1 EB BLACK ARROW ‘ STEVENSON Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. A charge is made on all overdue books. University of Illinois Library ' | ny ; iy = Aaa ; * ‘ y 3 _ 2, f ’ x! . ? I . ~~ iS bd y ssa sf Ae. ; & m: os J x Se A ? ‘ ‘ > f ths a ZI 4 '- mm “Ys ARE FAIR,” HE SAID AT LAST, “AND, AS THEY TELL ME, DOWERBED. How IF I OFFERED YOU A BRAVE MARRIAGE, AS BECAME YOUR FACE AND PARENTAGE?” BLACK ARROW A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES By ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON Illustrated by FRANCES BRUNDAGE THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY AKRON, OHIO NEW YORK IE CR FAIR PR IR RID IRIE SIE PR IR Pe Sosteskpiteetoshestesheckoshbatehechestectestectectesteetoetonteanedeetestentee tenn SRestetorctenshectectectortectoctotiestectorte tretoctedds feck t ILLUSTRATIONS COPYRIGHT, MCMXXVI BY THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY THE BLACK ARROW A TALE OF THE TWO ROSES PROLOGUE JOHN AMEND-ALL N a certain afternoon, in the late springtime, the bell upon Tunstall Moat House was heard ringing at an unaccustomed hour. Far and - near, in the forest and in the fields along the river, — » people began to desert their labours and hurry towards _ ~ the sound; and in Tunstall hamlet a group of poor ~ country-folk stood wondering at the summons. Tunstall hamlet at that period, in the reign of old i King Henry VI., wore much the same appearance that _ it wears to-day. "A score or so of houses, heavily framed — .) with oak, stood scattered in a long green valley ascend- — ing from the river. At the foot, the road crossed a — bridge, and mounting on the other side, disappeared into the fringes of the forest on its way to the Moat | » House, and farther forth to Holywood Abbey. Half- q way up the village the church stood among yews. On ‘ 3 ‘every side the slopes were crowned and the view | ; “bounded by the green'elms and greening oak-trees of the forest. Hard by the bridge there was a stone cross GH a fh “knoll, and here the group had collected—half a dozen _ 2women and one tall fellow in a russet smock—dis- “cussing what the bell betided. An express had gone _ “through the hamlet half an hour before, and drunka ~ pot of ale in the saddle, not daring to dismount forthe - hurry of his errand; but he had been ignorant himself _ 33 of what was forward, and oe bore sealed letters from GM 77774 si Shin Pas Nees ae SAS Oe i Gee BC Me URI Cera) CN RW NLT aman a MOAR Be Corh uD Al biCWd ek) OWE Ui Reb Y Ue aah by tbs oe *, i 7 j ids | Ey) Sed Wy y TA AYO CES Me ENG A Uy RTO Tie 4 : Ne ae Fi i i Y DN ae Ny ‘ cuak ) OPE OU MRD Hee KY i : toa - - toa ry f { ( 7 $ iy ‘eta g x ua i ti ie j ae 8 @ ; 42 02~«<“‘“C=‘ men’s goods, and beaten and hanged not afew. Y’are called to count for this; in the end, I wot not how, © ye have ever the uppermost at law, and ye think all patched. But give me leave, Sir Oliver: the man that ye have dispossessed and beaten is but the angrier, and some day, when the black devil is by, he will up with his bow and clout me a yard of arrow through your inwards.” _ “Nay, Bennet, y’arein the wrong. Bennet, ye should be glad to be corrected,” said Sir Oliver. “Y’are a -prater, Bennet, a talker, a babbler; your mouth is wider than your two ears. Mend it, Bennet, mend it.” “Nay, I say no more. Have it as ye list,” said the retainer. The priest now rose from the stool, and from the writing-case that hung about his neck took forth wax and a taper, and a flint and steel. With these he sealed up the chest and the cupboard with Sir Daniel’s arms, Hatch looking on disconsolate; and then the whole party proceeded, somewhat timorously, to sally from the house and get to horse. 4 ead ac THE BLACK ARROW ae “Tis time we were on the road, Sir Oliver,” said Hatch, as he held the priest’s stirrup while he mounted. | “Ay; but, Bennet, things are changed,” returned the parson. ‘There is now no Appleyard—rest his soul !— to keep the garrison.» I shall keep you, Bennet. I must have a good man to rest me on in this day of black arrows. “The arrow that flieth by day,’ saith the evangel; I have no mind of the context; nay, lama sluggard priest, I am too deep in men’s affairs. Well, let us ride forth, Master Hatch. The jackmen should be at the church by now.” So they rode forward down the road, with the wind after them, blowing the tails of the parson’s cloak; and behind them, as they went, clouds began to arise and blot out the sinking sun. They had passed three of the scattered houses that make up Tunstall hamlet, when, coming to a turn, they saw the church before them. Ten or a dozen houses clustered immediately round it; but to the back the churchyard was next the meadows. At the lychgate, near a score of men were gathered, some in the saddle, some standing by their horses’ heads. They were variously armed and mounted; some with spears, some with bills, some with bows, and some bestriding plough-horses, still splashed with the mire of the furrow; for these were the very dregs of the country, and all the better men and the fair equipments were already with Sir Daniel in the field. “We have not done amiss, praised be the cross of Holywood! Sir Daniel will be right well content,” observed the priest, inwardly numbering the troop. “Who goes? Stand! if ye be true!” shouted Bennet. A man was seen slipping through the churchyard among the yews; and at the sound of this summons he discarded all concealment, and fairly took to his heels for the forest. The men at the gate, who had been hitherto unaware of the stranger’s presence, woke © and scattered. Those who had dismounted began scrambling into the saddle: the rest rode in pursuit; but they had to make the circuit of the consecrated — ground, and it was plain their quarry would escape them. Hatch, roaring an oath, put his horse at the x THE BLACK ARROW 23 hedge, to head him off; but the beast refused, and sent his rider sprawling in the dust. And though he was up again in a moment, and had caught the bridle, the time had gone by, and the fugitive had gained too great a lead for any hope of capture. The wisest of all had been Dick Shelton. Instead of starting in a vain pursuit, he had whipped his cross- bow from his back, bent it, and set a quarrel to the string; and now, when the others had desisted, he turned to Bennet, and asked if he should shoot. “Shoot! shoot!” cried the priest, with sanguinary violence. “Cover him, Master Dick,” said Bennet. “Bring me him down like a ripe apple.” The fugitive was now within but afewleaps of safety ; but this last part of the meadow ran very steeply up hill, and the man ran slower in proportion. What with the greyness of the falling night, and the uneven movements of the runner, it was no easy aim; and as Dick levelled his bow, he felt a kind of pity, and a half ' desire that he might miss. The quarrel sped. The man stumbled and fell, and a great cheer arose from Hatch and the pursuers. But they were counting their corn before the harvest. The man fell lightly; he was lightly afoot again, turned and waved his cap ina bravado, and was out of sight next moment in the margin of the wood. “And the plague go with him!” cried Bennet. “He has thieves’ heels: he can run, by St. Banbury! But you touched him, Master Shelton; he has stolen your quarrel, may he never have good I grudge him less!” “Nay, but what made he by the church?” asked Sir Oliver. “I am shrewdly afeared there has been mis- ehief here. Clipsby, good fellow, get ye down from your horse, and search thoroughly among the yews.’ Clipsby was gone but a little while ere he returned, - carrying a paper. | “This writing was pinned to the church door,” he said, handing it to the parson. “I found naught else, sir parson.” “Now, by the power of Mother Church,” cried Sir a J . yee AEA US BL SD ORGS VN, ee eb ce ee OP NT er ay PS eal) Pes Wee 1S tate ‘ey, an } SO aca ¥ us cA oer ey Ae t } te TRON * ; Sey Al Mat yen ras ays ae aM oer ii NaN eda PUN a lene Pra na 24 ‘THE BLACK ARROW Oliver, “but this runs hard on sacrilege! For the king’s good pleasure, or the lord of the manor—vwell! But that every run-the-hedge in a green jerkin should fasten papers to the chancel door—nay, it runs hard on sacrilege, hard; and men have burned for matters of less weight! But what have we here? The light falls apace. Good Master Richard, y’ have young eyes. Read me, I pray, this libel.” Dick Shelton took the paper in his hand and read it aloud. It contained some lines of a very rugged dog- gerel, hardly ever rhyming, written in a gross charac- ter, and most uncouthly spelt. With the spelling some- what bettered, this is how they ran:— “T had four black arrows under my belt, Four for the greefs that I have felt, Four for the nomber of ill menne That have oppressid me now and then. One is gone; one is wele sped; Old Apulyaird is ded. One is for Maister Bennet Hatch, That burned Grimstone, walls and thatch. One for Sir Oliver Oates, That cut Sir Harry Shelton’s throat. Sir Daniel, ye shull have the fourt; We shull think it fair sport. Ye shull each have your own part, A blak arrow in each blak heart. Get ye to your knees for to pray: Ye are ded theeves, by yea and nay. “JON AMEND-ALL, of the Green Wood, And his jolly fellaweship. “Item, we have mo arrowes and goode hempen cord for otheres ef your following.” “Now, well-a-day for charity’ and the Christian - graces!’ cried Sir Oliver, lamentably. “Sirs, this is an ill world, and groweth daily worse. I will swear upon the cross of Holywood I am as innocent of that good knight’s hurt, whether in act or purpose, as the babe unchristened. Neither was his throat cut; for therein they are again in error, as there still live credible wit- nesses to show.” THE BLACK ARROW i 25 “Tt boots not, sir parson,” said Bennet. “Here is unseasonable talk.” | “Nay, Master Bennet, not so. Keep ye in your due place, good Bennet,” answered the priest. “I shall make my innocence appear. I will upon no consideration lose my poor life in error. I take all men to witness that I am clear of this matter. I was not even in the Moat House. I was sent of an errand before nine upon the clock—” ~ “Sir Oliver,” said Hatch, interrupting, “since it please you not to stop this sermon, I will take other means. Goffe, sound to horse.” And while the tucket was sounding, Bennet moved | close to the bewildered parson, and whispered violently in his ear. Dick Shelton saw the priest’s eye turned upon him for an instant in a startled glance. He had some cause for thought; for this Sir Harry Shelton was his own natural father. But he said never a word, and kept his countenance unmoved. Hatch and Sir Oliver discussed together for a while their altered situation; ten men, it was decided hbe- tween them, should be reserved, not only to garrison the Moat House, but to escort the priest across the _ wood. In the meantime, as Bennet was to remain be- hind, the command of the reinforcement was given to Master Shelton. Indeed, there was no choice; the men were loutish fellows, dull and unskilled in war, while Dick was not only popular, but resolute and grave be- yond his age. Although his youth had been spent in these rough country places, the lad had been well taught in letters by Sir Oliver, and Hatch himself had shown him the management of arms and the first principles of command. Bennet had always been kind and help- ful; he was one of those who are cruel as the grave to those they call their enemies, but ruggedly faithful and well-willing to their friends; and now, while Sir Oliver entered the next house to write, in his swift, exquisite penmanship, a memorandum of the last occurrences to his master, Sir Daniel Brackley, Bennet came up to his | pupil to wish him God-speed upon his enterprise. Sa see te a ss S all NA Abacus SRC ‘\ dip Hea PORE hy ud os 96 +. «THE BLACK ARROW “Ye must go the long way about, Master Shelton,” he said; ‘‘round by the bridge, for your life! Keep a sure man fifty paces afore you, to draw shots; and go softly till y’ are past the wood. If the rogues fall upon ho you, ride for ’t; ye will do naught by standing. And _keep ever forward, Master Shelton; turn me not back f again, an ye love your life; there is no help in Tunstall, mind ye that. And now, since ye go to the great wars about the king, and I continue to dwell here in extreme jeopardy of my life, and ‘the saints alone can certify $f we shall meet again below, I give you my last counsels now at your riding. Keep an eye on Sir Daniel; he is unsure. Put not your trust in the jack-priest; he intendeth not amiss, but doth the will of others; it is 2 hand-gun for Sir Daniel! Get you good lordship where ye go; make you strong friends; look to it. And think ever a paternoster-while on Bennet Hatch. There are worse rogues afoot than Bennet. So, God-speed!” “And Heaven be with you, Bennet!” returned Dick. “Ye were a good friend to me-ward, and so I shall say ever.” “And, look ye, master,” added Hatch, with a certain embarrassment, ‘if this Amend-All should get a shaft ; - into me, ye might, mayhap, lay outa gold mark or may- hap a pound for my poor soul; for it is like to go stiff with me in purgatory.” “Ye shall have your will of it, Bennet,” answered Dick. “But, what cheer, man! We shall meet again, where ye shall have more need of ale than masses.” “The saints so grant it, Master Dick!’’ returned the other. ‘‘But here comes Sir Oliver. An he were as quick with the long-bow as with the pen, he would be a brave man-at-arms.” sir Oliver gave Dick a sealed packet, with this super- scription: “To my ryght worchypful master, Sir Daniel Brackley, knyght, be thys delyvered in haste.” And Dick, putting it in the bosom of his jacket, gave the word and set forth westward up the village. i yA AE Wa Pee eh ChE the Soar te eT aeb he Whar Dh PTS ait ores 4 Mee Meaty RNY Oa, ALORS mrt Wr aks Don aN Ae yD ee iat tks er Ae ah if of Nay TRU wie, a Ws ah ut He he bie 4 a Was iD } i} AY ANTS CN Wis Ai ity i 1 .; 1 YoeWhey Vovaidabe aed) Cake RON: SW ath i ae Ka se AN OMT La Nef ak. ’ M < if ae y * Me AY f AY 1 Wit Vacate BOOK I THE TWO LADS CHAPTER I AT THE SIGN OF THE SUN IN KETTLEY IR DANIEL and his men lay in and about Kettley © : that night, warmly quartered and well patrolled. But the Knight of Tunstall was one who never rested from money-getting; and even now, when he was on the brink of an adventure which should make or mar him, he was up an hour after midnight to | ; squeeze poor neighbours. He was one who trafficked greatly in disputed inheritances; it was his way to buy out the most unlikely claimant, and then, by the favour he curried with great lords about the king, procure un- © " just decisions in his favour; or, if that was too round- about, to seize the disputed manor by force of arms, and rely on his influence and Sir Oliver’s cunning in the law to hold what he had snatched. Kettley was — : one such place; it had come very lately into his clutches ; he still met with opposition from the tenants; and it was to overawe discontent that he had led his troops that. way. By two in the morning, Sir Daniel sat in the inn Rie room, close by the fire-side, for it was cold at that hour among the fens of Kettley. By his elbow stood a pottle of spiced ale. He had taken off his visored headpiece, and sat with his bald head and thin, dark visage rest- ing on one hand, wrapped warmly in a sanguine- coloured cloak. At the lower end of the room abouta dozen of his men stood sentry over the door or lay asleep on benches; and, somewhat nearer hand, ayoung lad, apparently of twelve or thirteen, was stretched Es a mantle on the floor. The host of the Sun stood before _ ml the great man. “Now, mark me, mine host,” Sir Daniel said, “follow a i but mine orders, and I shall be your good lordever. [ 27 ‘Did ibs init. Si a St. eT ee War hy ee at eae ey um bs eee ak Pha re he Oy ME deg RMA Peery kc CL eee ae, Ps ee ee Biow ym ey GSN NILA BA hs WP iey ee FY DAE AAU DE MET gern Ea RO AI ae ny eR NR ALAS Eur OM a Cay © MEM eM Wierare att AVY’ “am ; vi) Y Mt. oe ; bs be tt ee ri : See Ney Pil 4 Anite Bee PES ES ee hh iri eR TES 1, 7 4 yi 5 SAM! RN ae THE BLACK ARROW - must have good men for head boroughs, and I will have Adam-a-More high constable; see to it narrowly. If other men be chosen, it shall avail you nothing; rather it shall be found to your sore cost. For those _ that have paid rent to Walsingham I shall take good - Measure—you among the rest, mine host.” ai “Good knight,” said the host, “I will swear upon the - eross of Holywood I did but pay to Walsingham under -eompulsion. Nay, bully knight, I love not the rogue Walsinghams; they were as poor as thieves, bully knight. Give mea great lord like you. Nay; ask me among the neighbours, I am stout for Brackley.” ia may be,” said Sir Daniel, drily. ‘Ye shall then ~ pay twice.” The innkeeper made a horrid grimace; but this was a piece of bad luck that might readily befall a tenant _ in these unruly times, and he was perhaps glad to make his peace so easily. vi “Bring up yon fellow, Selden!” cried the knight. . And one of his retainers led up a poor, cringing old man, as pale as a candle, and all shaking with the fen _ fever. “Sirrah,” said Sir Daniel, “your name?” _ “An’t please your worship,” replied the man, “my name is Condall—Condall of Shoreby, at your good worship’s pleasure.” ’ “Tl have heard you ill reported on,” returned the i knight. “Ye deal in treason, rogue; ye trudge the country leasing; ye are heavily suspicioned of the _ death of severals. How, fellow, are ye so bold? But - I will bring you down.” “Right honourable and my reverend lord,” the man eried, “here is some hodge-podge, saving your good presence. I am but a poor private man, and have hurt none.’ | “The under-sheriff did report of you most vilely,” _ said the knight. “ ‘Seize me,’ saith he, ‘that Tyndal of Shoreby.’ ” “Condall, my good lord; Condall is my poor name,” gaid the unfortunate. - “Condall or Tyndal, it is all one,” replied Sir Daniel, o coolly. “For, by my sooth, y’ are here, and I do ae ii Rly AAs Ody bl el SP Re BPA NL a Te EU TD tae Us Walaa et ela ak oe ke A a ‘Per. L dd) dt Leet eh oe AES f TAMAS ait Lome ey mgVy \ ery ¢ AD | J pat: f "i pa y 4 \ 1 ew : : THE BLACK ARROW Bou mightily suspect your honesty. If you would save your neck, write me swiftly an obligation for twenty pound.” “For twenty pound, my good lord!” cried Condall. “Here is midsummer madness! My Wate estate — amounteth not to seventy shillings.” | “Condall or Tyndal,” returned Sir Daniel, grinning, — “T will run my peril of that loss. Write me down twenty, and when I have recovered all I may, I will be good lord to you, and pardon you the rest.” | “Alas! my good lord, it may not be; I have no skill to write,” said Condall. ! ““Well-a-day !” returned the knight. “Here, then, is no remedy. Yet I would fain have spared you, Tyndal, — had my conscience suffered. Selden, take me this old shrew softly to the nearest elm, and hang me him tenderly by the neck, where I may see him at my riding. Fare ye well, good Master Condall, dear Master Tyn- dal; y’ are post-haste for Paradise; fare ye then well!” Nay, my right pleasant lord,’ replied Condall, forcing an obsequious smile, ‘‘an ye be so masterful, as doth right well become you, I will even, with all my | poor skill, do your bidding.” no “Friend,” quoth Sir Daniel, “ye will now write two — score. Go to! y’ are too cunning for a livelihood of — seventy shillings. Selden, see him write me this in good form, and haveit duly witnessed.”’ And SirDaniel, who was avery merry knight, none merrier in England, — took a drink of his mulled ale, and lay back smiling. Meanwhile, the boy upon the floor began to stir, and presently sat up and looked about him withascare. © “Hither,” said Sir Daniel; and as the other rose at his command and came slowly towards him, he leaned back and laughed outright. “By the rood!” he cried, Beh: “a sturdy boy!’ a The lad flushed crimson with anger, and darted aie look of hate out of his dark eyes. Now that he was on his legs, it was more difficult to make certain of his it age. His face looked somewhat older in expression, _ | Sy but it was as smooth as a young child’s; and in bone . : and body he was unusually slender, and somewhat — ut awkward of gait. NCa te ty ita Se Pr Pe. Bey hs uit SPAS AS OE pg Sa A TRS Be TT rhs eae dnd ie nares eral AA Pa ead BR CO a ee al i ear Zatti MS ue } eas 7 Bi mhabe coin ts aN) : 1, TARGA ASSN xR hha th ¥ ae AN ay ih ray Vy ASW tek Ke aA) SPARS 1h hie 4 Ny eee hh matt ; : ‘) wy ; i i H “aX Lay i ad haan i ' 4 4 h ; ; wah i Ki Cant Uso WHE BLACK ARROW. iy “Ye have called me, Sir Daniel,” he said. “Was it — to laugh at my poor plight?” / “Nay, now, let laugh,” said the knight. ‘Good shrew, ~ let laugh, I pray you. An ye could see yourself, I / -*warrant ye would laugh the first.” “Well,” cried the lad, flushing, “ye shall answer this - when yeanswerfortheother. Laugh while yet ye may!” “Nay, now good cousin,” replied Sir Daniel, with _ some earnestness, ‘think not that I mock at you, except - in mirth, as between kinsfolk and singular friends. _ I will make you a marriage of a thousand pounds, go _ to! and cherish you exceedingly. I took you, indeed, - roughly, as the time demanded; but from henceforth I shall ungrudgingly maintain and cheerfully serve you. _ Ye shall be Mrs. Sheiton—Lady Shelton, by my troth! for the lad promiseth bravely. Tut! ye will not shy _ for honest laughter; it purgeth melancholy. They are no rogues who laugh, good cousin. Good mine host, _ lay me a meal now for my cousin, Master John. Sit ye _ down, sweetheart, and eat.” “Nay,” said Master John, “I will break no bread. _ Since ye force me to this sin, I will fast for my soul’s uy interest. But, good mine host, I pray you of courtesy - give me a cup of fair water; I shall be much beholden _ to your courtesy indeed.” | . “Ye shall have a dispensation, go to!” cried the knight. ‘Shalt be well shriven, by my faith? Con- tent you, then, and eat.” _ But the lad was obstinate, drank a cup of water, and, once more wrapping himself closely in his mantle, sat in a far corner, brooding. _ In an hour or two there rose a stir in the village of _ sentries challenging and the clatter of arms and horses; _ and then a troop drew up by the inn door, and Richard Shelton, splashed with mud, presented himself upon the threshold. _ “Save you, Sir Daniel,” he said. _ “How! Dickie Shelton!” cried the knight; and at the ~ mention of Dick’s name the other lad looked curiously across. ‘What maketh Bennet Hatch?” ie “Please: you, sir knight, to take ingahmeerbina of this poe aS THE BLACK ARROW ~—_—sa31-—~” packet from Sir Oliver, wherein are all things fully stated,” answered Richard, presenting the priest’s let- ter. “And please you farther, ye were best make all _ speed to Risingham; for on the way hither we encoun- tered one riding furiously with letters, and by his report, my Lord of Risingham was sore bested, and lacked exceedingly your presence.”’ , “How say you? Sore bested?” returned the knight. — “Nay, then, we will make speed sitting down, good Richard. As the world goes in this poor realm of © England, he that rides softliest rides surest. Delay, — they say, begetteth peril; but it is rather this itch of doing that undoes men; mark it, Dick. But let me see, first, what cattle ye have brought. Selden, a link here at the door!” , And Sir Daniel strode forth into the village street, and, by the red glow of a torch, inspected his new troops. He was an unpopular neighbour and an un-— popular master; but as a leader of war he was well beloved by those who rode behind his pennant. His. dash, his proved courage, his forethought for the sol- diers’ comfort, even his rough gibes, were all to the a taste of the bold blades in jack and salet. “Nay, by the rood!” he cried, “what poor dogs are these? Here be some as crooked as a bow, and some as lean as a spear. Friends, ye shall ride in the front of the battle; I can spare you, friends. Mark me this old villain on the piebald! A two-year mutton riding on a hog would look more soldierly! Ha! Clipsby, are ye there, old rat? Y’ areamanI could lose witha good — heart; ye shall go in front of all, with a bull’s-eye _ painted on your jack, to be the better butt for archery; ae sirrah, ye shall show me the way.” . “T will show you any way, Sir Daniel, but the way to ~ change sides,” returned Clipsby, sturdily. 4) Sir Daniel laughed a guffaw. act “Why, well said,” he cried. “Hast a shrewd tongue in thy mouth, go to! I will forgive you for that merry _ word. Selden, see them fed, both man and brute.’ v The knight re-entered the inn. oh) oR, friend Dick,” he said, “fall to. Here is peal is POEL Soil J BA EN Cg | a 4 Bi ie wed cy Ny CHEE VORA BY 6 Vie eat an r \5 TAY St Teves AY SEIU PE Pt iY is PINS (AN SON LV? i “A hy ber OAS ah UN Oa 24 Rear we a) Oh i YY ig We RY ed OL AD Ut OTR WAR LT NY Sea as AMR Ad TORS EE RN VY f ; wae. ‘ y ety, 5! Bal Hy : y Tes \ sais He ha ee) ‘euhie 4 et as ot ‘ } fix ‘ } 32 THE BLACK ARROW ale a hacen. Eat, while that I read.” _. Sir Daniel opened the packet, and as he read his brow _ darkened. When he had done he sat a little, musing. _ Then he looked sharply at his ward. “Dick,” said he, “y’ have seen this penny rhyme?” The lad replied in the affirmative. mn “It bears your father’s name,” continued the knight; _ “and our poor shrew of a parson is, by some mad soul, - accused of slaying him.” : “He did most eagerly deny it,’”’ answered Dick. ‘ “‘He did?” cried the knight, very sharply. “Heed him not. He has a loose tongue; he babbles like a jack- - sparrow. Some day, when I may find the leisure, Dick, - I will myself more fully inform you of these matters. - There was one Duckworth shrewdly blamed for it; but 4 the times were troubled, and there was no justice to be ie Tt befell at the Moat House?” Dick ventured, with a beating at his heart. “It befell between the Moat House and Holywood,” replied Sir Daniel, calmly; but he shot a covert glance, black with suspicion, at Dick’s face. “And now,” added the knight, “speed you with your meal; ye shall return to Tunstall with a line from me.” Dick’s face fell sorely. “Prithee, Sir Daniel,” he cried, “send one of the - villains! I beseech you let me to the battle. I can strike a stroke, I promise you.” | “I misdoubt it not,” replied Sir Daniel, sitting down to write. “But here, Dick, is no honour to be won. I lie in Kettley till I have sure tidings of the war, and _ then ride to join me with the conqueror. Cry not on - cowardice; it is but wisdom, Dick; for this poor realm so tosseth with rebellion, and the king’s name and _ eustody so changeth hands, that no man may be certain _ of the morrow. Toss-pot and Shuttlewit run in, but - my Lord Good-Counsel sits 0’ one side, waiting.” With that, Sir Daniel, turning his back to Dick, and _ quite at the farther end of the long table, began to write his letter, with his mouth on one side, for this _ business of the Black Arrow stuck sorely in his throat. THE BLACK ARROW 33 Meanwhile, young Shelton was going on heartily — i enough with his breakfast, when he felt a touch upon his arm, and a very soft voice whispering in his ear. “Make not a sign, I do beseech you,” said the voice, “but of your charity teach me tlie straight way to Holy- wood. Beseech you, now, good boy, comfort a poor soul in peril and extreme distress, and set me so far forth upon the way to my repose.” ) “Take the path by the windmill,’ answered Dick, in the same tone; * ‘it will bring you to Till Ferry; there inquire again.’ | And without turning his head, he fell again to eat- ing. But with the tail of his eye he caught a glimpse of the young lad called ‘Master John stealthily creeping from the room. “Why,” thought Dick, “he is as young as I. ‘Good boy’ doth he call me? An I had known, I should have seen the varlet hanged ere I had told him. Well, if he goes through the fen, I may come up with him and pull his ears.’ Half an hour later, Sir Daniel gave Dick the letter, ‘and bade him speed to the Moat House. And again, some half an hour after Dick’s departure, a messenger came, in hot haste, from my Lord Risingham. | “Sir Daniel,’ the messenger said, “‘ye lose great honour, by my sooth! The fight began again this morn- ing ere the dawn, and we have beaten their van and scattered their right wing. Only the main battle stand- eth fast. An we had your fresh men, we should tilt them all into the river. What, sir knight! Will ye be the last? It stands not with your good credit.” “Nay,” cried the knight, “I was but now upon the march. Selden, sound me the tucket. Sir, I am with you on the instant. It is not two hours since the more part of my command came in, sir messenger. What would yehave? Spurring is good meat, but yet it killed the charger. Bustle, boys!” By this time the tucket was sounding cheerily in the morning, and from all sides Sir Daniel’s men poured — into the main street and formed before the inn. They had slept upon their arms, with chargers saddled, and 34. THE BLACK ARROW _ in ten minutes five-score men-at-arms and archers, _ cleanly equipped and briskly disciplined, stood ranked and ready. The chief part were in Sir Daniel’s livery, murrey and blue, which gave the greater show to their array. The best armed rode first; and away out of sight, at the tail of the column, came the sorry rein- forcement of the night before. Sir Daniel looked with pride along the line. ‘Here be the lads to serve you in a pinch,” he said. “They are pretty men, indeed,” replied the mes- senger. “It but augments my sorrow that ye had not marched the earlier.” “Well,” said the knight, ““‘what would ye? The be- ginning of a feast and the end of a fray, sir mes- senger ;’ and he mounted into his saddle. “Why! how now!” he cried. ‘John! Joanna! Nay, by the sacred rood! where is she? Host, where is that girl?” “Girl, Sir Daniel?” cried the landlord. ‘Nay, sir, I saw no girl.” “Boy, then, dotard!” cried the knight. ‘“‘Could ye not see it was a wench? She in the murrey-coloured mantle—she that broke her fast with water, rozue— - where is she?” “Nay, the saints bless us! Master John, ye called : ue him,” said the host. ‘Well, I thought none evil. Heis gone. I saw jim—her—l saw her in the stable a good hour agone; ’a was saddling a grey horse.’’ “Now, by the rood!” cried Sir Daniel, “the wench was worth five hundred pound to me and more.’ “Sir knight,” observed the messenger, with bitter- ness, “‘while that ye are here, roaring for five hundred pounds, the realm of England is elsewhere being lost and won.” “It is well said,” replied Sir Daniel. “Selden, fall me out with six cross-bowmen; hunt me her down. I care not what it cost; but at my returning, let me find i her at the Moat. House. Be it upon your head. And now, sir messenger, we march.” And the troop broke into a good trot, and Selden and his six men were left behind upon the street of _ Kettley, with the staring villagers. CHAPTER If IN THE FEN gan to ride down into the fen upon his homeward way. The sky was all blue! the jolly wind blew loud and steady; the windmill-sails were spinning; and the willows over all the fen rippling and whitening like a field of corn. He had been all night in the saddle, but his heart was good and his body sound, and he rode right merrily. The path went down and down into the marsh, till he lost sight of all the neighbouring landmarks, but Kettley windmill on the knoll behind him, and the eX-— treme top of Tunstall Forest far before. On either hand ‘there were great fields of blowing reeds and willows, pools of water shaking in the wind, and treacherous bogs,.as green as emerald, to tempt and to betray the traveller. The path lay almost straight through the morass. It was already very ancient; its foundation had been laid by Roman soldiery; in the lapse of ages much of it had sunk, and every here and there, for a few hundred yards, it lay submerged below the stag- nant waters of the fen. About a mile from Kettley, Dick came to one such break in the plain line of causeway, where the reeds and willows grew dispersedly like little islands and confused the eye. The gap, besides, was more than usually long; it was a place where any strangen might come readily to mischief; and Dick bethought him, ‘with something like a pang, of the lad whom he had so imperfectly directed. As for himself, one look back- ward to where the windmill-sails were turning black against the blue of heaven—one look forward to the high ground of Tunstall Forest, and he was sufficiently 35 T was near six in the May morning when Dick be- - 86~=~=“‘“‘é‘T AE BLACK ARROW directed anid held straight on, the water washing to. . _ his horse’s knees, as safe as on a highway. Half-way across, and when he had already sighted! a the path rising high and dry upon the farther side, © _ he was aware of a great splashing on his right, and saw © a grey horse, sunk to its belly in the mud, and still spas- © modically struggling. Instantly, as though it had ~ divined the neighbourhood of help, the poor beast be- — gan to neigh most piercingly. It rolled, meanwhile, — a blood-shot eye, insane with terror; and asit sprawled — ae wallowing in the quag, clouds of stinging insects rose : and buzzed about it in the air. “Alack!’ thought Dick, “can the poor lad have per- ished? There is his horse, for certain—a brave grey! _ Nay, comrade, if thou criest to me so piteously, I will — do all man can to help thee. Shalt not lie there to § drown by inches!” q And he made ready his crossbow, and put a quarrel 4 through the creature’s head. Dick rode on after this act of rugged mercy, some- what sobered in spirit, and looking closely about him — for any sign of his less happy predecessor in the way. ~ “TI would I had dared to tell him further,” he thought; “for I fear he has miscarried in the slough.” And just as he was so thinking, a voice cried upon _ his name from the causeway side, and looking over his shoulder, he saw the lad’s face peering from a clump of reeds. “Are ye there?” he said, reining in. “Ye lay so - elose among the reeds that I had passed you by. Isaw | -your horse bemired, and put him from his agony; which, by my sooth! an ye had been a more merciful © rider, ye had done yourself. But come forth out of | your hiding. Here be none to trouble you.” “Nay, good boy, I have no arms, nor skill to use them if I had,” replied the other, stepping forth upon the pathway. “‘Why call me ‘boy’ ?” cried Dick. “‘Y’ are not, I trow, the elder of us twain.” a “Good Master Shelton,” said the other, “prithee for- ; give me. I have none the least intention to offend. THE BLACK ARROW 37 Rather I would in every way beseech your gentleness and favour, for I am now worse bested than ever, hav- ing lost my way, my cloak, and my poor horse. To have a riding-rod and spurs, and never a horse to sit upon! And before all,” he added, looking ruefully upon © his clothes, “before all, to be so sorrily besmirched!’”’ “Tut!” cried Dick. “Would ye mind a ducking? pee of wound or dust of travel—that’s a man’s adorn- ment.”’ “Nay, then, I like him better plain,” observed the “Take my horse and I will run awhile.” lad. “But, prithee, how shall I do?. Prithee, good Master Richard, help me with your good counsel. If I come not safe to Holywood, I am undone.” “Nay,” said Dick, dismounting, “I will give more than counsel. Take my horse, and I will run awhile, and when I am weary we shall change again, that so, riding and running, both may go the speedier.” » So the change was made, and they went forward as briskly as they durst on the uneven causeway, Dick with his hand upon the other’s knee. “How call ye your name?” asked Dick. “Call me John Matcham,”’ replied the lad. K “And what make ye to Holywood?” Dick continued. “T seek sanctuary from a man that would oppress age THE BLACK ARROW _ me,” was the answer. “The good Abbott of Holywood is a strong pillar to the weak.” “And how came ye with Sir Daniel, Master Match- am?” pursued Dick. “Nay,” cried the other, “‘by the abuse of force! He hath taken me by violence from my own place; dressed . | me in these weeds; ridden with me till my heart was sick; gibed me till I could ’a’ wept; and when certain of my friends pursued, thinking to have me back, claps me in the rear to stand their shot! I was even grazed in the right foot, and walk but lamely. Nay, there shall come a day between us; he shall smart for all!’ “Would ye shoot at the moon with a hand-gun?”’ said Dick. “’Tis a valiant knight,:and hath a hand of iron. An he guessed I had made or meddled with your flight, it would go sore with me.” “Ay, poor boy,” returned the other. “Y’ are his ward, I know it. By the same token, so am J, or so he saith; or else he hath bought my marriage— I wot not rightly which; but it is some handle to oppress me by.” “Boy again!’ said Dick. “Nay, then, shall I call you girl, good Richard?’ asked Matcham. “Never a girl for me,” returned Dick. “I do abjure the crew of them!” batt “Ye speak boyishly,’’ said the other. “Ye think more of them than ye pretend.” “Not I,” said Dick, stoutly. ‘They come not in my mind. A plague of them, say I! Give me to hunt and to fight and to feast, and to live with jolly foresters. I never heard of a maid yet that was for any service, Save one only; and she, poor shrew, was burned for a witch and the wearing of men’s clothes in spite of nature.” Master Matcham crossed himself with fervour, and appeared to pray. “What make ye?” Dick inquired. “I pray for her spirit,” answered the other, with a _ somewhat troubled voice. “For a witch’s spirit?” Dick cried. “But pray for her, an ye list; she was the best wench in Europe, was — ee eee a — ee | f ‘ Ny os } i kK } | ‘i | THE BLACK ARROW 39 this Joan of Are. Old Appleyard the archer ran from her, he said, as if she had been Mahoun. Nay, she was a brave wench,” “Well, but, good Master Richard,” resumed Match- am, “‘an ye like maids so little, y’ are no true natural ‘man; for God made them twain by intention, and brought true love into the world, to be man’s hope and woman’s comfort.” “Faugh!” said Dick. “Y’ are a milk-sopping baby, so to harp on women. An ye think I be no true man, get down upon the path, and whether at fists, backsword, or bow and arrow, I will prove my manhood on your body.” “Nay, I am no fighter,” said Matcham, eagerly. “I meant no tittle of offence. I meant but pleasantry. And if I talk of women, it is because I heard ye were to marry.” “TI to marry!” Dick exclaimed. ‘‘Well, it . the first I hear of it. And with whom was I to marry?’ “One Joan Sedley,” replied Matcham, colouring. “It was Sir Daniel’s doing; he hath money to gain upon both sides; and, indeed, I have heard the poor wench bemoaning herself pitifully of the match. It seems she is of your mind, or else distasted to the bride- groom.’ “Well! marriage is like death, it comes to all,” said Dick, with resignation. “And she bemoaned herself rk I pray ye now, see there how shuttle-witted are these girls: to bemoan herself before that she had seen me? Do I bemoan myself? NotI. AnI be to marry, I will marry dry-eyed! but if ye know her, prithee, of what favour is she? fair or foul? And is she shrewish or pleasant?” F “Nay, what matters it?’ said Matcham. “An y’ are _ to marry, ye can but marry. What matters foul or | fair? These be but toys. Y’ are no milksop, Master Richard; ye will wed with dry eyes, anyhow.” “It is well said,” replied Shelton. “Little I reck.’”’ “Your lady wife is like to have a pleasant lord,” said Matcham “She ‘shall have the lord Heaven made her for,” re- 40 f THE BLACK ARROW turned Dick. “I trow there be worse as well as better.” “Ay, the poor wench!” cried the other. “And why so poor?” asked Dick. “To wed a man of wood,’ replied his companion. *O me, for a wooden husband!’ “T think I be a man of wood, indeed,” said Dick, “to trudge afoot the while you ride my horse; but it is good wood, I trow.” “Good Dick, forgive me,” cried the other. “Nay, y’ are the best heart in England; I but laughed. Forgive me now, sweet Dick.” | “Nay, no fool words,” returned Dick, a little em- barrassed by his companion’s warmth. “No harm is done. I am not touchy, praise the saints.” And at that moment the wind, which was blowing straight behind them as they went, brought them the rough fiourish of Sir Daniel’s trumpeter. “Hark!” said Dick, “the tucket soundeth.” “Ay,” said Matcham, “they have found my flight, and now I am unhorsed!” and he became pale as death. “Nay, what cheer!” returned Dick. ‘‘Y’ have a long start, and we are near the ferry. And itis I, methinks, that am unhorsed.” “‘Alack, I shall be taken!” cried the fugitive. ‘Dick, kind Dick, beseech ye help me but a little!” “Why, now what aileth thee?” said Dick. “Methinks I help you very patently. But my heart is sorry for so spiritless a fellow! And see ye here, John Matcham —sith John Matcham is your name—I, Richard Shel- ton, tide what betideth, come what may, will see you safe in Holywood. The saints so do to me again if I default you. Come, pick me up a good heart, Sir Whiteface. The way betters here; spur me the horse. Go faster! faster! Nay, mind not for me; I can run like a deer.” So, with the horse trotting hard, and Dick running easily alongside, they crossed the remainder of the fen, - and came out upon the banks of the river by the ferry- man’s hut. CHAPTER Iit THE FEN FERRY HE river Till was a wide, sluggish, clayey water, oozing out of fens, and in this part of its course | it strained among some score of willow-covered, marshy islets. It was a dingy stream: but upon this bright, spirited morning everything was become beautiful. The wind and the martens broke it up into innumerable dimples; and the reflection of the sky was scattered over all the surface in crumbs of smiling blue. | - A creek ran up to meet the path, and close under the bank the ferryman’s hut lay snugly. It was of wattle © and clay, and the grass grew green upon the roof. - Dick went to the door and opened it. Within, upon a foul old russet cloak, the ferryman lay stretched and shivering; a great hulk of a man but lean and shaken by the country fever. ih “Hey, Master Shelton,” he said, ‘‘be ye for the ferry? Til times, ill times! Look to yourself. There is a fel- lowship abroad. Ye were better turn round on your two heels and try the bridge.” “Nay; time’s in the saddle,” answered Dick. “Time will ride, Hugh Ferryman. I am hot in haste.” “A wilful man!” returned the ferryman, rising. “An ye win safe to the Moat House, y’ have done lucky; but I say no more.” And then catching sight of Matcham, “Who be this?” he asked, as he paused, blinking, on the threshold of his cabin. | ine is my kinsman, Master Matcham,” answered ick. “Give ye good day, good ferryman,” said Matcham, who had dismounted, and now came forward, leading the horse. ‘“‘Launch me your boat, I prithee; we are Al { TR, ee ah om f ‘ PUG Vas up ua USHER CaM Senate pia i ON la At as Pe FA GAN Lh A Ve abe tle hat “tal - q : xy ea ‘ yoke ON THE BLACK ARROW sore in haste.” The gaunt ferryman continued staring. “By the mass!” he cried at length, and laughed with open throat. _. Matcham coloured to his neck and winced; and Dick, with an angry countenance, put his hand on the -lout’s shoulder. ne “How now, churl!” he cried. ‘Fall to thy business, — and leave mocking thy betters.” Hugh Ferryman grumblingly undid his boat, and _ shoved it a little forth into the deep water. Then Dick led in the horse, and Matcham followed. “Ye be mortal small made, master,” said Hugh, with a wide grin; “something o’ the wrong model, belike. Nay, Master Shelton, I am for you,” he added, getting to his oars. “A cat may look ata king. I did but take a shot of the eye at Master Matcham.” cae no more words,” said Dick. “Bend me your back.” They were by that time at the mouth of the creek, and the view opened up and down the river. Every-. where it was enclosed with islands. Clay banks were falling in, willows nodding, reeds waving, martens dip-— ping and piping. There was no sign of man in the | : labyrinth of waters. “My master,” said the ferryman, keeping the boat | steady with one oar, “I have a shrewd guess that John- : a-Fenne is on the island. He bears me a black grudge to all Sir Daniel’s. How if I turned me up stream and landed you an arrow-fight above the path? Ye were best not meddle with John Fenne.”’ q ‘How, then? is he of this company?” asked Dick. | ‘Nay, mum is the word,” said Hugh. “But I would go up water, Dick. How if Master Matcham came by an arrow?” and he laughed again. ‘“‘Be it so, Hugh,” answered Dick. “Took ye, then,” pursued Hugh. “Sith it shall go be, unsling me your crossbow—so: now make it ready | —g200d3 place me a, quarrel. Ay, keep it so, and looks upon me grimly.” 4 ‘What meaneth this?” asked Dick. THE BLACK ARROW PN Wt “Why, my master, if I steal you across, it must be © under force or fear,” replied the ferryman; “for else, if John Fenne got wind of it, he were like to prove my > most distressful neighbour.” “Do these churls ride so roughly?” Dick inquired. “Do they command Sir Daniel’s own ferry?” Oh “Nay,” whispered the ferryman, winking. “Mark — me! Sir Daniel shall down. His timeis out. Heshall — down. Mum!” And he bent over his oars. | They pulled a long way up the river, turned the tail of an island, and came softly down a narrow channel next the opposite bank. Then Hugh held water in midstream, “T must land here among the willows,” he said. | “Here is no path but willow swamps and quag- mires,’ answered Dick. ye “Master Shelton,” replied Hugh, “I dare not take a ye nearer down, for your own sake now. He watcheth | me the ferry, lying on his bow. All that go by and — owe Sir Daniel goodwill, he shooteth down like rab- bits. I heard him swear it by the rood. An I had not known you of old days—ay, and from so high upward — —I would ’a’ let you go on; but for old days’ remem- brance, and because ye had this toy with you that’s not fit for wounds or warfare, I did risk my two poor ears ~ to have you over whole. Content you; I can no more, — on my salvation!” Hugh was still speaking, lying on his oars, when there came a great shout from among the willows on the island, and sounds followed as of a strong man. breasting roughly through the wood. | “A murrain!” cried Hugh. “‘He was on the upper — island all the while!” He pulled straight for the shore. “Threat me with your bow, good Dick; threat me with it plain,” he added. “I have tried to save your skins, — Save you mine!” 3 The boat ran into a tough thicket of willows with a crash. Matcham, pale, but steady and alert, atasign — ia Dick, ran along the thwarts and leaped ashore; | Dick, taking the horse by the bridle, sought to follow, — but what with the animal’s bulk, and what with the naa THE BLACK ARROW ; ; closeness of the thicket, both stuck fast. The horse _ neighed and trampled ; and the boat, which was swing- - = iL ing in an eddy, came on and off and pitched with violence. “It may not be, Hugh; here is no landing,” cried Dick; but he still struggled valiantly with the obstinate ‘thicket and the startled animal. A tall man appeared upon the shore of the island, a long-bow in his hand. Dick saw him for an instant, - with the corner of his eye, bending the bow with a ah great effort, his face crimson with hurry. “Who goes?” he shouted. “Hugh, who goes?” “Tis Master Shelton, John,” replied the ferryman. “Stand, Dick Shelton!” bawled the man upon the island. ‘Ye shall have no hurt, upon the rood! Stand! Back out, Hugh Ferryman.” Dick cried a taunting answer. pre ‘‘Nay, then, ye shall go afoot,” returned the man: and he let drive an arrow. The horse, struck by the shaft, lashed out in agony “ and terror; the boat capsized, and next moment all > _ were struggling in the eddies of the river. hen Dick came up, he was within a yard of the o bank: and before his eyes were clear, his hand had closed on something firm and strong that instantly began to drag him forward. It was the riding-rod, u that Matcham, crawling forth upon an overhanging _ willow, had opportunely thrust into his grasp. “By the mass!” cried Dick as he was helped ashore, “that makes a life I owe you. I swim like a cannon : ball.”?’ And he turned instantly towards the island. Midway over, Hugh Ferryman was swimming with ie his upturned boat, while John-a-Fenne, furious at the ill-fortune of his shot, bawled him to hurry. “Come, Jack,” said Shelton, “run for it! Ere Hugh ean hale his barge across, or the pair of ’em can get it righted, we may be out of cry.” And adding example to his words, he began to run, a dodging among the willows, and in marshy places jeaping from tussock to tussock. He had no time to _ look for his direction; -all he could do was to turn his hte Ma USCA Sal Tae AN ia ate ein plc EL PZ eh epee LTDA SRL bet HA VNTR eg Keay Or LM a? eA NY MAD Ora AN aL ae Me: it i AL RG dS RAR AR ARS lara ite AS AE i 4 ‘ THE BLACK ARROW 45 back upon the river, and put all his heart to running. Presently, however, the ground began to rise, which showed him he was still in the right way, and soon after they came forth upon a slope of solid turf, where | elms began to mingle with the willows. But here Matcham, who had been dragging far into — "i the rear, threw himself fairly down. “Leave me, Dick!’ he cried, pantingly; “I can no more.” Dick turned, and came back to where his com- panion lay. “Nay, Jack, leave tiiee!” he cried. “That were a knave’s trick, to be sure, when ye risked a shot and a ducking, ay, and a drowning too, to save my life. Drowning, in sooth; for why I did not pull you in along with me, the saints alone can tell!” “Nay,” said Matcham, “I would ’a’ saved us both, good Dick, for I can swim.” “Can ye so?” cried Dick, with open eyes. It was the one manly accomplishment of which he was him- self incapable. In the order of the things that he ad- ‘Imired, next to having killed a man in single fight came swimming. ‘Well,’ he said, “here isalessontodespise no man. I promised to care for you as far as Holy- wood, and, by the rood, Jack, y’ are more capable to care for me.” “Well, Dick, we’re friends now,” said Matcham. “Nay, 1 never was unfriends,”’ answered Dick. “Y’ | are a brave lad in your way, albeit something of a milksop, too. I never met your like before this day. © But, prithee, fetch back your breath, and let us on. Here is no place for chatter.” “My foot hurts shrewdly,” said Matcham. “Nay, I had forgot your foot,” returned Dick. ‘Well, we must go the gentlier. I would I knew rightly where we were. I have clean lost the path; yet that may be © i for the better, too. An they watch the ferry, they watch the path, belike, as well. I would Sir Daniel were back with two-score men; he would sweep me these rascals as the wind sweeps leaves. Come, Jack, lean ye on my shoulder, ye poor shrew. Nay, y’ are not Pg ae SRY UN LY oS D8) eer nad i) ii ayes we SN ee PENI NN, eth i intl say aN Ga St ATA CC LAS Nat he ht ean nat i Salle \ee ty hy Be L, al aye AG THE BLACK ARROW tall enough. What age are ye, for a wager ?—twelve?” “Nay, 1 am sixteen,” said Matcham. “Y’ are poorly grown to height then,” anowered ‘Dick. “But take my hand. We shall go softly, never fear. I owe you a life; 1 am a good repayer, Jack, of good or evil.” | They began to go forward up the slope. ee We must hit the road, early or late,” continued _ Dick; “‘and then for a fresh start. By the mass! but y’ ave a rickety hand, Jack. If I shad a hand like that, I would think shame. I tell you,’’ he went on, with a sudden chuckle, “I swear by the mass I believe Hugh _.. Ferryman took you for a maid.” “Nay, never!” cried the other, colouring high. “°A did, though, for a wager!’ Dick exclaimed. “Small blame to him. Ye look liker maid than man; and I tell ye more—y’ are a strange-looking rogue for a boy; but for a hussy, Jack, ye would be right fair—ye would. Ye would be well-favoured for a wench.” “Well,” said Matcham, “ye know right well that I am none.” “Nay, I know that; I do but jest,” said Digk. “Ye'll be a man before your mother, Jack. What cheer, my bully! Ye shall strike shrewd strokes. Now, which, I marvel, of you or me, shall be first knighted, Jack? for knighted I shall be, or die for ’t. ‘Sir Richard Shelton, Knight’: it soundeth bravely. But ‘Sir John Matcham’ soundeth not amiss.” “Prithee, Dick, stop till I drink,” said the other, pausing where a little clear spring welled out of the slope into a gravelled basin no bigger than a pocket. “And O, Dick, if I might come by anything to eat !— my very heart aches with hunger.” “Why, fool, did ye not eat at Kettley?” said Dick. “I made a vow—it was a sin I had been led into,” stammered Matcham; “but now, if it were but dry bread, I would eat it greedily.”’ “Sit ye, then, and eat,” said Dick, “while that I scout a little forward for the road.” And he took a - wallet from his girdle, wherein were bread and pieces _ of dry bacon, and, while Matcham fell heartily to, ee ae Se ee (eee ee oe ee — ' | 4 | § ' i ° PG PRE ERTL PANEL NERD SOP CL he dia) ROP Rg RW gir lage Tue thy ‘ eye THE BLACK ARROW AT struck farther forth among the trees. A little beyond there was a dip in the ground, where _ a streamlet soaked among dead leaves; and beyond that, again, the trees were better grown and stood wider, and oak and beech began to take the place of a willow and elm. The continued tossing and pouring | ‘of the wind among the leaves sufficiently concealed the sounds of his footsteps on the mast; it was for the ear what a moonless night is to the eye; but for _ all that Dick went cautiously, slipping from one big trunk to another, and looking sharply about him as he went. Suddenly a doe passed like a shadow, through the underwood in front of him, and he paused, dis- gusted at the chance. This part of the wood had been certainly deserted, but now that the poor deer had run, she was like a messenger he should have sent — before him to announce his coming; and instead of pushing further, he turned him to the nearest well- grown tree, and rapidly began to climb. Luck had served him well. The oak on which he had mounted was one of the tallest in that quarter of the wood, and easily out-topped its neighbours by a fathom and a half; and when Dick had clambered into ~ the topmost fork and clung there, swinging dizzily in — the great wind, he saw behind him the whole fenny plain as far as Kettley, and the Till wandering among ~ woody islets, and in front of him the white line of high-road winding through the forest. The boat had ~ been righted—it was even now midway on the ferry. Beyond that there was no sign of man, nor aught movy- ing but the wind. He was about to descend, when, taking a last view, his eye lit upon a string of moving _ points about the middle of the fen. Plainly a small troop was threading the causeway, and that at a good pace; and this gave him some concern as he shinned vigorously down the trunk and returned across the — wood for his companion, CHAPTER IV A GREENWOOD COMPANY ATCHAM was well rested and revived; and the two lads, winged by what Dick had seen, hurried through the remainder of the out- a ‘wood, crossed the road in safety, and began to mount into the high ground of Tunstall Forest. The trees grew more and more in groves, with heathy places in Y . between, sandy, gorsy, and dotted with old yews. The _ ground became more and more uneven, full of pits and - hillocks. And with every step of the ascent the wind Ms still blew the shriller, and the trees bent before the gusts like fishing-rods. They had just entered one of the clearings, when - Dick suddenly clapped down upon his face among the brambles, and began to crawl slowly backward towards the shelter of the grove. Matcham, in great bewilder- ment, for he could see no reason for this flight, still imitated his companion’s course; and it was not until _. they had gained the harbour of a thicket that he turned and begged him to explain. We For all reply, Dick pointed with his finger. - At the far end of the clearing, a fir grew high above the neighbouring wood, and planted its black shock of | _ foliage clear against the sky. For about fifty feet hi ~ above the ground the trunk grew straight and solid ~~ like a column. At that Jevel, it split into two massive _ boughs; and in the fork, like a mast-headed seaman, _ there stood a man in a green tabard, spying far and _. wide. The sun glistened upon his hair; with one hand he shaded his eyes to look abroad, and he kept slowly : rolling his head from side to side with the regularity of a machine. | The lads exchanged glances. 43 Wy } { “Let us try to the left,” said Dick. “We had near — fallen foully, Jack.” Ten minutes afterwards they struck into a beaten i path. remarked. “‘Where goeth me this track?” “Let us even try,” said Matcham. A few yards further the path came to the top of a — 1 SEU ans i Phat) HUANG RRM RAL EM gah MAC a ER ROLLE “Here is a piece of forest that I know not,” Dick “THE BLACK ARROW Ag gee age oa Pe Thay ee an i ee ridge and began to go down abruptly into a cup-shaped hollow. At the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering | hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single tail chimney marked the ruins Ny of a house. “What may this be?” whispered Matcham. “Nay, by the mass, I know not, ” answered Dick. : “T am all at sea. Let us go warily.” With beating hearts, they descended through the ae hawthorns. Here and there they passed signs of re- cent cultivation; fruit-trees and pot-herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden. Yet a little farther and they came forth before _ the ruins of the house. It had been a pleasant mansion and a strong. A ary i ditch was dug deep about it; but it was now choked with masonry, and bridged by afallen rafter. Thetwo farther walls still stood, the sun shining through their — empty windows; but the remainder of the building had _ collapsed, and now lay in a great cairn of ruin, grimed — with fire. Already in the interior a few plants were _— springing green among the chinks. “Now I bethink me,” whispered Dick, “this must be My Grimstone. It was a hold of one Simon Malmesbury; Sir Daniel was his bane! "Twas Bennet Hatch that — burned it, now five years agone. In sooth, ’twas pity, for it was a fair house.” Down in the hollow, where no wind blew, it was 4 both warm and still, and Matcham, laying one hand: i upon Dick’s arm, held up a warning finger. “Hist! he said. Then came a strange sound, breaking on the quiet. a An iron cauldron steamed and bubbled, and close by, in an atts- tude of listening, a battered-looking man stood poised. if It was twice repeated ere they recognized its nature. It was the sound of a big man clearing his throat; and just then a hoarse, untuneful voice broke into singing: “Then up and spake the master, the king of the outlaws: “What make ye here, my merry men, among the greenwood ; shaws?’ And Gamelyn made answer—he looked never adown: 0, they ih need to walk in wood that ay not walk in town > 9? _. The singer paused, a faint click of iron followed and - then silence. The two lads stood looking at each other. Who- ever he might be, their invisible neighbour was just : mp beyond the ruin. And suddenly the colour came into ie Netsaeeile’ s face, and next moment he had crossed the _ fallen rafter, and was climbing cautiously on the huge THE BLACK ARROW ( 51 pile of lumber that filled the interior of the roofless house. Dick would have withheld him, had he been in _ time; as it was, he was fain to follow. Right in the corner of the ruin, two rafters had fallen crosswise, and protected a clear space no larger than a pew in church. Into this the lads silently low- ered themselves. There they were perfectly concealed, and through an arrow loophole commanded a view upon the farther side. Peering through this, they were struck stiff with terror at their predicament. To retreat was impos- sible; they scarce dared to breathe. Upon the very margin of the ditch, not thirty feet from where they crouched, an iron cauldron bubbled and steamed above _ a glowing fire; and close by, in an attitude of listening, as though he had caught some sound of their clamber- ing among the ruins, a tall, red-faced, battered-looking man stood poised, an iron spoon in his right hand, a horn and a formidable dagger at his belt. Plainly this was the singer; plainly he had been stirring the caul- dron, when some incautious step among the lumber had fallen upon his ear. A little further off another man lay slumbering, rolled in a brown cloak, with a butter- fly hovering above his face. All this was in a clearing white with daisies; and at the extreme verge a bow, a sheaf of arrows, and a part of a deer’s carcase hung upon a flowering hawthorn. Presently the fellow relaxed from his attitude of attention, raised the spoon to his mouth, tasted its contents, nodded, and then fell again to stirring and singing. “‘Q, they must need to walk in wood that may not walk in town,’” he croaked, taking up his song where he had left it. “Oh, sir, we walk not here at all an evil thing to do, But haa we meet with the good king’s deer to shoot a shaft in Still as he sang, he took from time to time another spoonful of the broth, blew upon it, and tasted it, with all the airs of an experienced cook. At length, appar- Vy CRED o Laie RR ALC ALS WIT iow EOE Te OPA a rk” Bey PR ON RCS We RUS a an uur ea AR ME CaN “THE BLACK ARROW | a horn from his girdle, he blew three modulated calls. The other fellow awoke, rolled over, brushed away the butterfly, and looked about him. “How now, brother?” he said. “Dinner?” _ Ay, sot,” replied the cook, “dinner it is, and a dry dinner, too, with neither ale nor bread. But there is little pleasure in the greenwood now; time was when a good fellow could live here like a mitred abbot, set aside the rain and white frosts; he had his heart’s desire both of ale and wine. But now are men’s spirits dead, and this John Amend-All, save us and guard us! but a 4 stuffed booby to scare crows withal.” “Nay,” returned the other, “y’ are too set on meat and drinking, Lawless. Bide mh a bit; the good time cometh.” 4 AEA he judged the mess was ready, for, taking hen 4 ‘Look ye,” returned the cook, “I have even waited © for this good time sith that I was so high. I have been a grey friar; I have been a king’s archer; I have been a shipman, and sailed the salt seas; and I have been in greenwood before this, forsooth! - and shot the king’s deer. What cometh of it? Naught! I were better to have bided in the cloister. John Abbot availeth more than Amend-All. By’r Lady! here they come.” One after another, tall likely fellows began to stroll . into the lawn. Each as he came produced a knife and a horn cup, helped himself from the cauldron, and sat down upon the grass to eat. They were very variously equipped and armed; some in rusty smocks, and with nothing but a knife and an old bow; others in the height of forest gallantry, all in Lincoln green, both hood and jerkin, with dainty peacock arrows in their — belts, a horn upon a baldrick, and a sword and dagger ie _at their sides. They came in the silence of hunger, and _ gearce growled a salutation, but fell instantly to meat. _ There were, perhaps, a score of them already gath- _ ered, when a sound of suppressed cheering arose close _ by among the hawthorns, and immediately after five or - gsix woodmen carrying a ’ stretcher debouched upon the lawn. A tall, lusty fellow, somewhat grizzled, and as THE BLACK ARROW Mars! _ brown as a smoked ham, walked before them with an air of some authority, his bow at his back, a bright boar-spear in his hand. “Lads!” he cried, “good fellows all, and my right | merry friends, y’ have sung this while on a dry whistle and lived at little ease. But what said I ever? Abide Fortune constantly; she turneth, turneth swift. And. lo! here is her firstling—even that good creature, ale!” There was a murmur of applause as the bearers Set down the stretcher and displayed a goodly cask. “And now haste ye, boys,’ the man continued. “There is work toward. A handful of archers are but now come to the ferry; murrey and blue is their wear; they are our butts—they shall all taste arrows—no man of them shall struggle through this wood. For, lads, we are here some fifty strong, each man of us ‘ most foully wronged; for some they have lost lands, and some friends; and some have been outlawed—all oppressed! Who, then, hath done this evil? Sir Daniel, by the rood! Shall he then profit? shall he sit snug in our houses? shall he till our fields? shall he suck the bone he robbed us of? I trow not. He getteth him — ‘ strength at law; he gaineth cases; nay, there is one case he shall not gain—I have a writ here at my belt that, please the saints, shall conquer him.” Lawless the cook was by this time already at his sec- ond horn of ale. He raised it, as if to pledge the speake r. Paty “Master Ellis,” he said, “‘y’ are for vengeance—well ' it becometh you!—but your poor brother o’ the green- wood, that had never lands to lose nor friends to think upon, looketh rather, for his poor part, to the profit of the thing. He had liever a gold noble and a pottle of canary wine than all the vengeances in purgatory.” “Lawless,” replied the other, “to reach the Moat — House, Sir Daniel must pass the forest. We shall make that passage dearer, pardy, than any battle. | Then, when he has got to earth with such ragged handful as escapeth us—all his great friends fallen ) and fled away, and none to give him aid—we shall beleaguer that old fox about, and great shall be the ~ RAT Hoe RUNS aN be Ce Sane THN. AR ican tal CaN aA RAN eh TaN ORAL apt wha. Nh AE 30) : be RS aa ary | Ath) A ames 16 Ue a a! cP OY Oy oe \ +] aL] ht * ! f 7 j 3 Vy ig hah Rares > 4: eS | « oe ees i i I ke aw \ Ms Sh Bas oe Enea THE BLACK ARROW , fall of him. ’Tis a fat buck; he will make a dinner — for us all.” | “Ay,” returned Lawless, “I have eaten many of these dinners beforehand; but ‘the cooking of them is hot work, good Master Ellis. And meanwhile what do we? — We make black arrows, we write rhymes, and we drink fair cold water, that discomfortable drink.” “Y’ are untrue, Will Lawless. Ye still smell of the Grey Friars’ buttery; greed is your undoing,” answered Ellis. “We took twenty pounds from Appleyard. We took seven marks from the messenger last night. A day ago we had fifty from the merchant.” “And to-day,” said one of the men, “I stopped a fat -pardoner riding apace for Holywood. Here is his purse.” Ellis counted the contents. er “Five-score shillings!” he grumbled. “Fool, he had more in his sandal, or stitched into the tippet. Y’ are but a child, Tom Cuckow: ye have lost the fish.” But, for ‘all that, Ellis pocketed the purse with non- chalance. He stood leaning on his boar-spear, and looked round upon the rest. They, in various atti- tudes, took greedily of the venison pottage, and liber- ally washed it down with ale. This was a good day; they were in luck; but business pressed, and they were speedy in their eating. The first comers had by this time even despatched their dinner. Some lay down > upon the grass and fell instantly asleep, like boa-con- strictors; others talked together, or overhauled their ‘weapons; and one, whose humour was particularly gay, holding forth an ale-horn, began to sing: Bs “Here is no law in good green shaw, (Gi | Here is no lack of meat; 4 *Tis merry and quiet, with deer for our diet, In summer, when all is sweet. we “Come winter again, with wind and rain— | f Come winter, with snow and sleet, Get home to your places, with hoods on your faces, And sit by the fire and eat.” ae All this while the two lads had listened and lain en close; only Richard had unslung his crossbow, and — THE BLACK ARROW Bb held ready in one hand the windac, or grappling-iron, that he used to bend it. Otherwise they had not dared to stir; and this scene of forest life had gone on before their eyes like a scene upon a theatre. But now there came a strange interruption. The tall chimney which overtopped the remainder of the ruins rose right - above their hiding place. There came a whistle in the air, and then a sounding smack, and the fragments of a broken arrow fell about their ears. Some one from the upper quarters of the wood, perhaps the very _ sentinel they saw posted in the fir, had shot an arrow at the chimney-top. - Matcham could not restrain a little cry, which he _ instantly stifled, and even Dick started with surprise,. and dropped the windac from his fingers. But to the fellows on the lawn this shaft was an expected signal. They were all afoot together, tightening their belts, testing their bow-strings, loosening sword and dagger in the sheath. Ellis held up his hand; his face had sud- denly assumed a look of savage energy; the white of this eyes shone in his sun-brown face. “Lads,” he said, “ye know your places. Let not one man’s soul escape you. Appleyard was a whet before a meal; but now we go to table. I have three men whom I will bitterly avenge—Harry Shelton, Simon Malmesbury, and’—striking his broad bosom—‘ ‘and Ellis Duckworth, by the mass!” Another man came, red with hurry, through the thorns. “Tis not Sir Daniel!” he panted. “They are but seven. Is the arrow gone?” “It struck but now,” replied Ellis. “A murrain!” cried the messenger. ‘“‘Methought I heard it whistle. And I go dinnerless!” | In the space of a minute, some running, some walk- ing sharply, according as their stations were nearer or farther away, the men of the Black Arrow had all disappeared from the neighbourhood of the ruined house! and the cauldron, and the fire, which was now burning low, and the dead deer’s carcase on the haw- thorn, remained alone to testify they had been there. CHAPTER V | “BLOODY AS THE HUNTER” HE lads lay quiet till the last footstep had melted on the wind. Then they arose, and with many an ache, for they were weary with constraint, clambered through the ruins, and recrossed the ditch upon the rafter. Matcham had picked up the windac and went first, Dick following stiffly, with his crossbow on his arm. ‘And now,’ said Matcham, “forth to Tolwoudt “To Holywood!’ cried Dick, “when good fellows ior shot? Not I! I would see you hanged first, ac yy? : “Ye would leave me, would ye?” Matcham asked. “Ay, by my sooth!” returned Dick. “An I be not in time to warn these lads, I will go die with them. What! would ye have me leave my own men that I have lived among? I trow not! Give me my windac.” ‘es But there was nothing further from Matcham’s ‘mind “Dick,” he said, “ye sware before the saints that ye would see me safe to Holywood. Would ye be -forsworn? Would you desert me—a perjurer?” “Nay, I sware for the best,” returned Dick. “I meant it too; but now! But look ye, Jack, turn again with me. Let me but warn these men, and, if needs on ‘must, stand shot with them; then shall all be clear, and I will on again to Holywood and purge mine — ath.” : “Ye but deride me,’ answered Matcham. “These men ye go to succour are the same that hunt me to my = ruin,’ Dick scratched his head. “I cannot help it, Jack,” he said. ‘Here is no remedy. What would ye? Ye run no great peril, man; and these are in the way of 56 THE BLACK ARROW 57 death. Death!” he added. “Think of it! What a ‘murrain do ye keep me here for? Give me the windac. Saint George! shall they all die?” “Richard Shelton,’ said Matcham, looking him squarely in the face, “would ye, then, join party with Sir Daniel? Have ye not ears? Heard ye not this Ellis, what he said? or have ye no heart for your own kindly blood and the father that men slew? ‘Harry Shelton,’ he said; and Sir Harry Shelton was your father, as the sun shines in heaven.” “What would ye?” Dick cried again. “Would ye have me credit thieves?” “Nay, I have heard it before now,” returned Mat- cham. “The fame goeth currently, it was Sir Daniel © slew him. He slew him under oath; in his own house he shed the innocent blood. Heaven wearies for the avenging on’t; and you—the man’s son—ye go about to comfort and defend the murderer!” - “Jack,” cried the lad, “I know not. It may be; what © ‘know I? But, see here: This man has bred me up and fostered me, and his men I have hunted with and played among; and to leave them in the hour of peril —Q, man, if I did that, I were stark dead to honour! — Nay, Jack, ye would not ask it; ye would not wish me to be base.” | “But your father, Dick?” said Matcham, somewhat wavering. “Your father? and your oath to me? Ye took the saints to witness.” “My father?” cried Shelton. ‘Nay, he would have me go! If Sir Daniel slew him, when the hour comes this hand shall slay sir Daniel: but neither him nor his will I desert in peril. And’ for mine oath, good Jack, ye shall absolve me of it here. For the ‘lives’ | sake of many men that hurt you not, and for mine honour, ye shall set me free.” od We Dick? Never!” returned Matcham. ‘‘An ye leave me, y’ are forsworn, and so I shall declare it.” “My blood beats,” said Dick. “Give me the windac! Give it me!” | “T’ll not,” said Matcham. “I'll save you in your | teeth.” Woe SA CGO bs EU ALES ieee Gite naeaL a ene O87 Aa Sa mat 8 aan NS ( hy Ri Wy EY eh ctl ae, ee ie Sa ne Bee ARROW “Not?” eried Dick. “T’ll make you!” “Try it,’’ said the other. They stood, looking in each other’s eyes, each ready for aspring. Then Dick leaped; and though Matcham _ turned instantly and fled, in two bounds he was over- taken, the windac was twisted from his grasp, he was thrown roughly to the ground, and Dick stood across him, flushed and meracing, with doubled fist. Mat- cham lay where he had fallen, with his face in the grass, not thinking of resistance. Dick bent his bow. “T’ll teach you!” he cried fiercely. “Oath or no oath, ye may go hang for me.” And: he turned and began to run. Matcham was on his feet at once, and began running after him. | “What d’ye want?” cried Dick, stopping. “What ‘make ye after me? Stand off!” Sica “IT will follow an I please,” said Matcham. “This wood is free to me.” “Stand back, by’r Lady!” retorted Dick, raising his - ow. ) “Ah, y’are a brave boy!” retorted Matcham. “Shoot!” Dick lowered his weapon in some confusion. “See here,’? he said. “Y’ have done me ill enough. Go, then. Go your own way in fair wise; or, whether I will or not, I must even drive you to it.” 4 “Well,” said Matcham, doggedly, “y’ are the — stronger. Do your worst. I shall not leave to fol- — low thee, Dick, unless thou makest me,” he added. { _. Dick was almost beside himself. It went against ~ his heart to beat a creature so defenceless; and, for ~ the life of him, he knew no other way to rid himself - of this unwelcome, and, as he began to think, perhaps — - untrue companion. a) “Y”’ are mad, I think,” he cried. “Fool-fellow, lam — hastening to your foes; as fast as foot can carry me, — go | thither.” a “T care not, Dick,” replied the lad. “If y’ are bound ~ _ to die, Dick, Pil die too. I would liever go with you to | prison than to go free without you.” 4 “Well,” returned the other, “I may stand no longer ; THE BLACK ARROW 59 prating. Follow me, if ye must; but if ye play me false, it shall but little advance you, mark ye that. Shalt have a quarrel in thine inwards, boy.” So saying, Dick took once more to his heels, keep- ing in the margin of the thicket, and looking briskly about him as he went. At a good pace he rattled out of the dell, and came again into the more open quar- ters of the wood. To the left a little eminence ap- peared, spotted with golden gorse, and crowned with a black tuft of firs. “TI shall see from there,” he thought, and struck for it across a heathy clearing. He had gone but a few yards, when Matcham touched him on the arm and pointed. To the eastward of the ~ summit there was a dip, and, as it were, a valley pass- ing to the other side; the heath was not yet out; all the ground was rusty, like an unscoured buckler, and dotted sparingly with yews; and there, one following another, Dick saw half a score green jerkins mounting the ascent, and marching at their head, conspicuous by his boar-spear, Ellis Duckworth in person. One | after another gained the top, showed for a moment against the sky, and then dipped upon the further side, until the last was gone. Dick looked at Matcham with a kindlier eye. “So y’ are to be true to me, Jack?” he asked. “I thought ye were of the other party.” Matcham began to sob. “What cheer!” cried Dick. ‘“‘Now the saints behold us! would ye snivel for a word?” “Ye hurt me,” sobbed Matcham. “Ye hurt me when _ ye threw mé down. Y’ are a coward to abuse your — strength.” “Nay, that is fool’s talk,” said Dick, roughly. ‘Y’ had no title to my windac, Master John. I would ’a’ done right to have well basted you. If ye go with me, ye must obey me; and so, come.” Matcham had half a thought to stay behind; but, — seeing that Dick continued to scour full-tilt towards the eminence, and not so much as looked across his shoulder, he soon thought better of that, and began to t WEN URES CaS WABCO AR WON MS tf NMR SL ava Hy ie Nay shh ra 60 HE BLACK ARROW run in turn. But the ground was very difficult and _ steep; Dick had already a long start, and had, at any rate, the lighter heels, and he had long since come to _ the summit, crawled forward through the firs and en- - gsconced himself in a thick tuft of gorse, before Match- am, panting like a deer, rejoined him, and lay down in silence by his side. ; Below, in the bottom of a considerable valley, the _ short cut from Tunstall hamlet wound downwards to _ the ferry. It was well beaten, and the eye followed it _ easily from point to point. Here it was bordered by - open glades; there the forest closed upon it; every _ hundred yards it ran beside an ambush. Far down the path, the sun shone on seven steel salets, and from _ time to time, as the trees opened, Selden and his men - could be seen riding briskly, still bent upon Sir Daniel’s mission. The wind had somewhat fallen, but still - tussled merrily with the trees, and, perhaps, had _ Appleyard been there, he would have drawn a warn- ing from the troubled conduct of the birds. “Now, mark,” Dick whispered. “They be already - well advanced into the wood; their safety lieth rather - In continuing forward. But see ye where this wide _ glade runneth down before us, and in the midst of it, _ these two-score trees make like an island? There were their safety. An they but come sound as far as that, I will make shift to warn them. But my heart mis- _ giveth me; they are but seven against so many, and _ they but carry cross-bows. The long-bow, Jack, will - have the uppermost ever.” 7 __ Meanwhile, Selden and his men still wound up the - path, ignorant of their danger, and momently drew nearer hand. Once, indeed, they paused, drew into a - group, and seemed to point and listen. But it was something from far away across the plain that had arrested their attention—a hollow growl of cannon _ that came, from time to time, upon the wind, and told of the great battle. It was worth a thought, to be _ sure; for if the voice of the big guns were thus become - audible in Tunstall Forest, the fight must have rolled _ ever eastward, and the day, by consequence, gone sore THE BLACK ARROW 61 against Sir Daniel and the lords of the dark rose. But presently the little troop began again to move forward, and came next to a very open, heathy portion of the way, where but a single tongue of forest ran down to join the road. They were but just abreast of this, when an arrow shone flying. One of the men threw up his arms, his horse reared, and both fell and struggled together in a mass. Even from where the boys lay they could hear the rumour of the men’s voices crying out; they could see the startled horses prancing, and, presently, as the troop began to recover from their first surprise, one fellow beginning to dis- mount. A second arrow from somewhat farther off glanced in a wide arch; a second rider bit the dust. The man who was dismounting lost hold upon the rein, and his horse fled galloping, and dragged him by the foot along the road, bumping from stone to stone, and battered by the fleeing hoofs. The four who still kept the saddle instantly broke and scattered; one wheeled — and rode, shrieking, towards the ferry; the other three, © with loose rein and flying raiment, came galloping up the road from Tunstall. From every clump they passed an arrow sped. Soon a horse fell, but the rider found his feet and continued to pursue his comrades till a sec- ond shot despatched him. Another man fell; then another horse; out of the whole troop there was but one fellow left, and he on foot; only, in different direec- tions; the noise of the galloping of three riderless horses was dying fast into the distance. | All this time not one of the assailants had for a moment showed himself. Here and there along the path, horse or man rolled, undespatched, in his agony; but no merciful enemy broke cover to put them from their pain. | The solitary survivor stood bewildered in the road — beside his fallen charger. He had come the length of that broad glade, with the island of timber, pointed ~— out by Dick: He was not, perhaps, five hundred yards from where the boys lay hidden; and they could © see him plainly, looking to and fro in deadly expecta- tion. But nothing came; and the man began to pluck ie tate eo eC Aa eS OR Poe is) Ree RIP e ee i elm itm a OR ee ROR Am he rm JS TN ASE SFE SAD ROLE T ae aT ANOS ‘ ys ie [ae Te ‘a w banat aN 4 aR st Ray Wy BEANS Bie ag fh aj Va Whlr 7h Yee Sa A raat HG : Hh h APRA LUN NY (2h Hi POR oy MN AW Ngiag eeitist MPI Re rae Wy Bani rots ion ; Pu ae! NA eR) LAN On Ss MER OAR ATOE wep We! y HH Shaw pabaNeT) aor Ng reiye) y Wha - - \ 62 +~«+‘THE BLACK ARROW — up his courage, and suddenly unslung and bent his bow. At the same time, by something in his action, Dick recognized Selden. At this offer of resistance, from all about him in the covert of the woods there went up the sound of laughter. A score of men, at least, for this was the very thickest of the ambush, joined in this cruel and untimely mirth. Then an arrow glanced over Sel- den’s shoulder; and he leaped and ran a little back. Another dart struck quivering at his heel. He made _ for the cover. A third shaft leaped out right in his face, and fell short in front of him. And then the - Jaughter was repeated loudly, rising and re-echoing _ from different thickets. It was plain that his assailants were but baiting him, as men, in those days, baited the poor bull, or as the cat still trifles with the mouse. The skirmish ‘was well over; farther down the road a fellow in green was already ealmly ‘gathering the arrows; and iG now, in the evil pleasure of their hearts, they gave themselves the spectacle of their poor fellow-sinner in his torture. _ Selden began to understand; he uttered a roar of anger, shouldered his crossbow and sent a quarrel at a venture into the wood. Chance favoured him, for a slight cry responded. Then, throwing down his ‘weapon, Selden began to run before him up the glade, and almost in a straight line for Dick and Matcham. The companions of the Black Arrow now began to shoot in earnest. But they were properly served; their chance had passed; most of them had now to shoot against the sun; and Selden, as he ran, bounded from side to side to baffle and deceive their aim. Best of all, by turning up the glade he had defeated their preparations; there were no marksmen posted higher up than the one whom he had just killed or wounded; and the confusion of the foresters’ counsels soon be- came apparent. A whistle sounded thrice, and then again twice. It was repeated from another quarter. The woods on either side became full of the sound of 4 people bursting through the underwood; and a be-— af THE BLACK ARROW 63 wildered deer ran out into the open, stood for a second on three feet, with nose in air, and then plunged again into the thicket. Selden still ran, bounding; ever and again an arrow followed him, but still would miss. It began to appear as if he might escape. Dick had his bow armed, ready to support him; even Matcham, forgetful of his interest, took sides at heart for the poor fugitive, and both lads glowed and trembled in the ardour of their hearts. He was within fifty yards of them, when an arrow struck him, and he fell. He was up again, indeed, upon the instant; but now he ran staggering, and, like a blind man, turned aside from his direction. Dick leaped to his feet and waved to him. “Here!” he cried. “This way! here is help! Nay, run, fellow—run!” But just then a second arrow struck Selden in the shoulder, between the plates of his brigandine, and, — piercing through his jack, brought him, like a stone, to earth. ; Bee the poor heart!”’ cried Matcham, with clasped ands. | And Dick stood petrified upon the hill, a mark for archery. Ten to one he had speedily been shot—for the foresters were furious with themselves, and taken un- awares by Dick’s appearance in the rear of their position—but instantly out of a quarter of the wood surprisingly near to the two lads, a stentorian voice arose, the voice of Ellis Duckworth. “Hold!” it roared. “Shoot not! Take him alive! It is young Shelton—Harry’s son.” And immediately after, a shrill whistle sounded several times, and was again taken up and repeated farther off. The whistle, it appeared, was John Amend-All’s battle trumpet, by which he published | his directions. “Ah, foul fortune!” cried Dick. ‘‘We are andes | Swiftly, Jack, come swiftly!” And the pair turned and ran back through the open pine clump that covered the summit of the hill. CHAPTER VI TO THE DAY’S END. T was, indeed, high time for them to run. On every side the company of the Black Arrow was making for the hill. Some, being better runners, or having open ground to run upon, had far out- o There followed next a piece of open, which Dick ng i Matcham limping with his injured foot, they pulled ~ _ themselves together, and once more pelted down the © a low thicket of evergreen. High overhead, the tall 4 _. trees made a continuous roof of foliage. It was a. _pillared grove, as high as a cathedral, and, except for — stripped the others, and were already close upon the goal; some, following valleys, had spread out to right and left, and outflanked the lads on either side. Dick plunged into the nearest cover. It was a tall grove of oaks, firm under foot and clear of under- brush, and as it lay down hill, they made good speed. -avoided, holding to his left. Two minutes after, and the same obstacle arising, the lads followed the same course. Thus it followed that, while the lads, bend- ing continually to the left, drew nearer and nearer to _ the high road and the river which they had crossed an hour or two before, the great bulk of their pur- — suers were leaning to the other hand and running to- wards Tunstall. : The lads paused to breathe. There was no sound of pursuit. Dick put his ear to the ground, and still ~ there was nothing; but the wind, to be sure, still made ~ a turmoil in the trees, and it was hard to make certain. — “On again!” said Dick; and, tired as they were, hill. My Three minutes later, they were breasting through © the hollies among which the lads were struggling, a , ai t ¥; aa Tie pas A) or THE BLACK ARROW —~Ssé«SSS open and smoothly swarded. On the other side, pushing through the last fringe of evergreen, they blundered forth again into the open twilight of the grove. “Stand!” cried a voice. , And there, between the huge stems, not fifty feet before them, they beheld a stout fellow in green, sore blown with running, who instantly drew an arrow to the head and covered them. Matcham stopped with > a cry; but Dick, without a pause, ran straight upon the forester, drawing his dagger as he went on. The other, whether he was startled by the daring of the onslaught, or whether he was hampered by his orders, did not shoot: he stood wavering; and before he had time to come to himself, Dick bounded at his throat, and sent him’sprawling backward on the turf. The arrow went one way and the bow another with a sounding twang. The disarmed forester grappled his assailant; but the dagger shone and descended twice. Then came a couple of groans, and then Dick rose to his feet again, and the man lay motionless, stabbed to the heart. “On!” said Dick; and he once more pelted forward, Matcham trailing in the rear. To say truth, they made but poor speed of it by now, labouring dismally as they ran, and catching for their breath like fish. Matcham had a cruel stitch, and his head swam; and as for Dick, his knees were like lead. But they kept up the form of running with undiminished courage. Presently they came to the end of the grove. It stopped abruptly; and there, a few yards before them, was the high-road from Risingham to Shoreby, lying ~ at this point between two even walls of forest. TG At the sight Dick paused; and as soon as he stopped running, he became aware of a confused noise, which rapidly grew louder. It was at first like the rush of a | very high gust of wind, but it soon became more definite, and resolved itself into the galloping of ‘ horses; and then, in a flash, a whole company of men-at-arms came driving round the corner, swept before the lads, and were gone again upon the instant. — _ the colours of Earl Risingham, and he knew that the 4 & pie Xs 66 ‘THE BLACK ARROW They rode as for their lives, in complete disorder; — some of them were wounded: riderless horses galloped _at their side with bloody saddles. They were plainly — fugitives from the great battle. ) The noise of their passage had scarce begun to die ~ away towards Shoreby, before fresh hoofs came echo- — ing in their wake, and another deserter clattered — down the road; this time, a single rider, and, by his — splendid armour, a man of high degree. Close after him there followed several baggage-waggons, fleeing at an ungainly canter, the drivers flailing at the horses as if for life. These must have run early in the day; but their cowardice was not to save them. For just before they came abreast of where the lads stood won- dering, 2 man in hacked armour, and seemingly beside himself with fury, overtook the waggons, and with the truncheon of a sword began to cut the drivers down. Some leaped from their places and plunged into the woods; the others he sabred as they sat, eursing them the while for cowards in a voice that was scarce human. All this time the noise in the distance had continued — to increase; the rumble of carts, the clatter of horses, _ and cries of men, a great, confused rumour, came ~ swelling on the wind; and it was plain that the rout © of a whole army was pouring, like an inundation, down ~ the road. 4 ‘Dick stood sombre. He had meant to follow the — ‘highway till the turn for Holywood, and now he had © to change his plan. But above all, he had recognized ~ battle had gone finally against the rose of Lancaster. — Had Sir Daniel joined, and was he now a fugitive © and ruined? or had he deserted to the side of York, — and was he forfeit to honour? It was an ugly choice. ~ “Come,” he said, sternly; and, turning on his heel, © he began to walk forward through the grove, with hi Matcham limping in his rear. | ‘- For some time they continued to thread the forest / in silence. It was now growing late; the sun was © setting in the plain beyond Kettley; the ‘tree-tops over- THE BLACK ARROW | 67 head glowed golden; but the shadows had begun to grow darker ajid the chill of the night to fall. If there was anything to eat!” cried Dick, sud- ‘denly, pausing as he spoke. Matcham sat down and began to weep. Ye Cah weep for your own supper, but when it was to Save men’s lives, your heart was hard enough,” said Dick, contemptuously. “Y’ ’ave seven deaths upon ‘your conscience, Master John; I’ll ne’er forgive _ : you that.” | 7 Conscience!” cried Matcham, looking fiercely up. “Mine! And ye have the man’s red blood upon your ‘dagger! And wherefore did ye slay him, the poor soul? He drew his arrow, but he let not fly; he held you in his hand, and spared you! ’Tis as brave to kill a kitten as a man that not defends himself.” Dick was struck dumb. Of slew him fair. I ran me in upon his bow,” he tried. He “It was a coward blow,” returned Matcham. “Y’ are but a lout and bully, Master Dick; ye but abuse advantages; let there come a stronger, we will see you truckle at his boot! Ye care not for vengeance, neither—for your father’s death that goes unpaid, | and his poor ghost that clamoureth for justice. But — if there come but a poor creature in your hands that lacketh skill and strength, and would befriend you, down she shall go!” Dick was too furious to observe that “she.” “Marry!” he cried, ‘‘fand here is news! Of any two the one will still be stronger. The better man throweth the worse, and the worse is well served. Ye deserve a belting, Master Matcham, for your ill- } guidance and unthankfulness to me-ward; and what © ye deserve ye shall have.” Pais ve And Dick, who, even in his angriest temper, still . preserved the appearance of composure, began to un- \, - buckle his belt. Qaeae ¢ “Here shall be your supper,” he said, grimly. A A Matcham had stopped his tears; he was as white ~— as a sheet, but he looked Dick steadily in the face, Ba Oe UE eA eee Peas te ee Wea! Be ROM WAT Stee toa Eb SON ate RTE OD AUN Feed adie YoY i” Wagers Ake aa hind Leakey Tut OME FUL Ni uN ie NIA oR ot i 4 MTT aR A TAL CORR cart ARC NN ood PS aa 4 bicot A TRUE Se , ; ; 68 ne a Matcham winced, and drew himself together so cruel an apprehension, that his heart failed hi a irresolute, feeling like a fool. ie be so feeble of hand, ye should keep the closer guard upon your tongue. But I’ll be hanged before I beat Peed never moved, Dick took a step belt. Then he paused, embarrassed by a and the thin, weary face of his companio : cruel! I be lame; I be weary; I resist not; ~ not,” he continued; “but forgive you?—never. I know ye not; ye were my master’s enemy; I ‘lent you my wey age began to subside. “Say ye were in the wrong, then,” he sai “Nay,’ said Matcham, “I was in the righ did thee hurt; come, beat me—coward!” Dick raised the belt at this last provocation, yet again. The strap fell by his side, and he stoo “A plague upon thee, shrew!” he said. ’ “An ye you!” and he put on his belt again. “Beat you I will horse; my dinner ye have eaten; y’ ’ave called me aman o’ wood, a coward, and a bully. Nay, by the mass! the measure is filled, and runneth over. Tis a great thing to be weak, I trow; ye can do your worst, yet. shall none punish you; ye may steal a man’s weapons in the hour of need, yet may the man not take his own again;—y’ are weak, forsooth! Nay, then, if one cometh charging at you with a lance, and - erieth he is weak, ye must let him pierce your body through! Tut! fool words?” “And yet ye beat me not,” returned Matcham. “Let be,” said Dick—‘“let be. I will instruct you. Y’ ’ave been ill-nurtured, methinks, and yet ye have the makings of some good, and, beyond all question, - gaved me from the river. Nay, I had forgotten it; I : am as thankless as thyself. But, come, let us on. An we be for Holywood this night, ay, or to-morrow , early, we had best set forward speedily.” But though Dick had talked himself back into his ) usual good-humour, Matcham had forgiven him | nothing. His violence, the recollection of the forester h whom he had slain—above all, the vision of the up- THE BLACK ARROW es raised belt, were things not easily to be forgotten. “JT will thank you, for the form’s sake,” said Matcham. “But, in sooth, good Master Shelton, I had liever find my way alone. Here is a wide wood; prithee, let each choose his path; I owe you a dinner and a lesson. Fare ye well!” “Nay,” cried Dick, “if that be your tune, so be it, and a plague be with you!” Each turned aside, and they began walking off sev- erally, with no thought of the direction, intent solely on their quarrel. But Dick had not gone ten paces er his name was called, and Matcham came running after. “Dick,” he said, “it were unmannerly to part so coldly. Here is my hand, and my heart with it. For all that wherein you have so excellently served and helped me—not for the form, but from the heart, I thank you. Fare ye right well.” | “Well, lad,” returned Dick, taking the hand which was offered him, “good speed to you, if speed you may. But I misdoubt it shrewdly. Y’ are too dis- putatious.” So then they separated for the second time; and presently it was Dick who was running after Matcham. “Here,” he said, “take my crossbow; shalt not go | unarmed.” _ “A crossbow!” said Matcham. “Nay, boy, I have neither the strength to bend nor yet the skill to aim with it. It were no help to me, good boy. But yet I thank you.” The night had now fallen, and under the trees they could no longer read each other’s face. “T will go some little way with you,” said Dick. “The night is dark. I would fain leave you on a path, at least. My mind misgiveth me, y’ are likely to be lost.” | Without any more words, he began to walk for- ward, and the other once more followed him. The blackness grew thicker; only here and there, in the open places, they saw the sky, dotted with small stars. mike Sahay eaten We A ae in Rd Oy a ir, it a Aa nie BT er) Ks PAP } : WRAL St > aie 70 ‘THE BLACK ARROW In the distance, the noise of the rout of the Lancas- — trian army still continued to be faintly audible; but — with every step they left it farther in the rear. At the end of half an hour of silent progress they — came forth upon a broad patch of heathy open. It -glimmered in the light of the stars, shaggy with fern — and islanded with clumps of yew. And here they _ paused and looked upon each other. i “*Y? are weary?’ Dick’ said. “Nay, I am so weary,” answered Matcham, “that methinks I could lie down and die.” “T hear the chiding of a river,” returned Dick. “Let us go so far forth, for I am sore athirst.” The ground sloped down gently, and, sure enough, — in the bottom, they found a little murmuring river, © running among willows. Here they threw themselves | down together by the brink; and putting their mouths — to the level of a starry pool, they drank their fill. : “Dick,” said Matcham, “it may not be. I can no © more.” — “IT saw a pit as we came down,” said Dick. “Let us lie down therein and sleep.” “Nay, but with all my heart!’ cried Matcham. The pit was sandy and dry; a shock of brambles — hung upon one edge, and made a partial shelter; and © there the two lads lay down, keeping close together — for the sake of warmth, their quarrel all forgotten. — And soon sleep fell upon them like a cloud, and under — the dew and stars they rested peacefully. if CHAPTER VII THE HOODED FACE HEY awoke in the grey of the morning; the birds were not yet in full song, but twittered here and there among the woods; the sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was barred with solemn colours. Half-starved and over-weary as they were, they lay without moving, sunk in a delightful lassitude. And as they thus lay, the clang of a bell < fell suddenly upon their ears. “A bell!” said Dick, sitting up. “Can we be, then, — so near to Holywood 2 A little after, the bell clanged again, but this time somewhat nearer hand; and from that time forth, and still drawing nearer and nearer, it continued to sound brokenly abroad in the silence of the morning. ‘Nay, what should this betoken?” said Dick, who was now broad awake. “It is someone walking,” returned Matcham, “and the bell tolleth ever as he moves.” “IT see that well,’ said Dick. “But wherefore? What maketh he in Tunstall Woods? Jack,” he added, “laugh at me an ye will, but I like not the hollow sound of it.” “Nay,” said Matcham, with a shiver, “it, hath a doleful note. An the day were not come——” But just then the bell, quickening its pace, began to ring thick and hurried, and then it gave a single hammering jangle, and was silent for a space. “Tt is as though the bearer had run for a pater-. noster-while, and then leaped the river,” Dick ob- served. | “And now beginneth he again to pace soberly for- ward,’ added Matcham. 71 72 HE BLACK ARROW “Nay,” returned Dick—‘nay, not so soberly, Jack. ’"Tis a man that walketh yon right speedily. ’Tis a — - man in some fear of his life, or about some hurried ~ business. See ye not how swift the beating draweth near?” | “It is now close by,” said Matcham. They were now on the edge of the pit; and as the ~ pit itself was on a certain eminence, they commanded ~ a view over the greater proportion of the clearing, — Vay up to the thick woods that closed it in. The daylight, which was very clear and grey, showed them a riband of white footpath wandering ~ among the gorse. It passed some hundred yards from the pit, and ran by the whole length of the clearing, east and west. By the line of its course, Dick judged it should lead more or less directly to the Moat House. Upon this path, stepping forth from the margin of the wood, a white figure now appeared. It paused a little, and seemed to look about; and then, at a slow pace, and bent almost double, it began to draw near across the heath. At every step the bell clanged. Face it had none; a white hood, not even pierced with eyeholes, veiled the head; and as the creature moved, it seemed to feel its way with the tapping of a stick. Fear fell upon the lads, as cold as death. “A leper!” said Dick, hoarsely. “His touch is death,” said Matcham. “Let us run.” — “Not so,” returned Dick. “See ye not?—he is ane a blind. He guideth him with a staff. Let us lie stills — the wind bloweth towards the path, and he will go by. Hl and hurt us not. Alas, poor soul, and we should rather pity him!’’ “I will pity him when he is by,” replied Matcham. — The blind leper was now about half-way towards é them, and just then the sun rose and shone full on his — veiled face. He had been a tall man before he was 2, - bowed by his disgusting sickness, and even now he ~ walked with a vigorous step. The dismal beating of his bell, the pattering of the stick, the eyeless screen a before his countenance, and the knowledge that he — was not only doomed to death and suffering, but shut a ‘bw uf Wi wer 7 - PPO 37 ance Gael ey eC ere es OL ae ae Pes er aa TEN sate Va pee BS A ) PAR Ys oa thar 4 q7%h ee} kof Vt year it ; i y ei i \ Pee he ‘ + ny ean ie ay? eer fe *, ih d v ea) yea A a ot vf fp : ‘ a1 Fee DY : ; : _¥ Y > , vai , eds, , fi V thas al YI v n, iy THE BLACK ARROW 73 out for ever from the touch of his fellowmen, filled the lads’ bosoms with dismay; and at every step that brought him nearer, their courage and strength seemed to desert them. As he came about level with the pit, he paused, and turned his face full upon the lads. “Mary be my shield! He sees us!” said Matcham, faintly. “Hush!” whispered Dick. “He doth but hearken. He is blind, fool!” The leper looked or listened, whichever he was really Y oF nee 4, y y pos a4 Gs aaa“ ify Migs? : 7 ¢ if ; iJ om ' A tz “A leper!” said Dick, hoarsely. - doing, for some seconds. Then he began to move on ‘at be not stopped! Oh Aaa Be Ait eat AS CA ie OMI OE ES oS ie gaat Od oc LTA) Wl foe y Sa eal TT ehia ee ee a ', she (4 air me i Ay ge hie ri Wee Rae abet tae 0h a i et Dai Ms Ne) iE a bene N m ci A Sy aN WR Vg he . Pat SA Nee RSE aK Ay RCI sate ay . Naas ane ay Nc (hae SCAN oO Sad RRA 2M UR Woe fe ue : P| Si : hve uN Woy ‘ Re Sa tat) 5 Favs , y Wag ae ' . ¥ ‘ x r \ v7 é G74) | SHE BLACK hoe again, but presently paused once more, and again turned and seemed to gaze upon the lads. Even Dick became dead-white and closed his eyes, as if by the mere sight he might become infected. But soon the bell sounded, and this time, without any further hesi- tation, the leper crossed the remainder of the little heath and disappeared into the covert of the woods. “He saw us,” said Matcham. ‘I could swear it!” “Tut!” returned Dick, recovering some sparks of courage. “He but heard us. He was in fear, poor soul! An ye were blind, and walked in a perpetual or a bird cried ‘Peep.’ ”’ “Dick, good Dick, he saw us,” repeated Matcham. “When a man hearkeneth, he doth not as this man; he doth otherwise, Dick. This was seeing; it was not hearing. He means foully. Hark, else, if his bell $7? ~ Such was the case. The bell rang no longer. } night, ye would start yourself, if ever a twig rustled © “Nay, said Dick, “I like not that. Nay,’ he cried > again, “I like that little. What may this betoken? Let us go, by the mass!” “He hath gone east,” added Matcham. ‘Good Dick, let us go westward straight. I shall not breathe till I have my back turned upon that leper.” “Jack, y’ are too cowardly,” replied Dick. “We shall go fair for Holywood, or as fair, at least, as I can : hi guide you, and that will be due north.” . They were afoot at once, passed the stream upon. some stepping stones, and began to mount on the - other side, which was steeper, towards the margin of the wood. The ground became very uneven, full of knolls and hollows; trees grew scattered or in clumps; it became difficult to choose a path, and the lads some- i what wandered. They were weary, besides, with yes- terday’s exertions and the lack of food, and they nk pees but heavily and dragged their feet among the * gan ‘Presently, coming to the top of a knoll, they were a _ aware of the leper, some hundred feet in front of THE BLACK ARROW 75 them, crossing the line of their march by a hollow. His bell was silent, his staff no longer tapped the ground, and he went before him with the swift and assured footsteps of @ man who sees. Next moment he had disappeared into a little thicket. The lads, at the first glimpse, had crouched behind a tuft of gorse; there they lay, horror-struck. “Certain, he pursueth us,” said Dick—‘‘certain. He held the clapper of his bell in one hand, saw ye? that it should not sound. Now may the saints aid and guide us, for I have no strength to combat pestilence!’’ “What maketh he?’ cried Matcham. “What doth he want? Who ever heard the like, that a leper, out of mere malice, should pursue unfortunates? Hath he not his bell to that very end, that people may avoid him? Dick, there is below this something deeper.” “Nay, I care not,” moaned Dick; “the strength is gone out of me; my legs are like water. The saints = be mine assistance!” “Would ye lie there idle?” cried Matcham. ‘Let us back into the open. We have the better chance; he cannot steal upon us unawares.” “Not I,” said Dick. “My time is come; and per- adventure he may pass us by.” “Bend me, then, your bow!” cried the other. “What! will ye be a man?” Dick crossed himself. “Would ye have me shoot upon a leper?” he cried. “The hand would fail me. Nay, now,” he added—‘“nay, now, let be! With sound men I will fight, but not with ghosts and lepers. Which this is, I wot not. One or other, Heaven be our protection!’ “Now,” said Matcham, “if this be man’s courage, what a poor thingis man! But sith ye will do naught, let us lie close.” Then came a single, broken jangle on the bell. = “He hath missed his hold upon the clapper,” whis- pered Matcham. ‘Saints! how near he is!’ But Dick answered never a word; his teeth were near chattering. | Soon they saw a piece of the white robe between — \ Vi eh ; PACLPONUELY a Fei ag wie ve are EL Ae bin © TAMA Ud OL) a eee UA AL PRY RS kl AWA SS RE aD La UR a hae al Tae ke AS Ny yore a BER M NTUSVUA ORAM SW SOL an PAUL ans PIA ANSE NS MCR OE OC SMR EOL ITU NCLIAA YG CME HO CRUT ECE PAILS omy } a ee UR NARS UNCON LETRA q : WRAY SRN gy {eas Vepiate rit “y APN Waa ath tie AN {pay a WN? OS) ; MK irks Sed ; ; fi 76 'THE BLACK ARROW _ -some bushes; then the leper’s head was thrust forth — _ from behind a trunk, and he seemed narrowly to scan ~ _. the neighbourhood before he once again withdrew. — _ To their stretched senses the whole bush appeared ~ alive with rustlings and the creak of twigs; and they heard the beating of each other’s heart. Suddenly, with a cry, the leper sprang into the open fi; close by, and ran straight upon the lads. They, shrieking aloud, separated and began to run different ways. But their horrible enemy fastened upon Matcham, ran him swiftly down, and had him almost instantly a prisoner. The lad gave one scream that — echoed high and far over the forest, he had one spasm of struggling, and then all his limbs relaxed, and he fell limp into his captor’s arms. Dick heard the cry and turned. He saw Matcham ( fall; and on the instant his spirit and his strength revived. Withacry of pity and anger, he unslung and bent his arblast. But ere he had time to shoot, the Ly leper held up his hand. “Hold your shot, Dickon!” cried a familiar voice. “Hold your shot, mad wag! Know ye not a friend?’ And then laying down Matcham on the turf, he undid the hood from off his face, and disclosed the features of Sir Daniel Brackley. “Sir Daniel!” cried Dick. “Ay, by the mass, Sir Daniel!” returned the knight. “Would ye shoot your guardian, rogue? But here is yh ARIS ”” And here he broke off, and pointing to Matcham, asked—‘How call ye him, Dick?” “Nay, said Dick. “I call him Master Matcham. Know ye him not? He said ye knew him!” “Ay,” replied Sir Daniel, ‘I know the lad;” and he - ehuckled. “But he has fainted; and, by my sooth, he might have had less to faint for. Hey, Dick? Did I - put the fear of death upon you?” “Indeed, Sir Daniel, ye did. that,” said Dick, and sighed again at the mere recollection. “Nay, sir, sav- ing your respect, I had as lief ’a’ met the devil in person; and to speak the truth, I am yet all a-quake. But what made ye, sir, in such a guise?” _ Ve Uma LAMA Mer eT Tah Wade OMe TD OEY GS ORR! atl, NORURE Tye Altes ptt, STR ‘ ifion o- = het & 24 a aie by’ ¥ i} a tN ¥, AY ty Wy gy Ae PUAaY fy ay 7} a9 bs bf tp ? ULEAre v hl, Ase E bly ‘ 9 ' ‘ ¢ 7 THE BLACK ARROW 17 Sir Daniel’s brow grew suddenly black with anger. “What made I?” he said. ‘Ye do well to mind me of it! What? I skulked for my poor life in my own wood of Tunstall, Dick. We were ill sped at the battle; we but got there to be swept among the rout. | Where be all my good men-at-arms? Dick, by the mass, I know not! We were swept down; the shot fell thick among us; I have not seen one man in my own colours since I saw three fall. For myself, I came sound to Shoreby, and being mindful of the Black Arrow, got me this gown and bell, and came ' softly by the path for the Moat House. There is no disguise to be compared with it, the jingle of this bell would scare me the stoutest outlaw in the forest; they would all turn pale to hear it. At length I came by you and Matcham. I could see but evilly through this same hood, and was not sure of you, being chiefly, and for many a good cause, astonished — ui at the finding you together. Moreover, in the open, where I had to go slowly and tap with my staff, I feared to disclose myself. But see,” he added, “this poor shrew begins a little to revive. A little good canary will comfort the heart of it.” The knight, from under his long dress, produced a stout bottle, and began to rub the temples and wet the lips of the patient, who returned gradually to con- sciousness, and began to roll dim eyes from one to another. “What cheer, Jack!” said Dick. “It was no leper, after all; it was Sir Daniel! See!’ “Swallow me a good draught of this,” said the knight. “This will give you manhood. Thereafter, I will give you both a meal, and we shall all three on to Tunstall. For, Dick,” he continued, laying forth bread and meat upon the grass, “I will avow to you, in all good conscience, it irks me sorely to be safe between __ four walls. Not since I backed a horse have I been pressed so hard; peril of life, jeopardy of land and rie livelihood, and to sum up, all these losels in the wood to hunt me down. But I be not yet shent. Some of my lads will pick me their way home. Hatch hath ten 43. «~=*=é<‘<‘«‘«S EE BLACK ARROW | fellows; Selden, he had six. Nay, we shall soon be — strong again; and if I can but buy my peace with my — _ right fortunate and undeserving Lord of York, why, : Dick, we'll be a man again and go a-horseback! pr And so saying, the knight filled himself a horn of canary, and pledged his ward in dumb show. “Selden,” Dick faltered—‘“Selden ” And he --paused again. Sir Daniel put down the wine untasted. | . “How!” he cried, in a changed voice. “Selden? — $peak! What of Selden?” - Dick stammered forth the tale of the ambush and the massacre. The knight heard in silence; but as he listened his countenance became convulsed with rage and grief. ai *““Now here,” he cried, ‘fon my right hand, I swear to avenge it! If that I fail, if that I spill not ten men’s souls for each, may this hand wither from my body! I broke this Duckworth like a rush; I beggared him to his door; I burned that thatch above his head; I drove him from this country; and now, cometh he back to beard me? Nay, but, Duckworth, this time it shall go bitter hard!’ He was silent for some time, - his face working. “Eat!” he cried, suddenly. “And you here,” he added to Matcham, “swear me an oath to follow straight to the Moat House.” : “I will pledge mine honour,” replied Matcham. “What make I with your honour,” replied the knight. “Swear me upon your mother’s welfare!” Matcham gave the required oath; and Sir Daniel re- adjusted the hood over his face, and prepared his bell and staff. To see him once more in that appalling travesty somewhat revived the horror of his two com- - panions. But the knight was soon upon his feet. Ke “Hat with despatch,” he said, “‘and follow me yarely to mine house.” _ And with that he set forth again into the woods; ' and presently after the bell began to sound, number- _ ing his steps, and the two lads sat by their untasted meal, and heard it die slowly away up-hill into the’ distance. THE BLACK ARROW 79 “And so ye go to Tunstall?” Dick inquired. OO “Yea, verily,” said Matcham, ‘when needs must! I am braver behind Sir Daniel’s back than to his face.” They ate hastily, and set forth along the path through the airy upper levels of the forest, where great beeches stood apart among green lawns, and the birds and squirrels made merry on the boughs: Two hours later, they began to descend upon the other side, and already, among the tree-tops, saw before them the red walls and roofs of Tunstall House. | | “Here,” said Matcham, pausing, “ye shall take your leave of your friend Jack, whom y’ are to see no more. Come, Dick, forgive him what he did amiss, as he, for his part, cheerfully and lovingly forgiveth you.” “And wherefore so?” asked Dick. “An we both go to Tunstall, I shall see you yet again, I trow, and that right often.” : “Ye’ll never again see poor Jack Matcham,” replied the other, “that was so fearful and burthensome, and yet plucked you from the river; ye’ll not see him more, Dick, by mine honour!’ He held his arms open, and the lads embraced and kissed. “And, Dick,” continued Matcham, “‘my spirit bodeth ill. Y’ are now to see a new Sir Daniel; for heretofore hath all prospered in his hands exceedingly, and fortune followed him; but now, methinks, when his fate has come upon him, and he runs the adventure of his life, he will prove but a foul lord to both of us. He may be brave in battle, but he ~ hath the liar’s eye; there is fear in his eye, Dick, and fear is as cruel as the wolf! We go down into that — house, Saint Mary guide us forth again!’ | And so they continued their descent in silence, and — came out at last before Sir Daniel’s forest stronghold, where it stood, low and shady, flanked with round — towers and stained with moss and lichen, in the lilied — waters of the moat. Even as they appeared, the doors — ft were opened, the bridge lowered, and Sir Daniel him- __ self, with Hatch and the parson at his side, stood ready to receive them. san PL ONO Ty | ¥; 1 a) \ ye! i Bay Ack Wik ek a ett ID) NN aan Wey Lats Bi Wy A Uy Ee a i WS es TC I ee pet ee eats Oe Ni Ae ES to a? Be Vey ae Ware wt a ees ae POSER SUS SUNT DUT AT Atha” (ORL Re tS Moke EUS a a Anta Cf, SARRUERLR SANA Wid Bi See SAMY Be fi hres UD Mae eat & : Ao! BEB ‘ if ‘ shee ( “ easy rye ‘* BOOK II THE MOAT HOUSE CHAPTER I DICK ASKS QUESTIONS iy HE Moat House stood not far from the rough aha forest road. Externally it was a compact rect- is angle of red stone, flanked at each corner by a round tower, pierced for archery and battlemented at thetop. Within, it inclosed a narrow court. The moat ' was perhaps twelve feet wide, crossed by a single - drawbridge. It was supplied with water by a trench, _ leading to a forest pool, and commanded, through its whole length, from the battlements of the two south- - ern towers. Except that one or two tall and thick trees had been suffered to remain within half a bowshot of _ the walls, the house was in a good posture for defence. _ In the court, Dick found a part. of the garrison, _ busy with preparations for defence, and gloomily dis- - eussing the chances of a siege. Some were making arrows, some sharpening swords that had long been pesed but even as they worked, they shook their heads " Twelve of Sir Daniel’s party had escaped the battle, run the gauntlet through the wood, and come alive to the Moat House. But out of this dozen, three had been gravely wounded: two at Risingham in the dis- order of the rout, one by John Amend-All’s marksmen as he crossed the forest. This raised the force of the garrison, counting Hatch, Sir Daniel, and young Shel- ton, to twenty-two effective men. And more might be - eontinually expected to arrive. The danger lay not, _ therefore, in the lack of men. ‘the spirits of the garrison. For their open foes of the party of York, in these most changing times, they felt but a far-away concern. “The world,” as people said 80 ras OY, WSR A My ee eat It was the terror of the black arrow that oppressed . ; a? é i Ae eo - Tk an he A hh BS OSUE 8 oe FAC LG Rew, cee lr dad TER PY Pree 1 SiSSL MAS ae RC al Md A Lia a i at a “ils ‘a4 tie / ‘ é : " un oF RO THE BLACK ARROW 81a in those days, “might change again” before harm came. But for their neighbours in the wood they . trembled. It was not Sir Daniel alone who was a mark for hatred. His men, conscious of impunity, had carried themselves cruelly through all the country. Harsh commands had been harshly executed; and of the little band that now sat talking in the court, there was not one but had been guilty of some act of op- pression or barbarity. And now, by the fortune of war, Sir Daniel had become powerless to protect his — instruments ; now, by the issue of some hours of battle, - at which many of them had not been present, they ~ had all become punishable traitors to the State, out- side the buckler of the law, a shrunken company in a Hf poor fortress that was hardly tenable, and exposed upon all sides to the just resentment of their victims. Nor had there been lacking grisly advertisements of Bal what they might expect. Ke At different periods of the evening and the night, no fewer than seven riderless horses had come neigh- ue ing in terror to the gate. Two were from Selden’s ~ troop; five belonged to men who had ridden with Sir Daniel to the field. Lastly, a little before dawn, a Spearman had come staggering to the moat-side, pierced by three arrows; even as they carried him in, his spirit had departed; but by the words that he uttered in his agony, he must have been the last sur- vivor of a considerable company of men. A the Hatch himself showed under his sun-brown, the pallor of anxiety; and when he had taken Dick aside and learned the fate of Selden, he fell on a stone bench and fairly wept. The others, from where they sat on 8 stools or doorsteps in the sunny angle of the court, looked at him with wonder and alarm, but none ven- tured to inquire the cause of his emotion. ie “Nay, Master Shelton,” said Hatch at last—“nay, but what said 1? We shall all go. Selden wasa man ~ of his hands; he was like a brother to me. Well, he | has gone second; well, we shall all follow! For what said their knave rhnyme?—‘A black arrow in each black | heart.’ Was it not so it went? Appleyard, Selden, — 92 THE BLACK ARROW ™ Smith, old Humphrey gone; and there lieth poor Joti Carter, crying, poor sinner, for the priest.” Dick gave ear. Out of a low window, hard by where they were talking, groans and murmurs came to his ear. “Lieth he there?” he asked. “Ay, in the second porter’s chamber,” answered Hatch. “We could not bear him farther, soul and _ body were so bitterly at odds. At every step we lifted him, he thought to wend. But now, methinks, it is the soul that suffereth. Ever for the priest he crieth, and - Sir Oliver, I wot not why, still cometh not. ’Twill be a long shrift; but poor Appleyard and poor Selden, they had none.” Dick stooped to the window and looked in. The little cell was low and dark, but he could make out the _ wounded soldier lying moaning on his pallet. “Carter, poor friend, how goeth it?” he asked. “Master Shelton,” returned the man, in an excited | whisper, “for the dear light of heaven, bring the priest. Alack, I am sped: I am brought very low down; my hurt is to the death. Ye may do me no more Service; _ this shall be the last. Now, for my poor soul’s interest, and as a loyal gentleman, bestir you; for I have that matter on my conscience that shall drag me deep.” He groaned, and Dick heard the grating of his teeth, whether in pain or terror. Just then Sir Daniel appeared upon the threshold _ of the hall. He had a letter in one hand. “Lads,” he said, “we have had a shog, we have had a tumble; wherefore, then, deny it? Rather it im- - puteth to ‘get speedily again to saddle. This old Harry _ the Sixt has had the undermost. Wash we, then, our hands of him. I have a good friend that rideth next _ >the duke, the Lord of Wensleydale. Well, I have writ - a letter to my friend, praying his good lordship, and offering large satisfaction for the past and reasonable surety for the future. Doubt not but he will lend a a tone i ear. A prayer beens gifts oe like a song Co at Se ees “= k,n ae eae i > — er s- Se z = < eS ye ES SS a tind Se et Pe ee ee ee . =e =e ae Pe ST ee Me DO iy Si ya ae ee ee ee Ale a ty Hie tele Oe pa 2 Mae ay : : a <)! eye it nyt THE BLACK ARROW 83 a great thing—wherefore should I deceive you?—a great thing and a difficult: a messenger to bear it. The woods—y’ are not ignorant of that—lie thick with our ill-willers. Haste is most needful; but without sleight and caution all is nought. Which, then, of this company will take me this letter, bear it to my Lord of Wensleydale, and bring me the answer back?’ One man instantly arose. | “T will, an’t like you,” said he. “I will even risk my carcase.” | | “Nay, Dicky Bowyer, not so,” returned the knight. “Tt likes me not. Y’ are sly, indeed, but not speedy. Ye were a laggard ever.” “An’t be so, Sir Daniel, here am I,” cried another. “The saints forfend!” said the knight. “Y’ are _ speedy, but not sly. Ye would blunder me headfore- — most into John Amend-All’s camp. I thank you both for your good courage; but, in sooth, it may not be.” vires Hatch offered himself, and he also was re-~* fused. | “IT want you here, good Bennet; y’ are my right hand, indeed,” returned the knight; and then several coming forward in a group, Sir Daniel at length se- lected one and gave him the letter. | “Now,” he said, “upon your good speed and better discretion we do all depend. Bring me a good answer back, and before three weeks I will have purged my forest of these vagabonds that brave us to our faces. But mark it well, Throgmorton: the matter is not easy. Ye must steal forth under night, and go like a fox; and how ye are to cross the Till I know not, neither by the bridge nor ferry.” “T can swim,” returned Throgmorton. “I will come soundly, fear not.” | “Well, friend, get ye to the buttery,” replied Sir Daniel, ‘Ye shall swim first of all in nut-brown ale.” And with that he turned back into the hall. “Sir Daniel hath a wise tongue,” said Hatch, aside, to Dick. “See, now, where many a lesser man had glossed the matter over, he speaketh it out plajaly to his company. Here is a danger, ’a saith, and here LAN > 2 PR RA ass BAe eh “UCT an eR 5 W " 1 a aut ad i A THE BLACK ARROW difficulty : and jesteth in the very saying. Nay, be - Saint Barbary, he is a born captain! Not a man but int ’ he is some deal heartened up! See how they fall again to work.” } a This praise of Sir Daniel put a thought in the lad’s ~ head. . Me “Bennet,” he said, “how came my father by his - end? 9 4 _ “Ask me not that,” replied Hatch. “I had no hand ; ! - nor knowledge in it; furthermore, I will even be silent, _ Master Dick. For look you, in a man’s own business, there he may speak; but of hearsay matters and of common talk, not so. Ask me Sir Oliver—ay, or Car- ter, if ye will; not me.” ( And Hatch set off to make the rounds, leaving Dick in a muse. A “Wherefore would he not tell me?” thought the 4 jad. “And wherefore named he Carter? ,Carter—nay, ‘ then Carter had a hand in it, perchance.” He entered the house, and passing some little way | 4 along a flagged and vaulted passage, came to the door of the cell where the hurt man lay groaning. At his ~ entrance Carter started eagerly. ; ‘“‘Have ye brought the priest?” he cried. 4 “Not yet awhile,” returned Dick. “Y’ ’ave a word ~ to tell me first. How came my father, Harry Shelton, i ‘by his death?” a The man’s face altered instantly. “I know not,” he replied, doggedly. “Nay, ye. know well,’ returned Dick, “Seek not to put me by.” “T tell you I know not, ” repeated Carter. “Then,” said Dick, “ye shall die unshriven. Here aml, and here shall stay. There shall no priest come near you, rest assured. For of what avail is penitence, an ye have no mind to right those wrongs ye had a hand in? and without penitence, confession is but . mockery.” “Ye say what ye mean not, Master Dick,” said Car- ter, ecnmposedly. ‘It is ill threatening the dying, and _ becometh you (to speak truth) little. And for as little ye , 9 eu ve ey Pad rah, Aye beets Sy ah AR ia as Serr erie: wt me rf ¥ ' THE BLACK ARROW Peanee. as it commends you, it shall serve you less. Stay,an _ ye please. Ye will condemn my soul—ye shall learn nothing! There is my last word to you.” And the wounded man turned upon the other side. Now, Dick, to say truth, had spoken hastily, and was ashamed of his threat. But he made one more effort. | “Carter,” he said, “mistake me not. I know ye were but an instrument in the hands of others; a churl must obey his lord; I would not bear heavily on such an one. But I begin to learn upon many sides that this great duty lieth on my youth and ignorance, to avenge my father. Prithee, then, good Carter, set aside the memory of my threatenings, and in pure lan and honest penitence, give me a word of e 39 The wounded man lay silent; nor, say what Dick pleased, could he extract another word from him “Well,” said Dick, “I will go call the priest to you as ye desired; for howsoever ye be in fault to me or mine, I would not be willingly in fault to any, least © of all to one upon the last change.” | Again the old soldier heard him without speech or motion; even his groans he had suppressed; and as_ Dick turned and left the room, he was filled with admiration for that rugged fortitude. “And yet,” he thought, “of what use is courage without wit? Had his hands been clean, he would have spoken; his silence did confess the secret louder than words. Nay, upon all sides, proof floweth on me. Sir Daniel, he or his men, hath done this thing.” Dick paused in the stone passage with a heavy, heart. At that hour, in the ebb of Sir Daniel’s fortune, when he was beleaguered by the archers of the Black Arrow, and proscribed by the victorious Yorkists, was Dick, also, to turn upon the man who had nourished and | | i taught him, who had severely punished indeed, but yet unwearyingly protected his youth? The necessity, if it should prove to be one, was cruel. | “Pray Heaven he be innocent!” he said. } And then steps sounded on the flagging, and Sir * 86. THE BLACK ARROW Oliver came gravely towards the lad. “One seeketh you earnestly,” said Dick. a “T am upon the way, good Richard,” said the priest. | “It is this poor Carter. Alack, he is beyond cure.’ “ “And yet his soul is sicker than his body,” answered — - Dick. a “Have ye seen him?” asked Sir Oliver, with a mani- Poo ofest start. : “T do but come from him,” replied Dick. | “What said he—what said he?” snapped the priest, if with extraordinary eagerness. } ‘He but cried for you the more piteously, Sir Oliver. 1 _ It were well done to go the faster, for his hurt is © grievous,’ returned the lad. 4 _ *¥ am straight for him,” was the reply. “Well, we — have all our sins. We must all come to our latter day, — good Richard.” ’ “Ay, sir; and it were well if we all came fairly,” an- swered Dick. : The priest dropped his eyes, and with an inaudible benediction hurried on. “He, too!” thought Dick—“‘he, that taught me in piety! Nay, then, what a world is this, if all that care for me be blood- guilty of my father’s death! Ven- geance! Alas! what a sore fate is mine, if I must be avenged upon my friends!’ a The thought put Matcham in his head. He smiled — at the remembrance of his strange companion, and ~ _ then wondered where he was. Ever since they had ~ come together to the doors of the Moat House the — younger lad had disappeared, and Dick began to weary for a word with him. About an hour after, mass being somewhat hastily run through by Sir Oliver, the company gathered in — the hall for dinner. It was a long, low apartment, — strewn with green rushes, and the walls hung with ~ arras in a design of savage men and questing blood- — hounds; here and there hung spears and bows and ~ bucklers; a fire blazed in the big chimney; there were t arras-covered benches round the wall, and in the midst his the table, fairly spread, awaited the arrival of the “a ¢4 bie ‘ L ‘ a Ten att jr ¥ 4 7 wok +7 eh 4 diners. Neither Sir Daniel nor his lady made their appearance. Sir Oliver himself was absent, and here © iN again there was no word of Matcham. Dick began to grow alarmed, to recall his companion’s melancholy forebodings, and to wonder to himself if any foul play had befallen him in that house. “Ah, Master Dick, y’ have a famous bright eye in your head, to be sure!” After dinner he found Goody Hatch, who was ie : rying to my lady Brackley. “Goody,” he said, “where is Master Matcham, I prithee? I saw ye go in with him when we arrived.” ni The old. woman laughed aloud. “Ah, Master Dick,” she said, “y’ have a famous Weigel W STL te RT eT EP Re ae AAR TA te PM A Wea OO ee 4 ty aie %4 hy ip uA gE NEN ete 1G ee mR eRe ae J Pid hing ne 5 ; UME a Nar f THE BLACK ARROW — 87 Mae oe 88 ~~‘ THE BLACK ARROW again. — “Nay, but where is he, indeed ? 2” persisted Dick. “Ye will never see him more,” she returned; “never. It is sure.” “An I do not,” returned the lad, “I will know the reason why. He came not hither of his full free will; such as I am, I am his best protector, and I will see him justly used. There be too many mysteries; I do _ begin to weary of the game!” But as Dick was speaking, a heavy hand fell on his - gshoulder.. It was Bennet Hatch that had come unper- - eeived behind him. With a jerk of his thumb the _ retainer dismissed his wife. “Friend Dick,” he said, as soon as they were alone, Ao are ye a moonstruck natural? An ye leave not cer- ' tain things in peace, ye were better in the salt sea than here in Tunstall Moat House. Y’ have questioned me; y’ have baited Carter; y’ have frightened the jack- _ priest with hints. Bear ye more wisely, fool; and even how, when Sir Daniel calleth you, show me a smooth face, for the love of wisdom. Y’ are to be sharply questioned. Look to your answers.” ¥ “Hatch,” returned Dick, “in all this I smell a guilty conscience.” “An ye go not the wiser, ye will soon smell blood,” replied Bennet. “I do but warn you. And here cometh ae one to call you.” _ And indeed, at that very moment, a messenger came au across the court to summon Dick into the presence of ane Daniel. _ bright eye in your head, to be sure!” and Jaughed : CHAPER II THE TWO OATHS S DANIEL was in the hall; there he paced angrily before the fire, awaiting Dick’s arrival. None was by except Sir Oliver, and he sat discreetly back- ward, thumbing and muttering over his breviary. - . “Y’ have sent for me, Sir Daniel?” said young Shel- on. | “T have sent for you, indeed,” replied the knight. “For what cometh to mine ears? Have I been to you so heavy a guardian that ye make haste to credit ill ~ of me? Or sith that ye see me, for the nonce, some worsted, do ye think to quit my party? By the mass, your father was not so! Those he was near, those he stood by, come wind or weather. But you, Dick, y’ are — a fair-day friend, it seemeth, and now seek to clear yourself of your allegiance.” “An ’t please you, Sir Daniel, not so,” returned Dick, , firmly. “I am grateful and faithful, where gratitude and faith are due. And before more ig said, I thank you, and I thank Sir Oliver; y’ have great claims upon me, both—none can have more; I were a hound if I forgot them.” “It is well,” said Sir Daniel; and then, rising into anger: “Gratitude and faith are words, Dick Shelton,” he continued; “but I look to deeds. In this hour of my — peril, when my name is attainted, when my lands are ~ forfeit, when this wood is full of men that hunger and — thirst for my destruction, what doth gratitude? What — doth faith? I have but a little company remaining; | is it grateful or faithful to poison me their hearts with your insidious whisperings? Save mefrom such grati- _ tude! But, come, now, what is it ye wish? Speak; we are here to answer. If ye have aught against me, 89 " Py Sen sal, pe Oe a Bal on Ope NAS Bhi Sam Lie Petals ee ere eee Le vm Pam yk: th os Oy ie ta RA ep POT Pee eet RN A Ly ane MD OAAP hee 1D Yes haw, Re Bey , \ ; 4 PAL aaa eee ? A ey eh gh ’ : \. - f 4 4 a \ a ; ' n i ab j { : : , Pi pe } Ay che Pa * : oie” ; Fes oe 90 THE BLACK ARROW — - stand forth and say it.” “Sir,” replied Dick, “my father fell when I was yet . a child. It hath come to mine ears that he was foully : a done by. It hath come to mine ears—for I will not dis- semble—that ye had a hand in his undoing. And in all __verity,—I shall not be at peace of mine own mind, nor — very clear to help you, till I have certain resolution of these doubts.” sir Daniel sat down in a deep settle. He took his chin in his hand and looked at Dick fixedly. “And ye think I would be guardian to the man’s son _ that I had murdered?” he asked. “Nay,” said Dick, ‘pardon me if I answer churl- - ishly; but indeed ye know right well a wardship is most profitable. All these years have ye not enjoyed my revenues, an led my men? Have ye not still my : . marriage? I w.t not what it may be worth—it is worth something. Pardon me again; but if ye were base enough to slay a man under trust, here were, perhaps, reasons enough to move you to the lesser - _baseness.” ‘‘When I was a lad of your years,’ returned Sir Daniel, sternly, “my mind had not so turned upon sus- picions. And Sir Oliver here,” he added, “why should oS he, a priest, be guilty of this act?” + *Nay, Sir Daniel,’ said Dick, “but where the master _ -biddeth, there will the dog go. It is well known this - - priest is but your instrument. I speak very freely; the time is not for courtesies. Even as I speak, so would I be answered. And answer get I none! Ye but put more questions. I rede ye beware, Sir Daniel; _ for in this way ye will but nourish and not satisfy my, doubts.”’ “J will answer you fairly, Master Richard,” said the - knight. “Were I to pretend ye have not stirred my wrath, I were no honest man. But I will be just even - + in anger. Come to me with these words when y’ are grown and come to man’s estate, and I am no longer your guardian, and so helpless to resent them. Come to me then, and I will answer you as ye merit, with a : _ buffet in the mouth. ‘Till then ye have two courses: “) f 2 i ( Mi " : a THE BLACK ARROW 91 either swallow me down these insults, keep a silent ~~ tongue, and fight in the meanwhile for the man that fed and fought for your infancy; or else-—the door standeth open, the woods are full of mine enemies— go.” The spirit with which these words were uttered, the looks with which they were accompanied, staggered Dick; and yet he could not but observe that he had got no answer. “I desire nothing more earnestly, Sir Daniel, than to believe you,” he replied. “Assure me ye are free from this.” “Will ye take my word of honour, Dick?” inquired, the knight. “That would I,” answered the lad. “I give it you,” returned Sir Daniel. “Upon my word of honour, upon the eternal welfare of my spirit, | and as I shall answer for my deeds hereafter, I had no — hand nor portion in your father’s death.”’ He extended his hand, and Dick took it eagerly. Neither of them observed the priest, who, at the pro- _ - nunciation of that solemn and false oath, had half arisen from his seat in an agony of horror and remorse. “Ah,” cried Dick, “ye must find it in your great- © heartedness to pardon me! I was a churl indeed to doubt of you. But ye have my hand upon it; I will doubt no more.’ “Nay, Dick,” replied Sir Daniel, “y’ are forgiven. Ye know not the world and its calumnious nature.” : “T was the more to blame,” added Dick, “in that the Nba pointed, not directly at yourself, but at Sir iver As he spoke, he turned towards the priest, and ago, paused in the middle of the last word. This tall, ruddy, corpulent, high-stepping man had fallen, you might say, to pieces; his colour was gone, his limbs were re- laxed, his lips stammered prayers; and now, when Dick’s eyes were fixed upon him suddenly, he cried out paid, like some wild animal, and buried his face in his ands. Sir Daniel was by him in two steers and shook him > we ae yee st ca pee ca at on eed a MP GaN oda UES NPAT Pal VN SUA UE a gt ee RL Wy, CURE hy Ae a Oe Sa a a eo A ME BOW. Pe ith Sp UA TN GOH: SMe cua al pl PAA Bh hw Dediky hay sen Ya LC 2) hey ‘ t + i i Dt 2p ; " W hes (ati ; pt tye q . 4 ry ‘ia ; Pay, Wi “a a , f yyy: : ea Pa OR a ait), x 4 aA ot x AY Wy | 1 & Mas at it thy «i A) ; ‘ ft ij 4 f 5 ZA . f HUH Y Ai ( Naa se ote | hg Lip SYM 2A | | if fy iS , ei pigs Med 1 i io, Wie 4 HUE . 7, f (\ 4a Sa j if WS’ WEE ee 4s AS g ef ‘ ae “Whence came that shot?” asked the knight. fiercely by the shoulder. At the same moment Dick’s suspicions reawakened. _ “Nay,” he said, “Sir Oliver may swear also. *T'was him they accused.”’ _“He shall swear,” said the knight. | ‘ Sir Oliver speechlessly waved his arms. , a “Ay, by the mass! but ye shall swear,” cried Sir 7 _ Daniel, beside himself with fury. “Here, upon this A book, ye shall swear,” he continued, picking up the 4 _ breviary, which had fallen to the ground. ‘What! OMG OY oe TROT SUE Sasa taro bhp, pet bas > : igs VR. THE BLACK ARROW 93 Ye make me doubt you! Swear, I say; swear.” But the priest was still incapable of speech. His terror of Sir Daniel, his terror of perjury, risen to about an equal height, strangled him. And just then, through the high stained-glass win- dow of the hall, a black arrow crashed, and struck, and stuck quivering in the midst of the long table. Sir Oliver, with a loud scream, fell fainting on the rushes; while the knight, followed by Dick, dashed into the court and up the nearest corkscrew stair to the battlements. The sentries were all on the alert. The sun shone quietly on green lawns dotted with trees, and on the wooded hills of the forest which enclosed the view. There was no sign of a besieger. | “Whence came that shot?” asked the knight. + reve yonder clump, Sir Daniel,’ returned a sen-— inel. The knight stood a little, musing. Then he turned to Dick. “Dick,” he said, “keep me an eye upon these men; I leave you in charge here. As for the priest, he shall clear himself, or I will know the reason why. do almost begin to share in your suspicions. He shall swear, trust me, or we shall prove him guilty.” Dick answered somewhat coldly, and the knight, giv- ing him a piercing glance, hurriedly returned to the hall. His first glance was for the arrow. It was the first of these missiles he had seen, and as he turned it to and fro, the dark hue of it touched him with some fear. Again there was some writing: one word— “Earthed.” | “Ay,” he broke out, “they know I am home, then. Earthed! Ay, but there is not a dog among them fit — to dig me out.” “Sir Oliver had come to himself, and now scrambled to his feet. ‘“Alack, Sir Daniel!’’ he moaned, “y’ ’ave sworn a dread oath; y’ are doomed to the end of time.” “Ay,” returned the knight, “I have sworn an oath, indeed, thou chuckle-head; but thyself shalt swear a _ greater. It shall be on the blessed cross of Holywood. Look to it; get the words ready. It shall be sworn to-night,” 94 ~~ ‘THE BLACK ARROW “Now, may Heaven lighten you!” replied the priest; ‘may Heaven incline your heart from this iniquity!” _ “Took you, my good father,” said Sir Daniel, “if | - y’ are for piety, I say no more; ye begin late, that is all. Butif y’ are in any sense bent upon wisdom, hear me. This lad beginneth to irk me like a wasp. I have a need for him, for I would sell his marriage. But I tell you, in all plainness, if that he continues to weary “me, he shall go join his father. I give orders now to i _ change him to the chamber above the chapel. If that ye can swear your innocency with a good solid oath and an assured countenance, it is well; the lad will be at peace a little, and I will spare him. If that ye stam- mer or blench, or anyways boggle at the swearing, he me will not believe you; and by the mass, he shall die. _ There is for your thinking on.” “The chamber above the chapel!” gasped the priest. | “That same,” replied the knight. ‘So if ye desire to save him, save him; and if ye desire not, prithee, go to, and let me be at peace! For an I had been an hasty man, I would already have put my sword through you, for your intolerable cowardice and folly. Have ye chosen? Say!’ “I have chosen,” said the priest. “Heaven pardon me, I will do evil for good. I will swear for the lad’s . sake.” “So is it best!” said Sir Daniel. “Send for him then, speedily. Ye shall see him alone. Yet I shall have an eye on you. I shall be here in the panel room.” ae The knight raised the arras and let it fall again be- _ hind him. There was the sound of a spring opening; _ then followed the creaking of trod stairs. i Sir Oliver, left alone, cast a timorous glance upward at the arras-covered wall, and crossed himself with every appearance of terror and contrition. “Nay, if he is in the chapel room,” the priest mur- mured, “were it at my soul’s cost, I must save him.” Three minutes later, Dick, who had been summoned . _ by another messenger, found Sir Oliver standing by the hall table, resolute and pale. “Richard Shelton,” he said, “ye have required an uy epi +) het “™ et: 4 eo =4 gene ‘ E E : aS et ia a ss = (a See eee ee eS eee te = ee OS tw ey, ee eS LO a ae aN i, pee 54 - ¥ = IT ASH Cua SS eee oe eee ee ee eee ee Ez veo a F 7 Pe erry if 4.78 WN # a “PL wre ‘ 47 PERL MEE ATTRA BAL RUHR wf IT RT TL MN) yc REO ’ Cae * if ee Ae ae? a) eae ” 4 : 4 . > i 4 } : , / THE BLACK ARROW Pi Ga oath from me. I might complain, I might deny you; but my heart is moved toward you for the past, and I will even content you as ye choose. By the true cross of Holywood, I did not slay your father.” i" “Sir Oliver,” returned Dick, “when first we read John Amend-All’s paper, I was convinced of so much. But suffer me to put two questions. Ye did not slay him; granted. But had ye no hand in it?” “None,” said Sir Oliver. And at the same time he began to contort his face, and signal with his mouth > and eyebrows, like one who desires to convey a Warn- ing, yet dared not utter a sound. Dick regarded him in wonder; then he turned and looked all about him at the empty hall. “What make ye?” he inquired. “Why, naught,” returned the priest, hastily smooth- ing his countenance. ‘I make naught; I do but suffer; I am sick. I—IJ—prithee, Dick, I must be gone. On the true cross of Holywood, I am clean innocent alike of violence or treachery. Content ye, good lad. Fare- well!” And he made his escape from the apartment with unusual alacrity. i Dick remained rooted to the spot, his eyes -wander- ing about the room, his face a changing picture of vari- ous emotions—wonder, doubt, suspicion and amuse-- ment. Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion | took the upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. He raised his head, and, as he did so, violently started. High upon the wall there was the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. With one hand he held a horn to his mouth; in the other he - brandished a stout spear. His face was dark, for he was meant to represent an African. Now here was what startled Richard Shelton. The sun had moved away from the hall windows, and at — _ the same time the fire had blazed up high on the wide | hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and hangings. In this light the figure of the black hunter _ had winked at him with a white eyelid. He continued staring at the eye. The light shone aes THE BLACK ARROW — TSP ARYA othe RG RN ENS APRA OR BLE REINS LY BHA NU AG PES A YA a AC ee ai te Dh heres. i" hin ty As the white eyelid closed upon it for a fraction of a sec- | _ ond, and the next moment it was gone. ‘There could be no mistake. The live eye that had And instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his posi- tion. Hatch’s warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him from the wall, ran to- gether in his mind. He saw he had been put upon his trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of some miracle, he was lost. ie ba cannot get me forth out of this house,” he thought, “I am a dead man! And this poor Matcham, too—to what a cockatrice’s nest have I not led him!” He was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help in changing his arms, his cloth- ing, and his two or three books, to a new chamber. “A new chamber?” he repeated. “Wherefore so? ~ What chamber?” “*Tis one above the chapel,” answered the messen- ger. “It hath stood long empty,” said Dick, musing. “What manner of room is it?” Tt “Nay, a brave room,” returned the man. “But yet’ _ —lowering his voice—‘they call it haunted.” “Haunted?” repeated Dick, with a chill. “I have not heard of it. Nay, then, and by whom?” The messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, “‘By the sacrist of St. J ohn’ s,” he said. ‘“They -had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning— whew !—he was gone. The devil had taken him, they said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before.” Dick followed the man with black forebodings. upon it like a gem; it was liquid, it was alive. Again ' A Ape watching him through an hole in the tapestry — - wasgone. The firelight no longer shone on a reflecting - surface. ee ee Hy CHAPTER III THE ROOM OVER THE CHAPEL ROM the battlements nothing further was ob- served. The sun journeyed westward and at last went down; but to the eyes of all these eager - sentinels, no living thing appeared in the neighbour- - hood of Tunstall House. When the night was at length fairly come, Throg- - morton was led to a room overlooking an angle of the moat. Thence he was lowered with every precaution; | the ripple of his swimming was audible for a brief — period; then a black figure was observed to land by _ the branches of a willow and crawl away among the - grass. For some half hour Sir Daniel and Hatch stood eagerly giving ear; but all remained quiet. The mes- — senger had got away in safety. Sir Daniel’s brow grew clearer. He turned to Hatch. “Bennet,” said he, ‘‘this John Amend-All is no more than a man, ye see. He sleepeth. We will make a good > end of him. Go to!’ All the afternoon and evening Dick had been ordered hither and thither, one command following another, till he was bewildered with the number and the hurry of commissions. All that time he had seen no more of Sir Oliver, and nothing of Matcham; and yet both the priest and the young lad ran continually in his mind. It was now his chief purpose to escape from Tunstall Moat House as speedily as might be; and yet, before ; _ he went, he desired a word with both of these. | At length, with a lamp in one hand, he mounted to his new apartment. It was large, low, and somewhat . dark. The window looked upon the moat, and although _ it was so high up, it was heavily barred. The bed was __ 97 a zm 76.7, \ FY eb eh set i OR Pk mare ene a PY Minded ¢ | a f Se PAL eae aby " fy y v t f ; yi Si}! " 1 4 i 5 ul , x ¥v = Baa eT alien eed She Se / ie ‘ af +} : d t ‘ Wises Vui’ “eb ‘ ; x 98 THE BLACK ARROW | luxurious, with one pillow of down, and one of laven- — der, and a red coverlet worked in a pattern of roses. S ‘ A Ali about the walls were cupboards, locked and pad- — locked, and concealed from view by hangings of dark- — coloured arras. Dick made the round, lifting the arras, e sounding the panels, seeking vainly to open the cup- © _ boards. He assured himself that the door was strong, and the bolt solid; then he set down his lamp upon a bracket, and once more looked all around. | For what reason had he been given this chamber? It was larger and finer than his own. Could it conceal a snare? Was there a secret entrance? Was it indeed haunted? His blood ran a little chilly in his veins. Immediately over him the heavy foot of a sentry trod the leads. Below him, he knew, was the arched roof of the chapel; and next to the chapel was the hall. Certainly there was a secret passage in the hall; the eye that had watched him from the arras gave him proof of that. Was it not more than probable that the passage extended to the chapel, and if so, that it had an opening in his room? To sleep in such a place, he felt, would be foolhardy. He made his weapons ready, and took his position in a corner of the room behind the door. If ill was in- tended he would sell his life dear. ' The sound of many feet, the challenge, and the pass- word sounded overhead along the battlements; the watch was being changed. 3 And just then there came a scratching at the door of the chamber; it grew a little louder; then a whisper: ‘Dick, Dick, it is I!’ Dick ran to the door, drew the bolt, and admitted Matcham. He was very pale, and carried a lamp in one hand and a drawn dagger in the other. “Shut me the door,” he whispered. ‘Swift, Dick! — This house is full of spies; I hear their feet follow me in the corridors; I hear them breathe behind the arras.” “Well, content you,” returned Dick, “it is closed. We are safe for this while, if there be safety anywhere es within these walls. But my heart is glad to see you. ’ RR VT as eGR MGT NTE Tatar, Ht ? : He re xt ie aed Le Yep as: 7, a t te L) egy ee ° ia. 4 \ k Rw ut ys Wn Pea PUA 4 ~ : , j \! aah e aa bl 4 " % By, the mass, lad, I thought ye were sped. Where hid y be met, it matters not. But, Dick, are your eyes open? _ Have they told ye of to-morrow’s doings?” “Not they,” replied Dick. “What make they of to- - morrow?” life. I had the proof of it: I have heard them whisper; you. Any’ are to die, I will die with you. And I can — ie help—look! I have stolen a dagger—TI willdo my best! — “To-morrow or to-night, I know not,” said the other; | “but one time or other, Dick, they do intend upon your nay, they as good as told me.” “Ay,” returned Dick, “is it so? I had thought as much.” And he told him the day’s occurrences at length. When it was done, Matcham arose and began, in turn, to examine the apartment. “No, ” he said, “there is no entrance visible. Yet *tis a pure certainty there is one. Dick, I will stay by And meanwhile, an ye know of any issue, any sally- port we could get opened, or any window that we might descend by, I will most joyfully face any jeopardy to Me flee with you.” “Jack,” said Dick, “by the mass, Jack, y’ are the best soul, and the truest, and the bravest in all Eng- - land! Give me your hand, Jack.” And he grasped the other’ s hand in aileniens “T will tell you,” he resumed. “There is a window _ out of which the messenger descended ; the rope should _ still be in the chamber. ’Tis a hope.” “Hist!” said Matcham. Both gave ear. There was a sound below the floor; : then it paused, and then began again. d Secret passage. Well, let him come: it shall go hard | with him!” And he ground his teeth. Ms: i “Blow me the lights out,” said the other. ‘“Per- — i “Some one walketh in the room below,” whispered - Matcham. ey _ “Nay,” returned Dick, “there is no room below; THE BLACK ARROW 99 Ht matters not,” returned Matcham. “Since we — | we are above the chapel. It is my murderer in the pines i i ‘THE BLACK snow : My chance he will betray himself.” - .They blew out both the lamps and lay still as death. The footfalls underneath were very soft, but they were clearly audible. Several times they came and went; and then there was a loud jar of a key turning In a lock, followed by a considerable silence. Presently the steps began again, and then, all of en he sudden, a chink of light appeared in the planking of the room in a far corner. It widened; a trap-door was being opened, letting in a gush of light. They could see the strong hand pushing it up; and Dick -fTaised his crossbow, waiting for the head to follow. But now there came an interruption. From a dis- tant corner of the Moat House shouts began to be heard, and first one voice, and then several, crying aloud upon a name. This noise had plainly discon- _certed the murderer, for the trap-door was silently lowered to its place, and the steps hurriedly returned, passed once more close below the lads, and died away in the distance. Here was a moment’s respite.’ Dick breathed deep, and then, and not till then, he gave ear to the dis- : u turbance which had interrupted the attack, and which - ‘was now rather increasing than diminishing. All about _ the Moat House feet were running, doors were open- Ing and slamming, and still the voice of Sir Daniel . towered above all this bustle, shouting for “Joanna.” “Joanna!” repeated Dick. ‘‘Why, who the murrain should this be? Here is no J oanna, nor ever hath been. — ~ What meaneth it?” Matcham was silent. He seemed to have drawn further away. But only a little faint starlight entered by the window, and at the far end of the apartment, where the pair were, the darkness was complete. “Jack,” said Dick, “I wot not where ye were all day. saw ye this Joanna? 2” “Nay,” returned Matcham, “I saw her not.” “Nor heard tell of her?” he pursued. The steps drew nearer. Sir Daniel was still roaring _ the name of Joanna from the courtyard. “Did ye hear of her?” repeated Dick. 7 Kf Peo ane ce Leet oe OR AVERY UP TE eS Ue Re (8 ht ad Th Ala ac i Oa as ae AB ott AAs ete va Fin drat oe aaa Woe Pia FL PLE PPA OS ELy DMB) af fi)! 4 _ “T heard of her,” said Matcham. - How your voice twitters! What aileth you?” said { Dick. “’Tis a most excellent good fortune, this Jo- anna; it will take their minds from us.’ | ‘Dick, ” cried Matcham, “TI am lost; we are both lost! Let us flee if there be yet time. They will not rest -till they have found me. Or, see; let me go forth; _ when they have found me, ye may flee. Let me forth, - Dick—good Dick, let me away!” _ She was groping for the bolt, when Dick at last ~ comprehended. “By the mass!” he cried, : peenna Sedley; y’ are the inlay that would not marry rane: _ The girl paused, and stood silent and motionless. _ Dick, too, was silent for a little while; then he spoke again. - “Joanna,” he said, “y’ ’ave saved my life, and I have saved yours; and we have seen blood flow, and been friends and enemies—ay, and I took my belt to thrash aps di PESOS 6 -_ Me Fae ee now death has me, and my time’s out, and before I ae bravest under heaven, and, if only I could live, I would marry you blithely; and, live or die, I love you!” She answered nothing. “Come,” he said, “speak up, Jack. Come, be a good ‘maid, and say ye love me!” “Why, Dick,” she cried, “would I be here?” oe eee escape whole, we’ll marry, and an we’re to die, we die, and there’s an end on’t. But now that I think, how found ye my chamber?” “T asked it of Dame Hatch,” she answered. “Well, the dame’s staunch,” he answered, “she'll not tell upon you. We have time before us.’ APP TS py eee the door. Dick neither moved nor answered. i 6 a THE BLACK ARROW __ 101. are no Jack; y’ are you; and all that time I thought ye were:a boy. But — die I must say this: Y’ are the best maid and the “Well, see ye here,” continued Dick, “an we but And just then, as if to contradict his words, feet a came down the corridor, and a fist beat roughly on / ta “Here!” cried a voice. “Open, Master Dick; open!” oe BLACK. cane ‘stoutly! ee ie Bh ie eas Wee «HOS Obie Yar a GOL dU) Ret awa DOW eg aN in 2 tke ORES MD OMS: aA a Ln Ma Ay Rah aaa a ‘Nh Bk is Pat sey Ca a ote amt ry (Ee Ma RY LMR Sed bat LT balay: 30) at * \ fh ) i ren Bah NY \ i ‘ ih eas b wv) , Hand Gd oe ag , i ae aha: a WYE ; “Tt is all over,” said the girl; and she put her arms — ; ~~ about Dick’s neck. One after another, men came trooping to the door. Then Sir Daniel arrived himself, and there was a ‘ sudden cessation of the noise. “Dick,” cried the knight, ‘be not an ass. The - Seven Sleepers had been awake ere now. We know she is within there. Open, then, the door, man.” Dick was silent again. “Down with it,” said Sir Daniel. And immediately his followers fell savagely upon the door with foot and fist. Solid as it was, and strongly bolted, it would — soon have given way, but once more fortune inter- fered. Over the thunderstorm of blows the cry of a sentinel was heard; it was followed by another; shouts © ran along the battlements, shouts answered out of the © the foresters were carrying the Moat House by assault. And Sir Daniel and his men, desisting instantly from their attack upon Dick’s chamber, hurried to defend the walls. “Now,” cried Dick, “we are saved.” ‘wood. In the first moment of alarm it sounded as if He seized the great old bedstead with both hands and bent himself in vain to move it. “Help me, Jack. For your life’s sake, help me 1? he cried. - Between them, with a huge effort, they dragged the — big frame of oak across the room, and thrust it end- wise to the chamber door. “Ye do but make things worse,” said Joanna, sadly. _ “He will then enter by the trap.” “Not so,” replied Dick. “He durst not tell his secret | _ tosomany. It is by the trap that we shall flee. Hark! _ The attack is over. Nay, it was none!” | It had, indeed, been no attack; it was the areivel of another party of stragglers from the defeat of — run the gauntlet under cover of the darkness; they © Risingham that had disturbed Sir Daniel. They had > had been admitted by the great gate; and now with — ‘ 2 great stamping of hoofs and jingle of accoutrements — and arms, they were dismounting i in the court. , Gog - iV 5 Le i 4 iti wisi nae AY 4 rie. Rees: THE BLACK ARROW 108 “He will return anon,” said Dick. “To the trap!” He lighted a lamp, and they went together into the corner of the room. The open chink through which some light still glittered was easily discovered, and, taking a stout sword from his small armoury, Dick ‘The trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. ee thrust it deep into the seam, and weighed strenuously on the hilt. The trap moved, gaped a little, and at length came widely open. Seizing it with their hands, the two young folk threw it back. It disclosed a few steps descending, and at the foot of them, where the - would-be murderer had left it, a burning lamp. nN “Now,” said Dick, “go first and take the lamp. I will follow to close the trap.” - So they descended one after the other,:and, as Dick | lowered the trap, the blows began once again to thun- der on the panels of the door. FOREN Rg BANE AR MMe RRS a a DS CAT) Ste OR UT A YT Le PTR Y GL eae BALSA Rec e URE Cee Rt NRE Aba Tun ee STALE MAO AU yah Ae | ves i : HAN ter matn sh Sie (5 2) ft ate 6 _ ‘\ t: Pt \ oy ’ CHAPTER IV. THE PASSAGE HE passage in which Dick and Joanna now found ~ themselves was narrow, dirty and short. At the | . hoo . ‘ wh) of WS if wis His , 5 , other end of it a door stood partly open; the same door, without doubt, that they had heard the ~ man unlocking. Heavy cobwebs hung from the roof, and the paved flooring echoed hollow under the light- est tread. - Beyond the door there were two’branches, at right © ae, Sa angles. Dick chose one of them at random, and the © pair hurried, with echoing footsteps, along the hollow — of the chapel roof. The top of the arched ceiling rose © like a whale’s back in the dim glimmer of the lamp. © Here and there were spy-holes, concealed on the other — side, by the carving of the cornice; and looking down — through one of these, Dick saw the paved floor of the © chapel—the altar, with its burning tapers—and — - stretched before it on the steps, the figure of Sir Oliver praying with uplifted hands. At the other end, they descended a few steps. The passage grew narrower; the wall upon one hand was — now of wood; the noise of people talking, and a faint — flickering of lights, came through the interstices; and © presently they came to a round hole, about the size of © a man’s eye, and Dick, looking down through it, be- held the interior of the hall, and some half a dozen men sitting, in their jacks, about the table, drinking deep and demolishing a venison pie. These were cer- tainly some of the late arrivals. 3 | “Here is no help,” said Dick. “Let us try back.” ther.” 104 i : “Nay,” said Joanna; “maybe the passage goeth far- : : / a f THE BLACK ARROW . 105 And she pushed on. But a few yards farther the passage ended at the top of a short flight of steps; and it became plain that, as long as the soldiers oc- cupied the hall, escape was impossible upon that side. They retraced their steps with all imaginable speed, and set forward to explore the other branch. It was exceedingly narrow, scarce wide enough for a large man; and it led them continually up and down by little breakneck stairs, until even Dick had lost all notion of his whereabouts. At length it grew both narrower and lower; the © stairs continued to descend; the walls on either hand became damp and slimy to the touch; and far in front of them they heard the squeaking and scuttling of i, rats. “We must be in the dungeons,” Dick remarked. “And still there is no outlet,” added Joanna. “Nay, but an outlet there must be!” Presently, sure enough, they came to a sharp angle, and then the passage ended in a flight of steps. On the top of that was a solid flag of stone by way of trap, and to this they both set their backs. It was immovable. | “Some one holdeth it,” suggested Joanna. “Not so,” said Dick, ‘for were a man as strong as ten he must still yield a little. But this resisteth like dead rock. There is a weight upon the trap. Here is no issue; and, by my sooth, Jack, we are here as fairly prisoners as though the gyves were on our ankle- bones. Sit ye then down and let us talk. After a while we shall return, when perchance they shall be less carefully upon their guard; and who knoweth? Wwe may break out and stand a chance. But, in my poor opinion, we are as good as shent.” Dick answered. _ “Dick!” she cried, “alas the day that ever ye should x 3 have seen me! For like a most unhappy and unthank- ful maid, it is I have led you hither.” “What cheer!” returned Dick. “It was all written, ‘ih and that which is written, willy nilly, cometh still to pass. But tell me a little what manner of maid ye are, and hew ye came into Sir Daniel’s hands; that will do 106 «sis THEE BLACK ARROW : better than to bemoan vourwalt: whether for your sake ~ ah or mine.’ “T am an orphan, like yourself, of father and mother,” said Joanna; “and for my great misfortune, - Dick, and hitherto for yours, I am a rich marriage. My Lord Foxham had me to ward; yet it appears Sir Daniel bought the marriage of me from the king, and aright dear price he paid for it. So here was IL, poor babe, with two great and rich men fighting which -. should marry me, and I still at nurse! Well, then the » world changed, and there was a new Chancellor, and - $ir Daniel bought the warding of me over Lord Fox- ham’s head. And then the world changed again, and Lord Foxham bought my marriage over Sir Daniel's; and from then to now it went on ill betwixt the two : 3 of them. But still Lord Foxham kept me in his hands, and was a good lord to me. And at last I was to be _. married—or sold, if ye like it better. Five hundred pounds Lord Foxham was to get for me. Hamley was the groom’s name, and to-morrow, Dick, of all days in the year, was I to be betrothed. Had it not come to Sir Daniel, I had been wedded, sure—and never seen thee, Dick—dear Dick!” : And here she took his hand and kissed it with the _ prettiest grace; and Dick drew her hand to him and _. did the like. “Well,” she went on, ‘Sir Daniel took me unawares ae in the garden, and made me dress in these men’s clothes, which is a deadly sin for a woman; and, be- sides, they fit me not. He rode with me to Kettley, as ye saw, telling me I was to marry you; but I, in - my heart, made sure I would marry Hamley in ‘his 4. teeth,” ee a cried Dick, “and so ye loved this Ham- uNay, ” replied Joanna, “not I. I did but hate Sir - Daniel. And then, Dick, ye helped me, and ye were right kind, and very bold, and my heart turned to- =S ee hp ae ee - °9 = ae af o—<4 » hi SS ee = wards you in my own despite; and now, if we can in _ any way compass it, I would marry you with right ~— u | goodwill. And if, by cruel destiny, it may not be, ! a ‘ THE BLACK ARROW MEHR ak 4 “stil yell be dear to me. While my heart beats, it’ll be true to you.’ “And I,” said Dick, “that never cared a straw for any manner of woman until now, I took to you when - I thought ye were a boy. I had a pity to you, and _ knew not why. When I would have belted you, my hand failed me. But when ye owned ye were a maid, Jack—for still I will call. you Jack—I made sure ye - were the maid for me. Hark!’ he said, breaking off —“one cometh.” And indeed a heavy tread was now audible in the — echoing passage, and the rats again fled in armies. _ Dick reconnoitred his position. The sudden turn gave him a post of vantage. He could thus shoot i1 safety from the cover of the wall. But it was plain © the light was too near him, and running some way forward, he sat down the lamp in the middle of the . passage, and then returned to watch. Haas Presently, at the far end of the passage, Bennet hove in sight. He seemed to be alone, and he carried in his hand a burning torch, which made him the _ better mark. “Stand, Bennet!” cried Dick. “Another step and _y’ are dead.” “So here ye are,” returned Hatch, peering forward into the darkness. “I see you not. Aha! y’ ’ave done wisely, Dick; y’ ’ave put your lamp before you. By my sooth, but, though it was done to shoot my own knave body, I do rejoice to see ye profit by my les- - sons! And now, what make ye? what seek ye here? - Why would ye shoot upon an old, kind friend? And have ye the young gentlewoman there?” “Nay, Bennet, it is I should question and you an-. swer,” replied Dick. “Why am I in this jeopardy of my life? Why do men come privily to slay mein my. - bed? Why am I now fleeing in mine own guardian’s © strong house, and from the friends that I have lived among and never injured?” “Master Dick, Master Dick,” said Bennet, “what ihe told I you? Y’ are brave, but the most uncrafty lad that I can think upon! ia 3 : m I am doomed indeed. It is well. Here, where I am, — it was to that end he sent me. But you, if ye are Lite A at Nictaebe ray | 108 : oh NC SLACK ARROW “well, ” vaturned Dick, “I see ye know all, and that ' I stay. Let Sir Daniel get me out if he be able!” Hatch was silent for a space. “Hark ye,” he began, “I return to Sir Daniel, to tell him where ye are, and how posted; for, in truth, no fool, had best be gone ere I return.” “Be gone!”’ repeated Dick. “I would be gone already anlIwist how. I cannot move the trap.” . “Put me your hand into the corner, and see what — ye find there,’ replied Bennet. “Throgmorton’s rope — is still in the brown chamber. Fare ye well.” _ And Hatch, turning upon his heel, disappeared again into the windings of the passage. Dick instantly returned for his lamp, and proceeded to act upon the hint. At one corner of the trap there ~~ was a deep cavity in the wall. Pushing his arm into © the aperture, Dick found an iron bar, which he thrust vigorously upwards. There followed a snapping noise, — and the slab of stone instantly started in its bed. a They were free of the passage. A little exercise of strength easily raised the trap; and they came forth into a vaulted chamber, opening on one hand upon the court, where one or two fellows, with bare arms, were rubbing down the horses of the last arrivals. A torch or two, each stuck in an iron ring against the wall, changefully lit up the scene, CHAPTER V HOW DICK CHANGED SIDES ICK, blowing out his lamp lest it should attract attention, led the way upstairs and along the corridor. In the brown chamber the rope had been made fast to the frame of an exceedingly heavy and ancient bed. It had not been detached, and Dick, taking the coil to the window, began to lower it slowly and cautiously into the darkness of the night. Joan stood by; but as the rope lengthened and still Dick con- tinued to pay out, extreme fear began to conquer her — resolution. “Dick,” she said, “is it so deep? I may not essay it. I should infallibly fall, good Dick.” It was just at the delicate moment of the operations that she spoke. Dick started; the remainder of the coil slipped from his grasp, and the end fell with a ‘splash into the moat. Instantly, from the battlement above, the voice of a sentinel cried, “Who goes?” “A murrain!” cried Dick. “Weare paid now? Down with you—take the rope.”’ , “T cannot,” she cried, recoiling. “An ye cannot, no more can I,” said Shelton. “How can I swim the moat without you? Do ye desert me, — then?” “Dick,” she gasped, “I cannot. The strength is gone from me.”’ “By the mass, then, we are all shent!” he shouted, stamping his foot; and then, hearing steps, he ran to the room door and sought to close it. Before he could shoot the bolt, strong arms were thrusting it back upon him from the other side. He struggled for a second; then, feeling himself over- powered, ran back to the window. The girl had fallen 109 Sto! "THE BLACK ARROW Rat ay aint the wall in the embrasure of the windows she was more than half insensible; and when he tried to raise her in his arms, her body was limp and unre- sponsive. + At the same moment the men who had forced the door against him laid hold upon him. The first he - poniarded at a blow, and the others falling back for a second in some disorder, he profited by the chance, - bestrode the window-sill, seized the cord in both hands, and let his body slip. The cord was knotted, which made’ it the easier to descend; but so furious was Dick’s hurry, and so small is experience of such gymnastics, that he span round and round in mid-air like a criminal upon a gibbet, and _ now beat his head, and now bruised his hands, against - the rugged stone work of the wall. The air roared in his ears; he saw the stars overhead and the reflected stars below him in the moat, whirling like dead leaves before the tempest. And then he lost his hold and fell, and soused head over ears into the icy water. When he came to the surface his hand encountered the rope, which, newly lightened of his weight, was - swinging wildly to and fro. There was a red glow - overhead, and looking up, he saw, by the light of sev- - eral torches and a cresset full of burning coals, the battlements lined with faces. He saw the men’s eyes turning hither and thither in quest of him; but he was _ too far below, the light reached him not, and they - Jooked in vain. And now he perceived that the rope was considerably too long, and he began to struggle as well as he could towards the other side of the moat, still keeping his head above water. In this way he got much more than halfway over; indeed, the bank was almost within : i reach before the rope began to draw him back by its own weight. Taking his courage in both hands, he let go and made a leap for the trailing sprays of wil- - low that had already, that same evening, helped Sir _ Daniel’s messenger to land. He went down, rose again, _ sank a second time, and then his hand caught a branch, _. and with the speed of thought he had dragged himself Leys THE BLACK ARROW —~_sd11.- into the thick of the tree and clung there, dripping and panting, and still half uncertain of his escape. But all this had not been done without a considerable splashing, which had so far indicated his position to the men along the battlements. Arrows and quarrels fell thick around him in the darkness, thick like driving — hail; and suddenly a torch was thrown down—flared through the air in its swift passage—stuck for a mo- ment on the edge of the bank, where it burned high and lit up its whole surroundings like a bonfire—and then, in a good hour for Dick, slipped off, plumped into the moat, and was instantly extinguished. It had served its purpose. The marksman had had time to see the willow, and Dick ensconced among its boughs; and though the lad instantly sprang higher up the bank and ran for his life, he was not yet quick enough to escape a shot. An arrow struck him in the shoulder, another grazed his head. The pain of his wounds lent him wings; and he had — no sooner got upon the level than he took to his heels — and ran straight before him in the dark, without a_ thought for the direction of his flight. For a few steps missiles followed him, but these soon ceased; and when at length he came to a halt and looked behind, he was already a good way from the Moat House, though h> could still see the torches mov- ing to and f:’o along its battlements. He leanea against a tree, streaming with blood and water, bruised, wounded and alone. For all that, he had saved his life for that bout; and though Joanna remained behind in the power of Sir Daniel, he neither blamed himself for an accident that it had been be- — yond his power to prevent, nor did he augur any fatal consequences to the girl herself. Sir Daniel was cruel, but he was not likely to be cruel to a young gentle- — woman who had other protectors, willing and able to bring him to account. It was more probable he would make haste to marry her to some friend of his own. © “Well,” thought Dick, “between then and now, I will find the means to bring that traitor under; for I think, by the mass, that I be now absolved from any . : ee ew secret.” a THE BLACK ARROW —=__119 Sir Daniel and his six men were now come to the _ outskirts of the country. Shoreby was an open town, and though the Lancastrian lords who lay there kept a strong guard on the main roads, it was still possible to enter or depart unseen by any of the lesser streets or across the open country. The lane which Sir Daniel had been following came to an abrupt end. Before him there was a stretch of. _rough down, and the noise of the sea-surf was audible upon one hand. There were no guards in the neigh- - bourhood, nor any light in that quarter of the town. Dick and his two outlaws drew a little closer to the object of their chase, and presently, as they came forth — _ from between the houses and could see a little farther upon either hand, they were aware of another torch _drawing near from another direction “Hey,” said Dick, ‘‘I smell treason.’ Meanwhile Sir Daniel had come to a full halt. The torches were stuck into the sand, and the men lay _ down, as if to await the arrival of the other party. 3 This drew near at a good rate. It consisted of four men only—a pair of archers, a varlet with a link, and _acloaked gentleman walking in their midst. od “Ts it-you, my lord?” cried Sir Daniel. ribis I, indeed ; and if ever true knight gave proof I am that man,’ ’ replied the leader of the second troop; “for who would not rather face giants, sorcerers, or - pagans, than this pinching cold?” “My lord,” returned Sir Daniel, “beauty will be more beholden, misdoubt it not. But shall we forth? For the sooner ye have seen my merchandise, the - sooner we shall both get home.” “But why keep ye her here, good knight?” inquired the other. “An she be so young, and so fair, and so _ wealthy, why do ye not bring her forth among her _ mates? Ye would soon make her a good marriage, -.and no need to freeze your fingers and risk arrow- shots by going abroad at such unseemly seasons in ~ _ the dark.” “T have told you, my lord,” replied Sir Daniel, “the ~ reason thereof concerneth me only. Neither do I pur- AVODART TASS al MUR SHAS a aia ‘i . Peal ee) tes BLACK ARROW j trey MEAT eed,” Ney - pose to explain it farther. Suffice it that if ye be : weary of your ola gossip, Daniel Brackley, publish it abroad that y’ are to wed Joanna Sedley, and I give — you my word ye will be quit of him right soon. Ye will find him with an arrow in his back.” Meanwhile the two gentlemen were walking briskly © forward over the down; the three torches going before — them, stooping against the wind and scattering clouds of smoke and tufts of flame, and the rear brought up by the six archers. Close upon the heels of these Dick followed. He had, of course, heard no word of this conversation; but he had recognized in the second of the speakers old _Lord Shoreby himself, a man of an infamous reputa- tion, whom even Sir Daniel affected, in public, to con- | demn. Presently they came close down upon the beach. The air smelt salt; the noise of the surf increased; and here, in a large walled garden there stood a small house of two storeys, with stables and other offices. The foremost torch-bearer unlocked a door in the wall, and after the whole party had passed into the garden, again closed and locked it on the other side. Dick and his men were thus excluded from any ‘ farther following, unless they should scale the wall and thus put their necks in a trap. They sat down in a tuft of furze and waited. The red glow of the torches moved up and down and to and Patt ' _ fro within the enclosure, as if the link-bearers steadily _ patrolled the garden. Twenty minutes passed, and then the whole party _ 4ssued forth again upon the down; and Sir Daniel and the baron, after an elaborate salutation, separated and turned severally homeward, each with his own fol- lowing of men and lights. As soon as the sound of their steps had been swal- jowed by the wind, Dick got to his feet as briskly as he was able, for he was stiff and aching with the cold. “Capper, ye will give me a back up,” he said. They advanced, all three, to the wall; Capper — ! stooped, and Dick, getting upon his shoulders, clam- Raney brad tg Be ag Atel) Nel Os SIE it Teg oe NL Ie Jesh Ay ail Me eed eal Eile Mpa ean Aca NHC REACH ARROW 121 . heed on to the cope-stone. “Now, Greensheve,” whispered Dick, “follow me up here; lie flat upon your face, that ye may be the less ~ seen; and be ever ready to give me a hand if I fall foully on the other side.” And so saying he dropped into the garden. It was all pitch dark; there was no light in the house. The wind whistled shrill among the poor shrubs, and the surf beat upon the beach; there was no other sound. Cautiously Dick footed it forth, stum- bling among bushes, and groping with his hands; and presently the crisp noise of gravel under foot told him that he had struck upon an alley. Here he paused, and taking his crossbow from iN where he kept it concealed under his long tabard he prepared it for instant action, and went forward once more with greater resolution and assurance. The path — led him straight to the group of buildings. _ All seemed to be sorely dilapidated: the windows of _ the house were secured by crazy shutters, the stables _ were open and empty; there was no hay in the hay-. loft, no corn in the corn-box. Anyone would have © | supposed the place to be deserted; but Dick had good reason to think otherwise. He continued his inspec- tion, visiting the offices, trying all the windows. At length he came round to the seaside of the house, and there, sure enough, there burned a pale light in one of the upper windows. He stepped back a little way, till he thought he could see the movement of a shadow on the wall of the apartment. Then he remembered that in the stable his groping hand had rested for a moment on a ladder, — and he returned with all despatch to bring it. The — ladder was very short, but yet, by standing on the ~ topmost round, he could bring his hands as high as the iron bars of the windows; and seizing these, he raised his body by main force until his eyes commanded es the interior of the room. Two persons were within: the first he readily knew ee to be Dame Hatch; the second, a tall and beautiful and grave young lady, in a long, embroidered dress—could — | VF ERT Ny tak SPE ELA Ua tas RR ae UM itt Pas ut SEMA} Pe aR eer OR Rates ee Move OR vicis Wea eas TNL TENRIEY ag Wa f: Ea Ne a f x i Se h ¥ / b ye me ale Nas that be To oanna Sedley? his old wood-companion, Jack, whom he had thought to punish with a belt? . He dropped back again to the top round of the ladder in a kind of amazement. He had never thought of his sweetheart as of so superior a being, and he was in- '_ gstantly taken with a feeling of diffidence. But he had little opportunity for thought. A low “Hist!” sounded _ from close by, and he hastened to descend the ladder. “Who goes?” he whispered. _. “Greensheve,’’ came the reply, in tones similarly -. guarded. : “What want ye? 2?” asked Dick. o “The house is watched, Master Shelton,” returned the outlaw. “We are not alone to watch it; for even - as I lay on my belly on the wall I saw men prowling Cael hs dark, and heard them whistle softly one to the ~~ other.” '. “By my sooth,” said Dick, “but this is passing strange! Were they not men of Sir Daniel’s?” a “Nay, sir, that they were not,” returned Greensheve, “for if I have eyes in my head, every man-Jack of _ them weareth me a white badge in his bonnet, some- thing chequered with dark.” “White, chequered with dark?” repeated Dick. “Faith, ’tis a badge I know not. It is none of this country’s badges. Well, and that be so, let us slip as quietly forth from this garden as we may; for here we are in an evil posture for defence. Beyond all question there are men of Sir Daniel’s in that house, _ and to be taken between two shots is a beggarman’s position. Take me this ladder; I must leave it’ where eo found it,’ They returned the ladder to the stable, and groped their way to the place where they had entered. Capper had taken Greensheve’s position on the cope, and now he leaned down his hand, and, first one and then the other, pulled them up. Cautiously and silently they dropped again upon the : ie other side; nor did they dare to speak until they had | returned to their old ambush in the gorse. 3 “Now, John Capper,” said Dick, “back with you to \ Peay tly M ety We * Pra PLY Ar ‘AT fit fa fe adn ee Z an tp WY y va ; ie, py S| tS a ar t ‘ 4 eR) A . j f oP OP (5), ‘ 4 oH a rh : + "THE BLACK ARROW 128 a ie hand before they muster, let the place be something farther back, and by the entering in of the town. _ Greensheve and I lie here to watch. Speed ye, John : - Gapper, and the saints aid you to despatch! And now, _ Greensheve,” he continued, as soon as Capper had de- parted, “et, thou and I go ‘around about the garden in a wide circuit. I would fain see whether thine eyes betrayed thee.” Keeping well outwards from the wall, and profiting. _ by every height and hollow, they passed about two sides, beholding nothing. On the third side the garden > q wall was built close upon the beach, and to preserve the distance necessary to their purpose, they had to MARE, PMT Eovtie Pe iShoreby, even as for your life. Bring me instantly - what men ye can collect. Here shall be the rendez-. s vous; or if the men be scattered and the day be near at _ go some way down upon the sands. Although the tide % was still pretty far out, the surf was so high, and the - sands so flat, that at each breaker a great sheet of — froth and water came careering over the expanse, and - Dick and Greensheve made this part of their inspec- _ tion wading, now to the ankles, and now as deep as to _ the knees, in the salt and icy waters of the German | - Ocean. . Suddenly, against the comparative whiteness of the - garden wall, the figure of a man was seen, like a faint _ Chinese shadow, violently signalling with both arms. _ As he dropped again to the earth, another arose a little _ farther on and repeated the same performance. And _ so, like a silent watchword, these gesticulations made - the round of the beleaguered garden. “They keep good watch,” Dick whispered. : “Let us back to land, good master,” answered Green- ch sheve. “We stand here too open; for look ye, when - the seas break heavy and white out there behind us, _ they shall see us plainly against the foam.” a “Ye speak sooth,” returned Dick, “Ashore with us, - right speedily.” ta SONS Et Be Phe Be PAA OP AGES Va AD Me bed fais Sai Ba Ri ARNE DN BEY a a FN \ Fad PLES UN AT RE ie (i hod PRA IEEE Do BE tgs fet ‘ CACEN dae ari a lie is i YAN Vet Bae Aer AN Las Veh le US AP AN Os VA in Wal aN \ CHAPTER II | A SKIRMISH IN THE DARK ; HOROUGHLY drenched and chilled, the two adventurers returned to their position in the gorse. “IT pray Heaven that Capper make good speed!’ said Dick. “I vow a candle to St. Mary of Shoreby if he come before the hour!’’ . “Y’ are in a hurry, Master Dick?” asked Green- -. sheve. “Ay, good fellow,” answered Dick; “for in that house lieth my lady, whom I love, and who should x these be that lie about her secretly by night? Un- i friends for sure!”’ “Well,” returned Greensheve, “an John come speedily, we shall give a good account of them. They are not two score at the outside—I judge so by the spacing of their sentries—and, taken where they are, lying so widely, one score would scatter them like sparrows. And yet, Master Dick, an she be in Sir _ Daniel’s power already, it will little hurt that she © _ should change into another’s. Who should these be?” — “T do suspect the Lord of Shoreby,’” Dick replied. | “When came they?” i. “They began to come, Master Dick,” said Green- sheve, “about the time ye crossed the wall. I had not © lain there the space of a minute ere I marked the first ~ | of the knaves crawling round the corner.’ Ei: The last light had been already extinguished in the ' _ jittle house when they were wading in the wash of — the breakers, and it was impossible to predict at what — moment the lurking men about the garden wall might : | make their onslaught. Of two evils, Dick preferred — _ the least. He preferred that Joanna should remain under the guardianship of Sir Daniel rather than pass © 124 PN es re a” ee ee ae corns 4 i a heli ras! ill bili kA als ve tUNieahnes Th) AAR Ma SRN a 7 4 va fi ng A Liat 4 Mi oie , ¢ ; c, \ 7 “ff tj PA Ui my rae pea fr eS Cee ye aD Oe ee. | : j Wee bearer ae aA ed SECO REED OR Eee THE BLACK ARROW —__=125 into the clutches of Lord Shoreby; and his mind was made up, if the house should be assaulted, to come at ‘ once to the relief of the besieged. But the time passed, and still there was no move- ment. From quarter of an hour to quarter of an hour the same signal passed about the garden wall, as if the leader desired to assure himself of the vigilance of his scattered followers; but in every other particular the neighbourhood of the little house lay undisturbed. eee aes Pa aula ioe Ae ty * Wy at a y 7 bbe : i \ Nth ane ro tre BLACK ARROW ie 4 Presently Dick’s reinforcements began to arrive. — - The night was not yet old before nearly a score of men crouched beside him in the gorse. : Separating these into two bodies, he took the com- mand of the smaller himself, and entrusted the larger to the leadership of Greensheve. : aHAN “Now, Kit,” said he to this last, ‘take me your men : to the near angle of the garden wall upon the beach. | - Post them strongly, and wait till that ye hear me fall- | - ing on upon the other side. It is those upon the sea- | - front that I would fain make certain of, for there will - be the leader. The rest will run; even let them. And | now, lads, let no man draw an arrow; ye will but hurt i _ friends. Take to the steel, and keep to the steel; and - if we have the uppermost, I promise every man of you a gold noble when I come to mine estate.”’ Out of the odd collection of broken men, thieves, murderers, and ruined peasantry whom Duckworth had gathered together to serve the purposes of his re- - venge, some of the boldest and most experienced in war had volunteered to follow Richard Shelton. The service of watching Sir Daniel’s movements in the town of Shoreby had from the first been irksome to 4 _ their temper, and they had of late begun to grumble - Joudly and threaten to disperse. The prospect of a sharp encounter and possible spoils restored them to _ good humour, and they joyfully prepared for battle. _. Their long tabards thrown aside, they appeared, some in plain green jerkins, and some in stout _ leathern jacks; under their hoods many wore bonnets _ strengthened by iron plates; and for offensive armour, swords, daggers, a few stout boar-spears, and a dozen of bright bills, put them in a posture to engage even regular feudal troops. The bows, quivers, and tabards were concealed among the gorse, and the two bands set Bi resolutely forward. Dick, when he had reached the other side of the house, posted his six men in a line, about twenty yards from the garden wall, and took position himself a few ; Mu paces in front. Then they all shouted with one voice, _ and closed upon the enemy. SSS ee eee ee 4 It 9 4 i 1 P > me i , ne AMG Nig th ort 4 \ Pre Pee MONO ER ISAT ELLY THE BLACK ARROW pate bay - hese, lying widely scattered, stiff with cold, and taken at unawares, sprang stupidly to their feet, and stood undecided. Before they had time to get their - courage about them, or even to form an idea of the number and mettle of their assailants, a similar shout - of onslaught sounded in their ears from the far side _ of the enclosure. Thereupon they gave themselves up for lost and ran. In this way the two small troops of the men of the _ Black Arrow closed upon the sea-front of the garden ‘ wall, and took a part of the strangers, as it were, be- _ tween two fires; while the whole of the remainder ran ~ _ for their lives in different directions, and were soon scattered in the darkness. _ For all that the fight was but beginning. Dick’s _ outlaws, although they had the advantage of the sur- _ prise, were still considerably outnumbered by the men _ they had surrounded. The tide had flowed in the - meanwhile; the beach was narrowed to a strip; and on this wet field, between the surf and the garden - wall, there began, in the darkness, a doubtful, furious, - and deadly contest. _. The strangers were well armed; they fell in silence _ upon their assailants; and the affray became a series _ of single combats. Dick, who had come first into the ~ _mellay, was engaged by three; the first he cut down _ at the first blow, but the other two coming upon him - hotly he was fain to give ground before their onset. One of these two was a huge fellow, almost a giant for stature, and armed with a two-handed sword, which _ he brandished like a switch. Against this opponent, . -_ with his reach of arm and the length and weight of __ his weapon, Dick and his bill were quite defenceless; - and had the other continued to join vigorously in the attack, the lad must have indubitably fallen. This second man, however, paused for a moment to peer _ - about him in the darkness, and to give ear to the _ sounds of the batile. The giant still pursued his advantage, and still Dick fled before him, spying for his chance. Then the huge blade flashed and descended, and the lad, leaping on — as : Tae Be Ae es Ra usa Sas K ‘ ras it N ry, Vay) ROR Baa eh oF “THE BLACK ARROW one side and running in, slashed sideways and upwaras _ _ with his bill. A roar of agony responded, and before — _ the wounded man could raise his formidable weapon, Dick, twice repeating his blow, had brought him to the ground. aK The next moment he was engaged upon more equal -. terms with his second pursuer. Here there was no - great difference in size, and though the man, fighting with sword and dagger against a bill, and being wary and quick of fence, had a certain superiority of arms, Dick more than made it up by his greater agility on foot. Neither at first gained any obvious advantage; but the older man was still insensibly profiting by the ardour of the younger to lead him where he would; and presently Dick found that they had crossed the ___ whole width of the beach, arid were now fighting above the knees in the spume and bubble of the breakers. Here his own superior activity was rendered useless; he found himself more or less at the discretion of his foe; yet a little, and he had his back turned upon his - own men, and saw that this adroit and skilful adver- - gary was bent upon drawing him farther and farther away. Dick ground his teeth. He determined to decide the — combat instantly ; and when the wash of the next wave © had ebbed and left them dry, he rushed in, caught a ~ -. blow upon his bill, and leaped right at the throat of his opponent. The man went down backwards, with | Dick still upon the top of him; and the next wave, — speedily succeeding the last, buried him below a rush of water. ; _ While he was still submerged, Dick forced his dagger from his grasp, and rose to his feet victorious. “Yield ye!” he said. “I give you life.” is ‘I yield me,” said the other, getting to his knees. “Ve fight, like a young man, ignorantly and foolhard- - ily; but, by the array of the saints, ye fight bravely!” Ht Dick turned to the beach. The combat was still aq raging doubtfully in the night; over the hoarse roar _ of the breakers steel clanged upon steel, and cries of i ua pain and the shout of battle resounded. Nias hia bis, aise Sar ye a Ry JA A iid ak A aR ea ; A SS Ne M eS Be sae Y ‘ x om aes * +y me ve { mi ‘ ye: i ; j ae ie") ‘ { wR 4 7 “THE BLACK ARROW — | 129 2 Ret ood me to your captain, youth,” ‘tata the con- -quered knight. “It is fit this butchery should cease.” : “Sir,” replied Dick, “so far as these brave fellows have a captain, the poor gentleman who addresses you is he.” > “Call off your dogs, then, and I will bid my villains hold,” returned the other. . There was something noble both in the voice and manner of his late opponent, and Dick instantly dis- missed all fears of treachery. _ “Lay down your arms, men!” cried the stranger ‘knight. “I have yielded me, upon promise of life.” _ The tone of the stranger was one of absolute com- mand, and almost instantly the din and confusion of be mellay ceased. “Lawless,” cried Dick, “are ye safe?” “Ay,” cried Lawless, “safe and hearty.” - “Light me the lantern,” said Dick. “Ys not Sir Daniel here?” inquired the knight. _ “Sir Daniel?” echoed Dick. “Now, by the rood, I pray not. It would go ill with me if he were.’ : “Tll with you, fair sir?” inquired the other. ‘Nay, then, if ye be not of Sir Daniel’s party, I profess I ‘comprehend no longer. Wherefore, then, fell ye upon ‘mine ambush? in what quarrel, my young and very fiery friend? to what earthly purpose? and, to make a clear end of questioning, to what good gentleman have I surrendered?” But before Dick could answer, a voice spoke in the darkness from close by. Dick could see the speaker’s black and white badge, and the respectful salute which he addressed to his superior. i “My lord,” said he, “if these gentlemen be unfriends to Sir Daniel, itis a pity, indeed, we should have been at blows with them; but it were tenfold greater that either they or we should linger here. The watchers in ‘the house—unless they be all dead or deaf—have heard our hammering this quarter-hour agone; instantly they will have signalled to the town; and unless we be the livelier in our departure, we are like to be taken, My ‘ta of us, by a fresh foe.” 430 2—S~*«CTD'E: BLACK ‘ARROW r AeA, fa) Cae o GR LRNBN altel he aad al mol I Wie. § int ios se} \ WeyGn i please ye, sir? Whither shall we march?’ me. I do begin ‘to suspect we have some ground of © friendship, and if, indeed, I began our acquaintance — hand in mine; and at the hour and place that ye © time your trust is not misplaced. I will meet you at — rapidity that seemed suspicious; and, while the out- upper loophole of the roof he beheld a light set; and as if he heard a jarring and hollow noise from the the nearest lanes of Shoreby some two score horse- — hours of sleep before the morning tryst. it te? Pat lh. 4 Ae ite k Gt at SOP Por BMS Pet 8) end As Lt AM VAR Ws ey _ AP's. Wes et ie Vist Case SHEAR cMMGR ORAS a etic Maverdl aia Sabah ea esa dai ay CFP deen 2. ge dS PERC OPA aay MR RTI ROSIN Ras TENA i AGE ere \ f PI nt " ‘vie Aa Pe Sek Sees | ray ( , Cent \ Sa bate ak is ? | “Hawksley is in the right, ”” added the lord. “Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “go where you will for ‘ somewhat ruggedly, 1 would not churlishly continue. | Let us, then, separate, my lord, you laying your right © shall name, let us encounter and agree.” f *“Y’ are too trustful, boy,” said the other; “but this ~ the point of day at St. Bride’s Cross. Come, lads, — follow!” The strangers disappeared from the scene with a — laws fell to the congenial task of rifling the dead bod- © ies, Dick made once more the circuit of the garden — wall to examine the front’ of the house. In a little as it would certainly be visible in town from the back ~ windows of Sir Daniel’s mansion, he doubted not that — this was the signal feared by Hawksley, and that ere long the lances of the Knight of Tunstall would arrive upon the scene. He put his ear to the ground, and it seemed to hin Ni ward. Back to the beach he went hurrying. But the work was already done; the last body was disarmed and stripped to the skin, and four fellows were already q “wading seaward to commit it to the mercies of the deep. | A few minutes later, when there debouched out of © men, hastily arrayed and moving at the gallop of their | steeds, the neighbourhood of the house beside the sea » was entirely silent and deserted. ‘ ‘Meanwhile, Dick and his men had returned to the alehouse of the Goat and Bagpipes to snatch some | CHAPTER III ST. BRIDE’S CROSS T. BRIDE’S CROSS stood a little way from Shore- by, on the skirts of Tunstall Forest. Two roads met: one, from Holywood across the forest; one, that road from Risingham down which we saw the wrecks of a Lancastrian army fleeing in disorder. Here © the two joined issue, and went on together down the hill to Shoreby; and a little back from the point of junction, the summit of a little knoll was crowned by the ancient and weatherbeaten cross. Here, then, about seven in the morning, Dick ar- _ rived. It was as cold as ever; the earth was all grey pend silver with the hoar-frost, and the day began to break in the east with many colours of purple and - orange. * Dick set him down upon the lowest step of the ‘eross, wrapped himself well in his tabard, and looked vigilantly upon all sides. He had not long to wait. Down the road from Holywood a gentleman in very rich and bright armour, and wearing over that a sur- coat of the rarest furs, came pacing on a splendid _ charger. Twenty yards behind him followed a clump f of lancers; but these halted as soon as they came in _ view of the trysting-place, while the gentleman in the ‘ fur surcoat continued to advance alone. “a His visor was raised, and showed a countenance of _ great command and dignity, answerable to the rich- ness of his attire and arms. And it was with some confusion of manner that Dick arose from the cross _ and stepped down the bank to meet his prisoner. “TI thank you, my lord, for your exactitude,” he said, : - jouting very low. “Will it please your lordship to _ set foot to earth?” >: 4 re | 131 > ‘i x, Ney rs tie bon THE BLACK ARROW va y YA) ite \ Nay Latin aba aN iN ees ey ne ne oo bis a jt) i ti ay Rate ey ne se ihe ied eae 4! y : - SOS UE, vw cw ¥ A Net : : y plain with your lordship, the woods upon either hand — : _ of this cross lie full of mine honest fellows lying on — _ their weapons.” 4 - little blind-man’s mellay on the beach.” _I shoot at no advantage to myself. But when, by the © gone otherwise, with a soldier so untried and rustic | your goodwill and charity, yield me the hand of my © | ‘T die.” “I was not so simple,” answered et “and, to ar _ “Y? "ave done wisely,” said the lord. “It pleaseth — me the rather, since last night ye fought foolhardily, © and more like a savage Saracen lunatic than any © Christian warrior. But it becomes not me to sosetiens 4 that had the undermost.” f “Ye had the undermost indeed, my lord, since ye © so fell,” returned Dick; “but had the waves not holpen — me, it was I that should have had the worst. Ye were — pleased to. make me yours with several dagger marks, © which I still carry. And in fine, my lord, methinks I © had all the danger, as well as all the profit, of that — “Y’ are shrewd enough to make light of it, I see,” returned the stranger. . “Nay, my lord, not shrewd,” replied Dick, “in that — light of this new day, I see how stout a knight hath — yielded, not to my arms alone, but to fortune, and the © darkness, and the surf—and how easily the battle had — as myself—think it not strange, my lord, if I feel — confounded with my victory.” a “Ye speak well,” said the stranger. “Your name?” — _ “My name, an’t like you, is Shelton,” answered Dick. © “Men call me the Lord Foxham,” added the other. — “Then, my lord, and under your good favour, ye © are guardian to the sweetest maid in England,” re- © plied Dick; ‘“‘and for your ransom, and the ransom of | such as were taken with you on the beach, there will © be no uncertainty of terms. I pray you, my lord, of © mistress, Joan Sedley; and take ye, upon the other q part, your liberty, the liberty of these your followers, | and (if ye will have it) my gratitude and service till j “But are ye not ward to Sir Daniel? Methought, q t Tt “Master Shelton, ye are a most fortunate-unfortunate a young gentleman.” yi if y’ are Harry Shelton’s son, that I had heard it so * reported,” said Lord Foxham. 4 “Will it please you, my lord, to alight? I would fain tell you fully who I am, how situate, and why so bold in my demands. Beseech you, my lord, take is Biblace upon these steps, hear me to a full end, and _ judge me with allowance.” _- And so saying, Dick lent a hand to Lord Foxham to pe dismount; led him up the knoll to the cross; installed ee in the place where he had himself been sitting ; ye EW rly Wheel ke NA PUT RR ED ae Sek my et ache TET NaS TS Orie ome OR SE Sewn wn ¥ a) 5 ~ ra: a \ ype ete ; WA N ive fy es 7 rs YA Mere oa) it ry) FS od } \ oe WEA ey 0 at Uae 184 THE BLACK ARROW. and standing respectfully before his noble prisoner, related the story of his fortunes up to the events of the evening before. Lord Foxham listened gravely, and, when Dick had done, “Master Shelton,” he said, ‘‘ye are a most for- tunate-unfortunate young gentleman; but what for- tune y’ ’ave had, that ye have amply merited; and what unfortune, ye have noways deserved. Be of good cheer; for ye have made a friend, who is devoid neither of power nor favour. For yourself, although it fits not for a person of your birth to herd with outlaws, I must own ye are both brave and honourable; very dangerous in battle, right courteous in peace; a youth of excellent disposition and brave bearing. For your estates, ye will never see them till the world shail change again; so long as Lancaster hath the strong hand, so long shall Sir Daniel enjoy them for his own. For my ward, it is another matter; I had promised her before to a gentleman, a kinsman of my house, one Hamley; the promise is old——— “Ay, my lord, and now Sir Daniel hath promised her to my Lord Shoreby,” interrupted Dick. ‘‘And his promise, for all it is but young, is still the likelier to be made good.” £°Tis the plain truth,” returned his lordship. “And considering, moreover, that I am your prisoner, upon no better composition than my bare life, and over and above that, that the maiden is unhappily in other hands, I will so far consent. Aid me with your good 33 fellows “My lord,” cried Dick, “they are these same out- laws that ye blame me for consorting with.” “Let them be what they will, they can fight,” turned Lord Foxham.: “Help me, then; and if between uS we regain the maid, upon my knightly honour, she shall marry you!’ - Dick bent his knee before his prisoner; but he, leap- | ing up lightly from the cross, caught the lad up and embraced him like a son. “Come,” he said, “an y’ are to marry Joan, we must be early friends.” iy CHAPTER IV THE “GOOD HOPE” N hour thereafter, Dick was back at the Goat and Bagpipes, breaking his fast, and receiving the | report of his messengers and sentries. Duck- worth was still absent from Shoreby; and this was frequently the case, for he played many parts in the _ world, shared many different interests, and conducted ' many various affairs. He had founded that fellow- - ghip of the Black Arrow, as a ruined man longing for vengeance and money; and yet among those who knew him best, he was thought to be the agent and emissary of the great King-maker of England, Richard, Earl — of Warwick. | In his absence, at any rate, it fell upon Richard Shel- - ton to command affairs in Shoreby; and, as he sat at _ meat, his mind was full of care, and his face heavy _ with consideration. It had been determined, between _ him and the Lord Foxham, to make one bold stroke .. that evening, and, by brute force, to set Joanna free. _ The obstacles, however, were many; and as one after - another of his scouts arrived, each brought him more - discomfortable news. _ Sir Daniel was alarmed by the skirmish of the night _ before. He had increased the garrison of the house _ in the garden; but not content with that, he had sta- tioned horsemen in all the neighbouring lanes, so that he might have instant word of any movement. Mean- " ithe signal to ride. _ The adventure of the eae appeared more and more e “difficult of execution, till suddenly Dick’s countenance a “hiptaaine 135 be) TNs oa’ il Ps AE EN Lenin Pe aoa f Le Wat ay murker Ml Naar i ih) La a le Wa 5 ay nV y is BAY mid RAE ROR MOOD oC Pea RRL Oe Ha is a Mi BN SN Ca Nae Be ? é ry AR Ae he Ab VaR eg UR ‘ Pal WRAY ; Lg ! ts Ahan Biter ¢ oo 5 XN / 7 Y% \ SA aa t f ¥ u f S60 THE BLACK ARROW “Lawless!” he cried, ‘‘you that were a shipman, can ye steal me a ship?” “Master Dick,” replied Lawless, “if ye would back -me, I would agree to steal York Minster.” : Presently after, these two set forth and descended to the harbour. It was a considerable basin, lying among sand-hills, and surrounded with patches of down, ancient ruinous lumber, and tumble-down slums of the town. Many decked ships and many open boats either lay there at anchor, or had been drawn up on the beach. A long duration of bad weather had driven them from the high seas into the shelter of the port; and the great trooping of black clouds, and the cold squalls that followed one another, now with a sprinkling of dry snow, now in a mere swoop of wind, promised no improvement, but rather threatened a - more serious storm in the immediate future. The seamen, in view of the cold and the wind, had for the most part slunk ashore, and were now roaring and singing in the shoreside taverns. Many of the ships already rode unguarded at their anchors; and as the day wore on, and the weather offered no appear- ance of improvement, the number was continually be- ing augmented. It was to these deserted ships, and, above all, to those of them that lay far out, that Law- less directed his attention; while Dick, seated upon an anchor that was half embedded in the sand, and giving ear, now to the rude, potent, and boding voices of the gale, and now to the hoarse singing of the ship- men in a neighbouring tavern, soon forgot his imme- diate surroundings and concerns in the agreeable recollection of Lord Foxham’s promise. He was disturbed by a touch upon his shoulder. It was Lawless, pointing to a small ship that lay some- what by itself, and within but a little of the harbour mouth, where it heaved regularly and smoothly on the entering swell. A pale gleam of winter sunshine fell at that moment on the vessel’s deck, relieving her against a bank of scowling cloud; and in this momen- tary glitter Dick could see a couple of men hauling 4 the skiff alongside. Se ete aia rs ea = Pe See _- ee ee THE BLACK ARROW 137 “There, sir,” said Lawless, “mark ye it well! There ty is the ship for to-night.” | Presently the skiff put out from the vessel’s side, and the two men, keeping her head well to the wind, pulled lustily for shore. Lawless turned to a loiterer, “How call ye her?” he asked, pointing to the little vessel. i “They call her the Good Hope, of Dartmouth,” re- plied the loiterer. “Her captain, Arblaster by name. He pulleth the bow oar in yon skiff.” | This was all that Lawless wanted. Hurriedly — _ thanking the man, he moved round the shore to a _ certain sandy creek, for which the skiff was heading. _ There he took up his position, and as soon as they ___ were within earshot, opened fire on the sailors of the _ Good Hope. | = “What! Gossip Arblaster!’ he cried. “Why, ye. be well met; nay, gossip, ye be right well met, upon the rood! And is that the Good Hope? Ay, I would know her among ten thousand !—a sweet shear, a sweet boat! But marry come up, my gossip, will ye drink? I have come into mine estate, which doubtless ye re- member to have heard on. I am now rich; I have left to sail upon the sea; I do sail now, for the most part, upon spiced ale. Come, fellow, thy hand upon’t! Come, drink with an old shipfellow!” ; Skipper Arblaster, a long-faced, elderly, weather- beaten man, with a knife hanging about his neck by a plaited cord, and for all the world like any modern Seaman in his gait and bearing, had hung back in obvious amazement and distrust. But the name of an estate, and a certain air of tipsified simplicity and good-fellowship which Lawless very well affected, combined to conquer his suspicious jealousy; his — countenance relaxed, and he at once extended his open hand and squeezed that of the outlaw in a formidable grasp. “Nay,” he said, “I cannot mind you. But what o’ _ that? I would drink with any man, gossip, and so _ would my man Tom. Man Tom,” he added, address- _ ing his follower, “here is my gossip, whose name I ¢* ae ~_—_ 5 rr, te ee ee es oe Co ee ae ~~, , Mae A ~ AAs 138 ‘ THE BLACK ARROW | cannot mind, but no doubt: a very onoda seaman. Let’s go drink with him and his shore friend.” Lawless led the way, and they were soon seated in an alehouse, which, as it was very new, and stood in an exposed and solitary station, was less crowded than ~ those nearer to the centre of the port. It was but a shed of timber, much like a block-house in the back- woods of to-day, and was coarsely furnished with a press or two, a number of naked benches, and boards set upon barrels to play the part of tables. In the middle, and besieged by half a hundred violent draughts, a fire of wreckwood blazed and vomited i E thick smoke, “Ay, now,” said Lawless, “here is a shipman’s joy— a good fire and a good stiff cup ashore, with foul weather without and an off-sea gale a-snoring in the roof! Here’s to the Good Hope! May she ride easy!’ “Ay,” said Skipper. Arblaster, “ ’tis good weather to be ashore in, that is sooth. Man Tom, how say ye to that? Gossip, ye speak well, though I can never _ think upon your name; but ye speak very weil. ‘May the Good Hope ride easy! Amen.” “Friend Dickon,” resumed Lawiess, addressing hig ‘commander, “ye have certain matters on hand, unless vine l err? Well, prithee be about them incontinently. afternoon, got him as speedily as he might to the Goat For here I be with the choice of all good company, - two tough old shipmen; and till that ye return I will go warrant these brave fellows will bide here’ and drink me cup for cup. We are not like shoremen, we ‘old, tough tarry-Johns!” - “Tt is well meant,” returned the skipper. “Ye can £0, boy; for I will keep your good friend and my good gossip company till curfew—ay, and by St. Mary, till the sun get up again! For, look ye, when a man hath been long enough at sea, the salt getteth me into the clay upon his bones; and let him drink a draw-well, he will never be quenched. ol y; Thus encouraged upon all hands, Dick rose, saluted his company, and going forth again into the gusty ‘ _ and Bagpipes, Thence he sent word to my Lord Fox- s Peer “THE BLACK ARROW 139 sa pa ninat so soon as ever the evening Laat they would have a stout boat to keep the sea in. And then - leading along with him a couple of outlaws who had ean _ some experience, he returned himself to the harbour a and the little sandy creek. 8 The skiff of the Good Hope lay among many others, ~ from which it was easily distinguished by its extreme smallness and fragility. Indeed, when Dick and his re two men had taken their places, and begun to put forth out of the creek into the open harbour, the : ie little cockle dipped into the swell and staggered under ae every gust of wind, like a thing upon the point of ; “ata _ The Good Hope, as we have said, was anchored far - out, where the swell was heaviest. No other vessel 7 ys lay nearer than several cables’ length; those that were | the nearest were themselves entirely deserted; and as the skiff approached, a thick flurry of snow and a sudden darkening of the weather further concealed _ the movements of the outlaws from all possible espiaL ; rad In a trice they had leaped upon the heaving deck, and ' - the skiff was dancing at the stern. The Good Hope was captured. ie _ She was a good stout boat, decked in the bows and " amidships, but open in the stern. She carried one . _ mast, and was rigged between a felucca and a lugger. ‘It would seem that Skipper Arblaster had made an excellent venture, for the hold was full of pieces of : French wine; and in the little cabin, besides the Virgin _ Mary in the bulkhead which proved ‘the captain’s piety, _ there were many lockfast chests and cupboards, which __ showed him to be rich and careful. Py A dog, who was the sole occupant of the vessel, a, furiously barked and bit the heels of the boarders; but he was soon kicked into the cabin, and the door shut oF _ upon his just resentment. A lamp was lit and fixed _ in the shrouds to mark the vessel clearly from the RS Shore; one of the wine-pieces in the hold was broached, and a cup of excellent Gascony emptied to the ad- a ‘satiate of the evening; and then, while one of the es getinivs began to get ready his bow and arrows and 5 OWS NCR vt ih ok 8 TA, ta Dee AD ES ee eS. Die OS eee eS TA Or Uae Ta ee DAVE a ay Len y fees 1 aed AAR 4) ti Fini AY tay ite (etree U4 » ty 2 5 Me ye OS WAV t Sie NIN raha aoa CDTi TT ORO RR TaN a ry Z 4¥ " t¥ pir ie Ute eet Wey CALLA shy. WS. i “ag ‘ ven P a Ne Nea nge eal ta Nazy OT a ¢ 440° THE BLACK ARROW prepare to hold the ship against all comers, the aye hauled in the skiff and got overboard, where he held on, waiting for Dick. | “Well, Jack, keep me a good watch,” said the young _ commander, ‘preparing to follow his subordinate. “Ye will do right well.” . “Why,” returned Jack, “I shall do excellent well in- deed, so long as we lie here; but once we put the nose of this poor ship outside the harbour: See, there, she trembles! Nay, the poor shrew heard the words, 9d the heart misgave her in her oak-tree ribs. But look, Master Dick! how black the weather gathers!’ The darkness ahead was, indeed, astonishing. Great _ billows heaved up out of the blackness, one after an- other; and one after another the Good Hope buoyantly climbed, and giddily plunged upon the further side. _A thin sprinkle of snow and thin flakes of foam came flying, and powdered the deck; and the wind harped dismally among the rigging. “In sooth, it looketh evilly,” said Dick. “But what cheer! ’Tis but a squall, and presently it will blow over.” But, in spite of his words, he was depressingly affected by the bleak disorder of the sky and the wailing and fluting of the wind; and as he got over the side of the Good Hope and made once more for the landing-creek with the best speed of oars, he - erossed himself devoutly, and recommended to Heaven ! the lives of all who should adventure on the sea. At the landing-creek there had already gathered about a dozen of the outlaws. To these the skiff was left, and they were bidden embark without delay. A little further up the beach Dick found Lord Fox- ham hurrying in quest of him, his face concealed with a dark hood, and his bright armour covered by a long russet mantle of a poor appearance. “Young Shelton,” he said, “are ye for the sea, then, — truly ?” “My lord,” replied Richard. “they lie about the house with horsemen; it may not be reached from the land side without alarum ; and, Sir Daniel once advertised — of our adventure, we can no more carry it to a good. Oe ee Se ae —— See Pe ( THE BLACK ARROW 141 end than, saving your presence, we could ride upon the wind. Now, in going round by sea, we do run some peril by the elements; but, what much outweigheth | all, we have a chance to make good our purpose and ‘ bear off the maid.” “Well,” returned Lord Foxham, “lead on. I will, a 1 sn (4 wy AN $y 7 ly oh : i) . id : ce OP. Nhu G/ >> Te A gi Ni ES is . 7 y hy Y Mi With his limbs trussed one to another, and a good gag 4 in his mouth. ig ¥ -insome sort, follow you for shame’s sake; but I own I would I were in bed.” | Here, then,” said Dick. ‘Hither we go to fetch our pilot.” | And he led the way to the rude alehouse where he had given rendezvous to a portion of his men. Some 142 «=, THE BLACK ARROW — OL fhiae he found lingering round the door putida, ‘ ng others had pushed more boldly in, and, choosing places as near as possible to where they saw their comrade, i gathered close about Lawless and the two shipmen. These, to judge by the distempered countenance and - cloudy eye, had long since gone beyond the boundaries of moderation; and as Richard entered, closely fol- lowed by Lord Foxham, they were all three tuning up an old, pitiful sea-ditty, to the chorus of the wailing of the gale. The young leader cast a rapid glance about the - shed. The fire had just been replenished, and gave _ forth volumes of black smoke, so that it was difficult — ' to see clearly in the further corners. It was plain, however, that the outlaws very largely outnumbered the remainder of the guests. Satisfied upon this point, Im case of any failure in the operation of his plan, Dick strode up to the table and resumed his place — upon the bench. ‘ hea 2?” eried the skipper, tipsily, “who are ye, ey 2 9 ~*“T want a word with you without, Master Ar- ~ blaster,” returned Dick; “and here is what we shall talk of.” And he showed him a gold noble in the glimmer of the firelight. _ 'The shipman’s eyes burned, although he still failed to recognize our hero. “Ay, boy,” he said, “I am with you. Gossip, I will be back anon. Drink fair, gossip”; and, taking Dick’s arm to steady his uneven ‘steps, he walked to the door of the alehouse. As soon as he was over the threshold, ten strong arms had seized and bound him; and in two minutes more, with his limbs trussed one to another, and a ce good gag in his mouth, he had been tumbled neck and Bi crop into a neighbouring hay-barn. Presently, his man Tom, similarly secured, was tossed beside him, and the pair were left to their uncouth reflections for the night. aan = ee en 2 -_ aie een os oe bree > = = > Se Sa en Ps ee an eS a Se Sat Eo fr ; <0 Oe, ee A SS ge a ae omni ee oe eet oe 2. eae ag Fmd Ye pene Sr Se eat -- ee Pines: a, “Seegric Ss _ And now, as the time for concealment had gone by, 4 Lord Foxham’s followers were summoned by a pre- THE BLACK ARROW 143 concerted signal, and the party, boldly taking posses- sion of as many boats as their numbers required, pulled in a flotilla for the light in the rigging of the, ship. Long before the last man had climbed to the deck of the Good Hope, the sound of furious shout- _ing from the shore showed that a part, at least, of the seamen had discovered the loss of their skiffs. But it was now too late, whether for recovery or revenge. Out of some forty fighting men now mus- tered in the stolen ship, eight had been to sea, and could play the part of mariners. With the aid of these, a slice of sail was got upon her. The cable was cut. Lawless, vacillating on his feet, and still shout- ing the chorus of sea-ballads, took the long tiller in his hands; and the Good Hope began to flit forward — into the darkness of the night, and to face the great waves beyond the harbour-bar. Richard took his place beside the weather rigging. Except for the ship’s own lantern, and for some lights in Shoreby town, that were already fading to leeward, the whole world of air was as black as in a pit. Only from time to time, as the Good Hope swooped dizzily down into the valley of the rollers, a crest would — _break—a great cataract of snowy foam would leap in one instant into being—and, in an instant more, would stream into the wake and vanish. Many of the men lay holding on and praying aloud; many more were sick, and had crept into the bottom, where they sprawled among the cargo. And what with the extreme violence of the motion, and the continual drunken bravado of Lawless, still shouting and singing at the helm, the stoutest heart on board may have nourished a shrewd misgiving as to the — result. . But Lawless, as if guided by an instinct, steered the — snip across the breakers, struck the lee of a great - sandbank, where they sailed for a while in smooth _ water, and presently after laid her alongside a rude, © stone pier, where she was hastily made fast, and lay | _ ducking and grinding in the dark. CHAPTER V THE “GOOD HOPE” (continued) HE pier was not far distant from the house in which Joanna lay; it now only remained to get the men on shore, to surround the house with a strong party, burst in the door and carry off the captive. They might then regard themselves as done _. with the Good Hope; it had placed them on the rear of their enemies; and the retreat, whether they should succeed or fail in the main enterprise, would be directed with a greater measure of hope in the direc- tion of the forest and my Lord Foxham’s reserve. To get the men on shore, however, was no easy task; many had been sick, all were pierced with cold; the promiscuity and disorder on board had shaken their discipline; the movement of the ship and the darkness of the night had cowed their spirits. They made a rush upon the pier; my lord, with his sword drawn on his own retainers, must throw himself in front; and this impulse of rabblement was not re- strained without a certain clamour of voices, highly to be regretted in the case. When some degree of order had been restored, Dick, with a few chosen men, set forth in advance. The darkness on shore, by contrast with the flashing of the surf, appeared before him like a solid body; and the howling and whistling of the gale drowned any ~ lesser noise: He had searce reached the end of the pier, however, when there fell a lull of the wind; and in this he _ seemed to hear on shore the hollow footing of horses and the clash of arms. Checking his immediate fol- lowers, he passed forward a step or two alone, even ee ms “ ee ee 2 se ree a ag A oA le a ~Cle s ea ae a oS setting foot upon the down; and here he made sure he y 144 THE BLACK ARROW 145 could detect the shape of men and horses moving. A strong discouragement assailed him. If their enemies were really on the watch, if they had beleaguered the shoreward end of the pier, he and Lord Foxham were taken in a posture of very poor defence—the sea behind, the men jostled in the dark upon a narrow causeway. He gave a cautious whistle, the signal previously agreed upon. It proved to be a signal for more than he desired. Instantly there fell, through the black night, a shower of arrows sent at a venture; and so close were the men huddled on the pier that more than one was hit, and the arrows were answered with cries of both fear and pain. In this first discharge, Lord Foxham was struck down; Hawksley had him carried on board again at once; and his men, during the brief remainder of the skirmish, fought (when they fought at all) without guidance. That was, perhaps, the chief cause of the disaster which made haste to follow. At the shore end of the pier, for perhaps a minute, Dick held his own with a handful; one or two were wounded upon either side; steel crossed steel; nor had there been the least signal of advantage, when, in a the twinkling of an eye, the tide turned against the party from the ship. Someone cried out that all was lost; the men were in the very humour to lend an ear to a discomfortable counsel; the cry was taken up. “On board, lads, for your lives!” cried another. A third, with the true instinct of the coward, raised that inevitable report on all retreats: “We are betrayed!’ ~And in a moment the whole mass of men went surging | | and jostling backward down the pier, turning their defenceless backs on their pursuers and piercing the night with craven outcry. One coward thrust off the ship’s stern, while an- other still held her by the bows. The fugitives leaped, screaming, and were hauled on board, or fell back and perished in the sea. Some were cut down upon | the pier by the pursuers. Many were injured on the ship’s deck in the blind haste and terror of the moment, one man leaping upon another, and a third on both. - through all the hurly-burly by sheer strength of body blood, its deck heaped with fallen men, sprawling and 146 THE BLACK ARROW | At ee: whether by design or incetdant. the bows of the Good H ope were liberated; and the ever-ready Lawless, who had maintained his place at the helm and a liberal use of the cold steel, instantly clapped her onthe proper tack. The ship began to move once more forward on the stormy sea, its scuppers running struggling in the dark. ‘i Thereupon, Lawless sheathed his dagger, and turn- : ing to his next neighbour, “I have left my mark on 4 them, gossip,” said he, “the yelping, coward hounds.” <) Now, while they were all leaping and struggling for | their lives, the men had not appeared to observe the eS - rough shoves and cutting stabs with which Lawless ‘ _ had held his post in the confusion. But perhapsthey had already begun to understand somewhat more ‘ clearly, or perhaps another ear had overheard the © - helmsman’s speech. Panic-stricken troops recover slowly, and men who By: have just disgraced themselves by cowardice, as if to a ‘wipe out the memory of their fault, will sometimes a run straight into the opposite extreme of insubordina- ii tion. So it was now; and the same men who had i _ thrown away their weapons and been hauled, feet fore- 7 most, into the Good Hope, began to cry out upon their id leaders, and demand that someone should be punished. Ht. This growing ill-feeling turned upon Lawless. Oe In order to get a proper offing, the old outlaw had \ _ put the head of the Good Hope to seaward. Be: “What!” bawled one of the grumblers, “he carrieth 4 us to seaward!” ly “Tis sooth,” cried another. “Nay, we are betrayed - for sure.” , And they all began to cry out in chorus that they were betrayed, and in shrill tones and with abomin- able oaths bade Lawless go about-ship and bring them ~ | speedily ashore. Lawless, grinding his teeth, con- — tinued in silence to steer the true course, guiding the ‘a Good Hope among the formidable billows. To their empty terrors, as to their dishonourable threats, be- THE BLACK ARROW 147 RS * Reece drink and dignity he scorned to make reply. PSE SRS Sn age rt ‘2a... P. or * Py ee oe ees EM, Ores es b * f ~iby ee. et zs ek 3 nF es - =<" ys aot oe 72 . : - The malcontents drew together a little abaft the mast, and it was plain they were like barnyard cocks, ‘‘crow- ing for courage.”’ Presently they would be fit for any extremity of injustice or ingratitude. Dick began to mount by the ladder, eager to interpose; but one of the outlaws, who was also something of a seaman, got - beforehand. “Lads,” he began, “y’ are right wooden heads, I think. For to get back, by the mass, we must-have an offing, must we not? And this old Lawless——” Someone struck the speaker on the mouth, and the - next moment, as a fire springs among dry straw, he _ was felled upon the deck, trampled under the feet, and despatched by the daggers of his cowardly companions. At this the wrath of Lawless rose and broke. “Steer yourselves,” he bellowed, with a curse; and, careless of the result, he left the helm. The Good Hope was, at that moment, trembling on the summit of a swell. She subsided, with sickening velocity, upon the farther side. A wave, like a great black bulwark, hove immediately in front of her; and, with a staggering blow, she plunged head-foremost through that liquid hill. The green water passed right over her from stem to stern, as high as a man’s knees; - the sprays ran higher than the mast; and she rose again upon the other side, with an appalling, tremulous indecision, like a beast that has been deadly wounded. Six or seven of the malcontents had been carried bodily overboard; and as for the remainder, when they found their tongues again, it was to bellow to the | saints and wail upon Lawless to come back and take the tiller. Nor did Lawless wait to be twice bidden. The ter- rible result of his fling of just resentment sobered: him completely: He knew, better than any one on board, how nearly the Good Hope had gone bodily down below | - their feet; and he could tell, by the laziness with which she met the sea, that the peril was by no means over. Dick, who had been thrown down by the concussion and half drowned, rose wading to his knees in the 148 THE BLACK ARROW swamped well of the stern, ond crept to the old helms- i man’s side. “Lawless,” he said, “we do all depend on you; y’ are © a brave, steady man, indeed, and crafty in the manage- ment of ships; I shall put three men to watch upon your safety.” _ “Bootless, my master, bootless,” said the steersman, peering forward through the dark. ‘‘We come every moment somewhat clearer of these sandbanks; with every moment, then, the sea packeth upon us heavier, and for all these whimperers, they will presently be on their backs. For, my master, tis a right mystery, ‘but true, there never yet was a bad man that was a good shipman. None but the honest and the bold can endure me this tossing ofa ship.” \4;' “Nay, Lawless,” said Dick, laughing, “that is a right shipman’s byword, and hath no more of sense than the whistle of the wind. But prithee, how go we? Do we Tie well? Are we in good case?” “Master Shelton,” replied Lawless, “I have been a Grey Friar—I praise fortune—an archer, a thief, and ~ a shipman. Of all these coats, I had the best fancy to die in the Grey Friar’s, as ye may readily conceive, and the least fancy to die in John Shipman’s tarry jacket; and that for two excellent good reasons: first, that the death might take a man suddenly; and second, _. for the horror of that great salt smother and welter under my foot here’—and Lawless stamped with his foot. ‘Howbeit,” he went on, “an I die not a sailor’s death, and that this night, I shall owe a tall candle to © our Lady.”’ “Ts it so?” asked Dick. “Tt is right so,’ replied the outlaw.“Do ye not feel how heavy and dull she moves upon the waves? Do ye not hear the water washing in her hold? She will scarce mind the rudder even now. Bide till she has settled a bit lower; and she will either go down below your boots like a stone image, or drive ashore here, under our lee, and come all to pieces like a twist of string.” “Ye speak with a good courage,” returned Dick. ah THE BLACK ARROW 149 “Ye are not then appalled tis “Why, master,” answered Lawless, “if ever a man had an ill crew to come to port with, iti is I—a renegade friar, a thief, and all the rest on’t. Well, ye may wonder, but I keep a good hope in my wallet; and if that I be to drown, I will drown with a bright eye, Master Shelton, and a steady hand.’’ Dick returned no answer, but he was surprised to - find the old vagabond of so resolute a temper, and | - fearing some fresh violence or treachery, set forth upon his quest for three sure men. The great bulk of the men had now deserted the deck, which was con- tinually wetted with the flying sprays, and where they Jay exposed to the shrewdness of the winter wind. They had gathered, instead, into the hold of the mer- chandise, among the butts of wine, and lighted by twa swinging lanterns. Here a few kept up the form of revelry, and toasted each other deep in Arblaster’s Gascony wine. But as the Good Hope continued to tear through the smoking waves, and toss her stem and stern alternately high in - air and deep into white foam, the number of these jolly companions diminished with every. moment and with every lurch. Many sat apart, tending their hurts, | but the majority were already prostrated with sick- ness, and lay moaning in the bilge. Greensheve, Cuckow, and a young fellow of Lord Foxham’s whom Dick had already remarked for his _ Intelligence and spirit, were still, however, both fit to understand and willing to obey. These Dick set as a -body-guard about the person of the steersman, and then, with a last look at the black sky and sea, he turned and went below into the cabin, whither Lon _ Foxham had been carried by his servants. ph tr , j CHAPTER VI THE “GOOD HOPE” (concluded) HE moans of the wounded baron blended with the © wailing of the ship’s dog. ‘The poor animal, _ whether he was merely sick at heart to be sepa- rated from his friends, or whether he indeed recog- nized some peril in the labouring of the ship, raised his cries, like minute-guns, above the roar of wave and - weather; and the more superstitious of the men heard, in these sounds, the knell of the Good Hope. ea -. Lord Foxham had been laid in a berth, upon a fur — cloak. A little lamp burned dim before the Virgin ~ in the bulk-head, and by its glimmer Dick could see — the pale countenance and hollow eyes of the hurt man. “I am sore hurt,” said he. “Come near to my side t young Shelton; let there be one by me who, at least, — is gentle born; for after having lived nobly and richly — all the days of my life, this is a sad pass that I should | get my hurt in a little ferreting skirmish, and die here, — in a foul, cold ship upon the sea, among broken men and churls.” cu “Nay, my lord,” said Dick, “I pray rather to the — saints that ye will recover you of your hurt, and come — _ goon and sound ashore.” My “How?” demanded his lordship. “Come sound ashore? There is, then, a question of it?” “The ship laboureth—the sea is grievous and con-— _ trary,” replied the lad; “and by what I can learn of my fellow that steereth us, we shall do well, indeed, if we come dryshod to land.” ri “Hal? said the baron, gloomily, “thus shall every terror attend upon the passage of my soul! Sir, pray — rather to live hard, that ye may die easy, than to be — 150 rae | ee ere ae tabor, and, in the last hour, be plunged among mis- fortunes! Howbeit, I have that upon my mind that | must not be delayed. We have no priest aboard?” “None,” replied Dick. “Here, then, to my secular interests,” resumed Lord Foxham; “ye must be as good a’ friend to me dead, as I found you a gallant enemy when I was living. T fall in an evil hour for me, for England; and for them that trusted me. My men are being brought by Ham- ley—he that was your rival; they will rendezvous in the long room at Holywood : this ring from off my finger will accredit you to represent mine orders; and I shall write, besides, two words upon this paper, bidding Hamley yield to you the damsel. Will he obey? I know not.” “But, my lord, what orders? ?” inquired Dick. “Ay, » quoth the baron, “‘ay—the orders’; and he looked upon Dick with hesitation. “Are ye Lancaster — or York?” he asked, at length. | : “T shame to say it,” answered Dick, “I can scarce clearly answer. But so much I think is certain: since | I serve with Ellis Duckworth, I serve the House of York. Well, if that be so, I declare for York.” ‘Tt is well,” returned the other; “it is exceedingly well. For, truly, had ye said Lancaster, I wot not for the world what I had done. But sith ye are for York, follow me. I came hither but to watch these lords at Shoreby, while mine excellent young lord, Richard of Gloucester,* prepareth a sufficient force to fall upon and scatter them. I have made me notes of their strength, what watch they keep, and how they lie; and these I was to deliver to my young lord on Sun- _ day, an hour before noon, at St. Bride’s Cross beside the forest. This tryst I am not like to keep, but I . pray you, of courtesy, to keep it in my stead; and see that not pleasure, nor pain, tempest, wound, nor pest- ilence withhold you from the hour and place, for the *At the date of this story, Richard Crookback could not have ' been created Duke of Gloucester; but for clearness, with the reader’s leave, he shall so be called. THE BLACK ARROW IBY Pee 152 THE BLACK ARROW — welfare of England lieth upon this cast.” “T do soberly take this upon me,” said Dick. “In so far as in me lieth, your purpose shall be done.”’ “It is good,’ said the wounded man. “My lord Duke shall order you farther, and if ye obey him with spirit and goodwill, then is your fortune made. Give me the lamp a little nearer to mine eyes, till I write these words for you.” He wrote a note ‘“‘to his worshipful kinsman, Sir John Hamley’”; and then a second, which he left with- ~ out external superscription. ‘This is for the Duke,” hesaid. “The word is ‘England and Edward,’ and the counter, ‘England and York.’ ” “And Joanna, my lord?’ asked Dick. “Nay, ye must get Joanna how ye can,” replied the baron. “I have named ye for my choice in both these letters; but ye must get her for yourself, boy. I have tried, as ye see here before you, and have lost my life. More could no man do.” By this time the wounded man began to be very weary; and Dick, putting the precious papers in his _ bosom, bade him be of good cheer, and left him to - repose. il The day was beginning to break, cold and blue, wit fiying squalls of snow. Close under the lee of the Good Hope, the coast lay in alternate rocky headlands and sandy bays; and further inland the wooded hill-tops of Tunstall showed along the sky. Both the wind and the sea had gone down; but the vessel wallowed deep, and scarce rose upon the waves. Lawless was still fixed at the rudder; and by this time nearly all the men had crawled on deck, and were now gazing, with blank faces, upon the inhospitable coast. “Are we going ashore?” asked Dick. “Ay,” said Lawless, “unless we get first to the bot- tom.” And just then the ship rose so languidly to meet @ sea, and the water weltered so loudly in her hold, that Dick involuntarily seized the steersman by the eS) wd Sh v3 TAs fe CN - , 4 ‘ae feel Oe, ad oo? So ae Mm Ed ue pfs Aiea BGP ST a THE BLACK ARROW 153 Le mal a cae aa 4 ay vy tie, Breaking up the deck to build a raft. ig “By the mass!” cried Dick, as the bows of the Good Hope reappeared above the foam, “I thought we had foundered, indeed; my heart was at my throat.” ee f In the waist, Greensheve, Hawksley, and the better men of both companies were busy breaking up the deck to build a raft; and to these Dick joined him- ) self, working the harder to drown the memory of his predicament. But, even as he worked, every sea that - struck the poor ship, and every one of her dull lurches, 154«~=*=<“«*«STKEE BLACK ARROW as she tumbled wallowing among the waves, recalled — him with a horrid pang to the immediate proximity of — death. Presently, looking up from his work, he saw that they were close in below a promontory; a piece of - ruinous cliff, against the base of which the sea broke white and heavy, almost overplumbed the deck; and - above that again, a house appeared, crowning a down. Inside the bay, the seas ran gaily, raised the Good Hope upon their foam-flecked shoulders, carried her | _ beyond the control of the steersman, and in a moment - dropped her with a great concussion on the sand, and began to break over her, half-mast high, and roll her to and fro. Another great wave followed, raised her again, and carried her yet farther in; and then a third succeeded, and left her far inshore of the more danger- ous breakers, wedged upon a bank. “Now, boys,” cried Lawless, “the saints have had a eare of us, indeed. The tide ebbs; let us but sit down and drink a cup of wine, and before half an hour ye may all march me ashore as safe as on a bridge.” } A barrel was broached, and, sitting in what shelter they could find from the flying snow and spray, the shipwrecked company handed the cup around, and sought to warm their bodies and restore their spirits. Dick, meanwhile, returned to Lord Foxham, who Jay i in great perplexity and fear, the floor of his cabin washing knee-deep in water, and the lamp, which had been his only light, broken and extinguished by the violence of the blow. ; “My lord,” said young Shelton, “fear not at all; the - saints are plainly for us; the seas have cast us high _ upon a shoal, and as soon as the, tide hath somewhat ebbed, we may walk ashore upon our feet.” It was nearly an hour before the vessel was suf- ficiently deserted by the ebbing sea, and they could set forth for the land, which appeared dimly before _them through a veil of driving snow. - Upon a hillock on one side of their way a party of men lay huddled together, suspiciously observing the — _ movements of the new arrivals. ‘THE BLACK ARROW _ 155° “They might draw near and offer us some comfort,” - Dick remarked. | “Well, an they come not to us, let us even turn aside to them,” said Hawksley. “The sooner we come to a good fire and a dry bed, the better for my poor lord.” But they had not moved far in the direction of the hillock before the men, with one consent, rose sud- denly to their feet, and poured a flight of well-directed arrows on the shipwrecked company. “Back! back!” cried his lordship. “Beware, in Heaven’s name, that ye reply not!” “Nay,” cried Greensheve, pulling an arrow from his | leather jack. “We are in no posture to fight, it is certain, being drenching wet, dog-weary, and three- parts frozen; but, for the love of old England, what aileth them to shoot thus cruelly on their poor coun- try people in distress?” > | “They take us to be French pirates,” answered Lord } - Foxham. “In these most troublesome and degenerate | days we cannot keep our own shores of England; but ~ > aha _ our old enemies whom we once chased on sea and land, on - do now range at pleasure, robbing and saueneoritelt ane It is the pity and reproach of this poor - yA Th lait vei 4 The men upon the hillock lay, closely observing them, _ while they trailed upward from the beach, and wound _ inland among desolate sand-hills; for a mile or so they - even hung upon the rear of the march, ready, at a ’ sign, to pour another volley on the weary and dispir- ited fugitives; and it was only when, striking at length “3 upon a firm high-road, Dick began to call his men to _ some more martial order, that these jealous guardians _ of the coast of England silently disappeared among the — _ snow. They had done what they desired; they had : protected their own homes and farms, their own fam- - ilies and cattle; and their private interest being thus secured, it mattered not the weight of a straw to any one of them, although the Frenchmen should carry _ blood and fire to every other parish in the realm of ani BOOK IV a THE DISGUISE CHAPTER I THE DEN “WAHE place where Dick had struck the line of ahigh- _ road was not far from Holywood, and within. © | nine or ten miles of Shoreby-on-the-Till; and here after making sure that they were pursued no longer, the two bodies separated. Lord Foxham’s fol- — lowers departed, carrying their wounded master to- wards the comfort and security of the great abbey; — and Dick, as he saw them wind away and disappear in the thick curtain of the falling snow, was left alone with near upon a dozen outlaws, the last remainder of his troop of volunteers. j Some were wounded; one and all were furious at their ill-success and long exposure; and though they were now too cold and hungry to do more, they grum- bled and cast sullen looks upon their leaders. Dick emptied his purse among them, leaving himself noth- ing; thanked them for the courage they had displayed, though he could have found it more readily in his heart to rate them for poltroonery; and having thus some- | what softened the effect of his prolonged misfortune, despatched them to find their way, either severally _or in pairs, to Shoreby and the Goat and Bagpipes. For his own part, influenced by what he had seen © on board of the Good Hope, he chose Lawless to be his companion on the walk. The snow was falling, without pause or variation, in one even, blinding cloud; the wind had been strangled, and now blew no longer; - and the whole world was blotted out and sheeted down below that silent inundation. There was great danger — of wandering by the way and perishing in drifts; and ~~ Lawless, keeping half a step in front of his companion, — and holding his head forward like a hunting dog upon ~ 156 THE BLACK ARROW 157 the scent, inquired his way of every tree, and studied out their path as though he were conning a ship among dangers. 4,bout a mile into the forest they came to < place where several ways met, under a grove of lofty and contorted oaks. Even in the narrow horizon of the falling snow, it was a spot that could not fail to be. recognized; and Lawless evidently recognized it with particular delight. “Now, Master Richard,” said he, “an y’ are not too proud to be the guest of a man.who is neither a gentle- man by birth nor so much as a good Christian, I can offer you a cup of wine and a good fire to melt the - marrow in your frozen bones.” “Lead on, Will,” answered Dick. “A cup of wine and a good fire! Nay, I would go a far way round to see them.” . Lawless turned aside under the bare branches of the grove, and, walking resolutely forward for some time, came to a steepish hollow or den, that had now drifted a quarter full of snow. On the verge a great beech-tree hung, precariously rooted; and here the old outlaw, pulling aside some bushy underwood, bod- ily disappeared into the earth. The beech had, in some violent gale, been half-up- rooted, and had torn up a considerable stretch of turf; and it was under this that old Lawless had dug out his forest hiding-place. The roots served him for rafters, the turf was his thatch, for walls and floors he had his mother the earth. Rude as it was, the. _ hearth in one corner, blackened by fire, and the pres- ence in another of a large oaken chest well fortified with iron, showed it at one glance to be the den of a man, and not the burrow of a digging beast. Though the snow had drifted at the mouth and sifted in upon the floor of this earth-cavern, yet was — the air much warmer than without; and when Law- _ less had struck a spark, and the dry furze bushes had begun to blaze and crackle on the hearth, the place . Cont even to the eye, an air of comfort and of home, es Ae “THE BLACK ARROW. With a sigh of great contentment Lawless ee his broad hands before the fire, and seemed to breathe _ the smoke. “Here, then,” he said, “is this old Lawless’s rabbit- — a hole; pray Heaven there come no terrier! Far have I rolled hither and thither, and here and about, since that I was fourteen years of mine age and first ran away from mine abbey, with the sacrist’s gold chain and a mass-book that I sold for four marks. I have been in England and France and Burgundy, and in — 4 - $pain, too, on a pilgrimage for my poor soul; and ~ upon the sea, which is no man’s country. But here is my place, Master Shelton. This is my native land, this burrow in the earth. Come rain or wind—and whether it’s April, and the birds all sing, and the blossoms fall about my bed, or whether it’s winter, and I sit alone with my good gossip the fire, and robin redbreast twitters in the woods—here is my church and market, my wife and child. It’s here I come back to, aoe it’s here, so please the saints, that I would like to die “Tis a warm corner, to be sure,” replied Dick, “and a pleasant, and a well hid.’ “Tt had need to be,” returned Lawless, “for an they - found it, Master Shelton, it would break my heart. iy ‘But here,” he added, burrowing with his stout fingers “In the sandy floor, “here is my wine cellar, and ye shall have a flask of excellent strong stingo.” ‘Sure enough, after a little digging, he produced a ) big bottle of about a gallon, nearly three parts full — A of a very heady and sweet wine; and when they had drunk to each other comradely, and the fire had been — replenished and blazed up again, the pair lay at full ~~ length, thawing and steaming, and divinely warm. i ‘‘Master Shelton,” observed the outlaw, “y’ ’ave had | two mischances this last while, and y’ are like to lose the maid—do I take it aright? ud ae “Aright,” returned Dick, nodding his head. “Well, now,” continued Lawless, “hear an old fool y ‘that hath been nigh-hand everything, and seen nigh- ~ hand all. “Ye go too much on other people’s errands, tie se ee Mes 2 hes Cini a Yas ie ti j , yt K, rey a8 oP doy I> na Sy " jan Nate ; - \ ’ ‘ ie a ql Ret ¥ f : ‘ % A. ' } h THE pia ARROW 159 Master Dick. Ye go on Ellis’s; but he desiréth rather the death of Sir Daniel. Ye go on Lord Foxham’s; well—the saints preserve him!—doubtless he meaneth | well. But go ye upon your own, good Dick. Come right to the maid’s side. Court her, lest that she for- get you. Be ready; and when the chance shall come, | off with her at the saddlebow.” “Ay, but, Lawless, beyond doubt she is now in Sir Daniel’s own mansion,” answered Dick. “Thither, then, go we,” replied the outlaw. Dick stared at him. : “Nay, I mean it,” nodded Lawless. “And if y’ are - of so little faith, and stumble at a word, see here!” _ And the outlaw, taking a key from about his neck, opened the oak chest, and dipping and groping deep. among its contents, produced first a friar’s robe, and next a girdle of rope; and then a huge rosary of wood, - heavy enough to be counted as a weapon. “Here,” he said, “is for you. On with them! 1 And then, when Dick had clothed himself in this clerical disguise, Lawless produced some colours and -a pencil, and proceeded, with the greatest cunning, to disguise his face. The eyebrows he thickened and produced; to the moustache, which was yet hardly visible, he rendered a like service; while, by a few _ lines around his eye, he changed the expression and ' increased the apparent age of this young monk. _ “Now,” he resumed, “when I have done the like, we _ shall make as bonny a pair of friars as the eye could - wish. Boldly to Sir Daniel’s we shall go, and there be - hospitably welcome for the love of Mother Church.” iq “And how, dear Lawless,” cried the lad, ‘‘shall I repay you?” “Tut, brother,” replied the outlaw, “I do naught but _ for my pleasure. Mind not for me. I am one, by the mass, that mindeth for himself. When that I lack, JI have a long tongue and a voice like the monastery _ bell—I do ask, my son; and where asking faileth, I - do most usually take.” _ The old rogue made a humorous grimace, and al- though Dick was displeased to lie under so great fav- to restrain his mirth. | arrows. fore arrows, when ye take no bow?” SRE RES eae CME NIN) PCO a Mea MNS AR AER is Ol ON LeAnn Ys baer eee eA YT ti ei 4 if Fie te Mr hy Cee Ca | SEIN Ge) eoy yee? Baty BIOL ANIAG SEL ae ib SEES eh ye Ata SF eh \ 1 i a ADS DSS ENS Sy eh 160 --' THE BLACK ARROW ours to so equivocal a personage, he was yet unable _ ; With that, Lawless returned to the big chest, and ‘was soon similarly disguised; but below his gown, Dick wondered to observe him conceal a sheaf of black — “Wherefore do ye that?” asked the lad. ‘‘Where- " “Nay, replied Lawless, lightly, ‘‘ ’tis like there will be heads broke—not to say backs—ere you and I win sound from where were going to; and if any fall, I would our fellowship should come by the credit on’t. A black arrow, Master Dick, is the seal of our abbey; it showeth you who writ the bill.” “An ye prepare so carefully,” said Dick, “I have here some papers that, for mine own sake, and the interest of those that trusted me, were better left be-. hind than found upon my body. Where shall I con- ceal them, Will?” “Nay,” replied Lawless, “I will go forth into the © wood and whistle me three verses of a song; mean- ~ while, do you bury them where ye please, and smooth — the sand upon the place.” 4 “Never!” cried Richard. “I trust you, man. I were — base indeed if I not trusted you.” | “Brother, y’ are but a child,” replied the old out- — law, pausing and turning his face upon Dick from the ~ threshold of the den. “I am a kind old Christian, and — no traitor to men’s blood, and no sparer of mine own ~ in a friend’s jeopardy. But, fool child, I am a thief | by trade and birth and habit. If my bottle were empty ~ and my mouth dry, I would rob you, dear child, as sure as I love, honour, and admire your parts and person! — Can it be clearer spoken? No.’ . And he stumped forth through the bushes with a © snap of his big fingers. 4 Dick, thus left alone, after a wondering though a upon the inconsistencies of his companion’s character, ; hastily produced, reviewed, and buried his panckey ‘f ee ee en Pig-es es pies en = THE BLACK ARROW 161 _ gerve him, in a pinch, against Sir Daniel. That was the knight’s own letter to Lord Wensleydale, sent by — Throgmorton, on the morrow of the defeat at Rising- ham, and found next day by Dick upon the body of the messenger. Then, treading down the embers of the fire, Dick left the den, and rejoined the old outlaw, who stood awaiting him under the leafless oaks, and was already beginning to be powdered by the falling snow. Each _ looked upon the other, and each laughed, so thorough and so droll was the disguise. “Yet I would it were but summer and a clear day,’ grumbled the outlaw, “that I might see myself in the mirror of a pool. There be many of Sir Daniel’s men that know me; and if we fell to be recognized, there _ might be two words for you, my brother, but as for me, in a paternoster-while, I should be kicking in a rope’s-end.”’ Thus they set forth together along the road to Shoreby, which, in this part of its course, kept near — _ the margin of a "forest, coming forth from time to time - in the open country, and passing beside poor folk’s houses and small farms. Presently, at sight of one of these, Lawless pulled up. “Brother Martin,” he said, in a voice capitally dis- _ guised, and suited to his monkish robe, “let us enter and seek alms from these poor sinners. Pax vobis- cum! Ay,” he added, in his own voice, “’tis as I h feared; I have somewhat lost the whine of it; and by your leave, good master Shelton, ye must suffer me to _ practise in these country places, before that I risk my fat neck by entering Sir Daniel’s. But look ye a little, “what an excellent thing it is to be a Jack-of-all-trades! ; An T had not been a shipman, ye had infallibly gone ' down in the Good Hope; an I had not been a thief, A, - I could not have painted me your face; and but that I had been a Grey Friar, and sung loud in the choir, | _ and ate hearty at the board, I could not have carried — Ge ths disguise, but the very dogs would have spied us BR pet and barked at us for shams.” at A } eee: Bik i) net PN tary Wola BaDERIS te pivots 3 1s ye 1220s BLACK ARROW He was nee this time plo to the ibePR Oo of chee _ farm, and he rose on his tip-toes and peeped in. sis “Nay,” he cried, “better and better. We shall et ee eo oe Set ae 5 ee ee He drew from under his robe a black arrow. try our false faces with a vengeance, and have a merry © jest on Brother Capper to boot.” _ And so saying he opened the door and led the way > into the house. Three of their own company sat at the table, greedily — eating. Their daggers, stuck beside them in the board, ~ and the black and menacing looks which they continued — hy 2710 shower upon the people of the house, proved that _ they owed their entertainment rather to force than favour. On the two monks, who now, with a sort of i‘ - humble dignity, entered the kitchen of the farm, hee 4 pwns hae he t ‘ } Aya \ its 4 y ih \ a ' Ly ee Re tay ae vi € ht Mb Ls . Lae fi Sa abd “THE BLACK ARROW il : i RG: to turn with a particular resentment; and one — , : i —it was John Capper in person—who seemed to play the leading part, instantly and rudely orderrd them : away. _ “We want no beggars here!” he cried. _ _ But another—although he was far from recognizing _ Dick and Lawless—inclined to more moderate coun-— - gels. Bs “Not so,” he eried. “We be strong men, and take: > ‘these be weak, and crave; but in the latter end these a father; but come, drink of my cup, and give me a benediction.” + _ “Y? are men of a light mind, carnal and accursed, ” _ said the monk. “Now, may the saints forbid that _ ever I should drink with such companions! But here, a for the pity I bear to sinners, here I do leave you a ® shall be uppermost and we below. Mind him not, my \ BK blessed relic, the which, for your soul’s interest, I bid he ' you kiss and cherish.” So far Lawless thundered upon them like a preach- ; - ing friar; but with these words he drew from under — _ his robe a black arrow, tossed it on the board in front. _ of the three startled outlaws, turned in the same in- > stant, and, taking Dick along with him, was out of the - room and out of sight among the falling snow before { _ they had time to utter a word or move a finger. 4 “So,” he said, “we have proved our false faces, _ Master Shelton. I will now adventure my poor car- . - case where ye please.” | ee m “Good!” returned Richard. “It irks me to be doing. _ Set we on for Shoreby !” Pas. Oh ak EP ME ia eh Ge ak Se ta dt AER ANS ey Ce UDR Re we ef PAT W STURN Sl RRLN IT Rt San MURR aR ERC AL CR ie CHAPTER Hf “IN MINE ENEMIES’ HOUSE” IR DANIEL’S residence in Shoreby was a tall, commodious, plastered mansion, framed in carven oak, and covered by a low-pitched roof of thatch. — To the back there stretched a garden, full of fruit- trees, alleys, and thick arbours, and overlooked from the far end by the tower of the abbey church. The house might contain, upon a pinch, the retinue | of a greater person than Sir Daniel; but even now it was filled with hubbub. The court rang with arms. — and horseshoe-iron; the kitchen roared with cookery like a bees’-hive; minstrels, and the players of instru- ments, and the cries of tumblers, sounded from the hall. Sir Daniel, in his profusion, in the gaiety and gallantry of his establishment, rivalled with Lord Shoreby, and eclipsed Lord Risingham. All guests were made welcome. Minstrels, tumblers, players of chess, sellers of relics, medicines, perfumes — and enchantments, and along with these every sort of priest, friar or pilgrim, were made welcome to the — lower table, and slept together in the ample lofts, or on the bare boards of the long dining-hall. On the afternoon following the wreck of the Good Hope, the buttery, the kitchens, the stables, the covered cartshed that surrounded two sides of the court, were ~all crowded by idle people, partly belonging to Sir © Daniel’s establishment, and attired in his livery of murrey and _ blue, partly nondescript strangers — attracted to the town by greed, and received by the knight through policy, and because it was the fashion i of the time. The snow, which still fell without interruption, the 4 extreme chill of the air, and the approach of night, 164 THE BLACK ARROW 165 _ combined to keep them under shelter. Wine, ale, and - money were all plentiful; many sprawled gambling in _ the straw of the barn, many were still drunken from , _ the noontide meal. To the eye of a modern it would ? _ have looked like the sack of a city; to the eye of a 7 contemporary it was like any other rich and noble | _ household at a festive season. Fd _ Two monks—a young and an old—had arrived late, and were now warming themselves at a bonfire in a - corner of the shed. A mixed crowd surrounded them _ —Jjugglers, mountebanks, and soldiers; and with these " the elder of the two had soon engaged so brisk a conversation, and exchanged so many loud guffaws and country witticisms, that the group momentarily - increased in number. The younger companion, in whom the reader has already recognized Dick Shelton, sat from the first somewhat backward, and gradually drew himself | away. He listened, indeed, closely, but he opened not his mouth; and by the grave expression of his . countenance, he made but little account of his com- - panion’s pleasantries. At last his eye, which travelled continually to and fro, and kept a guard upon all the entrances of the house, lit upon a little procession entering by the main ‘ gate and crossing the court in an oblique direction. Two ladies, muffled in thick furs, led the way, and were = by a pair of waiting-women and four stout . si ae ge ae ge men-at-arms. The next moment they had disappeared within the house; and Dick, slipping through the crowd of loiterers in the shed, was already giving hot pursuit. “The taller of these twain was Lady Brackley,” he ; vob ‘and where Lady Brackley is, Joan will not oy ar ie At the door of the house the four men-at-arms had _ ceased to follow, and the ladies were now mounting . the stairway of polished oak, under no better escort _ than that of the two waiting-women. Dick followed _ close behind. It was already the dusk of the day; and i in the house the darkness of the night had almost ies ate BLACK ARROW Sih Pobatied © by every door. And where the door stood _ open, Dick could look in upon arras-covered walls, and ~ -eome. On the Hire a torches es in aa w - -~wood-fires. ae | “younger and shorter of the two ladies had looked back — keenly at the monk. He, keeping his eyes lowered, — had attracted her attention. And now, on the third : floor, the party separated, the younger lady continuing ~ to ascend alone, the other, followed by the ware hard an I find not Dame Hatch upon an errand.” é in the furs. She, on her part, was shocked and ter-_ - rified beyond expression, and hung trembling in ee - thousand pardons; but T have no eyes behind, and, by) fi the mass, I could not tell ye were a maid.” by suspicion. Dick, who could read these changes on her face, became alarmed for his own safety in that; hostile house. i . to kiss your hand, in token ye age my roughnessa and I will even go.” holders: down the long tapestried corridors a lamp rush-bescattered floors, glowing in the light of the ” Two floors were passed, and at every landing the 3 and affecting the demure manners that suited his dis- | guise, had but seen her once, and was unaware that he © maids, descending the corridor to the right. Dick mounted with a swift foot, and holding to thal corner, thrust forth his head and followed the three women with his eyes. Without turning or looking : behind them, they continued to descend the corridor. — “It is right well,” thought Dick. “Let me but : know my Lady Brackley’ s chamber, and it will zo . q And just then a hand was laid upon his shoulder, 4 and, with a bound and a choked cry, he turned to. grapple his assailant. : He was somewhat abashed to find, in the person q whom he had so roughly seized, the short young lady grasp. “Madam,” said Dick, releasing her, “y ery you a The girl continued to look at him, but, by this time, | terror began to be succeeded by surprise, and surprise “Fair maid,” he said, affecting easiness, “suffer me THE BLACK ARROW 167 Pony. lady, looking him both sain zu shrewdly in the face; ‘and now that my first astonishment hath ~ somewhat passed away, I can spy the layman in each word you utter. What do ye here? Why are ye thus an _gacrilegiously tricked out? Come ye in peace or war? - And why spy ye after Lady Brackley like a thief?” : “Madam,” quoth Dick, “of one thing I pray ye to be © very sure: I am no thief. And even if I come here in war, as in some degree I do, I make no war upon fair _ Maids, and I hereby entreat them to copy me so far, and leave me be. For, indeed, fair mistress, cry out— it such be your pleasure—cry but once, and say what ye have seen, and the poor gentleman before you is “merely a dead man. I cannot think ye would be Y. cruel, ” added Dick; and taking the girl’s hand gently in “Are ye then a spy—a Yorkist? 2?” asked the maid. Ba. “Madam, ” he ene “I am indeed a Yorkist, and Berd interest of your kind es is neither of York nor Lancaster. I will wholly put my life in your discre- | tion. I am a lover, and my’ name——” | _ But here the young lady clapped her hand suddenly ‘upon Dick’s mouth, looked hastily up and down and tte and west, and, seeing the coast clear, began to ' drag the young man, with great strength and vehe- oT ence, upstairs. es “Hush! !’’ she said, “‘and come. Shalt talk hereafter.” Somewhat bewildered, Dick suffered himself to be "pulled upstairs, bustled along a corridor, and thrust suddenly into a chamber, lit, like so many of the others, “y by a blazing log upon the hearth. He: “Now,” said the young lady, forcing him down upon. mat "pleasure. I have life and death over you, and I will not scruple to abuse my power. Look to yourself; ‘y’ ’ave cruelly mauled my arm. He knew not I was ‘a maid, quoth he! Had he known I was a maid, he had ta’en his belt to me, forsooth!”’ ; Aah ue n a stool, “esit ye there and attend my sovereign good Bt ee) AN tat CN RNS RTD Tne ai a eS STL aR COED Wk Ean thas oa we NEU OE 0S ‘ Be ae ae es URE hy CY MANOVA Dna ie APES ER eS eR why i Nina i LE a a et antes Reet Ny 8 t . DAY ABs t _ the more fool I, but I believed it!” Neh wy 168 +HE BLACK ARROW And with these words she whipped out of the room, — and left Dick gaping with wonder, and not very sure : if he were dreaming or awake. “Ta’en my belt to her! he repeated. “Ta’en my belt to her!’ And the recollection of that evening in | the forest flowed back upon his mind, and he once more : saw Matcham’s wincing body and beseeching eyes. And then he was recalled to the dangers of the pres- : ent. In the next room he heard a stir, as of a person moving; then followed a sigh, which sounded strangely. © near; and then the rustle of skirts and tap of feet once more began. As he stood hearkening, he saw the 4 arras wave along the hall; there was the sound of a — " door being opened, the hangings divided, and, lamp in hand, Joanna Sedley entered the apartment. She was attired in costly stuffs of deep and warm 4 colours, such as befit the winter and the snow. Upon © her head, her hair had been gathered together and © became her as a crown. And she, who had seemed — so little and so awkward in the attire of Matcham, was now tall like a young willow, and swam across the > floor as though she scorned the drudgery of walking. Without a start, without a tremor, she raised her lamp and looked at the young monk, y “What make ye here, good brother?” she inquired. “Ye are doubtless ill-directed. Whom do ye re q And she set wher. lamp upon the bracket. 4 “Joanna,” said Dick; and then is voice failed him. | q “Joanna,” he began again, “ye said ye loved me; and f See “Dick!” she cried. “Dick!” | And then, to the wonder of the lad, this beautiful ~ and tall young lady made but one step of it, and threw her arms about his neck, and gave him a hundred | _ kisses all in one. ’ “Oh, the fool fellow!” she cried. “Oh, dear Dick 14 Oh, if ye could see yourself! Alack!” she added, pausing, “I have spoilt you, Dick! I have knocked. : some of the paint off. But that can be mended. What P cannot be mended, Dick—or I much fear it cannot! oh: my marriage with Lord Shoreby.” iS eee THE BLACK ARROW 169 “Ts it decided, then?” asked the lad. - | “To-morrow, before noon, Dick, in the abbey church,” she answered, “John Matcham and Joanna Sedley both shall come to a right miserable end. There is no help in tears, or I could weep mine eyes out. I have not spared myself to pray, but Heaven frowns onmy petition. And, dear Dick—good Dick—but that yecan get me forth of this house before the morning, we must even kiss and say good-bye.” “Nay,” said Dick, “not I; I will never say that word. "Tis like despair; but while there’s life, Joanna, there eS Oe ee ~ ae y umph! Look ye, now, when ye were but a name to me, did I not follow—did I not rouse good men—did I ; not stake my life upon the quarrel? And now that _ I have seen you for what ye are—the fairest maid and - sgtateliest of England—think ye I would turn?—if the | deep sea were there, I would straight through it; if the i; way were full of lions, I would scatter them like mice.’ sky-blue robe!" | “Nay, Joan,” protested Dick, “’tis not alone the robe. But, lass, ye were disguised. Here am I dis- guised; and, to the proof, do I not eut a figure of fun— a right fool’s figure?” “Ay, Dick, an’ that ye do!”’ she answered, smiling. “Well, then!” he returned, triumphant. “So was it with you, poor Matcham, in the forest. In sooth, ye were a wench to laugh at. But now?” So they ran on, holding each other by both hands, | exchanging smiles and lovely looks, and melting min- utes into seconds; and so they might have continued all night long. But presently there was a noise behind them; and they were aware of the short young lady, - with her finger on her dips. pans? Dat, Ent das —— oe rz ye — > - ce ie _ maid of the woods, what will ye give your gossip for _ bringing you your sweetheart?” - Joanna ran to her, by way of answer, and embraced. | _ her fierily. is hope. Yet will I hope. Ay, by the mass, and tri- — ae “Ay.” she said, dryly, “ye make a great ado about a fvin “Saints!” she cried, “but what a noise ye keep! Can : fA ye not speak in compass? And now, Joanna, my fair — ito ee BLACK ARROW ee “And oa: sir, added the young lady, “what do ye i. give me?” Bi “Madam,” said Dick, “T would fain offer to pay you in the same money.” “Come, then,” said the lady, “it is permitted you.” le But Dick, blushing like a peony, only kissed her hand. “What ails ye at my face, fair sir?’ she inquired, curtseying to the very ground; and, then, when Dick had at Jength and most tepidly embraced her, “Joanna,” she added, “your sweetheart is very back- ‘ward under your eyes; but I warrant you, when first we met, he was more ready. I am all black and blue, wench; trust me never, if I be not black and blue! _ And now,” she continued, “have ye said your sayings? for I must speedily dismiss the paladin.” But at this they both cried out that they had said nothing, that the night was still very young, and that they would not be separated so early. “And supper?” asked the young lady. ‘“‘Must we not go down to supper?” | “Nay, to be sure!” cried Joan. “I had forgotten.” ~ “Hide me, then,’’ said Dick, ‘Sput me behind the arras, shut me in a chest, or what ye will, so that I — _ may be here on your return. Indeed, fair lady,” he ~ added, “bear this in mind, that we are sore bestead, and _ may never look upon each other’s face from this night ow forward till we die.” At this the young lady melted; and when, a little | after, the bell summoned Sir Daniel’s household to ~ the board, Dick was planted very stifily against the ~ wall, at a place where a division in the tapestry per- mitted him to breathe the more freely, and even to - see into the room. a He had not been Jong in this position when he was somewhat strangely disturbed. The silence in that — upper storey of the house was only broken by the © _ flickering of the flames and the hissing of a green log | in the chimney; but presently, to Dick’s strained hear- | _ Ing, there came the sound of someone walking with © _ extreme precaution; and soon after the door opened, es ijs, Tteeye "vv \3 | ie Pad Be i eae" a ae 8 ae a er eee ? lm, A s faites Bik se rao eh) RT ORY Deas Cal SEM UIP? Papa tbe mf Ee Me yy? ye Maal 2 Gye Nias 7 fh , { , VA ey ‘u ( j ) Vi \ pe baa ‘ “THE BLACK ARROW | %y 171 d ‘. Vand. vi ‘Tittle black-faced, a vaenah fellow, in Lord WA Shoreby’s colours, pushed first his head and then his . crooked body into the chamber. His mouth was open, _as though to hear the better; and his eyes, which were very bright, flitted restlessly and swiftly to and fro. He went round and round the room, striking here and 4 ‘there upon the hangings: but Dick, by a miracle, " escaped his notice. Then he looked below the furni- _ ture, and examined the lamp; and at last, with an air of cruel disappointment, was preparing to go away as — a "silently as he had come, when down he dropped upon his knees, picked up something from among the rushes | | on the floor, examined it, and with every signal of delight, concealed it in the wallet at his belt. | _ tassel from his own girdle; and it was plain to him Dick’s heart sank, for the object in question was a> wl y that this dwarfish spy, who took a malign delight in _ ; io his employment, would lose no time in bearing it to bie master, the baron. He was half-tempted to throw - aside the arras, fall upon the scoundrel, and, at the 4 risk of his life, remove the tell-tale token. And while he was still hesitating, a new cause of concern was Ht ‘added. A voice, hoarse and broken by drink, began wh to be audible from the stair; and presently after, un- _ even, wandering, and heavy footsteps sounded without : _ along the passage. _ “What make ye here, my merry men, among the a rattle of drunken laughter; and then once more ms ene into song: “If ye should drink the clary wine, Fat Friar John, ye friend 0’ mine— If I should eat, and ye should drink, Who shall sing the mass, d’ye think?” 01 ise, seeking for a corner wherein to slumber off e effect of his potations. Dick inwardly raged. The . greenwood shaws?” sang the voice. “What make yet 3 here? Hey! sots, what make ye here?” it added, with «| 8 Y, at first terrified, had grown reassured as he found : i Sin AWN hy Rs aus to VIDHAN NL GRAB. Of fis Ne Ran in Hache) POR Mint ONE J key | od Ving’ ABS NG ar ont) Ay. ae NA te en oh # , PAA RAS ANS Mri t Viite SAM RUA ETN) Aa tebe it } rh y Wt Hemet memtate AE ar Mass 172 +~«* THE BLACK ARROW he had to deal with an intoxicated man, and now, with — a movement of cat-like rapidity, slipped from the © chamber, and was gone from Richard’s eyes. What was to be done? If he lost touch of Lawless for the night he was left impotent, whether to plan or — one earry forth Joanna’s rescue. If, on the other hand, © he dared to address the drunken outlaw, the spy might — still be lingering within sight, and the most fatal con- © sequences ensue. It was, nevertheless, upon this last hazard that Dick ~ decided. Slipping from behind the tapestry, he stood — ready in the doorway of the chamber, with a warning — hand upraised. Lawless, flushed crimson, with his © eyes injected, vacillating on his feet, drew still un- steadily nearer. At last he hazily caught sight of his commander, and, in despite of Dick’s. imperious signals, hailed him instantly and loudly by his name. Dick leaped upon and shook the drunkard furiously. | “Beast!” he hissed—‘‘beast, and no man! It is worse than treachery to be so witless. We may all — be shent for thy sotting.” ‘i But Lawless only laughed and staggered, and tried — to clap young Shelton on the back. } And just then Dick’s quick ear caught a rapid brush- | ing in the arras.. He leaped towards the sound, and — _the next moment a piece of the wall-hanging had been © torn down, and Dick and the spy were sprawling to- — gether in its folds. Over and over they rolled, grap- © pling for each other’s throat, and still baffled by the © -arras, and still silent in their deadly fury. But Dick © ‘was by much the stronger, and soon the spy lay pros- © trate under his knee, and, with a single stroke of the © Tong poniard, ceased to breathe. q ‘ CHAPTER III ‘ THE DEAD SPY ee HROUGHOUT this furious and rapid passage, all was over, and Dick, already re-arisen to his - feet, was listening with the most passionate attention to the distant bustle in the lower storeys of the house, _ the old outlaw was still wavering on his legs like a shrub in a breeze of wind, and still stupidly staring ~ on the face of the dead man. ~ “Tt is well,” said Dick, at length; “they have not heard us, praise the saints! But, now, what shall I do with this poor spy? At least, I will take my tassel from his wallet.”’ , _ So saying, Dick opened the wallet; within he found a few pieces of money, the tassel, and a letter ad- _ dressed to Lord Wensleydale, and sealed with my Lord Shoreby’s seal. The name awoke Dick’s recollections; and he instantly broke the wax and read the contents of the letter. It was short, but, to Dick’s delight, it gave evident proof that Lord Shoreby was treacher- ously corresponding with the House of York. x The young fellow usually carried his ink-horn and 3 _ Implements about him, and so now, bending a knee _ beside the body of the ‘dead spy, he was able to write. _ these words upon a corner of the paper: My Lord of Shoreby, ye that writt the letter, wot yer ie a bi pwhy your manisded! But let me rede you, marry not. — ! JON AMEND-ALL. ‘He laid this paper on the breast of the corpse; and : em ie el ee Si a a tana SS ee a ad we . oe last manceuvres with some flickering returns of in- | 178 : Lawless had looked on helplessly, and even when _ then Lawless, who had been looking on upon these 174 Pada THE BLACK ARROW ioenee: ‘suddenly drew a lnek arrow oe Baise his robe, and therewith pinned the paper in its place. — The sight of this disrespect, or, as it almost seemed, -eruelty to the dead, drew a cry of horror from young Shelton; but the old outlaw only laughed. “Nay, I will have the credit for mine order,” he hiccupped. ‘My jolly boys must have the credit on’t —the credit, brother” ; and then, shutting his eyes | tight and opening his mouth like a precentor, he began EO thunder, in a formidable voice: “Tf ye should drink the clary wine——” “Peace, sot!” cried Dick, and thrust him hard // against the wall. ‘In two words—if so be that such a man can understand me who hath more wine than wit in him—in two words, and, a-Mary’s name, begone out _ of this house, where, if ye continue to abide, ye will not only hang yourself, but me also! Faith, then, up foot! be yare, or, by the mass, I may forget that I am some sort your captain, and in some your debtor! 0!” The sham monk was now, in some degree, recover- | ing the use of his intelligence; and the ring in Dick’s voice, and the glitter in Dick’s eye, stamped home the meaning of his words. “By the mass,” cried Lawless, “an I be not wanted, -Iecan go’; and he turned tipsily along the corridor and proceeded to flounder downstairs, lurching against the wall. So soon as he was out of sight, Diek returned to his i Taldine Gide resolutely fixed to see the matter out. Wisdom, indeed, moved him to be gone; but love and -euriosity were stronger. ‘Time passed slowly for the young man, bolt upright behind the arras. The fire in the room ‘began to die down, and the lamp to burn low and to smoke. And still there was no word of the return of any one to these upper quarters of the house; still the faint hum — and clatter of the supper party sounded from far below; and still, under the thick fall oF ane snow, — phareby town lay silent upon bis sine | re 7 “J > * ‘ a h , , if 4% mq - - j . ¢ ¥ } by ) . . ¥ At length, however, feet and voices began to draw near upon the stair; and presently after several of Sir | Daniel’s guests arrived upon the landing, and turning down the corridor, beheld the torn arras and the body of the spy. Some ran forward and some agi and all together began to ery aloud. At the sound of their cries, guests, men-at-arms, ladies, servants, and, in a word, all the inhabitants of THE BLACK ARROW _ V5 = that great house, came flying ‘from every direction, | and began to join their voices to the tumult. n a way was cleared, and Sir Daniel came forth. je in person, followed by the ‘bridegroom of the morrow, — i my Lord Shoreby. “My lord,” said Sir Daniel, “have I not told you of : ( this knave Black Arrow? To the proof, behold it! _ There it stands, and, by the rood, my gossip, in 2 man of yours, or one that stole your colours} is “In good sooth, it was a man of mine,’ > replied Lord Shoreby, hanging back. “I would I had more such. He was keen as a beagle and secret as a mole.” “Ay, gossip, truly?” asked Sir Daniel, keenly. “And what came he smelling up so many stairs in my poor : mansion? But he will smell no more.’ “An ’t please you, Sir Daniel,” said one, “here is a paper written upon with some matter, pinned upon his breast.” “Give it me, arrow and all,” said the knight. And — : when he had taken into his ‘hand the shaft, he con- tinued for some time to gaze upon it in a sullen mus- ing. “Ay,” he said, addressing Lord Shoreby, “here — is a hate that followeth hard and close upon my heels. This black stick, or its likeness, shall yet bring me : down. And, gossip, suffer a plain knight to counsel you; and if these hounds begin to wind you, flee! "Tis like a sickness—it still hangeth, hangeth upon the ~ limbs. But let us see what they have written: It is as I thought, my lord; y’ are marked, like an old oak, | : by the woodman; to-morrow or next day, by will come the axe. But what wrote ye in a letter?” Lord Shoreby snatched the paper from the arrow, ne 16) THE BLACK ARROW _ read it, crumpled it between his hands, and, overcom- Sine the reluctance which had hitherto withheld him _ from approaching, threw himself on his knees beside _ the body and eagerly groped in the wallet. - _He rose to his feet with a somewhat unsettled coun- tenance. “Gossip,” he said, “I have indeed lost a letter here _ that much imported; and could I lay my hand upon the knave that took it, he should incontinently grace -ahalter. But let us, first of all, secure the issues of the house. Here is enough harm already, by St. George!” Sentinels were posted close around the house and garden; a sentinel on every landing of the stair, a whole troop in the main entrance-hall; and yet an- other about the bonfire in the shed. Sir Daniel’s fol- lowers were supplemented by Lord Shoreby’s; there was thus no lack of men or weapons to make the house - secure, or to entrap a lurking enemy, should one be there. Meanwhile, the body of the spy was carried out through the falling snow and deposited in the abbey church. It was not until these dispositions had been taken, and ail had returned to a decorous silence, that the two girls drew Richard Shelton from his place of con- _ cealment, and made a full report to him of what had — - passed. He, upon his side, recounted the visit of the Spy, his dangerous discovery and speedy end. Joanna leaned back very faint against the carte wall. “Tt will avail but little,” she said. “I shall be wed to-morrow, in the morning, after all!’ “What!” cried her friend. ‘And here is our paladin that driveth lions like mice! Ye have little faith, of a surety. But come, friend lion-driver, give us some -eomfort; speak and let us hear bold counsels.” Dick was confounded to be thus outfaced with his own exaggerated words; but though he coloured, he still spoke stoutly. “Truly,” said he, ‘‘we are in straits. Yet, could I a Po oN ENGINES AE at ’ ays) oe db ACA Uitte ey ae be « a ie yi ay : q q a a ; iy Ne ol ; J : Ms : 1 : ; i : ‘THE BLACK ARROW eee He recounted the visit of the spy. but win out of this house for half an hour,I do hon estly tell myself that all might still go well; and for the marriage, it should be prevented.” “And for the lions,’ mimicked the girl, “they shall be driven.” ; “T crave your excuse,” said Dick. “I speak not now in any boasting humour, but rather as one inquiring after help or counsel; for if I get not forth of this house through these sentinels, I can do iess than nS En Hye y AME, i Da eae le ay THE BLACK _ ARROW ee " | Na aa natight. ‘Take me, I pray you, rightly.” “Why said ye he was rustic, Joan?” the girl m- quired, “I warrant he hath a tongue in his head; ready, soft, and bold in his speech at pleasure. What would ye more tig - “Nay,” sighed Joanna, with a smile, “they have — changed my friend Dick, *tis. sure enough. When I | beheld him, he was rough indeed. But it matters little; there is no help for my hard case, and I must 4 still be Lady Shoreby!’’ “Nay, then,” said Dick, ‘I will even make the adil ag venture, A friaxsinot much regarded; and ifI found _ a good fairy to lead me up, I may find another belike to carry me down. How cail they the name of this _ spy ! 99 “Rutter,” said the young lady: “and an excellent good name to call him by. But how mean ye, lion- q driver? What is in your mind to do?” “To offer boldly to go forth,” returned Dick; “and, if any stop me, to keep an unchanged countenance, and — 4 aa N oH i M ‘say I go to pray for Rutter. They will be praying 4 over his poor clay even now.” hi “The device is somewhat simple,” replied the girl, a | “yet it may hold.” “Nay,” said young Shelton, “it is no device, but i mere boldness, which serveth often better in great a - straits.” “Ye say true,” she said. “Well, go, a-Mary’s name. a And may Heaven speed you! Ye leave here a poor -maaid that loves you entirely, and another that is most a heartily your friend. Be wary, for their ‘sakes, and a make not shipwreck of your safety.” “Ay, added Joanna, “go, Dick. Ye run no more — peril, whether ye go or stay. Go; ye take my heart — with you; the saints defend you!” ag h Vy Dick passed the first sentry with so assured a coun- _ - tenance that the. fellow merely fidgeted and stared but at the second landing the man carried his spear across and bade him name his business. “Pax vobiscum,” answered Dick. “I go to pray ov _ the body of this poor Jcieonn / “ bd THE BLACK ARROW | 179 “Like enough,” returned the sentry; “but to go alone is not permitted you.” He leaned over the oaken balusters and whistled shrill. ‘One cometh,” he cried; and then motioned Dick to pass. — At the foot of the stairs he found the guard afoot - and awaiting his arrival; and when he had once more repeated his story, the commander of the post ordered four men to accompany him to the church. i “Let him not slip, my lads,” he said. “Bring himto Sir Oliver, on your lives!” i The door was then opened; one of the men took Dick by either arm, another ‘marched ahead with a link, and the fourth, with bent bow and the arrow on the string, brought up the rear. In this order they proceeded through the garden, under the thick dark- ness of the night and the scattering snow, and drew near to the dimly-illuminated windows of the abbey ~ church. At the western portal a picket of archers stood, — - taking what shelter they could find in the hollow of the arched doorways, and all powdered with the snow; and it was not until Dick’s conductors had exchanged a ~ ‘ word with these, that they were suffered to pass forth and enter the nave of the sacred edifice. The church was doubtfully lighted by the tapers upon the great altar, and by a lamp or two that swung from the arched roof before the private chapels of illustrious families. In the midst of the choir the dead spy lay, his limbs piously composed, upon a bier. A hurried mutter of prayer sounded along the ~ arches; cowled figures knelt in the stalls of the choir, and on ‘the steps of the high altar a priest in pontifical vestments celebrated mass. Upon this fresh entrance, one of the cowled figures 3 arose, and, coming down the steps which elevated the _ level of the choir above that of the nave, demanded from the leader of the four men what business brought | him to the church. Out of respect for the service and the dead, they spoke in guarded tones; but the echoes of that huge, empty building caught up their words, 2a hollowly repeated and a them along the aisles, 180 | THE BLACK ARROW “A monk!” returned Sir Oliver (for he it was), when he had heard the report of the archer. “My brother, I looked not for your coming,” he added, turning to young Shelton. “In all civility, who are ye? ‘and at ‘whose instance do ye join your supplications to ours?” Dick, keeping his cowl about his face, signed to Sir Oliver to move a pace or two aside from the archers; . and, so soon as the priest had done so, “I cannot hope to deceive you, sir,’ he said. “My life is in your hands.” ; Sir Oliver violently started; his stout cheeks grew pale, and for a space he was silent. “Richard,” he said, “what brings you here, I know not; but I much misdoubt it to be evil. Nevertheless, © for the kindness that was, I would not willingly de- iver you to harm, Ye shall sit all night beside me in the stalls; ye shall sit there till my Lord of Shoreby be married, and the party gone safe home; and if all goeth well, and ye have planned no evil, in the end -ye shall go whither ye will. But if your purpose be bloody, it shall return upon your head. Amen!’ And the priest devoutly crossed himself, and turned and louted to the altar. With that, he spoke a few words more to the sol- diers, and taking Dick by the hand, led him up to the choir, and placed him in the stall beside his own, ie where, for mere decency, the lad had instantly to kneel and appear to be busy with his devotions. His mind and his eyes, however, were continually wandering. Three of the soldiers, instead of return- ing to the house, had got them quietly into a point of vantage in the aisle; and he could not doubt that they had done so by Sir Oliver’s command. Here, then, he was trapped. Here he must spend the night in the ghostly glimmer and shadow of the church, and looking on the pale face of him he slew; and here, in the morning, he must seé his sweetheart married to another man before his eyes. But, for all that, he obtained a command upon his mind, and built himself up in patience to await the issue. - ~~ “ = = —o SS Se CHAPTER IV: IN THE ABBEY CHURCH N Shoreby Abbey Church the prayers were kept | ] up all night without cessation, now with the sing- ing of psalms, now with a note or two upon the Rutter, the spy, was nobly waked. There he lay, meanwhile, as they had arranged him, his dead hands erossed upon his bosom, his dead eyes staring on the roof; and hard by, in the stall, the lad who had slain him waited, in sore disquietude, the coming of the morning. Once only, in the course of the hours, Sir Oliver leaned ACYOSS to his captive. “Richard,” he whispered, “my son, if ye mean me evil, I will certify, on my soul’s welfare, ye design upon an innocent man. Sinful in the eye of Heaven I do declare myself; but sinful against you I am not, neither have been ever.” _ “My father,” returned Dick, in the same tone of voice, “trust me, I design nothing; but as for your in- _hocence, I may not forget that ye cleared yourself but Jamely.” “A man may be innocently guilty,” replied the priest. _“He may be set blindfolded upon a mission, ignorant ; of its true scope. Soit was with me. I did decoy your father to his death; but as Heaven sees us in this sacred place, I knew not what I did.” ‘ “Tt may be,” returned Dick, “but see what a strange — web ye have woven, that I should be, at this hour, at once your prisoner and your judge; that ye should ‘ both threaten my days and deprecate my anger. Me- " thinks, if ye had been all your life a true man and a _ Zood priest, ye would neither thus fear nor thus detest _ q isl eh company.” ‘ ‘most touched the lad into some sentiment of pity, '. and he bowed his head upon his hands like a man / put on morning faces, to do honour to the merrier’ is ac al, THE BLACK 4 ARROW ee if And now to your prayers. I do obuy. ean since Teas must ; but I will not be burthened with your The priest uttered a sigh so heavy that it had al borne down below a weight of care. He joined no Jonger in the psalms; but Dick could hear the beads © rattle through his fingers and the prayers a-pattering | b between his teeth. Yet a little, and the grey of the morning began to. struggle through the painted casements of the church, ~ ‘and to put to shame the glimmer of the tapers. The light slowly broadened and brightened, and presently © - through the southeastern clerestories a flush of rosy sunlight flickered on the walls. The storm was over; ” the great clouds had disburdened their snow and fled — farther on, and the new day was breaking on a merry y winter landscape sheathed in white. 4 A bustle of church officers followed; the bier was earried forth to the dead-house, and the ‘stains of blood — were cleansed from off the tiles, that no such ill omened spectacle should disgrace the marriage of Lord. { shoreby. At the same time, the very ecclesiastics — who had been so dismally engaged all night began to - ceremony which was about to follow. And further to. | announce the coming of the day, the pious of the town | began to assemble and fall to prayer before their favourite shrines, or wait their turn at the confes- q sionals. ‘ Favoured by this stir, it was, of course, easily pos- sible for any man to avoid the vigilance of Sir Daniel’s sentries at the door; and presently Dick, looking about. ns him wearily, caught the eye of no less a person than Will Lawless, still in his monk’s habit. The outlaw, at the same moment, recognised hil _Jeader, and privily signed to him with hand and eye. Now, Dick was far from having forgiven the old rogue his most untimely drunkenness, but he had no desire to involve him i in his own pr edicament; and he ‘THE BLACK ARROW _ 183 3 signalled back to him, as plain as he was able, to be gone. Lawless, as though he had understood, disappeared at once behind a pillar, and Dick breathed again. : What, then, was his dismay to feel himself plucked _ by the sleeve and to find the old robber installed be- _ side him, upon the next seat, and, to all appearance, plunged in his devotions! Instantly Sir Oliver arose from his place, and, glid- ing behind the stalls, made for the soldiers in the aisle. If the priest’s suspicions had been so lightly - wakened, the harm was already done, and Lawless a. _ prisoner in the church. “Move not,” whispered Dick. “We are in the plagui-- est pass, thanks, before all things, to thy swinishness: | of yestereven. When ye saw me here, so strangely - seated, where I have neither right nor interest, what. a murrain! could ye not smell harm and get ye gone : from evil?” “Nay,” returned Lawless, “I thought ye had heard from Ellis, and were here on duty.” “Bilis!” echoed Dick, “is Ellis then rehaenel tn “For sure,” replied the outlaw. ‘He came last night, and belted me sore for being in wine—so there ye are avenged, my master. A furious man is Ellis Duck- worth! He hath ridden me hot-spur from Craven to _ prevent this marriage; and, Master Dick, ye know the _ way of him—do so he will!” _ “Nay, then,” returned Dick, with composure, “you and I, my poor brother, are dead men; for I sit here a © prisoner upon suspicion, and my neck was to answer for this very marriage that he purposeth to mar. I had a fair choice, by the rood; to lose my sweetheart or else lose my life! Well, the cast is thrown—it is to be my life.” “By the mass,” cried Lawless, half rising, “I am "gone Ve | ' But Dick had his hand at once upon his shoulder. — _ “Friend Lawless, sit ye still,” he said. “An ye | have eyes, look yonder at the corner by the chancel oo see ye not that, even upon the motion of your | i . J ‘ , ioe CNA SHEA Sa USUARIO GDL RA CSUR RUER AA TURE NS Deni inrdic| 4 : aX ty ei 7 ah Nain 4 K Ea va F } ; chy } i ‘ » f BLACK ARROW rising, yon armed men are up and ready to intercept — you? Yield ye, friend. Ye were bold aboard ship, Ny when ye thought to die a sea-death; be bold again, ‘s now that y’ are to die presently upon the gallows.” — “Master Dick,” gasped. Lawless, “the thing hath come upon me somewhat of the suddenest. But give © me a moment till I fetch my breath again; and, by the _ mass, I will be as stout-hearted as yourself.” “Here is my bold fellow!” returned Dick. “And yet, Lawless, it goes hard against the grain with me to die; but where whining mendeth nothing, wherefore whine? “ah “Nay, that indeed!” chimed Lawless. ‘‘And a fig | for death at worst! It has to be done, my master, © soon or late. And hanging in a good quarrel is an © \ easy death, they say, though | i could never hear of © any that came back to say so.’ i, And so saying the stout old rascal leaned back in — his stall, folded his arms, and began to look about him with the greatest air of insolence and unconcern. “And for the matter of that,” Dick added, “it is — ‘yet our best~chance to keep quiet. We wot not yet — what Duckworth purposes; and when all is said, and — if the worst befall, we may yet clear our feet of it.” | Now that they ceased talking, they were aware of © a very distant and thin strain of mirthful music which © steadily drew nearer, louder, and merrier. The bells © In the tower began to break forth into a doubling peal, — and a greater and greater concourse of people to crowd — into the church, shuffling the snow from off their © feet, and clapping and blowing their hands. The west- | ern door was flung wide open, showing a glimpse of © sunlit, snowy street, and admitting in a great gust the © shrewd air of the morning; and in short, it became | _ plain by every sign that Lord Shoreby desired to be a married very early in the day, and that the wedding- j train was drawing near. bo | Some of Lord Shoreby’s men now cleared a passage 4 down the middle aisle, forcing the people back with — lanece-stocks; and just then, outside the portal, the © ee ' discharge, and before the clamour and cries of the astounded populace had time to swell fully upon the ‘THE BLACK ARROW ———=_s1885 the frozen snow, the fifers and trumpeters scarlet cymbalists beating as for a wager. These, as they drew near the door of the sacred building, filed off on either side, and marking time to their own vigorous music, stood stamping in the snow. As they thus opened their ranks, the leaders of this noble bridal train appeared behind and between them; and such was the variety and gaiety of their attire, | such the display of silks and velvet, fur and satin, embroidery and lace, that the procession showed forth upon the snow like a flower-bed in a path or a painted window in a wail. First came the bride, a sorry sight, as pale as win- ter, clinging to Sir Daniel’s arm, and attended, as bridesmaid, by the short young lady who had be- friended Dick the night before. Close behind, in the most radiant toilet, followed the bridegroom, halting on a gouty foot, and as he passed the threshold of the sacred building, and doffed his hat, his bald head was seen to be rosy with emotion. And now came the hour of Ellis Duckworth. Dick, who sat stunned among contrary emotions, grasping the desk in front of him, beheld a movement in the crowd, people jostling backward, and eyes and arms uplifted. Following these signs, he beheld three or four men with bent bows, leaning from the clere- story gallery. At the same instant they delivered their ear, they had flitted from their perch and disappeared. The nave was full of swaying heads and voices — ‘ Screaming; the ecclesiastics thronged in terror from their places; the music ceased, and though the bells overhead continued for some seconds to clang upon the air, some wind of the disaster seemed to find its way at last even to the chamber where the ringers _ in the face with lusty blowing, the drummers and the were leaping on their ropes, and they also desisted i from their merry labours. Right in the midst of the nave the bridegroom lay Ve _ stone-dead, pierced by two black arrows. The bride had fainted. Sir Daniel stood, towering above the _ - plood from another which had grazed his brow. HA door. ~~ hour!—blood guilty! Seize him! —bid him be seized! He hath sworn our fall.” _ eross of Holywood but. he shall rue this hour.” _ groan out of thy carcase. Away with him!” he added. a ee fs, ae SO i aries ne ‘ \ we i a ey ee NO A ia Ais Wy? Abs fet ; 2 es Kate a) i erowd in his surprise and anger, a clothyard shaft . 4 quivering in his left forearm, and his face streaming _ Long before any search could be made for them, ie the authors of this tragic interruption had clat- — tered down a turnpike stair and decamped by a postern- But Dick and Lawless still remained in pawn; they — had indeed arisen on the first alarm and pushed man- — fully to gain the door; but what with the narrowness — of the stalls, and the crowding of terrified priests and _ choristers, the attempt had been in vain, and they had stoically resumed their places. | And now, pale with horror, Sir Oliver rose to his — _ feet and called upon Sir Daniel, pointing with one hand -to Dick. ) ay “Here,” he cried, “is Richard Shelton—alas the — For all our lives’ sakes, take him and bind him surely! Sir Daniel was blinded by anger—blinded by the hot blood that still streamed across his face. a, “Where?” he bellowed. “Hale him forth! By the The crowd fell back, and a party of archers invaded the choir, laid rough hands on Dick, dragged him head foremost from the stall, and thrust him by the shoul- ders down the chancel steps. Lawless, on his part, sat as still as a mouse. _ Sir Daniel, brushing the blood out of his eyes, stared | eae upon his captive. ™ pene he said, “treacherous and insolent, I have = thee ANNA and by all potent oaths, for every drop of | blood that now trickles in mine eyes, I will wring a “Here is no place. Off with him to my house. | I will a number every joint of thy body with a torture.” ee ~ But Dick, putting off his captors, uplifted his | voice. a: “Sanctuary!” he shouted. “Sanctuary! Ho, there, a THE BLACK ARROW 187 | my fathers! They would drag me from the church!” “From the church thou hast defiled with murder, boy,” added a tall man, magnificently dressed. “On what probation?” cried Dick. “They do ac- -cuse me, indeed, of some complicity, but have not. proved one tittle. I was, in truth, a suitor for this damsel’s hand; and she, I will be bold to say, repaid ‘my suit with favour. But what then? To love a maid is no offence, I trow—nay, nor to gain her love. In all else, I stand here free from guiltiness.” There was a murmur of approval among the by- gstanders, so boldly Dick declared his innocence; but — at the same time a throng of accusers arose upon the other side, crying how he had been found last night in Sir Daniel’s house, how he wore a sacrilegious dis- guise; and in the midst of the babel, Sir Oliver indi- cated Lawless, both by voice and gesture, as accom- — plice to the fact. He, in his turn, was dragged from his seat and set beside his leader. The feelings of the crowd rose high on either side, and while some dragged | _the prisoners to and fro to favour their escape, others cursed and struck them with their fists. Dick’s ears ‘rang and his brain swam dizzily, like a man struggling ni in the eddies of a furious river. But the tall man who had already answered Dick, © _by a prodigious exercise of voice restored silence and order in the mob. “Search them,” he said, “for arms. We may so judge of their intentions.” Upon Dick they found no weapon but his poniard, and this told in his favour, until one man officiously ‘drew it from its sheath, and found it still uncleansed of the blood of Rutter. At this there was a great shout among Sir Daniel’s followers, which the tall man suppressed by a gesture and an imperious glance. But when it came to the turn of Lawless, there was found under his gown a sheaf of arrows identical with those that had been shot. “How say ye now?” asked the tall man, frowningly, of Di ick, | “Sir,” replied Dick, “I am here in sanctuary, is it ° a justice. I am here in this man’s custody by mere — 4) ved Ser. Sn UMD, a tk ik ay LOMO MRT & Bib 4" ¥. ¥ JA PS CUIDACLEN DOE PRS PANS RED CM 0 RYAN SI ty EOE SS LGR A Sp Re Siyore es Maite ise ¥ ‘ ai Ait iaha , " * Tees ay ry - 5 "1 2 ANE. * ‘ wd : 3. FA ‘Vy, LF . / or f yey ‘ tar ME hte Uy SAN HA) “yay : kw j ay f BN a yy iy , yi aby en, SVR a y . / 1 - \iOs / “ a { i 188 + ‘THE BLACK ARROW not so? Well, sir, I see by your bearing that ye are high in station, and I read in your countenance the — _marks of piety and justice. To you, then, I will yield — me prisoner, and that blithely, foregoing the advant- — age of this holy place. But rather than to be yielded 4 into the discretion of that man—whom I do here ac- ~ - cuse with a loud voice to be the murderer of my natural A - father and the unjust detainer of my lands and rev- — - enues—rather than that, I would beseech you, under — favour, with your own gentle hand, to despatch me on — the spot. Your own ears have heard him, how before — that I was proven guilty he did threaten me with tor- ments. It standeth not with your own honour to de- — liver me to my sworn enemy and old oppressor, but to try me fairly by the way of law, and, if that I be guilty indeed, to slay me mercifully.” - 3 “My lord,” cried Sir Daniel, “ye will not harken to this wolf? His bloody dagger reeks him the lie into , his face.” ‘| “Nay, but suffer me, good knight,” returned the’ i tall stranger; “your own vehemence doth somewhat tell against yourself.” , And here the bride, who had come to herself some ! minutes past and looked wildly on upon this scene, i broke loose from those that held her, and fell upon hi her knees before the last speaker. i “My Lord of Risingham,” she cried, “hear me, ing force, reft from mine own people. Since that day I - had never pity, countenance, nor comfort from the © face of man—but from him only—Richard Shelton— — whom they now accuse and labour to undo. My lord, if he was yesternight in Sir Daniel’s mansion, it was j I that brought him there; he came but at my prayer, | and thought to do no hurt. While yet Sir Daniel was © _ a good lord to him, he fought with them of the Black 7 Arrow loyally; but when this foul guardian sought his life by practices, and he fled by night, for his soul’s: —he, helpless and penniless? Or if he be fallen among | ill company, whom should ye blame—the lad that was” THE BLACK ARROW 189 unjustly handled, or the guardian that did abuse his trust ?’ And then the short young lady fell on her knees by Joanna’s side. “And I, my good lord and natural uncle,” she added, “T can bear testimony, on my conscience and before the face of all, that what this maiden saith is true. It was I, unworthy, that did lead the young man in.” Earl Risingham had heard in silence, and when the voices ceased, he still stood silent for a space. Then | he gave Joanna his hand to arise, though it was to be observed that he did not offer the like courtesy to her who had ealled herself his niece. , “Sir Daniel,” he said, “‘here is a right intricate affair, the which, with your good leave, it shall be mine to examine and adjust. Content ye, then; your business is in careful hands; justice shall be done you; and in the meanwhile, get ye incontinently home, and have — your hurts attended. The air is shrewd, and I would not ye took cold upon these scratches.” He made a sign with his hand; it was passed down a _ the nave by obsequious servants, who waited upon his _archers and men-at-arms, uniformly arrayed in the - smallest gesture. Instantly, without the church, a tucket sounded shrill, and through the open portal colours and wearing the badge of Lord Risingham, began to file into the church, took Dick and Lawless from those who still detained them, and, closing their hi files about the prisoners, marched forth again and dis- - appeared. As they were passing, Joanna held both her hands — i to Dick and cried him her farewell; and the brides- __ - maid, nothing downcast by her uncle’s evident dis- _ pleasure, blew him a kiss, with a “Keep your heart up, lion-driver!” that for the first time since the acci- — ~ dent called up a smile to the faces of the crowd, = oi 7 pe hath but a handful. Alack, if it were but to-morrow— a eould I but keep a certain tryst an hour before noon ~ he holdeth you right near his heart, both for your -own and for your father’s sake; and knowing you - guiltless of this fact, he will stir earth and heaven to there is no help.” CHAPTER V EARL RISINGHAM ARL RISINGHAM, although by far the most important person then in Shoreby, was poorly lodged in the house of a private gentleman upon the extreme outskirts of the town. Nothing but the armed men at the doors, and the mounted messengers that kept arriving and departing, announced the tem- porary residence of a great lord. Thus it was that, from lack of space, Dick and Law- less were clapped into the same apartment. “Well spoken, Master Richard,” said the outlaw; “it was exceedingly well spoken, and, for my part, I thank you cordially. Here-we are in good hands; we + shall be justly tried, and some time this evening ~ decently hanged on the same tree.” “ll ey tee, my poor friend, I do believe it,” answered — ic “Yot we have a string to our bow,” returned Law- less. “Ellis Duckworth is a man out of ten thousand; bear you clear.” “Tt may not be,” said Dick. “What can he do? He to-morrow—all were, I think, otherwise. But now Pp “Well,” concluded Lawless, “an ye. will stand to it © | for my innocence, I will stand to it for yours, and that | stoutly. It shall naught avail us; but an I be to 4 hang, it shall not be for lack of swearing.” And then, while Dick gave pate tke over to his re- 190 ork Y i Ree nae +} He : ; ee tw ’ res Me ip ei ya THE BLACK ARROW 191 Wicking the old rogue curled himself down into a — corner, pulled his monkish hood about his face, and | composed himself to sleep. Soon he was loudly snor- ing, so utterly had his long life of hardship and ad- venture blunted the sense of apprehension. It was long after noon, and the day was already failing, before the door was opened and Dick taken forth and led upstairs to where, in a warm cabinet, _ Earl Risingham stood over the fire. ~ On his captive’s entrance he looked up. “Sir,” he said, “I knew your father, who was aman | yt of honour, and this inclineth me to be the more leni-. ent; but I may not hide from you that heavy charges lie against your character. Ye do consort with mur- derers and robbers; upon a clear probation ye have earried war against the king’s peace; ye are suspected to have piratically seized upon a ship; ye are found skulking with a counterfeit presentment in your enemy’s house; a man is slain that very evening—” “An it like you, my lord,’ Dick interposed, “I will at once avow my guilt, such as it is. I slew this fellow ‘Rutter; and to the proof’—searching in his bosom— - “here is a letter from his wallet.” »- - e Bee Pe cae Pee =e SE Lord Risingham took the letter, and opened and ae read it twice. ee be “Ye have read this?” he inquired. “T have read it,” answered Dick. “Are ye for York or Lancaster?” the earl demanded. “My lord, it was but a little while back that I was asked that question, and knew not how to answer it,” said Dick; “but having answered once, I will not vary. My lord, I am for York.” . The earl nodded approvingly. ; “Honestly replied,” he said. “But wherefore, then,. deliver me this letter?” . ) “Nay, but against traitors, my lord, are not all sides 7 arrayed?” cried Dick. | “T would they were, young gentleman,” ‘patra the ~ i earl: “and I do at least approve your saying. Thereis ‘more youth than guile in you, I do perceive; and were not Sir Daniel a mighty man upon our side, I were half i} y" ie ye ie? LAE oh My +e 4 .. far about.” | £0 us of Lancaster. Even in our last reverses he stood — 192 THE BLACK ARROW beniptha to espouse your quarrel. For I have miquived sa) and it appears you have been hardly dealt with, and — have much excuse. But look ye, sir, I am, before all” \ else, a leader in the Queen’s interest; and though by © He lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. i nature a just man, as I believe, and leaning even to the excess of mercy, yet must I order my goings for my party’s interest, and, to keep Sir Daniel, 1 would go : _ “My lord,” returned Dick, “ye will think me very . bold to counsel you; but do ye count upon Sir Daniel’s _ ee Methought he had changed sides intolerably © often.” i. “Nay, it is the way of England. What would ye have?” the earl demanded. “But ye are unjust to the knight of Tunstall; and as faith goes, in this unfaith- ful generation, he ‘hath of late been honourably true ; “An it please you, then,” said Dick, “to cast your — eye upon this letter, ye might somewhat change your — thought of him,” and he handed to the earl Sir Dake , iel’s ee to Lord Wensleydale, THE BLACK ARROW 193 The effect upon the earl’s countenance was instant; “he lowered like an angry lion, and his hand, with a sudden movement, clutched at his dagger. ' “Ye have read this also?” he asked. | “Even so,” said Dick. “It is your. lordship’s own estate he offers to Lord Wensleydale.” “It is my own estate, even as ye say!” returned the Earl. “I am your bedesman for this letter. It hath shown me a fox’s hole. Command me, Master Shel- ‘ton; I will not be backward in gratitude, and to begin with, York or Lancaster, true man or thief, I do now i set you at freedom. Go, a-Mary’s name! But judge it right that I retain and hang your fellow Lawless. ‘The crime hath been most open, and it were fitting that some open punishments should follow.” _ “My lord, I make it my first suit to you to spare him also,” pleaded Dick. “Tt is an old condemned rogue, thief, and vagabond, ‘Master Shelton,” said the earl. “He hath been gal- tdows-ripe this score of years. And, whether for one ‘thing or another, whether to-morrow or the day after, where is the great choice?” _ “Yet, my lord, it was through love to me that he came hither,” answered Dick, “and I were churlish and thankless to desert him.” _ “Master Shelton, ye are troublesome,” replied the earl, severely. “It is an evil way to prosper in this world. Howbeit, and to be quit of your importunity, I will once more humour you. Go, then, together; but go warily, and get swiftly out of ’Shoreby town. For this Sir Daniel (whom may the saints confound!) thirsteth most greedily to have your blood.” ps “My lord, I do now offer you in words my gratitude, trusting at some brief date to pay you some of it in me. replied Dick, as he turned from the_apart- ment. i already come. one of Sir Daniel’s men caught sight of them an - for the open country was to run the risk of the patrok they made a straight push for the granary at a run, and concealed themselves behind the door among some the moon was silvering the frozen snow. Now or neve _ where, in the concourse of people, they stood the mo imminent peril to be recognized and slain. We. - from the house by the beach, now lying dark and sile and brought them forth at last by the margin of t ' harbour. Many of the ships, as they could see by _ clear moonshine, had weighed anchor, and, profi CHAPTER VI ARBLASTER AGAIN , EN Dick and Lawless were suffered to ste al, by a back way, out of the house where Lord Risingham held his garrison, the evening had They paused in shelter of the garden wall to consul nile on their best course. The danger was extreme. — raised the view-hallo, they would be run down and | butchered instantly. And not only was the town of Shoreby a mere net of peril for their lives, but to make | A little way off, upon some open ground, they spie d . a windmill standing: and hard by that, a very larg granary with open doors. . “How if we lay there until the night fall? ” Di proposed. } And Lawless having no better suggestion to offer, straw. The daylight rapidly departed; and presently y ” was their opportunity to gain the Goat and Bagpipes ‘a unobserved and change their tell-tale garments. Yet even then it was advisable to go round by the out- skirts, and not run the gauntlet of the market-place This course was a long one. It took them not f r 194 THE BLACK ARROW 9B by the calm sky, proceeded for more distant parts; answerable to this, the rude alehouses along the beach (although, in defiance of the curfew law, they still shone with fire and candle) were no longer thronged with customers, and no longer echoed to the chorus of sea songs. . Hastily, half running, with their monkish raiment kilted to the knee, they plunged through the deep snow, and threaded the labyrinth of marine lumber; | and they were already more than half way round the harbour when, as they were passing close before an _alehouse, the door suddenly opened and let out a gush of light upon their fleeting figures. Instantly they stopped, and made believe to be en- gaged in earnest conversation. : Three men, one after another, came out of the ale- house, and the last closed the door behind him. All three were unsteady upon their feet, as if they had passed the day in deep potations, and they now stood wavering in the moonlight, like men who knew not — what they would be after. The tallest of the three was talking i in a loud, lamentable voice. _ “Seven pieces of as good Gascony as ever a _tapster broached, ” he was saying, “the best ship out o’ the — port o’ Dartmouth, a Virgin Mary parcel-gilt, thirteen ! pounds of good gold money m - “T have had losses, too,” interrupted one of the ‘others. “I have had losses of mine own, gossip Ar- blaster. I was robbed at Martinmas of five shillings and a leather wallet well worth ninepence farthing.” Wickis (hedrt snidte him at what he heard: | Uo that moment he had not perhaps thought twice of the poor skipper who had been ruined by the loss of the | ny y Good Hope; so careless, in those days, were men who wore arms of the goods and interests of their infer- iors. But this sudden encounter reminded him sharply of the high-handed manner and ill ending of his enter- prise; and both he and Lawless turned their heads the © " : other way, to avoid the chance of recognition. The ship’s dog had, however, made his escape from ‘the wreck and found his way back again to Shoreby. - gilt, and thirteen pounds in gold and silver. Hey! what ~ _ him, took to his heels among the lumber. 196 «=3=)—~*é«UT'#HED- BLACK. ARROW - He was now at Arblaster’s heels, and suddenly sniffing © and pricking his ears, he darted forward and bere q to bark furiously at the two sham friars. a His master unsteadily followed him. ‘ ‘Hey, shipmates!”’ he cried. “Have ye ever a penny q piece for a poor old shipman, clean destroyed by pi- q rates? I am a man that would have paid for you both ~ o’ Thursday morning; and now here I be o’ Saturday * 4 night, begging for a flagon of ale! Ask my man Tom, if ye misdoubt me. Seven pieces of good Gascon wine, — a ship that was mine own, and was my father’s be- © fore me, a Blessed Mary of plane-tree wood and parcel- © say ye? A man that fought the French, too; for I — have fought the French; I have cut more French. , throats upon the high seas than ever a man that sails 4 out of Dartmouth. Come, a penny piece.” 4 Neither Dick nor Lawless durst answer him a word, j lest he should recognize their voices; and they stood , as helpless as a ship ashore, not knowing where to © turn nor what to hope. q “Are ye dumb, boy?” inquired the skipper. “Mates,” — he added, with a hiccup, “they be dumb. I like not © this manner of discourtesy; for an a man be dumb, © so be as he’s courteous, he will still speak when he was i spoken to, methinks.” 4 By this time the sailor, Toni, who was a man of 4 great personal strength, seemed to have conceived ¥ ‘some suspicion of these two speechless figures; and — being soberer than his captain, stepped suddenly be-— fore him, took Lawless roughly by the shoulder, and asked him, with an oath, what ailed him that he held © his tongue. To this the outlaw, thinking all was over, — made answer by a wrestling feint that stretched the sailor on the sand, and, calling upon Dick to follow : The affair passed in a second. Before Dick could © run at all, Arblaster had him in his arms; Tom, crawl- ing on his face, had caught him by one foot, and the > us man had a drawn cutlass brandishing above bi THE BLACK ARROW 197 : It was not so much the danger, it was not so much the annoyance, that now bowed down the spirits of pyoung Shelton; it was the profound humiliation to have escaped Sir Daniel, convinced Lord Risingham, and now fall helpless in the hands of this old drunken sailor; and not merely helpless, but, as his conscience -joudly told him when it was too late, actually guilty _—actually the bankrupt debtor of the man whose ship he had stolen and lost. ie “Bring me him back into the alehouse, till I see his y face,” said Arblaster. - “Nay, nay,” returned Tom; “but let us first unload “his wallet, lest the other lads ery share.” i But though he was searched from head to foot, not -apenny was found upon him; nothing but Lord Fox- _ham’s signet, which they plucked savagely from his t finger. ' _ “Turn me him to the moon,” said the skipper; and . i taking Dick by the chin, he cruelly jerked his head into i, the air. “Blessed Virgin!” he cried, “‘it is the pirate.” me Hey!” cried Tom. % “By the Virgin of Bordeaux, it is the man himself!” _ repeated Arblaster. “What, sea-thief, do I hold you?” he cried. “Where is my ship? Where is my wine? Hey! have I you in my hands? Tom, give me one end of a cord here, I will so truss me this sea-thief, hand _and foot together, like a basting turkey—marry, I will | ae bind him up—and thereafter I will so beat—so beat im!’ _ And so he ran on, winding the cord meanwhile about Dick’s limbs with the dexterity peculiar to seamen, and at every turn and cross securing it with a knot, and tightening the whole fabric with a savage pull. 4 When he had done, the lad was a mere package in his hands—as helpless as the dead. The skipper held him at arm’s length, and laughed aloud. Then he fetched him a stunning buffet on the ear; and then turned him about, and furiously kicked and kicked — “him. Anger rose up in Dick’s bosom like a storm; anger strangled him, and he thought to have died; but when the sailor, tired of this cruel play, dropped 4 ’ iy 4 Diese ‘THE BLACK ARROW ale ata him all iG length upon the send and turned to Sonat ; with his companions, he instantly regained command of his temper. Here was a momentary respite; ere they began again to torture him, he might have found i some method to escape from this degrading and fatal | misadventure. r Presently, sure enough, and while his captors were _ still discussing what to do with him, he took heart ‘of grace, and, with a pretty steady voice, addressed ‘them. . “My masters,” he began, “are ye gone clean foolish’ Here hath Heaven put into your hand as pretty an occasion to grow rich as ever shipman had—such as ye might make thirty over-sea adventures and not | find again—and, by the mass! what do ye? Beat me? nay; so would an angry child. But for long-headed tarry-Johns, that fear not fire nor water, and that love - gold as they love beef, methinks ye are not wise.” ‘ SAY, ” said Tom, “now y’ are trussed ye would cozen us.” “Cozen you!” repeated Dick. ‘‘Nay, if ye be foolal ; it would be easy. But if ye be shrewd fellows, as I trow ye are, ye can see plainly where your interests lie. When I took your ship from you, we were many, we were well clad and armed; but now, bethink you a little, who mustered that array ? One incontestably that hath made much gold. And if he, being already rich, continueth to hunt after more even in the face | of storms—bethink you once more—shall there not be a treasure somewhere hidden?” 4 “What meaneth he?” asked one of the men. ¥ “Why, if ye have lost an old skiff and a few jugs of vinegary wine,” continued Dick, “forget them, for the trash they are; and do ye rather buckle to.an adven-_ ture worth the name, that shall, in twelve hours, make 2 or mar you for ever. But take me up from where I jie, and let us go somewhere near at hand and tall “ - across a flagon, for I am sore and frozen, and my mouth is half among the snow.” “He seeks to cozen us,’ said’ Tom, contemptuous “Cozen! cozen!” cried the third man, “I woul ‘THE BLACK ARROW ——=*OLS ~ could see the man that could cozen me! He were a - can see a church when it hath a steeple on it; and for _ my part, gossip Arblaster, methinks there is some sense in this young man. Shall we go hear him indeed? i Say, shall we go hear him?” _ _ “TI would look gladly on a pottle of strong ale, good ’ ‘Master Pirret,’ returned Arblaster. “How say ye, Tom? But then the wallet is empty.” “I will pay,” said the other, “I will pay. I would — . fain see this matter out; I do believe, upon my con- 4 science, there is gold in it. iu | r “Nay, if ye get again to drinking, all is lost!’ cried om. 4 “Gossip Arblaster, ye suffer your fellow to have too ‘’ much liberty,’ returned Master Pirret. “Would ye be led by a hired man? Fry, fy!” “Peace, fellow!” said Ronee addressing Tom. ee ae - cozener indeed! Nay, I was not born yesterday. I «will ye put your oarin? Truly a fine pass, when the ay ‘ crew is to correct the skipper!” | 4 “Well, then, go your way,” said Tom; “I wash my Bnends of you.” «gy know a privy ‘place where we may drink and dis- aes “If I am to walk, my friends, ye must set my feet at - liberty,” said Dick, when he had been once more planted upright like a post. » “He saith true,” laughed Pirret. “Truly, he could ‘not walk accoutred as he is. Give it a slit—out with »your knife and slit it, gossip.” | Even Arblaster paused at this proposal; but as his aS “Set him, then, upon his feet,” said Master Pirret. na companion continued to insist, and Dick had the sense : Oa and only shrugged his shoulders over the delay, the can keep the merest wooden indifference of expression, am ‘skipper consented at last, and cut the cords which tied ay prisoner’s feet and legs. Not only did this enable i i Dick to ‘walk, but the whole network of his bonds a being proportionately loosened, he felt the arm behind his back begin to move more ‘freely, and could hope, © gr _ with time and trouble,.to entirely disengage it.. So CER ALD SUC SOREN WDD ATA Pi AR Toe CAR Sa ORR a re one ee ? i i t > ea . , yy 4 y! i ; ae ¥ i re c \ , " >! e 9 . he HF Ou 20 THE BLACK oe "much he owed already to the owlish silliness and tree ;, of Master Pirret. , E That worthy now assumed the lead, and conducted — them to the very same rude alehouse where Lawless had taken Arblaster on the day of the gale. It was” now quite deserted; the fire was a pile of red embers, © radiating the most ardent heat; and when they had chosen their places, and the landlord had set before them a measure of mulled ale, both Pirret and Ar-~ blaster stretched forth their legs and squared their — elbows like men bent upon a pleasant hour. f The table at which they sat, like all the others in the alehouse, consisted of a heavy, square board, set on a ~ pair of barrels; and each of the four curiously assorted — cronies sat at one side of the square, Pirret facing — Arblaster, and Dick opposite to the common sailor. “And now, young man,” said Pirret, “to your tale. It doth appear, indeed, that ye have somewhat abused — our gossip Arblaster; ‘but what then? Make it up to- him—show him but this chance to become wealthy—_ and I will go pledge he will forgive you.” 4 So far Dick had spoken pretty much at random; — but it was now necessary, under the supervision of six eyes, to invent and tell some marvellous story, and, if it were possible, get back into his hands the all- | important signet. To squander time was the first ne-— cessity. The longer his stay lasted, the more would ” -his captors drink, and the surer should he be when he attempted his escape. § Well, Dick was not much of an inventor, and what he told was pretty much the tale of Ali Baba, with © Shoreby and Tunstall Forest substituted for the East a and the treasures of the cavern rather exaggerated than diminished. As the reader is aware, it is an ex- cellent story, and has but one drawback—that it is not - true; and so as these three simple shipmen now heard at for the first time, their eyes stood out of their faces, and their mouths gaped like codfish at a fishmonger’s. Pretty soon a second measure of mulled ale was called for; and while Dick was artfully spinning out the incidents a third followed es second. ae whe THE BLACK ARROW f 201 | ean was the position of the parties towards the en Arblaster, three-parts drunk and one-half asleep, hung helpless on his stool. Even Tom had been much delighted with the tale, and his vigilance had abated in proportion. Meanwhile, Dick had gradually wormed his right arm clear of its bonds, and was ready to risk all. . “And so,” said Pirret, “y’ are one of these?” “I was made so,” replied Dick, “against my will; but ' anI could but get a sack or two of gold coin to my _ share, I should be a fool indeed to continue dwelling in - a filthy cave, and standing shot and buffet like a sol- dier. Here be we four; good! Let us, then, go forth into the forest to-morrow ere the sun be up. Could _ we come honestly by a donkey, it were better; but an _ we cannot, we have our four strong backs and I war- rant me we shall come home staggering.” Pirret licked his lips. af “And this magic,” he said—‘“this password, whereby | the cave is opened—how call ye it, friend ?” A “Nay, none know the word but the three chiefs,” — _ returned Dick; “but here is your great good fortune, © that, on this very evening, I should be the bearer of a year beyond the captain’s wallet.” “A spell!” said Arblaster, half awakening, and a spells! I be a good Christian. Ask my man Tom, else.” - naught with the devil; only the powers of numbers, herbs, and planets.” \ “Ay, ay,” said Pirret; “’tis but white magic, gossip. _ There is no sin therein, I do assure you. But pro- ‘3 Es, ,Z0od youth. This spell—in what should it con- aN ay, that I will incontinently show you,’ ’ answered - Dick. “Have ye there the ring ye took from my finger? Good! Now hold it forth before you by the spell to open it. It is a thing not trusted twice a squinting upon Dick with one eye. “Aroint thee! no ~ “Nay, but this is white magic,” said Dick. “It doth . extreme finger-ends, at the arm’s length, and over © | i cnet the AGhnte of these euiheral, Tis 80 exactly clear between him and the door. He put up an in- _ ternal prayer. Then whipping forth his arms, he ~ made but one snatch of the ring, and at the same in-_ A '.. gtant, levering up the table, he sent it bodily over upon — - under the ruins; and before Arblaster understood that © the moonlit night. . ground about the harbour bright as day; and young ~ Shelton leaping, with kilted robe, among the lumber © 4 Was a conspicuous figure from afar. . he drew near the entrance of a narrow lane, he even - ; _s Paused and looked laughingly behind him. | -$Shoreby came clustering in an inky mass, and tailing — 4 - out rearward in isolated clumps. Every man was | ; with both arms in air; some one was continually fall- | ‘Ing; and to complete. the picture, when one fell, a dozen would fail upon the top of him. "I high as to the moon was partly comical and partly © In the port could run him down. But the mere vol- ume of noise, in so far as it must awake all the sleepers” ve tala, So, spying a dark doorway at a corner; he pa “THE BLACK ARROW | i ‘a Thus, then, is the spell.” With a haggard glance, Dick saw the coast. was the seaman Tom. He, poor soul, went down bawinean A anything was wrong, or Pirret could collect his daz- © ; zled wits, Dick had run to the door and escaped into © The moon, which now rode in the mid-heavens, and — | the extreme whiteness of the snow, made the open q Tom and Pirret followed him with shouts; from | every drinking-shop they were joined by others whom | their’ cries aroused; and presently a whole fleet of sail- — ors was in full pursuit. But Jack ashore was a bad — runner, even in the fifteenth century, and Dick, be- © sides, had a start, which he rapidly improved, until, as J Upon the white floor of snow, all the shipmen of shouting or screaming ; every man was gesticulating © The confused mass of sound which they rolled up as. q terrifying to the fugitive whom they were hunting In itself, it was impotent, for he made sure no seaman ° in Shoreby, and bring all the skulking sentries to the street, did really threaten him with danger in the | > , er THE BLACK ARROW 208 whipped briskly into it, and let the uncouth hunt go by him, still shouting and gesticulating, and all red mi with hurry, and white with tumbles in the snow. — It was a long while, indeed, before this great inva- a sion of the town by the harbour came to an end, andit was long before silence was restored. For long, lost is sailors were still to be heard pounding and shouting ~ through the streets in all directions and in every quar- ter of the town. Quarrels followed, sometimes among themselves, sometimes with the men of the patrols; knives were drawn, blows given and received, and more than one dead body remained behind upon the snow. When, a full hour later, the last. seaman returned _ grumblingly to the harbour side and his particular tay- ern, it may fairly be questioned if he had ever known what manner of man he was pursuing, but it was ab- solutely sure that he had now forgotten. By next. morning there were many strange stories flying; and — a little while after, the legend of the devil’s nocturnal _ visit was an article of faith with all the lads of Shoreby. ‘iis But the return of the last seaman did not, even yet, - set free young Shelton from his cold imprisonment APE Hi the doorway. For some time after there was a great activity of patrols; and special parties came forth to make the round of the place and report to one or other of the. $ - great lords, whose slumbers had been thus unusually o broken. The night was already well spent before Dick ven-. ae tured from his hiding-place and came, safe and sound, but aching with cold and bruises, to the door of the a Goat and Bagpipes. As the law required, there was neither fire nor candle in the house; but he groped his ~ way into a corner of the icy guest-room, found anend _of a blanket, which he hitched around his shoulders, _ and creeping close to the nearest sleeper, was soon lost we in slumber, Ais) MA BOOK V CROOK BACK CHAPTER I THE SHRILL TRUMPET ERY early the next morning, before the first peep of the day, Dick arose, changed his gar- ments, armed himself once more like a gentle- man, and set forth for Lawless’s den in the forest. There, it will be remembered, he had left Lord Fox- ham’s papers; and to get these and be back in time for _ the tryst with the young Duke of. Gloucester could only be managed by an early start, and the most vigor- ous walking. The frost was more rigorous than ever; the air windless and dry, and stinging to the nostril. The moon had gone down, but the stars were still bright and numerous, and the reflection from the snow was clear and cheerful. There was no need for a lamp to walk by; nor, in that still but ringing air, the least temptation to delay. Dick had crossed the greater part of the open ground between Shoreby and the forest, and had reached the bottom of the little hill, some hundred ~— yards below the Cross of St. Bride, when through the — stillness of the black morn, there rang forth the note of a trumpet, so shrill, clear, and piercing, that he — thought he had never heard the match of it for audi- — bility. It was blown once, and then hurriedly a sec- — ond time; and then the clash of steel succeeded. of At this young Shelton pricked his ears, and draw- — _ ing his sword, ran forward up the hill. Dt Presently he came in sight of the cross, and was — aware of a most fierce encounter raging on the road be- fore it. There were seven or eight assailants, and but — one to keep head against them; but so active and — dexterous was this one, so desperately did he charge af | 204 5 >to a Sh See mah Tz at <= sees 7 } ean eg oe » . . Si VP ee Ae eee eg ee = 4 aM ” THE BLACK ARROW 205. and scatter his opponents, so deftly keep his footing on the ice, that already, before Dick could intervene, he had slain one, wounded another, and kept the whole — in check. | Still it was by a miracle that he continued his de- fence, and at any moment, any accident, the least slip of foot or error of hand, his life would be a forfeit. “Hold ye well, sir! Here is help!” cried Richard; and forgetting that he was alone, and that the cry was somewhat irregular; “To the Arrow! to the Arrow!” he shouted, as he fell upon the rear of the assailants. These were stout fellows also, for they gave not an inch at his surprise, but faced about, and fell with astonishing fury upon Dick. Four against one, the steel flashed about him in the starlight: the sparks — flew fiercely; one of the men opposed to him fell— in the stir of the fight he hardly knew why; then he himself was struck across the head, and though the steel cap below his hood protected him, the blow beat. him down upon one knee, with a brain whirling like a windmill sail. Meanwhile the man whom he had come to rescue, instead of joining in the conflict, had, on the first sign of intervention, leaped aback and blown again, and yet more urgently and loudly, on that same shrill-voiced trumpet that began the alarm. Next moment, indeed, his foes were on him, and he was once more charging _ and fleeing, leaping, stabbing, dropping to his knee, and using indifferently sword and dagger, foot and hand, with the same unshaken courage and feverish energy and speed. But that ear-piercing summons had been heard at _ last. There was a muffled rushing in the snow; and,- in a good hour for Dick, who saw the sword-points _ glitter already at his throat, there poured forth out of - the wood upon both sides a disorderly torrent of © mounted men-at-arms, each cased in iron, and with © visor lowered, each bearing his lance in rest, or his ~ sword bared and raised, and each carrying, so to © speak, a passenger, in the shape of an archer or page, who leaped one after another from their perches, and ~ _ a word, THE BLACK ARROW | he tod ie Houbied he array. | , The original assailants, seeing themselves outnum-_ bered and surrounded, threw down their arms without “Seize me these fellows!” said the hero of the © ind trumpet; and when his order had been obeyed, he 4 H _ drew near to Dick and looked him in the face. ie formed, with one shoulder higher than the other, and a longer than they did.” ne rant of whom I speak with.” | not to bear him aid.” Dick, returning this scrutiny, was surprised to find © 4 in one who had displayed such strength, skill, and energy, a lad no older than himself—slightly de- of a pale, painful, and distorted countenance.* The ~ eyes, however, were very clear and bold. | “Sir,” said this Jad, “ve came in good time for me, | “and none too early.” _ “My lord,” returned Dick, with a faint sense that he was in the presence of a great personage, “‘ye are yourself so marvellous a good swordsman that I be- lieve ye had managed them single-handed. Howbeit, it was certainly well for me that your men delayed no “How knew ye who I was? 2?” demanded the stranger. “Even now, my lord,” Dick answered, ‘I am igno- — t “Is it so?” asked the other. “And yet ye threw - yourself head first into this unequal battle.” _ “TI saw one man valiantly contending against many,” replied Dick, ‘and I had thought myself dishonoured © is A singular sneer played about the young nobleman’ Ss | ~ mouth as he made answer: sh “These are very brave words. But to the more es- - gential—are ye Lancaster or York?’ ' . “My lord, I make no secret; I am clear for ae OF Kr age Baie answered, : : _ “By the mass!” replied the other, “it is well for you.” _ And so saying, he turned towards one of his follow. et ers. , “Let me see,” he continued, in the same sneering Ng eer: *Richard Crookback would have eee really far YOURE, at he is iva date,” THE BLACK ARROW 207 and cruel tones—‘Iet me see a clean end of these brave gentlemen. Truss me them up.” f There were but five survivors of the attacking party. i ‘Archers seized them by the arms; they were 2urried © to the borders of the wood, and each placea oelow a _ tree of suitable dimensions; the rope was adjusted; — M an archer, carrying the end of it, hastily clambered | i overhead, and before a minute was over, ond without — a a word passing upon either hand, the five men were e swinging by the neck. oe | “And now,” cried the deformed leader, “back to — your posts, and when I summon you next, be readier — ‘tp to attend.” ui ( “My lord duke,” said one man, “‘beseech you, tarry a ie eo alone. Keep but a handful of lances at your if and.” yn “Fellow,” said the duke, “I have forborne to chide — you for your slowness. Cross me not, therefore. I trust my hand and arm, for all that I be crooked. Ye > were backward when the trumpet sounded: and ye are) now too forward with your counsels. But it is ever . so; last with the lance and first with tongue. Let it y be reversed.” uh And with a gesture that was not without a sort of , dangerous nobility, he waved them off. ak | The footmen climbed again to their seats behind the 2 men-at-arms, and the whole party moved slowly away | and disappeared in twenty different directions, under © the cover of the forest. eo The day was by this time beginning to break, and — the stars to fade. The first grey glimmer of dawn A shone upon the countenances of the two young men, — | who now turned once more to face each other. ah “Here,” said the duke, “ye have seen my vengeance, — _ which is, like my blade, both sharp and ready. But I would not have you, for all Christendom, suppose me © b thankless. You that came to my aid with a good — it sword and a better courage—unless that ye recoil from my misshapenness—come to my heart.” | i And so saying the young leader held out his arms for an embrace. We = 208 ‘THE BLACK ARROW In the bottom of his heart Dick already entertained a great terror and some hatred for the man whom he had rescued; but the invitation was so worded that - it would not have been merely discourteous, but cruel, - to refuse or hesitate, and he hastened to comply. “And now, my lord duke,” he said, when he had re- - gained his freedom, “‘do I suppose aright? Are ye my _ Lord Duke of Gloucester?” “IT am Richard of Gloucester,” returned the other. “And you—how call they you?” Dick told him his name and presented Lord Fox- _ham’s signet, which the duke immediately recognized. ~ “Ye come too soon,” he said; “but why should I complain? Ye are like me, that was here at watch two hours before the day. But this is the first sally of mine arms; upon this adventure, Master Shelton, -ghall I make or mar the quality of my renown. There lie mine enemies, under two old, skilled captains, Ris- ingham and Brackley, well posted for strength, I do - believe, but yet upon two sides without retreat, en- closed betwixt the sea, the harbour, and the river. Methinks, Shelton, here were a great blow to be stricken, an we could strike it silently and suddenly.” “I do think so, indeed,” cried Dick, warming. 4 peeve ye my Lord Foxham’s notes?” inquired the uke And then Dick, having explained how he was with- out them for the moment, made himself bold to offer information every jot as good, of his own knowledge. “And for mine own part, my lord duke,” he added, “an ye had men enough, I would fall on even at this present. For, look ye, at the peep of day the watches - of the night are over; but by day they keep neither watch nor ward—only scour the outskirts with horse- ' men. Now, then, when the night-watch is already unarmed, and the rest are at their morning cup—now were the time to break them.” “How many do ye count?” asked Gloucester. “They number not two thousand,” Dick replied. *T have seven hundred in the woods behind us,” said the duke; “seven hundred follow from Kettley, tile le el on ee