tho't to die ; but I'll be proud 
 and glad to go wi' ye, an' I trust to be of use yet 
 awhile." 
 
 William's wishes, and Dorothy's unprotected 
 situation, would both have bespoke an early day 
 for the wedding, but his father's recent death ne-
 
 144 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 cessitated some delay, and the date was finally set 
 for September i2th. 
 
 Thus much having been settled on the first even- 
 ing of conclave, the groom-expectant took his 
 leave, and the two women went into the question 
 of funds for the wedding outfit. 
 
 "I ha' store enow o' linen laid by," said the 
 elder, " but 'tis coarse, mean stuff, fit for a peddler's 
 wench. An' the gown thou wearest, the same as 
 ever thou cam'st fro' t' Hall in, has been darned 
 so oft 'tis well if it howds together till thy wedding 
 day, wi' all savenapes can do : gentles' coats are 
 fair to look on, but they dunnot last." 
 
 " I shall be but too glad of the linen, nurse," 
 said Dorothy, " and perhaps," thoughtfully, " I 
 may steal time enow to broider me a gown." 
 
 "That's well thought on," cried the Dame. 
 " 'Twill set thee far better than working for t' town 
 madams here. But where be we to get t' veil, an' 
 shoon for hand an' foot, an' a score o' things a 
 lady should wear? Lackaday ! had I t' fi' pounds 
 now that feyther left me, as I put into Dame 
 Hickup's chop, an' ne'er saw again ! " 
 
 "Wouldst give me thy all?" said the girl, with 
 affectionate reproof ; " but we must go to rest 
 now, or the palsy will pinch thee again." 
 
 "Never fear me," replied the Dame sturdily. 
 " This good news hath helped me more than all the 
 leech's oil." 
 
 Three or four weeks passed away in preparation 
 on both sides. Dorothy still kept up her patrons' 
 embroidery, despite all protests, and the spare time 
 of herself and nurse was spent on her simple out- 
 fit. Every week they walked to the house soon to 
 be hers, where such alterations as she would sug- 
 gest or Helpes could devise, were swiftly carried 
 through.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 145 
 
 During May William was called away on one of 
 his business trips to Stratford. He was absent but 
 a few days, and had only to say on his return that 
 he heard the Lucy family were as usual, and that 
 his affairs had prospered well. 
 
 One day about the first of June, as Dorothy sat 
 singing at her work, she was surprised to hear the 
 trampling of horses on the pavement below a 
 most unusual sound in narrow, tortuous Keech 
 Alley. Remembering, however, her late experi- 
 ence with Tuff, she kept to her seat and occupa- 
 tion until a knock at the door below drew her to 
 look forth. 
 
 A young groom, in familiar livery, holding a dun 
 hack by the bridle, stood on the step ; while be- 
 hind him, on a stout bay, sat a dignified, grey- 
 haired gentleman her uncle, Sir Thomas Lucy. 
 
 Hastening down stairs, she unbarred the door 
 and threw it open, trembling so violently that she 
 could scarcely recover from the deep reverence 
 which the occasion demanded, or utter the words, 
 " My respectful duty waits on thee, Sir Thomas." 
 
 Her uncle dismounted and came up to the 
 door. 
 
 " It is long since we have met, niece," said he 
 austerely, extending his hand, which she took and 
 kissed. " Dickon, bait the horses at the next 
 stabling, come again at noon." The man bowed 
 and departed. 
 
 "And now, Dorothy," continued her uncle more 
 kindly, " tell me how thou dost, and why didst flee 
 away from thy home, with never a word?" 
 
 "I I feared to stay longer," she brought out 
 with a great effort. 
 
 " Ah, I must have frighted thee sadly," said Sir 
 Thomas, " but I meant the best I meant the 
 best."
 
 146 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Dorothy invited her uncle to enter, and he 
 stepped within the door, where she brought him a 
 stool ; then, taking courage, inquired formally after 
 Lady Lucy and her cousin. 
 
 "Thy aunt's but weak weak and wan. I fear 
 me she fails, or I had brought her behind me on 
 the pillion. And thy cousin, too, is but sadly in 
 health. Didst hear he had wedded?" The girl 
 assented. " His wife's name is the same as thine, 
 but she's not my Dorothy that can never be." 
 He paused a moment, and laid his hand caress- 
 ingly on his niece's head. " But 'tis a comely 
 young woman, and a notable, and she hath brought 
 him a fair daughter of late." 
 
 Dorothy expressed her pleasure at this news. 
 
 "Ah, Dorothy," continued her uncle, his fea- 
 tures relaxing into their customary cheerfulness, 
 " I have hunted thee like a partridge, as the Scrip- 
 ture saith. Many a long hour and many a broad 
 piece have I spent searching in the south, when 
 thou, little weathercock, hadst whirled to the west. 
 But 'twas in my mind thou hadst fled to London 
 with well, it matters not with whom. And I 
 hear brave news of thee now. Thou must wed a 
 bold archer, forsooth, and never a ' An' it please 
 ye, Sir Thomas,' or ' By thy leave, uncle.' " 
 
 The girl stood .silent, the rebellious thought 
 passing through her mind that one who had caused 
 and neglected her sorrow had small right to 
 abridge her happiness. 
 
 "How how didst hear it, Sir Thomas?" she 
 asked at length. 
 
 " From one who should know, the lad himself. 
 I met him last week, as I rode near Stratford : 
 we fell into discourse, and I drew all the tale 
 from him, an it had been a gold wire ; I
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 147 
 
 should be a judge of a man by this, as well as a 
 judge of men, and I find he ne'er thought to strike 
 my deer. Tis a true, brave heart, and he has the 
 good word of all, and gold and lands, and a vein 
 of gentle blood to the boot. Tush, Doll," his joyous 
 nature breaking down all the restraints which pride 
 and misconception had slowly built up, " fear me 
 not I'll never say thee nay. My consent thou 
 hast I'll stand by to give thy hand away we'll 
 have the merriest wedding e'er was seen, and the 
 good old times shall come back again for ever and 
 a day ! " 
 
 And in the exuberance of his happiness the good 
 knight uttered a view halloa, which echoed with 
 startling effect in the low and narrow passage where 
 they stood. Dorothy looked around in some ap- 
 prehension, but it chanced that all the tenement's 
 inmates were abroad, and no one appeared. Her 
 uncle, looking slightly ashamed, wiped his heated 
 brow. 
 
 "Thy aunt sent her love," he began in a lower 
 voice, " her dearest love, and she hoped to see 
 thee soon sure, the summer will set her up 
 again. And and thou'lt come and be married 
 from Charlecote?" 
 
 This question was asked with some embarrass- 
 ment ; and Dorothy, forseeing many difficulties 
 attending this arrangement, declared her steady 
 purpose of remaining where she was. 
 
 "Well, well, it may be best. A bride must have 
 her way. Thy cousin Tom," went on the worthy 
 justice, " he is poorly, as I said, or he had ridden 
 with me but thou hast his best wishes and 
 could he do aught to serve thee " 
 
 Sir Thomas halted and stammered so much that 
 his niece, rightly supposing him to be the composer
 
 148 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 rather than the bearer of these felicitations, broke 
 in with thanks and disavowals. 
 
 "And now, Dorothy," said her uncle, turning to 
 the stair, " let us see the nook where thou hast 
 nestled all these months." 
 
 " 'Tis a poor place not fit for thee, Sir 
 Thomas." 
 
 "Call me uncle," said he resolutely, "and let 
 * me see thy home." 
 
 Very unwillingly Dorothy showed him to Dame 
 Hinckley's garret. Her uncle was evidently pre- 
 pared for a small lodging, but apparently the reality 
 exceeded his ideas, for he looked about, hummed 
 a tune, and finally exclaiming, " Any port in a 
 storm," turned down the stairs again. 
 
 " I see Dickon yonder," said he, after a few 
 minutes' reflection. " I must go. We will come 
 soon again here's a small portion for thee, Doll ; 
 nay, no thanks my own niece must not go 
 dowerless, bless thee ; fare thee well ! " He kissed 
 her and departed. 
 
 Dame Hinckley returned a few minutes later to 
 find her charge weeping violently over a large 
 purse. 
 
 " How now, dearie ? What hath chanced to bring 
 thy tears? Aught of ill?" 
 
 Dorothy, wiping away her tears and explaining 
 the situation, set the good woman almost beside 
 herself with rapture. 
 
 " 'Tis well my work is i' th' church," said she, 
 " or I could ne'er do another hand's turn. I be 
 fain mazed. And Sir Thomas ha' stood in this 
 same spot? Eh, 'tis just t' way o' t' world: all 
 forgi' a bride. And now thou mayst be set forth 
 as becomes thee wi' store o' silk and taffety, an' 
 hosen an' lace "
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 149 
 
 " And a pair of virginals, and an ambling pal- 
 frey, and a blackamoor slave, perchance," said 
 Dorothy, smiling. " My uncle hath been most 
 kind and generous ; and I grant his gift sets me 
 much at ease ; but we must not be over hasty, or 
 forget that I am to be a citizen's wife." 
 
 On examination the purse was found to contain 
 a hundred pieces of gold, amply sufficing for all 
 Dorothy's occasions. 
 
 It was a week or two later that the bride-expect- 
 ant and her guardian set forth on their first expe- 
 dition to the chief mercer in Tewkesbury. 
 
 The shopman received them with the readiness 
 of a business man who wishes neither to affront a 
 customer, nor lavish too much deference. 
 
 "What d'ye lack, gentlewomen?" he cried, 
 taking up the burden which the prentice sang 
 without. " Dame Hinckley, I wot and thy 
 niece will wed ay, rosy country cheeks ! Shall 
 I cut one of our Tewkesbury woolens? or here's 
 grogram, will make a brave gown piece for a stout 
 yeoman's wife." 
 
 " Country cheeks ! Yeoman's wife ! " ejaculated 
 the Dame. " I'll have thee know, Master Simon, 
 this is kinswoman to Sir 
 
 " Nay, nay, nurse peace, I prithee," entreated 
 Dorothy. 
 
 " 'Tis a dull morning, Mistress," said the clerk, 
 in oblique apology, removing his cap. " Robin, 
 set the stool for the lady help me down with yon 
 bale of sammets." 
 
 " But I am minded to see the woolens first," 
 said the girl. " Here is a fair piece of murray 
 cloth pleases me well. Dost like it, nurse?" 
 
 " Ay, truly, ; and 'tis Master Helpes' chosen 
 color," replied the Dame, more loudly than was 
 needful.
 
 I5O THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "As good as Leicester sheep e'er bore! Tis 
 a pleasure, Madam, by your leave, to serve a 
 lady who can judge of such things. May I cut 
 off a score or so of ells? And another piece of 
 this blue ? 'Tis a well fancied color, and will ne'er 
 change. And now wilt look on some silks? I 
 would Master Sherer were here to show them, but 
 he hath gone up to London. Here is a right 
 India, Madam, was brought overland to Venice by 
 caravan in the good old way, as I can assure thee 
 
 these long sea-voy'ges are ill for the gloss." 
 Dorothy purchased a portion of the lauded silk, 
 
 saw it put up with the woolens, and then, taking 
 out her money, asked for the reckoning. 
 
 "Is there naught else, Madam?" inquired the 
 dealer. " I humbly trust thou'lt honor our poor 
 shop again ; none in the town can serve thee 
 better. Nay, there is no haste thy name on our 
 books were worth more than thy gold in our till 
 but as thou wilt. Robin, knave, art loitering 
 there ? Take up the parcel, bear it after the lady 
 
 nay, good Dame Hinckley, put no hand to it 
 we know what becomes a customer of quality. 
 And, Madam," pursuing Dorothy from the shop, 
 " I hope thou wilt remember us against the winter 
 comes we have store of miniver and sable would 
 please the Queen herself my service to your 
 ladyship." 
 
 Robin carried the parcel to Keech Alley corner, 
 where he was dismissed with a small gratuity, and 
 the Dame took the goods. 
 
 "Thou seest, nurse," said Dorothy, when they 
 had ascended the stair, "we must buy but few more 
 braveries, else this room will scantly hold them." 
 
 "True enow," said the other, "without thou 
 takest the next garret?"
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 151 
 
 But this Dorothy decidedly negatived. "And 
 further, nurse," she continued, " thou must not 
 boast thus. I honor and love my uncle, and for 
 Master Helpes, 'tis enow to say I am to wed him ; 
 but be not so free of their names to strangers." 
 
 Dame Hinckley promised, and to do her justice, 
 endeavored to keep her promise : yet could not 
 refrain from winks and nods and hints, which, 
 together with Sir Thomas' frequent visits, caused 
 a marvellous change in the neighbors' conduct. 
 Those who had hitherto treated Dorothy with the 
 scantest civility, now made her the recipient of so 
 many ducks and bobs whenever she went forth as 
 quite bewildered her. Though wonted to a 
 measure of such homage at Charlecote, the 
 amount now lavished on her reminded her of her 
 aunt's bottle of hartshorn waters pleasant and 
 refreshing at a distance, but overpowering when 
 brought too near. 
 
 During the hot weather Sir Thomas rode over 
 once a week, and rapidly fell back into his old 
 playful ways with his niece. Dorothy wondered 
 somewhat that, coming so frequently as he did, he 
 should not fetch some of her own belongings from 
 Charlecote, and once hinted as much : but as he 
 only produced a small parcel of handkerchiefs and 
 ribbons at his next visit, saying hastily " it was all 
 he could lay hands on," she did not refer to the 
 subject again.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " The guests are met, the feast is set, 
 Mayst hear the merry din.' 1 
 
 COLERIDGE. 
 
 THE Invincible Armada, though not threatening 
 an inland town like Tewkesbury as immediately as 
 the southern and eastern coast, was nevertheless a 
 menace to all England, and many were the mili- 
 tary preparations throughout the summer of 1588. 
 William Helpes was continually out with the train 
 bands, and much of Sir Thomas' time was spent 
 in organizing and drilling his dependents. By the 
 middle of August, however, the scattered remnants 
 of the Spanish fleet were scudding over the 
 German ocean, and Lady Lucy's health having 
 somewhat improved, she was brought over to 
 Tewkesbury near the end of the month. 
 
 Sir Thomas, having seen her safely at rest in the 
 lodgings he had taken of Master Huggeson, on 
 High Street, in which they proposed to remain 
 until the wedding, came round to acquaint Dorothy 
 that her aunt had borne the journey but ill, and 
 could not see her until the morrow. 
 
 On the morrow therefore, guided by her uncle, 
 Dorothy went to Master Huggeson's house, Sir 
 Thomas beguiling the way with many jokes and 
 witticisms on coming events, and only lowering his 
 voice and endeavoring to walk softly when fairly 
 over the threshold. 
 
 He led Dorothy up to her aunt's room, opened 
 the door and turned away. Lady Lucy looked
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 153 
 
 much older and paler. She sat in a cushioned 
 chair, and Dorothy scarcely knew her until she 
 smiled and uttered a low greeting. 
 
 Then the girl, catching her aunt's hand, fell 
 weeping on her knees. 
 
 " Rise up, Dorothy," said the invalid. Her 
 niece obeyed, and Lady Lucy looked anxiously but 
 silently at her. Dorothy divined her wishes, and 
 said humbly, " I crave thy pardon, aunt, for leav- 
 ing thy house as I did." 
 
 " 'Tis well. I do not deny thou hadst some ex- 
 cuse : but a fault must not be o'erslidden. And 
 now tell me of thyself and thy husband that is to 
 be." 
 
 Dorothy uttered a glowing eulogy on William 
 Helpes and her own great happiness. 
 
 " Ah, a young heart goes far," sighed the aunt. 
 " I might hear thee laugh and jest with thy uncle 
 beneath the window, as all this had never been : 
 but he is a wise good man, and it ill becometh me 
 to cavil at his words or deeds." 
 
 Dorothy remained a few minutes longer, and 
 then, fearing to weary her aunt, departed. Sir 
 Thomas waited without. 
 
 "What dost think of her?" was his eager query. 
 
 "She hath fallen away, and seems but frail." 
 
 "Thou knowest naught i' the world o 't, wench," 
 was the brusque reply. " I tell thee she's far 
 stronger than last May. An she hath gained so 
 much in three months, she'll double it in six. 
 And had she a good word for thy Will ? Ah, his 
 poaching sticks in her throat. I ha' told her it did 
 him no shame to stand at the bar for once, but 
 but" 
 
 " He stood not there alone neither, uncle," 
 added the girl.
 
 154 
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Speak not of them," said Sir Thomas, testily. 
 " I name no names- they may come and go 
 they may get gold and land it may not skill to 
 rake up aught against them but there's a vast 
 betterment betwixt Will Helpes and them, the 
 rogues ! Canst not see it, Doll? Ah, well, there 
 be things past women's minds." 
 
 Dorothy was with her aunt each day, deep in 
 the mysteries of textile fabrics, and poor Dame 
 Hinckley was made to feel some of the drawbacks 
 
 v.v 
 
 of greatness. Lady Lucy had brought down her 
 own tiring maid to assist in the toilette, and this 
 eminent personage was as a thorn in the flesh to 
 the worthy Dame. 
 
 " I cannot abide her," she said one day, in a 
 petulant outburst. " If I do but speak a word, she 
 looks on the hair o' my head, and says ' Tis done 
 otherways wi' us,' or 'That's all gone by, good 
 woman,' and I, that ne'er feared woman yet, stand 
 staring, an' no word to say but what an owd 
 fool I be, mumping an' grumblin' for a straw, when 
 my dear is so happy."
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 155 
 
 The wedding presents were few but valuable. 
 A large silver bowl from Sir Thomas, some fine old 
 lace from his lady a beautiful fan from the 
 younger Lucy and his wife these nearly com- 
 pleted the list. But the one which gave Will 
 Helpes most pleasure came from his old comrade 
 of the greenwood. 
 
 " Look on this, Dorothy," said he one evening, 
 taking out a small parcel. " See what Will hath 
 sent thee." 
 
 It was a little scent-bottle of crystal and gold, 
 shaped like a swan, and filled with attar of roses. 
 
 " 'Twill sweeten our house, dear, long as we 
 live," said he. 
 
 About this time Dorothy received an invitation 
 from William Helpes' aunt (his only relative in 
 Tewkesbury) to dine with her on the eleventh of 
 September the eve of the wedding day. Both 
 from the inconvenience of the date, and also from 
 the fact that Dame Wotton had never taken the 
 smallest notice of her hitherto, Dorothy had no 
 mind to accept ; but finding that William was de- 
 sirous she should go, and Sir Thomas, to whom she 
 mentioned the invitation, seeming strangely eager 
 it should be fallen in with, she concluded to do so. 
 
 " Tis just as well," said Dame Hinckley. " T 
 garret must be scarped and swept, an' I'll ha' in a 
 wench to do 't, an' all will be fair when thou com- 
 est home again." 
 
 Accordingly Dorothy set forth early in the 
 morning for the church with Dame Hinckley, and 
 having waited there until the usual round of duties 
 was performed, bent her steps toward the house of 
 Wotton. 
 
 Her nurse was anxious they should not go 
 through their own alley, but as she could not prove
 
 156 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESDURY. 
 
 another course to be shorter or better, Dorothy 
 kept on her way. A gaping crowd about the 
 vicinity was nothing remarkable of late ; but a 
 dray load of deals stood before the door, and from 
 the open windows came not only the clash of 
 broom and mop, and the shrilling of female voices, 
 but the sound of 'hammer and saw, and the deeper 
 notes of men. 
 
 "What means this, nurse?" exclaimed Dorothy 
 to her companion, whose countenance expressed 
 neither surprise nor curiosity. " Is the house to 
 be torn down? " 
 
 " Sir Thomas doubted as t' stair were na' strong 
 enow for all might tread it to-morrow," answered 
 the Dame, pushing briskly on. " And he hath had 
 in Jem Joiner to underprop it." And she would 
 say no more. 
 
 Dame Wotton was a well-to-do widow of about 
 sixty, really attached to her nephew, but neither 
 liberal nor large-hearted by nature. She had 
 pleased herself with the idea of kindly patronizing 
 William's bride, but during the last few days had 
 heard so much of the greatness and glory of the 
 Lucys, that, quite turned from her original plan of 
 campaign, she now only thought of surrender. 
 
 She received Dorothy with the deepest cour- 
 tesies, ushered her into a really very good and well 
 furnished room, to which she referred as a " hole," 
 and introduced an elderly friend, who greeted the 
 young lady in great perturbation, and scarce 
 opened her lips again during the day but to beg 
 pardon. 
 
 Cowslip and currant wine were immediately pro- 
 duced, and Dorothy was compelled to partake of 
 both, and then sit so near a huge fire that she was 
 almost smothfred. Dame Hinckjey, who had es-
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 157 
 
 sayed to make her way to the kitchen, was not 
 allowed to do so, both the hostess and her guest 
 treating her as fully their equal, and Dorothy 
 greatly the superior of all. 
 
 Dame Wotton had begun some interesting 
 tales of William's boyhood, when a substantial 
 lunch was brought in ; and of this the last traces 
 had scarcely disappeared, when all were summoned 
 to a dinner sufficient not for four but forty. The 
 feast was greatly prolonged, and it was almost twi- 
 light when they were prepared to go. As they 
 were muffling, the hostess, excusing herself, bustled 
 from the room, and inadvertently leaving the door 
 open, the following colloquy was heard : 
 
 ' Roger ! Sim ! be ye there? " 
 
 ' Ay, Missus." 
 
 ' Hast thy halberd, Hodge ? " 
 
 ' For sure." 
 
 ' Thou too, Sim ? " 
 
 ' Nay, Missus ; un hath been mislaid." 
 
 ' What to do ? Ay, I ha 't ; bind cook's cleaver 
 on a staff ; she'll ne'er know t' differ." 
 
 Dame Wotton shortly returned, and announced 
 " her men would arm, and see t' young lady safe 
 home." And by these valiant guards Dorothy 
 and her nurse were accordingly followed to their 
 dwelling. 
 
 Darkness had fallen by the time they reached it, 
 and Dame Hinckley, lamenting that she had brought 
 no light, was at what seemed the wholly unneces- 
 sary pains of guiding Dorothy up the stairs and to 
 her bed-side. Entreating the girl to "get to bed 
 soon, she'd ha' enow to do o' the morrow," her 
 nurse groped out a tallow dip, and hacked long and 
 stoutly at flint and steel ere she struck a light. 
 And scarcely wag this accomplished, when, drop-
 
 158 THE BAILIFF OF 1EVVKESBURY. 
 
 ping the candle, she stumbled, and crushed it with 
 her foot. 
 
 " Bungler that I be ! " she cried. " But ne'er 
 mind dear ; lay thee down i' the dark ; 'twill bring 
 good luck." 
 
 "But where is the bed the pillow?" asked 
 the girl, who was by this time undressed, groping 
 about. " Naught seems the same." 
 
 "Must I couch thee then, poppet?" asked the 
 sturdy old woman ; and taking Dorothy up in her 
 arms like a baby, she laid her in bed, and tucked 
 the clothes around her. " They maukins ha' left 
 all here huggermugger ; but they know no better. 
 Good night, dear, an' bless thee," and with a kiss 
 she moved to her own corner. 
 
 The day had been overcast and cloudy, with 
 drifts of rain ; and both sleepers were lulled to rest 
 by the sound of a heavy shower on the roof. The 
 dawn, however, was bright and beautiful ; and as 
 the shadows slowly dissipated, it seemed to 
 Dorothy that she was waking from a long and 
 troubled dream, again a child at Charlecote. 
 There she lay in her own carved bedstead, an 
 angel's head on each post : it was the same low- 
 browed but spacious room there stood her 
 painted and gilded chest, the lid just open her 
 lute leaning against it the walls tapestried with 
 the siege of Troy, studied by her a thousand 
 times the very gowns she thought she had left 
 forever, hanging on their pegs. 
 
 She started up in bed. A door was opened, and 
 Dame Hinckley, wearing a fine new gown and 
 kerchief, came smiling in. 
 
 " Good-morrow, Mistress Lucy. Is 't not a 
 brave surprise ? " 
 
 "Where am I?" cried Dorothy. "Who hath 
 taken me back? "
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 159 
 
 " None none, dear," soothingly. " But haste 
 and busk thyself. There are some without fain to 
 see thee." 
 
 A well-known jolly voice was now heard below 
 singing " The hunt is up." 
 
 Dorothy hurried on some clothes, and then 
 opened the casement. In the lane beneath stood 
 her uncle, as much at home as in his own hall- 
 yard. 
 
 "How fares it, niece?" he cried. "Thou 
 wouldst not come to Charlecote to be' wedded, so 
 we have brought Charlecote to thee." 
 
 And the good knight, delighted with his own 
 conceit, shouted with laughter, stamping up and 
 down. 
 
 Dorothy now perceived that two barriers had 
 been erected across the alley, enclosing a space 
 before their door some fifty feet long, which was 
 strewn with fresh rushes. Greeting her uncle 
 kindly, and saying she would soon be down, she 
 proceeded with her array, glancing around the 
 transformed room meanwhile. 
 
 As Dame Hinckley explained, Sir Thomas had 
 hired the two adjoining garrets from their occu- 
 pants, had thrown all three into one by the removal 
 of the board partitions (lath and plaster not being 
 then in use for interior walls) , and all defects be- 
 ing covered by the tapestry, the furniture was set 
 in place. 
 
 Hastening down to her uncle, Dorothy received 
 his blessing, and proceeded to thank him for his 
 thought of her, saying, however, that it was a great 
 toil to bring so many things over but for one day. 
 
 " Not a thread goes back, Doll," was his answer. 
 " All shall be thine. The room hath stood ever 
 since as thou didst leave it, but this spring our
 
 i6o 
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 dames Tom's and mine were fain to make it 
 a nursery, and spoke of new furnishing, and where 
 the old should go. ' By your leave, my ladies 
 Lucy,' quoth I, ' plenish it anew as ye will, but my 
 niece shall have all her own.' And so it stands. 
 
 Look now, here comes 
 thy aunt : I doubt if she 
 wins to the church this 
 day." 
 
 Lady Lucy now ap- 
 peared, supported on 
 either side by the tiring- 
 maid and a damsel 
 bearing a basket of mil- 
 linery. She was still 
 feeble, but declared she 
 would go in with her 
 niece and see her 
 dressed, whether or no 
 she could see her mar- 
 ried. 
 
 "I have often thought 
 on thy wedding, Doro- 
 thy," said she. " Tis 
 not wholly what I had 
 in mind, but I trust all 
 will be well. Thy uncle 
 hath told me of his fan- 
 cy touching the room 
 he is merry as a child 
 upon it thou knowest 
 
 he loves a jest. And think not but thou art wel- 
 come to all stands there we both love thee well 
 thou wast as our daughter many a year." 
 
 The bride-elect, her aunt, and the maids, now 
 took their way to the renovated garret, where,
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. l6l 
 
 joined by Dame Hinckley, they entered on the 
 mysteries of the toilette, whither we shall not pre- 
 sume to follow. Suffice it to say, by ten of the 
 clock Dorothy Lucy issued from her chamber, as 
 fair and well-apparelled a bride as Tewkesbury had 
 ever seen. 
 
 Sir Thomas awaited them below, conversing with 
 one of the gentlemen of the neighborhood whom 
 he had known slightly for many years, and whose 
 acquaintance he had much improved recently. 
 This personage gave his arm to Lady Lucy, 
 Dorothy took her uncle's, and, preceded and 
 followed by a dozen stout serving-men, they took 
 their way to the church ; the maids and Dame 
 Hinckley brought up the rear, the latter accom- 
 panied by her chosen friends,, a society which had 
 marvellously thriven and increased of late. 
 
 William Helpes met them at the church door, 
 where the first part of the service was read by the 
 curate. The banns had been duly published, 
 during the last three weeks, and no man stood 
 forth to state cause of impediment. The company 
 then proceeded to the altar, where Sir Thomas 
 gave the bride away, and the nuptials were con- 
 cluded. 
 
 The registry book was then had down, and the 
 parties prepared to sign their names. Writing was 
 then such a rare accomplishment among females, 
 even of the better class, that the bride's doing so 
 was looked on with some admiration. She had 
 almost finished tracing he/ signature, when an ex- 
 clamation from her uncle stopped her. 
 
 "How's this, Doll?" he cried. "I prided my- 
 self on thy fair writing, and canst only make thy 
 mark ? " 
 
 And indeed the unfinished signature stood
 
 1 62 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Dorothy Mark ." It was plain that in that 
 moment of excitement she had begun her mother's 
 name of Markham, by which she had been so long 
 known in Tewkesbury. Ashamed of her error, 
 she hastily erased the unfinished word, and wrote 
 above it " Lucy," thereby leaving such a blotted 
 sign-manual that those of her descendants who 
 have scanned the register for that year have great 
 difficulty in coming at her real title. 
 
 The wedding party now issued from the door 
 amid the pealing of bells, the music and song of 
 minstrels, the cheers of friends, and the laughter 
 and whooping of the rabble. Palfreys were in 
 waiting at the door, and each cavalier taking his 
 lady on a pillion behind him, they rode toward 
 William Helpes' home. 
 
 The day was exquisitely beautiful, bright and 
 clear, the sky glittering from recent storm, and the 
 air tempered to that rare perfection when it is im- 
 possible to feel either heat or chill. 
 
 As Dorothy sat behind her stalwart and devoted 
 husband, loved, honored and envied by all who 
 saw her, she thought of the last time she had 
 ridden a horse, when two years before, a poor, 
 half-dead fugitive, she had been carried through 
 Tewkesbury streets. 
 
 The procession, gathering like a snowball at 
 every corner it turned, at length reached the 
 house, and the wedded pair rode up to the door, 
 between a double row of Helpes' servants and 
 business dependents, each clad in a smart new 
 coat or cloak, and all bowing, ducking and utter- 
 ing their good wishes. 
 
 William Helpes dismounted, lifted his wife from 
 the pillion and over the threshold, ere her foot 
 touched the ground ; and the housekeeper, who
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 163 
 
 stood just within the door, handed over her keys 
 with a deep courtesy. 
 
 The table (or rather three tables, placed end to 
 end) stood ready, covered by fair linen cloths, 
 with long, knotted fringes, and bearing every kind 
 of solid and liquid refreshment then known in a 
 substantial citizen's household. A fine voice sang 
 from an inner room an epithalamium as follows, 
 while various musical instruments sent forth their 
 notes at intervals : 
 
 " Here ends all art, all artificers end, 
 Come ye, look through our little golden loop; 
 Here is the best which heaven to earth did send, 
 Here is the bond of love, and joy, and hope. 
 The soldier's laurel, poet's bay, down fling, 
 Take up this tiny wreath the marriage ring. 
 
 The double bow, which heralds sunny weather, 
 
 The shining halo of the rising day, 
 
 Th' equator smooth, which binds the world together, 
 
 The chaplet fair, which rounds the brow of May. 
 
 A diadem by meanest mortals owned, 
 
 Who rightly wears thee sits a king enthroned. 
 
 Let but a slender finger swift pass thro' thee, 
 And all delight shall follow in its train: 
 Hold fast by this, and woe may not undo thee, 
 That brave ring-armor blunts the edge of pain. 
 Gentles, but hearken to the minstrel's voice, 
 And ye shall ne'er repent, but aye rejoice." 
 
 The bride and groom sat in a large double chair 
 at the board head, Sir Thomas and Lady Lucy on 
 either side, and the other guests downward in order 
 of rank. The good justice was in his element, 
 laughing, jesting, matching tales, and calling 
 healths, and only Lady Lucy's pale and weary 
 looks at length ended the feast. The wedded pair 
 stood in the center of the room while the huge 
 bride cake was broken above their heads by two
 
 164 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 friends, and soon after the company began to 
 disperse. 
 
 As Sir Thomas got to horse in the evening 
 light, he saw several men approaching with ladders 
 large and small. 
 
 "What be these, friend?" he asked of a by- 
 stander. 
 
 " Tis the custom here, your honor," replied the 
 man, touching his cap. " We do allays prop up 
 t' doors an' windows of a new married man wi' 
 ladders on 's wedding night."
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " He kepte his pacient a ful gret del 
 In houres by his magik nature!. 
 Of his diete mesurable was he, 
 For it was of no superfluite, 
 But of gret norisching and digestible. 
 His studie was but litel on the Bible." 
 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 ELEVEN years had passed since the events of our 
 last chapter. The sixteenth century was near its 
 close. Queen Elizabeth still sat on the throne, 
 but her light grew dim, and her courtiers expected 
 the Northern sunrise. The solid men of London 
 were planning the East India Company, next year 
 to receive its charter, and the first successful 
 American colonist was as yet a slave in the wilds 
 of the Caucasus. 
 
 Few changes had passed upon Tewkesbury. A 
 long, cold winter was just relaxing its hold, the 
 festal season between Christmas and Shrove-Tues- 
 day was over, and all the town kept Lent. The 
 March winds roared and swept through the 
 streets, threatening thatch and tiles, rapidly coin- 
 ing the country's ransom, and driving all prudent 
 citizens early to their homes. 
 
 A glance into the household of William Helpes 
 showed a great fire burning on the hearth of the 
 principal room. On one side sat Dorothy smiling 
 at Dame Hinckley, who, grey and bent, held in her 
 arms a seven-month-old infant William Helpes' 
 first-born son. The mother looked with joy on the 
 child for whom she had almost ceased to hope, but
 
 1 66 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 her face clouded whenever she turned to the op- 
 posite side of the room, where her husband lay 
 sick upon the couch. A iveed^ or heavy feverish 
 cold, taken some weeks before, had not passed off 
 as rapidly as usual, and at length, much against 
 Helpes' wishes, medical assistance had been in- 
 voked. Since that time, however, the patient had 
 grown steadily worse, and Dorothy was beginning 
 to fear that he might not recover. She had not 
 yet induced him to "be a bedral by day" as he 
 expressed it, but, his doublet and shoes removed, 
 to lie on the cushioned settle, wrapped in a 
 cloak. 
 
 "How dost feel now, husband ?" asked Dor- 
 othy, repeating the hourly question. " Hast any 
 pain?" 
 
 " Nay, none only this pestilent weakness," 
 was the impatient answer. " I was sorely racked 
 yestreen, but now I want naught but strength. 
 Meseems I have my ailing under now. I'll not 
 give in to 't I will fling it off ! " 
 
 Springing up, he walked to and fro in the room, 
 and seizing the heavy poker, bent it against his 
 knee : but was presently obliged to lie down again, 
 weak and gasping. 
 
 " Nay, thou'lt kill thyself," remonstrated his 
 wife. " Lie still until thy dinner, that may hearten 
 thee." 
 
 " An I could eat a bit of good flesh meat, it 
 might be so," he answered. "But this same 
 watery fish goes fair again me." 
 
 " Sir Richard has seen thee, and knows how ill 
 thou art," said Dorothy thoughtfully. " Surely he 
 would grant thee a dispensation." 
 
 "Tush, Doll, think not o' 't : I trust to keep 
 the church's rules : and I should pass, that have a
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 167 
 
 dish of carp to my own share each day, while the 
 rest of ye feed on stock-fish and parsnips." 
 
 " But thou sayest the pain is worst of after- 
 noons? " 
 
 " Sooth, 'tis so ; but Master leech tells me that 
 hath naught to do wi' 't." 
 
 " I would our own good Doctor Hill were well 
 enow to come ; I like not this helper he hath 
 gotten." 
 
 " But thou knowest Master Hill hath seen me 
 once, and said his assistant had great skill. And 
 here he comes, ever the same, an hour ere noon." 
 
 Stepping to the door, Dorothy admitted a slight, 
 lean, stooping man, clad in black, with a cloak and 
 hood of the same, this last an article of costume 
 not altogether discarded by men at that time, and 
 which left little of the head visible but eyes, nose 
 and mouth. 
 
 "And how is ze patients?" he asked with a 
 foreign accent. " Surely an improvements is now 
 pass upon him?" 
 
 " Alas, no," said Dorothy. " Yesternight was 
 the worst he hath yet seen." 
 
 "Zat is bad very bad. But Rome was not 
 built in a day we must give ze curatives time to 
 work." And after feeling the sick man's pulse, he 
 launched into a long medical disquisition, plenti- 
 fully garnished with French and Latin words, 
 which much more learned persons than his hearers 
 might have found difficulty in understanding. At 
 length, concluding his harangue, he administered 
 a bolus, and then asked if the patient's dinner were 
 ready. 
 
 " Presently, Sir," answered Dame Helpes, " the 
 fish are in the pan." 
 
 " I must see it myself ze seasonings must be
 
 1 68 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 aright, or, look you, ze whole balancings is 
 destroy." 
 
 A serving maid soon brought the smoking dish 
 of carp to the door. The leech smelt and tasted 
 the mess, and then, pronouncing it not sufficiently 
 seasoned, asked for the salt cellar, and scattered a 
 little more over the dish. 
 
 " It shall do now," said he, " all shall be as we 
 would have it." And he took his leave. 
 
 Helpes, declaring he had no stomach to the fish, 
 but the leech's bidding must, he supposed, be done, 
 partook of a share, and was soon after attacked by 
 severer pain than ever, attended by feverish delir- 
 ium. A wretched restless night kept his wife in 
 constant attendance upon him, and it was almost 
 daybreak when he finally fell asleep. 
 
 Dorothy's resolution was now taken. She 
 snatched a few minutes' rest, and then donning her 
 cloak and muffler, came forth from the chamber, 
 bearing with her the little William a quiet and 
 patient child, who required but a small amount of 
 attention. Dame Hinckley waited without the 
 door. 
 
 " Eh ! " said she taking the baby, " but t' 
 master's bad. I might hear him groan whene'r I 
 past. He cannot bear many such nights." 
 
 " He shall not," said Dorothy, firmly. " I have 
 that in mind shall cure him. Keep the child till 
 I return, let none disturb Master Helpes." 
 
 And taking a basket, and calling one of the 
 serving lads to follow, she left the house. In 
 about two hours she reentered, and sending the 
 boy down to the kitchen, crept into her husband's 
 room, where she sat watching his slumber until he 
 was roused by the physician's knock. 
 
 " How dost thou, William?" said she, lovingly 
 bending over him.
 
 THE BAILII'F OF TEWKESBURY. 169 
 
 " As ever," he answered feebly. " The pain is 
 gone, but I am weaker still. Is that the leech? " 
 
 " Ay. He must come up to thee, methinks." 
 
 Helpes grimaced but said nothing. The physi- 
 cian entered the room. 
 
 "So he has gone to heesbed? Ah! it is ze 
 act of ze wise man. Now all shall soon be well." 
 
 " He was far worse, last night, sir," said Do- 
 rothy, looking steadily at the leech. " Art sure 
 thy treatment is for the best?" 
 
 "Ze best fitted to ze end, Matam," in some 
 heat. " We must have patience, as I did say. 
 Yet a little time, and according to Hippocrat 
 And he went off into another discourse, chiefly in 
 dog Latin. This ended, he administered his 
 bolus, again examined and seasoned the dish of 
 carp, and departed. 
 
 "And yonder is my dinner?" said Helpes, sit- 
 ting up in bed, and looking on the victual with no 
 eager eye. " I care not if I never see carp again." 
 
 " Thou needst not," said his wife, withdrawing 
 her gaze from the leech's retreating form, and ris- 
 ing from the window. " Set the fish by, Nan, and 
 mind ye, cover it with care. I will serve Master 
 Helpes myself." And going down to the kitchen, 
 she returned with a fine joint of roast beef. 
 
 "How's this, Dame?" said Helpes sternly, 
 averting his face from the too attractive sight. 
 " Hast forgotten the season?" 
 
 "Not so ; here is thy grace before meat." 
 
 Her husband took the paper she offered, and 
 unfolding it read as follows : 
 
 "Lent, 1599. I this day graunted a license 
 unto William Helpes, he being verie sicke, to eat 
 fleshe, the said license to endure no longer than 
 during the tyme of his sickenes. 
 
 " Ri : Curteis, Curate of Tewkesburie."
 
 170 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 " I was afoot early to see Sir Richard," explained 
 Dorothy. " He gave me the dispensation with few 
 words, and he hath copied it into the register 
 book. Fish thou shalt eat no more. I know not 
 why, but am well convinced 'tis little better than 
 poison to thee. Now mayst fall to with a clear 
 conscience." 
 
 William made an excellent dinner for a sick 
 man, and afterward took some repose, while 
 Dorothy nursed her child, who, as she observed, 
 had reason to be jealous of his father. She then 
 attended carefully to the disposal of the dish of 
 carp. Helpes insisted on coming down for a short 
 time before dark, saying " he had ne'er lain by the 
 whole day since he could mind," but was soon 
 persuaded by his helpmeet to return. There was 
 no recurrence of pain, however, and he passed an 
 excellent night. The next morning he declared 
 himself much improved in body, but something 
 troubled in mind. 
 
 " I had clean forgot, Doll, when thou gavest me 
 the curate's license, I should have one from the 
 leech as well. Sure, he will take it amiss, and 
 small blame to him." 
 
 " Leave that to me. Methinks I can set 
 matters so before him that thou shalt hear no 
 word of complaint." 
 
 Promptly at eleven the medico appeared. 
 "How shall ze patient be, Matam? " he asked of 
 Dame Helpes, who having opened the upper half 
 of the door, leaned over it, with no apparent in- 
 tention of doing more. 
 
 "He is better, sir; far better," answered Dor- 
 othy, in a strangely high and sharp voice. 
 
 "Zatismost well," replied the man, real sur- 
 prise and feigned satisfaction blending in his
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 171 
 
 tones. " Pray you, Dame, let me in ; I must 
 judge if ze amendment be real." 
 
 " Thy pardon, sir," said she, budging not an 
 inch. " Since thy haste is so great, stand no 
 longer at our poor door. My husband is so far 
 improved he needs no more of thy care." 
 
 "But, Matam " 
 
 " Furthermore, sir," she went on, " being avised 
 that fish suiteth not with Master Helpes' com- 
 plaint, I have a license from the curate for him to 
 eat flesh till he be recovered ; whereof he took a 
 full meal yesterday, and shall again to-noon." 
 
 "This is an insult ! " shouted the leech, his ac- 
 cent failing as his anger grew, " an insult to 
 myself and my profession. Wilt try experiments 
 on thy husband thus? 'Tis no better than 
 murther !" 
 
 " Have a care, sir," said Dorothy, frowning till 
 her eyebrows met. " Murther is a hot and heavy 
 word, may harm the user. As thou speak'st of 
 experiments, it may please thee to know I gave 
 most part of the last dish of carp to a dog, which 
 now lieth dead in his kennel : a small portion hath 
 been saved for our good Doctor Hill to look into 
 when he next cometh ; and until he cometh, no 
 other physician shall cross this threshold." She 
 drew back and closed the door. 
 
 The leech stood a moment scowling at the 
 panels, and then, with a savage imprecation, 
 turned away. 
 
 It was two or three days later that Dr. Hill 
 made his appearance ; a stout, much muffled 
 figure, sitting sideways on a fat pony, at whose 
 bridle walked a serving lad : the position explained 
 by the Doctor's swathed and gouty foot, which 
 would enter no stirrup ever made. He painfully 
 
 12
 
 172 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 dismounted, and hobbled forward to meet Helpes 
 and his wife, who stood together at the door. 
 
 " How doth our invalid? " he asked cheerfully. 
 " Hale and hearty again ? I might not come 
 sooner I was bound and fettered with business 
 ye see," lifting his gouty member, "I have 
 the world at my foot." 
 
 He took a seat, and made some professional 
 inquiries. 
 
 " Faith, man, thou hast been hard bested," said 
 he, " but I see not that much remains for me to 
 do. The dispensation was well thought upon. 
 And that Master Jean Dufay, that English rascal 
 in a French skin, I would he stood here to spell 
 out his knaveries." 
 
 "What said he of the matter, Doctor?" 
 
 "Gone two days since o'er the water, I trow. 
 He came home betimes, and I might hear him 
 rummage in the surgery a space, and then go 
 forth, telling the lad he should be late. None 
 have seen him sithence ; and when I was holpen 
 to the stair-foot in the morn, I found all in great 
 disarray, and a goodly purse gone, whose nest, me- 
 thonght, none knew on but myself. What will ye ? 
 poor rogues must live the empty sack may not 
 stand." 
 
 "Hath he been long with thee, sir?" 
 
 " Most part of a year. He came bearing a 
 letter from one of my craft in France, and said he 
 had been bred there, though of English birth. He 
 understood his work, I'll say that for him ; a 
 quicker, cleverer fellow ne'er handled pestle. But 
 ye know the old saw, ' He who burnishes the bit 
 o' Twelfth-Night, lets the horse go hungry by 
 Lady-Day ' ; as we went on I liked not his ways 
 I found the French knot in 's tongue came loose
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 173 
 
 by times and but for the gout laying me by the 
 heels, that I might not make shift without him, my 
 house had seen his back a month ago." 
 
 Dorothy now produced the remnant of the dish 
 of carp, and told of its effect on the dog. The 
 doctor examined it carefully, sent for his appara- 
 tus, applied one or two 
 simple tests, and shook 
 his head. 
 
 " Husband," said Dor- 
 othy in a low voice, 
 during this process, " dost 
 know who this Master 
 John Dufay, as the Doc- 
 tor calleth him, was? 
 None other than Joseph 
 Tuff, my uncle's scribe." 
 
 " Art sure, goodwife ? " 
 
 "Verily; I am. I 
 knew him not until, as 
 Master Hill saith, he 
 dropt his French. Then 
 I was sure on 't ; but I 
 would not fray thee with 
 't, being yet so weak." 
 
 The doctor looked up 
 with a puzzled face. 
 
 " There is much amiss 
 here," said he, " much 
 amiss, but it passes my 
 skill to say what forthright. Will Helpes, thou 
 hast a marvellous strong habit, or hadst lain beside 
 thy talbot. I will take this home, an' ye wish, and 
 look into it more closely." 
 
 " Nay, Doctor," said Helpes, "let it pass. An' 
 he meant me ill, he hath failed, thank heaven and
 
 174 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 my good wife ; if he sought not to harm me, 'twere 
 a hard charge to bring." 
 
 " Well said, Will," assented the old physician, 
 leaving ; " if thou pursuest not after thy heath, I 
 shall not after my gold." 
 
 Helpes continued steadily to improve, and by 
 Easter day was himself again.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " Death doth ride 
 Ever at the horseman's side." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 WE must now take another stride forward of 
 some seven years, and find a Stuart ruling Great 
 Britain, and the present authorized version of the 
 Scriptures just issuing from the press. This last 
 subject provided discourse for two respectable 
 citizens who passed through the streets of Tewkes- 
 bury on a fair autumn morning. Their flat bon- 
 nets and collarless shirts, with drawing-string at 
 the neck their sad-colored garments, gold rings, 
 and portly forms, marked them as well-to-do mer- 
 chants. Behind them skulked a lean, ragged, evil- 
 looking man, apparently waiting an opportunity to 
 slide in a petition for alms. 
 
 " It may be well to have Holy Writ done into 
 English," said Sherer the mercer, "but once 
 should serve. Betwixt Wyclif, Tyndale, the rev- 
 erend bishops, and now the king's majesty, how 
 shall a plain man do?" 
 
 " Sure, the King knoweth best," said Tanghaft, 
 the cutler. " Thou mind'st he is bespoke the 
 ' British Solomon ' ; and with such aid as he hath, 
 none may doubt." 
 
 " I yield to no man in duty to the King; but 
 see, if his Bible differ from the rest, and his be 
 right, theirs must needs be wrong." 
 
 " Not so, neighbor ; look ye, it may be but a 
 differ of words." . 
 
 ITS
 
 176 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " I tell thee, there be just so many words in 
 every tongue that is spoken under heaven ; and 
 one should fit to another like hand to glove. Else 
 how might it ever be done at all ? " 
 
 " 'Tis said our new Bailiff is a great book-man," 
 remarked Tanghaft, shifting the subject. 
 
 " Ay, ay. I have seen him walk abroad, poring 
 on scrolls, when 'a should have been at's business. 
 But he's a rare good fellow for all that, is Will 
 Helpes." 
 
 "Thou sayst well. I think he hath the good 
 word of every man of weight i' t' town to back 
 him." 
 
 " Ay ; and none more deserving but how's 
 this, knave ? " cried Sherer, turning sharp round 
 on the mendicant, who had closed in on them 
 with eager looks. " Why dost dog us thus by the 
 heels ? Off with thee ! Or shalt try the fit of oaken 
 shoes." 
 
 Grumbling something unintelligible, the fellow 
 slunk down an alley. 
 
 "Dost know him?" asked the mercer of his 
 friend. 
 
 " Soothly, nay. 'Tis an ill-looking rogue : some- 
 thing of a French. But town's full o' strangers, 
 drawn in to see the day's doing. Canst say who 
 be these ?" indicating two men on the opposite 
 side of the way. 
 
 " Nay, I know 'em not ; but they be Welsh. 
 Dost mark their speech? 'Tis like the cloop of 
 liquor from a bottle-neck." 
 
 " Canst understand them then ? " asked Tanghaft. 
 
 " I mind but one word of Welsh, and that's 
 'cooroo,' which is beer. But let us make on, or 
 we shall miss our seats for the show." And the 
 worthy burgesses proceeded up the High Street.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 177 
 
 The two Welshmen who had caught their atten- 
 tion belonged to a people who were by no means 
 unfamiliar objects in Tewkesbury, lying as it did 
 on the borders of Cambria ; but these men were 
 apparently from the wilder part of their country, 
 then as little known or travelled as the Scotch 
 Highlands a century later. The taller and elder 
 of the two, a man about thirty-five, was dressed in 
 a short yellow tunic, his feet and legs protected by 
 sandals and loose cross-gartered hose, a large blue 
 cloak wrapped round his arm, and a gold-handled 
 dagger in his belt. The other's costume was much 
 the same, save that he was bare-foot, and his 
 weapon had a plain wooden hilt. The heads of 
 both were uncovered, but the elder man's long 
 hair was carefully combed, and dressed, while his 
 companion's was the traditional " \Velsh furze- 
 bush." The young man's bearing, however, was 
 marked by the humblest deference toward his 
 superior, whose every thought he seemed solicitous 
 to anticipate. 
 
 The British strangers continued their course 
 through the town, more and more slowly as the 
 crowd grew thicker, till at length they came to a 
 stand just below a long overhanging balcony, or 
 bay, in the High Street ; the very same, as it 
 chanced, where William Helpes' wife and sons 
 had taken places to view the pageant of which he 
 was to them the greatest part. 
 
 He was indeed, as his neighbors had said, a 
 general favorite, and the most popular man who 
 had ever attained the chief magistracy of his 
 native town. Moreover the exploits of his youth 
 had now receded far enough into the past to have 
 something of the fabulous about them, while yet 
 there remained good store of living witnesses who
 
 178 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 by no means allowed them to lose in the telling. 
 It was confidently asserted by many that he had 
 walked an hundred miles in a day that he had 
 flung a man over a ten-foot wall that he had 
 burst in a heavy iron door with his shoulder and 
 that he had, single handed, slain five ruffians, in 
 rescuing from their stronghold the noble lady who 
 was now his wife. His reputation, long silently 
 growing, and now thus bruited abroad, seemed 
 likely soon to equal that of his mythical country- 
 man, the great Guy of Warwick. 
 
 Thus buzzing, humming, and clustering together 
 like bees when their hive is touched by the morn- 
 ing sun, the citizens gathered along the route of 
 the procession, which led from the gate by which 
 the Queen's envoy had formerly entered to the 
 town hall. And when at length the train came in 
 sight, pushing its way onward like a long dried 
 torrent occupying its bed, and yet more when the 
 hero of the day took his place in the line, the 
 murmurs of praise swelled into a roar of acclama- 
 tion which might have terrified one not aware 
 of its cause. 
 
 Gallantly did the object of their admiration 
 justify it. Clad in splendid apparel, the insignia 
 of office borne before him, carrying his forty-eight 
 years lightly as half their number, his strong ath- 
 letic figure and well managed horse forming a 
 sharp contrast to those of the poor equestrians who 
 had preceded him in office, the plaudits of the 
 multitude, sweeter than the praises of the judicious 
 few in that they bring no sense of obligation, 
 ringing in his ears, and hundreds of shining faces 
 converging toward him like sun-sparkles on the 
 heaving ocean, he might well feel lifted above his 
 ordinary frame. As he caught sight of the window
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 179 
 
 where Dorothy, in the full prime of matronly 
 beauty, sat with her three fair-haired boys, and 
 heard the joy of his family mingling with that of 
 his friends and neighbors, his cup of happiness 
 seemed full. But Nemesis was on his track. 
 
 Passing beneath the balcony, he rose in his 
 stirrups, waving his hand to Dorothy ; and as he 
 did so, a gaunt, fierce-eyed figure 'darted through 
 the throng, and flashing out a dagger, struck with 
 all his force at the Bailiff's exposed side. 
 
 The blow was well aimed, and William Helpes' 
 triumph had ended then and there but for the 
 elder Welshman, who, as we have said, occupied a 
 position just beneath Dame Helpes' window. 
 Springing forward, he caught the assassin's wrist, 
 so far parrying the thrust that it only left a slash 
 in the Bailiff's gown, and in another moment had 
 wrenched the knife from his hand. The assailant, 
 finding himself overpowered and disarmed, writhed 
 like a serpent through his captor's hold, dived 
 under the horse's belly, and was gone in an in- 
 stant. 
 
 Dorothy, rising from her place with a shriek, 
 was about to rush down. 
 
 " No harm no harm, dame!" cried Helpes, 
 waving her back. Turning to his rescuer he 
 spoke quickly : 
 
 " I thank thee, good fellow : thou hast done me 
 the best service man can. I may not tarry now 
 come see me to-night here's an earnest for 
 thee." 
 
 " Hur takes no gifts from the Saxon," said the 
 Welsh man, proudly, rejecting the proffered money : 
 and, drawing his cloak round him, he turned away. 
 
 "'Fellow'! did hur say?" exploded the atten- 
 dant, who, hemmed in by the crowd, had not at
 
 180 THE BAILIFF OF TEVVKESBURY. 
 
 first been able to reach his master. " Py faith, 
 Owen ap Gnaut is goot gentlemans as stand here, 
 ay, an 'twere ta Baily hurself, an " 
 
 "Chut, tut, Tavy no more worts," said the 
 superior, adding something in their own tongue 
 which reduced his follower to instant silence. 
 
 All this had passed so quickly that few were 
 aware of what had happened. The slight gap in the 
 procession was speedily closed up, and the Town 
 Hall soon attained, where Helpes went through the 
 ceremonies of installation with a coolness which 
 bespoke the strength of his nerves. 
 
 By the time he came forth, however, the news 
 of the attempt on his life was pretty generally 
 blown abroad, and the people's solicitude would 
 not be pacified until he had ascended the market- 
 cross, and, in the sight of all, declared himself 
 sound and whole. 
 
 The tearful anxiety of his family was next to be 
 soothed, and yielding to Dorothy's entreaties, he 
 at length acquiesced in a proposition made by the 
 captain of the city guard namely, that sentinels 
 should be stationed around his house during the 
 night. Half a dozen pikemen were accordingly 
 told off for this purpose ; and they were soon 
 reinforced by a host of volunteers armed with 
 clubs, who were but too happy in the opportu- 
 nity of signalizing their devotion. 
 
 Torches were set at each door, and renewed 
 every hour or two ; and all night long their dim 
 shifting radiance flashed and gleamed upon the 
 soldiers' armor, and faintly illuminated the outer 
 circle of townsfolk who kept watch and ward about 
 the new made Bailiff of Tewkesbury.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 " The winter snow and hail did never come so thick 
 As on the houses' sides the bearded arrows stick." 
 
 DRAYTON. 
 
 IT was the day after William Helpes' inaugura- 
 tion, and he walked with his old friend and name- 
 sake in that part of the common land of Tewkes- 
 bury known as the " Bloody Meadow " the 
 scene of that battle which gave what once seemed 
 the final blow to the tottering house of Lancaster. 
 
 Shakespeare had intended to be present at the 
 ceremonies of installation, but his purpose had been 
 frustrated by delay upon the road. 
 
 "These be thy times of reverence," said he, 
 " thy chair-days will come anon." 
 
 "Ay, ay," assented Helpes, "We have both 
 gray in our beards, Will my hair is grizzled, 
 thine is gone. What then? We shall all grow 
 old, but we have all been young." 
 
 "A good heart's worth gold," said the poet; 
 " but thou art happier than I hast sons to bear 
 on thy name." 
 
 " And thou hast a name shall bear itself, without 
 an help." 
 
 "Mayhap but who comes here? Thy wife 
 and eldest son, is "tnot?" 
 
 "Thou'rt right," said Helpes with affectionate 
 annoyance. " The foolish heart will scarce let me 
 out of her sight since yesterday." 
 
 Dorothy came up, greeted Shakespeare, bidding
 
 1 82 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURV. 
 
 her boy pay his respects, and then clung upon her 
 husband's arm. 
 
 " How dost thou, old Master William ? " said 
 Shakespeare, using the epithet the boy's early 
 gravity had won from him, and taking his hand. 
 " Wilt be a Bailiff, like thy father?" 
 
 " Nay," said the child, positively. " I will be a 
 sailor or a farmer." 
 
 " I trust," said the mother, her eyes filling with 
 tears, " he will never be aught that will place him 
 in such peril as his father hath just passed through. 
 Dost know, Master Shakespeare, the knife point 
 broke his skin? I had been a wretched widow 
 now, but for yon good Welshman, whom none can 
 find, though William hath sent notice through the 
 town, and sought him far and near." 
 
 "And the stabber, . canst not find him 
 neither?" 
 
 " Nay," said Helpes. " Some chased him near 
 the water side, and there they lost him ; but the 
 warrant's out for his arrest. He hath crossed me 
 once or twice before I doubt he's partly 
 crazed. Tush, 'tis nothing; the poor knave 
 thought my doublet ill-fancied, and sought to slash 
 it after the newest fashion." 
 
 "Thou shouldst not jesi thus, William," said 
 Dorothy, with a half sob. 
 
 " Come, come, sweet," said her husband, look- 
 ing on her with eyes where she still saw the lover, 
 " take it not so to heart sure, thou hast wept 
 enough for two. But whom see I yonder? " 
 
 A white-haired, tottering old man was slowly 
 approaching them. Everything about him showed 
 that he had arrived at the extremes! verge of 
 human life. With a stick in either hand, he 
 travelled like some heavy-footed quadruped, mov-
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 183 
 
 ing each member but a few inches at a time, 
 looking fixedly on the ground, and seeming 
 momentarily on the point of falling to rise no more, 
 while the bow and arrows on his back but mocked 
 his feeble form. 
 
 " One of the bedesmen," said Dorothy, as the 
 blue gown caught her eye. " Yes if I see aright, 
 'tis old Hinckley." 
 
 " What, doth he live still? He was old when I 
 was a lad." 
 
 " Ay, he is near five-score. He can still see and 
 hear, but his mind plays him false full oft. I hear 
 he strays out on sunny days like this." 
 The ancient had now drawn quite near them. 
 
 "Your servant, gentles," said he, trying to indi- 
 cate a bow. " Many good morrows to ye, Master 
 Master " 
 
 " Helpes," said William, depositing rather than 
 interjecting the word. 
 
 " Ay, Master Helpes ; or I crave pardon, my 
 lord : they tell me thou'rt lord o' th' town now. 
 I bid ye joy, if an owd man may make bold. An' 
 th' same to my lady here ; I mind her bonnie face 
 when she would win to t' bedehouse wi' my poor 
 young suster Annot, as died unwedded : but she 
 comes no more there's none to think on t' owd 
 man now " 
 
 " I was there but a sennight since," said Dor- 
 othy. 
 
 " But for sure, lords and ladies ha' much else to 
 mind an' t' other noble gentleman, an' little 
 master here my duty to ye all." 
 
 " Thanks, old friend," said Helpes, giving him 
 some money. " Here's for thy good wishes. I 
 trust they make thee easy where thou art? " 
 
 " Weil enow, my lord thank ye, my lord
 
 184 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 poor folk mun be thankful ; but to be sure, t' 
 house was set for owd failed bodies like me ; an' 
 nowadays, th' way they let in stout lads o' three- 
 score an' less, 'tis a shame to be seen." 
 
 "And how old art thou, friend? " 
 
 "I'll speak ye true, my lord I'm none o' 
 these owd knaves that mounch on lies when their 
 teeth be gone I'm ninety-six last Whissuntide, 
 as ever were." 
 
 " Tis a great age." 
 
 " Ay, an' my feyther were aughteen the time o' 
 th' gret battle, in this very mead. Your honors be 
 scholars, can say how long time ago? " 
 
 Bearing the Tewkesbury Chronicle in mind,- 
 rather than these very imperfect data, Helpes re- 
 plied, " An hundred and thirty-six years." 
 
 "Ay, an' 'twere nigh thretty year arter that when 
 feyther wedded ; 'twere long or he found a maid 
 could bear th' sight o' th' gash on 's face. Will 
 your honors be pleased to hear th' tale o' th' fight, 
 as he towd it me many a time ? " 
 
 " If thou hast a few minutes, spend them on 
 him, Will," whispered Dorothy. " 'Twill do him 
 more good than money they will scarce let him 
 ope his lips at the bedehouse." 
 
 Looking at Shakespeare, and receiving his 
 assent, Helpes replied, " We shall be glad to hear 
 thee, friend." 
 
 A slight flush of pleasure came to the old man's 
 face. Quickly stringing his bow, and handling it 
 as he spoke, he began his tale, both his voice and 
 demeanor gradually growing firmer as he proceeded. 
 
 " An 't please your honors, my feyther were Sir 
 Folk Bury's man, nigh hand here th' family's 
 all gone down now, but gret lords then. An' one 
 eve near May-day, as feyther came fro' th' plow,
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 185 
 
 an' were thinking on naught, as he unyoked his 
 team, but o' dancing round th' May-pole wi' the 
 maid he loved best, up steps th' captain o' th' 
 men-at-arms fro' th' gret house, and says he, 
 'Jenkin, be ready to follow us at sunrise to-morrow, 
 wi' thy harness, weapons and provender.' Feyther 
 were clear mazed ; but he made ready, as reason 
 were, an' he an' th' other yeomen marched up an' 
 down wi' Sir Folk for a week or more, an' th' 
 Queen an' th' young prince joined their force. At 
 last the camp were set by this mead, an' all said 
 there would be a sore strife on th' morrow. 
 
 " I' th' morn th' false king's troops came up, an' 
 th' trumpets sounded, an' soon th' arrows 'gan to 
 fly. Feyther said he ne'er saw sleet i' winte-r 
 thicker than th' shafts stuck on one cottage wall. 
 A troop o' horse tried twice to ride down th' band 
 o' yeomen where he stood, an' twice they failed. 
 The arrows struck through shield an' mail, an' yon 
 hollow lane were filled wi' th' riders, like a rut wi' 
 stones. At last their shafts were spent, an' then 
 th' fag o' th' horsemen broke in on them, fiery- 
 fierce. Their leader, as had his thigh skewered 
 wi' one o' feyther's arrows, cut him down wi's axe, 
 an' left him for dead. 
 
 " When he came to, some one were rolling him 
 aside. They were clearing away th' bodies, that 
 lay thick as swaths o' grass e'er did, to pitch th' 
 false king's tent. Feyther might not rise, an' he 
 thought 'twere better to hold his peace than have 
 a dagger sheathed in him. They set up th' tent, 
 an' as it chanced, he lay just within th' edge, an' 
 might see all. Th' crook-backed duke an 's 
 brother came in, an' bade raise a throne. Some 
 empty arrow chests were piled together, an' then 
 a cry were made, ' Here's his majesty ! ' an' they
 
 1 86 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 lacked a step to th' throne. So they haled in a 
 corpse, an' laid it in place, threw broidered cloths 
 o'er all, an' th' false king came an' took his seat. 
 
 " ' Bring in the prisoner ! ' says he. 
 
 " An' they brought him in that were the true 
 prince, ye mind wi' 's hands bound, but as bold 
 as a lion. There he stood among those that 
 dought to take his life, an 1 eyed 'em all as they 
 were grooms set to do his bidding. 
 
 " ' How durst ye come here ? What do ye here ? ' 
 says th' false king at last; but his words came 
 thick, an' he looked aside. 
 
 " ' I came to gain my father's crown, and mine 
 own heritage,' says the prince. 
 
 "He ne'er said word more. Th' other flung his 
 glove at him, an* th' crook-back duke an' his 
 brother struck their daggers in his side. Down 
 he fell, just by where my sire lay : here, gentles 
 this is feyther's very bow see ye this ruddy spot 
 near th' tip? 'Tis a gout o' th' brave young 
 prince's blood." 
 
 All drew round and gazed with interest. Old 
 Hinckley caught his breath and went on. 
 
 " When th' night fell, feyther crept away fro' 
 th' tent, an' hapt on a house where they cared for 
 him, though much as their lives were worth. 
 'Twas many a day or he drove th' plough again : 
 but at last he got back to th' land, and there I 
 were born. When a' died, a' left me his bow, 
 an' bid me be always ready to draw it for th' right. 
 An' I ha' drawn it for owd King Hal agen th' 
 rebels' an' for th' Queen ay th' Red Rose 
 shall ne'er fade " 
 
 Flushed with his tale, and borne up by the 
 brief strength of excitement, the old man had 
 thrown his sticks aside, and was now marching up
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY 187 
 
 and down, pausing occasionally and making futile 
 efforts to draw his bow-string home. He had 
 rolled up his sleeves and torn open his collar, 
 disclosing his yellow, veiny neck and arms. 
 
 "Come, Gaffer," said Dorothy coaxingly, "'tis 
 time thou went home to thy supper." 
 
 But he gave no heed. 
 
 " Hinckley," said Helpes, in the sharp tone of 
 command, " thou must not stay here -march on." 
 
 " Ay, my lord, ay ! " cried the bedesman, " I 
 know my duty I'll stand guard here none can 
 say I e'er slept on my post " And he burst 
 into a fit of excited raving. 
 
 "What to do?" said Dorothy. "Sure, he will 
 kill himself." 
 
 "Dame," said the Bailiff, " Master Shakespeare 
 will abide with us to-night. Take him home and 
 give him some victual he hath ridden far. And 
 hark ye," in a lower tone, " send up two of the lads 
 from the house, as soon as may be, to carry this 
 old babbler home." 
 
 Dorothy turned away with Shakespeare and her 
 little boy, her mind confused between pity, appre- 
 hension, and hospitality. 
 
 " Master Shakespeare," said she presently, with 
 an effort to select some new topic, " those sonnets 
 whereof William showed me so many in our court- 
 ship didst thou indeed write them all upon 
 him?" 
 
 " They were writ for their only begetter, Mr. W. 
 H.," replied the poet, gravely smiling; nor would 
 he say more. 
 
 Meanwhile William Helpes remained watching 
 over Hinckley as he rambled up and down, en- 
 deavoring to soothe him into a more amenable 
 frame.
 
 1 88 
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Yonder were where feyther's troop were set," 
 cried the old man, " there came th' horsemen, an' 
 here ay, here, my lord, stood th' false king's 
 tent." 
 
 . As William looked down on the deepest dyed 
 spot of the Bloody Meadow, he was aware of a 
 slight movement and rustle in a clump of bushes 
 some forty yards away. Old Hinckley faced 
 suddenly round. " For t' prince ! " he cried, and 
 
 laying an arrow in place, drew it to the head. 
 The thin hard sinews flashed out like harp strings 
 over his withered arms and chest, as he glanced 
 along the shaft, and then let it fly. He stood for 
 a moment gazing after the missile, as if to be sure 
 whether it had found the mark, then dropped on 
 his knees, wavered like a severed stem, and with 
 a long gasp fell forward on his face. The two 
 'prentices now appeared, running at full speed. 
 " Hither ! This way ! " cried Jielpes, raising the
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 189 
 
 bid man's head. The lads came up, and relieved 
 their master : but life was evidently extinct. 
 
 "Take him to the next house, call a leech 
 somewhat may yet be done," said Helpes. " But 
 soft : I must look yonder a moment." 
 
 He walked towards the tuft of bushes where the 
 arrow had struck, followed by two or three strollers 
 whom the bustle had attracted. Half concealed 
 among sallows lay the body of a man, pierced from 
 breast to back by Hinckley's bolt. 
 
 " Why, sure," cried one of the company, " 'tis 
 the same drew a knife on your Honor in the street 
 yesterday ! " 
 
 "Ay, I know him now," murmured Helpes, 
 gazing down on the corpse. 
 
 It was indeed the wretched Tuff his features 
 set in despairing rage, and the loaded pistol and 
 smoking match which lay beside him proving that 
 the old archer's arrow had just anticipated a last 
 effort at vengeance. 
 
 Other citizens now came up, and a gate being 
 procured, both bodies were laid thereon, and 
 borne towards the town. 
 
 The Bailiff, with Hinckley's bow in his hand, 
 walked hastily on to assure Dorothy of his safety : 
 but as usual, the news had flown before, and she 
 came rushing in terror to meet him. 
 
 " I shall never rest again ! never ! " she wailed. 
 
 " Sooth, sweetheart," said her husband, " I think 
 thou mayst be easy now. Mine only enemy is gone 
 I have 'scaped him once more, thanks to the 
 bedesman, or rather," raising his hat and looking 
 upward, " where they are more justly due. Both 
 these bodies shall have decent burial, and I will 
 be at charge for a headstone for old Hinckley 
 he died in harness, Methinks I may keep his
 
 I QO THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 bow he had no heir living, and many have heard 
 him say I should have it when he was gone. Now, 
 Doll, let us sup." 
 
 Danger and violence, once past, left no long 
 impression on the rninds of that day : and alter 
 the feast Helpes and his guest were merry over 
 their wine, and "old Master William" heard for 
 the first time some tales of his sire's exploits in 
 Charlecote Park.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 " And when life's sweet fable ends, 
 Soul and body part like friends." 
 
 RICHARD CRASHAW. 
 
 NEARLY a score of years had elapsed since 
 Hinckley and Tuff had been laid in their graves, 
 the smooth and easy reign of James was over, and 
 King Charles sat firm in his place. 
 
 It was late spring, and the Avon had been up in 
 spate ; many a fair field was buried deep in mud, 
 drowned cattle and sheep lay against the hedge- 
 rows, and more homesteads than one were in 
 
 ruins. The stream was now slowly contracting 
 into its accustomed channel, but its usually clear 
 waters were turbid and brown, while thousands of 
 little affluents seemed bearing to it the very life 
 blood of the land. 
 
 On the bank stood two farmers, comparing notes 
 as to their losses. 
 
 " 'Tis a sorry sight, Higg," said the younger. 
 
 191
 
 IQ2 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 "Look on t' meads an' hedges, coated with mud, 
 as a brown snow had fell." 
 
 " T' grass will grow all t' better, Trinlay, soon 
 or late. Thou knowest t' owd say : 
 
 ' When Severn seeks Avon, 
 
 There's hay for the havin', 
 When Avon seeks Severn, 
 
 The corn grows to heaven.' " 
 
 "Ay, hay enow, I'll go bail," grumbled Trinlay ; 
 " an' few mouths to put it in. I ha' lost nine shar- 
 rags, three lambs most o' them were folded on 
 hill an' a fine calf. A worser flood I ne'er saw. 
 Feyther would tell as how it came to yon stone in 
 his time, a foot higher than this ; but I n'ot to see 
 't." 
 
 "They do say," observed Higg, sinking his 
 voice to a whisper, "as there've been a ban on 
 Avon flow ever sin" good Master Wyclif's ashes were 
 sent down 't ; an' yon barn fallen, were my share 
 o' loss." 
 
 " Were 't in that Master Helpes got 's hurt ? " 
 
 " Nay at neebor Jackson's. He were up to 's 
 belt in water, tryin' to free some o' th' beasts, 
 when a bulk o' timber struck him o' th' spole an' 
 bore him under. He were up in a breath, but 
 they say as he were done for then. He's sinkin' 
 fast, same as th' stream. I ha' sent my little lad up 
 this morn, to see what the word may be, an' that's 
 what I'd do for few townsmen." 
 
 "Ay, there's many without Tewkesbury 'ud 
 grieve for him. But I mun take a shovel in hand, 
 an fy out some o' th' ditches." 
 
 As Higg had said, William Helpes, in his efforts 
 to aid the sufferers, had received some injuries 
 which, little noticed at first, were tending to a fatal 
 termination.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 193 
 
 Round his door stood messengers from all parts 
 of the town, waiting in ever lessening hope : and 
 when at length the doctor came forth, saying he 
 could do no more, a burst of lamentation rose 
 from the women, while more than one sturdy 
 fellow, who had not wept since he could see across 
 a table, followed their example. 
 
 Within the sick man lay among his pillows, the 
 minister at the bed foot, and his younger sons, 
 George and Richard, on either side. 
 
 " Hath not Will come yet?" he asked feebly. 
 
 " Nay, father ; he hath been sent for with all 
 haste ; but thou knowest his farm is far hence." 
 
 " He must come soon an' he would see me. 
 Look ye, Dick, yesterday I flattened yon pewter 
 cup in one hand now I can scarce lift it." 
 
 Another hour wore slowly away. Then the 
 tramp of a horse was heard without, and the eldest 
 son entered, splashed and stained with clay from 
 head to heel. 
 
 The first greetings over, the father motioned 
 all to stand before him, and then looked around 
 as if in search of someone else. 
 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 "Whom, father?" . 
 
 " Mine old fellow Will Shakespeare. Tush, 
 I forget ; he hath lain in Stratford church this ten 
 year." 
 
 A little cordial was given him, and he went on 
 with clearer voice and thought. 
 
 " I reckoned to live many a year yet, lads 
 but 'tis as well the salt has gone from life since 
 your mother passed ; I trust I am ready. For worldly 
 gear Will, ihou hast the land, and George the 
 business, and Dick, a portion may keep him well. 
 Thou shalt have yon bow, Will; remember,
 
 194 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Shakespeare bent it once, and it hath saved thy 
 father's life. And further, here be three nots, one 
 apiece. Seek not too eagerly for gold it leaveth 
 all its rust in the heart of man. Spare not, in a 
 good cause, nor purse, nor strength, nor pain, nor 
 life. And lastly, fear not. This is no place for 
 boasting, yet few there be have seen my back in 
 strife. But none knoweth how oft a man hath 
 failed, save he himself : and truly I may say, never 
 did I turn from peril, but I rued it sorely. A 
 faint heart undoes all. In the front of yonder 
 Book ye may read how Adam's first word after he 
 fell was a dastard speech ; and at its end, foremost 
 among those who may not enter heaven are named 
 the cowards. Fear is not meant for man give 
 all ye have on 't to God keep none back." 
 
 He paused, joined the minister awhile in prayer, 
 then lay back exhausted, and sank gradually into 
 stupor. 
 
 Minute after minute passed away, while the 
 white shadow grew upon his face. At last he be- 
 gan groping feebly upon the blankets. 
 
 "Dorothy," he murmured, "Dorothy gift of 
 God where art thou ? Thy hand bring me 
 to the light." 
 
 All present fell on their knees, as the pastor 
 began the commendatory prayer. 
 
 Soon a sobbing messenger sped away toward 
 the church, and ere long three score and six strokes 
 of the bell told Tewkesbury that the stout burgess' 
 soul had passed.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " Cras ingens iterabimus sequor." 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 IT was a cold, blustering morning. The long 
 black bar of cloud which lay on the eastern 
 horizon turned no golden edge toward the world, 
 nor gave a hint of the light it concealed, until the 
 sun pushed slowly upward, and announced the 
 twentieth of March, 1630. 
 
 The good ship " Mary and John," Captain John 
 Squeb, master, lay at anchor in Plymouth harbor, 
 pointing her bow to the northerly breeze, and 
 gently rocking on the waves ; while far away to 
 the south a spot of foam marked the reefs which, 
 seventy years later, were to bear up the Eddystone 
 lighthouse. 
 
 The pilot, temporary master of the vessel, stood 
 in solitary greatness near the helm, and Cap- 
 tain Squeb, for the nonce a mere supercargo, 
 chatted affably with the passengers and visitors. 
 
 " Ay, ay ; 'tis a fair wind at last ; we sail this 
 day without doubt, Master Davon. Thou'lt be 
 glad to know we have two worshipful ministers 
 aboard, goodwife Fullafere. Master Clap, I hear 
 'tis thy purpose to write a story of the voyage; 
 fail not to speak a good word for the tight craft." 
 
 " An 't please you, Master Squeb, when set w 
 forth ? " asked one of the men. 
 
 " 'Tis flood an hour ere noon ; then we weigh 
 anchor." 
 
 " And, by your leave, are all on board ? " 
 
 195
 
 196 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 " Nay, one company is yet to come. But if 
 they wait four hours more they shall find an empty 
 berth. Stay, methinks I see them now." 
 
 A small boat so crowded with passengers that 
 tha rowers could scarce use their oars, pushed off 
 from shore, and slowly approached the " Mary 
 and John." 
 
 " Help's good in time of need," jested the 
 Captain, " and here be seven, what think ye o' 
 that?" 
 
 The wherry pulled up to the ship's side, made 
 fast, and three children were handed up one 
 after the other. 
 
 "Poor little maids," said a compassionate 
 woman, "I pity them, thus thrust into the wilder- 
 ness." 
 
 Dame Helpes was next assisted up the ladder, 
 and was followed by her husband William the 
 same whom we saw in Tewkesbury mead as a child 
 of eight. He was now nearly thirty-five, but his 
 thinning hair, hollow cheeks, and grave demeanor 
 gave him the appearance of being much older; 
 while, though of a tough and wiry build, he evi- 
 dently had not inherited all his sire's strength. 
 
 The two unmarried brothers, George and 
 Richard Helpes, reached over a collection of small 
 articles (conspicuous among which were an ancient 
 long-bow and a brass warming-pan) and then as- 
 cended themselves. 
 
 "The settlers," said Captain Squeb, speaking 
 apart, but quite loudly enough to be heard, " bid 
 me bring them o'er a cargo of hoes and spades, 
 and instead I fetch the vessel loaded with Helpeses 
 as deep as she can swim." 
 
 William's wife and children soon went below, 
 but the three brothers remained conversing on deck.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 197 
 
 " Truly our course seems set for the West at 
 last," said the eldest. " I hear there remaineth 
 yet very much land to be possessed, and I would 
 fain have a share therein. Thou knowest, George, 
 my taste is for the fields, as thine for trade ; but I 
 like not to be cap in hand to lord and duke, for 
 lease and feu I seek to sit upon mine own ground, 
 as well as under mine own vine and fig-tree." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said George, " thy foot on the land, 
 and a book in thy hand 'tis ever thy way, Will. 
 For me, I had never stirred, were the business 
 now as in our father's time ; but I see 'tis drift- 
 ing away from poor Tewkesbury, and a wise man 
 will sell out while he may. I have scraped to- 
 gether some few score pounds, which I trust to 
 turn over at profit in the Colonies : I hear they 
 have many saints there, but few angels." 
 
 " Thy jest, George," said William gravely, 
 " savors of certain superstitions, which I hope we 
 have escaped for ever but let it pass. An we 
 believed in omens, doth not all seem to favor us? 
 The season is prosperous, the sky is clear, and we 
 shall be speedily borne down the Channel by this 
 gallant breeze." 
 
 "'Tis something of the keenest," remarked 
 Richard, the youngest brother, pulling up his 
 collar, and gazing apprehensively out to sea. " I' 
 faith, I like not all this salty drink ; a good pot 
 of ale by a snug fireside is liquor enow for me. I 
 heard marvellous tales of the salvages' cruelly in 
 the tavern last night we shall do well to overlive 
 ten years. Marry, I had thriven better to abide 
 by my English luck ; but I was over-persuaded, 
 like many another, and must now suffer for "t." 
 
 " Brother Richard," said William, turning to him 
 in some heat, "this discourse profiteth not at all.
 
 198 
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 
 
 Over-persuaded ? Did I not lay all before thee, 
 and tell thee to count the cost, and that if thou 
 wert minded to stay behind I would make over the 
 leases thou wot'st of, and put thee in a fair way of 
 life ? And didst thou not thump stoutly on thy 
 breast, and avouch that all thy hopes lay in Amer- 
 ica, and that thou wouldst swim thither, if it might 
 
 not otherwise be reached? This is no valley of 
 Moreh, Richard, from the which thou mayest turn 
 back like one of Gideon's ten thousand ; neither, 
 Richard, I must needs say, is an infirm purpose 
 made stronger by backing it with ' marry ' and 
 <i' faith.'" 
 
 Richard thrust both hands deeply into his 
 pockets, and humming a tune, went under hatches.
 
 THE BAILIFF OF TEWKESBURY. 199 
 
 William, looking somewhat ashamed of his easy 
 victory, began walking up and down the small, 
 clear space he could find on deck. Soon the 
 mournful chant of the sailors was heard, as they 
 swung the anchor loose from English soil. The 
 foresail was spread, and the bark, veering slowly 
 round, ploughed her way toward the harbor mouth, 
 both waves and prospects widening as she went. 
 
 " If thou'lt be guided, Master Helpes," said the 
 Captain as he passed them, in a tone already more 
 authoritative, "go below, and stow thy stuff we 
 are rarely cumbered vvi' 't, and two hours hence 
 thou mayest have small heart for heaving of chests." 
 
 Obeying this injunction, the brothers went be- 
 low, where they were long occupied in prepara- 
 tions for their ten weeks' voyage. 
 
 It was nearly sunset when William Helpes came 
 again on deck. Despite the Captain's presage, 
 though now at sea for the first time, he experienced 
 none of the ills which assail most novices in that 
 position, and verified the boast of his youth, that 
 he would be sailor if not farmer. 
 
 The vessel, a fair wind on her quarter, was 
 speeding down the Channel, and the pilot-boat 
 was already a dim speck in the distance ; while 
 the British coast, faint and blue across the tumbling 
 water, seemed like a shapeless, impenetrable cloud, 
 which knew not port, or river, or home of man. 
 A few distant toiling sails were the only bright 
 spots within the emigrant's vision. 
 
 Behind him lay the graves of his parents, be- 
 fore him the land which was to be the birthplace 
 of his son. Balanced betwixt hope and memory, 
 he stood gazing eastward until the last gleam of 
 daylight had died away, and Shakespeare's Eng- 
 land faded forever from his sight.
 
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