Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 Theft, mptH-tion, end -f^^^^LJ^ 
 
 for disciplinary aet.on and may 
 
 the University. _ SAOO 
 
 r. 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 THE FATE: 
 
 A TALE OF STIRRING TIMES. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ., 
 
 " ce 
 
 AUTHOR OF " THE GIPSY, " THE FORGERY, • THE WOODMAN, 
 " THE OLD OAK CHEST," " HENRY SMEATON " ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 ♦ * 
 
 LONDON: 
 THOMAS CAUTLEY KEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 1851.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fatetaleofstirri02jame
 
 3 
 
 2-3 fa 
 
 THE FATE 
 
 CHAPTER T. 
 
 Ix the vast, immeasurable depths of thought 
 there are so many resources, that one would 
 suppose it were quite unnecessary for 
 any man to repeat himself, or to copy 
 others, let him write as much as he will ; 
 and yet we see, continually, men of conside- 
 rable powers of mind borrowing largely, I 
 might even say systematically, from the 
 works of others : not always the identical 
 words, though sometimes those — not al- 
 ways the identical thought, though some- 
 
 VOL. II. b
 
 2 THE FATE. 
 
 times that ; but, more generally, the ideas 
 suggested by the thoughts of others, and 
 so intimately blended with them as to be 
 inseparable : judging themselves safe from 
 the accusation of plagiarism upon the same 
 plea which was put forth by a thief, in- 
 dicted for stealing a scarf, who had proved 
 he had only taken the gold fringe. I know 
 many men who write much, and well ; 
 but who seldom address themselves to lite- 
 rary composition, without having open 
 around them many works of precisely the 
 same character ; as that which they are 
 composing. This is a dangerous habit, 
 and much to be avoided Indeed we pray 
 against it every day, when w^e say, " Lead 
 us not into temptation." 
 
 As to repeating oneself, it is no very 
 great crime, perhaps; for I never heard 
 that robbing Peter to pay Paul was 
 punishable under any law or statute ; and 
 the multitude of offenders in this sense, in 
 all ages, and in all circumstances, is a 
 palliation, if not an excuse, showing the 
 frailty of human nature, and that we are
 
 THE FATE 3 
 
 as frail as others, but no more. The cause 
 of this self-repetition, probably, is — not a 
 paucity of ideas — not an infertility of 
 fancy — not a want of imagination or inven- 
 tion ; but that, like children sent daily to 
 draw water from a stream, we get into a 
 habit of dropping our buckets into that 
 same immeasurable depth of thought, 
 exactly at the same place ; and, though 
 it be not exactly the water which we 
 drew up the day before, it is very similar 
 in quality and flavor — a little clearer, or a 
 little more turbid, as the c?.se may be. 
 
 Now this dissertation (which may be 
 considered as an introduction, or preface, 
 to my second volume) has been brought 
 about — has had its rise, origin, source — in 
 an anxious and careful endeavour to avoid, 
 if possible, introducing in this work the 
 two solitary horsemen — one upon a white 
 horse — which, by some mode or another, 
 have found their way into, probably, two 
 out of three of all the books I have written ; 
 and I need hardly tell the reader that 
 B 2
 
 4 THE FATE. 
 
 their name is legion. They are, perhaps, 
 too many ; but, though / must die, some 
 of them will live — I know it, I feel it ; and 
 I must continue to write while this spirit 
 is in this body. 
 
 To say truth, I do not know why I 
 should wish to get rid of my two horse- 
 men — especially the one on the white 
 horse) Wouvermans always had a white 
 horse in his pictures) ; and I do not see 
 why I should not put my signature — my 
 emblem — my monogram, in my paper-and- 
 ink pictures, as well as any painter of them 
 all. I am not sure that other authors do 
 not do the same thing ; that Lytton has 
 not always, or very nearly so, a philosophis- 
 ing libertine ; Dickens, a very charming 
 young girl, with dear little pockets ; and 
 Lever, a bold dragoon. Nevertheless, upon 
 my life, if I can help it, we will not have 
 in this work the two horsemen and the 
 white horse, albeit, in after times, when my 
 name is placed with Homer and Shake- 
 speare — or in any other more likely posi-
 
 THE FATE. 5 
 
 tion — serious and acrimonious disputes 
 may arise as to the real authorship of 
 this book, from its wanting my own peculiar 
 and distinctive mark and characteristic. 
 
 But, while writing about plagiarism, T 
 have been myself a plagiarist ; and it shall 
 not remain without acknowledgment, since 
 I have suffered somewhat in that sort my- 
 self. Hear, my excellent friend, Leigh 
 Hunt, soul of mild goodness, honest truth, 
 and gentle brightness ! I acknowledge that 
 I stole from you the defensive image of 
 Wouvermans' white horse, which you in- 
 cautiously put within my reach on one 
 bright night of long, dreamy conversation, 
 when our ideas which, in several things, wide 
 as are the poles asunder, met suddenly with- 
 out clashing, or produced but a cool, quiet 
 spark, as the white stones which children 
 rub together in dark corners, emit a soft 
 phosphorescent gleam which serves but to 
 light their little noses.
 
 THE PATE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The course of our narrative must now go 
 back for the space of a few hours, Ealph 
 Woodhall had calculated upon finding some 
 opportunity, during the day, of quiet con- 
 versation with Margaret ; but he felt some 
 trouble and anxiety, when desired, by 
 his friend and patron, the Duke of Norfolk, 
 to escort Lady Dan vers upon her road 
 westward. He knew not how to refuse, 
 however ; for the Duke informed him that 
 intimation had been received of tumults 
 on the road, and the fair Hortensia herself 
 was present, looking as beautiful as ever, 
 but pale and considerably agitated, and
 
 THE FATE. 7 
 
 apparently alarmed. In such circum- 
 stances, there was no shewing even any 
 hesitation ; and, turning to the lady, he 
 said, 
 
 " If you will but wait for me five 
 minutes, Lady Danvers, I will be ready. I 
 wish to say a few words to my cousin, who 
 must be up by this time, and — " 
 
 " Oh, there will be plenty of time for 
 that after you return, Mr. Woodhall," said 
 the Duke. " Lord Woodhall announced, 
 last night, his intention of remaining for 
 to-morrow, or the next day. So sure was 
 I of your prompt readiness, that I took the 
 liberty of ordering your horse to be saddled, 
 and he now stands at the door with five of 
 my own servants, ready to accompany our 
 fair friend's carriage/' 
 
 This was said wich stateliness, and Ralph 
 evidently saw that something was unex- 
 plained. 
 
 " I will get my hat and gloves then/' he 
 said, "and be ready to escort Lady Danvers 
 at once."
 
 8 THE FATE. 
 
 " I will send for them/' returned the Duke ; 
 and, raising his voice, he called a servant, 
 saving, " Minton, get Mr. Woodhall's hat 
 and gloves." 
 
 Ralph smiled, but made no reply; and, 
 as soon as the servant returned with what 
 he had been sent for, he followed the Duke, 
 who, with ancient courtesy, conducted the 
 lady to her carriage, and kissed her fair 
 hand as he placed her in it, whispering at 
 the same time, " You see that I have 
 obeyed your injunctions to the letter. But 
 take care of your reputation, dear lady." 
 
 Hortensia blushed to the eyes, but 
 answered gaily, "Never fear that, my Lord 
 Duke. I do right, and defy scandal." 
 
 The carriage moved on, and Ralph 
 Woodhall followed it, with the Duke of 
 Norfolk's servants, and those of the fair 
 Baroness, following him. Throughout the 
 first five miles of the journey, poor Mar- 
 garet might have seen him with relief and 
 satisfaction to her own heart. Thoughtful 
 and abstracted, he kept near the carriage, it
 
 THE PATE. 9 
 
 is true ; but he never, once approached its side. 
 He rode on at the slow, uneasy pace which 
 was necessary to keep up with, but not pass 
 by, the heavy vehicle, with eyes turned 
 towards the ground, and a somewhat con- 
 tracted brow. He was not sullen, for his 
 was a frank and cheerful heart ; and, 
 though he was grieved to be deprived of 
 Margaret's society even for a few hours, 
 when he could have enjoyed it without 
 peril to himself or her, that would never 
 have clouded his bright look when he sacri- 
 ficed it to be of service to another. But 
 there appeared something strange to him 
 in the whole of what had lately passed; 
 something that roused suspicion of a vague, 
 unpleasant kind — that showed him he 
 was made an instrument of, for some pur- 
 pose which was carefully concealed from 
 himself. 
 
 Could it be at the desire of Lord Wood- 
 hall that he was sent away 1 he asked 
 himself. Could his love for Margaret, or 
 Margaret's love for him, have been dis-
 
 10 THE FATE. 
 
 covered \ Perhaps it was ; and the in- 
 tention of the parties might be to send 
 him away from the house upon some fair ' 
 excuse, till she was removed. 
 
 The thought was very bitter to him : 
 yet his mind clung to it, and the more he 
 reflected, the more probable the supposi- 
 tion seemed. There were objections, it is 
 true. That t he Duke of Norfolk should 
 have condescended to mingle himself with 
 such a deceit, was not at all likely ; and 
 He could not imagine for one moment that 
 Lady Danvers would have knowingly lent 
 herself to it. All the opinions she had 
 expressed the night before— her whole 
 conduct— her whole manner — her very 
 look — were opposed to it ; and yet the 
 anxiety to hurry him away, to prevent 
 him from speaking with any of his relations, 
 or even seeing them before he went, the few 
 whispered words that passed between the 
 Duke and Hortensia, which he had re- 
 marked, although he did not hear them 
 distinctly, all seemed to tend to one con-
 
 THE FATE. 1 1 
 
 elusion, and puzzled him sorely. He re- 
 volved the whole in his mind, first turning 
 the argument one way, and then another — 
 at one -time convinced, and at another 
 doubting. 
 
 Thus he rode on pondering, as I have 
 said, for some miles, when suddenly 
 the sound of a horse's feet, coming 
 rapidly behind, attracted his ear, and he 
 turned and looked round. The sen 
 of the Duke of Norfolk were in the way, 
 so that he could not see who approached ; 
 but, the moment after, doubt was ended by 
 his own man Gaunt Stilling riding up. 
 
 " What is the matter V 9 asked Ralph, as 
 the servant drew close to his side. " Has 
 anything gone amiss V s 
 
 " I heard you had gone away for the 
 morning, sir," replied the man, respectfully ; 
 "and, as you had left your riding sword and 
 taken your small sword, and had forgotten 
 your cloak, I made bold to ride after you 
 with them." 
 
 Ralph unfastened the dangling, incon- 
 venient weapon he carried, gave it to
 
 12 THE FATE. 
 
 the man, and put on the other sword — 
 a more serviceable one for horseback — which 
 had been brought. Then, pausing for a mo- 
 ment, he suffered Stilling to strap the 
 folded riding- cloak to the back of the 
 saddle, without dismounting; and, seeing 
 him linger, asked, " Is there anything 
 more V 
 
 Gaunt Stilling approached as close as he 
 could, and spoke several sentences to his 
 master in a whisper. Ralph turned, and 
 put a question or two in the same tone, 
 w r ith an expression of some — but not great 
 — surprise on his face. The man replied ; 
 and it was only the dumb show which the 
 Duke of Norfolk's servants witnessed. At 
 length, Ralph said aloud, " I will cer- 
 tainly be back before nightfall, unless 
 some very unexpected circumstance occur 
 to render it impossible ; but, at all events, 
 before bed time." 
 
 Gaunt Stilling took off his hat, gracefully 
 enough, and rode away, directing his horse 
 towards Norwich. After giving nearly half 
 an hour more to deep meditation, apparently
 
 THE FATE. 13 
 
 not of the most pleasant character, Ralph 
 rode up to the side of the carriage, and 
 commenced what he would fain have made 
 an easy conversation with its fair inmate. 
 
 While this little event occurred, and 
 these thoughts and considerations passed 
 in his mind, he had been himself the 
 object of some interest and anxiety to 
 Lady Dan vers. She attributed, indeed, his 
 thoughtful, gloomy mood, and his want of 
 ordinary gallantry, to very different feelings 
 from those which were really in his 
 breast. 
 
 " He has received the challenge," she 
 thought ; "and is fearful he won't get 
 back in time." Then, addressing the maid 
 who sat opposite, she said, " Look out, and 
 tell me what he is doing now." 
 
 " Just the same as before, my lady," re - 
 plied the girl ; " gazing down at his horse's 
 neck as if he were counting the hairs in 
 the mane — and gloomy enough he seems 
 too." 
 
 " We must prevent him from escaping,
 
 14 THE FATE 
 
 Alice," said her mistress ; " but I know not 
 well how to detain him till it is too late for 
 him to go back." 
 
 " Trust to chance, my lady," replied the 
 waiting-woman. " It is a rare book, that 
 chapter of accidents, if one knows how to 
 read it rightly. — But I dare say the Duke 
 has told his own people how to manage it. 
 I saw him speaking with Master Wilson, 
 the head groom, who goes with us. I 
 should not wonder if the young gentle- 
 man's horse cast a shoe, or went dead lame, 
 or something of that kind." 
 
 Lady Dan vers smiled, observing, 
 
 " I will not trust to that, Alice. The 
 Duke seemed more indifferent about the 
 matter than I expected. He said, that 
 boys would fight ; but that, to please me, 
 he would stop this affair. I trust to his 
 word as far as his ability goes, for he is a 
 man of honour ; but I do not think he will 
 be very active in the business." 
 
 " Oh, dear !" exclaimed the maid, " I 
 should think, for my part, he would be glad 
 enough to stop two handsome young gen-
 
 THE FATE. 15 
 
 tlemen from cutting each other's throats on 
 his own ground. I do hate the sight of 
 those swords ; and, if I were king, I would 
 have them all taken away, and locked 
 up against a time of war. But the Duke 
 certainly cannot like such things." 
 
 Hortensia Danvers shook her head. 
 
 " Neither you nor I. Alice," she said, 
 " can understand men's feelings about these 
 affairs. We have a great objection to be 
 cut or wounded, or hurt in any way ; and 
 bloodshed is naturally horrible to us. But 
 no man cares much about such things in 
 his own case, and of course cannot be ex- 
 pected to care more in the case of others." 
 
 It was at this moment that Ralph rode 
 up to the side of the carriage, saying, with 
 an effort, 
 
 " The roads are bad, notwithstanding 
 the fine weather ; but I fear we shall have 
 rain, for there is much, mist lying on the 
 low ground." 
 
 "I do not think that is a" sign of rain," 
 remarked Lady Danvers ; " but I am no 
 good judge of signs and seasons."
 
 16 THE FATE. 
 
 " Would that I were !" returned Ralph ; 
 " for there are many that I do not under- 
 stand." 
 
 " I must not pretend to be interpreter, 
 rejoined Lady Danvers, in a gay tone. 
 " However, if you wish me to act the Sybil, 
 propound your questions, and I will try. 
 You must take the oracle for what it is 
 worth, and remember, that such answers 
 always read two ways. But w r ould it not 
 be better for you to give your horse to one 
 of the men, and take a seat here beside 
 me till we arrive at some point of danger, 
 when of course my knight will mount on 
 horseback and deliver me V 
 
 " With all ray heart," replied Ralph ; 
 " then I can question the prophetess at 
 ease." 
 
 Thus saying, he ordered the coachman 
 to stop, and dismounting, entered the car- 
 riage. 
 
 " You mentioned danger just now," he 
 said, as soon as they were going forward 
 again. " Tell me, clear Lady Danvers ; do 
 you really think there is any danger ?"
 
 THE FATE. 17 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied Lady Danvers ; 
 " both I and the Duke thought so, or you 
 would not have been now with me." 
 
 " But have you had any intelligence 
 which should make you fear?" asked Ralph. 
 " Distinct and certain,'' answered the fair 
 lady. " It is true, I am of a rather timid 
 Mature, and apt, perhaps, to be frightened 
 sometimes without cause ; but such is not 
 the case with His Grace of Norfolk, and he 
 judged that my apprehensions were very 
 reasonable." 
 
 " May I ask where the danger lies, and 
 in what it consists V enquired Ralph. 
 
 " Nay, I do not know that I can give 
 you a consistent account of the whole mat- 
 ter," responded Hortensia, with a quiet 
 smile ; " but we heard of much discord and 
 quarrelling, and that there was likely to be 
 a fight." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Ralph, with an air 
 so perfectly unconscious, that Lady Danvers 
 began to doubt whether she had been mis-
 
 18 THE FATE. 
 
 led, or whether he was acting the hypocrite 
 to perfection. 
 
 " Have you had no cause to suppose 
 such things were likely to take place V 
 she asked. 
 
 " None whatever," he replied. " I almost 
 fancied, from the extremely pressing hurry 
 in which I was despatched upon this 
 pleasant task, that the Duke did not 
 only desire to confer upon me the honour 
 and happiness of escorting you, but wished 
 also to get me out of the way for a 
 time." 
 
 Hortensia raised her beautiful eyes to 
 his face, and fixed them there while she 
 enquired, 
 
 "Do you know of any motive that he 
 could have for such a proceeding V 
 
 " I can fix upon none in particular, but 
 have been puzzling myself to divine one," 
 answered Ralph ; but, at the same time, he 
 coloured highly ; and Hortensia was satis- 
 fied. 
 
 A silence of some minutes ensued, and
 
 THE FATE. 1.9 
 
 then the lady, with all her quiet gaiety, 
 resumed the conversation. 
 
 " I do think," she said, " to use a house- 
 maid's mode of asseveration, that you are 
 the most ungallant young man I ever met 
 with. I don't say discourteous, for your 
 manner is fair enough, Master Ralph 
 Woodhall ; but I do not believe that there 
 is one man to be found in court, camp, or 
 city, who would have gone about to dis- 
 cover any cause for his being sent on a 
 journey with me, or who would not, if 
 forced to take it, have sworn most devoutly 
 on the Holy Evangelists, that it was the 
 most blessed chance that ever befel him — 
 whether he thought it or not, Ralph 
 Woodhall ; you understand — whether he 
 thought it or not." 
 
 Ralph, feeling that he had in some 
 degree failed in politeness, replied, " No 
 one, dear lady, would have told you so 
 more readily, and no one would have felt 
 it more sincerely, than myself, upon any 
 other day than this ; but I had, to-day,
 
 20 THE FATE. 
 
 something important to do, which rendered 
 what would otherwise have been a true 
 pleasure, the cause of some slight embar- 
 rassment. — But, you see, I am too straight- 
 forward to be courtly, even when I do my 
 best." 
 
 " I like you all the better for it," replied 
 Lady Dan vers, frankly. "But now let us talk 
 of something else. I dare say, and hope, that 
 you will get back in plenty of time to do 
 all you want to do, if it be right and 
 proper. If it be not, I hope you won't ; 
 for 1 am certainly not going to give you 
 up, and send you back again sooner than 
 I please, because you are cross at being 
 taken away from Norwich. Be, therefore, 
 exceedingly civil and amusing during the 
 whole of the rest of the journey, in the 
 hope that your chains may thereby be 
 broken all the speedier." 
 
 Ralph thought that her philosophy was 
 good and exerted himself to cast off his 
 feeling of disappointment, and to make 
 himself as agreeable as possible for the rest
 
 THE FATE. 21 
 
 of the way. He succeeded very well, 
 although, to speak the truth, he did so 
 chiefly by the assistance of Hortensia, 
 who put forth all her powers to amuse the 
 hour. 
 
 Thus passed the time upon the long and 
 weary way which lies between Norwich and 
 the western part of the county. The road is 
 not very picturesque, even now ; displaying 
 but little beauty and little variety, except 
 the beauty of exceedingly well-cultivated 
 fields, and the variety of oxen and sheep, 
 sportsmen and dogs. But culture could 
 then hardly be said to have begun, and it 
 was not a sporting season of the year. 
 There was no inducement, therefore, for 
 the lady and her companion to turn their 
 eyes from the interior of the carriage ; and, 
 to say sooth, if Ralph desired a lovely 
 prospect, he could not have had one more 
 beautiful than the face and form of her 
 who sat beside him. He could not but 
 feel, too, the fascination of her look and 
 manner ; and her conversation, gay, light,
 
 22 THE FATE. 
 
 and playful as it was, bad frequently run- 
 ning through it, like dark veins in clear 
 white marble, a strain of melancholy which 
 rendered it still more charming. It was 
 like a blithesome bird that dips its 
 wings for an instant in a cool stream, only 
 to rise again refreshed and brightened. 
 
 As the coach proceeded slowly, for it 
 was one of those large, lumbering, gilded 
 vehicles, which we cannot imagine to have 
 travelled at the rate of more than four miles 
 an hour, five hours had been consumed ere 
 the party reached the little town of — 
 
 Ralph was glad to see it, for he thought 
 he should be there dismissed ; and yet he 
 could not exclude feelings of regret at parting 
 with that fair and charming woman — feelings 
 which, could Margaret have seen them 
 really as they were, could have given her 
 neither pain nor offence. 
 
 It was now between two and three 
 o'clock, and there was a good deal of 
 gaiety and bustle in the town ; the streets 
 crowded, waggons and market carts ob-
 
 THE FATE. 23 
 
 structing the way, and countrymen riding 
 rou2;h-lookiii£ horses, with their tails tied 
 up to keep them out of the mud. With 
 some difficulty, the carriage moved along 
 the road, and Ralph remounted his horse, 
 in order to give directions for clearing the 
 way. They reached, at length, the inn- 
 door, where the horses were to be fed, and 
 to rest for an hour or two. Ralph handed 
 Lady Danvers from the carriage, and was 
 leading her through a little crowd, which 
 had gathered before the inn, when he re- 
 marked that, although the appearance of 
 such a vehicle in a remote place, might 
 well attract attention, the eyes of the mob 
 were principally turned in another direc- 
 tion, as if watching for some object coming 
 down the street. 
 
 " Dear me, my lady, there is something 
 going on!" ejaculated Mistress Alice, the 
 waiting-maid. " What can it be about V 
 
 Hortensia made no reply ; but quitting, 
 Ralph's arm upon the step, walked hastily
 
 24 THE FATE. 
 
 to the house, and then whispered to the 
 maid — 
 
 " Send the Duke's head groom to me at 
 once." 
 
 The landlord, in the meantime, was bow- 
 ing low, and his good dame, with abun- 
 dant keys, and more than one pincushion, 
 by her side, was curtseying to the ground, 
 ready to shew the beautiful lady to her 
 chamber. 
 
 " What is the matter, without V asked 
 Lady Danvers. " The people seem a good 
 deal excited." 
 
 " Oh, it is nothing at all," replied the 
 landlady ; " only a non-conformist gentle- 
 man, who has been examined by the 
 magistrates. They are taking him away 
 to the gaol, and the people do not like it. 
 I should not wonder if there was to be a 
 riot to-night ; for the Whigs have the 
 upper hand in this town, and they don't 
 bear patiently all that is going on." 
 
 Hortensia turned, and looked through the
 
 THE FATE. 25 
 
 door-way into the street. She saw Ralph 
 standing on the steps, and a crowd passing 
 hurriedly on before him. The next in- 
 stant, however, she beheld him spring for- 
 ward, and heard him exclaim — 
 
 " Why do you strike the man, sir \ You 
 are exceeding your duty. He cannot go 
 faster than he does." 
 
 What was answered, she did not hear ; 
 and the steps of the inn were almost in- 
 stantly covered with a multitude of people, 
 who shut out from her sight what was 
 passing beyond. 
 
 " Come up-stairs, my lady, come up- 
 stairs," cried the landlord. " They will 
 make bad work of it." 
 
 Hortensia followed as fast as the 
 landlord could go ; and, being shewn 
 into a large and handsome room which 
 faced the street, she ran- forward, threw 
 open the window, and looked out. The 
 sign-board of the inn was in the way, so 
 that she could not see the exact spot 
 
 vol. II. c
 
 26 THE FATE. 
 
 where Ralph stood ; but she heard angry 
 words and fierce tones going on below, and, 
 a moment after, stones began to fly, and 
 cudgels to wave. But the next instant, the 
 sound of Ralph's voice rose up over the 
 din, exclaiming, clear and loud — 
 
 " Keep the peace — keep the peace ! Suf- 
 fer the constables to do their duty accord- 
 ing to law ; and you, sirs, take care that 
 you do not exceed the law, as you have 
 done already by striking this gentleman 
 when he was making no resistance." 
 
 Though he spoke loud, his tone was so 
 composed, and his words so reasonable, 
 that Lady Danvers entertained no appre- 
 hension regarding his conduct or his 
 safety ; and, taking one glance over the 
 crowd, to a spot where she saw her maid 
 standing on the opposite side of the road, 
 afraid to make her way back to the inn, 
 the lady withdrew into the room to avoid 
 the stoi. s, which were flying thicker than 
 was plea. ant.
 
 THE FATE. 27 
 
 The loud and angry speaking continued 
 for several minutes, and a stone en- 
 tered the room where Hortensia was sit- 
 ting ; but no one came near her, for the 
 excitement of the scene without had 
 affected even the people of the inn, and it 
 is probable that neither her own servants, 
 nor those of the Duke of Norfolk, could 
 force their way up to the door. 
 
 At length, however, a nimble step was 
 heard upon the stairs, and the head groom, 
 whom she had sent for, appeared with an 
 eager and excited countenance. He doffed 
 his hat as he entered the room, saying at 
 once, " They have taken him before 
 the magistrates, my lady ; but Mistress 
 Alice said you wanted me." 
 
 " Who, who has been taken V! demanded 
 Lady Dauvers. " Of whom do you speak V 
 
 u Mr. Ralph, my lady," replied the man. 
 " We would have rescued him with a strong 
 hand, and beaten the constables all to 
 mortar ; but he would not let us, and 
 ordered us all to keep the peace. I 
 c 2
 
 28 THE FATE. 
 
 had better run up at once with the rest, to 
 see that he is fairly dealt by." 
 
 " Ay, do so, do so," cried Hortensia, 
 eagerly ; but then immediately she feJl 
 into a fit of thought, and, as the man 
 was quitting the room, called him back, 
 saying, " Stay — Wilton — Wilton. We may 
 turn this to advantage, perhaps." 
 
 The man seemed surprised and con- 
 founded ; but the lady beckoned him to 
 come nearer, saying, " 1 have no time for 
 explanations, Master Wilton ; but you must 
 do what you can, without endangering 
 Mr. Woodhall's safety or character, to 
 turn this matter so as to keep him here 
 till to-morrow morning. In a word, the 
 Duke of Norfolk sent him here with me to 
 keep him out of the way. There was 
 some quarrel going on between him and 
 another gentleman in the house, and his 
 Grace wished for time to arrange it before 
 he returned." 
 
 " I understand, my lady, I understand," 
 replied the man, with a shrewd nod of the
 
 THE FATE. 29 
 
 head. " His Grace gave rae a little hint ; 
 but I did not think of turning this to profit. 
 HI manage it— I'll manage it." And 
 away he went at full speed, saying to 
 himself, " My lady does not mind having 
 a handsome young man to sit with her all 
 the evening, I'll warrant ; though they do 
 say she has refused scores of great people 
 already. Well, there's no knowing woman- 
 kind." 
 
 He overtook Ralph, walking quietly up 
 the street between two constables, who, 
 from an intimation of his strength which 
 they had received, kept at a respectful dis- 
 tance from bim. A number of men and 
 boys were following closely ; and all the 
 servants of the Duke of Norfolk who had 
 come into the town with the carriage, as well 
 as several of Lady Danvers's, together with 
 sundry women and children, brought up the 
 rear. Wilton made his way through all 
 these, and kept close to Ralph's elbow, till 
 the party reached the Justice room, (which
 
 30 THE PATE. 
 
 was in fact the parlour of an ale -bouse) 
 and the prisoner was ushered into the pre- 
 sence of the three justices, who, booted and 
 spurred, and with their horsewhips in their 
 hands, were just ready to leave the place and 
 ride away. Two of them looked exceedingly 
 rueful at the prospect of more business. 
 The third, however, rapping out a great 
 oath, cast himself back into his seat again, 
 and laid his horsewhip on the table. 
 
 " Why, what the devil I" he said ; "you 
 look like a gentleman, sir. Curse my 
 buttons ! what have they brought you here 
 for V s 
 
 " They can best tell you themselves, 
 sir/' answered Ralph. 
 
 " Don't you go to church % don't you 
 take the sacrament \ Are you a non- 
 conformist V 
 
 *' 1 go to church and take the sacrament 
 as regularly as most men, 7 ' replied Ralph ; 
 " and non-conformist I am none, having 
 been brought up in the Church of England 
 from my infancy."
 
 THE FATE. 61 
 
 " Plague take you then !" exclaimed the 
 choleric fat justice, addressing the consta- 
 bles ; '* what did you bring this gentleman 
 here for 1" 
 
 ^he charge was formally made by the 
 two constables, imputing to Ralph the 
 serious offences of riot and an attempt to 
 rescue a prisoner. 
 
 Ralph, in reply, simply told his own 
 story. The constables, he said, had treated 
 an old and respectable looking man with 
 unjustifiable harshness, irritated apparently 
 by the great crowd which had collected. 
 One of them had even struck him with his 
 staff, upon the pretence of making him go 
 on, although he was offering no resistance. 
 " That was Doggett, I'll be sworn," said 
 the magistrate, looking round at his two 
 brethren. " I told you all, Doggett would 
 get us into a scrape some day." 
 
 Doggett, however, was not present, having 
 gone to lodge his prisoner in gaol for re- 
 examination ; and the magistrate, turning 
 again to Ralph Woodhall. said,
 
 32 THE FATE. 
 
 " Well sir ; but who are you \ What's 
 your station, rank, profession ? What do 
 you know of this prisoner who you say 
 was maltreated." 
 
 " I know nothing of him whatever," re- 
 plied Ralph, " except that he was mal- 
 treated, and that I told the man who struck 
 him that he exceeded his duty. As to my 
 name, rank, station, et cetera — my name is 
 Ralph Woodhall, a distant relation of a 
 nobleman of that name, without any rank 
 but that of a Master of Arts, without anv 
 condition which can particularly designate 
 me, but that of being at present a guest of 
 the Duke of Norfolk, and having' under- 
 taken, at his request, to escort Lady Danvers 
 on a part of her way west." 
 
 The magistrates all looked very blank, 
 for the Duke of Norfolk was the great 
 man in those parts, and great men, whether 
 good men or not, obtained much more def- 
 erence in those days than at present. 
 
 The business would have probably ended 
 in a dismissal of the charge, and a rebuke
 
 THE FATE 33 
 
 to the constables; but Master Wilton, 
 a shrewd native of Yorkshire, from which 
 county the principal grooms in great 
 families were then generally selected, chose 
 his moment well, and, stepping forward, 
 observed, 
 
 "What Master Woodhall says, your 
 worships, is quite true, and I could 
 prove it, if I had time to bring forward my 
 witnesses. I am head groom to his Grace 
 of Norfolk, w T ho is the dearest friend of 
 this young gentleman. If your worships 
 like to put off the case until I can get the 
 people who saw it all, I will be 'sponsible 
 that Mr. Ealph will be here at any time 
 you like to-morrow.'' 
 
 The magistrates looked wise ; but Ralph 
 exclaimed, with a somewhat sharp gesticu- 
 lation of impatience, "I would a great 
 deal rather that the case was decided at 
 once. I have business which calls rne 
 back to Norwich." 
 
 " This is a very serious charge, sir," said 
 one of the magistrates who had not yet
 
 34 THE FATE. 
 
 spoken — an ill-tempered man, rendered 
 cross by having been detained. " Recollect, 
 sir, that, if we decide against you on a 
 charge of riot and attempt to rescue, 
 we shall have to commit you to prison for 
 trial." 
 
 " / have plenty of witnesses, too, if they 
 talk of witnesses," said one of the consta- 
 bles, " who can prove that there was a 
 riot, and that he had a hand in it. I sup- 
 pose his being a friend of the Duke of 
 Norfolk is no great matter here." 
 
 This period of the discussion was the 
 most unpleasant part to Ralph Woodhall. 
 The prospect of being committed to prison, 
 if he pressed the case forward at that 
 moment, was of course more unpleasant to 
 him than that of being detained for the 
 whole day ; nevertheless he urged, in a 
 few words, that the witnesses might be 
 speedily collected, as they could not be far 
 off, and that the Duke expected his return 
 that night. 
 
 " That cannot be of the slightest con-
 
 THE FATE. 35 
 
 sequence to us, sir," said the chairman of 
 the magistrates, with solemn dignity of 
 manner; ''and we cannot wait here all 
 the evening, collecting witnesses. We 
 might perhaps defer the hearing till to- 
 morrow morning ; and in the meantime 
 should be sorry to do any thing harsh, if 
 we could be quite certain that you will be 
 here present at the precise hour ap- 
 pointed." 
 
 " I'll pawn my body and soul, your wor- 
 ship," said Wilton, " that he does not stir 
 out of the town to-night ; and if he do, 
 you can come and take my horse out of the 
 Duke's stables, and lose me my wages and 
 my place." 
 
 " Will you give your word of honour. 
 sir," asked the magistrate, addressing Ralph. 
 " that you will appear at the hour ap- 
 pointed V 
 
 There seemed no help for it, and Ralph 
 replied, " I will, if the hour be an early 
 one."
 
 36 THE FATE. 
 
 " Nine o'clock," answered the magistrate, 
 with a laugh, " we are all early men. I 
 hold you to your word then ; and you, too, 
 Master What's your name. —Clerk, make 
 out a bail bond for him, we won't be too 
 particular as to the property." 
 
 Once more there was no help for it ; and 
 it is good policy in life, as Ralph well knew, 
 to submit patiently to that for which there 
 is no help. The clerk, however, was tedi- 
 ously slow ; — people always are slow when 
 we want them to be quick ; and, by the 
 time the whole business was concluded, 
 and Ralph once more issued forth into the 
 air, the clock in the old steeple was striking 
 live. 
 
 A little crowd had gathered about the 
 doors of the Justice room, and they greeted 
 Ralph, when he appeared at liberty, with a 
 warm-hearted cheer. He got clear of the 
 people as soon as he could, however, and, 
 followed by the servants of the Duke of 
 Norfolk and Lady Danvers, made his way 
 back to the Inn.
 
 THE FATE. 37 
 
 A day from which he had expected some 
 of those golden moments which are the trea- 
 sures of the heart, had now nearly passed 
 by, without affording him one look of her 
 he loved.
 
 38 THE FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 How often, as society is constituted, does 
 the passing of one single hour affect the 
 whole of the hours that gather into life ! A 
 moment is sometimes enough ; but it is 
 more frequently an hour — two hours — an 
 evening. 
 
 1 wonder if it was so with the patri- 
 archs. I rather think not ; for, if so, they 
 would not have lived so long. If Methu- 
 selah had gone on at the railroad pace, at 
 which we live in modern days — if he had 
 crowded into each day of life, the same 
 amount of thought, sensation, act, event, 
 which now fills up the space of every four 
 and twenty hours, between seventeen and
 
 THE FATE. 39 
 
 seventy, the whole history of the world, in 
 its hundred thousand folio tomes, would 
 have been a joke to the annals of his ex- 
 istence. But we make a great mistake if 
 we think that those old gentlemen, in any- 
 thing, lived as fast as we do ; and this, I 
 feel sure, was the secret of their longevity. 
 Oh no ! they moved from place to place, 
 with their flocks and herds, travelling not 
 much more than five or six miles a day. 
 They struck their tents in the morning ; 
 they pitched them in the evening. They 
 milked their cows, tended their " much 
 cattle ;" and the day was done. Sometimes 
 they did not even strike their tents at all ; 
 but remained upon one spot, till, like the 
 locusts, they had eaten up every green 
 thing. An occasional combat with a lion 
 or a bear — a fight with a neighbouring 
 herdsman, or the procuration of venison, to 
 make savory meat —were events agreeably 
 diversifying the monotony of existence ; 
 and I have a strong notion that thought
 
 40 THE FATE. 
 
 and feeling marched at as slow a rate as 
 all the rest. 
 
 Thus was it, probably, that their thoughts 
 were so grand — their feelings so powerful. 
 In mighty masses they moved slow ; but 
 whatever they touched, they overwhelmed. 
 
 We, on the contrary, can never go too 
 fast ; forgetting that only a certain portion 
 of life is allotted to every man, and 
 that life is not mere time, measured by 
 suns or moons, but a certain amount of 
 action, event, idea, sensation. We crowd 
 more into seven days than a patriarch put 
 into seven years ; and then we wonder 
 that life is so brief, and that so little time 
 has been allowed us. 
 
 An evening — a long evening — was 
 before Ralph Woodhall and Hortensia 
 Danvers. TV hat might they not have ac- 
 complished in that space of time 1 How com- 
 pletely, under many circumstances, might it 
 have altered the whole course of the fate 
 of both ! — and it did affect their fate con- 
 siderably ; perhaps not in event, perhaps
 
 THE FATE. 41 
 
 not in that course and conduct of external 
 life which is open to the eye of the world, 
 which consists of act, and influences others; 
 but much in that internal life, where 
 thought and feeling are the actors, where 
 spirit speaks to spirit, and their proceedings 
 are only open to the eye of consciousness. 
 
 But let me tell — and as briefly as pos- 
 sible ; for I must hurry on to other things 
 — what did actually take place. 
 
 When Ralph returned to the inn, he was 
 led at once by the landlord, with every de- 
 monstration of the most profound respect, 
 to the apartments which had been assigned 
 to Lady Danvers. He found one of the 
 servants of the Duke of Norfolk with her \ 
 one of her own men, and her own waiting- 
 woman ; and he saw, at a glance, by the 
 sparkling look with which she gave him 
 her hand, that she had heard all, and had 
 approved what he had done. He was 
 rather surprised indeed, to see, the 
 state and condition of the room into which 
 he was shown. It had been understood
 
 42 THE FATE. 
 
 that Lady Danvers was to go on that night, 
 as soon as her horses should be refreshed ; 
 but now, everything seemed prepared for 
 her longer stay. 
 
 Hortensia had an art of giving any place, 
 even of temporary abode an air of graceful 
 refinement, which was very charming ; 
 and it was done with a rapidity and pre- 
 cision which could only be accomplished 
 by the aid of the fairy of order. The 
 room was a large, old-fashioned, dingy 
 room, well furnished enough, and reserved 
 for persons of high degree who might 
 chance occasionally to visit the house ; but 
 since Hortensia Danvers entered it, the fur- 
 niture had been re-arranged, and a number 
 of articles of taste and ornament had been 
 taken by the maid from her baggage, and 
 laid about upon the tables, with, apparently, 
 a careless care. Here was seen the book of 
 Common Prayer, in its cover of crimson 
 velvet, with silver clasps ; there, a beauti- 
 fully finished miniature in a golden 
 frame. In other places, materials for
 
 THE FATE. 43 
 
 writing were arranged in quaintly formed 
 stands of the workmanship of the fifteenth 
 century ; while all the flowers that could 
 be procured in the neighbourhood, decorated 
 different parts of the room. The maid was 
 still busy with these arrangements, under 
 her lady's direction, when Kalph entered, 
 and gazed round with a look of wonder. 
 
 His fair, young companion seemed to 
 enjoy his surprise, and ejaculated, in a 
 cheerful tone, " Have I not decorated the 
 room gaily ¥' 
 
 u You have indeed, sweet lady," he 
 answered ; " but is not all this labour 
 thrown away \ I thought you w r ere going 
 forward this evening/*' 
 
 " So thought I," returned Lady Danvers, 
 " till you chose to get yourself apprehended 
 by constables, Mr. Woodhall. Then, as 
 you had courteously come so far to take 
 care of me, I found myself bound in cour- 
 tesy to stay, to take care of you. You 
 would not have had me go on, and leave 
 you in the hands of the Philistines, surely ?
 
 44 THE FATE. 
 
 I have just heard how it has all ended for 
 the time ; but, over and above a wish to 
 know how the matter goes with you to- 
 morrow, it is too late now, at half past five, 
 to think of moving my quarters for the 
 night. I therefore invite you to sup 
 here, and to spend such portion of your 
 time with me, in this dull solitude, as you 
 can withdraw from more weighty occupa- 
 tions." 
 
 She spoke in a gay and jesting tone ; 
 and, seeing a certain look of uneasiness 
 upon Ralph's countenance, which she justly 
 attributed to the thought of being detained 
 — though she misunderstood entirely the 
 circumstances which rendered the deten- 
 tion painful — she added, " Moreover, I lay 
 my commands upon you to clear your 
 countenance instantly —to submit with a 
 good grace to the will of fate — to cast off 
 all thought of repining at being cooped up 
 for a whole evening with Hortensia Danvers, 
 and, if possible, to make yourself exceed- 
 ingly agreeable, and more civil than
 
 THE FATE. 45 
 
 ordinary. Alice, you stay here/' she con- 
 tinued, addressing the waiting maid, who 
 seemed about to quit the room ; and then, 
 with a laughing look to Ralph, she added, 
 " It is as well that she should have the 
 
 enefit of our learned conversation, both 
 for her own instruction, and the instruction 
 of others." 
 
 Ralph could not help smiling ; and, 
 seating himself beside her in one of the 
 window-seats, he made up his mind to do 
 as she bade him, to think no more of what 
 could not be avoided, and to make the pre- 
 sent pass as agreeably as might be. 
 
 The scene before them was not very 
 romantic : a wide old street, with the 
 quaint gables of the houses turned to the 
 highway ; edifices of wood, with galleries 
 and sometimes stair-cases running over 
 the outside, and buildings of stone and 
 brick — for the country afforded both. 
 There was the market-cross in the 
 middle of the highway, where the road 
 
 grew wide, about twenty yards above
 
 46' THE FATE. 
 
 the inn door, enlarging into a sort of mar- 
 ket square ; and the church tower, a hun- 
 dred yards beyond, with a group of boys 
 playing at marbles before the gate by which 
 the dead were borne into the cemeterv, 
 and wrangling over their game as fiercely 
 as if they had tasted human blood. Some 
 knots of people still lingered in the streets, 
 gossiping sagely over the events which had 
 just passed, and presaging still more sagely 
 the events which were to come ; and nu- 
 merous carts and waggons, with their loads 
 still packed or ready for removal, occupied 
 a considerable portion of the street. It was 
 like a dream of the age that was fading 
 away, ready to give place to a period 
 fresher, stiffer, more practical. 
 
 Over the whole, hung a light, misty 
 haze of sunshine and vapour commingled, 
 not uncommon on an English afternoon, 
 nor unlike the dim, magnifying fog which 
 shrouds from the eager eye the transition 
 from the present to the futuie. 
 
 " How richly the sunshine streams down
 
 THE FATE. 47 
 
 the street upon that old carved cross and 
 the straw-strewn market-place I" exclaimed 
 Ralph. 
 
 " All the more bright because we see not 
 whence it comes," replied Hortensia ; " and 
 the warmer — to the eye at least — for pass- 
 ing through an atmosphere grosser than 
 that from which it issues. What is it most 
 like, Ralph ? — woman's love— or heaven's 
 bounty — or the rays of Hope that stream 
 between the close dwellings of man's 
 earthly aspirations, gilding the straws upon 
 his onward way, and making the stones on 
 his path shine like jewels V 
 
 '• Like woman's love, methinks," rejoined 
 Ralph ; " because, as you say, it pours 
 from sources we do not see, brightens the 
 dimmer air that it pervades, and often 
 lends a lustre to worthless objects which 
 shine in its light alone." 
 
 " True," returned the lady, with a sigh. 
 " But see ! it catches the cross upon the 
 steeple top, and makes it shine as if with 
 tire."
 
 48 THE FATE. 
 
 " It will rest there longest," remarked her 
 companion, " shining after all is dark be- 
 low." 
 
 " Even so," said the lady, retiring from 
 the window. " 1 love the shaded light of 
 a quiet room better than the wide garish 
 sunshine abroad. Come, let us talk of 
 other days, when you and 1 were boy and 
 girl, and knew not of each other's being ; 
 and chased butterflies, and sought to catch 
 the rainbow, and did all that the common 
 bond of nature uses, to link withal the 
 human hearts through the wide world in 
 one community of universal sympathy in 
 early years. Tell me, Ralph Woodhall : why 
 is it that all mankind, thus one in happy 
 youth, should part so widely in mature 
 years — part, in feeling and in thought, in 
 conduct and in course, in object, and in 
 means V 
 
 " Because," replied Ralph — " at least, so 
 I suppose — infancy is one general starting 
 point from which all the roads of life
 
 THE FATE. 49 
 
 diverge, leading farther and farther asun- 
 der." 
 
 " Till they guide us to the great preci- 
 pice which surrounds our arena on every 
 side," added the lady, " and we take the 
 leap from points wide apart. But we are 
 getting dull, Mr. Woodhall. Do you re- 
 member your mother V 
 
 "But faintly," replied Ralph, "yet 
 brightly too, though it may seem a contra- 
 diction. The retrospect through life is," to 
 me, like the prospect down that street, 
 where there are many long shadowy spaces 
 in which I can see nothing clearly, while 
 every here and there comes a bright gleam 
 of light, displaying everything as vividly as 
 in mid-day." 
 
 "Memory — memory !" exclaimed the 
 lady ; " it is ever like the setting sun." 
 
 "Sometimes," continued Ralph, "the ob- 
 jects farthest off seem to catch the light of 
 that sun of memory most brightly ; and 
 where a dark lapse of shadow intervenes, 
 the objects beyond are the most brilliant, 
 vol. u. D
 
 50 THE FATE. 
 
 One of my earliest recollections is of having 
 been taken into a large room dimly lighted 
 by a shaded lamp, and seeing a pale, 
 beautiful face pillowed on my father's 
 arm. I remember being lifted up by a 
 nurse upon the side of the bed, and my 
 father raising gently my mother s drooping 
 ing frame while she cast her arms around 
 me ; and 1 heard her say ' God bless and 
 keep thee, my child V Then some tears 
 fell upon my face, and I was carried away. 
 All around that scene is dark and obscure ; 
 but the scene itself is as clear to memory 
 as the events of yesterday." 
 
 " It may be that such is the happiest part- 
 ing,'' said Lady Dan vers, shading her eyes 
 with her hand. " It is very sad to watch the 
 decreasing strength, to gaze anxiously 
 upon the waning colour, to listen terrified 
 to the panting breath, to see the eyes we 
 love lose their light, and to mark the dull 
 awful change steal over the face once 
 warm and eager with affection. Yet who 
 can tell 1 Each one has his sorrow. Nature's
 
 THE FATfi. 51 
 
 lamp is only lighted to go out, and leave 
 the heart it cheered in darkness. What 
 matters it, if it be suddenly extinguished by 
 some harsh wind, or slowly flicker out from 
 failing oil ? Come, let us be more cheerful ; 
 let us talk of the gay, great world — or of 
 country scenes and happy life at home. 
 Surely we may find some themes more 
 cheering than death or sunset." 
 
 " Both have a morrow ;" replied Ralph. 
 And then he tried with some success to 
 vary the conversation with lighter topics ; 
 Still, the sombre hue, which the discourse 
 had at first assumed, spread through it 
 all a quiet, gentle melancholy, which was 
 not without its danger to one heart 
 there. 
 
 Ralph had but little knowledge of the 
 world — none of court or courtly scenes. 
 By nature — by habit, by thought, by feel- 
 ing — he was a gentleman. His collegiate life 
 had not been long enough to stiffen or to 
 harden him, and his studies had been directed 
 D 2 
 
 XUK
 
 52 THE FATE. 
 
 to all those acquirements which embellish, as 
 well as enrich, the mind. Thus his conversa- 
 tion was new — almost strange — to Horten- 
 sia's ears ; unlike aught she had heard 
 before, yet full of sympathies with much 
 in her own heart and mind ; and for 
 several hours the time passed sweetly, 
 till, towards half-past eight, Ralph rose to 
 retire. 
 
 " Surely," she thought, " all danger of 
 an angry meeting must have gone by for 
 to-day." 
 
 And, perhaps with too strong a conscious- 
 ness that she would willingly have detained 
 him longer, she let him go. 
 
 Shortly after, an indefinable feeling of 
 dread took possession of her. " There is 
 no knowing," she thought, a what men, in 
 their intemperate courage, may do, to 
 satisfy themselves upon their point of 
 honor. Alice," she continued aloud, " go 
 and see for Mr. Ralph Woodhall ; tell him 
 I want him — that I have forgotten some- 
 thing, whieh I wish to say."
 
 THE FATE. 53 
 
 " Lord, m y lady, I dare say he is gone 
 to bed," replied the girl. 
 
 " Ascertain, at all events," said Lady 
 Danvers. " Ask one of the Duke's ser- 
 vants." 
 
 The waiting-woman left the room, and 
 remained away about five minutes. 
 When she returned, she said, with a laugh, 
 unconscious of her mistress's anxiety, 
 " The young gentleman has gone forth, my 
 Lady — to amuse himself in the town, I'll 
 warrant ; but Master Wilton says he will 
 give him your Ladyship's message, as soon 
 as he returns.' , 
 
 Lady Danvers sat up more than an 
 hour, but Ralph did not make his appear- 
 ance. At length, with a heavy heart, she 
 retired to rest.
 
 54 THE FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 " It is hopeless !" ejaculated the Duke of 
 Norfolk, sadly, as he stood by the side of the 
 bed, on which they had laid the body of Henry 
 Woodhall, and let the cold hand, which he 
 had taken in his own, sink slowly down by 
 the dead man's side. 
 
 " Quite hopeless, I fear your Grace," 
 replied a surgeon, who stood on the other 
 side. " The sword, I suspect, has passed 
 right through his heart." 
 
 " Did not some one say that Mr. Eobert 
 Woodhall is still in the house ?" enquired 
 the Duke. " Why is he not here 1 Has 
 any one told him V
 
 THE FATE. 55 
 
 " He knows it, your Grace/' answered 
 one of his servants, who had aided to bear 
 in the body ; " his own servant went up to 
 inform him. — I saw him pass that way, in 
 haste." 
 
 " Has any one seen Mr. Ralph Wood- 
 hall V enquired the Duke ; but no one 
 replied, and he sent up to Ralphs room, to 
 ascertain if he had returned. 
 
 In a moment or two, the messenger ap- 
 peared again, saying. li He is not there, 
 your Grace, His servant says, that he 
 went away this morning with Lady Dan- 
 vers. and has not vet returned." 
 
 The Duke mused, and then made en- 
 quiries as to whether the wilderness, and 
 the grounds adjacent, had been searched, 
 observing at the same time, 
 
 " This poor youth has evidently fallen in 
 a duel, for, when he went away this morning, 
 he concealed his intention of coming back. 
 Nevertheless, it is right we should know 
 his opponent, that we may ascertain if the
 
 56 THE FxVTE. 
 
 circumstances of the combat were all 
 fair/ 5 
 
 " The poor young gentleman's servant 
 is below, your Grace," said the chamber- 
 lain ; " but I would not let him come up 
 till I had your commands." 
 
 " Bring him here, bring him here at 
 once," said the Duke ; " perhaps he can 
 throw some light on this sad affair." 
 
 The man was immediately brought into 
 the room — a tall, stout, fresh-coloured, good- 
 looking fellow ; but he turned ashy pale, 
 when his eye fell upon the breathless form 
 of his master ; and, without noticing any 
 one in the room, he advanced to the bed- 
 side, while the tears rose thickly in his 
 eyes, exclaiming — 
 
 " Alas, alas, poor Master Henry ! a better 
 gentleman did not live. Little did I 
 think, when you told me to give the letter 
 early to-morrow, what you were going to 
 do to-night, or I would have stopped it one 
 way or another. But your father will
 
 THE FATE. 5? 
 
 hare vengeance on him who killed you, if 
 it costs him his heart's blood ; or I don't 
 know him." 
 
 "Of what letter do you speak, my good 
 friend V 9 asked the Duke. " Is it one from 
 this poor young gentleman to his father V 
 
 "No, your Grace," replied the man, 
 drawing forth a letter from his pocket, but, 
 apparently, hesitating as to whether he 
 should deliver it. " I am to give it to your 
 Grace to-morrow." 
 
 " Give it to me now," said the Duke, in a 
 tone of authority. " No time like the 
 present." 
 
 And, taking the letter, he opened it at 
 once. The contents were as follows : — 
 
 " My Lord Duke, 
 
 " A quarrel having taken place, 
 
 between myself and my cousin, Mr. Ralph 
 
 Woodhall, which we are to void to-night, 
 
 in the manner which befits gentlemen of 
 
 D 5
 
 5$ THE FATE. 
 
 our station— and as the issue of such en- 
 counters is always uncertain — I write you 
 these few lines, in case matters should go 
 unfavourably with myself. Although I 
 think he has behaved ill, in some affairs of 
 domestic concern, and has certainly caused 
 great pain and uneasiness in my family, 
 for which I have demanded satisfaction 
 this night, I hold Ralph to be a man of 
 honour, and I beg to inform you, that the 
 challenge was given by myself, in such 
 terms that he could not refuse to accept 
 it ; that I appointed the meeting to take 
 place by moonlight, in order to avoid the 
 eyes which, I had reason to believe, were 
 upon us, and that it was my express de- 
 sire that no witnesses or seconds should 
 be present. I say this, lest, from the above 
 circumstances, some undeserved imputation 
 should fall upon the character of my 
 cousin. From my knowledge of him during 
 many years, I am able to assure you, what- 
 ever is the result, that all will have passed
 
 THE FATE. 59 
 
 honorably and fairly between us ; and, bo 
 long as I have life, I beg you, my Lord 
 Duke, to believe me. 
 
 " Your Grace's most faithful 
 
 u And obedient servant, 
 
 " Henry Woodhall." 
 
 The Duke mused much over this letter ; 
 and hesitated, in some degree, how he 
 should act. He doubted not, from the 
 warm and impetuous temper of Lord 
 Woodhall, that the servant's words would 
 prove prophetic, and that the old noble- 
 man, would suffer nothing to stand in the 
 way of his vengeance. 
 
 " I must have time for thought," he said 
 to himself. " This youth, Ralph, has given 
 his fair guardian the slip, it seems. Well, 
 I cannot blame him ; I should most likely 
 have done the same myself, in his circum- 
 stances. He should have staid, however, 
 to confront what he has done — and yet,
 
 60 THE FATE. 
 
 perhaps not. It is better as it is. His 
 presence would have been very embar- 
 rassing." ' * 
 
 As he thus thought, with his eyes fixed 
 upon the door, Robert Woodhall suddenly 
 entered the room ; and the Duke, though 
 not a very acute man, could not help re- 
 marking that a sudden change came upon 
 the young man's countenance, even as he 
 passed the threshold. The expression of 
 his face, at the moment he pushed the 
 door open, was anything but one of dis- 
 satisfaction ; there was even a faint smile 
 upon his lip, although his visage was pale 
 enough. But a look of deep sadness was 
 assumed in a moment ; and, advancing to 
 his noble host, he first apologised, in good 
 set form, for not having come sooner, alleg- 
 ing that he was partly undressed when 
 the news arrived ; which, as the reader 
 knows, was false. 
 
 The Duke replied by pointing to the 
 corpse, and, saying, somewhat stiffly, 
 
 " This is a sad sight, sir ! I hope you
 
 THE FATE. 61 
 
 have had no share in urging this quarrel 
 forward ; and I think it might have been 
 better, had you taken means to prevent 
 its fatal termination. By good advice, 
 such matters are sometimes obviated." 
 
 " Ah, poor Henry !" cried Robert, with 
 one look at the dead body, and a shudder, 
 which was natural enough. " I do assure 
 your Grace, that I had nothing to do with 
 this squabble at all. Henry wrote the 
 challenge with his own hand ; I did not 
 even bear it to my cousin Ralph ; and 
 surely a man of honour, like yourself, 
 would not have me betray a secret, in- 
 trusted in full confidence to my keeping." 
 
 " And yet," said the Duke, sternly, "at 
 the very moment when your two near rela- 
 tions were about to shed each other's blood, 
 you were undressing to go to bed." 
 
 Robert coloured, whether he would or 
 not ; but he excused himself by another 
 lie. 
 
 u I did not know the precise hour, my 
 Lord Duke," he answered. " Henry only
 
 62 THE FATE. 
 
 gave me half his confidence. He would 
 not even leave a letter, which he wrote to 
 your Grace, to my care. He acted in every- 
 thing for himself." 
 
 " Perhaps he did rightly," replied the 
 Duke, with something of bitterness : for 
 there was that in the young man's conduct 
 and demeanour which did not please him 
 ■ — nay, which excited suspicions ; just in 
 themselves, though not very definite. 
 
 " I think it will be better, Mr. Woodhall, 
 he continued, " for you to mount on horse- 
 back, as early as may be to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and break the tidings of this unfor- 
 tunate affair to poor Lord Woodhall/' 
 
 " I will go at once, my Lord Duke," re- 
 plied Robert. 
 
 " That is needless," replied the Duke, in 
 a grave, melancholy tone ; " you would but 
 break in upon his rest. Do not rob an 
 aged man of one night of calm repose that 
 he can enjoy. Do not add more hours of 
 bitterness to the many bitter hours he 
 must endure. I will write to him myself,
 
 THE FATE. G3 
 
 by your hands, and you shall have the 
 letter by the gray of the dawn to-morrow. 
 That will be time enough." 
 
 " But will your Grace take no means to 
 cause the apprehension of the murderer V 
 demanded Robert Woodhall, with a look of 
 well- assumed surprise. 
 
 "Murderer!" echoed the Duke. "Do 
 you mean your cousin, sir V 
 
 rt He was my cousin, sir," replied Robert* 
 a good deal nettled by the Duke's tone ; 
 " but I shall regard him as my cousin no 
 longer. A man who drives another, by his 
 bad conduct, to call him to the field, and 
 then slays him, I can but look upon as 
 a murderer, be he my cousin or not." 
 
 " That dead hand there," said the Duke, 
 pointing to the corpse, " wrote, while yet 
 in life, a full exculpation of his adversary's 
 conduct ; in the affair of the duel, at least. 
 Ralph Woodhall was only acting, it w T ould 
 seem, as any man of honour would have 
 acted ; and those who best deserve the
 
 64 THE FATE 
 
 name of murderers, are they who urge on 
 petty quarrels to a fatal result." 
 
 " Your Grace's opinion seems harsh of 
 me," said Robert Woodhall, with feelings of 
 rage he could hardly repress. 
 
 " I have not forgotten/' replied the 
 Duke of Norfolk, " that the first quarrel, 
 last night, was between yourself and your 
 cousin Ealph. What may have been your 
 conduct since, I do not pretend to say ; but 
 certain I am, that, until Henry Woodhall 
 quitted the supper table, he and his cousin 
 were upon the most friendly terms, and I 
 am not aware that they met afterwards, 
 till this last fatal occasion." 
 
 Thus saying, he turned and left the 
 room ; giving some necessary directions to 
 his servants as he descended the stairs. 
 
 Robert Woodhall remained standing at 
 the foot of the bed, with his eyes gloomily 
 fixed on the floor. Several of the at- 
 tendants still continued in the room ; but 
 they all drew back from the young
 
 THE FATE. 65 
 
 man with a feeling of dislike and suspicion 
 for which they might have found it dif- 
 ficult to assign a cause, though, un- 
 doubtedly, the Duke's words gave direc- 
 tion to the:ir thoughts. There are instincts, 
 however, :in the human breast, and those 
 instincts, probably, had some share in the 
 feelings of the men who surrounded Robert 
 Woodhatl. 
 
 He remained there, I have said, with his 
 eyes fixed gloomily on the floor — not on 
 the corpse. But he was roused from his 
 reveriei by the voice of the surgeon, who 
 still stood by the bed-side, and who said, 
 " Mr. Woodhall, will you come here for a 
 momernt V 
 
 Ro/bert approached him slowly, and then 
 the old man said, in a peculiar tone, " Will 
 you put your hand upon the breast of your 
 poor cousin 1" 
 
 "No!" cried Robert Woodhall, almost 
 fiercely ; and, turning sharply on his heel, 
 h§ quitted the room. 
 
 About two hours after the events I have
 
 66 THE FATE 
 
 just related, the Duke of Norfolk was 
 seated in his fine library, with lights 
 and- papers before him, but quite alone. , 
 The door opened, and his chamberlain ap- 
 peared, saying, " Here is Mr. Ralph's man, 
 your Grace ; he had not yet gone to bed." 
 
 The chamberlain had been followed into 
 the room by Gaunt Stilling, whose large 
 massive brow was very heavy, as if with 
 deep grief. The Duke waved his hand to 
 the chamberlain, and that officer withdrew 
 to the other side of the door, keeping watch 
 there, but not approaching too close. 
 
 "Your master has not returned' yet, I 
 hear/' said the Duke, fixing his eyes upon 
 Stilling's face. 
 
 " He has not, my lord Duke," replied the 
 other, gravely. 
 
 "This is a bad affair," said the Duke, 
 '' and I fear that the consequences may be 
 very serious to your master. Lord Wood- 
 hall is a man of much influence at Court, 
 and of a warm and vehement temper. This
 
 THE FATE. 67 
 
 gentleman who has been killed was the 
 general favourite." 
 
 " And well he deserved to be so !" cried 
 Gaunt Stilling, warmly. " He was not per- 
 fect ; no man is ; but, as people of his 
 rank go, there were few like him. Had it 
 been his cousin Robert, who would have 
 cared \ but Fate seems to make mistakes, 
 sometimes, as well as others. The good 
 are taken, and the bad are left." 
 
 The Duke listened quietly to this out- 
 burst of feeling, and then enquired if the 
 man thought he could tell where his master 
 was to be found. 
 
 " I think 1 can find him, your Grace," 
 replied Gaunt Stilling ; " but I will not 
 say where, lest any evil should come of it." 
 
 " I do not wish to know where," 
 answered the Duke of Norfolk. " If you 
 can find him, well. Bear him this letter 
 from me ; and it will be as well to take 
 with you as much of his baggage as you 
 can, for I think it will be inexpedient for 
 him to return hither for some time, when
 
 68 THE FATE. 
 
 this storm may have blown by. I will find 
 means to befriend him during his absence." 
 
 " What am I to do with the rest of the 
 baggage, my Lord Duke V asked Gaunt 
 Stilling. " There is a great deal more 
 than a horse-load." 
 
 " A carrier will be crossing the country, 
 I think, to-morrow," the Duke replied. 
 " The chamberlain will give you surer in- 
 formation. You can send the superfluous 
 baggage by him, to any place you like, 
 northward or westward — perhaps it would 
 be better to send it to his father's house. 
 But my people will see it expedited, if 
 you give it into their charge." 
 
 Gaunt Stilling bowed, took the packet 
 which the Duke held in his hand, and 
 which deserved that epithet, rather than 
 the name of letter, and withdrew in silence. 
 But he did not set out immediately. An 
 hour was spent in packing up the baggage 
 of his master, and another hour in writing 
 a long letter, which, when finished and 
 sealed, he placed in another half sheet of
 
 THE FATE. 69 
 
 paper, on the inner side of which he wrote 
 a few lines to his own father, and put old 
 Stilling's address, at Coldenham, upon the 
 whole. This, together with the larger 
 trunk-mails, he delivered to the Duke's 
 night-porter, to be forwarded by the 
 chamberlain on the following day ; and 
 then, after making some enquiries as to 
 the shortest roads, he placed the two pair 
 of saddle-bags upon his horse, and set out 
 in the same direction which had been taken 
 by his master and Lady Danvers on the 
 preceding morning. 
 
 It was by this time nearly four o'clock ; 
 and, until daylight, Stilling rode as fast as 
 he could go, except where, every now and 
 then, he met with a corner or a turning of 
 which he did not feel very sure. When 
 daylight broke, and the labourers began to 
 trudge forth into the fields, he found that 
 he had gone somewhat out of his way, 
 which obliged him to re-trace his steps 
 nearly a couple of miles. He then pro- 
 ceeded more cautiouslv, but contrived to
 
 70 THE FATE. 
 
 reach the little town where Lady Danvers 
 was, a few minutes before nine. At the 
 inn he asked eagerly for his master, 
 having some fear, indeed, that Ralph might 
 have passed him, while he had been wan- 
 dering wide of the proper track. 
 
 The reply, however, satisfied him ; for 
 the landlord stated that the young gen- 
 tleman, Mr. Woodhall, had that moment 
 gone down to the Justice-room, with all 
 the Duke of Norfolk's servants. Thither 
 Stilling followed him, as soon as he had 
 given his horse into the hands of the 
 ostler and placed his bags in security. 
 Round the door, a small crowd had col- 
 lected, as usual ; but the stout young fellow 
 elbowed his way in, and arrived just at 
 the moment when the fat magistrate in the 
 chair was announcing the decision of the 
 bench. 
 
 " There is no pretence whatsoever," said 
 the Justice — " at least, such is the opinion 
 of myself and my brethren — for detaining 
 Mr. Ralph Woodhall, even for an hour. It
 
 THE FATE. 71 
 
 is clearly shown, by a multitude of wit- 
 nesses, that he endeavoured to calm the 
 riot, rather than to excite it ; and that the 
 brutal conduct of the constable, Doggett, 
 was the sole cause of any commotion ; for 
 which brutal conduct, we have determined 
 to reprimand the said Doggett, and he is 
 reprimanded accordingly. Mr. Woodhall, 
 you are at liberty ; and we hope that your 
 detention may not prove inconvenient." 
 
 Ralph was about to make some reply, 
 but Stilling, stepping forward, placed the 
 packet in his hand, saying, " From his 
 Grace of Norfolk, sir — in haste." 
 
 Ralph took it, and was breaking the seal, 
 when Gaunt Stilling whispered, " You had 
 better read it in private, sir, for there is 
 matter of much moment in it." 
 
 Hurrying out of the Justice- room, Ralph 
 returned to the inn, sought his own cham- 
 ber, and opened the packet. 
 
 It contained several sealed letters, ad- 
 dressed to different gentlemen in Dorset-
 
 72 THE FATE. 
 
 shire and Somersetshire, and for himself a 
 brief note, to the following effect : 
 
 " My you:n t g friekd, 
 
 " After finishing the enclosed, I have 
 but a moment to write to you ; but it is 
 absolutely necessary for your safety, for 
 your present comfort, and your future hap- 
 piuess, that you should leave this part of 
 the country as speedily as possible. The 
 anger of Lord Woodhall, when all is made 
 known to him, will be excited, as you may 
 well suppose, to the very highest pitch of 
 fury. He has immense influence at Court, 
 and can destroy you. I am not sure that 
 it would not be better and safer for you 
 to betake yourself to Holland for a time ; 
 in which idea, I ha^e enclosed for you a 
 letter to a gentleman at the Hague, who 
 will show you kindness. 
 
 " You may trust upon my doing all I can 
 for you during your absence, both out of
 
 THE FATE. 73 
 
 consideration for yourself and for our friend 
 Moraber. 
 
 " You can consult Lady Danvers in the 
 West, as to the best means of keeping 
 yourself concealed till this storm has 
 blown by ; but, whatever you may think of 
 the circumstances in which you are placed, 
 believe that my judgment is best, and 
 take the advice of 
 
 " Your sincere friend, 
 
 " Nobfolk." 
 
 Ralph gazed at the letter, for several 
 minutes, with a pale cheek and anxious 
 eye; but then some one knocked at his 
 door, and the voice of one of Lady Dan- 
 vers's servants said, " My lady, sir, wishes 
 to speak with you immediately." 
 
 "I will come in a moment," replied 
 Ralph ; and, folding up the Duke of Nor- 
 folk's letter once more, he proceeded with 
 it in his hand to Hortensia's apartments. 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 74 THE FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In one of the largest houses of that day, 
 in London, and in that fashionable suburb, 
 which lay in the immediate vicinity of the 
 palace, sat a young lady in deep mourning, 
 weeping bitterly. She was quite alone, in her 
 own room ; and the face once almost ruddy 
 with the hue of country health, looked 
 now pale and delicate. The wits about 
 the court, who, by any chance, had seen 
 her, either at her father's residence, or 
 during a former visit to the court, had not 
 failed to have their remark, their jest, or 
 their gallant speech, upon the occasion of 
 her altered appearance.
 
 THE FxVTE. 75 
 
 One man, of exceedingly refined taste, 
 declared that she looked far more lovely 
 since she had cast away what he called 
 that " very vivid rose," which made her 
 look like a lovely dairy-maid. 
 
 Another observed, that his Lordship was 
 fonder, he believed, of lilies than of roses. 
 
 A third rejoined, that these were not 
 lilies, but faded roses ; and a fourth de- 
 clared that his two noble friends male it 
 out clearly, that the lady had the gift of 
 weeping rose-water for her brother's death, 
 as it was evidently by the process of dis- 
 tillation she had become so pale. 
 
 Little did any of the gay mockers know 
 all the sources of poor Margaret's tears. 
 True, she wept much for her brother's 
 death. She had loved him well ; as he 
 had loved her. There had been something 
 in his frank and generous nature peculiarly 
 attractive to a heart like hers. Even his 
 rashness, his vehemence, which were occa- 
 sionally excessive, were all tempered 
 towards her, and had only the effect of 
 E 2
 
 76 THE FATE. 
 
 making her shrinkingly withhold from him 
 the one great secret of her life. The 
 thought that that secret love might have 
 been the near, or even the remote, cause of 
 her brother's violent death, added double 
 bitterness to her tears. But this was not 
 all. Margaret wept for her lover, as well 
 as for her brother — wept for the slayer, as 
 well as for the slain. She knew, with a 
 certainty that might have made her swear 
 to the fact, that the provocation must have 
 been great indeed, that could induce 
 Ralph to draw the sword upon her brother 
 Henry ; she felt for the severe struggle 
 which must have taken place in his mind, 
 before he sought the fatal spot. She felt 
 for all he must have experienced when 
 their swords crossed, and Henry fell. She 
 felt for all he must have endured in the 
 anguish of his flight, and for all he was 
 still enduring, wherever he might have 
 sought refuge. 
 
 "Remorse and despair, both in one," 
 she exclaimed, " these must be his portion
 
 THE FATE. 77 
 
 just now, poor Ralph ! Bemorse, for 
 having taken my brother's life ; and despair, 
 for having by his own act placed an im- 
 passable bar between us for ever. Oh yes, 
 whatever they may tell me, I know, I feel, 
 he loves me still. If he have, indeed, trifled 
 for an hour with this bright and beautiful 
 Hortensia Danvers, all his love for Margaret 
 must have returned, I am certain, when he 
 saw my poor Henry, tying on the grass. 
 No man can forget the love of early years 
 so easily — at least, not Ralph. I know 
 what he will feel, I know what he will 
 think ; and sure I am, that no one here, 
 not even myself or my father, will weep 
 for poor Henry as bitterly as he does." 
 
 Oh, abiding confidence of woman's love, I 
 what is like thee 1 No other passion — no 
 other feeling — no other thought, pervades 
 the whole of being, takes possession of 
 every faculty, clings to the heart, rules and 
 subjugates the mind, sets reason and argu- 
 ment and conviction at defiance, like thee. 
 It must be based in true love, however — not
 
 78 THE FATE. 
 
 the paltry passion, the half-indifferent lik- 
 ing, the admiration warmed a little by pro- 
 pinquity and habit, the convenient, half 
 mercenary, half ambitious tenderness — 
 none of those hike-warm mixtures of 
 heart and brain, which stand, white-gloved, 
 and orange-flowered, before the altar of a 
 fashionable church, and are recorded un- 
 der the desecrated name of love, to have 
 that very record blotted out, ere a few 
 short years are over, by the bitter drops of 
 regret, or the burning spots of shame. No, 
 no, it must be true, full, whole hearted love 
 — the love that gets a grasp upon the very 
 soul — the love that is immortal as the soul 
 itself. 
 
 And such was Margaret's love for her 
 poor cousin. For him she wept, as much 
 as for her brother Henry ; since she felt 
 that his soul must be dead, if his body 
 lived ; and that the fallen man was hap- 
 pier than he whose existence was pro- 
 longed. 
 
 At that moment, Margaret thought little
 
 THE FATE. 79 
 
 of herself, or of her own future fate. She 
 was of an unselfish nature, and her first 
 thoughts were never — as so many's are — of 
 the cares, anxieties, and griefs, which the 
 events of the day might bring upon her- 
 self. Imagination would, indeed, from 
 time to time, force upon her some recollec- 
 tion of her own prospects and situation — dim, 
 hovering "phantoms, wandering round the 
 extreme verge of thought, but never com- 
 ing near enough to be tangible. 
 
 But, for the time, her feelings, rather 
 than her thoughts, were alive principally 
 to the fate of her brother and of her lover. 
 Of her father, it is true, she thought often 
 and painfully ; but his deep grief might 
 have affected her more, had it been of a 
 character more like her own. There was, 
 however, an eager, fiery fierceness in it, 
 with which she could have no sympathy. 
 He called down curses upon the head of 
 him who had deprived him of his sun ; 
 he vowed vengeance, ay, and sought it ; 
 declaring that life only should bound his
 
 80 THE FATE. 
 
 purposes of revenge. Margaret, indeed, 
 did not give much credence to such vows. 
 Without having studied it, without having 
 even thought of it, she knew her father's 
 character well. It had sunk into her mind, 
 as it were, making its impress, from infancy 
 upwards, more and more deeply every 
 year. She knew him to be warm-hearted, 
 kind, generous, passionate, somewhat care- 
 less ; not without ability — not without 
 consistency, if not continuity, of purpose. 
 She had never seen any passion maintain 
 a long and powerful influence over him, 
 however vehement might be the outbreak 
 at first. Grief, from which man usually 
 flies with eagerness, as his natural enemy 
 — as the enemy of all his desires at every 
 period of life — had had a greater hold upon 
 him than any other affection of the mind 
 to which she had ever seen him subject. 
 She remembered well the period of her 
 mother's death, which had occurred some 
 five or six years before, and how, long af- 
 terwards, a deep, brooding melancholy,
 
 THE FATE. 81 
 
 had hung over Lord Woodhall 5 how slow 
 was his return to cheerfulness, and how fre- 
 quently the fits of gloom would come back. 
 But even those had passed away ; and she 
 doubted not that this present frantic rage 
 against poor, unhappy Ealph, would pass 
 away likewise. 
 
 She somewhat feared, indeed, what 
 might be the result, when the violence of 
 passion should subside — when that which 
 for the time seemed to bear away grief 
 upon its fiery wings, should sink down, 
 either gratified or wearied out, and leave 
 him alone in sorrow and desolation. Then 
 she knew would be the struggle ; then, 
 when he daily saw the empty place at the 
 table, when he missed the beloved face, 
 when he heard no more the cheerful voice, 
 when the presence which was sunshine to 
 him, and the gallant bearing in which he 
 took such a pride, were found wanting — 
 when the house looked vacant and lonely, 
 and the meals were cheerless and solitary, 
 and the evenings went by unenlivened,
 
 82 THE FATE. 
 
 and the day ended with the knowledge 
 that he was gone. Then, she thought, 
 when her mind turned in that direction, 
 then will sorrow be fully felt in all its heavy 
 weight, then will the anguish which is now 
 divided by rage, bow him to the earth; and 
 then must be the time for me to struggle 
 with my own griefs in order to lighten 
 his. Now, it would be vain to say a word. 
 To oppose his wrath against poor Ralph, 
 would be madness : to offer him consola- 
 tion, as vain. 
 
 From time to time these thoughts came 
 upon her ; and, sad and bitter as they 
 were, they afforded her some relief ; for 
 the others — those which I have described 
 before — were so much more intense and 
 painful, that anything which led her mind 
 away from them was a blessing for the 
 time. She might have looked round all 
 the world for some surpassing woe, without 
 finding any which could compare in her 
 heart with that which the death of her 
 brother, by the hand of her lever, had
 
 THE FATE. 83 
 
 inflicted. They were both so dear — so 
 unutterably dear — they were both so 
 linked with every affection, every 
 memory, every hope, that the one, who 
 was dead to ail, and the other, who must 
 be dead to her, left the flowery landscape 
 of life, which had lain so lately smiling be- 
 fore her, nothing but a dark, desolate 
 wilderness. It was like a fair scene, just 
 turn by an earthquake, and bearing not one 
 trace of its former aspect. 
 
 It was over such thoughts that she was 
 now weeping, rather more than a fort- 
 night after her brother's death. Her father 
 had gone forth, still actuated by the same 
 fierce desire of vengeance, to move every 
 power of the court to gratify that burning 
 thirst ; for those were days in which in- 
 fluence, and even wealth — money, base, 
 corrupted money — made the very scales of 
 justice quiver. He had been more harsh 
 and ferocious that day than usual ; be 
 dwelt upon the particulars of her poor 
 brother's death, with a painful, linger
 
 84 THE FATE. 
 
 minuteness which tore poor Margaret's 
 heart. He seemed anxious to lash his re- 
 sentment to such a pitch that it would bear 
 all before it ; and he left the house, declar- 
 ing that he would bring Ralph to the 
 gallows, or perish. This scene, as he had 
 walked up and down the room, looking 
 angrily at the floor, and every now and 
 then stopping to add some bitter or painful 
 word more, was full in Margaret's mind 
 when she retired to her own chamber, and 
 there sat down to weep as I have described. 
 It was one of the darkest hours which had 
 fallen upon her since her brother's death ; 
 for the probability of Ralph being 
 found and taken — being brought to trial 
 and condemned — was brought more pain- 
 fully home to her heart that it had ever 
 been before. 
 
 All seemed darkness and despair 
 around her. What should she do in 
 such a case ? How should she act % 
 Throw herself at her father's feet, and 
 beseech him to forbear and be merciful ?
 
 THE FATE. 85 
 
 She knew it was vain — all vain. She might 
 as well beseech the hurricane. Should she 
 leave him whom she so dearly loved, to 
 perish unseen, unsupported, unconsoled ? 
 She knew her own heart would perish also. 
 Should she fly to him — cast off all restraint 
 — make her fate and his interpose be- 
 tween her father and his vengeance, and 
 say, " Strike him through me !'"' 
 
 But her brother's spirit seemed to stand 
 in the way of the very thought, crying — 
 "Margaret, Margaret, he slew me!'*' 
 
 Poor Margaret could only weep ; and 
 bitterly, painfully, did she weep ; but 
 while the tears w r ere still streaming, as 
 rapidly as ever, down her cheeks, alight 
 tap was heard at the door, and, without 
 waiting to be told, Dora, her maid, entered 
 the room. She was an old and faithful 
 servant, who had waited many years upon 
 her mother; somewhat stiff, indeed, but 
 full of love for all the children of the 
 family — one. of those attached servants 
 of an English household, which are hardly
 
 86 THE FATE. 
 
 to be found in any other land. She had 
 wept over the death of poor Master Henry, 
 -as she called him, as bitterly as any one ; 
 ut she had shared Margaret's feelings, 
 rather than those of the old lord. She 
 had loved Henry well, but she loved Ralph 
 nearly as well, for she had known him 
 from the cradle ; had known his mother, 
 too, and every one who had known her, had 
 loved her. Ralph had always shown 
 a great attachment to her. As a child, he 
 would sit with his arms round her neck, 
 and call her " his dody," in infantine en- 
 deavour to articulate her name. The very 
 first comfort which Margaret had received, 
 came from her lips, \ery shortly after the 
 fatal news arrived. 
 
 " Do not take on so, Mistress Margaret/*' 
 ■/ she said, adhering still to the term mis- 
 ties?, which was but beginning to decline. 
 " The dead can never be brought back by 
 weeping ; and if your tears are for the 
 living, as I can't help thinking they be in 
 part, I dare say, if you knew all, Master
 
 THE FATE 87 
 
 Ralph is not so much to blame as you 
 think. I don't see, for my own part, why the 
 good old lord goes on so madly against poor 
 Master Ralph. My lord fought two men in 
 hi3 day himself, and killed one of them ; 
 and he would not have a gentleman refuse 
 to fight, I am sure, when he was asked. 
 Master Henry — God rest him ! — was hot and 
 passionate enough, as you know ; and I 
 dare say he provoked poor Ralph more 
 than he could bear. Perhaps he was de- 
 ceived about something, and wouldn't 
 listen to reason ; for he took up things very 
 hastily, and all things are not as they 
 seem at first ; and I am sure Master Ralph 
 would not give real cause of offence to 
 man, or woman either, for he is as good, 
 and kind, and noble-hearted a lad as any 
 in all the w r orld. But if people will not 
 listen to reason, and hear things explained, 
 what can one do ? — and that was always 
 Master Henry's way. A word and a blow, 
 and the blow came first." 
 
 I have said that this speech, somewhat
 
 88 THE FATE. 
 
 incoherent as it was, had comforted Mar- 
 garet greatly ; and it gave her comfort in 
 more ways than one. She remembered 
 the letter which Henry had shewn her, 
 and the impression which it had pro- 
 duced upon her mind ; and a doubt, 
 a thought, a hope, that they might 
 both have been deceived — that the letter 
 was either a fabrication, or might be ex- 
 plained — arose, and grew stronger and 
 stronger every moment. What right had 
 she to judge him unheard % she asked her- 
 self: what right had Henry 1 and, knowing 
 the weakness of her brother's temper, his 
 rashness, and his punctiliousness upon the 
 point of honour, she easily conceived that 
 he actually compelled Ralph to draw his 
 sword, without listening to anything he 
 might say in his own defence. 
 
 The sight, therefore, of her good Dora 
 was pleasant to her ; and she did not even 
 try to wipe away the tears she was 
 shedding when she entered, but, holding out 
 her arms to her, leaned her head upon her 
 shoulder, and wept there.
 
 THE FATE. 89 
 
 " There, there, my dear child/' said the 
 good woman; "you have been sorry enough, 
 and don't you be afraid of all that the old 
 Lord says. He'll not do half that he 
 thinks. It's poor, powerless work, when 
 old men begin to swagger. I heard him 
 going on, when you were in the with- 
 dra wing-room with him ; but he'll do 
 nothing; and 1 dare to say that Master 
 Ralph will easily shew that he was driven 
 to do what he did. And now, my bird, 
 wipe your eyes, there's a dear child. Here's 
 a little saucy boy down stairs wants to see 
 you. He has been out there, over the 
 way, for an hour, till the old Lord went 
 out, and then he came over, and asked for 
 you. Harrison sent for me, but the lad won't 
 talk to any one but you, for he has got a 
 letter to deliver into your own hand, he 
 says — a love-letter, I don't doubt ;" and 
 the old woman laughed a little. " I don't 
 doubt that it's a love-letter ; for it isn't in 
 Master Ralph's hand — that was my hope at 
 first — but it's a great, sprawling, twisting
 
 90 THE FATE. 
 
 hand, and the boy 's all decked out as fine 
 as a groat — a sort of page-looking lad, 
 with a band of feathers round his hat, quite 
 fantastical." 
 
 " Send him away," said Margaret, sadly ; 
 " I will not see him. I have nothing to do 
 with love-letters, Dora," 
 
 " But you cannot tell it is a love-letter," 
 replied the waiting-woman ; " that was 
 only my fancy, and, indeed, my dear child, 
 you should see him, for he won't give it to 
 anybody but you, and you cannot tell what 
 it may be about, and it's always right to 
 look at a letter, and it is but civil," 
 
 " Well, bring him up," replied Mar- 
 garet ; " but stay you here, Dora, till he is 
 gone." 
 
 The boy was brought up so rapidly, that, 
 had Margaret been in a very observing 
 mood, she might have suspected he 
 had not been very far from the door while 
 the conversation just detailed was passing 
 between her and her woman. But she only 
 noticed that he came ; that he was a
 
 THE FATE. 91 
 
 gay-looking boy of thirteen or fourteen 
 years of age, very much like what Dora 
 had described ; and that he asked her care- 
 fully, ere he gave the letter, whether 
 she was Mistress Margaret Woodhail. 
 Her mind was too much occupied with 
 other things to notice or attend to any 
 more. 
 
 She answered his question in the af- 
 firmative, took the letter, and then, gently 
 bowing her head, dismissed the boy, saying, 
 " I will send my reply if this should require 
 one/' 
 
 " Well, I do think," said Dora, " see- 
 ing he is so smart a youth, I would have 
 tried to find out where he came from. 
 Letters do not always tell who sent them, 
 and—" 
 
 " Nonsense — nonsense, Dora !" inter- 
 rupted Margaret. "I care not whom it 
 comes from, nor whence it comes." And 
 much to the good woman's inconvenience, 
 she continued to hold the letter, unopened,
 
 92 THE FATE. 
 
 in her hand, gazing on the ground and 
 falling gradually into thought. 
 
 " Well, really \ v exclaimed Dora, after 
 she had waited some five minutes. 
 
 Rather startled by the sharpness of 
 the sound, than clearly understanding 
 its meaning, Margaret languidly open- 
 ed the letter and fixed her eye upon the 
 page. 
 
 The moment she did so, the whole ex- 
 pression of her face altered ; her eyes re- 
 covered their brightness, and were fixed 
 eagerly on the lines beneath them ; the 
 colour mounted up into her cheek ; her lip 
 lost its dejected stillness, and bent into a 
 sweet, hopeful smile. And then, as if 
 there were magic in the ending lines, 
 she started up, let the note drop from 
 her hold, and pressed her hand tightly upon 
 her heart. 
 
 Dora pounced upon the letter in an 
 instant, took it up, unchidden or forbid, 
 and gazed at the words it contained.
 
 THE FATE. 93 
 
 They were large enough, Heaven knows ; 
 but still her spectacles were habitually 
 needful ; and, retreating a step, for 
 fear her young lady should attempt to 
 stop her, she mounted them on her nose, 
 and read. 
 
 " Fear not, my child" — so the letter ran 
 — " fear not ! Fate has done its work with 
 your poor brother. Tt could not be other- 
 wise. It was doomed to be so. I warned 
 you, you would have many trials ; but 
 fear not, shrink not. More must yet come ; 
 but they will pass away ; and, though a 
 multitude may seem to stand between you 
 and happiness, yet shrink not, doubt not ! 
 Your fate depends upon yourself : the 
 stars do not rule, but counsel^ you. Be 
 firm — be true — be happy. 
 
 " Above all, doubt not him who loves 
 you. Trust to tried affection and long- 
 known truth, and be assured that he who 
 may now seem guilty is innocent as your- 
 self. He who seems most innocent is 
 guilty. You sent not to me in the hour of
 
 94 THE FATE. 
 
 need, as I bade you ; but I watched over 
 you. and will come to your comfort when 
 you seek me not. Be firm and true. 
 
 " MoKABER." 
 
 " Goodness gracious ! If that is not the 
 wise man in the old tower \" exclaimed 
 Dora, when she had arrived at the name, 
 and made it out with some difficulty. 
 " Lord bless me, Mistress Margaret ! how 
 can he know anything about you V 
 
 Margaret had sunk into her chair again, 
 without an effort to prevent the good 
 woman from reading the letter ; and, in 
 deep thought, made no reply to the ques- 
 tion, till Dora had repeated it twice. 
 
 " You talked to me much about him, 
 Dora," she replied at length : " I went to 
 see him — that is all." 
 
 " And never told me a word \" muttered 
 Dora. " Ah, my pretty child ! I can guess, 
 dear one — I can guess, my bird ! Well,
 
 THE FATE, 95 
 
 love sees with his own eyes, and I say not 
 they are bad ones, though folks call him 
 blind. He's no bad judge, I wot, though 
 he judges not as old lords and great people 
 judge. Marry ! they would have people 
 men and women of the world's making, 
 not of God's. But you can't fashion flesh 
 and blood like a coach or a coat. Nature 
 says ' shall ;' and who shall gainsay her ? 
 Love's not a loose cloak to lit every one; 
 and it's a garment which can but be bought 
 once, and won't turn. Don't tear it my 
 dear : for patch it you can't ; and old 
 Moraber is right, depend upon it. He 
 always is." 
 
 " Pray God he is so now!" ejaculated Mar- 
 garet fervently. Then throwing her 
 arms round Dora in a wild burst of strong 
 emotion, she wept again as profusely as 
 ever, but far more happily. How the heart 
 catches at the least assurance of that which 
 it longs to believe ! Oh, dry and dusty 
 earth of which we are made, how scon is 
 it fired by the least spark of hope ! I re-
 
 96 THE FATE 
 
 member hearing of that famous, lost Greek 
 fire, how, one time, being spilt by accident in 
 the paths of a great city, no effort could put it 
 out : it burned through theatres and dwel- 
 ling-places, through the great church, 
 through its stone pavement, down to the very 
 graves beneath. And this is Hope, unex- 
 tinguishable even in the tomb. But beyond 
 is the first world of reality, where Hope, 
 the wanderer, meets her sister, Joy. 
 
 Yes ; from so slight and frail an assur- 
 ance as that of the strange, wild letter she 
 had just received, Margaret's thought- 
 world was re-lighted ; the darkness past in 
 part away : she dared to look forward : 
 she dared to withdraw her eyes from her 
 brother's tomb : she boldly said to her- 
 self— 
 
 " Come what may, I will be firm and 
 
 true." 
 
 But, as a consequence of that letter, ano- 
 ther comfort, not more substantial, not 
 more sustaining, but still infinitely great,
 
 THE PATE. 97 
 
 was afforded her. Her old servant's words 
 showed her that the secret of her heart 
 had been penetrated • that no glowing ex- 
 planation — no timid hesitation — no word — 
 no sign — was needed farther ; that she had 
 some one to confide in, some one to coun- 
 sel and to aid. The counsel might not be 
 the wisest, the aid not the most powerful ; 
 but she stood no longer alone in the sorrow 
 of her own heart. 
 
 vol. n.
 
 98 THE FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 We left Ralph Woodhall proceeding to- 
 wards the apartments of Hortensia Dan- 
 vers, with the Duke of Norfolk's letter in 
 his hand. He seemed puzzled and con- 
 fused ; but his determination was soon 
 taken. 
 
 " I might have foreseen this," he said to 
 himself. " It could not be long concealed ; 
 and I must bear my destiny. But I will 
 not encounter the good old lord with any 
 attempt at justification. The Duke of 
 Norfolk is perhaps right. It would be 
 better for me to be absent for a time, seeking
 
 THE FATE VX 
 
 fortune in the west, or, perhaps, in Holland, 
 till the first burst of wrath has passed. I 
 can trust to Margaret's love." 
 
 With these thoughts, he entered the 
 sitting-room of Lady Danvers, where he 
 found her standing by a table, dressed for 
 her journey, and looking towards the door ? 
 as if anxious for his coming. 
 
 " Well, they have set you free/' she said, 
 " but I have been in some fear about you ; 
 not that you would not appear at the 
 time, if you could ; but that you might not 
 be able. I sent to ask you to speak with 
 me, last night ; but, to my surprise, found 
 you were absent." 
 
 She spoke with a peculiar emphasis, and 
 Ralph replied, with a faint, melancholy smile, 
 " I was absent for some hours, Lady 
 Danvers — how employed, I may find 
 another opportunity of telling you. At 
 present, let me shew you this letter from 
 the Duke of Norfolk. I have, unfortu- 
 nately, incurred the anger of my noble re- 
 lation, Lord Woodhall. He is a good man, 
 F 2
 
 100 THE FATE. 
 
 but violent to an exceeding degree when 
 excited; and the Duke advises me strongly 
 to hurry away into the west, till I can take 
 ship for Holland. There is his letter ; you 
 can read what he says." 
 
 " No need, no need !" ejaculated Lady 
 Pan vers, putting the letter aside. " I 
 know it all — all that has happened. Poor 
 young man ! Well may you speak in so 
 sad a tone, Mr. Woodhall. But the Duke 
 is right. There is no resource for you but 
 to keep in retirement for a time, till this 
 has passed over. Depend upon it, Lord 
 Woodhall will move heaven and earth to 
 ruin you. To the west ! / am going to 
 the west ; but my course will be too slow, 
 You must set off instantly/' 
 
 " So I propose/' rejoined Ealph ; " though 
 to what exact spot I shall turn my steps, I 
 do not know. That is a part of the country 
 I am unacquainted with." 
 
 " I will decide it for you," said Hor- 
 tensia. "Let it be Danvers Newchurch. 
 Stay! I will give you a letter to my
 
 THE FATE. 101 
 
 steward, who is the man, of all others, to 
 aid you, and to take means for insuring 
 your safety." 
 
 " Nay, dear Lady Dan vers," replied 
 Xtalph, " I am under no such great appre- 
 hension as you seem to think. 1 have done 
 nothing that any man of heart would not 
 have done, or that any man of honour 
 might not have done. I would fain, it is 
 true, avoid all personal collision with Lord 
 Woodhall, in his present state of rage ; 
 but for my personal safety I have no fear. 
 He is a man of too much honour to resent 
 what has occurred by any unworthy 
 means." 
 
 " There is no knowing — there is no 
 knowing," observed Lady Danvers. " Your 
 life is too precious to others — to your poor 
 father — to be lightly risked* Is your horn 1 
 in a fit state to carry you 1 If not, take 
 one from my servants. They are well 
 mounted, and their beasts must be perfectly 
 fresh by this time." 
 
 " Oh, mine is quice fit and strong," re-
 
 102 THE FATE. 
 
 turned Ralph. " The slight journey he has 
 had, can have but little effect upon so strong 
 and tried an animal." 
 
 " Well, I will write the letter/' resumed 
 Lady Danvers, with the same eager and 
 quick manner in which she had hitherto 
 been speaking. " You go and bid your 
 servant (who is arrived, I am told) to get 
 all things ready. Alice, Alice, bring me 
 back the ink and paper." 
 
 Ralph hastened to follow her suggestion, 
 and found Gaunt Stilling in sharp con- 
 versation with a man who seemed to 
 stand in great awe of him. 
 
 " Get you back to Norwich, Master 
 Roger," said Stilling, in a more angry ton 
 than Ralph had ever heard him use before. 
 " If I find you watching our movements, 
 will break every bone in your skin, and 
 take that as an instalment of what your 
 master owes me." 
 
 " I must wait till I have baited my horse, 
 Master Stilling," replied Roger.
 
 THE FATE. 103 
 
 " I should like to know what the devil 
 brought you here !" cried the other ; but 
 he was interrupted by the call of his 
 master, and only paused to add, " Mind 
 what I have said. I am not one to be trifled 
 with, as you ought to know by this time." 
 
 Ralph gave his orders rapidly, then re- 
 turned to his own room, for a few moments, 
 and then once more sought Hortensia. 
 for the letter she had promised. It was 
 written, sealed, and addressed to " Master 
 William Drayton, Danvers Newchurcb. 
 by Harstock, Dorset." 
 
 She placed it in Ralph's hands, gazing at 
 him with a look of deep and melancholy 
 interest. There was also an air of hesita- 
 tion about her, as she asked, " Is all 
 ready ¥ ? 
 
 " I dare say it is, by this time," replied 
 Ralph. " Accept my best thanks, dear 
 Lady Danvers, for all the kind interest you 
 have taken in me, especially in the pain- 
 ful circumstances in which I am placed." 
 
 She waved her hand, almost impatiently,
 
 104 THE PATE. 
 
 saying, " Not a word, not a word, my 
 good friend ; but there is one thing more 
 I wish to say— " Again she hesitated, but 
 then added, quickly, and in a tone full of 
 kindly feeling, " Ralph, I look upon you as 
 a relation. I cannot regard your mother's 
 son in any other light. You came away 
 with me hastily yesterday. You had no 
 time to provide funds for a long journey. 
 No false delicacy between you and me — " 
 
 Ralph took her hand, and raised it to his 
 lips ; and, as he did so, he thought that it 
 trembled very much. " Thanks, a thou- 
 sand thanks/' he said ; " and I would ac- 
 cept your kind offer as frankly as it is 
 made, but I have quite enough here, Lady 
 Danvers. My servant has brought a large 
 part of my baggage with him, and in it 
 is the little store which was to last me for 
 six months." 
 
 " Well, well, go then/' she said. " Do 
 not delay a moment, for I am apprehen- 
 sive till you are out of the old lord's reach.
 
 THE FATE. 105 
 
 We shall meet again, my friend, and talk 
 over all these details more at leisure. At 
 present, nothing is to be done but to part 
 as soon as possible." 
 
 Again Ralph kissed her hand, which 
 -was beautiful enough, though, to say truth, 
 her lips were the more tempting of the 
 two. He was soon in the stable-yard, and 
 found his horse saddled and the baggage 
 all arranged. In another moment, he 
 rode out under the archway of the inn, 
 and remarked a face gazing from a little 
 window at the side, which commanded a 
 view both of the stable-yard and of the 
 street. Gaunt Stilling shook his fist at it> 
 as they passed ; and, while his master 
 paused to say a few words to the Duke of 
 Norfolk's servants, who were gathered 
 round the gate, Stilling laid his finger 
 significantly on the hilt of a good strong 
 sword, which, by this time, he had added 
 to his travelling equipage. 
 
 Ralph was then turning his horse to the 
 F 5
 
 106 THE FATE. 
 
 right hand, in the direction of the western 
 road, when Gaunt Stilling rode up to his side, 
 saying, in a low voice, " This way, sir. 
 We are watched, and must give them the 
 slip. I can find the way, I think, by the 
 back lanes, as they have directed me. 
 After we get past Ely, I know every foot of 
 the road for a hundred miles." 
 
 Ralph readily followed his suggestion, 
 but enquired, after riding a few yards — - 
 
 " Who is watching us 1 One of Lord 
 Woodhall's people V 
 
 " No," replied Stilling, in his quaint, 
 bluff way. " Knave Robert's knave, Roger." 
 
 " I wish to heaven it was his master in- 
 stead," said Ralph, with a quick glow of 
 the cheek and flash of the eye. 
 
 " Ay, so do I/' returned Gaunt Stilling, 
 gloomily ; " but he always contrives to put 
 some one else in his place, when that place 
 is a dangerous one. Every man has his 
 time, however; and his is waiting for him." 
 
 He then relapsed into silence, and they
 
 THE FATE 107 
 
 pursued their way without interruption. 
 Nothing remarkable occurred on the road, 
 throughout the whole journey, though, as 
 the reader knows, it led them across nearly 
 the widest part of Great Britain. Ralph 
 himself was silent and melancholy, and 
 many painful considerations pressed upon 
 his mind, withdrawing it from that enjoy- 
 ment of changing scene and rapid motion, 
 which a young and ardent heart, like his, 
 might well have experienced in traversing 
 the beautiful counties which lie between 
 Norfolk and Dorsetshire. His thoughts 
 were almost entirely of Margaret. He saw 
 little — he observed little — and conversa- 
 tion he had none ; for Gaunt Stilling, 
 though evidently a man superior in intel- 
 lect, to his class, and who had received 
 the education of the world, as well as of 
 books, was taciturn and gloomy. He had 
 never spoken much and what he had said 
 had been generally brief and blunt ; but 
 now he hardly uttered a word, and re-
 
 108 THE FATE. 
 
 mained, usually, apart from all other 
 servants, or society of any kind, in the 
 inns where they chanced to stop on the 
 road. 
 
 Ealph, remarked, too, that when his bill 
 was brought to him at any of these places, 
 no charge was ever made for his servant, 
 or his servant's horse ; and the strange cir- 
 cumstances in which the man had been 
 placed with him, came back from time to 
 time upon his mind, with a feeling not al- 
 together agreeable. That he had been 
 useful — serviceable — ay, and zealous in his 
 service — Ealph felt ; but it was unpleasant 
 to him to have such gratuitous attendance, 
 especially where it involved no light ex- 
 pense to the person rendering it. He de- 
 termined he would have some explanation 
 upon this subject from Gaunt Stilling ; but 
 the man's taciturnity, his own busy 
 thoughts, and the rapidity with which they 
 passed from place to place, made him 
 delay the execution of his intention, till
 
 THE FATE. 109 
 
 they reached the locality of their temporary 
 sojourn. 
 
 Upon the frontiers of Somersetshire and 
 Dorsetshire, Gaunt Stilling seemed to enter 
 upon a well-known laud. He had before 
 displayed a very good knowledge of the 
 country lying between the isle of Ely and 
 the Mendip hills — an extent sufficient to 
 try his geographical information ; but now, 
 not a single lane or bye road was un- 
 known to him. He knew where comfort- 
 able inns could be found, in the most re- 
 mote parts of a country which was not, at 
 that time, well cultivated or largely popu- 
 lated ; and Ralph could not help thinking 
 that, if it were really necessary for him to 
 play at hide-and-seek at all, which he be- 
 gan to doubt, he could not have a better 
 instructor in the game than his present com- 
 panion. 
 
 Gaunt Stilling, however, maintained 
 a dull silence ; answered in mono- 
 syllables, though civilly ; and never ex-
 
 110 THE FaTE: 
 
 ceeded. above two or three words, except 
 once, when, on crossing the beautiful Mendip 
 hills, he said — 
 
 " I have brought you forty miles out of 
 the way, sir, not for the sake of giving 
 you that fine view, but for the purpose of 
 avoiding the lands of old Lady Coklen- 
 ham. I should soon be known there, and 
 you would be found out through me. Then 
 the news would fly across the country as 
 rapidly as possible/' 
 
 " I really do not see the need of such 
 extreme precaution," replied Ralph, musing. 
 
 " Don't you, sir V said Gaunt Stilling ; 
 and then the conversation dropped. 
 
 At length, one afternoon, about a couple 
 of hours before sunset, they passed through 
 a long, deep lane, sunk beneath the level of 
 the neighbouring fields, and overhung by 
 tall and shady trees, in the full richness of 
 their summer foliage. Even at those spots 
 where the head of a horseman rose above 
 the bank, no view over the country was to
 
 THE tAftL 111 
 
 he obtained ; for rich orchards spread 
 along on either side. 
 
 At the termination of a quarter of a mile's 
 riding, the sunshine was seen streaming up 
 the end of the lane ; and, in a few minutes 
 more, Ealph stood upon the verge of a 
 gentle descent, where the eye ranged freely 
 along one of the most beautiful vallejs he 
 ever beheld. A considerable portion of 
 the ground in front, was laid out as a 
 park, with sloping lawns and large ancient 
 trees, on both sides of a stream of some 
 extent, which ran rapidly, dashing and 
 sparkling, down the dell. In the wilder 
 land, which spread forth beyond the limits 
 of the park, and on an elevated spot, about 
 two hundred yards from the river, appeared 
 a large stone edifice ; perhaps, of the reign 
 of Henry the Seventh or Eighth, for it 
 bore some of the characteristics of the 
 best period of Tudor architecture. 
 
 At the distance of about a bow-shot from 
 the house, but within the limits of the park,
 
 112 THE FATE. 
 
 rose a beautiful church from the bosom of 
 a small grove of trees. Not less than 
 three centuries and a half before, it might 
 have deserved the name of New Church ; 
 for even if anv architect could have 
 been found to imitate so perfectly the 
 early English architecture, the lichens and 
 mosses, the hue of the stone, and the 
 crumbling of the antique mouldings, would 
 have clearly denoted how long it had been 
 constructed. 
 
 " There is Danvers Newchurch, sir," 
 said Gaunt Stilling ; " but we must take a 
 little round to get to the gates/'' 
 
 " It seems a peaceful spot enough," said 
 Balph, in reply. 
 
 " Peaceful \" echoed Gaunt Stilling, 
 almost inauclibly. " Is there such a thing 
 as peace V 
 
 In a few minutes more, they had en- 
 tered the park, and were riding up to the 
 house, under the old stone gateway of 
 which were sitting, a hale, good-looking, 
 well-dressed man, past the middle age, and
 
 THE FATE. 113 
 
 an elderly woman, with a young child, 
 reading a horn-book at their feet. 
 
 " That is Master Drayton, 1 take it," 
 said Gaunt Stilling ; and, riding up, Ralph 
 dismounted, and presented Lady Danvers's 
 letter. 
 
 " This is for me," said the man upon 
 the steps, opening the letter. " I suppose 
 my lady will soon be coming." 
 
 At the same moment, he unfolded the 
 sheet, and fixed his eyes upon the contents. 
 They seemed to startle him ; for although 
 he said, as a sort of comment while he 
 read — " Of course — certainly — to be sure," 
 — his broad brow was contracted, and his 
 whole face assumed a hesitating look. 
 
 " You are quite welcome, sir," he said, 
 when he had done ; " and I will do the 
 best I can for you. My lady's orders shall 
 be obeyed to the utmost of my power ; 
 but I can't resist the law, you know." 
 
 " Resist the law !" exclaimed Ralph. 
 " Surely Lady Danvers does not ask you to
 
 114 THE FATE. 
 
 do that. Besides, there is no necessity 
 on my account." 
 
 " Well, sir, you know best," replied Mr. 
 Drayton ; " but I think it will be as well if 
 you would just step into this room, and 
 talk with me for a moment." 
 
 Then, opening the door of the- house, 
 Mr. Drayton led the way to a small ante- 
 room of the great hall. When there, he 
 said, after having closed the door, 
 
 " What 1 meant just now, sir, was 
 merely that I would do everything, as in 
 duty bound, to hide you ; but that, if 
 officers should come to take you, I could 
 not think myself justified in resisting with 
 a strong hand." 
 
 " Officers come to take me !" echoed 
 Ralph, completely bewildered. " There 
 must be some mistake, my good sir. May 
 I be permitted to look at Lady Danvers's 
 letter?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, sir," replied the steward. 
 S There is nothing that you need not
 
 THE FATE. 115 
 
 see." And he placed the letter in Ralph's 
 hand, who read as follows : — 
 
 " Master Drayton, 
 " This will be given into jour hands by 
 Mr. Ralph Woodhall, the son of my poor 
 mother's dearest friend, and consequently my 
 friend. You will shew him every attention 
 in your power, and let him make use of 
 Danvers Newchurch as if it were his own, 
 providing suitably all things for himself 
 and his servant. It will be necessary to 
 keep good watch around the place, and 
 not suffer him to be at all molested by any 
 one, as he has had the misfortune 'of kill- 
 ing, in a duel, his cousin, the son of Lord 
 Woodhall, who is highly incensed against 
 him." 
 
 Ralph let the paper fall from his hand, 
 and gazed upon Mr. Drayton with a look 
 of unmingled astonishment. 
 
 " In the name of heaven," he at length 
 exclaimed, " what is the meaning of this 1
 
 116 THE FATE. 
 
 Henry Woodhall killed in a duel ! and by 
 me ! I cannot believe my senses, when I 
 see such an assertion under the hand of 
 Lady Danvers. She must have been 
 grossly and terribly misled. But there 
 must be some foundation for this." And, 
 opening the door vehemently, he made his 
 way to the outer porch, and called aloud — 
 " Stilling, Stilling !" 
 
 The man, who was leading the horses up 
 and down, returned to the door, and Ralph 
 at once demanded, " What is this % Lady 
 Danvers, in her letter to Mr. Drayton here, 
 declares that my cousin Henry has been 
 killed in a duel." 
 
 " Well, sir, did you not know it ?" asked 
 Stilling, in a cold tone. 
 
 " Know it !" exclaimed Ralph. " How, 
 in Heaven's name, should I know it % You 
 never mentioned the subject to me during 
 the whole course of the journey." 
 
 " I thought it would be too painful a 
 subject, sir," replied the man, with a very
 
 THE FATE. 117 
 
 peculiar look. " You had the Duke of 
 Norfolk's letter." 
 
 u The Duke never mentioned a word of 
 it," returned Ralph. " Good God, this 
 will drive me mad I" And, turning on 
 his heel, he walked back into the house, 
 followed by Mr. Drayton ; when, casting 
 himself into a chair, he covered his eyes 
 with his hands, in an agony of grief and 
 consternation. 
 
 Gaunt Stilling tied the horses to an iron 
 railing, and followed him quietly ; and 
 good Mr. Drayton, as much moved to 
 attention and respect towards the young 
 stranger by the agony he saw him suffer, 
 as by his lady's letter, did all that he could 
 imagine would comfort and console him. I 
 was not much he could think of, it is true ; 
 for he was a man of material thoughts and 
 habits. He could tell the number of acres, 
 roods, and poles in every farm upon the 
 estate, and how they should be cultivated. 
 He knew the condition and the wants of 
 every labourer, every tenant ; and he
 
 118 THE FATR. 
 
 tried his best to ameliorate the one and 
 to diminish the other. But to deal with 
 deep Sorrow — to sooth an intelligent mind 
 and feeling heart — were tasks above or be- 
 yond his scope. At best — and it was his only 
 resource — he might try to divert the thoughts 
 of one afflicted from the causes of grief. 
 He had done so with many a mendicant at 
 the hall- door ; for he was no harsh and 
 cruel deputy-despot ; and he tried, at least, 
 to add comfort to gifts. He endeavoured 
 even now to alleviate sorrow. He teased 
 Kalph about bed -rooms, and first and second 
 tables, and what he would require during 
 his stay, till at length, he pressed him so 
 hard upon these subjects, that Ralph rose 
 and followed him to the rooms he proposed 
 to shew him, with a gloomy air and heavy 
 step, from which all the elasticity of youth 
 seemed gone. 
 
 Gaunt Stilling looked after him with a 
 hesitating, uncertain expression of counte- 
 nance, as if he did not know whether to 
 follow him or not. But, after a moment's 
 consideration, he turned round, led the
 
 THE FATE. 119 
 
 horses to the stables, and, after having given 
 them, wi th some directions, into the hands 
 of a com ltry lad whom he sa,\r there, re- 
 turned t o the house and sought out his 
 master, • whom he found sitting sorrowfully 
 alone, 34 r. Drayton having quitted him, in 
 order t< 3 make the necessary preparations 
 for his < comfort. 
 
 The • moment Gaunt Stilling entered the 
 room, .Kalph motioned him to shut the 
 door, ai id said, 
 
 " Ko' vv, tell me me more of this sad affair, 
 Stilling, I am calmer now; and, though 
 I wi.^h you had spoken to me on the 
 subject as we came hither, by which you 
 would I ave stopped my journey entirely, 
 yet, I <L re say, you were under the same 
 mistake which it seems has been made by 
 Others." 
 
 " Whj \ sir/' replied the servant, in a 
 tone of s >me feeling, " I saw you very me- 
 lancholy and sad ; and, as the Duke him 
 had writ ten to vou, 1 naturally conch*
 
 120 
 
 THE FATE. 
 
 that you were right well aware of all. You 
 may easily judge that the death of M r. Henry 
 Woodhall was the subject of talk with the 
 whole of the Duke's house ; and when he 
 had written to you, I could not ] ^resume 
 to speak to you on the matter, witho ut your 
 speaking to me." 
 
 " The Duke's letter I must have misun- 
 derstood entirely," observed Ralph. " Fearful 
 of wounding my feelings, it would seem, 
 he wrote, in vague, general terms, oi ' unfor- 
 tunate events, and unhappy circunuj tances. 
 My imagination, utterly ignorant c f what 
 had taken place, fixed upon other eve nts and 
 circumstances. But all that matte rs not. 
 Now I would know the whole. I : would 
 seem that they attributed poor j Henry's 
 death to met" 
 
 " Yes, sir, everybody thought t >o," an- 
 swered Gaunt Stilling. "They said that Mr. 
 Woodhall had discovered that s ou and 
 his sister were in love with eaci 
 
 a 
 
 other, 
 contrary to the wishes of the fanii ly ; that
 
 THE FATE. 121 
 
 he had challenged you, and that you had 
 killed him." 
 
 11 But you must have known better," said 
 Ralph, half sternly. 
 
 The man's countenance fell, and his brow 
 became clouded, as if the tone of the mas- 
 ter whom he served gratuitously, had 
 w r ounded his pride. 
 
 Ralph went on, however, saying — 
 
 " You should have contradicted it at once, 
 Stilling. The Duke might be deceived ; 
 for he could not tell that I had not returned 
 secretly ; but you must have known I never 
 re-entered my room from the time I quitted 
 it in the morning/' 
 
 " Yes, sir." replied Stilling, in a quiet 
 tone ; " but there was no need of re-enter- 
 ing your room. You had a sword with 
 you, and had but to ride back, fight your 
 adversary, and disappear." 
 
 "True, true," returned his master. " But 
 did you really think I had done so?" 
 
 Gaunt Stilling hesitated, but answered, at 
 length, 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 122 THE FATE. 
 
 " I certainly did not, sir ; but I was in 
 no circumstances to speak my mind. 
 Everything, indeed, seemed against it, to 
 my apprehension, till the morning after." 
 
 " And what happened then to make you 
 change your opinion V 9 asked Kalph. 
 
 " Why, I heard, at the inn where Lady 
 Danvers stopped." replied Stilling, "that you 
 had gone out about half past eight o'clock, 
 and had not been seen by anybody for some 
 hours. Now, the duel took place between 
 ten and eleven ; and, with a quick-going 
 horse, you might easily have got to Nor- 
 wich within the time." 
 
 Kalph pressed his hand to his brow, say- 
 ing, as if in reply to some question which 
 had arisen in his mind, 
 
 " That explains it — that explains it all ! 
 How Lady Danvers could have imagined 
 that I had been guilty of this act, I was at 
 a loss to comprehend ; but now I see it 
 all !" 
 
 " Guilty, sir I" exclaimed Gaunt Stilling, 
 whose old soldier's habits made him view
 
 THE FATE. 123 
 
 such events in a very different light from 
 that in which his master regarded 
 them. " No great guilt, I think, in killing 
 a man in fai: j and open combat, without 
 advantage — especially when he was the 
 person to seek it." 
 
 " We may think differently," returned 
 Ralph ; " but this, at least, I will tell you, 
 Stilling — that if my hand had shed poor 
 Henry's blood, in such a quarrel as this, I 
 never should forgive myself to my dying 
 day. — Leave me now, Stilling. You will 
 be well taken care of here, and I will send 
 for you soon, to seek for any farther infor- 
 mation I may want. At present, my mind 
 is all in wild confusion, and I must try to 
 calm my thoughts, and decide upon what 
 is to be done next. My first impulse is, to 
 set off at once for London, and clear my- 
 self of this deed." 
 
 " Better give the horses some rest, sir," 
 said Gaunt Stilling ; " we have come at a 
 rattling pace, and they won't do much more 
 G 2
 
 124 THE FATE. 
 
 just at present. — Besides, it would be well 
 to think whether you could clear yourself 
 so easily as to prevent disagreeable conse- 
 quences. Four or five months' imprison- 
 ment, waiting for trial, is no very pleasant 
 thing ; and the very fact of your running 
 away here in such haste, would require a 
 good deal of explanation, for other people 
 might not understand it quite as well as 
 you do yourself." 
 
 Ealph looked at him earnestly, and said, 
 in a low, deep voice, 
 
 " You surely do not still suppose me 
 guilty r 
 
 " Not in the least, sir," replied the man, 
 frankly. "I am quite sure you are not; and 
 I can even give a guess, and a pretty shrewd 
 one, as to what was the mistake which 
 made you follow the Duke's advice so readi- 
 ly; but all I think is, that other people 
 may not understand the matter so well, 
 and that in order to clear yourself in a 
 hurry of this accusation, you would proba-
 
 THE FATE. 125 
 
 bly be forced to explain other matters 
 which might be unpleasant for you to touch 
 upon." 
 
 " I will think over it, I will think over 
 it," said Ralph. And Gaunt Stilling, 
 seeing him fall into a deep reverie, quietly 
 left the room.
 
 126 THE FATE, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Candles were lighted in a small, beau- 
 tiful room at Danvers New/church ; and 
 Ralph "vVoodhall sat at a table covered 
 with delicacies which he could little 
 have expected to find in so remote a 
 place. He gave small heed to them, 
 however. He ate what was merely need- 
 ful for sustenance, and drank several 
 glasses of fine old wine which were pressed 
 upon him by the care of two old servants 
 of the Danvers family — blue-bottles, as 
 they were called in those days — who, with 
 less to do at any time than they altogether 
 liked, were left behind by their lady in the
 
 THE FATE. 127 
 
 country, when she journeyed far, in con- 
 sideration of their age, which they them- 
 selves were not apt to regard very much. 
 They thought themselves strong and hearty 
 as ever, and equal to any sort of work 
 which might be assigned to them. But 
 Hortensia was not one to overtask any 
 person's willingness, and she had more 
 consideration for their years than they had 
 themselves. Right glad were they, then, to 
 pay every attention to a favoured guest during 
 their mistress's absence ; and old men being 
 very often apt at calculation, and especially 
 at putting two stray ends of circumstances 
 together, and linking them, as it were, 
 with cobbler's wax, reasoned internally 
 upon the probability of the handsome 
 young stranger — in regard to whose for- 
 tune and fate they knew nothing — becom- 
 ing, ere long, their legitimate lord and 
 master. 
 
 Towards the end of the meal, when 
 some fruits, at that time brought to 
 perfection with great difficulty, and at vast
 
 128 THE TATE. 
 
 expense, had been put upon the table, Mr. 
 Drayton himself appeared, and stood for a 
 moment by the side of Ralph's chair, ex- 
 cusing the scantiness of the dinner, on the 
 ground of the short time allowed for pre- 
 paration. 
 
 " We shall treat you better to-morrow, 
 sir," he said ; " but, in the meantime, is 
 there any wine in the cellar you would 
 prefer % The keys are always left with 
 me, and there is some yery rich Burgundy, 
 as well as Bordeaux, of the finest quality 
 — even imperial Tokay ; for my late lord 
 was a great judge, and the wines have 
 improved since his death, which, come Mar- 
 tinmas, will be thirteen years." 
 
 " Nothing more, Mr. Drayton, nothing 
 more, thank you," replied Ralph. " I have 
 had quite enough, and all has been very 
 good." 
 
 "Perhaps, sir, you would like to look 
 through the house," said Mr. Drayton, de- 
 termined not to leave the young stranger 
 to his own bitter thoughts, if he could help
 
 THE FATE. 129 
 
 it. " Tt is a curious old place, and, to my 
 mind, looks better by candle-light than at 
 any other time. I think old places always 
 do, for there is something about them 
 which makes one feel that their real light 
 is gone, and that they can only be viewed 
 to advantage by artificial means. I think 
 you would like to survey the mansion." 
 
 " Very well," replied llalph, in an in- 
 different tone ; " I will accompany you, Mr. 
 Drayton, when you like." 
 
 " This minute, if you please sir, and if you 
 have done your wine," said Mr. Drayton. 
 " Stay ! 1 will call people to take the lights 
 on before, and we will go through the whole 
 suites of apartments, beginning with the 
 yellow guest-chamber, and going on to the 
 green guest-chamber, and the blue guest- 
 chamber." 
 
 " Yellow, and green, and blue guests !" 
 echoed Ralph. " Methinks there must have 
 been some heavier hearts even than my own 
 here."
 
 130 TH£ FATE. 
 
 " Oh, sir ! it is but a name," replied the 
 good man ; " and, I dare say, what we call 
 the rooms has little to do with those who 
 sleep in them. But now, sir, I will be ready 
 in a moment." 
 
 Then, ordering two of the men servants 
 to take up two of the lights, and go in front, 
 he led the way with a step as slow and 
 solemn as if the place were a nunnery, and 
 he feared to interrupt the devout ori- 
 sons of its inmates. 
 
 I will not detain the reader Avith a 
 particular account of the various rooms 
 and passages through which Ralph was 
 led, but simply dwell upon the general as- 
 pect of the place, which was stately, medi- 
 tative, and even solemn. The effect, too. 
 was heightened by every ornament and 
 decoration to be seen ; for the late Lord 
 Danvers had a consummate knowledge and 
 a real taste for art. 
 
 Thus, along the old corridor, which 
 had been converted to the purposes 
 of a picture-gallery, the young visitor 
 was led, pausing every now and then,
 
 THE FATE. 1^1 
 
 to examine more closely one or other 
 of the portraits which hung upon the wall. 
 The whole history of each was well known 
 to Mr. Drayton, who gave it in full to his 
 young companion, not, perhaps, without a 
 little embellishment. ' in order to keep his 
 attention engaged. 
 
 At first, Ralph walked listlessly enough ; 
 but gradually his mind assumed an interest 
 in the subjects wdiich were laid before him, 
 and he stopped several times to gaze at 
 the different portraits as he passed by. 
 asking the names and history of the per- 
 sonages. Some were by Sir Peter Lely — 
 some by Van Dyke ; and the collection 
 went as far back even as Holbein. The Dan- 
 vers' family of course figured conspicuously. 
 There were Danverses of all periods of 
 life, from the infant, swathed up like an 
 Egyptian mummy, to the white-bearded 
 senior in his high-backed chair ; men in 
 armour, with pages holding the casque, 
 and a horse looking over the left shoulder ; 
 gentlemen in long gowns and venerable
 
 132 THE FATE. 
 
 ruffs ; and ladies in stiff bodices, or with 
 collars buttoned up to the chin. In addi- 
 tion to these, were a number of portraits 
 representing persons, either allied to the 
 family by blood or affection, or figuring 
 remarkably in history. Howards, there 
 were many ; Percys, not a few ; and, in 
 fact, the records of each age, since the 
 family rose to distinction, had their repre- 
 sentatives on the walls. 
 
 Amongst the rest, were two full-length 
 portraits of ladies in the early spring of 
 life. One was represented standing with a 
 large Spanish fan in her hand, while a grey- 
 hound, raised upon his hind feet, and with 
 his curling tail dropping gracefully near 
 to the ground, had his paws upon a table 
 supporting a globe of gold and silver fishes, 
 which he seemed to be eyeing with intense 
 curiosity and some appetite. The face of 
 the lady was exquisitely beautiful ; and 
 Ralph had no occasion to enquire the name 
 of the original, for the likeness to Horten- 
 sia was so strong, though the hair was a
 
 THE FATE. 133 
 
 shade less dark, that no one who had seen 
 her could fail to recognize her mother. 
 The other portrait was of a rather taller 
 lady, leaning upon a marble urn, which had 
 something sepulchral in its character. Her 
 eyes were raised, so as to seem gazing 
 directly at the spectator, and her right 
 hand was stretched out as if she were 
 offering it to the figure in the other 
 picture. In those eyes was that deep, 
 intense expression which is never seen 
 — no, never — except in persons whose 
 feelings are strong and permanent ; and 
 the painter had caught that look, and re- 
 presented it with wonderful power, making 
 the beauty of the features and of the 
 colouring subservient to the sentiment. It 
 was a face that Ralph knew well ; and to 
 see the portrait of his own mother side by 
 side with that of the late Lady Danvera 
 made him feel indeed as if there were 
 nearer bonds between him and Hortensia 
 than anything like a sudden friendship, or
 
 134 THE FATE. 
 
 the acquaintance of a few short days, 
 could afford. 
 
 " I must always feel towards her as a 
 brother," he thought ; " and she has nobly 
 proved that she regards me as such. One 
 of my first acts must be to disabuse her 
 mind of the idea that I would so lightly 
 draw my sword against my cousin Henry's 
 life." 
 
 Then, turning to Mr. Drayton, he asked, 
 " Is there any picture of Lady Dan vers 
 here ?" 
 
 " Only one, sir, in her own morning- 
 room," replied the steward. " It was 
 taken when she was quite a child, and she 
 would never sit for one afterwards. This 
 is the room." And, taking a step or two 
 forward, he opened a door on the left. 
 
 Thelights which the servants carried, slow- 
 ly penetrated the gloom ; and Ralph gazed 
 round with deep interest at the arrange- 
 ment of the place where so fair and in- 
 teresting a creature as Hortensia made her
 
 THE FATE 135 
 
 ordinary abode. Nowhere could his eye 
 rest without finding some proof of her 
 fine taste, and of a certain spirit of order, 
 neatness, and decoration, rarely met with 
 in one so young. Antique cabinets of 
 ebony, with silver hinges and locks, ay ere 
 in several parts of the room, containing, 
 doubtless, many little treasures of vertu. 
 A large table in the middle, supported by 
 richly carved and twisted columns of dark 
 black oak, was covered with miniatures, 
 sculptures in ivory, pieces of rare china, 
 curious ancient ornaments, one or two small 
 books in very ancient bindings, and two or 
 three statuettes in bronze or ivory, 
 which might, perhaps, have employed the 
 hand of Cellini the renowned Florentine. 
 Here, also, were a number of specimens of 
 the Cinquecento art placed beneath glass 
 covers to keep them from the dust : a cru- 
 cifixion in ivory, where the intense passions 
 of the visage seemed to make the 
 dead material live ; a drinking- cup of 
 silver, from the sides of which stood out, in
 
 136 THE FATE. 
 
 bold relief, some scores of figures holding 
 up wreaths of flowers to the brim, as if to 
 catch the drops of wine that might run 
 over, and every figure differing from the 
 other, but anatomically perfect and full of 
 grace ; a salt-cellar of gold, used, probably, 
 at high festivals in days of yore, where, on 
 a large cockleshell of gold, intended to con- 
 tain the salt, stood the figure of Neptune, 
 waving his trident over the heads of two 
 sea-horses, while round about were ex- 
 quisitely grouped, with arms sometimes 
 linked together, sometimes cast round 
 each other's necks or shoulders, in every 
 different attitude that can be conceived, 
 the numberless deities of the wave. 
 
 On the walls around, between the various 
 cabinets and the windows, were a number 
 of small and beautiful pictures from the 
 hands of the greatest masters. They were 
 principally landscapes, though, here and 
 there, a figure-piece of the Dutch or Flemish 
 school found admittance, where the subject 
 fitted it for a lady's eyes. There was only
 
 THE FATE 137 
 
 one large picture in the room, and that 
 was of a young girl, rather fancifully 
 dressed, putting aside with her hand the 
 green leaves and branches of a tree, and 
 seeming to look out from the shadowy 
 bower on those who gazed at her in 
 return. The face was full of life, and 
 light, and intelligence, and joy ; youth 
 was evidently holding revel in her heart, 
 and the spirit of the free greenwood seemed 
 over all. Although Hortensia's eyes had 
 deeper things in them now — although the 
 expression was generally, more thoughtful, 
 more timid — and although the form, there 
 in the bud, had blossomed into womanly 
 loveliness, — yet Ralph had no difficulty in 
 recognizing Hortensia in the delicate fea- 
 tures and wild graces of the child. He 
 paused longer there, and with deeper in- 
 terest, than he had done anywhere else ; 
 and, as the servant continued to hold up 
 the lights before him, and Mr. Drayton 
 stood a step behind, a slight smile came 
 upon the face of the latter, arising, appa-
 
 138 THE FATE. 
 
 rently, from some conclusions that he was 
 drawing in his own mind. 
 
 " This is my lady's dressing-room," he 
 said, after awhile, opening a door beyond ; 
 " and this her bed-room/' 
 
 Ralph followed, and gazed round. Here, 
 it was evident, the same spirit resided ; but 
 the bed-room itself was very simply 
 arranged. There was a fire-place for a 
 wood fire, with a mantel-piece of rich white 
 marble, supported by two beautiful columns; 
 and the andirons, according to the ancient 
 mode, were decorated with two large dogs' 
 heads, exquisitely sculptured in brass. 
 Above the mantel-piece was another pic- 
 ture of the late Ladv Danvers. The chairs 
 were of green velvet, and the hangings of 
 the bed the same. The pillow and the 
 sheet were edged with lace ; and, as Ralph 
 gazed at the spot where Hortensia laid her 
 head to rest, he said to himself, with a 
 strange feeling that he did not stop to 
 analyze, " May peace and happiness ever 
 rest there with her !"
 
 THE FATE. 139 
 
 Turning away with the good steward, he 
 proceeded through a number of other 
 rooms; but, though the house had some his- 
 torical associations, and a number of those 
 old dreamy stair-cases, passages, and halls, 
 which fill the unoccupied mind with 
 strange imaginings, no part had such an 
 interest for him, as that which he had 
 visited first ; and he returned to the room 
 in which he had been sitting, with the pain- 
 ful feelings of the day busy in his heart, 
 but mingled with some pleasant thoughts, 
 induced by all that he had seen in the 
 apartments of Hortensia. 
 
 "I will now, Mr. Drayton," he said, 
 " write some letters, and then retire to 
 rest." 
 
 " Ay, sir, it is always better/' rejoined 
 Mr. Drayton, in that commonplace tone 
 which jars with strong emotions, " to 
 write a letter at night, take counsel with 
 one's pillow, and read it over before one 
 sends it in the morning. It seems my lady 
 has made some mistake about this duel
 
 140 THE FATE. 
 
 and it has taken you by surprise. You 
 had better think well, sir, before you act 
 in anyway; for one does not always do the 
 wisest when one acts in a hurry." 
 
 ' k True, true, Mr. Drayton," said Ralph, 
 in an absent tone, " I will think before I 
 act ; but still, I must not suffer an imputa- 
 tion to rest upon me, which I do not de- 
 serve," And, after having procured writing 
 materials, he proceeded to indite several 
 letters, of which I shall only give one as a 
 specimen. 
 
 It was addressed to Lord Woodhall, and 
 was to the following effect. 
 
 " My Honored and very dear Lord, 
 
 u I have this evening, and only 
 this evening, learned the sad and terrible 
 event which has occurred in your family, 
 and which has deprived me, not only of a 
 very dear relation, but of one who has been 
 my friend from boyhood. Though your 
 Lordship's grief must naturally be greater
 
 THE FATE. 141 
 
 than that of any other person, believe me 
 that mine, upon receiving this intelligence, 
 would have been hard enough to bear 
 without aggravation ; but, coupled with the 
 sad information, come the strange tidings 
 that, by some mistake, to me unaccountable, 
 my name has been mingled with the trans- 
 action which deprived you of your dear 
 son, and me of my friend and cousin. I can- 
 not leave you to suppose for one moment 
 that I would have drawn my sword upon 
 your son ; but I have farther to declare 
 that there was no quarrel or dispute be- 
 tween us whatsoever ; that we parted on the 
 night of Wednesday last in perfect friend- 
 ship and good feeling ; and that I have 
 not either seen or heard from him since, 
 as I set out early on the morning of Thurs- 
 day, to escort Lady Danvers westward, 
 and have not been in Norwich since. Kay, 
 more ; it is utterly impossible that I could 
 have been there, as I am willing to prove 
 any day, by accounting for every mo-
 
 142 THE FATK, 
 
 ment of my time, and producing persons 
 who were with me. If, notwithstanding 
 my solemn assurance, your Lordship should 
 still entertain doubts of the fact I mention, 
 which cannot be removed by private inves- 
 tigation, I am not at all unwilling to abide 
 fair and open trial ; and if I do foot shew 
 that there was no possibility whatsoever of 
 my having been on the spot, and at the 
 hour, where and when the unfortunate 
 transaction took place, let me be condemn- 
 ed as a murderer. 
 
 " One thing, however, I would fain avoid, 
 which is lengthened imprisonment ; but if 
 it is publicly given forth on what day the 
 charge against me can be tried, I pledge 
 you my word of honor, as a man and a 
 gentleman, I will come forward at the place 
 named, and surrender myself to abide the 
 result. 
 
 " With the hope that God may comfort 
 you in the sad affliction with which he has 
 been pleased to visit you, and that he may
 
 THE FATE 143 
 
 shower every blessing upon yourself and 
 your daughter, I have the honor to subscribe 
 myself, my Lord, 
 
 " Your Lordship's most faithful 
 " And humble servant, 
 
 " Ralph Woodhall." 
 
 Another letter of similar import was 
 addressed to the Duke of Norfolk, another 
 to his own father, and another to Lady 
 Danvers. 
 
 He would fain have written to Margaret 
 also ; but he paused, hesitated, and finally, 
 abandoned his intention. 
 
 When these were all concluded, he sent 
 for Gaunt Stilling, to consult with him as 
 to the best means of despatching the let- 
 ters from that part of the country ; as 
 communications by post were, in those 
 days, not very rapid or secure.
 
 144 THE FATE. 
 
 " I will have them conveyed, sir," said 
 Stilling, taking the letters, " though Nor- 
 wich and London are far apart, and Lin- 
 colnshire a good way off too ; but if the 
 object of these letters is what I guess, I 
 think you might save yourself the trouble 
 and expense, which will not be small." 
 
 " What do you guess the object is V 9 
 asked Ralph. 
 
 The man paused for an instant, and then 
 answered, — " To tell all these people that 
 you are not the man who killed Mr. Henry 
 Woodhall." 
 
 "Do you not think it worth my while to 
 clear myself of shedding my cousin's 
 blood V 9 asked Ralph, with some feeling of 
 anger at the man's cool tone. 
 
 " Certainly, sir, " replied Stilling," but I 
 think it is done already, in all probability. 
 Either you do not know well the person 
 who first placed me with you, or he has 
 not told you how his eyes are always on 
 those in whom he takes an interest. His 
 eyes need no perspective glasses, sir, and
 
 THE FATE. 145 
 
 he is just as well aware of the whole facts 
 as you or I — better, indeed, most likely, 
 than either of us. Nor will he let the 
 knowledge sleep, depend upon it. He will 
 make jour cause good witli those who are 
 most concerned, whether you ask him or 
 not." 
 
 Ralph smiled faintly. " You seem to 
 have great faith," he said ; " but 1 must 
 not trust to anything like a chance in such 
 matters. 1 should wish the letters to go." 
 
 " Well, sir, they shall go," replied Gaunt 
 Stilling ; " but one must trust to chance in 
 all matters. For instance, I must give this 
 letter for London, to the King's post. 
 There's a chance of his being stopped 
 on the way. This must be sent to 
 Lady Danvers by a special messenger, 
 who is just as likely to miss her as not. 
 The Duke of Norfolk will be gone from 
 Norwich by this time, and — " 
 
 Ralph waved his hand somewhat impa- 
 tiently. "I wish them to go," he said. 
 
 vol. n. H
 
 146 THE F..TE. 
 
 " There is no chance, at least, of the mes- 
 senger not reaching London/' 
 
 " The greatest in the world," answered 
 Gaunt Stilling ; " but I see, sir, you 
 are not aware of all that is going on. Do 
 you know that the country between this 
 and London is all in a flame % If civil 
 war has not bioken out already, it won't 
 be long first ; and depend upon it that no 
 letter will reach London, without being 
 stopped and examined, for this month to 
 come. I haven't got all the particulars right ; 
 but you shall hear more to-morrow morning, 
 for I have friends in Lyme, where this 
 matter first broke out, and I have sent over 
 a boy to enquire." 
 
 " Give me the letters," said Ralph Wood- 
 hall, " and 1 will decide to-morrow, when 
 we have heard more." 
 
 Thus saying, he took them back, deter- 
 mining, on account of the difficulties Stilling 
 threw in his way, to see them despatched 
 himself. The news of insurrection made
 
 THE FATE. 147 
 
 but slight impression upon his mind at the 
 moment, occupied so fully as it was by 
 personal feelings ; but he asked a few 
 questions, in an indifferent tone ; and, re- 
 ceiving nothing but a statement of vague 
 rumours, to which he attached little im- 
 portance, he retired to bed, resolved to rise 
 early on the following morning, and tran- 
 sact his business for himself. 
 
 H 2
 
 14 8 THE FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The most capricious gift of heaven is 
 sleep. 
 
 This is a very bad expression — unphilo- 
 sophical — not logical ; jet it expresses 
 what I mean, better perhaps than any 
 other form I could have used. A gift 
 cannot be capricious, though the giver 
 may ; and yet, in this instance, the giver 
 is never capricious, and the gift, as if itself 
 instinct with life and will and perversity, 
 seems to have no rule, no regularity, 
 no consistent effect. One is always 
 inclined to repeat or copy the opening of 
 Young's " Kight Thoughts," when one
 
 THE FATE. 149 
 
 speaks of sleep ; and yet the owl-poet, soft 
 and solemn as he was, did not uniformly 
 direct his flights aright. Sleep does not 
 always " His ready visit pay where for- 
 tune smiles;" nor does he always '"forsake 
 the wretched, to light on lids unsullied b\ 
 a tear/' Far, far, from it! Shakspeare 
 knew the world, waking and sleeping, better 
 than Young ; for sleep does often u knit 
 up the ravelled sleave of care," and bestows 
 his balmy blessing, as the gift of Heaven, 
 upon wearied eye-lids, and aching hearts, 
 and care-worn brains, which nought of 
 earth, earthly, w T ou!d ever soothe. Ay, 
 and he does so, too, in circumstances where 
 the blessed boon could never be expected ; 
 unless man could calculate finely, and to 
 the utmost nicety, all the varied shades of 
 the heart's feelings — all the different hues 
 of the mind's thoughts — all the delicate out- 
 lines of the body's sensations — and balance 
 the harmonies existing through the who ] e, 
 as in a goldsmith's scale. 
 
 Ralph Woodhall lay down to rest : to
 
 150 THE FATE. 
 
 rest, mark me — not to sleep. Sleep he 
 never calculated upon. His mind was as 
 busy and as active when his head touched 
 the pillow, as his body had been during 
 the four or five days preceding. But his 
 body was weary : a dull numbness was in 
 his limbs, an oppressive burden upon his 
 corporeal energies, that weighed them down; 
 and he thought he could find repose, though 
 not slumber. In a moment, however, came 
 a vacancy of thought — a dead, leaden lapse 
 in mental existence — a space in which in- 
 tellect and feeling were alike torpid. 
 Suddenly, the mind or the heart — I know 
 not which— woke up, and the body itself 
 was roused by the start of its companions. 
 He raised himself on his arm — gazed wildly 
 round upon the darkness — half remembered, 
 half forgot, where he was — sank slowly back 
 upon his pillow, and slept profoundly. 
 
 His sleep was long as well as deep. The 
 morning sun rose, and shone into the room ; 
 the summer birds began their song, and 
 carolled at his window, all unheard ; his
 
 THE FATE. J 51 
 
 servant came in — gazed at, but would not 
 wake, him — and retired, saying to himself — 
 " Would I could sleep so V\ The breakfast 
 table was laid in the small room below ; 
 the church clock struck nine, and Ralph 
 was sleeping still. 
 
 It was not exhaustion of body ; for he 
 was accustomed to hard and robust exer- 
 cise, often repeated, long continued : but it 
 was exhaustion of body and mind to- 
 gether. 
 
 The immortal spirit, bound up in 
 fleshly clay, partakes of the infirmity of its 
 fellowship ; and that which, liberated from 
 earth, must necessarily be unconscious of 
 weariness, feels, when linked in the bond 
 of life with dust, a part of the weight 
 which hangs upon its mortal companion. 
 
 Both the spirit and body of Ralph 
 Woodhall were now weary — both slept. 
 There was an utter vacancy of all things 
 in that dull, leaden repose. There 
 was no movement — no tossing to and 
 fro — no murmuring of the lips — no dream
 
 152 THE FATE. 
 
 — no thought— no feeling — no waking. 
 All was still. The beating of the heart 
 went on — the mere mechanism of life was 
 there : the wheel was not still ; the silver 
 chain was not broken : there was existence 
 without life — without the living life, de- 
 prived of which, existence is but a gap in 
 time. 
 
 It was nearly ten when he awoke ; but 
 then, the shortened shadow on the floor, 
 the brightness of the sunshine as it 
 streamed through the window, and its 
 warm, yellowish, unempurpled light, showed 
 how long he had slept ; and he proceeded 
 to dress himself in haste. 
 
 As he stood by the window at the toilet- 
 table, bestowing no great pains upon his 
 attire, for mind had by this time recovered 
 the full mastery of her mortal ally, he 
 saw a horseman, crossing with speed the 
 open space of the park which lay between 
 the house and a little bridge that 
 spanned the river some half a mile farther 
 up. The man was dressed in the livery
 
 THE FATE. 153 
 
 of Lady Danvers, which, as most liveries 
 were in those days, was somewhat gay, if 
 not gaudy ; and the horse seemed tired 
 enough to require frequently the whip and 
 spur. 
 
 Ralph took no great notice ; for his 
 mind was busy within its own peculiar- 
 sphere of thought, and sent forth few 
 scouts to take heed of what was passing 
 beyond. He saw the man gallop up to 
 the terrace, and pass round to the back 
 of the house, without even any men- 
 tal comment. He did not ask who he 
 could be — why he rode so fast — or what 
 intelligence he brought. To him, it was 
 nothing more than that something had ar- 
 rived at the mansion — that a horse and 
 man had passed rapidly before his eyes, 
 and that they were gone. 
 
 He was still absorbed in the thoughts of 
 the preceding day, when a gentle knock 
 at the door roused him ; and, turning 
 round, he saw Mr. Drayton entering with 
 some letters in his hand.
 
 154 THE FATE. 
 
 " I beg pardon for intruding, sir," said 
 the steward, with a bow of profound 
 respect ; " but a servant has brought some 
 letters from my lady, amongst which is 
 this for yourself, marked — ' With the ut- 
 most speed/ I therefore made bold to 
 break in upon your rest ; for your servant 
 told me you were still sleeping." 
 
 " T thank you, Mr. Drayton," returned 
 Ralph. " I have a good deal overslept 
 myself. What says your lady V 1 
 
 " But little to me, sir," replied the 
 steward, " except to give you this letter 
 immediately, and to send the other to 
 Lady Di Fullerton, who often stays here; 
 but I thought this needed immediate 
 notice, and therefore, as I have said, I 
 brought it up." 
 
 Ralph took the letter with more indif- 
 ference than Mr. Drayton thought alto- 
 gether proper towards the hand and seal 
 of his fair, influential mistress; and having 
 opened it, read as follows : —
 
 THE PATE. 155 
 
 " I write to you in haste, dear 
 friend ; for, since you left me, I have 
 heard much which requires to be spoken of 
 between you and me immediately. Some 
 mistakes have evidently been committed — 
 where or how, I cannot stop to enquire ; 
 and it is needful, before you take any step 
 whatever, that you should consult with 
 some one, even though it be so humble a 
 counsellor as myself. More dangers sur- 
 round you than you at all imagine, very 
 different from those which alarmed me on 
 the day you left me, and which have now 
 passed away from my mind. These can- 
 not be explained by letter ; but you must 
 now — I enjoin and require you, by courtesy 
 and gallantry, which I know you possess if 
 you would but show them — to remain a 
 close prisoner in my house till you see me, 
 without doing act or deed which can bring- 
 any one to know where you are concealed. 
 I may add, that warrants are out against 
 you for crimes less pardonable than the
 
 156 THE FATE. 
 
 mere fighting a duel ; and that you 
 must not be found till the doubts and 
 fears that shake men's minds have 
 passed away. Do not suppose I will keep 
 you long waiting, although I do not choose 
 to commit the facts of which I am cog- 
 nizant to the peril of a letter ; but T am 
 following you as rapidly as may be ; bold 
 in my independence — and, I trust, right in 
 my purposes. Nevertheless, to escape the 
 world's forked tongue, I have written to 
 an amiable, but antique, cousin, married 
 and widowed, to come over to Danvers 
 Newchurch. Should she arrive before 
 myself, show her all courtesy and kind- 
 ness; and believe me, if you will let me be 
 so, 
 
 " Your kind sister, 
 
 " HoRTENSIA DanVEES." 
 
 "Ralph studied the letter with much 
 attention, read and re-read every sentence
 
 THE FATE. 157 
 
 several times, and ultimately resolved to 
 abide by the counsel it contained, and to 
 await the coming of his fair hostess, ere 
 he took any step whatever. It was evi- 
 dent — so he argued — that Lady Danvers 
 was disabused of the idea that he had 
 killed his cousin Henry in a duel ; but 
 the nature of the peril to which she alluded, 
 he could not at all divine. 
 
 Could it be, he asked himself, that, in 
 order to secure his vengeance, the influence 
 of Lord Woodhall, who attributed to him 
 his son's death, had been exerted with such 
 effect as to create a factitious accusation 
 that he, Ralph, had committed some 
 other offence against the laws \ Such 
 an idea would never occur to any Eng- 
 lishman in the present day ; and the 
 very mention of it would be laughed to 
 scorn. But it must be recollected that this 
 was no vain and improbable fancy in the 
 times of which 1 am speaking. Trumped- 
 up charges, for the purpose of destroying 
 a political adversary or a private enemy,
 
 158 THE FATE. 
 
 had been, for more than twenty years, and 
 still were, as common as daisies. Nor had 
 such villany yet reached its height ; for 
 the three succeeding years displayed an 
 amount of nefarious practices of this kind, 
 which, probably, never before, and cer- 
 tainly never after, stained the history of 
 any Christian country. Courts of law, too, 
 were notoriously corrupt. Judges were 
 bought, sold, and influenced. Scroggs and 
 Jeffreys had dishonored the judgment-seat; 
 attorneys-general were at the beck and 
 call of every political enmity or court 
 intrigue ; and corrupt sheriffs selected, 
 packed, and instructed the juries of the 
 day, on the basest motives, for the most 
 infamous purposes. 
 
 It was no chimera of the imagi- 
 nation, then, that Ralph Woodliall 
 dreaded ; but a real and substantial dan- 
 ger, which might affect any man who had 
 incurred the enmity of power and influ- 
 ence. No great harm could be done, he 
 thought, by delay ; and he determined not 
 to send the letters which he had written on
 
 THE FATE. 159 
 
 the preceding evening, till Lady Danvers 
 should arrive. 
 
 On questioning the man who had brought 
 her letters, he found that she might be 
 expected in two days ; and, to follow 
 her directions exactly, he took a strong 
 resolution to confine himself to the house, 
 till he should be made more fully aware of 
 the peril that menaced him. 
 
 But alas for human resolutions, and for 
 young men's, above all ! Ralph was un- 
 easy and restless. The anxiety of his mind 
 left him no repose. He tried to read ; 
 and the fine library of Danvers New- 
 church afforded ample opportunity ; but 
 he soon found that the delight in books was 
 for the time gone. He thought of Marga- 
 ret, and of his poor cousin Henry, and 
 with a feeling of sympathy and pity for 
 old Lord Woodhall himself. He knew 
 well that the first effect of his son's violent 
 death, would be to produce rage and a 
 thirst for vengeance, which might be 
 turned against any person by the slightest
 
 160 THE FATE. 
 
 accident ; but he knew, also, that this 
 would subside, and that profound grief 
 would take the place of anger, and would, 
 very probably, affect the old man's health, if 
 not his intellect. 
 
 He paced up and down the room. He 
 gazed forth from the window, full of thought. 
 He tasted very little of the dinner set be- 
 fore him. He looked at his watch often, 
 to see how the dull day went. In fact, to 
 use a vulgar, but significant, expression, he 
 could settle to nothing. At length, as the 
 sun began to go down, he felt that longing 
 for the free open air which is so hard to be 
 resisted. He persuaded himself that no harm 
 could accrue from his wandering out into 
 the park. He would go no farther, he 
 thought ; and, throughout the whole live- 
 long day, he had seen no one but the ser- 
 vants walking to and from the house, or 
 a gamekeeper, with a gun on his shoulder, 
 crossing the wide expanse within the walls ; 
 so that his walk was likely to be solitary 
 and uninterrupted. Resolution soon gave
 
 THE FATE. 161 
 
 way under such reasoning ; and out he 
 went, wandering quietly along, and soon 
 losing himself amidst the scattered trees 
 and undulations of the ground. 
 
 It is very pleasant to lose oneself some- 
 times ; to shake off everything habitual ; to 
 be without sight of houses and men, free from 
 the busy scene of mortal coil ; to comrade with 
 Nature, and to see nought but Nature's han- 
 diwork around. And Ralph, certainly, had 
 ample opportunity of doing so ; for, quit- 
 ting the path, and taking his way across 
 the green turf, he was soon out of sight of 
 the house, and wandering on among the 
 old fantastic hawthorns, with the fern wav- 
 ing its plumes up to his knees, and here 
 and there a chesnut, or an oak, spreading 
 its green branches over his head. Every 
 now and then, a rabbit or a hare would 
 dart away from his foot, and cunningly 
 gallop through the tall, concealing fern, 
 marking its course by a long wavy line. A 
 herd of deer, here and there, would stand 
 and gaze at him as he passed, keeping him at
 
 162 THE FATE. 
 
 a safe distance, or trotting away with in- 
 creasing speed if he came suddenly near. 
 A solitary doe, also, started up as he ap- 
 proached her lair amongst the longest 
 leaves, and scampered off in a different 
 direction from the herd * and Ralph would 
 moralize upon her, somewhat in the vein of 
 Jaques, asking himself what she had done 
 to be thus shut out from fellowship with 
 her kind — what offence she had committed 
 against the laws and proprieties of deer. 
 
 All these things were around him, but 
 there was no trace of man. If the scene 
 had ever been embellished by man's hand, 
 the vestiges of his handiwork had passed 
 away, and all seemed Nature's doing. 
 Clouds, too, were flitting over the sky — 
 large, grand, fleecy, summer clouds, low 
 down in the air, and looking like the island 
 of the Laputan sages. Ralph's fancy play- 
 ed with them too. He made flying thrones 
 of them, and winged chariots ; and longed 
 to have some enchanter's spell to call one
 
 THE FATE. 163 
 
 down to receive him, that he might float 
 away upon its soft, calm couch, till he could 
 step gently down at Margaret's side. 
 
 This pleasant amusement of the mind — 
 this refreshing solitude — had no long time 
 to last. After walking about half a mile 
 through the fern, the wall of the park ap- 
 peared in sight, and Ralph, turning a little 
 to the left, resolved to follow its course, and 
 regain the house by the other side. He soon, 
 however, heard voices speaking behind the 
 wall, and judged rightly that, beyond it, 
 lay some public road. An instant after, as 
 he looked on, he saw a man leap the 
 wall, at the distance of about a hundred 
 yards farther up the hill, and immediately 
 crouch down amongst the fern and long- 
 grass, which was there peculiarly tall. 
 Ralph paused for a moment, to watch what 
 would follow ; and, standing under an old 
 chesnut tree, could see without being seen. 
 Running feet were heard immediately after ; 
 and then the head and shoulders of another 
 man appeared above the wall. After gazing
 
 164 THE FATE. 
 
 quickly round, the last comer ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 "He has run on — he has run on! He 
 must either have taken down, over the 
 bridge, or amongst the cottages by old 
 mother Diamond's/' 
 
 Thus saying, he let go his hold of the 
 wall, and disappeared ; and Ralph could 
 hear the sound of many persons running 
 fast, and calling to each other as they went. 
 His curiosity was excited by the scene he 
 had witnessed ; and he connected it in his 
 own mind with some vague information, 
 which Gaunt Stilling had brought him in 
 the morning, of a rising on the sea-board 
 of Dorsetshire, which Ralph had judged, 
 from the man's account, to be of no greater 
 importance than a riot in a country town. 
 He walked straightforward, then, towards 
 the spot where the man who had leaped 
 the wall lay concealed; and had approached 
 very near, when the stranger started upon 
 his feet with a large horse-pistol in his hand, 
 and warned him to stand back.
 
 THE FATE. 165 
 
 "I will not be taken by a single man," he 
 said, "I will die first with arms in my hand." 
 ' k I do not seek to take you, my good 
 friend," returned Italph, in a calm tone. 
 k - I have no commission for such a thing. 
 ]3ut you had better put up your pistol ; 
 for if you should be foolish enough to fire, 
 it would bring back to the spot those 
 who, apparently, are seeking you, as well as 
 servants and game-keepers enough to 
 render your other arms useless." 
 
 " Then, will you swear not to touch me, 
 if I do put it up — not to attempt to take 
 me, I mean V interrogated the stranger, 
 after having eyed him attentively for a 
 moment. 
 
 " I will give you my honour/' replied 
 Ralph ; " and that must satisfy you. But I 
 should much like to know, if you please, 
 what you are doing here within the walls of 
 this park, where I imagine you have no 
 business, and where you are exceedingly 
 likely to be apprehended as a deer- 
 stealer."
 
 166 THE FATE. 
 
 " I am the most unfortunate of men," 
 cried the other ; " and have only escaped 
 one peril to fall into another. Sir, I assure 
 you I came not to steal your deer, but 
 merely to escape from those blood-hounds 
 of a tyrant, who are following me to the 
 death." 
 
 Lamentable as was his reply, something 
 almost ludicrous sounded in the tone in 
 which it was delivered ; and Ealph smiled 
 slightly, as he rejoined — " The deer are 
 not mine, my good friend, nor am I the 
 proprietor of this park, but merely a guest 
 at the house." 
 
 He was going on, when the other inter- 
 rupted him with a theatrical gesture, say- 
 ing — -" Then I beseech you, sir, if you 
 have any generosity or chivalry in your dis- 
 position, aid an unfortunate stranger who 
 is only persecuted on account of his politi- 
 cal and religious opinions. I have com- 
 mitted no crime. They can charge me 
 with no other fault than that of hating 
 tyranny and popery."
 
 THE FATE. 167 
 
 " If that be all your offence," replied 
 Ralph, " many a man in the land would be 
 chargeable with the same, and myself 
 amongst the rest. But I really know not 
 how to serve you, unless it be by leading 
 you to a way out of the park, in a different 
 direction from that which your pursuers 
 have taken. I saw a gate, a few minutes 
 ago, up the stream. The men have gone down 
 below, towards the bridge, and will very 
 likely search the park, when they find 
 themselves disappointed there. You had 
 better follow me, therefore, as fast as possi- 
 ble, in order to have a fair start." 
 
 " Without delay, without delay !" ex- 
 claimed the stranger, waving his hand in 
 what he conceived a very graceful manner ; 
 and, pursuing his course onward by the 
 wall, Ralph conducted him towards a 
 gate of the park which was visible from 
 the house. As they went, the stranger, 
 who seemed rather given to babbling, 
 entered into more conversation than 
 Ralph, perhaps, desired. Nor was
 
 ]68 THE FATE. 
 
 the style exactly suited to compen- 
 sate for the defects of the manner. His 
 language was a mixture of bad French 
 and somewhat vulgar English, with the 
 assistance, every now and then, of a word 
 or two of low Dutch ; and in this jargon 
 he went on to inform Ralph of a variety of 
 particulars, which, had our young friend's 
 loyalty been very rampant, might have in- 
 duced him to cause his arrest on the spot. 
 He boasted that a fortnight could not pass 
 before the crown of England would be upon 
 the head of a good, true, Protestant King ; 
 that the whole land was rising in favour of 
 the legitimate heir to the throne ; and that 
 the army itself was full of disaffection to 
 the reigning monarch. 
 
 Kalph stopped him as soon as he could, 
 half inclined to believe he was insane, 
 and anxious to get rid of him as quickly 
 as possible ; but, before they reached the 
 gate towards which their steps were 
 directed, they were encountered by a 
 game-keeper, who stopped full in their
 
 THE FATE. 169 
 
 way, looking at them both sternly as they 
 approached. 
 
 Suddenly, however, the man's face 
 changed, and he exclaimed, with a laugh, 
 " Ah, Tom Dare ! when did vou come 
 back from beyond sea ? I thought you 
 could not venture. Why, do you know, 
 man, you are proclaimed, and all the lads 
 of Taunton are looking for you V } 
 
 Tom Dare, as the keeper called him, 
 had, at first, shrunk into himself in evi- 
 dent consternation ; but the last words 
 seemed to rouse him, and, resuming his 
 high-flown style, he answered, " They shall 
 soon find me, for I am going there tout 
 droit? 
 
 " But who is this gentleman V asked 
 the keeper, looking at Ralph with some 
 degree of suspicion, and addressing his 
 question to the man he called Tom Dare. 
 
 Ralph, however, took upon himself to 
 answer, saying, " I am a guest of Lady 
 Danvers, my friend; and, finding this 
 person in the park, I undertook to shew 
 him the way to the gate." 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 170 THE FATE. 
 
 " Oh, sir, you are the gentleman staying 
 at the house V said the keeper, cloning his 
 hat. " As to Tommy Dare here, the 
 sooner he is out of the park the better ; in- 
 deed, I don't know what he does here at all." 
 
 To this uncivil speech, Mr. Dare only 
 replied by a rueful shake of the head, and 
 by some muttered words in regard to a 
 certain lady of Babylon, who has a very 
 unpleasant reputation. In the meantime, 
 however, he sped on ; the game-keeper 
 turning in the direction of the gate also, as 
 if to see him out of the park. An air of 
 doubt and hesitation was about the keeper's 
 face ; and once or twice he muttered to 
 himself, " I don't know — I'm not sure, but 
 I ought — yet, hang it! one's own towns- 
 man ! — No, no ; I can't do it." 
 
 As soon as they came in sight of the 
 gate at the upper part of the park, both 
 Ralph and the keeper stopped, and the 
 latter said, ( ' There's the gate, Master 
 I are, and I'll give you a word of advice. 
 Take care of your neck if you get to 
 Taunton. I don't believe you'll find the
 
 THE FATE. 171 
 
 folks bide any nonsense there, especially 
 when riots are going on in the country." 
 
 Mr. Dare, who was a step or two in 
 advance, waved his hand solemnly, and 
 Ralph thought he could hear the word, 
 " Fool !" ejaculated in a low tone. He 
 hurried on, however, and passed the gates, 
 when Ralph turned back with the game- 
 keeper on his way to the house. 
 
 a Who is that man V he asked, as they 
 proceeded. 
 
 '■ He is a bad fellow, sir," replied 
 the game-keeper, abruptly. His name 
 is Thomas Dare, who, at one time, had 
 a little money in Taunton, my native 
 town ; but he could not keep himself quiet, 
 for he was a great talker and orator, as 
 they called him, and got a number of folks 
 into a scrape in the last King's reign, then 
 left them to shift for themselves, and ran 
 away to Holland. I am not at all sure 
 that I ought not, by rights, to have appre- 
 hended him ; for he is a proclaimed outlaw, 
 and is here for no good, depend upon it." 
 I 2
 
 172 THE FATE. 
 
 Ralph did not make any comment, but 
 strolled back again towards the house, feel- 
 ing a little dissatisfied at himself for not 
 having adhered to his resolution of the 
 morning. The sun was setting when he 
 reached the door, purpling the slopes of the 
 park, and making the river glow like a 
 ruby. 
 
 Another day had passed ; and. as 
 he stood there and looked round for a 
 moment, Ralph could not help thinking how 
 different w T as the scene, and the spot, 
 and the circumstances, which had charac- 
 terized that day, from anything he could 
 have anticipated a few r weeks before.
 
 THE FATE. 173 
 
 CHAPTER TX. 
 
 The mansion of Danvers Newchurch, 
 when Ralph entered it, seemed silent and 
 solitary enough. It was too large for a 
 small household, such as now tenanted it. 
 The steward's apartments were far away ; 
 the rooms of the inferior servants still 
 farther distant ; and, entering the small 
 saloon in which he had passed the morn- 
 ing, Ralph felt as if he were the only in- 
 habitant of the house. The evening gleam, 
 now tinged with the grey of night, shone 
 in at the window ; the paintings on the 
 walls had become dim and indistinct ; shade 
 after shade fell with melancholy descent 
 over the sky ; and the ticking of a clock on
 
 174 THE FATE. 
 
 the stairs would have been the only sound 
 to break the stillness, had not the note 
 of a distant blackbird, singing beneath a 
 bush, intruded on the calm air of evening. 
 Ralph felt his spirits depressed, and was 
 not sorry when one of the old servants 
 entered the room, bearing letters in his 
 hand. 
 
 " This is for you, sir, I suppose,'' he 
 said. " Harry has just brought it back from 
 Lady Di. Fullerton, with this other for my 
 lady, against her return." 
 
 Ralph took the letter which the man 
 handed to him — a small, delicate note, 
 perfumed and sealed ; but it was too dark 
 by this time even to read the address, and 
 he had to wait till lights were brought. 
 When they had been set upon the table, he 
 bade the man send his servant to him. 
 
 " He borrowed a horse from Mr. Dray- 
 ton, sir," replied the domestic, " and rode 
 away about twelve o'clock. He has not 
 come back yet, I believe."
 
 THE FATE. 175 
 
 " I remember, I remember," said Ralph. 
 " He asked leave to go and see some of his 
 friends." 
 
 Then, turning to the note, he examined 
 the superscription, viz. 
 
 " To the Honourable Gentleman at 
 present residing at Danvers Newchurch." 
 
 Within, were written a few complimen- 
 tary lines in the French language, expres- 
 sing the regret of Lady Diana Fullerton, 
 that she could not have the extreme plea- 
 sure of doing the honours of her relative's 
 house to Lady Danvers's guest, as she had 
 been for some time too seriously unwell to 
 venture out of her own dressing-room. 
 Plenty of polite and courtly expressions 
 were employed ; but the main fact was, that 
 no chance appeared of Lady Di. Fullerton 
 being able to give her society and counten- 
 ance to Hortensia, during Ralph's stay at 
 Danvers Newchurch. 
 
 To say truth, Ralph did not very much 
 embarrass himself with reflections upon 
 this derangement of Lady Danvers's plans.
 
 176 THE FATE. 
 
 He was young and inexperienced in society ; 
 and a college life of those days was not at 
 all likely to open the eyes of a young man 
 to the proprieties of the world. He saw 
 no more reason why he should not stay 
 in the same house with Hortensia. than 
 stay in the same street ; and it must be 
 remembered, also, that that horrible cloak 
 of decorum, which, like charity, but too 
 frequently covers a multitude of sins, was 
 a thing hardly known in those days, when 
 the frenzied license of the Restoration was 
 only just giving place to the colder and 
 more covert debaucheries which succeeded, 
 He quietly tore to pieces Lady Diana 
 Fullerton's note, with very little reverence; 
 and, casting the subject from his mind, let 
 his thoughts rest, w 7 ith some of that im- 
 patience for action peculiar to 3-outh, 
 upon the death of his poor cousin 
 Henry, and the anguish which he knew 
 Margaret must be feeling, both for her 
 brother and for himself, if she believed 
 him guilty. He longed to fly to her, to
 
 THE PATF. 177 
 
 console her, to comfort her, to assure her 
 of his innocence and of his ever-enduring 
 affection ; but how rarely is it that Fate 
 allows us to do anything that we long to 
 do ! Had not the warning of Lady 
 Dan vers kept him in inactivity, he would 
 not have dared either to visit or to write 
 to, her whom he so much loved. He did 
 not know if their attachment to each 
 other had been really made known or not ; 
 for, although he had at first attributed the 
 anxiety of the Duke of Norfolk and Hor- 
 tensia, about removing him from the vicinity 
 of Lord Woodhall, to a discovery which he 
 knew would excite the old lord's highest 
 indignation, even without any of those 
 insinuations which Robert Woodhall was 
 too likely to add, yet that anxiety was 
 now explained in another maimer; and his 
 and Margaret's mutual love might be still 
 unknown, and their happiness be perilled 
 by any indiscreet act. 
 
 Thought, so rapid in itself that it can 
 girdle the great earth, " ere the leviathan 
 i j
 
 178 * THE FATE, 
 
 cans wiin a league," nevertheless makes time 
 often pass rapidly along with it. The 
 evening wore away insensibly, broken only 
 by one solitary ramble through the 
 galleries and rooms which he had visited 
 the night before. That ramble, indeed, 
 occupied some time, because many of the 
 pictures interested him ; and more than 
 once, he stood with the light in his hand, 
 gazing at the face of departed greatness or 
 beauty, and comparing what he knew, from 
 history and poetry, of the life now ended, 
 with the permanent expression of the coun- 
 tenance, as represented by the painter/ 
 
 It has always given me a strange sen- 
 sation to go through an ancient portrait- 
 gallery, and see the faces of the dead look- 
 ing down at me from the wall — living again, 
 as it were, in the spiritual world of art. 
 Their acts may be recorded on the pages 
 of history — their thoughts, their words, 
 transmitted to us, even in their own hands; 
 but those are mere voices — vague shadows 
 of a name. It is only the hand of 
 the painter, or of the scu'ptor, that can
 
 THE FATE. 179 
 
 give us the definite and the clear. On the 
 broad brow, in the liquid eye, in the curl of 
 the lip, in the dimpled cheek, in the poise 
 of the figure, in the very fall of the hand, 
 we read more of the character of human 
 beings, than in all they have written 
 or all they have done. Men write for 
 the world, and often act for the world. 
 Circumstances control them — events rule 
 them. Few, if any, are not, at some time, 
 if not at all times, acting a part ; and, even 
 where passion has spurned all governance, 
 and the fiery deed of love or hate has 
 seemed in its bright glare to reveal the 
 very inner secrets of the heart, still, no one 
 can tell how that heart may have been 
 affected by events of which we know no- 
 thing — how many motives, sensations, 
 feelings, passions, accidents, may not have 
 prompted and mingled with the deeds 
 which w r e only see in their harsh whole. 
 But upon the face and form, we are fond 
 of thinking that Nature has herself written 
 the description of her handiwork. There,
 
 180 THE FATE. 
 
 with some experience and very little skill, 
 by indications as small as the letters of a 
 book, we can read much of the mind, the 
 heart, the character, which no other page 
 can display ; and, at the same time, the 
 likeness of the fleshly tabernacle of the 
 spirit stands before us ; so that all that 
 can be known of the mixed being, is at 
 once in presence. 
 
 Oh great Lavater ! every one is, more or 
 less, a physiognomist. 
 
 Ralph gazed, then, upon those faces, 
 with association very busy in his mind ; or, 
 again, he would pause before a sunny land- 
 scape, and let the eye rest upon the goiden 
 skies, or wander through the far ex- 
 tended vales, or, pausing amongst the deep 
 groves of trees, watch the nymphs bathing 
 in the limpid stream, or the ancient arma- 
 ment sailing up, amidst columns, and tro- 
 phies, and palaces, to an imagined city. 
 The poetry of painting would wake 
 in his heart as many bright images as ever 
 were called up by verse or lyre.
 
 THE FATE. 181 
 
 Again, he would go on ; and, feeling free 
 in the solitude, he ventured once more into 
 Hortensia's own apartments. But this time 
 he got no farther than her picture. It 
 had, certainly, something fascinating in it. 
 He stood and gazed upon that blight face, 
 bursting through the branches in its wild, 
 gay youth, a']d comparing it, line by line, 
 with the features which memory preserved ; 
 and, as he did so, imagination was busy 
 too. He asked himself what were the 
 events, what the course of life, which had 
 subdued and chastened the light hilarity 
 there displayed — what was it that, like 
 Undine's love, had given a soul to the wild 
 spirit sparkling there ? He did not puzzle, 
 though he did not satisfy ,himself : he en- 
 joyed the wanderings of his own imagina- 
 tion round that pleasant theme ; and when, 
 at length, he turned away to retire to rest, 
 he said to himself, 
 
 64 She must always have been very 
 lovely." 
 
 Let us not ask, if Hortensia shared his
 
 182 THE FATE. 
 
 dreams with Margaret. We have no right 
 to lift up Sleep's shadowy curtain, and see 
 the fairy sports of fancies freed from the 
 control of will and reason. He slept, and 
 doubtless he dreamed too ; but he woke 
 early, ere the sun bad so far climbed the 
 eastern hill as to overtop the wood, and the 
 slant rays were still pouring in golden 
 splendour through the branches of the 
 trees. 
 
 As he paused to look through the open 
 window, after having dressed himself, his 
 eye passed over the park to the valley be- 
 yond ; and, where the open ground 
 stretched out from the banks of the stream 
 up the sides of the hills, he was surprised to 
 see a number of horsemen, in groups of two 
 or three together, cantering lightly hither 
 and thither as if in sport. It was no season 
 for hunting ; but he thought that, perhaps, 
 they might be flying a hawk ; and he 
 watched them with some interest, till he 
 convinced himself that that supposition was 
 incorrect.
 
 THE FATE. 183 
 
 A moment after, he saw a single figure 
 riding up the broad road from the great 
 gates to the house ; and, as it came nearer, 
 he recognized his servant, Gaunt Stilling, 
 who had been absent since noon of the day 
 before. 
 
 " Perhaps he brings me some intelli- 
 gence," thought Ralph, as he descended 
 to the small saloon, where his breakfast 
 was laid. Gaunt Stilling, however, did 
 not come ; and, at length, after having 
 waited ample time for him to tend his 
 horse, his young master sent for him. 
 
 When he appeared, Ralph was a good 
 deal struck with something strange in the 
 man's looks. He seemed worn, fatigued, 
 and thin, and his apparel was dusty with 
 the road ; but that was not all. He was 
 gloomy, abstracted, and more taciturn than 
 usual. Even in the midst of a sentence, he 
 would fix his eyes on the ground, and 
 seemingly fall into a deep reverie. 
 
 " Do you know who those horsemen are, 
 whom 1 saw just now, riding down in the
 
 184 THE FATE. 
 
 valley V asked Ralph, after a few other 
 questions of no moment. 
 
 " No, sir," replied Stilling. " I saw 
 them, but did not heed them." 
 
 " They seemed at one time to be hawk- 
 ing," said Ralph. " Have you heard any 
 farther intelligence from Lyme V 
 
 " None, sir," answered the servant ; " I 
 have been forty miles the other way. I 
 met that scoundrel, Thomas Dare, this 
 morning, who might have told me, perhaps ; 
 but — " And he left the sentence uncon- 
 cluded, remaining, as it were, lost in 
 thought. 
 
 u But what?" asked his master. 
 
 The man started, and looked up. " Oh, 
 merely that I was busy with other thoughts, 
 sir, — that the man is a rascal, — and that we 
 passed each other with only, ' Give you 
 good day, Master Stilling'— ' Go to the 
 devil, Thomas Dare/ " 
 
 Something had evidently gone wrong 
 with Stilling ; but. as he did not seem in- 
 clined to speak of it, Ralph, though he felt
 
 THE TATE. 185 
 
 interested, merely said, " I hope you had 
 good news of your family, Stilling V 
 
 " The worst in the world," replied the 
 man, abruptly. " I thought the worst had 
 come some time ago, yet this is worse ; but, 
 so help me heaven — " Again he broke 
 off his speech, and relapsed into silence. 
 This time, however, his silence was not 
 without significance ; for he clenched both 
 hands tight, as if struggling with strong 
 passion. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear this," observed 
 Ralph, in a feeling tone. "Can I do any- 
 thing to assist you, Stilling ? I need not 
 tell you I am most ready, if it be pos- 
 sible." 
 
 The man looked up more brightly, and 
 replied, " Not at present, sir ; but the 
 time may come — Hark! there is Lady 
 Danvers, I suppose. I heard of her on 
 the road." 
 
 The sounds which had attracted his 
 attention, were produced by horses' feet on 
 the gravel ; and, the moment after, the
 
 1S6 THE FATE 
 
 great bell rang out loud. Without taking 
 note of the fact that no sound had been 
 heard of carriage-wheels, Ralph rose 
 hastily, and ran through the hall to the 
 door, in order to assist his beautiful hostess 
 as she alighted. He was surprised to see, 
 however, when he opened the door, a party 
 of some ten or twelve horsemen, three of 
 whom had dismounted, while another, far 
 taller, and much handsomer than any of the 
 rest, was in the act of alighting also. One 
 groom held his horse, another supported his 
 stirrup ; and something dignified and 
 graceful was in his whole air, which in- 
 stantly attracted Ralph's chief attention 
 towards him. He wore a star and broad 
 ribbon, and, on his heavy riding-boots, a 
 pair of golden spurs. His whole dress 
 was splendid, though subdued in colouring 
 by good taste. 
 
 Before any questions could be asked, the 
 steward, and two or three of the old ser- 
 vants, were by Ralph's side ; and, finding 
 that he had been mistaken in his expecta-
 
 THE FATE ]87 
 
 tions, the young gentleman retired into the 
 house, leaving Mr. Drayton to reply to any 
 enquiries. He heard a fine, melodious voice, 
 however, ask if Lady Danvers were then in 
 Dorsetshire, to which Mr. Drayton replied in 
 the negative. 
 
 " I have a letter for her from an old 
 friend," said the stranger ; " and would 
 wish to add a few lines myself, if you will 
 furnish me with materials for writing. 
 Nay, more ; I am inclined to tax your hos- 
 pitality so far, sir, as to ask for some re- 
 freshment for my men and horses, and 
 some breakfast for myself. —You know me 
 I presume'?" 
 
 " I do, your Grace," replied Mr. Drayton ; 
 '* and, of course, whatever the house affords 
 is at your service" 
 
 " Well then', I will walk in here, and 
 write," said the other, advancing towards 
 the room in which Ralph was then seated. 
 
 Mr. Drayton seemed puzzled how to act; 
 but, before he could decide, the stranger 
 had entered the room, and stood face
 
 188 THE FATE. 
 
 to face with Ralph Woodhall, He bowed 
 courteously, but with a look of some sur- 
 prise ; and the good steward thought fit to 
 take upon himself the task of introducing 
 Ralph, as " Mr. Woodhall, a friend of my 
 Lady's family, sir, who is staying for a 
 time at the house." 
 
 He did not mention the name of the 
 new visitor ; but, while he hurried away 
 to procure pen, ink, and paper, the 
 gentleman seated himself calmly at the 
 table, and entered easily into conver- 
 sation. His very appearance was a re- 
 commendation, and his demeanour was so 
 graceful that, even had his conversation 
 been less happy than it was, an irresistible 
 charm would still have been about it ; but 
 his words were well chosen ; his expres- 
 sions, what I may call picturesque, if not 
 poetical ; and there was a touch of that 
 vivacity which often passed for wit at the 
 Court of the Second Charles. He asked a 
 number of questions ; but none of them 
 m pertinent or intrusive. He spoke of the
 
 THE FATE. 1S9 
 
 house, and the grounds, and the beauty of 
 the park ; said he had been there when he 
 was a boy, but had nearly forgotten them ; 
 and expressed a wish to walk over the 
 mansion, before he went. 
 
 " I shall have much pleasure in conduct- 
 ing you, sir," said Ealph; "for, during the 
 short time of my stay here, I have more 
 than once wandered over the building, and 
 felt much interest in all that it contains/' 
 
 " Then you are not well acquainted with 
 the place V said the other ; but, without 
 waiting for a reply to what w T as in reality 
 a question, he added, " Let us go. Doubt- 
 less they will be a long while in bringing 
 pen, ink, and paper. I have always found 
 it so, here in Dorsetshire, since my re- 
 turn."' 
 
 They walked out into the hall together, 
 where two or three gentlemen stood booted 
 and spurred. These uncovered their heads, 
 as soon as Ralph's companion appeared, and 
 one of them, advancing a step, addressed 
 him, saying, " It is all clear, your Grace, on
 
 190 THE FATE. 
 
 the way to Taunton, and the intelligence 
 in that quarter, is satisfactory/' 
 
 " Good," returned the other. '• This want 
 of cavalry is inconvenient. What says 
 Mr. Dare, as to the levies about 
 Taunton V 3 
 
 " He had not yet reached the town, my 
 Lord Duke, when his messenger came 
 away," was the reply ; " but he promises 
 much — more, I fear, than he will perform ; 
 for his reception in some of the small 
 villages by the way, has been so good, that 
 he looks upon it as conquered country 
 already. He is a braggadocio, if ever 
 there was one." 
 
 " He is a good creature, notwithstanding," 
 said the Duke ; " light and gay in danger, 
 and cheerful in all circumstances — a little 
 given to boast and assume, perhaps ; but 
 still, his gaiety and confidence throw a light 
 upon our expedition, which I wish other 
 things also would afford." 
 
 " Shall I give any orders regarding the
 
 THE FATE. 191 
 
 march to-morrow ?" enquired the other 
 gentleman. 
 
 " I think not," replied Ralph's companion. 
 " We must wait for these Taunton levies, 
 or some surer information. It will not do 
 to leave all resources behind us, till we 
 have the certainty of support in advance. 
 But make yourself easy, gallant friend. 
 Time, I trust, will be our ally, and not our 
 enemy." 
 
 Something uncommonly easy, though 
 rather desponding, was in the speaker's 
 tone and manner ; and Ralph, though 
 he guessed at first that he was speaking 
 with the Duke of Monmouth, began to 
 doubt whether his supposition was correct ; 
 for he had not calculated accurately how 
 far adversity can tame both the highest 
 and the lightest spirits. 
 
 After this brief conversation, they passed 
 on through the house, speaking calmly and 
 cheerfully of the various objects which it 
 presented to their eyes, as if there were no 
 such thing as strife, and warfare, and blood-
 
 192 THE FATE. 
 
 shed in the world. The Duke walked the 
 long suites of splendid rooms, and the ex- 
 tended lines of corridors, as if he were tread- 
 ing the drawing-rooms of some peaceful 
 palace, with a calm sort of meditative gen- 
 tleness, not unmixed with dignity, which 
 beseemed him well. In his whole de- 
 meanour, carriage, and appearance, he was 
 every inch a prince ; and the very slight 
 reference made by him to political topics, 
 seemed to Ralph a recommendation of his 
 cause. He appeared as calmly confident 
 of his rights, as if nothing more were required 
 than to show himself, to win all hearts in 
 his support. Had he maintained this 
 tranquil trust, he would have been a 
 greater, a happier, perhaps a more success- 
 ful, man. 
 
 The Duke asked some questions, how- 
 ever, tending to elicit his young com- 
 panion's opinions ; and, finding him a 
 staunch Protestant, though of the Episcopal 
 Church, and a strong enemy of all tyranny, 
 civil or religious, he ventured by degrees
 
 THE FATE. 193 
 
 to allude distantly to his own enterprise, 
 and to hint — without asking it — that the 
 assistance of every gallant gentleman was 
 an object he desired. 
 
 Ralph was silent, from many varied 
 motives. He gave neither encouragement 
 nor the reverse, judging more sanely than 
 the Duke, of the circumstances which sur- 
 rounded him ; and entertaining many 
 doubts whether, if Monmouth, by one of 
 those strange accidents which sometimes 
 influence the course of great events, should 
 succeed in dethroning James, his own ele- 
 vation to sovereignty would be acceptable 
 to the great body of the people of the 
 realm. Heknew moreover that in the hearts 
 of Englishmen there is a fund of steady, 
 determined loyalty, an hereditary love for 
 an ancient line of kings, which requires 
 the insanity of great oppression to be 
 shaken or overthrown. 
 
 The Duke of Monmouth did not press 
 
 vol. u. K
 
 194 THE FATE. 
 
 the subject by any means far, seeming to 
 feel it beneath him to canvas for the aid 
 of any individual. He might know, too, 
 that much eagerness displays small confi- 
 dence ; and, at this moment of his career, it 
 was a part of Monmouth's policy to appear 
 assured of success. 
 
 ^fter commenting, in the tone of a con- 
 noisseur, upon some of the pictures, and of 
 a gay courtier upon others, he returned to 
 the small room below ; and, finding writing 
 materials ready, sat down and wrote a few 
 lines on a sheet of paper, in which he en- 
 closed another letter he had brought with 
 him. He sealed, and then addressed the 
 whole to Hortensia, Baroness Danvers ; 
 when, placing it in Ralph's hand, he said, 
 with a gay smile, " I will trust this to your 
 good care, for speedy delivery, sir. If 
 you be a lover, it comes from no rival : if 
 vou be a friend, it comes from a friend no 
 less sincere : if you be a relation, there are 
 lines within it which come from one who
 
 THE FATE. 195 
 
 has loved the person addressed, as sincerely 
 as any relative could love. — Nay, my good 
 sir," he continued, turning to Mr. Drayton, 
 who entered, followed by several servants 
 bearing food in a rich service of plate ; 
 " you treat my humble state too royally ; 
 but the time may come, when I can acknow- 
 ledge your courtesy better. — Mr. Woodhall, 
 will you partake V 
 
 The Duke's breakfast was not half con- 
 cluded, when one of his followers came 
 in suddenly and without ceremony, and 
 spoke a word to Monmouth, in a low tone, 
 over the back of his chair. 
 
 The Duke started up, and gazed at him 
 for an instant with a look of horror and 
 consternation. 
 
 " What V s he exclaimed, " what did you 
 say 1 Shot Thomas Dare — in the streets 
 of Lyme — on a dispute about a horse !" 
 
 " Too true, indeed, your Grace," replied 
 the other. "Shot him dead. The ball 
 passed through his brain." 
 
 " By the Lord that lives," cried Mon- 
 K 2
 
 196 THE FATE. 
 
 mouth, "these turbulent men shall find 
 that he who claims to rule a realm like 
 this, can, at least, rule a handful who pre- 
 tend to obey ! Have out the horses there ! 
 I must not lose a moment." 
 
 Ever energetic, and often right in pur- 
 pose, Monmouth hurried to depart, only 
 to shew how weak he could be in act, how 
 amenable to the weak counsels of others. 
 Brave as a lion in the field, ever timid in 
 the council — not without skill as the gene- 
 ral, ever misled as the politician and the 
 man. 
 
 As, about to mount his horse, he turned 
 away from the door, he looked round to 
 Ralph with a pleasant smile, saying, 
 " Remember my commission. I trust to 
 you." 
 
 " I will not fail, your Grace,'' replied 
 Ralph. 
 
 They were few and simple words, but 
 their effects were important.
 
 THE FATE 197 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Air, poor gentleman !" said Mr. Drayton, 
 as the cavalcade passed quickly down the 
 tortuous road through the park towards 
 the gate ; " I remember the time well 
 when he went through the western counties 
 in a sort of triumph ; when men and 
 maidens turned out of every village and 
 every town to meet him ; when his horse's 
 feet trod upon nothing but flowers, and the 
 ringing of bells kept all the country in a 
 noise. He was feasted at Laugleet. met 
 by all the gentry of the laud, and haran- 
 gued by every corporation. The people 
 made an idol of him, and the great me i
 
 198 THE FATE. 
 
 could not show him too much honor. I 
 fear he will find it different now." 
 
 " Do you think, then, the people have 
 lost their love for him V demanded Ralph, 
 anxious to hear more of events which were 
 passing so near, without any certainty 
 reaching his ears. 
 
 " Not a whit, sir," answered the steward ; 
 " not a whit, if you mean the common 
 people. They are more constant than 
 gentlemen think. Why, they are flocking 
 into Lyme in thousands, I am told. But 
 with the gentry it is different. They 
 courted him for interest — at least one half 
 of them — and now, for interest, they will 
 keep aloof. The Tories will stick by the 
 crown, right or wrong ; and Whig gentle- 
 men have a great notion of looking well 
 before they leap. I would take any fair 
 bet that the good Duke will not find five 
 men above the rank of a yeoman to join 
 him before he fights a battle and wins it, 
 if ever that should happen/' 
 
 Ralph made no reply, although he
 
 THE FATE. 199 
 
 doubted not that Mr. Drayton's anticipa- 
 tions were too true. He enquired, indeed, 
 what was taking place in the country round; 
 but the rumours — which were all that the 
 steward could relate — were, as is always 
 the case on such occasions, confused and 
 various ; and, after a time, Ralph begged 
 the worthy man to send him his servant 
 Stilling, in order to renew the conversation 
 which had been broken off by Monmouth's 
 arrival. 
 
 Mr. Drayton seemed to hesitate for an 
 instant, and then said frankly, " I think 
 you had better let him alone, sir, just at 
 present. Something has gone very wrong 
 with him — that is clear. I saw him, a 
 minute or two ago, walking up and down 
 the stable-yard, and pinching his hands one 
 in the other, as if he would have screwed 
 the blood out of his fingers' points. Poor 
 fellow ! I remember him a gay, blithesome 
 lad in an attorney's office at Dorchester. 
 A good education had Gaunt Stilling ; but 
 then the old lady got him a commission in
 
 200 THE FATE. 
 
 the Tangier regiment, and he went away. 
 He's mightily changed now, and yet he 
 can't be much over thirty.''' 
 
 " So much ?" asked Ralph, in a tone of 
 surprise. " But tell me, Master Drayton — 
 do you know anything of the cause of his 
 present distress of mind \ You seem to 
 be well acquainted with his family/' 
 
 " I have known them many years, sir," 
 replied the steward, with a grave face. "As 
 to what is the matter now — I don't exactly 
 know anything. The carrier brought 
 over word, some three weeks ago, tbat his 
 sister had been sent away from Lincoln- 
 shire by the old man, to get her from a 
 young gentleman who wished to wrong 
 her. The father brought her half the way, 
 and her uncle went the other half, to meet 
 her. Now I fancv Gaunt has been over to 
 see her. It's a bad business I'm, afraid ; 
 and the gentleman's name they talk of, was 
 the same as yours, sir." 
 
 As he spoke, he fixed his eyes with an 
 enquiring look upon Ralph's face; and
 
 THE FATE. 201 
 
 the latter felt himself redden as he 
 recollected all he had seen and heard at 
 Coldenham. He fancied, too, that some 
 suspicion was in the steward's eyes ; and 
 he hastened to reply — 
 
 " Not mine exactly, sir ; for there is no 
 other living, of the name of Ralph Woodhall, 
 that I know ; and 1 never saw poor Stilling 1 s 
 sister but once, and then only for a iiiO- 
 nient." 
 
 He spoke somewhat sharply, and Dray- 
 ton replied in an apologetic tone, saying, 
 " I beg pardon, sir. I did not at all mean 
 that you were the geutlemau — indeed, I 
 knew you were not ; but I thought it might 
 be some relation. 
 
 " Possibly," observe! Ralph, not quite 
 satisfied yet. "1 know nothing of this matter, 
 however; for, with the exception of the 
 poor cousin whom I -have' lately lost, and 
 his father, I have been on no term s of in- 
 timacy with any of my male relations." 
 
 " They are of high rank, sir, 1 believer" 
 rejoined the steward, in a tone of enquiry ;
 
 202 THE FATE. 
 
 but Ralph merely bowed his head, thinking 
 it not necessary to enter into any part of 
 his family history with a mere stranger. 
 
 After a moment's pause, he said, rt I will 
 take your advice, Mr. Drayton, and leave 
 poor Gaunt Stilling alone for a time ; but 
 I think it would be as well to divert his 
 thoughts, after a short period, from painful 
 subjects of contemplation. I wish there- 
 fore that, without my sending for him, you 
 would let him know that I wish him to go 
 out in the afternoon, and ascertain what 
 is doing in the country. Tell him that I 
 desire very precise and accurate informa- 
 tion as to the movements of the Duke of 
 Monmouth's forces, and those of the King ; 
 for it cannot be supposed that a large body 
 in actual rebellion will be suffered much 
 longer to move about the country unop- 
 posed." 
 
 " 1 don't know, sir," answered Mr. 
 Drayton, shaking his head. "Some- 
 times governments are taken napping ; and 
 1 think the only chance for the good Duke
 
 THE FATE. 203 
 
 would be to push on upon London at once. 
 Bold councils would bring many a man to 
 his standard ; for there is something catch- 
 ing in boldness as well as in fear. I doubt, 
 however, whether Stilling will learn much ; 
 for I have men all around, who would bring 
 me any tidings that were to be got, and 
 they bring me nothing certain." 
 
 " I should wish him to go, nevertheless," 
 said Ralph. " it would serve to occupy 
 his mind, and may, perhaps, furnish us 
 with information even more valuable to 
 your lady thau to myself." 
 
 The steward bowed and withdrew; and, 
 for an hour or two, Ralph amused himself 
 as best he might. To have seen him, one 
 would have supposed him of as idle a nature 
 as ever existed. He opened no books. He 
 had no inclination or application to read. 
 He now looked at no pictures, for his mind 
 had harder realities to deal with than those 
 which any canvas can display. The greater 
 part of his time was passed in gazing from 
 the windows upon the wide, wavy scene
 
 204 
 
 THE FATE. 
 
 without, which afforded, as it were, a stage 
 sufficiently extensive and ample for all per- 
 sons of the drama of fancy to play their 
 several parts before his eyes. Oh, how 
 memory and imagination conjured up from 
 the depths of the past, from the depths of 
 the future, incidents and characters which 
 might bear their share in the tragedy soon 
 to be performed ! A gloomy anticipation, 
 a dark, but too true, shadowing forth of 
 the stern, terrible acts that were about to 
 take place, visited the young man's mind; 
 and he felt that sensation of awe, and sub- 
 lime and dreadful expectation, which is 
 experienced by the spectator viewing from 
 a height the thunder cloud marching on- 
 ward across a sunny land, soon to be left 
 desolate, or the tempest riding over a calm 
 sea, and piling up the glassy waters into 
 surges full of shipwreck and of death. 
 
 The minutes glided by almost unnoted ; 
 and then, seating himself again at a table, 
 a strange fancy seized him of writing down 
 the thoughts of the moment — the reflec-
 
 THE PATE. 205 
 
 tions, the anticipations, which rose one by 
 one, as he considered the circumstances sur- 
 rounding him. 
 
 It was a dangerous amusement. Written 
 thoughts as undigested — as carelessly re- 
 corded — as immaturely gathered— as in- 
 consequent and undirected — aided not a 
 little in the last reign to bring the head of 
 the gallant Sidney to the scaffold. Yet 
 the impulse was upon Ralph, and he did not 
 even strive to resist it; but sat, and thought, 
 and wrote, and thought, and wrote 
 again. 
 
 The day had declined, and evening was 
 not far off, when Gaunt Stilling entered 
 the room abruptly, saying — 
 
 " There has been a bit of a battle, sir, at 
 Bridport, and the Duke's troops have been 
 repulsed. It was ploughman against 
 ploughman ; and the Duke's ploughmen 
 would have won the day, if Lord Grey and 
 his horse had not ran at the first fire." 
 
 " Who is Lord Grey V asked Ralph, in 
 a quiet tone.
 
 206 THE FATE. 
 
 "Oh, the Duke's General of Horse," 
 answered Stilling, with a laugh. " A 
 gentleman very bold in words, and brave 
 enough, they say, in presence of a hangman 
 or a judge; but he does not like the nasty 
 smell of gunpowder, and eschews push of 
 pike."' 
 
 " Have you any other tidings V enquired 
 his master. 
 
 " Oh yes, plenty," responded Stilling. 
 " The Duke of Albemarle — who is more, 
 by the way, of a Monk even than his father 
 — is marching to attack Monmouth with the 
 militia. He will be beaten, of course ; for 
 where Monmouth is in person, the people 
 will fight like wolves, and he is no bad 
 general either. That will be a feather in 
 his cap, and may bring some people in. 
 But then Feversham is marching down 
 with three or four regular regiments — my 
 old comrades among the rest. Now, Mon- 
 mouth is worth twenty Frenchmen, and 
 Feversham is only fit for a Court supper ; 
 but then there is Churchill, with the Blues,
 
 THE FATE. 207 
 
 already in the field ; and he will give the 
 good Duke some trouble, or 1 mistake my 
 malL — But 1 forgot to tell you, sir, that 
 my Lady Danvers was coming down the 
 hill as I passed; and she will be up here in 
 a minute or two ; for they were going at a 
 great rate, not liking, I suspect, the sounds 
 of war that were whizzing all round 
 them." 
 
 " Indeed P exclaimed Ralph, starting up 
 eagerly. " I will go to meet her. She 
 comes by the western gates, 1 suppose V 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, by the west," replied 
 Gaunt Stilling, gazing after his master as 
 he hurried towards the door ; and then, as 
 Ralph disappeared, the man muttered be- 
 cween his teeth, 
 
 « Fickle— fickle, like all the rest ! AY hat 
 matters it what falls upon him % They 
 are all alike. The lady has captivated his 
 eje, and little cares he how many hearts 
 he breaks. Ah, what a cursed thing it is 
 to be a gentleman ! and what fools those
 
 208 THE FATE. 
 
 are who strive to rise above humble station, 
 to be a prey to the next bigger beast than 
 themselves !" 
 
 In the meanwhile, without hearing his 
 servant's comments, Ralph had snatched 
 up his hat, which lay in the passage, and 
 hurried down the walks towards the great 
 gates. The little cavalcade was already in 
 sight, consisting of a great, lumbering 
 vehicle, and some horsemen who accom- 
 panied and followed it. It were vain to 
 say that Ralph did not behold it joyfully, 
 or that the coming of Hortensia was nut 
 pleasant to him. At the \evy lowest esti- 
 mate, it was an agreeable relief to the dull 
 monotony of the life he had been leading. 
 But then there was much more : her grace, 
 her beauty, the charm of her manner and 
 her conversation, shed a light around, like 
 that of sunshine, which brings out the 
 beauty even of the dullest scenes, when it 
 can reach and enrich them with its varying 
 splendour. Yv r ith her, too, he could con-
 
 THE FATE. 20.0 
 
 suit, confer, and determine ; and action, 
 which seemed to him like life, promised to 
 commence with her coming. 
 
 With well-pleased looks, then, he hurried 
 on, and met the carriage half way through 
 the park. He did not approach unmarked ; 
 for, whether she expected him or not, 
 Hortensia saw him afar, and bade the 
 coachman stop. When he came near, she 
 alighted, looking, as he thought, more 
 beautiful than ever ; and, placing her band 
 within his arm, directed the rest to go on, 
 saying she would walk up to the house. A 
 sweet, tender placidity was in her look — a 
 gently-moved calmness, which was very 
 lovely in itself ; and, as she leaned upon 
 Ralph's arm, while the servants hurried on, 
 obeying with due discretion the orders 
 they had received, she looked up in her 
 young companion's face as if to see how 
 much he had suffered — what ravages 
 thought and sorrow had effected in his 
 appearance since they parted. 
 
 Her first question, however, referred to
 
 210 THE FATE. 
 
 things very different from the subject 
 which was uppermost in her mind. 
 
 " I hope," she said, " that my cousin Lady 
 Di. Fullerton has taken good care of you. 
 Ralph. I have been a sad weary time upon 
 the journey ; but coaches move slowly." 
 
 " I doubt not, dear Lady Danvers," re- 
 plied Ralph, with a smile, "that Lady 
 Diana would have taken good care of me, 
 had she been here ; but — * 
 
 " Is she not here ?" interrupted Horten- 
 sia, in an eager tone, with the blood sud- 
 denly rushing up into her cheek, more from 
 surprise, and the sudden pressure of many 
 strange considerations in her mind, than 
 from any great disappointment or annoy- 
 ance. " Why did she not come \ She 
 must have received my letter." 
 
 " She was too ill to come," replied 
 Ralph. " But I fear my stay may be in- 
 convenient to you — perhaps not quite 
 right. There can be no harm or danger in 
 my going forward at once on my way." 
 " Ralph !" exclaimed Hortensia, in a
 
 THE FATE. 211 
 
 slightly reproachful tone, " you do not 
 think me so weak — so foolish. Surely, if 
 my good name be so frail a thing as not to 
 bear the giving shelter, in an hour of danger, 
 to the son of my mother's dearest friend, 
 it is little worth the keeping. You stay, 
 Ralph — you stay, if you have any regard 
 for me. No, no, it matters not. I asked 
 my good cousin out of deference to the 
 cold world's opinion. Having done that, I 
 have done enough." 
 
 Well may prophets, and, by their tongues, 
 the great Creator of the human heart, 
 declare that the heart is the most deceitful 
 of all things ; for any one who has ever 
 rendered the secrets of the dark, mysterious 
 cavern of his own bosom objective to the 
 analysis of reason, must have recoiled from 
 the scrutiny, deterred by the fearful com- 
 plications which the eye, at one glance, 
 can perceive. 
 
 How far, and how far willingly, Lady 
 Dan vers was deceiving herself, it is hardly 
 necessary to enquire. It is quite unneces-
 
 212 THE FATE. 
 
 sary, and would be useless, to attempt to 
 trace all the tortuous and darkening pas- 
 sages by which the deception crept along. 
 Certain it is, however, that she had per- 
 suaded herself that the son of her mother's 
 dearest friend — of her adopted sister — 
 stood towards her almost in the relation of 
 a brother ; that she could not do too much 
 for him,; that she could do nothing, within 
 the bounds of modesty and honour, that 
 was not justifiable and justified in the bright, 
 clear, piercing eye of Heaven. Strong in 
 the rectitude and purity of her own pur- 
 pose, she cared little for the dull, dark, 
 earthly eye of the world ; but she little 
 recollected that there was a misty, shadowy 
 land, between the pellucid above, and the 
 coarseness below, where the phantasms of 
 associations hovered betwixt the two, ever 
 beheld from the one realm, and sometimes 
 too clearly displayed to the other. She 
 did not ask herself— she did not venture to 
 ask herself — what personal feelings, what 
 mortal affections, were stealing in, and miu-
 
 THE FATE. 213 
 
 gling unperceivecl with the calm, unselfish, 
 soulful memories which had first drawn her 
 attention to Ralph Woodhall. She knew 
 not — she would not know — that any dif- 
 ference whatever existed in her feelings 
 towards him, as they walked there, in her 
 own park, side by side, from those with 
 which she had at first beheld him at the 
 Duke of Norfolk's house, a stranger in all 
 but memories. She loved to call him to 
 herself — to think of him in her own mind 
 — as her brother Ralph. 
 
 Oh, cunning heart, how skilful art thou 
 even in snatching the artifice of indistinct 
 words, to veil thy workings from the de- 
 ceived eye of tby master! Hortensia 
 would not now, for the world, have called 
 her companion " Mr. Woodhall." It would 
 have broken the spell — destroyed the illu- 
 sion. He would have been no longer her 
 brother, but her lover — or him whom she 
 loved. The very thought that her heart 
 could be so far given, as it really was, to 
 one who had never sought or asked it,
 
 214 THE FATE 
 
 would have been death to her ; for, with all 
 the warm tenderness of her feelings, the 
 deep, strong, enthusiastic tone of her affec- 
 tions, she had every quality of a true 
 woman — that nearest approach to the angel 
 that this latter world has ever seen. 
 
 Let the cold argue against such things 
 — let the worldly. Argue ye, bound up, 
 moulded, fettered in the strong convention- 
 alities of a false and factitious state — ye, 
 who are tutored, from the nursery to the altar, 
 to bend your wills and crush your hearts 
 before the great world's god, Convenience. 
 In the age, of which I write, corrupt and 
 debased as it was— one of the worst that 
 earth has ever seen — in the reaction, and 
 rebellion of man's heart and soul, against 
 the iron tyranny of a cold and false fana- 
 ticism, there were glorious instances of pure 
 and true devotion — of strong and deep 
 affection — of passion above license — of 
 morality beyond decorum — which are rarely 
 seen now, when the fire of fanaticism is ex- 
 tinguished, and the rigid rules of a cynical
 
 THE FATE. 215 
 
 religion have been superseded by the 
 gilded but unsubstantial fetters of an eye- 
 serving propriety. Nay, more ; the most 
 licentious chronicler of the scandals of that 
 age, the witty scoffer at every virtue, the 
 pleasant companion of every vice, has been 
 the one to record some of the brightest 
 exceptions to the system in which he moved 
 and had his being. 
 
 The freedom of the times, the liberty of 
 thought and action in which she had been 
 brought up, the independence of all con- 
 ventional forms, except those of courtly 
 ceremony, which prevailed during the 
 whole time of her youth — the very dangers, 
 difficulties, intrigues, cabals, slaughter, agi- 
 tation, and extraordinary circumstances, 
 which marked the latter years of Charles 
 the Second — had rendered Hortensia inde- 
 pendent, from a very early period, of the 
 world's opinion ; and, in the case of Ralph 
 Woodhall, she had already paid it more 
 deference than she was ever inclined to 
 pay.
 
 21 G THE FATE. 
 
 True, had she asked her own heart why 
 she yielded thus far to a power she con- 
 temned and despised, she might have 
 found a weakness in her own bosom which 
 counselled caution. But she would ask 
 her own heart nothing, as I have before 
 said. Like an unskilful general, in the 
 certainty of some strong points — honor, 
 uprightness, purity, and truth — she thought 
 her position impregnable, and made no 
 allowance for the easy slope of passion, or 
 the covert ways of love. 
 
 Thus onward she walked with him, re- 
 pelling, with utter scorn, the very thought 
 of his quitting her house, on account of 
 what the world might say. I know not 
 whether the thought presented itself to her 
 mind, that there was an easy way of 
 silencing the tongue of scandal, by uniting 
 their fate for ever. I rather think not ; 
 but I am quite sure that such a thought 
 never crossed the mind of Ralph. How- 
 ever, if she was satisfied, he had no cause 
 to be otherwise ; for he was not such a
 
 THE FATE. 217 
 
 Quixote in delicacy as to fear that which, 
 with her better knowledge, she did not 
 fear. 
 
 He laughed gaily, then — more gaily than 
 he had done for many a day — and said, 
 " Well, dear Lady Danvers, I only sought 
 to show my devotion to your will, by my 
 readiness to go, rather than put you in 
 unpleasant circumstances ; but, at the same 
 time, I must tell you that no such dangers 
 exist in my case as you have been led to 
 suppose. My poor cousin Henry — by 
 whose hand soever he fell — owes not his 
 death to me. I would have sacrificed any 
 thing, but honor, rather than have crossed 
 swords with him. Every moment of my long 
 absence from the inn, which perhaps you 
 may have heard of, and which might have 
 given time, though barely, for me to return 
 to Norwich, can be accounted for." 
 
 " Ay, that is what has puzzled me," 
 observed Hortensia, before he had quite 
 concluded what he had to say. " Two 
 different accusations have been brought 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 218 THE FATE. 
 
 against you, which are, at first sight, incom- 
 patible with each other. The one is, that you 
 went back to Norwich ; fought ; and slew 
 your cousin Henry : the other, that you 
 passed several hours in comforting and con so- 
 ling the unhappy family of the poor non- 
 conformist minister. But 1 made anxious 
 enquiry of the people of the inn, and none 
 could tell at what hour you returned. They 
 said you must have stabled and groomed 
 your horse yourself ; and I concluded that 
 some mistake must have been made about 
 the hour of the duel ; for everything I 
 had heard before we set out, and every- 
 thing contained in the Duke of Norfolk's 
 private letter to myself, seemed to prove 
 that such a duel had taken place." 
 
 " I never quitted the town," said 
 Ralph. " I never took my horse from the 
 stable ; and, in regard to the duel, I had 
 not the most remote idea that such a lam- 
 entable event had taken place, till I arrived 
 in these domains." 
 
 " Nay, I doubt you not in the least,"
 
 THE FATE. 219 
 
 rejoined Hortensia; "but, though guiltless of 
 your cousin's death — and even if you could 
 prove your innocence completely, which 
 might be more difficult than you imagine 
 — your situation would still be one of im- 
 minent peril ; and you must not think of 
 stirring from this house so long as you can 
 be here in safety. How long that may be, 
 in these distracted times, who can sav V 9 
 
 " But what is the peril, dear lady V 
 enquired Ralph. " My innocence of my cou- 
 sin's death can surely be easily proved, 
 I can account for every moment of my 
 time." 
 
 iC Did any one see you return to the inn V 
 asked Lady Danvers " I made enquiries, 
 and all the servants of the house assured 
 me that such was not the case." 
 
 Ralph mused for a moment or two, and 
 then replied, 
 
 " It is very strange. I do not recollect 
 having seen any one. I entered by the 
 door from the stable-yard, saw a light 
 L 2
 
 220 THE FATE. 
 
 burning in the entrance, took it up, and 
 went straight to my own room." 
 
 "At what hour was this?" asked Hor- 
 tensia. 
 
 " I cannot well say," replied Ralph. u It 
 must have been after ten, but I think before 
 eleven." 
 
 " The Duke's letter to myself," observed 
 Lady Danvers, " said the hour of the duel 
 was some time between ten and twelve. 
 Now, Ralph, consider upon how nice calcu- 
 lations your fate might depend. Those 
 who know you well, will have no doubt ; 
 but those who clo not know you — a preju- 
 diced judge — perhaps, a packed jury — will, 
 at all events, suspect, and, if they do sus- 
 pect, your death would be the conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " Kay, 1 cannot think it," answered 
 Ralph Woodhall. " Duels occur every day; 
 and, where no dishonorable act accompanies 
 them, we never hear of any such seve- 
 rity." 
 
 " But you deny the duel," said Lady
 
 THE FATE. 221 
 
 Danvers ; " you cannot admit that it 
 occurred. Yet certain is it, that your 
 cousin sent you a challenge for that very 
 hour — that he met some one — that the 
 meeting took place at night — that there 
 were no witnesses —and that he was killed. 
 Your very denial of the meeting would be 
 construed into a consciousness of guilt in 
 the transaction." 
 
 The colour had been mounting higher 
 and higher in Ralph's cheek every moment, 
 as he saw the extraordinary complication 
 of circumstances which rendered it most 
 difficult for him to prove his innocence ; 
 and he was almost led to fancy that Hor- 
 tensia believed him guilty still. 
 
 " Upon my honour as a man, and my 
 faith as a Christian, dear Lady Danvers," 
 he affirmed, " I had no share in this trans- 
 action whatever." 
 
 Hortensia laid her hand gently on 
 his arm, and said, looking full in his 
 face, "And, upon my honour and faith, 
 Ralph Woodhall, I believe you. But I
 
 222 THE FATE. 
 
 mentioned other perils besides these. The 
 magistrates, it is true, dismissed the charge 
 against you of attempting to rescue old Mr. 
 Callaway, the non conformist preacher ; 
 but hardly had you left the town, when it 
 was discovered that you had passed a con- 
 siderable portion of the night with the 
 family of that poor, persecuted man. You 
 know how severe the laws are upon that 
 subject, and how tyrannically they are ex- 
 ercised. It was proved that several other 
 persons had visited the house that night as 
 well as yourself. They were all arrested 
 and committed to prison. A new charge 
 of attending a night-conventicle, con- 
 trary to law, was preferred against you ; 
 and a warrant was immediately issued for 
 your apprehension. The case would be a 
 perilous one at any time ; but since this 
 rash insurrection by the Duke of Monmouth, 
 w T ho is the great leader of the Calvinistic 
 party, the dangers w^ould be incalculable, 
 oven were not the matter complicated by 
 other serious accusations. Nay, nay, you
 
 THE PATE. 223 
 
 must stay here, Ralph, till we may find 
 means of getting you out of the country. 
 Monmouth must be mad, I think, or fear- 
 fully misinformed." 
 
 We often perceive that when the mind is 
 bewildered by considerations too intricately 
 tangled and commixed to be easily separated 
 and reduced to order, it receives the first 
 pretext that presents itself to fly to some 
 other theme, however irrelevant or unim- 
 portant, as if to refresh itself before it 
 returns to its more laborious task. Such 
 was probably the case with Ralph Wood- 
 hall ; for, without pursuing the subject of 
 his own fate farther, he said, " I forgot to 
 mention that the Duke of Monmouth was 
 here this morning, and staid for more than 
 an hour." 
 
 " Indeed \" exclaimed Lady Danvers, in 
 a tone of no great satisfaction. ' ; I wish 
 he had stayed away. I can never forgive 
 him." 
 
 " He left a a packet for you," added 
 Ralph ; " committing it to my charge, and
 
 224 THE FATE. 
 
 saying that it contained a letter for you 
 from an old and dear friend who still loved 
 you well." 
 
 '' Alas, alas !" ejaculated Lady Danvers. 
 " Poor Henrietta ! Where once she loves, 
 she loves for ever. Love has been her 
 ruin and her blight; for she was never 
 taught that there are higher and holier 
 things than even love. — Let us go in, Ralph. 
 I must read her letter, for she is still very 
 dear to me."
 
 THE FATE 22o 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " At the house of Lady Danvers, say you? 
 On the far edge of Dorsetshire V ejaculated 
 the voice of an old man, tremulous and 
 eager with strong passion. 
 
 "Yes, ray dear Lord," replied Robert 
 Woodhall ; " at Danvers Newchurch — a 
 place where a strong-armed man could 
 pitch a crown-piece into three counties. 
 He has doubtless chosen that retreat, partly 
 because he fancies a warrant may be easily 
 evaded ; partly — " 
 
 " But are you sure, Robert — quite sure V } 
 asked Lord Woodhall. " Do not let us 
 make another mistake." 
 L 5
 
 226 THE FATE. 
 
 " I am quite sure/' answered bis young 
 cousin. ' ; I have the news from three of 
 our own people who have seen him there. 
 You know my mother's place lies at no 
 great distance ; and the whole country 
 round rings with the rumour that he is to 
 be married to Lady Dan vers — the causer 
 probably, of his taking the life of a better 
 man than* himself." 
 
 " Married to the gallows first !" cried 
 Lord Woodhall, vehemently. " Call a 
 servant, boy ; bid him bring my hat and 
 • •leak. I will away to the King. Monmouth 
 lies about there, they say. He w T as last 
 heard of, marching towards Exeter. Fever- 
 sham and Churchill are after him ; and the 
 troops may serve our purpose as well as the 
 King's/' 
 
 " Shall I attend you, sir?" asked Robert. 
 
 " No, no," answered the old lord. " Stay 
 here till I come back. Go and comfort 
 poor Margaret. She bears up a little now, 
 but still weeps often. It will glad her
 
 THE FATE. 227 
 
 • 
 
 heart to hear there is a chance of catching 
 her brother's murderer at last" 
 
 A slight, hardly perceptible, smile curled 
 Robert Wooclhall's lip ; but, turning away, 
 to conceal the emotions of which he was 
 conscious, he called Lord Woodhall's ser- 
 vants to their master, and then saw him 
 deferentially to the door. 
 
 There are as great varieties in love as in 
 any other passion. Seldom found alto- 
 gether pure, it is often mixed with a thou- 
 sand various alloys, some more, some less, 
 congenial to itself. Now, it must not be sup- 
 posed that Robert Woodhall was altogether 
 without love, of a certain kind, for his fair 
 cousin Margaret. True, it was of a coarse 
 nature, even in its very origin. Her buauiy 
 — her fresh, warm, healthful loveliness — 
 had attractions for a man who, even before 
 he could count manhood, had sated himself 
 with licentious pleasures. But even this 
 baser sort of love was mingled with many 
 other feelings. Ambition had its share, 
 and avarice ; and, strange to say, spite and
 
 228 THE FATE. 
 
 revenge too. He saw that Margaret did not 
 love him : he felt intuitively that she 
 would never love him ; but that conviction 
 diminished not in the least the ardour of 
 his pursuit. It prompted a desire to grieve 
 her, whenever he could do so without ap- 
 pearing as the active agent ; but took not 
 the least from the desire to possess her as 
 his wife, nor shook his resolution to attain 
 that object by any means, however base. 
 
 Quietly walking up the stairs, he entered 
 the room where she usually sat during the 
 morning, but found it vacant. He remained 
 a few minutes, gazing from the window 
 into the street, till the door opened, and 
 Margaret herself appeared. 
 
 With a cold inclination of the head, she 
 was about to withdraw immediately. But 
 her cousin called to her, saying, " Mar- 
 garet, Margaret ! I have something to tell 
 you from your father. He wishes you to 
 stay with me till his return, when he will 
 give you further tidings. ; 
 
 Margaret obeyed at once, entered, sat
 
 THE FATE. 229 
 
 down, and drew an embroidery frame to- 
 wards her. 
 
 " Very satisfactory intelligence has been 
 received this morning," said Robert Wood- 
 hall. " My Lord, your father, has gone 
 to make the most of it. We have dis- 
 covered the place where poor Henry's mur- 
 der lies concealed." 
 
 Though tears for her brother rose in Mar- 
 garet's eyes, she would not hear Ralph 
 called by such a name. " You have no 
 right, sir," she said, " so boldly to an- 
 nounce my cousin Ralph a murderer till he 
 has been proved so." 
 
 Robert Woodhall saw her emotion with 
 infinite pleasure ; and he answered in a 
 quiet tone, though with a slightly curled 
 lip, " I did not know that there was any 
 doubt of it." 
 
 " Great doubt," replied Margaret. " I, 
 for one, do not believe that Ralph would ever 
 have drawn his sword against poor Henry ; 
 and there are others, wiser and better able
 
 230 THE FATE. 
 
 to judge than myself, who do not believe 
 it either. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Robert WoodhalL 
 with unfeigned surprise. " Pray who ¥' 
 
 " For one, the Duke of Norfolk," 
 answered Margaret. 
 
 " You astonish me," said Robert, musing. 
 " Then pray whom do you and the good 
 Duke suspect ?" 
 
 Something contemptuous and bitter 
 was in his tone, which kindled a corres- 
 ponding answer in Margaret's breast ; and 
 she said, " No one in particular, Robert 
 Woodhall ; but we should suspect you, 
 just as soon as poor Ralph. Pray where 
 is he, if you have discovered !" 
 
 One of his slight, shrewd, sarcastic smiles 
 came upon Kobert Woodhall's face, as he 
 answered, ht He is at Danvers JSewchurch, 
 the seat of the fair Hortensia, to whom he 
 is about to be married, if the haugman 
 does not previously perform for him a 
 ceremony of a different kind."
 
 THE FATE 231 
 
 " Unfeeling, heartless man \" exclaimed 
 Margaret, rising, with her face flushed, to 
 quit the room ; but Robert placed himself 
 in her way, saying, " Your father wishes 
 you to stay here till he returns. Why do 
 you call me unfeeling, Margaret ? I did 
 not intend either to offend or grieve you." 
 
 Margaret returned, and seated herself; 
 but when he again asked the question, she 
 said, without giving a direct reply. 
 
 "If my father wishes me to remain, I 
 will remain ; but I remain not to converse 
 with you, Robert Woodhall. I tell you, 1 
 doubt you — nay more, I do not believe 
 you. More than once I have detected you 
 in saying things that were untrue ; and I 
 will now know, as soon as my father re- 
 turns, whether it was his wish or will that 
 I should remain with one whose society is 
 unpleasant to me." 
 
 The pale, somewhat yellowish, tinge of 
 Robert Woodhall's face, gave way to burn- 
 ing red. He felt that he was understood 
 and unmasked by a woman — by a mere girl ;
 
 232 THE FATE. 
 
 and there is no offence so bitter to a 
 villain as to have his character unveiled. 
 
 " T will repay you," he thought, " T will 
 repay you." But, at the same time, he 
 would have given a good deal to escape 
 from the room, in order to meet Lord 
 Woodhall before he should see his daughter, 
 and guard against the questions she might 
 ask. He suffered some minutes to pass, 
 however, for the purpose of covering his 
 manoeuvre ; then, rising, he said, " Your 
 father is longer than I expected. I fear I 
 must go ; I have an engagement/' 
 
 Grief is a great teacher of the human 
 heart ; and Margaret had learned much 
 since first she was presented to the reader. 
 
 " Your pardon, Robert Woodhall," she 
 rejoined. " You stay here till my father re- 
 turns. What you have told me is either 
 true or false. If it be true, you are bound 
 to remain with me, as I was commanded 
 to remain w T ith yon. — Nay, not a word! Sit 
 down, or I will call those who will make 
 vou."
 
 THE FATE. 2H3 
 
 She was nearer to the door than him- 
 self, and she moved towards it, and laid 
 her hand upon the latch. 
 
 Before Robert Woodhall could recover 
 from his surprise, the voice of the old lord 
 sounded below, and the next instant his 
 step was heard upon the stairs. Margaret 
 stood quietly by the door. Her cousin 
 did not venture to move ; but few human 
 hearts have felt the rage and hatred which 
 filled his at that moment. 
 
 A minute after, Lord Woodhall entered 
 the room ; and, before he could speak of 
 anything else, Margaret exclaimed, with a 
 boldness unusual with her, especially in 
 speaking to her parent, u My dear lord 
 and father, this gentleman informs me it 
 was your command that I should remain 
 here with him till you returned. I be- 
 seech you, tell me whether this is true or 
 false ; I do not believe it." 
 
 " False \" cried the old lord, sharply. 
 " I never said such a thing. What is the 
 meaning of this, sir V
 
 234 THE FATE. 
 
 " Only a lover's trifling artifice, my dear 
 lord," replied Robert Woodhall, with a 
 pleasant smile. " I did but stretch your 
 words a little. You said I was to go and 
 stay with her till you came back; and I 
 chose to read your meaning that she was 
 to stay with me." 
 
 " Lover !" echoed Margaret, in a bitter 
 emphasis, as she turned to quit the room. 
 
 The old lord, however, detained her 
 by the hand, saying, " Oh, is that all ? 
 Stay, stay, Margaret ; this is no very 
 unforgiveable offence. Stay, I have news 
 for you." 
 
 " I hope good news, my Lord," said 
 Robert Woodhall. "The King, I trust, 
 has entered into your views V 
 
 " As warmly as heart could wish." replied 
 the old nobleman. "Feversham has received 
 His Majesty's commands to order Colonel 
 Kirke to occupy Danvers Newchureh with 
 his regiment, and to arrest the fugitive. 
 The object is to be concealed, and the oc- 
 cupation of the house and village to pass for
 
 THE FATE. 235 
 
 a mere military operation, till they have 
 got the murderer in their hands. Other- 
 wise he might escape us again, boy, in the 
 troubled state of the country." 
 
 " Your lordship calls him ' murderer/ " 
 said Robert Woodhall quietly, eager but to 
 make mischief between the parent and the 
 child; "Mistress Margaret, however, objects 
 to my use of that term, and says she does 
 not believe Ralph Woodhall committed the 
 act." 
 
 " How is that, how is that ? Not be- 
 lieve V cried Lord Woodhall, turning to- 
 wards his daughter, and dropping her 
 hand. 
 
 " The Duke of Norfolk does not believe 
 it, my lord," replied Margaret. " I re- 
 ceived a letter from him this morning, with 
 the trinkets I left behind me in my room 
 at Norwich. He says that he has reason 
 to think some great mistake has been com- 
 mitted, and that my cousin Ralph is quite 
 free from all participation in the deed."
 
 236 THE FATE. 
 
 " Who does he suspect then V de- 
 manded Lord Woodhall. 
 
 " I will bring you his letter, my father," 
 replied Margaret, fixing her eyes firmly 
 upon the face of Robert Woodhall. " You 
 will there see that he suspects a very dif- 
 ferent person, and will comprehend why to 
 remain in that gentleman's society was 
 most unpleasant to your daughter." 
 
 " What does he say, what does he say? 
 No need of the letter just now," ejaculated 
 the impetuous old lord. " I can read that 
 afterwards. Tell me the substance of what 
 he says." 
 
 " I have told you part, my father," re- 
 plied Margaret ; " but he adds that it is 
 clearly proved there was no quarrel be- 
 tween Ralph and poor Henry, though 
 there was between Ralph and Master 
 Robert Woodhall. He says that they part- 
 ed perfect friends at supper ; that they 
 never met afterwards during the whole 
 night ; that no challenge was delivered
 
 THE FATE. 237 
 
 to Balph ; and that he has good reason to 
 believe, from circumstances which have 
 lately come to his knowledge, that my 
 cousin never returned to Norwich after he 
 himself had sent him away to escort Lady 
 Dan vers on her journey. He says, indeed, 
 that to have done so, in the circumstances 
 of which he is personally cognizant, implies 
 almost an impossibility. The Duke adds," 
 continued Margaret, with a voice which 
 trembled a little at the gravity of the words 
 she was about to utter, " that, undoubtedly, 
 Robert Woodhall attempted to produce a 
 quarrel between Ralph and my poor bro- 
 ther ; and he remarks, that Henry's death 
 could be of no possible advantage to 
 Ralph, but that it might be so to other per- 
 sons/' 
 
 Lord Woodhall glared round with a look 
 of bewildered rage ; but Robert caught the 
 ball at the rebound with great skill. 
 
 "His Grace of Norfolk must think that you 
 take great interest, Mistress Margaret, in 
 your poor cousin Ralph," he said ; " but that
 
 238 THE FATE. 
 
 is no matter. Strange as it may seem, 
 my dear Lord, I am very glad that this 
 foolish suspicion has been so plainly stated. 
 An innocent man laughs at such things. 
 He does not run away from investigation. 
 Indeed, did not the Duke's dislike of my- 
 self blind him, he could not fail to see how 
 ridiculous all this is. Henry's own letter 
 to the Duke himself, which you have seen, 
 shows that the challenge was given and ac- 
 cepted ; and I can prove easily, not only 
 that I never quitted my room that night, 
 but that I did all in my power to dissuade 
 Henry from the course he was following. 
 He was headstrong, and would have his 
 own way. My servant can prove many 
 of these facts. He is in the house ; call 
 him up, and examine him. I wish no pre- 
 vious interview with him. I have no lesson 
 to teach him." 
 
 The man was called ; but he had already 
 taught himself his own lesson, and he 
 mentioned those facts only, of all that 
 had occurred at Norwich, which could
 
 THE FATE. 239 
 
 show his master's character in the fairest 
 light. 
 
 Lord Woodhall was quite satisfied, but 
 Margaret was not so. She had a sort of 
 instinct in this case, and it led her 
 right.
 
 240 THE FATE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 Some days had passed at Danvers New- 
 church ; and I must not dwell upon their 
 passing. " Time warns me to be brief/' as 
 worthy clergymen say in long-composed 
 sermons, where, in the act of composition, 
 no reference to time existed. But time, and 
 the end of the volume apparent to the view, 
 (which are, to an author, what time and the 
 end of life ought to be to every man), 
 warn me that I mustbe brief. 
 
 Several days had passed at Dan vers 
 Newchurch since Hortensia Danvers and 
 Ralph Woodhall had entered that house
 
 THE FATE. 241 
 
 arm-in-arm. Fill up the time as you will, 
 reader. 1 cannot dwell upon it. Very little 
 passed of any consequence. We all 
 know how trifles will become bulky when 
 we are trying to pack closely the portman- 
 teau of the present. A child's toy will take 
 up more room than a volume of philoso- 
 phy, and a blown India-rubber ball occupy 
 ten times more space than all the essays 
 of John Locke. 
 
 The days at Danvers Newchurch, of 
 which I speak, had been filled with trifles. 
 They formed a period of little or no pro- 
 gress. Country gentlemen — Esquires, 
 and Justices, and Barons, and Lords 
 of high degree — had come to offer their 
 services and compliments to the young, grace- 
 ful, and beautiful Lady Danvers, on her 
 return to her ancestral home. Country 
 gossips had flocked thither to see, and hear, 
 and know, all that was going on ; for cer- 
 tain reports had been carried about by the 
 tongue of rumour, as to the sojourn of a 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 242 THE FATE. 
 
 young and handsome cavalier within the 
 walls of Danvers New church. 
 
 At first, Hortensia was somewhat puz- 
 zled what to do ; for with all her readi- 
 ness — which proceeded more from simple 
 purity and rectitude of purpose, enlighten- 
 ed by a bright, clear mind, than any 
 worldly wisdom — she could not help feel- 
 ing that she was commencing a struggle 
 against a very muddy but turbulent tor- 
 rent, called " the World," which only a 
 stout heart could stem. 
 
 If she refused to receive such visitors, 
 she was certain to subject herself to mis- 
 construction. If she appeared with Ralph, 
 there was still a danger of misconstruction, 
 and peril to him likewise. She resolved 
 to receive them all ; and she did so with 
 quiet ease, and calm, though rather 
 cold, demeanour, which rebuked curiosity 
 and put calumny at fault. She would not 
 suffer Ralph, however, to appear ; impress- 
 ing upon him strongly the necessity of con-
 
 THE FATE. 243 
 
 eealment, for his own safety, and taking 
 such means as her knowledge of the country, 
 and her more general experience of the 
 world and the world's ways, enabled her 
 to adopt, of finding some means of convey- 
 ing him secretly to the coast of Holland. 
 Ever}' morning, servants on horseback 
 went out to different ports on the western 
 shores of England. Every evening, ser- 
 vants returned, bringing no satisfactory tid- 
 ings. Nearly one half of life is consumed 
 in emptiness, and three quarters, at least, 
 in emptines and disappointment taken 
 together. So it was at Danvers New- 
 church. 
 
 It may be asked, if Hortensia, when 
 the consciousness came upon her that 
 she had to strive, as it w r ere, against the 
 stream of the world's opinion, did not 
 sometimes say to herself — 
 
 ''Ralph's arm may, at any time, save 
 me, and bear me safe to shore." 
 
 I do not think she did so ; for it was a 
 M 3
 
 244 THE FATE. 
 
 subject on which she did not like her 
 thoughts to rest, She was fain to believe, 
 and did believe, that she was actuated by 
 no feeling but one — a sincere, unmingled 
 desire of freeing a man whom she esteemed, 
 the son of her mother's best friend, from 
 perils and difficulties undeserved. Yet 
 there were various little incidents — very 
 indefinite — very intangible — a word 
 dropped now and then — a deep fit of 
 thought, after the name of Margaret Wood- 
 hall had been mentioned — a grave and 
 solemn earnestness of manner in protest- 
 ing that nothing on earth could have in- 
 duced him to draw his sword against 
 Henry Woodhall —which, like the light 
 gusts of the evening wind, bringing misty 
 clouds upon the western sk} r , cast, over 
 Hortensia's contemplated future, a vague, 
 uncertain gloom, from which she was fain 
 to turn her eyes, and rejoice in the sun- 
 shine of the present, when she and Ralph 
 spent the evenings alone together in her
 
 THE FATE. ' 245 
 
 wide, richly-furnished withdrawing-room, 
 sometimes reading authors whom we vene- 
 rate as fathers of the poetry and prose of 
 England, but who were then hardly conse- 
 crated by the hand of Time ; sometimes play- 
 ing, upon instruments then in vogue, music 
 which might strike us, perhaps, in the pre- 
 sent day, as poor in the harmony, but which 
 had a freshness, and vigour in the melody, 
 rarely to be found in this all steaming 
 age. 
 
 In the darkness of the night, Iior- 
 tensia would often lie awake for hours, not 
 indulging in apprehension or regretful 
 thoughts — not even, like the patriarch, 
 struggling with the Angel of Hope, to win a 
 boon at last from the Giver of all happiness ; 
 but w r atching like a warder upon a tower, to 
 prevent the entrance of any of the ene- 
 mies that flocked continually forward to 
 obtain admittance into the fortress of the 
 mind. 
 
 Sometimes, wearied with this dark, silent
 
 246 the fate. 
 
 strife, she would wake her maid, who now slept 
 in the same room, and bid her strike alight, 
 and give her a book to while away the 
 tedious hours till daylight came. This 
 being done, the maid would creep again 
 to bed, and fall, in a moment, into dream- 
 less, heavy slumber, the envy of the high- 
 born lady lying near. 
 
 One night — I call the period of dark- 
 ness, night — Hortensia, after reading for 
 sometime, placed the book beneath her pillow, 
 raised her fair arm, as children do, under 
 her head, and, with the rich curls of her un- 
 filleted hair falling over it and partly 
 shrouding her face, tried to obtain a 
 brief, refreshing draught of that sweet, 
 calm, morning sleep which often visits us 
 just in the sober-coloured dawn of day. At 
 that moment, she heard the trotting of a 
 horse ; and, a minute after, the great bell 
 rang sharply. 
 
 No one answered, and several seconds 
 passed, when the bell rang again ; and,
 
 THE FATE. 247 
 
 shortly after, slow and tardy steps paced 
 the marble hall towards the great door. 
 
 A gray light was, by this time, stealing 
 into the room; and Hortensia, partly roused 
 again, exclaimed, between sleep and wak- 
 ing, "Alice, Alice, some one is ringing the 
 great bell. Throw on some cloches, and 
 go and ask what is the matter." 
 
 The girl was already awake ; for she 
 had slept long and deeply, and the ringing 
 of the bell had roused her. She was soon 
 partly dressed, and gone ; and Hortensia 
 heard her talking with the old porter over 
 the balustrade of the stair-case. The in- 
 terrogatory seemed to deviate into a gossip; 
 and when the maid came back, saying, 
 " Nothing but some letters, my lady, 
 brought by a messenger for Mr. llalph 
 AYoodhall," Hortensia was fast asleep, 
 and unconscious of the words spoken. 
 
 When she again awoke, some two hours 
 afterwards, she made further enquiries ; 
 and, on being informed of what had occur-
 
 248 the fate. 
 
 red, hastened to dress herself as rapidly as 
 possible. 
 
 On descending to the breakfast- room, or 
 little hall, as it was called at that time in 
 her dwelling, she found three letters ad- 
 dresed to Ralph Woodhall, lying unde- 
 livered on the table. The porter had not 
 thought it worth while to wake the young 
 gentleman, he said ; and Hortensia at once 
 despatched a messenger to her guest, who 
 appeared soon after with the letters open 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Any news I any tidings V 1 asked Hor- 
 tensia, eagerly. "The sight of those letters 
 frightens me ; for it is clear some one has 
 discovered the place of your retreat ; and 
 our secret is no longer safe." 
 
 " It has been discovered indeed," replied 
 Ralph ; " but how, I know not. However, 
 two or three letters are to warn me that 
 this place is no longer safe for me. There 
 is one of them." 
 
 As he spoke, he gave into the hands of 
 Lady Danvers a sheet of coarse paper,
 
 THE FATB. 249 
 
 on which were writen a few lines in 
 a bold hand. She read them attentively, 
 and then, raising her eyes to his face, en- 
 quired, " Who is this person who signs him- 
 self Moraber P 
 
 " I can hardly tell you," replied Rak>h. 
 " He is a strange, solitary being of whose 
 history I know nothing, except that he 
 was a college companion of the Duke of 
 Norfolk ; that he gave himself up from a 
 very early period to the sturty of judicial 
 astrology, and seems, by that or some 
 other means, to have obtained a very 
 strange degree of knowledge regarding the 
 fortunes and feelings of a great multitude 
 of persons. You will see in another 
 letter, which 1 will shew you in a moment, 
 that he takes no slight interest in my own 
 affairs, and has done me justice in matters 
 where even those who loved me well wt-iv 
 inclined to doubt me." 
 
 "But from whom is that very long 
 letter \ if my curiosity be pardonable.'"
 
 250 THE FATE 
 
 asked Hortensia, pointing to a piece of 
 foolscap closely covered. 
 
 " This is from my good father," replied 
 Ralph, with a smile; "and if you will take 
 the trouble of perusing the first few 
 sentences, you will see, dear lady, that one 
 brought up in such principles, was not likely 
 to take his cousin's life in a duel." 
 
 Lady Danvers took the letter, and read 
 what follows : — 
 
 " Dear Son, 
 
 " I have been in a state of anguish of 
 mind not to be described, from Wednesday 
 last, the twenty-second of the montli, till 
 this present Tuesday; the twenty-eighth. I 
 have heard, and that from authority which 
 appeared not capable of being doubted, that 
 you had been mad enough to engage in a 
 luel, notwithstanding all the principles I 
 nave endeavoured to instil into your mind ; 
 tliat you had killed your adversary ; and
 
 THE FATE, 251 
 
 that the slain man was jour cousin Henry. 
 Now I have ever held, and have endea- 
 voured to teach you to hold, that duelling 
 is not only murder, but murder of the 
 most aggravated kind. The slaughter of 
 a man may take place by accident — by a 
 hasty blow in a moment of passion — in 
 self defence when suddenly assailed — or 
 in a great tumult or commotion ; aud in 
 these cases the law of man — and, let us 
 not doubt, the law of God also — deals 
 leniently. But in the case of a duel there 
 is no sound and legitimate excuse what- 
 soever for the man who slays another. 
 He has time for reflection ; therefore 
 the act is deliberate and premeditated. 
 He goes out to kill, and he kills. 
 Nor is it any mitigation of his offence 
 that his adversary came there with the 
 same purpose towards himself ; for the 
 crime of the one can never excuse the 
 crime of the other. Still less is it an 
 excuse that duelling is a custom of society ; 
 for every Christian and every philosopher
 
 252 THE FATE. 
 
 must perceive that this custom of society 
 is in itself a criminal one, a proof of its 
 barbarism, rather than of its civilization ; 
 and he who sanctions it by his example, 
 commits, in addition to the particular 
 crime of murder, a general offence against 
 society and mankind, by encouraging and 
 perpetuating a criminal habit which all 
 good men should unite to put down. Thus, 
 to the eyes of God, and to the eyes of all 
 reasoning men likewise, the act of killing 
 another in a duel, is the most aggravated 
 kind of murder ; for the evil is not con- 
 fined to the offence, but spreads round as 
 a diffusive poison, affecting detrimentally 
 the whole mass of society. There are but 
 three occasions in which any man is justi- 
 fied in taking the life of another : in ac- 
 tual defence of his own life : in defence of 
 his country ; and in obedience to the laws 
 of his country. All other cases are 
 murder. Now, you may easily conceive, 
 my dear son, how much pain it gave me to 
 think for one whole week that my son was
 
 THE FATE. -53 
 
 a murderer. I have this day, however, 
 received from a person calling himself 
 Moraber, whom you must have heard of 
 in our neighbourhood, the most strong and 
 solemn assurance that you are innocent of 
 this terrible offence ; that you did not 
 fight your cousin ; and that he was slain 
 by some other hand. I believe the in- 
 formation to be correct, for my informant 
 is above suspicion ; yet I beseech you, if it be 
 possible, write me the same assurance, that 
 my mind may be freed completely from 
 anguish such as I have never known,- — 
 nay, not even when it pleased Heaven to 
 take from me your beloved mother." 
 
 The writing went on several pages far- 
 ther ; but Lady Dan vers stopped there, 
 and returned the letter to Ralph, saying, 
 " I agree with him entirely, Ralph. But 
 to return to this Moraber. What can he 
 know of anything that is taking place 
 here ? lie tells you that immediate flight
 
 254 THE FATE. 
 
 is necessary to your safety ; and that you 
 have but two days to execute it after the re- 
 ceipt of his letter ; yet the letter itself is 
 nearly a fortnight old." 
 
 " I have still surer information than 
 that," replied Ralph. " Here is another 
 letter which I will show to no eyes but 
 your own, dear Lady Danvers. After all 
 your kindness and generosity towards roe, 
 however, I can keep back no secret of my 
 heart from you." 
 
 Again Lady Danvers took the letter he 
 offered, and read. It was brief, hastily 
 written in a woman's hand, and to the 
 following effect : — 
 
 " An opportunity has suddenly pre- 
 sented itself, dear Ralph, of sending to you 
 a few lines ; and I seize it, first, to assure 
 you that, notwithstanding all that men 
 accuse you of, I do not believe one word 
 of the tale. Your love for Margaret would 
 never suffer you to slay her brother.
 
 THE FATE. 255 
 
 Secondly, I write to tell you that dangers 
 of various kinds menace you where you 
 are. Your place of concealment has been 
 discovered. Orders will be despatched 
 this very night to the troops marching 
 against the Duke of Monmouth, to occupy 
 Dan vers Newchurch as a military post, 
 and apprehend you if you are found there. 
 Fly immediately ; and, if possible, till the 
 storm is passed, take refuge across the sea. 
 The dear lady with whom you are, will 
 doubtless be able to find you the means 
 of escape and, if so, will merit more 
 even than at present, the eternal grati- 
 tude of 
 
 " Your own 
 
 " Margaret." 
 
 Strange and beautiful were the changes 
 of expression which came over the face of 
 Hortensia Danvers as she read those words. 
 The very first sentence called the warm 
 blood rushing into her cheek ; like the 
 light of the morning sun kindling the white
 
 256 THE FATE. 
 
 clouds on the horizon. Then the glow 
 faded away ; back, back to the heart, 
 every warm, thrilling drop was with- 
 drawn, and her face remained pale as 
 that of a marble statue ; while her eyes 
 were fixed upon the lines as if every 
 word had been a fate to her. Even 
 after she had done, she held the letter 
 still in her hand, gazing at it in deep 
 silence. 
 
 " I must tell you, dear Lady Danvers," 
 said Ralph, in his inexperience, not reading 
 her looks aright, " I must tell you that 
 my cousin Margaret and myself have loved 
 each other warmly from childhood ; and 
 that it was the hope — a hope almost in- 
 sane — of winning her father's consent to 
 our union, that led me forth to seek my 
 fortune in the wide world/' 
 
 " Here, take it, take it," ejaculated 
 Hortensia, putting the letter in his hand. 
 u I will be back directly. All this news con- 
 founds me — I must think alone and in
 
 THE FATE. 257 
 
 quiet. I will be back soon, and we will 
 decide upon something." 
 
 .Again the warm blood rushed into her 
 cheek, as if some sudden thought, for which 
 she took shame to herself, crossed her 
 mind secretly ; and she added, in a falter- 
 ing voice, " To have my house occupied by 
 troops ! — I will be back presently." 
 
 For nearly half an hour, Ralph walked 
 up and down the hall alone ; but then, 
 with a slow and languid step, Horten- 
 sia rejoined him and seated herself near 
 the table. Not a trace of tears was upon 
 her cheek : she had evidently not been 
 weeping : but she was still as pale as alabas- 
 ter, though her eyes beamed with even 
 more light than usual. Was it that a deadly 
 struggle of passions had been in her heart \ 
 — that she had been the victor \ — that the 
 light of triumph was in her eyes, but that 
 the exhaustion of combat well nigh over- 
 powered even the conqueror \ Perhaps so; 
 but certainly she betrayed no evidence of 
 the struggle in her manner towards Ralph.
 
 258 THE FATE. 
 
 She was as kind, as warm, as eager as 
 ever. 
 
 He had still the roll of letters in his 
 hand ; and, pointing to them, she said, 
 with her sweet smile and musical voice, 
 " I must do something, Ralph, to win this 
 dear girl's gratitude, as she trusts to me. 
 Let me see the letter again." 
 
 He gave it to her. She read it through ; 
 and then, murmuring u May she be 
 happy !" pressed her lips on Margaret's 
 name. When she gave it back to Ralph, a 
 single tear was upon it ; and that was all 
 she shed. 
 
 " Now," said Hortensia, gaily, " we 
 must to council to see if we cannot out- 
 manoeuvre our enemies. Farther down the 
 coast is a little port called Seaton, where 
 there used to be large and very safe boats 
 which they call luggers. I was a great 
 favourite there with the good fishermen 
 when I was a child ; and, methinks, if we 
 can reach that port, it would be very easy 
 to hire one of these boats, if not to convey
 
 THE FATE, 259 
 
 you to the coast of France or Holland, at 
 least to land you at some other English 
 port where you may find a vessel ready to 
 sail/' 
 
 " Perhaps I had better set out at once," 
 said Ralph. " My horse is quite fresh now, 
 and, with some one to guide me, I could 
 reach the port rapidly." 
 
 " No, no, that will never do," replied 
 Lady Danvers ; " the country is all covered 
 with troops, and you will be stopped to a 
 certainty. I will tell you how we must 
 manage. During the day, we will send 
 out people in all directions to ascertain 
 what roads are clear. Then, towards 
 evening, we will set out in my carriage. 
 For an hour's drive round the place, no one 
 dare stop me ; and after that we shall 
 have darkness to befriend us. AYc can 
 take the roads we know to be open ; and, 
 as your friend Moraber gives you two whole 
 days, we shall be within the limit." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Ralph, " I will not
 
 260 THF. FATE. 
 
 have you peril yourself for me. That 
 must not be, clear Lady Danvers." 
 
 " Well, I will convoy you part of the 
 way," said Hortensia. " Let your servant 
 ride on to Seaton, obtain information 
 there, and meet us on the road. One of 
 my people can mount your horse ; and, 
 when you need the beast, get upon the 
 carriage to return. This will be the surest 
 way ; and, if we obtain good intelligence, I 
 .shall run no risk — nor you either, I trust, 
 Ralph." 
 
 So was it settled ; and, the same evening, 
 Ralph and Hortensia began a pilgrimage 
 which will require a chapter to itself.
 
 THE PATE. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Very few visitors had been to Danvers 
 Newchurch during the morning. Some- 
 thing had kept every one away but the 
 parson of the parish, and an old lady of 
 the village who held a sort of middle 
 station between the gentry and the yeo- 
 manry of the country, and prided herself 
 upon knowing all the affairs of both. Trust- 
 worthy servants, however, had been coin- 
 ing and going all the day, and they brought 
 intelligence which showed that a considera- 
 able circuit must be taken round the town 
 of Axminster in order to avoid the two 
 contending parties in the western counties,
 
 262 THE FATE. 
 
 then actually coming to hard blows with 
 each other. 
 
 About four o'clock, Gaunt Stilling set 
 off on horseback for Seaton, the way to 
 which he knew well, and his business at 
 which place was explained to him easily. 
 He w r as to meet Lady Dan vers and Ralph 
 a little to the eastward of Axminster, and 
 let them know the result of his enquiries at 
 Seaton ; but his instructions were totally 
 independent of the various scouts which 
 had been sent forth ; and the rumours 
 which Hortensia received from the latter, 
 were — especially towards the close of the 
 day — rather contradictory. 
 
 Nevertheless, about an hour before sun- 
 set, the great, lumbering carriage was 
 brought round to the door ; the lady and 
 Ralph entered it, and, followed by several 
 armed servants on horseback, they took 
 their way towards the upper gates, by a 
 road not quite so much frequented as either 
 the lower road or the foot-path which 
 crossed the park below the house. It was
 
 THE FATE. 263 
 
 a soft and not unpleasant evening, such as 
 one often finds in that climate, with a 
 misty, hazy sort of air through which the 
 sun struggled from time to time, shedding 
 a rosy light over the whole scene around. 
 
 Hortensia was somewhat silent, and 
 evidently anxious — I do not mean to say 
 frightened, for she was unconscious of 
 any personal danger; but the perils to her 
 companion seemed to weigh upon her, and, 
 when she did converse, her whole conver- 
 sation consisted of enquiries, consultations, 
 and advice as to the best means of passing 
 undetected till an assured place of safety 
 should be reached. Every consideration 
 seemed merged in that one. There was 
 no longer the airy, lark-like flight of fancy 
 which had often, in the leisure hours pre- 
 ceding, carried away the mind of Ralph 
 Woodhall into far, etherial fields of space ; 
 there was no longer the calm, thoughtful, 
 yet not unimaginative, wandering of the 
 spirit through more familiar scenes, draw- 
 ing as much essence of dream from a cow-
 
 264 THE PATE. 
 
 slip, or a primrose, or a violet, as bolder 
 efforts of the fancy would extract from the 
 high mountain or the floating cloud. It 
 was all now hard, dry matter of necessity 
 and business. That was the sole difference 
 between the communion of the preceding 
 days and the present ; but it was great. 
 The edge of the sky grew rosy ; the sun 
 set ; the night came. The misty clouds 
 from which had occasionally dropped large 
 tears on the earth, passed away like 
 gloomy thoughts from a bright mind ; and 
 star by star came out in the refreshed sky, 
 and looked down*upon the earth in melan- 
 choly calmness. 
 
 Alone, and side by side, Hortensia Dan- 
 vers and Ralph Woodhall wended slowly 
 on. I must not pretend to look into her 
 bosom — the eye of man never did : some 
 women might have divined what mysterious 
 things were passing therein ; but even of 
 women, not all. 
 
 It were vain to say that at that moment 
 — which to him seemed the real parting
 
 THR FATE. 265 
 
 moment, — Ralph Woodhall did not feel 
 many deep or strong emotions at the 
 thought of being parted — perhaps for 
 ever — from one so beautiful, so gentle, so 
 generous, so kind. It is too rare to find 
 pure, disinterested friendship on the earth, 
 for one of a high heart to meet with it un- 
 touched. Ralph forgot himself — his fate — 
 his peril — the pressing urgency of petty cir- 
 cumstances — the momentary dangers that 
 beset his way — the trifling incidents that, 
 at every step, might change his destiny, for 
 good or ill. He thought only of Hortensia ; 
 and yet with such thoughts that Margaret 
 might have seen them all, joined them, 
 and shared them. 
 
 There was a deep silence for a consider- 
 able length of time. Had any other soul 
 been within the carriage, not sharing in 
 the thoughts of its occupants, to him it 
 would have seemed very long. To them it 
 was all too brief for the crowded feelings 
 they forced into it. 
 
 At length, Ralph could refrain no m ore 
 
 VOL. TI. N
 
 1266 THE FATE 
 
 He took Hortensia's hand in his, pressed 
 it to his lips, and said, " Oh, dear Lady 
 Danvers, how can I ever thank you suffi- 
 ciently — how can I ever explain to you 
 all I feel ? Your kindness — your many 
 acts of kindness — have come upon me, like a 
 torrent, so rapidly that I have had no time 
 to breathe or think till this moment ; and 
 now, when I still feel the full force of all, 
 we are going to part, God knows how 
 long." 
 
 " Hush !" ejaculated Hortensia. in a low, 
 agitated voice, " hush !" And for a single 
 instant she leaned her fair brow upon his 
 shoulder. Then, raising it calmly, she 
 added, " Ralph, my dear brother, we must 
 not think of anything which can withdraw 
 our attention from the present perilous 
 hour. If you escape happily and well, as 
 God in his great mercy grant, tell your 
 Margaret, with Hortensia's love, that she 
 did all in her power to save and aid you. 
 Nay, tell her/' she added in a more cheer- 
 ful tone — though there was a touch of
 
 THE FATE. 267 
 
 flattering effort about it too — " nay, tell 
 her that, in after years, perhaps, when 
 storms have vanished and the skies are 
 clear, Hortensia will come to visit you 
 both in your happiness, and claim the 
 gratitude Margaret promised, and rejoic- 
 ingly talk of days of sorrow and of peril 
 passed away." 
 
 Silence fell upon them again. — Was 
 that a sob \ — It was very like one. 
 
 Whatever it might have been, it was 
 drowned, the moment after, in the rattle of 
 musketry : there was ah 1 ash too — distant, but 
 near enough to show suddenly the tower of a 
 large cathedral -looking church, long lines 
 of houses, and stacks of chimneys, and un- 
 dulating hedgerows, and wavy-outlined 
 trees. The next moment — not in one 
 volley, but in an irregular, running fire — 
 shot after shot was heard, sometimes single, 
 sometimes two or three together, sometimes 
 as if from whole platoons; while quickly 
 reiterated flashes ran along all the hedge- 
 rows within sight ; and then the roar of
 
 268 THE FATE. 
 
 a cannon or two was heard, with a shrill 
 sound of fifes and drums. 
 
 In an instant, Ralph's hand was upon the 
 door of the carriage, and, before Hortensia 
 could beseech him to forbear, he had sprung 
 out. 
 
 " Here, Jones, give me my horse," he 
 cried. " Turn round the carriage, and 
 away back with all speed. What ! is the 
 lane too narrow 1 Onwards there seems a 
 wider space. Stay ! I will ride on and see. 
 Coachman, you must get your mistress out 
 of this peril as speedily as possible. Come 
 after me slowly. Some one put the cush- 
 ions against the front windows. — You, men 
 on horseback, gather round the carriage ; 
 take no part with any one, but defend your 
 lady." 
 
 Then dashing forward, he was for a 
 moment lost in the darkness, till his voice 
 was heard shouting, " Here ! here is room 
 to turn ;" and the coachman hurried on his 
 horses at, the utmost speed to a spot where 
 a wide open space, with a gate leading
 
 THE FATE 269 
 
 into a field, seemed to give a chance of 
 wheeling round the lumbering vehicle. 
 
 At that moment, however, just as the 
 four horses, somewhat restive with the 
 noise and confusion, were plunging and 
 rearing, and a man on foot was striving to 
 turn the heads of the leaders round, the whole 
 evolution was interrupted by a number of 
 men in military garb, but not array, run- 
 ning as if for life up the lane, and dashing 
 against the horses and carriage. 
 
 One of the fugitives exclaimed, evidently 
 mistaking Ralph, who had his sword 
 drawn, for some one else, u All's lost, my 
 Lord, all's lost! Monmouth has won the 
 day, and the men are running like devils." 
 
 Thus saying, he flung his musket into 
 a ditch, and ran on, only to be succeeded 
 by another still more terrified, who had al- 
 ready denuded himself of cap and weapons, 
 and was struggling to get out of a military 
 jacket which seemed to cling to him like tiie 
 coat of Nessus. He cried, " Monmouth! 
 Monmouth! The Protestant religion for
 
 270 THE FATE, 
 
 ever, and damn Papacy, and prelacy, and 
 the Tope of Rome !" 
 
 " Here, draw up across the lane," shouted 
 Balph, addressing the horsemen who ac- 
 companied the carriage. " Keep a suffi- 
 cient space clear for the coach to turn ; let 
 another footman go to the head of the 
 horses. — Get them quickly round. Soothe 
 them, soothe them !" 
 
 At that moment, a sharp volley came up 
 the lane, and one of the balls rattled against 
 the carriage. Ealph spurred instantly to- 
 wards the side ; but, ere he reached it, his 
 horse staggered, and sank upon its haun- 
 ches. 
 
 " You are not hurt, Hortensia V he 
 said, springing from the saddle. " Oh God ! 
 you are not hurt V 3 
 
 " No, no," she cried ; " but you're 
 wounded, Ealph." 
 
 " Not in the least," he answered ; " it is 
 but the horse." A nd, running forward, lie 
 aided with better skill in turning the car- 
 riage round.
 
 THE FATE. 271 
 
 While thus employed, a party of horse- 
 men, of distinguished mien gallopped up 
 the lane, and one of them, with a hat 
 loaded with plumes, paused for an instant 
 to ask, " Whose carriage is this ? In 
 Heaven's name, how came you here 1" 
 
 " We were going to Axminster," replied 
 Ralph ; " but now I suppose it is in the 
 hands of the Duke of Monmouth. We can 
 hardly get the carriage round." 
 
 " As difficult as I have found to take 
 Axminster, with two regiments of boobies 
 and a handful of ploughmen," observed the 
 other. " I fear we cannot stay to help you. 
 If you fall into the hands of Monmouth, 
 give him the Duke of Albemarle's compli- 
 ments, and say I hope we shall meet again 
 some day soon." 
 
 ' w Come, come, my Lord, this is no time 
 for jesting," said another of the horsemen; 
 and the party rode on, leaving the ground 
 clearer than it had been before. 
 
 A few moments only were now required 
 to turn the carriage completely ; but the
 
 272 THE FATE. 
 
 lane was deep and muddy, and little pro- 
 gress was likely to be made, while it seemed 
 certain that pursued and pursuers would 
 still be urging their course along the very 
 path which it was necessary to follow in 
 order to reach Dairvers Newchurch. 
 
 Ralph gave a look at his horse ; but the 
 poor beast was now stretched with his 
 head flat in the clay, and it was necessary 
 to drag him out of the road before the 
 carriage could pass. This consumed some 
 time, and several fugitives hurried by, ex- 
 claiming as they went, " They are coming, 
 they are coming! You had better make 
 haste !" 
 
 At length the carcass of the horse was 
 removed ; and, taking the pistols from the 
 holsters, Ralph approached the side of the 
 carriage, saying, " I know not whether I 
 can best give you protection by mounting 
 another horse, and riding by your side, 
 or—" 
 
 " No, no ; come in, come in," said Hor-
 
 THE FATE. 273 
 
 tensia. " I need some one with me — 1 
 am foolishly frightened." 
 
 Ralph instantly opened the door ; but, 
 turning to the men ere he entered, he 
 said — 
 
 " Draw round as close as possible ; each 
 keep a cocked pistol in his hand. Bid 
 every one stand off, for that we are peaceful 
 travellers avoiding the affray. Be firm, 
 but forbear any violence. Now, coachman, 
 drive on as fast as you can go." 
 
 Thus saying, he entered the carriage, and 
 seated himself by Hortensia's side, while 
 the coachman plied his whip with terrified 
 vehemence, and the horses dashed on 
 quicker than, probably, they had ever been 
 known to go before. In the rumbling and 
 rattling of the wheels, and their grating 
 through the stones and mud, the sounds 
 from without were not very distinctly 
 heard, although firing, and shouting, and 
 running, were still going on all around. 
 But some clear, sweet, musical tones fell 
 distinctly enough upon Ralph's ear.
 
 274 THE FATE. 
 
 "Ob, Ralph, tell me — assure me — that 
 vou are not hurt/' exclaimed Hortensia. 
 " I am sure I saw you reel upon the horse 
 as if a ball had struck you." 
 
 "It was the horse who staggered and 
 fell," replied Ralph. " I can assure you I 
 am not hurt at all." 
 
 "Thank God!" ejaculated Hortensia, 
 with a deep sigh ; and Ralph went on to 
 add— 
 
 " I feared you might be hurt ; for I 
 heard a bullet strike the carriage. 5 ' 
 
 " Did it V 9 said Hortensia. " I was not 
 aware of it. It did not come near me. T 
 was looking out, and thinking how you 
 men expose yourselves unnecessarily, 
 more than of anything else." 
 
 " Not unnecessarily," returned Ralph ; 
 " depend upon it, it needs some one to 
 command under such circumstances." 
 
 " And that you did right well, most 
 certainly," rejoined Lady Dan vers, assuming 
 a tone of gaiety not very congenial to her 
 feelings. " I could have fancied you a 
 general, and think, indeed, you should have
 
 THE FATE. 275 
 
 been a soldier. Rut what are we to do 
 now 1 What is to become of us T 
 
 " We must go back to Danvers New- 
 church at once," answered Ralph. " We have 
 no other choice, and I must try my for- 
 tunes alone early to-morrow morning. It 
 is strange we have heard nothing of Gaunt 
 Stilling. " 
 
 Hortensia did not reply ; and, after a 
 moment, Ralph added — 
 
 " The firing seems farther off now, to 
 the east of the town. 1 strongly suspect 
 Monmouth will not pursue his advantage 
 — his troops are too raw. — Is anything the 
 matter \ You do not speak. ,; 
 
 •■ 2\o, Ralph, no," she answered. "My 
 heart is very full with many mingled feel- 
 ings ; some joy — as, for instance, at our 
 escape from danger ; some apprehension ; 
 le grief; but i trust that to-morrow 
 will bring better fortune, and that, ere 
 night, I shall hear that you are Bafe, 
 Ralph." 
 
 She called him Ralph twice in the same
 
 276 THE FATE. 
 
 short answer ; and it was pleasant to his 
 ear ; but she had remarked that, from the 
 moment when he sprang from the carriage, 
 he had given her no name whatever, ex- 
 cept, once, that of Hortensia. He would 
 not — he dared not — call her so again, after 
 the first excitement was over ; and yet, 
 with the warm sound upon his lips, he 
 could not bring them to utter a colder 
 name. Their thoughts were both upon 
 the same subject at the same moment. 
 
 The noise of the firing had now nearly 
 ceased. The fugitives, who were still pass- 
 ing, were few and scattered ; the moon 
 was rising slowly in the east, and silvering 
 the heavens behind a wooded hill and 
 a tall, ancient-looking farm-house, upon a 
 high stony bank ; when suddenly a loud 
 voice cried — 
 
 " Halt ! Who goes there T 
 The coachman instantly pulled in his 
 reins ; and Ralph, putting his head out of 
 the carriage, replied — 
 
 " Friends. Whose post is this ? Stand
 
 THE FATE. 277 
 
 off, for the men are armed, and we want 
 no more confusion." 
 
 " What friends V demanded the sentry. 
 
 " Lady Dan vers and her servants," an- 
 swered Ralph, knowing that the announce- 
 ment could do no one but himself any harm. 
 " She is seeking to return to her own 
 house, as she finds she cannot get to Ax- 
 minster. Who commands at this post, 
 fellow, I ask again ?" 
 
 "George Monk, Duke of Albemarle," re- 
 plied the militia-man, stoutly ; '* and I can 
 tell you, you must stop till he says that 
 you can go on ; for if you come a step 
 further, I will shoot one of your great 
 coach-horses."
 
 278 THE FATE 
 
 CHAPTER XIY 
 
 The sentinel who spoke the words with 
 which the last chapter concluded, was 
 placed in a little hollow way, or cut in the 
 steep bank through which the lane had to 
 wind on in order to pass over the hill. lie 
 was evidently a country boor of the Duke 
 of Albemarle's militia, unacquainted with 
 military service, and as likely as not. to 
 put his threat of shooting one of the coach- 
 horses into execution. 
 
 But before IJalph could think of what 
 was next to be done, or Lady Dan vers 
 could say a word, a figure was seen to drop 
 down from the bank behind the soldier,
 
 THE FATE. 2 < b* 
 
 seize him by the throat, and, with very little 
 ceremony, wrench his musket out of his 
 hands, taking special care to allow him no 
 opportunity of discharging it in the 
 struggle. 
 
 " A pretty fellow you are, to stop a lady's 
 carriage on the King's high way," cried a 
 voice, which Ealph recognized right well. 
 " There, go and tell the Duke what you 
 have been doing, and get well punished for 
 your pains. He never told you to stop 
 Lady Danvers's carriage, I'm sure." 
 
 Thus saying, Gaunt Stilling (for it washe) 
 shook the powder out of the pan of the man's 
 musket, and, giving him a kick behind, sent 
 him running up towards the farm-house I 
 have mentioned. 
 
 " Quick, my lady !" exclaimed Still- 
 ing. " You had better drive back to 
 Danvers Newchureh as fast as possible. 
 You cannot pass any other way. I will 
 overtake you soon, — Jog along. Master 
 Coachman."
 
 280 THE FATE. 
 
 He sprang up the bank again as he spoke, 
 and the carriage moved forward. 
 
 It is probable that the Duke of Albe- 
 marle, who was of a more jovial temper 
 than his renowned father, only laughed at 
 the sentry's mishap. Certain it is, he gave 
 no orders for pursuing the carriage of Lady 
 Dan vers ; and Ralph and his fair companion 
 continued their journey uninterrupted. 
 
 That journey, however, was slow in its 
 progress ; and it was nearly two o'clock in 
 the morning before the carriage entered 
 the park. The moon, which had risen 
 clear, had become dim and cloudy ; not 
 altogether obscured, indeed, but partially 
 veiled in thin clouds, amidst which her 
 rays formed a broad yellow halo, auguring 
 ill of the coming weather. The beautiful 
 park itself, the dark trees, the solemn old 
 house standing on its eminence, — all had a 
 sad and gloomy aspect in that sort of 
 dreamy twilight ; and, with a wearied 
 frame and a heart not happy, the buoyant 
 spirit of Hortensia fell. She sat, silent and
 
 THE FATE. 281 
 
 thoughtful, by Ralph's side, and more than 
 once felt that she could weep, and find re- 
 lief in tears, if she were alone. 
 
 She restrained them, however, and 
 strove to look cheerful, when Ralph, at 
 length, aided her to alight at her own 
 door. 
 
 " Ah, my lady," said Mr. Drayton, " I'm 
 glad to see you back, for rumours have 
 come in of a battle near Axminster." 
 
 " In the midst of which we have been, 
 Drayton," added his lady. 
 
 '* Oh, a mere skirmish, madam/' said 
 Gaunt Stilling, advancing from the hall- 
 door. " But I have some news to give you 
 and my master, for which I will crave 
 your attention as soon as may be." 
 
 " Come in here —come in here,*' said 
 Hortensia, turning towards the little room 
 in which Ralph had made his principal 
 abode during her absence. 
 
 " If you are going to use the coach to- 
 morrow, my lady," interposed the coachman, 
 coming up the steps, " I had better get the
 
 282 THE FATE. 
 
 carpenter and the blacksmith up at once ; 
 for two bullets have gone right into the hind 
 axle-tree." 
 
 " We can use some other lighter car- 
 riage, 5 ' said Lady Danvers, thoughtfully — 
 " the Vis-a-vis—" 
 
 "Lord bless you, my lady! it would be 
 knockedall to pieces," interrupted thecoach- 
 man ; " and besides, that can't be, for it is in 
 Lunnun — and all the other carriages, for 
 that matter." 
 
 " Well then, Harrison," returned Lady 
 Danvers, " get this mended as well as you 
 can, without sending up to the village. — 
 Now, Master Stilling," added she. 
 
 And, accompanied by Ralph, she bade 
 Stilling, who followed, shut the door. 
 
 "I'm very sorry, sir," said Gaunt Still- 
 ing, addressing his master, " that I could 
 not get back in time to stop your going 
 on ; but I was met and turned at every 
 point, like a hare by the greyhounds, so 
 that I was three times as long as I need 
 otherwise have been. However, it's quite
 
 THE FATE. 283 
 
 useless to go to Seaton ; for an embargo 
 has been laid on all the boats, and the 
 Tory magistrates are strong in the village. 
 I have found out, however, from some of 
 the old boatmen, that there is a much 
 better chance in the Bristol channel. You 
 mustn't go to Bristol itself, for Lord Pem- 
 broke is there, and he has probably got 
 his orders with regard to you ; but if you 
 can cut across to any of the little ports, or 
 to Bridge water, you are sure'to find a ship, 
 and seamen ready enough. — It will cost a 
 good sum, though, they say." 
 
 " That matters not," said Lady Danvers. 
 " But are you sure that he can pass V 
 
 " There is nothing sure in this world, 
 dear Lady Danvers," observed Ralph, 
 " unless it be woman's kindness ; but, in 
 such matters, we must take our chance, do 
 the best we can, and leave the rest to the 
 will "of Heaven." 
 
 '• If I could have a fresh horse to-morrow 
 morning, my lady," said Gaunt Stilling, "I 
 would undertake to make sure of a path. My
 
 284 THE FATE. 
 
 own beast will rest in the mean time, and 
 my master and I can set out at night — 
 only it would be a great deal better for you 
 to stay here, if I may be permitted to advise, 
 for we shall get on twice as fast on horse- 
 back, and not draw so many eyes." 
 
 " But it may be dangerous for him to 
 remain here even till your return," said 
 Hortensia ; and, looking round to Ralph, 
 she asked in a low voice, " May I tell him 
 what we have heard V 
 
 " Oh yes, you can confide in him en- 
 tirely," replied Ralph. ' " The truth is, 
 Stilling, we have information that this 
 house is to be occupied by the Kings 
 troops, with a special injunction to appre- 
 hend me if I am found within its walls. 
 Orders have already been sent to Lord 
 Feversham to that effect." 
 
 " lord Feversham is a gentleman, if not 
 a soldier," answered Gaunt Stilling, with a 
 laugh, " and he will do everything ceremo- 
 niously. It would be no hard matter to 
 bamboozle him. I would undertake to pass
 
 THE FATE. 285 
 
 my master upon him for a cardinal in dis- 
 guise. But I thought, sir, you had two 
 whole days to come and go upon V 1 
 
 " What, then you have heard from ou r 
 friend in Lincolnshire too V said Ealph 1 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the man ; " and you 
 may depend upon what he says. Lord 
 Feversham is near three days' march upon 
 the right — at least he was this morning ; 
 and if you can but keep yourself still and 
 quiet in the house, there is no fear till I 
 come back. He has no cavalry to spare ; 
 and he could not move infantry down in 
 time, let them go as fast as they will. My 
 plan was to let them get in advance of us, 
 and then pass in their rear ; but if they are 
 to occupy this house, that will not do ; and 
 we must get in the rear of Monmouth in- 
 stead. He is certain to move forward from 
 Axminster, I suppose, after his successful 
 skirmish, which he fought cleverly enough 
 if he had but known how to draw good use 
 out of it afterwards. I shall hear what he 
 is doing, however, to-morrow; and if he
 
 286 THE FATE. 
 
 marches towards Bath, as I think likely, 
 we can easily cut across behind him, and 
 get to the coast before a battle is fought." 
 
 " Do you think, then, he will fight a 
 general battle V asked Ralph. 
 
 "Oh, beyond doubt," answered Gaunt 
 Stilling ; " his men are bad enough, it is 
 true, and badly armed also ; but then it 
 does not require old Greeks to beat a cox- 
 comb like Feversham. They tell me, how- 
 ever, that Churchill is there, and Ogle- 
 thorpe, and the Tangier regiment, and 
 Dumbarton's ; and it would require men 
 who had smelt powder to fight those 
 fellows." 
 
 A knock at the door at this moment, 
 interrupted the conversation for a 
 time ; the worthy steward, partly moved 
 perhaps by curiosity, partly by anx- 
 iety for his lady's health, having come 
 to enquire whether she would not take 
 some refreshment after her fatiguing jour- 
 ney. 
 
 Brief consultation between Ralph and
 
 THE FATE 287 
 
 Hortensia during supper, confirmed the 
 resolution, already half taken, to follow the 
 counsels of Gaunt Stilling ; and Lady 
 Danvers even submitted to the necessity of 
 leaving her young guest to seek safety 
 alone, without offering a word of objection 
 to that which she believed would prove 
 most favourable to his purpose. 
 
 A horse was accordingly ordered for 
 Stilling, to be ready early on the following 
 morning ; and Ralph and Hortensia parted 
 to seek repose. 
 
 The next day broke dull and hea- 
 vily. Drops of rain fell from time to time ; 
 the sky was covered with a mantle of gray 
 cloud. The whole aspect of Mature was in 
 harmony with the feelings of two dear 
 friends about to part in peril and anxiety — 
 to part with a dark uncertain future before 
 them — without any knowledge to guide 
 Hope as to the how, the where, and the 
 when, they were to meet again. 
 
 How often is it, even when hands are
 
 288 THE FATE. 
 
 clasped, and eyes are bright with expectation, 
 and lips murmur hopefully, " We shall soon 
 meet again/' that grim Fate stands sternly 
 by, and puts in the dark word of contra- 
 diction, " Never !" But there are sadder 
 partings — partings where the word of doom 
 is heard like thunder — and partings where, 
 though the word be not actually spoken, 
 the frown upon the forehead of Destiny 
 fills the heart with dread, and wild, un- 
 hopeful doubt. 
 
 Such was the parting for which Hor- 
 tensia prepared herself ; but, happily for 
 her, there was much to be done to fill up 
 the intervening hours. The best horse of 
 her stable had to be selected for Ealph's 
 use — to supply the place of that which he 
 had lost ; and then she had to persuade, 
 to insist, to argue with him, on the matter 
 of receiving from her the means of hiring a 
 vessel, at whatever cost, to carry him to 
 the Dutch coast. 
 
 It is very strange ; three days before, 
 he w x ould have had no hesitation whatever
 
 THE FATE. 289 
 
 in profiting by her kindness at once, but 
 now he strove to avoid, to evade it. He 
 assured her he had enough — that he had 
 all he wanted — even while he was calcu- 
 lating in his own mind what amount he 
 could obtain for the various trinkets he 
 possessed. I will not try to look into his 
 motives ; for he would not look into them 
 himself, although he carried his refusal 
 almost to a point of coldness. It was only 
 in the end, when Hortensia, with a falter- 
 ing voice, said, " For Margaret's sake, 
 Ralph," that he yielded even in part, and 
 accepted assistance which she thought infi- 
 nitely small. 
 
 She made up her mind, however, as to the 
 m eans of foiling his false delicacy, as she called 
 it ; and she proceeded to execute her per- 
 pose as soon as she was left alone. It is 
 true that she would fain have had him 
 stay with her the whole day. Each 
 minute seemed valuable : they were the 
 last drops in the flask. But he had to 
 write a letter to his father; and, though it 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 290 THE FATE. 
 
 was not long, the time it occupied was 
 the dullest of the day to Hortensia. She 
 employed a part of it, however, in execut- 
 ing her scheme, and sent for her steward 
 to speak with him. 
 
 " I know not, Master Drayton," she said, 
 " what rents you have got in ; but cir- 
 cumstances exist which will speedily re- 
 quire more money than I have brought 
 with me. I dare say you recollect quite 
 well my mother's friend Mistress Wood- 
 hall, for you must have been with my 
 father before her death." 
 
 " Oh, quite well, my lady," replied Mr. 
 Drayton, "and a beautiful creature she 
 was." 
 
 " Now the gentleman who is here, 
 is her son ; and I feel towards him, and 
 would act towards him, as a sister, if he 
 would but let me. From circumstances, 
 not necessary to mention*more than I have 
 already done, it is needful that he should 
 go to Holland as fast as possible. You 
 can easily judge that to hire a vessel for
 
 THE FATE. 291 
 
 that voyage will, in these present times, 
 cost a large sum. He thinks he has got 
 quite enough. I know he has not ; but he 
 will accept no more ; and therefore I must 
 contrive to place the necessary funds in 
 the hands of his servant Stilling, if you 
 think the man is to be trusted." 
 
 " Oh, perfectly, my lady, perfectly," 
 said Mr. Drayton. " How much does 
 your ladyship think will be required V 
 
 " Not less than five hundred pounds," 
 replied Lady Danvers. 
 
 " I have not so much in the house," said 
 Mr. Drayton, somewhat surprised ; " but 
 I can easily get it in the course of the day, 
 and I will get all that I can in gold, as most 
 convenient to carry ; though the tenants 
 often pay their rents in great heaps of 
 silver, which take hours to count. When 
 will it be needed, my lady V 
 
 " Before nightfall, at all events," replied 
 
 Lady Danvers. " When you have got it, 
 
 Mr. Drayton, give it into the hands of the 
 
 good man Stilling, for his master's use — 
 
 2
 
 292 THE FATE. 
 
 you had better, perhaps, take a receipt for 
 it — and tell him to employ it at once in 
 case of any difficulty being made about the 
 hire of a vessel. You are sure you can 
 trust him V 
 
 ' v 0h, quite sure," answered Mr. Drayton. 
 " He is very moody and rather passionate ; 
 but as honest a man as ever lived." 
 
 When this conversation was over, Hor- 
 tensia passed the next half hour as best 
 she might, sadly and thoughtfully enough, 
 walking up and down the terrace before 
 the house, in despite of the drops of rain 
 which fell from time to time. At length 
 she was joined by Ralph, and she resolutely 
 strove to appear cheerful, if not happy. 
 They conversed of many things — some 
 bright, some dark, some pertinent to the 
 occasion and the circumstances, some wan- 
 dering far away into realms where thought, 
 but too often, did not keep pace with 
 words. 
 
 Thus passed hour after hour; and though, 
 to vary the time, Hortensia and Ralph sat
 
 THE FATE. 293 
 
 down to the usual meals, but little food 
 was taken, and thought and conversation 
 went on as previously. 
 
 At length, about an hour before sunset, 
 as they were sitting in a large, beautifully- 
 furnished corner-room, which commanded 
 two views of the park, they heard the 
 sound of a horse's feet coming at speed, 
 and Ralph went to the window, saying, 
 " Here is Stilling, returned, I suppose. — 
 No, it is a stranger in a military dress/' 
 
 The man pushed his horse up the ter- 
 race, and rang the great bell without dis- 
 mounting ; and Hortensia, opening the 
 door which was near the head of the stairs, 
 listened eagerly. 
 
 Slowly the old porter swung back the 
 heavy house-door, and a voice from without 
 said, " Here is a letter, addressed to the 
 Eight Honorable lady, Hortensia Baroness 
 Danvers. — Come, take it, for T must be on 
 to Dorchester." 
 
 " Who is it from V asked the old porter, 
 not appearing to hurry himself in the least.
 
 294 THE FATE. 
 
 " From the Earl of Feversham," replied 
 the soldier. " I have had hard work to 
 find this out-of-the-way place." 
 
 " Won't you dismount, and take a glass 
 of ale V enquired the porter. 
 
 But the man replied, " No, no, I must 
 not stay." 
 
 And, turning his horse, he trotted 
 quickly off. 
 
 " These are tidings, Ralph," said 
 Hortensia ; " let us go and ascertain their 
 purpose." 
 
 Descending to the floor below, she met 
 the old man with the letter in his hand. 
 She refrained from opening it till she and 
 llalph were again alone, but then eagerly 
 perused the few lines it contained. They 
 were written in French, the Earl's native 
 language, and contained the usual amount 
 of unmeaning compliment and prettiness. 
 Stripped of all verbiage, however, the pur- 
 port of the letter was to inform Lady 
 Danvers, as in gallantry and duty bound, 
 that the position of his forces, and his line
 
 THE FATE. 295 
 
 pf march, compelled him, most unwillingly, 
 to occupy her house and park as a military 
 post of considerable importance. 
 
 " I have given the strictest orders," con- 
 tinued Lord Feversham, " that your charm- 
 ing ladyship be not put to the slightest 
 uneasiness or inconvenience ; but, as the 
 receiving of a large body of infantry, with- 
 out notice, might surprise and embarrass 
 you, I have thought fit, in due devotion to 
 your beautiful eyes, to overlook a little the 
 strict line of military duty, in order to give 
 you intimation, a whole day beforehand, 
 that the gallant Colonel Kirke, with the 
 Tangier regiment, will crave your hos- 
 pitality to-morrow at some period between 
 the hours of four and seven post meridian. 
 We trust very soon to come at the end of 
 these rebellions ; and in the meantime I 
 commend myself, my lady, to your good 
 graces and favourable consideration. 
 
 " Fevkrsh'am."
 
 296 THE FATE. 
 
 The eyes of Ralph and Hortensia in- 
 stantly turned to the date of the letter, and 
 with a feeling of relief they perceived that 
 it had been written on the morning of the 
 same day ; so that four-and-twenty hours 
 were clear before them. 
 
 " Do you know anything of this Colonel 
 Kirke T asked Ralph. 
 
 " Nothing whatever," replied Hortensia; 
 " but I know the Tangier regiment does 
 not bear the best name in the world." 
 
 " Of its qualities," said Ralph, with a 
 smile, " we can get full, though perhaps 
 not unprejudiced, information from Stilling 
 when he returns ; for he once served in 
 this very corps. He cannot be long now, 
 I suppose." 
 
 Nor was he ; for he must have passed 
 Lord Feversham's messenger very nearly 
 at the gates of the park ; and the letter 
 had not been read ten minutes when he 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Stilling, what news V s said his
 
 THE FATE. 297 
 
 master. " I was beginning to be somewhat 
 anxious for your return." 
 ■ " Plenty of time, sir, plenty of time," 
 responded Gaunt Stilling ; " and my news 
 is good. A schooner or a brig can cer- 
 tainly be hired in the channel, and at no 
 very hard rate. The way, too, is open ; 
 for Monmouth is moving to the eastward, 
 as 1 expected. The people behind him 
 are all in his favour, and the magistrates 
 are powerless. No warrants run there. 
 Still, as parties of troops are scouring about 
 here and there, no one knows where, it 
 will be better to take the low horse-road 
 which leaves Taunton and all those towns 
 on one side. I was only afraid that some 
 of the King's officers might have occupied 
 the little hamlet at St. Mary's, in order to 
 command that road ; and that Monmouth 
 might have left it behind unnoticed, think- 
 ing he could force it at any time. I find, 
 however, that a part of Oglethorpe's corps, 
 which was quartered there, retreated this 
 morning for fear they should be cut off ; so
 
 298 THE FATE 
 
 that the way is clear and easy to Bridge- 
 water, where we shall be sure to hear of 
 ships." 
 
 " We shall have ample time, too," ob- 
 served Ralph; "for Colonel Kirke will cer- 
 tainly not be here before four o'clock to- 
 morrow afternoon." 
 
 " Colonel Kirke ! Colonel Kirke !" ex- 
 claimed Gaunt Stilling, with an air of con- 
 sternation. " Is he coming here V 9 
 
 " So we are informed by Lord Fever- 
 sham," said Hortensia. " Do you know 
 anything of that gentleman ¥' 
 
 " God's life, my Lady, quite enough," re- 
 plied Gaunt Stilling ; " pray, forgive me. 
 But who is coming with him V 
 
 " The Tangier regiment, which he com- 
 mands, I believe," answered Lady Danvers. 
 " You know something of them, Mr. Wood- 
 hall tells me." 
 
 " I know this, my Ladj," rejoined Gaunt 
 Stilling, " that, if they come here and Kirke 
 at their head, this house is no place for 
 you; or any lady, or any poor girl either. It is
 
 THE FATE. 293 
 
 impossible, sir," he continued, turning to 
 lialph, " that Lady Danvers can remain 
 here, if Kirke and these Tangier men are 
 coming. I served with them three years in 
 Africa; and if I had been inclined to dis- 
 believe in the existence of a devil, I 
 should have had no doubt afterwards, for I 
 had more than four hundred real ones 
 all round me, and the arch-fiend at their 
 head. — I beg your pardon, my Lady, for 
 speaking so plainly, especially as not long 
 ago I was all for having you stay here, and 
 letting Mr. Woodhall and myself find our 
 way alone. But now 1 see it cannot be 
 done. You must not remain an hour — nay, 
 not ten minutes — in the same house with 
 Kirke and the Tangier men. There is no 
 knowing what they have done, and what 
 they will dare to do. — Oh, if I could but 
 tell you all I know ! — You must either come 
 with us, or let us see you to some place of 
 safety." 
 
 Lady Danvers smiled sadly. " I fear 
 I must not go with you/' she said, " if
 
 300 THE FATE. 
 
 vou mean to Holland : but I have friends 
 both in tlie neighbourhood of Wells and of 
 Bristol, who will gladly give me refuge." 
 
 " Then, madam, if you will take my 
 advice," returned Gaunt Stilling, "you will 
 take care of your plate, and the pretty 
 little knick-knacks that 1 see lying about all 
 over the house ; or you will find clear 
 boards when you come back again." 
 
 " I will order all the rooms to be locked 
 up," said Hortensia, " except those where 
 the men must sleep." 
 
 " The Tangier regiment don't mind locks, 
 my Lady," said Gaunt Stilling, gravely. 
 " There is always an excuse for breaking a 
 lock, especially where there are non-jurors 
 and dissenters about. Doors would open 
 very fast, and with two or three hundred 
 witnesses, you would have two or three 
 hundred accomplices. Ask Tom if his 
 brother's a thief ! No, no, my Lady, take 
 my advice ; put everything of value into 
 small drawers which would not hold an 
 infant, or they'll break in to see if there's a
 
 THE FATE. 301 
 
 dissenting minister. Consign all your plate 
 to the plate-chests ; and when you come 
 back, you may think yourself very lucky 
 if you do not find the eyes of your grand- 
 father bored with a pike, or the portrait of 
 your mother shot through with a musket 
 — just to see if there be not a concealed 
 door behind the canvas. Feed them well, 
 or they will feed themselves better ; and 
 disperse all the women of the household 
 over the parish — that is to say under 
 eighty. The men must take care of them- 
 selves ; and a hard time enough they will 
 have of it — some heads broken, if not 
 driven in, before you come back, I will 
 warrant." 
 
 " You lay me out work for a long time, 
 Master Stilling,*' said Hortensia. " What 
 is to be done, Ralph ?" 
 
 " Take his advice, dear Lady," replied 
 Ralph Woodhall. "Let me aid you in 
 your arrangements, at once and imme- 
 diately. Then lie down, and take a short 
 repose, and let us set off before day- light 
 
 VOL., II. p
 
 302 THE FATE. 
 
 to-morrow. We will see you safe to Wells, 
 and I shall depart with a lighter heart." 
 
 Gaunt Stilling did not appear to be quite 
 satisfied, but he made no observation ; and 
 various servants being called, Lady Dan- 
 vers explained to Mr. Drayton that she was 
 under the necessity of quitting her own 
 dwelling, as she had received information 
 from Lord Feversham that Danvers New- 
 church was about to occupied as a military 
 post by Colonel Kirke and the Tangier 
 regiment. 
 
 " 'Od bless my life, my Lady ! that's bad 
 news indeed," cried the steward, rubbing 
 his hands in an agony of perplexity. a Why, 
 it is the worst regiment in the whole ser- 
 vice — nothing like it in all the civilized 
 world — a mere band of licensed robbers 
 and plunderers, especially their colonel. 
 Gracious! what shall we do with all the 
 things that are about V 
 
 " We must lock them up safely," said 
 Lady Danvers ; " and that was one reason 
 for my sending for you, Mr. Drayton. We
 
 THE FATE. 303 
 
 must all set to work as hard as possible : 
 the carriage and horses must be round at 
 the door before three. But I will not take 
 more men with me than is needful. My 
 maid Alice must go. The rest of the 
 women you had better disperse amongst 
 the farm-houses and in the neighbouring 
 villages, till the storm has blown by ; and 
 you must take the best care of these men 
 who are coming that you can." 
 
 END OF VOL. IT. 
 
 T. C. Newby, Printer, 30, Welbeck-street, Cavendish-sq,
 
 In Three Vols. (Now ready.) 
 
 THE 
 
 GENTLEMAN IN DEBT, 
 
 By W. J. O'JSTiell Daunt, Esq. 
 
 AUTHOR OF SAINTS AND SINNERS, &C. 
 
 We have never read an Irish novel that has enter- 
 tained us more than the Gentleman in Debt. Mr. 
 Charles Lever has found a successful rival in Mr. 
 Neil Daunt. —Ayr Chronicle.
 
 

 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 070029795