L I E> RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U NIVLRSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 335w 
 
 

 Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 L161— H41 
 
THE WOODMAN; 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE TIMES OF RICHARD III. 
 
 BY 
 
 G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ., 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DARNLEY," " HENRY MASTERTON," "RICHE- 
 LIEU," " THE FORGERY," &C. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 T. C. NEWBY, PUBLISHER, 
 
 72, MORTIMER STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE. 
 
 1849. 
 

 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Of all the hard-working people on the earth 
 there are none so serviceable to her neighbours 
 
 as the moon. She lights lovers and thieves. 
 ■ 
 
 She keeps watch-dogs waking. She is a con- 
 stant resource to poets and romance writers. 
 She helps the compounders of almanacks 
 amazingly. She has something to do with the 
 , weather, and the tides, and the harvest ; and in 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 short she has a finger in every man's pie, and 
 probably more or less effect upon every man's 
 brain. She is a charming creature in all her 
 variations. Her versatility is not the offspring 
 of caprice ; and she is constant in the midst of 
 every change. 
 
 I will have a moon, say what you will, my 
 dear Prebend ; and she shall more or less rule 
 every page of this book. 
 
 There was a sloping piece of ground looking 
 to the south east with a very small narrow 
 rivulet running at the bottom. On the oppo- 
 site side of the stream was another slope as 
 like the former as possible, only looking in the 
 opposite direction. Titian, and Vandyke, and 
 some other painters have pleased themselves 
 with depicting, in one picture, the same face in 
 two or three positions ; and these two slopes 
 looked exactly like the two profiles of one 
 countenance. Each had its little clumps of 
 trees scattered about. Each had here and 
 there a hedgerow, somewhat broken and dila- 
 pidated ; and each too had towards its northern 
 
THE WOODMAN. 6 
 
 extremity a low chalky bank, through which 
 the stream seemed to have forced itself, in 
 those good old times when rivers first began 
 to go on pilgrimages towards the sea, and, like 
 many other pilgrims that we wot of, made their 
 way through all obstacles in a very uncere- 
 monious manner. 
 
 Over these two slopes about the hour of 
 half past eleven, post meridian, the moon was 
 shining with a bright but fitful sort of splen- 
 dour ; for ever and anon a light fleecy cloud, 
 like a piece of swans-down borne by the wind, 
 would dim the brightness of her rays, and cast 
 a passing shadow on the scene below. Half 
 an hour before, indeed, the radiant face of 
 night's sweet queen had been veiled by a blacker 
 curtain, which had gathered thick over the 
 sky at the sun's decline ; but as the moon rose 
 high, those dark vapours became mottled with 
 wavy lines of white, and gradually her beams 
 seemed to drink them up. 
 
 It may be asked if those two sloping mea- 
 dows, with their clumps of trees, and broken 
 
 b 2 
 
4 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 hedgerows, and the little stream flowing on be- 
 tween them, was all that the moonlight showed ? 
 That would depend upon where the eye of the 
 observer was placed. Near the lower part of 
 the valley, formed by the inclination of the 
 land, nothing else could be perceived ; but walk 
 half way up towards the top, on either side, 
 and the scene was very much altered. Gra- 
 dually rising, as the eye rose, appeared, stretch- 
 ing out beyond the chalky banks to the north, 
 through which the rivulet came on, a large 
 gray indistinct mass stretching all along from 
 east to west, the rounded lines of which, to- 
 gether with some misty gaps, taking a blueish 
 white tint in the moonlight, showed it to be 
 some ancient forest, lying at the distance, pro- 
 bably of two or three miles from the spot 
 first mentioned. 
 
 But ther*e were other objects displayed by 
 the moonlight ; for as those soft clouds, sweep- 
 ing rapidly past, varied her light, and cast 
 bright gleams or gray shadows on the ground, 
 every here and there, especially on the south 
 
THE WOODMAN. 5 
 
 western s ] ope, a brilliant spot would sparkle 
 forth, flashing back the rays ; and a nearer 
 look showed naked swords, and breast-plates, 
 and casques, while every now and then, under 
 the increasing light, that which seemed a 
 hillock took the form of a horse or of a hu- 
 man being, lying quietly on the green turf, or 
 cast motionless down beneath a hedge or an 
 old hawthorn tree. 
 
 Were they sleeping there in that dewy 
 night? Aye, sleeping that sleep which fears 
 not the blast, nor the tempest nor the dew, which 
 the thunder cannot break, and from which no 
 trumpet but one shall ever rouse the sleeper. 
 
 From sunset till that hour, no living thing, 
 unless it were fox or wolf, had moved upon the 
 scpne. The battle was over, the pursuers re- 
 called, the wounded removed ; the burial of 
 the dead, if it was to be cared for at all, post- 
 poned till another day ; and all the fierce and 
 all base passions which are called forth by civil 
 contest, had lain down to sleep before the hour 
 of which I speak. Even the human vulture, 
 
6 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 which follows on the track of warring armies 
 to feed upon the spoils of the dead, had gorged 
 itself upon that field, and left the rich arms 
 and housings to be carried away on the morn- 
 ing following. 
 
 The fiercer and the baser passions, I have 
 said, now slept ; but there were tenderer affec- 
 tions which woke, and through that solemn 
 and sad scene, with no light but that of the 
 moon, with no sound but that of the sigh- 
 ing wind, some four or five persons were 
 seen wandering about, half an hour before 
 midnight. Often, as they went, they bent 
 down at this spot or at that, and gazed at some 
 object on the ground. Sometimes one of them 
 would kneel, and twice they turned over a 
 dead body which had fallen with the face 
 downwards. For more than an hour they 
 went on, pausing at times to speak to each 
 other, and then resuming their examination — I 
 know not whether to call it search ; for certainly 
 they seemed to find nothing if they did search, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 7 
 
 although they left hardly a square yard of the 
 whole field unexplored. 
 
 It was nearly one o'clock on the following 
 morning, when with slow steps they took their 
 way over the rise ; and the next moment the 
 sound of horses' feet going at a quick pace 
 broke the silence. That sound, in the absence 
 of every other noise, might be heard for nearly 
 ten minutes; and then all was stillness and 
 solitude once more. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Years had passed, long years, since the little 
 scene took place which I have described in the 
 preceding chapter. The heads were gray which 
 were then proud of the glossy locks of youth. 
 Middle life was approaching old age ; and 
 children had become men. 
 
 It was evening. The sun had gone down 
 some two hours before ; and the lights were 
 lighted in a large comfortable well furnished 
 room. The ceilings were vaulted. The door- 
 ways and the two windows were richly deco- 
 rated with innumerable mouldings ; and the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 9 
 
 discoloured stone work around them, the clus- 
 tered pillars at the sides, the mullions which 
 divided the windows, and the broad pointed 
 arches above, spoke that style of architecture 
 known as the early English. The tables, the 
 chairs, the cupboard at the side, were all of old 
 oak, deep in colour and rich in ornament. The 
 floor was covered with rushes, over which, in 
 the centre, was spread a piece of tapestry ; and 
 the stone work of the walls between the pillars 
 was hidden by tapestry likewise, on one side 
 representing the siege of Troy, on the other 
 the history of David and Goliath, and on a 
 third the loves of Mars and Venus, which, 
 though somewhat too luscious for our irritable 
 imaginations, did not in those days at all shock 
 the chaste inhabitants of a nunnery. The 
 fourth side of the room was untapestried, for 
 there spread the immense, wide, open chimney, 
 with a pile of blazing logs on the hearth, 
 and, in the open space above the arch, a very 
 early painting of t^e Madonna and child with 
 gilt glories around the heads of both, and the 
 
 b 3 
 
10 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 meek eyes of the virgin fixed upon the some- 
 what profuse charms of the goddess of love 
 on the other side. 
 
 This is description enough. The reader can 
 easily conceive the parlour of an abbess towards 
 the end of the fifteenth century, the heteroge- 
 neous contents of which would be somewhat 
 tedious to detail. 
 
 Let no one, however, form a false idea of the 
 poor abbess of Atherston, from the admission 
 into her own private chamber of such very 
 ungodly personages as Mars and Venus. She 
 had found them there when she became abbess 
 of the convent, and looked upon them and 
 their loves as upon any other piece of needle- 
 work. Nay, more, had it ever occurred to her 
 that there was anything improper in having 
 them there, she would probably have removed 
 them, though to get a more decent piece of 
 tapestry might have cost her four or five 
 marks. Not that she was at all stiff, rigid, 
 and severe, for she was the merriest little abbess 
 in the world ; but she combined with great 
 
THE WOODMAN. ] 1 
 
 gaiety of heart an infinite deal of innocence 
 and simplicity which were perfectly compatible 
 with some shrewdness and good sense. Shut 
 up in a convent at a very early period, exposed 
 to none of the vicissitudes of life, and untaught 
 the corrupting lessons of the world, her cheer- 
 fulness had been economised, her simplicity 
 unimpaired, and her natural keenness of in- 
 tellect unblunted, though there might be here 
 and there a spot of rust upon the blade. It 
 was without her own consent she had gone into 
 a convent, but neither with nor against her 
 wishes. She had been quite indifferent ; and 
 never having had any means of judging of 
 other states of life, she was not discontented 
 with her lot, and rather pitied than otherwise 
 those who were forced to dwell in a world of 
 which she knew nothing. 
 
 As piety however had nothing to do with her 
 profession, and mortification had never entered 
 into her catalogue of duties, she saw no sin 
 and could conceive no evil in making herself 
 as comfortable and happy as she could. Her 
 
12 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 predecessor indeed had done a little more, and 
 had not altogether escaped scandal ; but our 
 abbess was of a very different character, per- 
 formed her ceremonial duties accurately, ab- 
 stained from everything that she knew or 
 thought to be wrong, and while exacting a ful- 
 filment of all prescribed duties from her nuns, 
 endeavoured to make their seclusion pleasant, 
 by unvarying gentleness, kindness, and cheer- 
 fulness. If she had a fault, perhaps it was 
 a too great love for the good things of this life. 
 She was exceedingly fond of trout, and did not 
 altogether dislike a moderate portion of Gascon 
 wine, especially when it was of a very superior 
 quality. Venison she could eat ; and a well 
 fed partridge was not unacceptable — though 
 methinks she might have spared it from its 
 great resemblance to herself. All these things, 
 and a great number of other dainties, however, 
 were plentifully supplied by the lands of the 
 convent which w r ere ample, and by the stream 
 which flowed near at hand, or by the large fish 
 ponds, three in number, which lay upon the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 13 
 
 common above. Indeed so abundant was the 
 provision for a fast day, that the abbess and the 
 nuns looked forward to it, as it came on in the 
 week, with great satisfaction, from its affording 
 them excuse for eating more fish than usual. 
 Not that they fared ill on the other days of the 
 week ; for, as far as forest and lea would go, 
 they were well provided. 
 
 To a contented spirit all things are bright ; 
 and the good abbess could have been satisfied 
 with much less than she possessed ; so I suppose 
 whatever little superabundance existed, went to 
 make the heart merry and the tongue glib ; 
 and there she sat with her feet on a footstool, 
 sufficiently near the fire to be somewhat over 
 warm, but yet hardly near enough for that 
 delicious tingling sensation, which the blaze of 
 good dry wood produces till we hardly know 
 whether it is pleasant or painful. In her hand 
 there was a book — a real printed book, rare 
 in those days, and which might well be looked 
 upon as a treasure. As she read, she com- 
 mented to two voun^ £irls who sat near with 
 
14 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 tall frames before them, running the industrious 
 needle in and out. 
 
 I have called them young girls, not alone to 
 distinguish them from old ones — though that 
 might be necessary — but to show that they had 
 barely reached womanhood. The eldest was 
 hardly nineteen; the other some fourteen or 
 fifteen months younger. Both' were beautiful ; 
 and there was a certain degree of likeness 
 between them, though the face of the elder had 
 features more clearly, perhaps more beautifully 
 cut, and an expression of greater thoughtfulness, 
 perhaps greater vigour of character. Yet the 
 other was very beautiful too, with that sparkling 
 variety, that constant play of everchanging ex- 
 pression, which is so charming. Its very youth- 
 fulness was delightful, for a gleam of childhood 
 lingered still in the look, especially when sur- 
 prised or pleased, although the lines of the face 
 and the contour of the form were womanly — 
 perhaps more so than those of the other. 
 
 That they were none of the sisterhood was 
 evident by the mere matter of their dress, which 
 
THE WOODMAN. 15 
 
 also indicated that they had not a fixed intention 
 of ever entering it ; for it was altogether worldly 
 in form and material, and though plain yet 
 rich. Seated there, with a near relation, their 
 heads were unencumbered with the monstrous 
 head dresses of the time, the proportions 01 
 which, not very long before, were so immense 
 as to require doorways to be widened and lin- 
 tels raised, in order to let a lady pass in conve- 
 niently. Each wore a light veil, it is true, 
 hanging from the mass of glossy hair behind 
 the head, and which could be thrown over the 
 face when required ; but it was very different 
 from the veil of the nun or even of the novice. 
 
 "Well, my dear children, I do declare," 
 said the elder lady, " this new invention of 
 printing may be very clever, and I wot it is ; 
 but it is mighty difficult to read when it is 
 done. I could make out plain court hand a 
 great deal better when written by a good scribe, 
 such as they used to have at Winchester and 
 Salisbury." 
 
 The younger girl looked up, answering with 
 
16 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 a gay laugh. " The poor people never pretend 
 to make you read it easily, dear aunt and 
 mother. All they say is that they can make 
 more copies of a book in a day than a scribe 
 could make in a year, and that they can let 
 you have for three or four shillings what would 
 cost you three or four crowns from a scribe." 
 
 "Ay, that's the worst of it all, child," replied 
 the old lady, shaking her head. " Books will 
 get into the hands of all sorts of common 
 people, and do a world of mischief, good lack. 
 But it can't be helped my children. The world 
 and the devil will have their way ; and, even if 
 there were a law made against any one learning 
 to read or write under the rank of a lord at 
 least, it would only make others the more 
 eager to do it. But I do think that this in- 
 vention ought to be stopped ; for it will do a 
 world of mischief, I am sure." 
 
 " I hope not," replied the other young lady ; 
 " for by no contrivance can they ever make 
 books so cheap, that the lower class can read 
 them ; and I know I have often wished I had 
 
THE WOODMAN. 17 
 
 a book to read when I have had nothing else 
 to do. It's a great comfort sometimes, my dear 
 aunt, especially when one is heavy." 
 
 " Ay, that it is, child," said the abbess. " I 
 know that right well. I don't know what I 
 should have done after the battle of Barnet, 
 if it had not been for poor old Chaucer. My 
 grandfather remembered him very well, at the 
 court of John of Ghent ; and he gave me the 
 merry book, when I was not much older than 
 you are. Well a day, I must read it again, 
 when you two leave me ; for my evenings will 
 be dull enough without you, children. I would 
 ask sister Bridget to come in of a night, in 
 the winter, and do her embroidery beside me, 
 only if she staid for my little private supper, 
 her face would certainly turn the wine sour." 
 
 " But, perhaps we shall not go after all, 
 dear mother," said the younger lady. " Have 
 you heard anything about it ?" 
 
 "There now," cried the abbess laughing, 
 " she's just as wild to get into the wicked world 
 
18 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 as a caged bird, to break out into the open 
 air." 
 
 "To be sure I am/' exclaimed the light- 
 hearted girl, and oh, how I will use my wings." 
 
 The abbess gazed at her with a look of ten- 
 der, almost melancholy interest, and replied : 
 
 " There are limed twigs about them, my 
 child. You forget that you are married." 
 
 " No, not married," cried the other with her 
 face all glowing. " Contracted, not married — 
 I wish I was, for the thought frightens me, and 
 then the worst would be over." 
 
 " You don't know what you wish," replied 
 the abbess, shaking her head. " A thousand to 
 one, you would very soon wish to be unmarried 
 again ; but then it would be too late. It is a 
 collar you can't shake off when you have once 
 put it on ; and nobody can tell how much it may 
 pinch one till it has been tried. I thank my 
 lucky stars that made it convenient for your 
 good grandfather to put me in here ; for when- 
 ever I go out quietly on my little mule, to see 
 
THE WOODMAN. 19 
 
 after the affairs of the farms, and perchance to 
 take a sidelong look at our good foresters 
 coursing a hare, I never can help pitying the 
 two dogs coupled together, and pulling at the 
 two ends of a band they cannot break, and 
 thanking my good fortune for not tying me up 
 in a leash with any one." 
 
 The two girls laughed gaily ; for, to say truth, 
 they had neither of them any vocation for 
 cloisteral life ; but the youngest replied, follow- 
 ing her aunt's figure of speech, " I dare say 
 the dogs are very like two married people, my 
 aunt and lady mother ; but I dare say too, if 
 you were to ask either of them, whether he 
 would rather go out into the green fields tied 
 to a companion, or remain shut up in a kennel, 
 he would hold out his neck for the couples." 
 
 " Why, you saucy child, do you call this a 
 kennel ?" asked the abbess, shaking her finger 
 at her good humouredly. " What will young 
 maids come to next ? But it is as well as it is : 
 since thou art destined for the world and its 
 vanities, 'tis lucky thou hast a taste for them ; 
 
20 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and I trust thy husband — as thou must have 
 one — will not beat thee above once a week, 
 and that on the Saturday, to make thee more 
 devout on the Sunday following. Is he a fe- 
 rocious looking man ?" 
 
 "Lord love thee, my dear aunt," answered 
 the young lady ; " I have never seen him since 
 I was in swaddling clothes." 
 
 " And he was in a sorry coloured, pinked 
 doublet, with a gay cloak on his shoulders, and 
 a little bonnet on his head no bigger than the 
 palm of my hand," cried the other young lady. 
 " He could not be ten years old, and looked 
 like some great man's little page. I remember 
 it quite well, for I had seen seven years ; and 
 I thought it a great shame that my cousin Iola 
 should have a husband given to her at five, and 
 I none at seven." 
 
 "Given to her !" said the abbess, laughing. 
 
 " Well," rejoined the young lady, " I looked 
 upon it as a sort of doll a poppet." 
 
 " Not far wrong either, my dear," answered 
 the abbess ; " only you must take care how you 
 
THE WOODMAN. 21 
 
 knock its nose against the floor, or you may 
 find out where the difference lies. 5 ' 
 
 " Good lack, I have had dolls enough/' an- 
 swered the younger lady, " and could well spare 
 this other one. But what must be must be ; 
 so there is no use to think of it. — Don't you 
 believe, lady mother," she continued after a 
 pause, interrupted by a sigh, " that it would be 
 better, if they let people choose husbands and 
 wives for themselves V 
 
 " Good gracious,'' cried the abbess, " what is 
 the child thinking of? Pretty choosing there 
 would be, I dare say. Why lords' daughters 
 would be taking rosy cheeked franklins' sons ; 
 and barons' heirs would be marrying milk- 
 maids." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said the young lady. 
 " Each would choose, I think, as they had been 
 brought up ; and there would be more chance 
 of their loving when they did wed." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense, Iola," cried her aunt. 
 " What do you know about love — or I, either 
 for that matter ? Love that comes after marriage 
 
22 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 is most likely to last, for, I suppose, like all 
 other sorts of plants, it only lives a certain 
 time and then dies away ; so that if it begins 
 soon, it ends soon." 
 
 " I should like my love to be like one of the 
 trees of the park," said the young lady, looking 
 down thoughtfully, " growing stronger and 
 stronger, as it gets older, and outliving my- 
 self." 
 
 " You must seek for it in fairyland then, my 
 dear," said the abbess. " You will not find it 
 in this sinful world." 
 
 Just as she spoke, the great bell of the 
 abbey, which hung not far from the window of 
 the abbess's parlour, rang deep and loud ; and 
 the sound, unusual at that hour of the night, 
 made the good old lady start. 
 
 " Virgin mother," she exclaimed — It was 
 the only little interjection she allowed herself. 
 "Who can that be coming two hours after 
 curfew ?" and running to the door with more 
 activity than her plumpness seemed to promise, 
 she exclaimed, "Sister Magdalen, sister Mag- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 23 
 
 dalen, do not let them open the gate, let them 
 speak through the barred wicket." 
 
 " It is only Boyd the woodman, lady,'' re- 
 plied a nun, who was at the end of a short 
 passage looking out into the court. 
 
 " What can he want at this hour?" said the 
 abbess. " Could he not come before sundown ? 
 Well, take him into the parlour by the little door. 
 I will come to him in a minute;" and returning 
 into her own room again, the good lady com- 
 posed herself after her agitation, by a moment's 
 rest in her great chair; and, after expressing her 
 surprise more than once, that the woodman should 
 visit the abbey so late, she bade her two nieces 
 follow her, and passed through a door, different 
 to that by which she had previously gone out, 
 and walked with stately steps along a short cor- 
 ridor leading to the public parlour of the abbey. 
 
 This was a large and handsome room, 
 lined entirely with beautiful carved oak, and 
 divided into two, lengthwise, by a screen of 
 open iron work painted blue and red, and richly 
 gilt. Visitors on the one side could see, con- 
 
24 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 verse, and even shake hands with those on the 
 other ; but, like the gulf between Abraham 
 and Dives, the iron bars shut out all farther 
 intercourse. A sconce was lighted on the side 
 of the nunnery ; and when Iola and her cousin 
 Constance, followed their aunt into the room, 
 they beheld on the other side of the grate, the 
 form of a tall, powerful man, somewhat advanced 
 in life, standing with his arms crossed upon his 
 broad chest, and looking, to say sooth, some- 
 what gloomy. He might indeed, be a little 
 surprised at being forced to hold communication 
 with the lady abbess through the grate of the 
 general parlour ; for the good lady was by no 
 means so strict in her notions of conventual 
 decorum, as to exclude him, or any other of the 
 servants and officers of the abbey, from her 
 presence in the courtyard or in her own private 
 sitting-room ; and perhaps the woodman might 
 think it did not much matter whether his 
 visit was made by night or by day. 
 
 " Well, John Boyd," said the abbess, " in 
 fortune's name, what brings you so late at 
 
THE WOODMAN. 25 
 
 night ? Mary mother, I thought it was some 
 of the roving bands come to try and plunder 
 the abbey again, as they did last Martinmas 
 twelvemonth; and we cann't expect such a 
 blessed chance every time, as that good Sir 
 Martin Rideout should be at hand to help our 
 poor socmen. Had it not been for him, I wot, 
 Peter our bailiff would have made but a poor 
 hand of defending us." 
 
 " And a poor hand he did make," replied 
 the woodman, in a cynical tone ; " for he was 
 nowhere to be found ; and I had to pull him 
 out of the buttery, to head the tenants. But 
 I hear no more of rovers, lady, unless it be the 
 men at Coleshill, and King Richard's posts, 
 planted all along the highways, with twenty 
 miles between each two, to look out for Harry 
 of Richmond." 
 
 " Posts !" said the abbess ; " posts planted 
 on the high way ! What mean you by posts ?" 
 
 " Why men on horseback, lady mother," 
 answered the woodman; "with sharp spurs 
 and strong steeds to bear to Dickon, our king 
 
 vol. i. c 
 
26 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 that is, news of Harry, our king that may be, 
 if he chance to land any where upon the 
 coast." 
 
 " Now heaven assoil us !" cried the abbess ; 
 " what more war, more war ? Will men never 
 be content without deforming God's image in 
 their fellow creatures, and burning and de- 
 stroying even the fairest works of their own 
 hands?" 
 
 " I fear not," answered the woodman, twist- 
 ing round the broad axe that was hung in his 
 leathern belt. " Great children and small are 
 fond of bonfires ; and nature and the devil 
 between them made man a beast of prey. As 
 to what brought me hither, madam, it was to 
 tell you that the wooden bridge in the forest 
 wants repairing sadly. It would hardly bear 
 up your mule, lady, with nothing but yourself 
 and your hawk upon its back ; much less a 
 war b rse with a rider armed at point. As for 
 my coming so late, I have been as far as Tam- 
 worth this morning to sell the bavins, and 
 didn't get back till after dark. So marking 
 
THE WOODMAN. 27 
 
 the bridge by the way, and thinking it would 
 be better to begin on it early in the morning, 
 I made bold to come up at night for fear any 
 one, riding along to church or market or 
 otherwise, should find their way into the river, 
 and say the abbess ought to mend her ways ;" 
 and he laughed at his own joke. 
 
 While he had been speaking, both the young 
 ladies, though he was no stranger to them, had 
 been gazing at him with considerable attention. 
 He was, as I have said before, a tall and still 
 very powerful man, although he seemed to 
 have passed the age of fifty years. His 
 shoulders were very broad, his arms long and 
 muscular ; but his body was small in propor- 
 tion to the limbs, and the head in proportion 
 to the height of the whole figure. His fore- 
 head was exceedingly broad and high, how- 
 ever ; the crown of his head quite bald with 
 large masses of curling hair falling roi.&d his 
 temples and on his neck. What his com- 
 plexion originally had been, could not be dis- 
 covered ; for the whiteness of his hair and eye- 
 
 c 2 
 
28 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 brows, and the sun-burnt, weather-beaten hue 
 of his skin afforded no indication. His teeth, 
 however, were still good, his eyes large and 
 bright, and the features fine, although the wide 
 forehead was seamed with deep furrows, giving, 
 apart from the rest of his appearance, a look 
 of much greater age than that at which he had 
 really arrived. 
 
 His dress was the ordinary woodman's garb 
 of the time, which is well known to almost 
 every one. There was the thick, stiff leathern 
 coat, which no broken branch or rugged thorn 
 could pierce, the breeches of untanned hide, 
 and the boots of strong black leather, reach- 
 ing above the knee. Round his waist, over his 
 coat he wore a broad belt, fastened by a brass 
 buckle in front, and in it were stuck the imple- 
 ments of his craft, namely a broad axe, which 
 required no ordinary power of limb to wield 
 with the head uppermost, thrust under his 
 left arm like a sword ; a large bill-hook, hav- 
 hig a broad stout piece of iron at the back, 
 which might serve the purposes of a hammer ; 
 
THE WOODMAN. 29 
 
 and an ordinary woodman's knife, the blade of 
 which was about eighteen inches in length. 
 His head was on ordinary occasions covered 
 with a round cloth cap ; but this, in reverence 
 of the presence of the lady abbess, he held by 
 the edge in his hand. 
 
 The expression of the good man's counte- 
 nance, when not particularly moved, was agree- 
 able enough, though somewhat stern and sad ; 
 but when he laughed, which was by no means 
 unfrequent, although the sound was loud and 
 hearty, an extraordinary look of bitter mockery 
 hung about his lip and nostril, taking away all 
 appearance of happiness from his merriment. 
 
 " Well, well, you might mend the bridge 
 without asking me," said the abbess in reply to 
 his report. It is a part of the head woodman's 
 duty, and the expences would always be passed. 
 So if you had nothing more to say than that, 
 you might have chosen another hour, good- 
 man Boyd." 
 
 " Crying your mercy, lady," said the wood- 
 man, " 1 would always rather deal with you 
 
30 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 than with your bailiff. When I have orders 
 from you, I set him at nought. When I do 
 anything of my own hand he is sure to carp 
 However I had more to say. We have taken 
 a score of mallards in the great pond, and a 
 pike of thirty pounds. There are two bitterns 
 too, three heronshaws, and a pheasant with a 
 back like gold. I had four dozen of pigeons 
 killed too, out of the colombier in the north 
 wood ; and — " 
 
 " Mother Mary, is the man mad V ex- 
 claimed the abbess. "One would think we 
 were going to have the installation of an arch- 
 bishop." 
 
 " And there are twenty young rabbits, as fat 
 as badgers," continued the woodman, taking no 
 notice of her interruption. " If I might ad- 
 vise, lady, you would order some capons to be 
 killed to-night." 
 
 The good abbess stood as one quite be- 
 wildered, and then burst into a fit of laughter, 
 saying — 
 
 " The man is crazed, I think ;" but her eldest 
 
THE WOODMAN. 31 
 
 niece pulled the sleeve of her gown, whisper- 
 ing— 
 
 " He means something depend upon it. 
 Perhaps he does not like to speak before me 
 and Iola." 
 
 The abbess paused for an instant as if to 
 consider this suggestion, and then asked — 
 
 * Well, have you anything more to say, 
 goodman V s 
 
 " Oh, yes, plenty more ;" answered the 
 woodman ; " when I find a meet season." 
 
 " On my word you seem to have found a 
 fish and fowl season;" rejoined the abbess, 
 playing upon the word meet. We must re- 
 collect that she had but little to amuse herself 
 with in her solitude, and therefore forgive her. 
 She continued however in a graver tone : " Is 
 it that you wish to speak with me alone V* 
 
 " Yes, lady," answered the man. " Three 
 pair of ears have generally got three mouths 
 belonging to them, and that is too many by 
 two." 
 
 " Then I'll carry mine out of the way, good- 
 
32 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 man Boyd ;" said Iola, giving him a gay nod, . 
 and moving towards the door ; " I love not 
 secrets of any kind. Heaven shield me from 
 having any of my own, for I should never keep 
 them." 
 
 The woodman looked after her with a smile, 
 murmuring in a low voice, as if to himself— 
 
 " Yet I think she would keep other people's 
 better than most." Then, waiting till Con- 
 stance had followed her cousin from the room, 
 he continued, speaking to the abbess ; " you'll 
 have visitors at the abbey, lady, before this 
 time to-morrow night." 
 
 " Marry, that is news, good man ;" answered 
 the abbess ; " and for this then you have made 
 all this great preparation. It must be an earl, 
 or duke at least, if not king Richard himself — 
 God save the mark that I should give the 
 name of king to one of his kindred. Me- 
 thinks you might have told me this without 
 such secrecy. Who may these visitors be ?" 
 
 " They are very simple gentlemen, my 
 lady,'' answered the woodman, " though well 
 
THE WOODMAN. 33 
 
 to do in the world. First and foremost. There 
 is the young lord Chartley, a young nobleman 
 with as many good points as a horse dealer's 
 filly : a baron of the oldest race, a good man at 
 arms. He can read and write, and thanks 
 God for it, makes verses when he is in love — 
 which is every day in the week with some one — 
 and to crown all is exceedingly rich as these 
 hard times go." 
 
 "You seem to be of his privy chamber, 
 goodman Boyd ;'* said the abbess; "you de- 
 liver him so punctually." 
 
 " I deliver him but as his own servants de- 
 livered him to me," answered the woodman. 
 
 " Tell me, was he not in the battle of Barnet, 
 fighting for the red rose V 9 inquired the abbess. 
 "Aye, and sorely wounded there. He shall 
 be right welcome, if it were but for that." 
 
 "Nay, lord Chartley fought at Barnet;" 
 said the woodman ; " and if to fight well and to 
 suffer for the cause of Lancaster merit such high 
 honour, you might indeed receive him daintily, 
 for he fought till he was killed there, poor man ; 
 
 c 3 
 
34 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 but this youth is his nephew, and has had no oc- 
 casion to fight in England either, for there have 
 been no battles since he was a boy. Lancaster 
 he doubtless is in heart, though king Edward 
 put him into the guardianship of a Yorkist. 
 However, with him comes Sir Edward Hun- 
 gerford, who, they tell me, is one of those gay 
 light-hearted gentlemen, who, born and bred in 
 perilous and changing times, get to think at 
 last, by seeing all things fall to pieces round 
 them, that there is nothing real or solid in the 
 world — no not truth itself. But let him pass : 
 a little perjury and utter faithlessness, a ready 
 wit, a bold heart, a reckless love of mischief, a 
 pair of hanging sleeves that sweeps the ground 
 as he walks along, a coat of goldsmith's work, 
 and a well lined purse, have made many a fine 
 gentleman before him ; and I'll warrant he is 
 not worse than the greater part of his neigh- 
 bours. Then with these two, there is Sir 
 Charles Weinants, a right worshipful gentle- 
 man also." 
 
 " But tell me more of him," said the abbess. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 35 
 
 " What is he ? I have heard the name before 
 with honourable mention, methinks — Who and 
 what is he V 
 
 " A lickladle of the court, lady," answered 
 the woodman, "one who rises high by low 
 ladders — who soars not up at once, either as 
 the eagle or the lark, but creeps into favour 
 through holes and turnings. He is marvellously 
 discreet in all his doings, asserts nought boldly, 
 but by dull insinuation stings an enemy or 
 serves a friend. Oh yes, he has his friendships 
 too — not much to be relied on, it is true, but 
 still often useful, so that even good men have 
 need of his agency. All that he does, is done 
 by under-currents, which bear things back to 
 the shore that seem floating out to sea. Quiet, 
 and calm, and self-possessed, he is ever ready 
 for the occasion ; and with a cheerful spirit, 
 which one would think the tenant of an up- 
 right heart, he wins his way silently, and pos- 
 sesses great men's ears, who little know that 
 their favour is disposed of at another's will. 
 He is an old man now ; but I remember him 
 
36 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 when I was a boy at St. Alban's. He was 
 then in much grace with the great lord Clifford, 
 who brought him to the notice of king Henry. 
 He has since lived, as much in favour, with 
 Edwards and Richards and Buckinghams, and 
 is now a strong Yorkist. What he will die, 
 Heaven and time will show us." 
 
 "Good lack, that there should be such things 
 in the world !" exclaimed the abbess, " but 
 what brings all these people here? I know 
 none of them ; and if they come but to visit 
 the shrine, I have no need to entertain them, 
 nor you to make a mystery of their visit. I 
 hate mysteries, my good son, ever since I read 
 about that word being written on the forehead 
 of the poor sinner of Babylon." 
 
 The woodman laughed irreverently, but an- 
 swered, " I want to make no mystery with you 
 lady. These men bring a great train with them ; 
 and in their train there is a reverend friar, with 
 frock, and cowl, and sandaled feet ; but me- 
 thinks I have seen a mitre on his shaven 
 crown, though neither mitre nor cowl would 
 
THE WOODMAN. 37 
 
 save him from the axe, I wot, if good king- 
 Richard got his hands upon him. What he 
 comes for — why he comes, I cannot tell you ; 
 for I only heard that their steps tended hither- 
 ward, and the lackeys counted on drinking 
 deep of the abbey ale. But when that friar is 
 beneath your roof, you will have a man beside 
 you, whose life is in much peril for stout ad- 
 herence to the cause of Lancaster." 
 
 " Then he shall have shelter and protection 
 here," said the abbess boldly. " This is sanc- 
 tuary, and I will not believe that Richard 
 himself — bad and daring as he is — would ven- 
 ture to violate the church's rights." 
 
 " Richard has two weapons, madam," an- 
 swered the woodman, " and both equally keen, 
 his sword and his cunning; and take my word 
 for it, what he desires to do that he will do — 
 ay, even to the violation of sanctuary, though 
 perhaps it may not be with his own hand or 
 in his own name. You have had one visit 
 from a roving band who cared little about 
 holy church ; and you may have another, made 
 
38 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 up of very different men, with whom the king 
 might deal tenderly if they did him good ser- 
 vice." 
 
 " Then we will call in the tenants," said the 
 abbess, "and defend our rights and privileges." 
 
 " The tenants might be outnumbered," said 
 the woodman, shaking his head. " There are 
 many men straying about here, who would 
 soon band together at the thought of stripping 
 the shrine of St. Clare; especially if they 
 had royal warranty for their neck's safety, and 
 the promise of farther reward, besides all their 
 hands helped them to." 
 
 " Then what is to be done V exclaimed the 
 abbess, in some consternation. " I cannot and 
 I will not refuse refuge to a consecrated bishop, 
 and one who has suffered persecution for the 
 sake of his rightful race of kings." 
 
 u Nay, Heaven forbid," replied the wood- 
 man warmly ; " but if you will take a simple 
 man's advice, lady, methinks I could show you 
 a way to save the bishop, and the abbey, and 
 the ornaments of the shrine too." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 39 
 
 " Speak, speak/' exclaimed the abbess 
 eagerly. " Your advice is always shrewd, good- 
 man Boyd. What way would you have me 
 take?" 
 
 " Should you ever have in sanctuary," an- 
 swered the woodman, " a man so hated by the 
 king that you may expect rash acts committed 
 to seize him, and you find yourself suddenly 
 attacked by a band that you cannot resist, send 
 your sanctuary man to me by some one who 
 knows all the ways well, and I will provide for 
 his safety where they will never find him. 
 Then, be you prepared for resistance, but resist 
 not if you can help it. Parly with the good 
 folks, and say that you know well, they would 
 not come for the mere plunder of a consecrated 
 place, that you are sure they have come seek- 
 ing a man impeached of high treason who 
 lately visited the abbey. Assure them that 
 you sent him away, which you then may well 
 do in all truth, and offer to give admission to 
 any three or four to search for him at their 
 will . Methinks, if they are privately set on 
 
40 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 by higher powers, they will not venture to do 
 anything violent, when they are certain that 
 success will not procure pardon for the act." 
 
 The abbess mused and seemed to hesitate ; 
 and, after a short pause, the woodman added. 
 " Take my advice, lady. I do not speak with- 
 out knowledge. Many a stray bit of news 
 gets into the forest by one way or another, that 
 is never uttered in the town. Now, a mes- 
 senger stops to talk with the woodman, and 
 overburdened with the secret, pours part of it 
 out, where he thinks it can never rise in judg- 
 ment against him. Then, a traveller asks his 
 way, and gossips with his guide as he walks 
 along to put him in the right road. Every 
 carter, who comes in for his load of wood, brings 
 some intelligence from the town. I am rightly 
 informed lady, depend upon it." 
 
 "It is not that. It is not that," said the 
 abbess, somewhat peevishly. " I was thinking 
 whom I could send and how. If they sur- 
 round the abbey altogether, how could I get 
 him out ?" 
 
THE WOODMAN. 41 
 
 " There is the underground way to the cell 
 of St. Magdalen," said the woodman. " To 
 surround the abbey, they would have to bring 
 their men in amongst the houses of the hamlet, 
 and the cell is far beyond that." 
 
 "True, but no one knows that way," said 
 the abbess, "but you, and I, and sister Bridget. 
 I could trust her well enough, cross and ill 
 tempered as she is ; but then she has never 
 stirred beyond the abbey walls for these ten 
 years, so that she knows not the way from the 
 cell to your cottage. — I trust she knows the 
 way to Heaven better ;" and the abbess 
 laughed. 
 
 " 'Twere easy to instruct some one else in 
 the way to the cell," said the woodman. u The 
 passage is plain enough when the stone door is 
 open." 
 
 " Aye, doubtless, doubtless," continued the 
 abbess ; " but you forget, my good friend, that 
 it is against our law to tell the secret way out 
 to any of the sisterhood, except the superior 
 and the oldest nun. Mary mother, I know 
 
42 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 not why the rule was made ; but it has been 
 so, ever since bishop Godshaw's visitation in 
 1361." 
 
 " I suppose he found the young sisters fond 
 of tripping in the green wood with the fairies 
 of nights," answered the woodman with one 
 of his short laughs ; " but however, you are 
 not forbidden to tell those who are not of the 
 sisterhood: otherwise, lady, you would not have 
 told me." 
 
 " Nay, that does not follow," rejoined the 
 abbess. " The head woodman always knows, 
 as the cell is under his charge and care, ever 
 since the poor hermit died. However, I do 
 not recollect having vowed not to tell any se- 
 cular j^ersons. The promise was only as to the 
 sisters — but whom could I send ?" 
 
 "Send the young dame who was here but 
 now," said the woodman. " She knows every 
 step of the wood, almost as well as I do, at 
 least as far as my hut ; for many is the time I 
 have seen her wandering about, and plucking 
 
THE WOODMAN. 43 
 
 the wild flowers, and little thinking that any 
 eye was resting on her." 
 
 " Iola ? Nay, nay, that cannot be," said the ab- 
 bess. " She is not of a station to go wandering 
 about at night, guiding strangers through a 
 wild wood. She is my niece, and an earl's 
 daughter." 
 
 " Higher folks than she have done as 
 much, 5 ' answered the woodman ; " but I did 
 not think that the abbess of Atherston St. Clare 
 would have refused even her niece's help, to 
 Morton, bishop of Ely." 
 
 "The bishop of Ely!" cried the abbess. 
 " Refuse him help ? No, no, Boyd. If it were 
 my daughter or my sister, if it cost me life, or 
 limb, or fortune, he should have help in time of 
 need. I have not seen him now these twelve 
 years ; but he shall find I do not forget — Say 
 no more, good man, say no more. I will send 
 my niece, and proud may she be of the task." 
 
 " I thought it would be so, lady," answered 
 the woodman ; " but still one word more. It 
 were as well that you told the good lord bishop 
 
44 THE WOODMAN, 
 
 of his danger, as soon as you can have private 
 speech with him, and then take the first hour 
 after sundown to get him quietly away out of 
 the abbey, for to speak truth I much doubt the 
 good faith of that Sir Charles Weinants — I 
 know not what he does with men of Lancaster 
 — unless he thinks, indeed, the tide is turning 
 in favour of that house from which it has ebbed 
 away so long." 
 
 Although they had said all they really had 
 to say, yet the abbess and the woodman car- 
 ried "on their conversation during some ten 
 minutes or quarter of an hour more, before 
 they parted ; and then the excellent lady re- 
 tired to her own little comfortable room again, 
 murmuring to herself: "He is a wise man, that 
 John Boyd — rude as a bear sometimes ; but he 
 has got a wit ! I think those woodmen are 
 always shrewd. They harbour amongst the 
 green leaves, and look at all that goes on in 
 the world as mere spectators, till they learn to 
 judge better of all the games that are playing, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 4^ 
 
 than those who take part therein. They can 
 look out, and see, and meddle as little as we 
 do, while we are shut out from sight, as well 
 as from activity. 
 
46 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Under some circumstances, and upon some 
 conditions, there are few things fairer on this 
 earth, than a walk through a wild forest by 
 moonlight. It must not be, however, one of 
 those deep unbroken primeval forests, which 
 are found in many parts of the new world, 
 where the wilderness of trees rises up, like a 
 black curtain, on every side, shutting out the 
 view, and almost excluding the light of day 
 from the face of the earth. But a forest in 
 old England, at the period of which I speak, was 
 a very different thing. Tall trees there were, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 47 
 
 and many, and in some places they were crowded 
 close together ; but, in others the busy wood- 
 man's axe, and the more silent, but more in- 
 cessant strokes of time, had opened out wide 
 tracts, where nothing was to be seen but short 
 brushwood, stunted oak, beech tree and ash, 
 rising up in place of the forest monarchs long 
 passed away, like the pigmy efforts of modern 
 races appearing amidst the ruins of those gi- 
 gantic empires, which have left memorials 
 that still defy the power of time. Indeed, I 
 never behold a wide extent of old forest land, 
 covered with shrubby wood, with here and 
 there a half decayed trunk, rising grandly 
 above the rest, without imagination flying far 
 away to those lands of marvel, where the won- 
 ders of the world arose and perished — the land 
 of the Pharaohs, of the Assyrians, and of the 
 Medes ; aye, and of the Romans too — those 
 lands in which the power and genius of the 
 only mighty European empire displayed them- 
 selves more wonderfully than even in the im- 
 perial city, the land of Balbec and Palmyra. 
 
48 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 The Arab's hut, built amongst the ruins of the 
 temple of the sun, is a fit type of modern 
 man, contrasted with the races that have passed. 
 True, the Roman empire was destroyed by the 
 very tribes from which we spring ; but, it was 
 merely the dead carcase of the Behemoth eaten 
 up by ants. 
 
 Be all that as it may, an English forest scene 
 is very beautiful by moonlight, and especially 
 when the air has been cleared by a light frost, 
 as was the case when the woodman took his 
 way back towards his cottage, after his visit to 
 the abbey. The road was broad and open — one 
 of the highroads of the country, indeed — sandy 
 enough, in all conscience, and not so smooth as it 
 might have been ; but still it served its purpose ; 
 and people in those days, called it a good road. 
 Here, an old oak eighteen or twenty feet in 
 girth, which might have seen the noble ill-fated 
 Harold, stretched its long limbs across the 
 turfy waste ground at its feet, and over the 
 yellow track of the road beaten by horses' 
 feet. In other places the eye might wander 
 
THE WOODMAN. 49 
 
 far over awide scantily covered track of ground, 
 with here and there a tall tree starting up and 
 casting its broad shadow upon the white and 
 glistening expanse of bushes below. A vague 
 sort of mysterious uncertainty hung about the 
 dells and dingles of the wood, notwithstanding 
 the brightness of the moonlight ; and a faint, 
 blueish mist prevented the eye from penetrating 
 into the deeper vallies, and searching their pro- 
 fundity. To the left, the ground sloped away 
 with a gentle descent. To the right, it rose 
 somewhat more abruptly; and, peeping over the 
 leafless trees in the latter direction, appeared 
 here and there a square wall and tower, cutting- 
 sharp and defined upon the rounded forms of 
 the forest. Above all, stretched out the wide 
 deep sky, with the moon nearly at the full, 
 flooding the zenith with light, while to the north 
 and west, shone out many bright and twinkling 
 stars, not yet hidden by the beams of earth's 
 bright satellite. 
 
 With a slow and a firm step, the woodman 
 trudged upon his way, pausing every now and 
 
 VOL. i. d 
 
50 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 then to gaze around him, more, apparently, as 
 a matter of habit than with any purpose ; for he 
 seemed full of busy thoughts; and even when he 
 stopped and let his eye roam around, it is pro- 
 bable that his mind was on other things, once 
 or twice, murmuring a few words to himself, 
 which had certainly no reference to the scene. 
 " Ah, Mary, Mary," he said, and then added : 
 "Alas! Alas!" 
 
 There was something deeply melancholy in 
 his tone. The words were spoken low and 
 softly ; and a sigh followed them : the echo 
 of memory to the voice of joys passed. 
 
 Onward he walked again, the road somewhat 
 narrowing as he proceeded, till at length the 
 tall trees pressing forward on either side, shut 
 out the light of the moon, except where, here 
 and there, the rays stole through the leafless 
 branches and chequered the frosty turf. 
 
 As he was passing through one of the darkest 
 parts of the wood, keeping a good deal to the 
 left of the road, the sound of a horse's feet was 
 heard coming fast down from the top of the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 51 
 
 hill. Without change of pace or look, how- 
 ever, the stout woodman walked on, seeming 
 to pay little attention to the measured beating 
 of the ground by the strong hoofs, as they 
 came on at a quick trot. Nearer and nearer, 
 however, they approached, till at length they 
 suddenly stopped, just as the horse and rider 
 were passing the man on foot, and a voice ex- 
 claimed, " Who goes there V 
 
 " A friend," replied the woodman. " You 
 must have sharp eyes, whoever you be." 
 
 " Sharp eyes and sharp ears too," replied the 
 horseman. " Stand out, and tell us who you 
 are, creeping along there under the boughs." 
 
 " Creeping along !" answered the woodman, 
 advancing into the more open road and placing 
 himself in front of the rider. " I will soon tell 
 you who I am, and show you who I am too, 
 master, when I know who it is that asks the 
 question. Since it comes to that, I bid you 
 stand and tell me who you are who ride the 
 wood so late. You are none of King Richard's 
 posts, or you would know me ;" and, at the 
 
 d 2 
 
 & OF ILL LIE 
 
52 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 same time, he laid his hand upon the man's 
 bridle. 
 
 " You are a liar," replied the horseman, " for 
 I am one of King Richard's posts, coming 
 from Scotland, with news of moment, and let- 
 ters from the princess countess of Arran. Let 
 go my bridle then, and say, who and what you 
 are, or by the Lord, I'll drub you as you have 
 seldom been drubbed before." 
 
 " Ha ! Say you so ?" cried the woodman, 
 still retaining his hold of the bridle. " I must 
 have more satisfactory knowledge of you, ere 
 I let you pass ; and, as for drubbing me, me- 
 thinks with a green willow and a yard or two 
 of rope, I'd give thee that which thou hast not 
 tasted, since thou wert a boy." 
 
 " So, so," said the man, " thou art a robber, 
 doubtless. These woods are full of them, they 
 say ; but thou shalt find me a tougher morsel 
 than often falls within thy teeth. Take that 
 for thy pains." 
 
 As he spoke, he suddenly drew his sword 
 from the sheath, and aimed a rapid and furious 
 
the woodman. 53 
 
 stroke at the woodman's head. His adversary 
 however, was wary ; and springing on one side, 
 he escaped the descent of the blade. The other 
 instantly spurred his horse forward ; but, before 
 he could pass, the woodman had pulled his axe 
 from his belt, and with a full sweep of his arm, 
 struck a blow at the back of the horseman's 
 head, which cast him at once out of the saddle. 
 It was the back of the axe which he used, and 
 not the sharp side ; but the effect seemed equally 
 fatal, for the man neither moved nor spoke, 
 and his horse, freed from the pressure of the 
 rein, dashed down the lane for some way, then 
 stopped, paused for a moment, and trotted 
 quietly back again. 
 
 In the meantime, the woodman approached 
 the prostrate body of the messenger, murmur- 
 ing to himself: "Ah, caitiff, I know thee, though 
 thou has forgotten me. Thou pitiful servant of 
 treachery and ingratitude, thou hireling, ser- 
 viceable knave, I would not have hurt thee, 
 even for thy master's sake, hadst thou not as- 
 sailed me first — Methinks he is dead," he con- 
 
54 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 firmed, stirring the body with his foot. " I hit 
 thee harder than I thought ; but it is well as 
 it is. Thy death could not come from a fitter 
 hand than mine, were it not the hangman's — 
 I will see what thou hast about thee, however ; 
 for there may be news of value indeed, if for 
 once in thy life, thou hast found a tongue to 
 speak truth with. But I will not believe it. 
 The news was too sure, the tale too sad to be 
 false." 
 
 He stood a moment or two by the corpse, 
 gazing upon it in silence, but without the 
 slightest sign of sorrow or remorse. Those 
 were bloody and barbarous times, it is true, 
 when men slew each other in cold blood after 
 battles were over, when brother spared not 
 brother, and the companions of infancy and 
 boyhood dyed their daggers in each other's 
 gore. Human life, as in all barbarous states of 
 society, was held as nought ; and men hesitated 
 as little to spill the blood of a fellow creature 
 as to spill their own. Bat yet it must 
 surely always be a terrible thing to take a life, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 55 
 
 to extinguish that light which we can never re- 
 illume, to fix the fatal barrier which renders every 
 foolish and every dark act, every sin and every 
 crime irretrievable, to leave no chance of peni- 
 tence, no hope of repentance, and to send the 
 erring and burdened spirit into the presence of 
 its God, without one dark record against it 
 uncancelled. Heavy must be the offence in- 
 deed, and deep the injury, which leaves no 
 sorrow in the heart of the slayer. 
 
 None seemed to be felt by the wood- 
 man. He stood and gazed, as I have said, for 
 a moment ; but it was — as he had gazed over 
 the prospect below — without a change of coun- 
 tenance ; and then he stooped down and with 
 calm and patient investigation searched every 
 part of the dead man's apparel. He found, 
 amongst other things, a purse well supplied 
 with gold, at least so its weight seemed to in- 
 dicate ; but that he put back again at once. 
 He found some papers too, and those he kept ; 
 but not satisfied with that, after some trouble 
 he caught the horse, examined the saddle, un- 
 
56 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 loosed the girths, and between the saddle cloth 
 and the leather, found a secret pocket from 
 which he took more papers. These too he 
 kept, and put them in his wallet. Everything 
 else, such as trinkets, of which there were one 
 or two, a pouncet box, some large curiously 
 shaped keys and other trifles, he carefully re- 
 placed where he had found them. Then, taking 
 up the dead man's hand, he raised it and let 
 it fall, as if to make sure that life was extinct ; 
 and then once more he addressed the corpse, 
 saying— 
 
 " Aye, thou art dead enough ! I could find 
 in my heart to spurn thee even now — but no, 
 no. It is but the clay. The demon is de- 
 parted," and picking up his axe, which he had 
 laid down for a moment, he carefully replaced 
 the saddle on the horse's back, fastened up the 
 girths, and cast loose the rein. When this 
 was done he resumed his walk, proceeding 
 with the same quiet steady pace, with which he 
 had been wending his way towards his cottage, 
 the moment before this adventure befell him. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 
 
 57 
 
 All remained calm and still on the spot 
 which he had left, for somewhat more than an 
 hour. The moon reached her highest point, 
 travelled a little to the westward, and poured 
 her rays under the branches of the trees where 
 before it had been dark. The dead body still 
 lay upon the road. The horse remained crop- 
 ping the forest grass at the side, occasionally 
 entangling its foot in the bridle, and once 
 plunging to get free so as to bring itself upon its 
 knees. At the end of the time I have men- 
 tioned, the woodman reappeared, coming down 
 the hill at the same quiet rate at which he had 
 gone away. When he approached the place 
 he stopped and looked around ; and then, stoop- 
 ing down by the side of the dead man, he 
 placed some of the papers in the pocket, say- 
 ing with a sort of bitter smile, which looked wild 
 and strange in the moonlight — 
 
 " Thy comings and goings are over ; but 
 others may carry these at least to their desti- 
 nation. Oh thou double-dealing [fiend, thou 
 hast died in the midst of one of thy blackest 
 
 d 3 
 
58 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 deeds before it was consummated. The mes- 
 senger of the dove, thou wert but the agent of 
 the hawk which was watching for her as a 
 prey, and would have betrayed her into all the 
 horrors of faithlessness and guilt. May God 
 pardon thee, bad man ! and — '' 
 
 Again there was the sound of horses' feet 
 coming ; but this time it was mingled with that 
 of voices, talking with loud and somewhat 
 boisterous merriment. 
 
 " Some of the king's runners," said the 
 woodman ; and with a slow step, he retreated 
 under the trees, and was soon lost to sight 
 amidst the thick brushwood. The next 
 moment, two men might be seen riding 
 down the hill and laughing as they came. 
 
 " 'Twill be pleasant tidings to bear," said 
 one to the other ; " and my counsel is, Jago, 
 instead of giving them to the next post, as thy 
 fool's head would have it, that we turn away 
 through the bye-road to the abbey, and carry 
 our good news ourselves. Why that Rich- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 59 
 
 mond has put back again to France, is worth 
 fifty broad pieces to each of us." 
 
 " But our orders were strict," answered the 
 other ; " and we have no excuse. — But mercy 
 have us ! What is here ? Some one either drunk 
 or dead upon the road. There stands his horse 
 too, under that tree." 
 
 " Look to your weapon, Jago;" replied his 
 companion. " On my life, this is that fellow 
 Malcolm Bower, who passed us three hours 
 ago, as proud as a popinjay ; and I'll wager a 
 stoup of Canary, that he has met with robbers 
 in the wood and been murdered." 
 
 " Likely, likely,"' answered the other man, 
 loosening his sword in the sheath ; " but if he 
 have, king Richard will burn the forest down 
 but he'll find them ; for this fellow is a great 
 man with those he serves now-a-days." 
 
 " Here, hold my horse •" cried the other. 
 " I'll get down and see ;" and dismounting, he 
 stooped over the body, and then proceeded to 
 examine it, commenting in broken sentences, 
 thus — " Aye, it is he sure enough. Stay, he 
 
60 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 can't be murdered I think either, for here is 
 his purse in his pocket, and that well filled — 
 and papers too, and a silver box of comfits, on 
 my life. Look ye here now, his horse must 
 have thrown him and broken his neck. No, 
 upon my life it's his head is broken. Here's 
 a place at the back of his skull as soft as a 
 Norfolk dumpling. What shall we do with 
 him ?" 
 
 A short consultation then ensued, as to how 
 they should dispose of the dead body, till at 
 length it was agreed that the horse should be 
 caught, the corpse flung over it, and thus 
 carried to the neighbouring hamlet. This was 
 effected without much trouble ; and the whole 
 scene became wild, and silent, and solitary once 
 more. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I must now introduce the reader to a scene 
 then very common in England, but, which 
 would now be sought for in vain — although, to 
 some of the habits of those times, a large class 
 of people have a strong tendency to return. 
 Round a little village green, having as usual, 
 its pond — the merry-making place of ducks and 
 geese — its two or three clumps of large trees, and 
 its two roads crossing each other in the middle, 
 were erected several buildings of very different 
 look and magnitude. Nearly three sides of 
 the green were occupied by mere hovels or 
 huts, the walls of mud, the roofs rudely 
 
62 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 thatched, and the windows of so small a size, 
 as to admit very little light into a dwelling, 
 which, during the working hours of each weary 
 day, saw very little of its laborious tenants. 
 Amongst these, were two larger houses, built of 
 stone, richly ornamented, though small in size, 
 having glazed windows, and displaying all the 
 signs and tokens of the ecclesiastical architec- 
 ture of the day, though neither of them was a 
 church or chapel, but simply the dwelling places 
 of some secular priests, with a small following of 
 male choristers, who were not permitted to in- 
 habit any portion of the neighbouring abbey. 
 Along the fourth side of the green, where the 
 ground rose considerably, extended an enor- 
 mously high wall, pierced in the centre with a 
 fine old portal with two battlemented turrets, 
 one on either side. From the middle of the 
 green, so high was this wall and portal, that 
 nothing could be seen beyond it. But, from the 
 opposite side, the towers and pinnacles of the 
 abbey itself peeped up above the inclosure. 
 If one followed the course of the wall, to the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 63 
 
 left as one looked towards the abbey, passing be- 
 tween it and the swine herd's cottage, one came 
 to a smaller door — a sort of sally port, we should 
 have called it, had the place been a fortress — 
 from which, a path wound away, down into a 
 valley, with a stream flowing through it ; and 
 then turning sharp to the right at the bottom, 
 the little footway ascended again towards a deep 
 old wood, on the verge of which appeared a 
 small Gothic building with a stone cross in 
 front. The distance from the abbey to St. 
 Magdalene's cell, as it was called, was not in 
 reality very great in a direct line ; but the path 
 wound so much, in order to avoid a steep rise 
 in the ground and a deep ravine through which 
 in rainy weather flowed a torrent of water, that 
 its length could not be less than three quarters 
 of a mile. 
 
 The little door in the abbey wall, which 
 I have mentioned, was strong and well se- 
 cured, with a loop hole at each side for archers 
 to shoot through, in case of need. Over 
 the door too, was a semicirctdar aperture, 
 
64 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 in which hung an enormously large bell, bap- 
 tized in former years, according to the ordinary 
 custom, but which, whatever was the name it 
 received at its baptism, was known amongst 
 the peasantry as the " Baby of St. Clare/' 
 Now, whether St. Clare, whoever she was, had, 
 during the term of her mortal life, a baby or 
 none, I cannot pretend to say ; but certain it is, 
 that the good nuns were as angry at the name 
 which had been bestowed upon the bell, as if 
 the attributing an infant to their patroness, had 
 been a direct insult to each of them individually. 
 This bell was used only upon special occa- 
 sions, the ordinary access to the abbey being 
 through the great gates ; but, if any danger 
 menaced in the night, if any of the peasan- 
 try were taken suddenly ill after sunset, if 
 any of the huts in the hamlet caught fire 
 — which was by no means unusual — or any 
 other business of importance occurred during 
 the hours of darkness, the good people of the 
 neighbourhood applied to the Baby of St. Clare, 
 whose loud voice soon brought out one of the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 65 
 
 inferior sisters to inquire what was the matter. 
 Passing on from this doorway, and leaving the 
 path towards St. Magdalene's cell on the left, 
 one could circle round the whole extent of the 
 walls, which contained not less than five or six 
 acres of ground. But no other doorway was to 
 be seen, till the great portal was again reached. 
 The walls themselves were of exceeding thick- 
 ness, and had a walk all round them on a sort 
 of platform at the top. It would have required 
 cannon indeed to have effected a breach at any 
 point ; but at the same time, their great extent 
 rendered them indefensible against the means 
 of escalade, by any force which the good sisters 
 could call to their aid. 
 
 Within the great portal, was a large open 
 court, flanked on three sides by habitable 
 buildings. To the right, was what was called 
 the visitors' lodging, where a very considerable 
 number of persons could be accommodated, 
 in small rooms very tolerably furnished ac- 
 cording to the mode of the day. There, 
 too, a large dining hall afforded space for the 
 
66 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 entertainment to the many guests, who from 
 time to time partook of the abbey's hospitality. 
 The opposite side was devoted to offices for the 
 lay sisters and servants of the abbey ; and the 
 space in front of the great gates was occupied by 
 the chapel, into one part of which the general 
 public was admitted, while the other, separated 
 by a richly wrought stone screen, was assigned to 
 the nuns themselves. A small stone passage 
 closed by an iron gate ran between the offices 
 and the chapel, and extended round the back 
 of the former and along the north-western wall 
 to the little doorway which I have mentioned, 
 while, on the other hand, an open door and 
 staircase led to the parlour, which I have men- 
 tioned in a preceding chapter, as that in which 
 friends or relatives might converse with any of 
 the recluses, through the grate which divided 
 the room into two. Behind the chapel was an- 
 other court, cloistered all round, and beyond 
 that the main body of the building. 
 
 All these arrangements would seem to show, 
 and indeed, such was the intention, that the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 67 
 
 sisterhood were cut off from all immediate 
 communication with the male part of the race ; 
 but yet, in truth neither the order nor the abbey 
 was a very strict one — so little so, that twenty 
 or thirty years before, the sisterhood had not 
 altogether escaped scandal. All occasion for 
 gossiping tongues however, had been taken 
 away by the conduct of the existing abbess, 
 whose rule was firm though mild ; but at the 
 same time, she neither scrupled to indulge her 
 nuns in all innocent liberty, such as going out 
 once or twice in the year in parties of six or 
 seven together, nor to use her own powers 
 of free action in receiving, even in the interior 
 of the building, during the day time, any of the 
 officers of the abbey, whether lay or clerical, 
 with whom she might wish to speak, and in 
 going out mounted on her mule, and accom- 
 panied by several attendants, to inspect the 
 several estates of the foundation, or visit any of 
 the neighbouring towns. This just medium 
 between extreme severity and improper license, 
 secured her against all evil tongues ; and the 
 
68 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 abbey was in high repute at the time of which 
 I speak. 
 
 About one o'clock, on the day after the 
 woodman's visit, which I have described, some 
 twenty or thirty people were gathered together 
 on the green just before the great portal. But 
 this was no well dressed and splendid assem- 
 blage, no meeting of the high, the rich, and the 
 lordly. It was a very motley band, in which 
 rags and tatters greatly predominated. The 
 most aristocratic of the crowd, was probably an 
 itinerant piper, who, with an oddshaped cap on 
 his head, somewhat like the foot of an old stock- 
 ing, but spreading out at the edges in the fashion 
 of a basin, had a good coarse brown cloth coat 
 on his back, and hosen on his legs, which though 
 not new, were not in holes. He kept his bag 
 tight under his arm, not venturing to regale the 
 devout ears of the nuns with the sounds of his 
 merry minstrelsy ; but he promised himself and 
 his fellows to cheer their hearts with a tune 
 after their daily dole had been distributed, to 
 receive which was the object -of their coming. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 69 
 
 They were not kept long waiting, indeed ; 
 for one of the elder sisters soon appeared, fol- 
 lowed by two stout serving women, dressed in 
 grey gowns, with white hoods and wimples, 
 each carrying an enormous basket filled with 
 large hunches of bread and fragments of 
 broken meat. The contents of these panniers 
 were distributed with great equity, and savoured 
 with a few words, sometimes of ghostly advice, 
 sometimes of reproach, and sometimes of con- 
 solation. 
 
 Thus it was, " There Hodge, take that, and 
 do not grumble another time as thou didst 
 yesterday. A contented heart makes food 
 wholesome ; and you, Margery Dobson, I do 
 wonder that you do not think it shame to live 
 upon the abbey dole, with those good stout 
 hands of yours " 
 
 " Ah, dear mother ;" replied the person she 
 addressed, in a whining tone ; " that is always 
 the way. Everything goes by seeming. I 
 vow lam dropsical all over ; and then folks say 
 it is all fat. I could no more do a day's work 
 
70 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 like another, than I could take up the abbey 
 tower and carry it off." 
 
 The good sister shook her head, and went on 
 to another, saying — 
 
 " Ah ! Jackson, if you would but quit your 
 vile drunken ways, you need never come here 
 for the dole. Two hours' work each day would 
 furnish you with as much food as you get here 
 in a week. Ah Janet Martin, my poor thing ;" 
 she continued, addressing a woman, who had 
 contrived to add some little scraps of black 
 to the old gown which she wore ; " there were 
 no need to give you any of the dole, for the 
 lady abbess will send down to you by and bye ; 
 but here, as there is plenty for all to-day, take 
 this for yourself and the babes. I dare say 
 they'll eat it." 
 
 The woman made a melancholy gesture with 
 her head, replying merely — 
 
 " They have not tasted a morsel since last 
 night, sister Alice." 
 
 " Well, take heart, take heart ;" answered 
 the nun in a kindly tone. " You can't tell 
 
THE WOODMAN. / 1 
 
 what may be coming. We are all very sorry 
 for you and for your poor children ; and your 
 good husband who is no more, rest his soul, 
 has our prayers night and morning." 
 
 " Blessings upon you, sister Alice, and upon 
 the house ;" replied the poor widow ; and the 
 nun turned to the itinerant musician, saying — 
 " What, Sam the piper come back from Tarn- 
 worth. I trust, brother, you remembered all 
 your promises, and did not get drunk at the fair." 
 " Never was drunk once," replied the piper 
 boldly ; but the next moment, he turned his 
 head partly over his shoulder, and winked 
 shrewdly with his eye, adding, "The ale 
 was so thin that a butt of it would not have 
 tipsied a sucking lamb. So I have little credit ; 
 for my well seasoned staves would have drank 
 the whole beer in the town without rolling. 
 But nevertheless, I was moderate, very mode- 
 rate, and drank with due discretion — seeing 
 that the liquor was only fit to season sow's 
 meat. Well, I wot, they got very little grains 
 out of each barrel ; and I hope he that brewed 
 
72 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 it has had as bad a cholic as I have had ever 
 since. 55 
 
 " Well, get you each to the buttery, one by 
 one as you are served ; and there you will get 
 a horn of ale which won't give you the cholic, 
 though it won't make you drunk," said the 
 good sister ; and then beckoning to the piper, 
 she enquired in an easy tone : " What news 
 was stirring at Tamworth, Sam Piper ? There's 
 always something stirring there I think." 
 
 " Bless your holy face," answered the piper ; 
 " there was little enough this time. Only just 
 as the fair was over, some gay nobles came in — 
 looking for king Richard I wot ; and a gorge- 
 ous train they made of it ; but if it was the 
 king they sought, they did not find him, for he 
 has gone on to Nottingham with his good 
 queen." 
 
 " But who were they ? Who were they ?" 
 asked the nun, who was not without her share 
 of that curiosity so common among recluses. 
 " And were they so very splendid ? How many 
 had they in their following?" 
 
THE WOODMAN. 73 
 
 "Why, first and foremost, lady," replied the 
 piper, with a tone and air of secresy and import- 
 ance, " there was the young earl of Chartley. 
 Marry, a gay and handsome gentleman as ever 
 you set eyes on. I saw him come up to the 
 inn door, and speak to mine host ; and every 
 other word was a jest, I'll warrant. What a 
 wit he has, and how he did run on. It was 
 nothing but push and thrust, from beginning to 
 end. Then as for his dress, it might have 
 suited a prince, full of quaint conceits and 
 beautiful extravagance. Why his bonnet was 
 cut all round in the Burgundy fashion, for all 
 the world like the battlements of a castle made 
 in cloth, and a great white feather lolling down 
 till it touched his left shoulder." 
 
 " Oh, vanity, vanity !" cried the nun. " How 
 these young men do mock Heaven with their 
 vanities ! But what more, good brother V* 
 
 " Why then there were the sleeves of his 
 gown,'* continued the piper ; " what they were 
 intended for I can't tell, unless to blow his 
 nose with ; but they were so long and fell so 
 
 VOL. I. e 
 
74 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 heavy with the sables that trimmed them, that 
 
 I thought every minute the horse would set 
 
 his feet on them. But no such thing ; and 
 
 though somewhat dusty he seemed fresh 
 
 enough ." 
 " Well, well," said the nun. " Come to the 
 
 point and tell us no more about dress, for I 
 
 care not for such vanities." 
 
 u Good faith, but there were some pieces of it 
 
 would have made you care ;" replied the piper. 
 
 '' However, I do not know what you mean by 
 
 the point." 
 
 u Who were the other people ; for you said 
 
 there were many ?" demanded the nun sharply. 
 " So there were, so there were ;" replied the 
 
 wandering musician. " There was Sir Edward 
 Hungerford, a gay gallant of the court, not so 
 handsome as the other but as grandly dressed ; 
 and then there was Sir Charles Weinants, a 
 very reverend and courtly gentleman, with 
 comely gray hair. There — talking of reveren- 
 cies — there was a godly friar with a gray gown 
 and shaven crown." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 75 
 
 " That speaks well for the young lords," ob- 
 served the nun. " They cannot be such idle 
 little-thrifts as you make them out, if they 
 travel accompanied by a holy man." 
 
 " Nay, Heaven forbid that I should make 
 them out idle little-thrifts ;" replied the piper. 
 " I think them serious sober-minded gentle- 
 men ; for, besides the friar, they had with them , 
 I wot, a black slave, that is to say not quite 
 black, for I have seen blacker, but a tawny 
 Moor with silver bracelets on his arms, and a 
 turban on his head." 
 
 " How does that show them serious, sober- 
 minded gentlemen ?" asked the nun. 
 
 " Because I fancy they must have been to 
 the Holy Land to fetch him," answered the 
 piper ; " but what is more to their credit than 
 all else, they love minstrels, for the young lord 
 at their head gave me a York groat, which is 
 more than I had taken in all the fair." 
 
 " Minstrels !" cried the nun with a toss of 
 her head. " Marry ! call'st thou thyself a 
 minstrel, piper?" 
 
 e 2 
 
76 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 But before her companion could reply, three 
 men rode into the little circle, formed by the 
 houses upon the green, and approached the 
 great portal of the abbey. One of these, by 
 his dress and appearance, seemed to be a prin- 
 cipal servant in the house of some great man. 
 Another was an ordinary groom ; but the third 
 was altogether of a different appearance, being 
 a man of almost gigantic stature, dressed in 
 oriental costume, with which, his brown skin, 
 strongly marked features, and large deep 
 black eyes, were in perfect harmony. He wore 
 a crooked scimitar by his side, a short cane 
 spear was in his hand ; and his seat in the 
 saddle of the beautiful black horse he rode, 
 would have distinguished him at once as the 
 native of another land. He was magnificently 
 dressed, as was usually the case with the 
 eastern slaves, of which not a few were to 
 be found in Europe, even at that time ; for 
 although the epidemic madness of the crusades 
 was over, yet the malady from time to time 
 attacked a number of individuals, and we find 
 
THE WOODMAN. 77 
 
 that towards the end of the fifteenth century, 
 between two and three hundred thousand per- 
 sons were assembled from different countries in 
 Rome, with the professed object of making- 
 war upon the infidels. They were without 
 leaders, undertook little, and executed less ; 
 but if one of the noblemen or gentlemen, who 
 set out upon those wild enterprises, could bring- 
 home with him two or three Mahommedan 
 slaves, he thought he had performed a great 
 feat, and judged himself worthy of the name of 
 a crusader. 
 
 The very approach of a follower of Mahound, 
 however, was an abomination to the good nun, 
 who had never seen such a thing before ; and 
 taking a step back at the aspect of the Moor, 
 she crossed herself devoutly. " Sancta Clara, 
 ora pro nobis," she uttered devoutly, and 
 seemed to derive both consolation and courage 
 from the ejaculation ; for she maintained her 
 ground, although the Moor rode close up to 
 her with his companions — nay, she even ex- 
 amined his garb with a critical eye, and inter- 
 
78 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 nally pronounced the yellow silk, of which his 
 gabardine was composed, the most beautiful 
 she had ever seen in her life. 
 
 She was not subjected to the shock of any 
 conversation with the infidel however ; for the 
 person who addressed her was the good look- 
 ing elderly man, dressed as one of the principal 
 servants of a high family. Dismounting from 
 his horse with due decorum, he presented a 
 letter for the lady abbess, and requested that 
 it might be conveyed to her immediately, say- 
 ing, that he would wait there for an answer. 
 
 The nun pressed him to enter the court and 
 take some refreshment in the visitor's lodging, 
 looking askance at the Moor all the time, and 
 seeming to doubt whether she ought to include 
 him in the invitation. The steward, or what- 
 ever he might be, declined, however, stating 
 that he must return immediately when he had 
 received an answer, as to whether the lady ab- 
 bess would extend her hospitality to his lord ; 
 and the nun, usurping the function of the 
 porteress, carried in the letter herself. An 
 
THE WOODMAN. 79 
 
 answer was soon brought, by word of mouth, 
 that the Lord Chartley and his friends were 
 right welcome ; and the servants departed on 
 the road by which they came. Cooks and 
 scullions were immediately put in requisition, 
 and all the good things, which the woodman 
 had sent up, were speedily being converted into 
 delicate dishes for the table of the guests. 
 
 Such a scene had not been displayed in the 
 kitchen of the abbey since the visitation of the 
 bishop ; but hour after hour passed by without 
 the arrival of the expected company, till the 
 cooks began to fear that the supper would be 
 spoilt ; and the beggars, who had lingered 
 about the gate, in the hope of alms, grew weary 
 of waiting, and dropped off one by one. It 
 was not till the sun had set, and the whole sky 
 was gray, that a distant trumpet was heard, 
 and the sacristan of the chapel, from one of the 
 highest towers, perceived a dark and indistinct 
 mass which might be men and horses coming 
 up the slope of the hill. 
 
80 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Much did the good nans wonder, why and 
 wherefore such splendid preparations had been 
 made by the abbess, for the reception of a 
 young nobleman and his companions, none of 
 whom, as far as they knew, bore any promi- 
 nent part in the state. Had it been a bishop, 
 a mitred abbot, or even a dean, they could 
 have understood such a magnificent reception. 
 A duke or a prince would have been worthy 
 of it; but, "Who was Lord Chartley? What 
 claim had he upon the abbey 1" 
 
THE WOODMAN. 81 
 
 If they were surprised, however, at that which 
 went on in the kitchen — and they all found 
 out sooner or later what was taking place 
 there — previous to the arrival of the guests : 
 if they commented upon the arrangements 
 made for feasting the number of forty in the 
 stranger's hall, while the abbess herself with 
 the old prioress, who was as deaf as a post, 
 proposed to entertain the principal visitors in a 
 room apart, how much more were they sur- 
 prised when, on its being announced that the 
 train was approaching, the lady herself went 
 out into the court, with her two nieces, and her 
 usual attendants upon state occasions, and 
 waited nearly opposite the principal door of the 
 chapel to receive her visitors in form. Much 
 did they remark upon these facts ; and much 
 did they whisper among themselves ; but still 
 the abbess pursued her course, though it must 
 be confessed, it was with some degree of 
 perturbation, which was very evident, in a 
 slight degree of nervousness of manner, and 
 
 e3 
 
fr2 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 in a variation of colour which was not common 
 with her. 
 
 She was not kept in the court long before the 
 first horseman rode through the portal; and 
 without waiting for grooms or horse-boys to 
 come up, the young Lord Chartley himself 
 sprang to the ground, and advancing with an 
 easy and graceful air, bonnet in hand, paid his 
 respects to the superior of the convent. Nay 
 more, with a gay light sort of gallantry, fitted 
 perhaps rather for the court than the cloister, 
 he pressed his lips upon the hand of the x abbess, 
 and looked very much as if he would willingly 
 have made them acquainted with the cheeks of 
 the two beautiful girls by whom she was ac- 
 companied. 
 
 " A thousand thanks, dear lady," he said, 
 " for your kindly welcome. Let me crave 
 pardon for having detained you so long ; but 
 some business stopped us by the way. Let me 
 present to you my friends, Sir Charles Wei- 
 nants, a wise and sage negociator, deep in the 
 secret mysteries of courts, and most decreet in 
 
THE WOODMAN. 83 
 
 all his doings — trust him with no secrets, 
 lady," he added, laughing ; " for though he 
 may not betray them, he will use them as his 
 high policy may dictate. Then here is Sir 
 Edward Hungerford, the pink of all perfection 
 and the winner of all hearts, the web of whose 
 courtesy is the most superfine, and who is very 
 dangerous to all ladies not under vows. Then 
 here again is my friend, Sir William Arden, 
 whose character you must not take from him- 
 self, whose looks are rougher than his inten- 
 tions, and his words harder than his heart." 
 
 " And his heart harder than your head, my 
 good lord," said the gentleman of whom he 
 last spoke, who had just dismounted from his 
 horse. " Marry ! my lady abbess, I only 
 wonder how you let such a rattle pated young 
 lordling within your gates. I would not, if I 
 were you ; and were he to ride twenty miles 
 further before he got his supper it would do 
 him good." 
 
 " Not so, I think," said Sir Edward Hunger- 
 ford. " I never knew any good come to a 
 
84 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 man by riding without his supper, especially 
 when he left bright eyes and beautiful faces 
 behind him ;" and, after fixing his look for a 
 moment upon the abbess herself, he glanced 
 meaningly to the faces of her two companions. 
 
 " Peace, peace, my children," said the elder 
 lady. " I must not let you forget where you 
 are, and what ears hear you. This is no court, 
 or hall, or place of light amusement. Cease 
 your fine speeches then, and remember this is 
 the abbey of Atherston St. Clare." 
 
 " Ay, he would soon make it a ribald's den," 
 said Sir William Arden, bluffly ; " but you 
 have forgot the priest, my lord. You should 
 make all reverend people acquainted with each 
 other." 
 
 " True, true !" cried Lord Chartley. " This 
 my dear lady, is a very reverend friend of mine, 
 called Father William, who has lived long in 
 foreign lands. Let me recommend him to 
 your especial care and kindness ; for he has but 
 feeble health, and will partake of your hospi- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 85 
 
 tality for the night, while we, I grieve to say, 
 are forced to ride forward by the moonlight." 
 
 He laid strong emphasis on some of his 
 words ; and the abbess raised her eyes to the 
 face of the friar, who was gazing at her with 
 a calm and steady look. A glance however 
 seemed enough, for she instantly turned her 
 eyes away again, welcoming the priest in 
 vague and general terms. She then proceeded 
 to explain to Lord Chartley and his companions, 
 that as they had come so late, they must put 
 off their meal till after compline, which would 
 be in half an hour. The service in the chapel, 
 she said, at which she invited them all to 
 attend, would occupy about ten minutes, 
 and in the mean time she gave them over to 
 the lay officers of the abbey, who would attend 
 to their comfort and convenience. After com- 
 pline, she added, she would receive the gentle- 
 men who had been introduced to her, to sup 
 in the small parlour, while the rest of the party 
 would be entertained in the hall. 
 
 Having given this explanation, she was about 
 
86 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 to retire ; but Lord Chartley, following her a 
 few steps, said something in a low voice, to 
 which she replied : — 
 
 " Certainly, my son. You will find me at 
 the grate in five minutes. That passage to the 
 left will lead you." 
 
 " There now," exclaimed Sir Edward 
 Hungerford, who had remarked his compan- 
 ion's proceedings. " Chartley is asking her if 
 she can spare him one of those two fair girls 
 to solace his moonlight ride to Leicester. 'Tis 
 thus he always forestalls the market. Upon 
 my life he should give us poor knights a fair 
 chance." 
 
 "You would spoil the fairest chance on 
 earth, with your foppery," said Sir William 
 Arden, a strong built, dark complexioned man 
 of about forty. " The bargain is soon struck 
 at all events, for here he comes ;" and the young- 
 nobleman having rejoined the rest, followed 
 some of the servants of the abbey to the rooms 
 allotted to them, where ewers and towels were 
 prepared to wash before the evening meal. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 87 
 
 A very few minutes afterwards, the young- 
 Lord Chartley crossed the court, and ascended 
 to the grate across the parlour. There was 
 nobody there ; and he looked to the great 
 bell, hesitating whether he should ring it 
 or not. Before he decided however, a light 
 appeared on the other side ; and the abbess 
 presented herself, preceded by a nun bearing a 
 taper, who departed as soon as she had set down 
 the light. Lord Chartley was not a man to 
 hesitate or stumble at any step he was inclined 
 to take ; but for an instant, he did hesitate on 
 the present occasion ; and as the abbess hesi- 
 tated too, the conversation seemed not likely 
 to begin very soon. 
 
 The silence indeed, continued so long, that 
 at length the young lord began to feel, there 
 was something ridiculous in it ; and, bursting 
 into a gay laugh, he said, " Pardon my merri- 
 ment, lady, for I cannot help feeling that it is 
 very absurd to stand thinking of what I shall 
 say, like a school-boy, though, the subject I 
 wish to speak upon is a serious one. I almost 
 
88 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 hoped that you would have helped me, for I 
 could not but think that there was a glance of 
 recognition in your eyes, when I introduced 
 to you one of my companions below." 
 
 " Nay, my son," replied the abbess ; " it 
 was for you to speak. I could not tell that you 
 yourself had cognizance of what you were 
 doing." 
 
 " Then you did remember him ?" exclaimed 
 Lord Chartley. " That is all well ! One part 
 of the difficulty is over, and the greatest. You 
 know that his liberty, if not his life is in peril, if 
 he is discovered. Yet it is needful that he should 
 remain in this neighbourhood for some days, if 
 possible ; and he has directed me to ask, if you 
 will give him protection, and, should need be, 
 concealment, on account of friendships long- 
 ago." 
 
 " Tell him, my lord, I would do so at peril 
 of my life," replied the abbess ; " but, at the 
 same time, it is right he should know to what 
 security he trusts. The walls of the abbey are 
 strong and solid ; but alas we have not men 
 
THE WOODMAN. 89 
 
 enough within call, to defend them in case of 
 need ; and I have been warned, that King- 
 Richard's people are hunting for him shrewdly. 
 Should they track him here, they may use force 
 which I cannot resist." 
 
 " Then, dear lady, you will be free from all 
 blame, if you are compelled to give him up," 
 replied Lord Chartley w " Force cannot be re- 
 sisted without force ; and no one can be cen- 
 sured for yielding to necessity, just as a very 
 brave dog may well turn tail at a lion." 
 
 " Nay, my good lord, not quite so," replied 
 the abbess. " We poor women know, that wit 
 will often baffle strength ; and, I think I can 
 even provide for his safety, even should the 
 gates be forced and the abbey searched. There 
 is a way out, which no one knows nor can dis- 
 cover, but myself and two others. By it, I can 
 convey him into the heart of the wood, where 
 it would take an army, or a pack of hounds, to 
 find him. I can provide guidance and assist- 
 ance for him and I trust that we can set his 
 persecutors at nought, though there may be 
 
90 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 some peril and some anxiety. Pray tell him 
 all this, that he may consider and choose what 
 he will do." 
 
 " Good faith, he has no choice," answered 
 Lord Chartley, " but this, or to go forward to 
 Leicester, into the. very lion's mouth. He is 
 brave enough in a good cause, as you would 
 see, if you knew amidst what perils he travels 
 even now." 
 
 " Ay, my lord, of that I would fain inquire," 
 replied the nun. " 'Tis needful to be cautious — 
 very cautious — in times and circumstances like 
 these ; and not even to you would I have said 
 aught, of my remembrance, had you not spoken 
 first. Now, tell me, do your companions know 
 aught, of who it is that journies with them ?" 
 
 " Not one of them," replied the young lord, 
 " unless it be subtle Sir Charles Weinants ; and 
 he affects to see nothing. I have some doubts 
 of him indeed ; and if it be as I think, he and 
 the bishop have been playing a game against 
 each other during our whole journey, for some- 
 what mighty stakes. If you can but give our 
 
THE WOODMAN. 91 
 
 friend security for three days, he has won the 
 game." 
 
 " God grant it," cried the abbess ; " and with 
 the help of the Blessed Virgin, I hope we shall 
 succeed ; but I much fear, my noble son, that 
 what we are this day doing, may call down 
 upon us the wrath of Richard of Gloucester." 
 
 " I trust not, I trust not, dear lady," replied 
 the young lord. " Were I and my companions 
 and all our train to stay, it might indeed create 
 suspicion ; but no one will, or can know that we 
 leave the good priest here to-night, so that if 
 any doubts have arisen, pursuit will follow us 
 in the first place, rather than turn towards the 
 abbey. This is in truth the reason why I ride 
 on to-night. I would rather lure enmity away 
 from you, believe me, than bring it upon you. 
 But, I trust there is no danger. Everything 
 seemed calm and peaceful, when we left Tam- 
 worth — No men at arms about, no appear- 
 ance of doubt or suspicion." 
 
 " I do not know, my son. I do not know," 
 replied the abbess. I had warning of your 
 
92 
 
 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 coming last night. I had warning too, that 
 clanger might follow." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Lord Chartley, with 
 a look of much surprise. " This is strange 
 news. May I ask who was your informant ?" 
 
 " One whom I can trust well," answered the 
 abbess, " though he be a man of humble 
 station : none other than our chief woodman, 
 John Boyd. By one means or another, he 
 learns all that takes place in the country round ; 
 and he gave me notice, not only that you were 
 on the way hither, but that you had one with 
 you, to whom I should be called upon to give 
 refuge, and for whose safety I must provide. 
 It is to this very man's care and guidance, in 
 case of need, that I must trust the bishop." 
 
 " Hush !" cried Lord Chartley, looking 
 round. " Let us mention no names. I am 
 called rash and careless, light and over-gay, 
 but where a friend's safety is at stake, I must be 
 more thoughtful than I would be for myself. 
 Pardon me for my asking, if you are very sure 
 of this good man." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 93 
 
 The abbess gave him ever}' assurance in her 
 power, bringing forward all those strong mo- 
 tives for trusting the woodman, which were 
 quite conclusive in her eyes, as they would in- 
 deed have been in the eyes of most other ladies, 
 but which did not seem to satisfy her young 
 but more experienced companion. He asked 
 where the woodman lived, and mused; then en- 
 quired how long he had been in the service of 
 the abbey ; and was still putting questions when 
 the bell for compline rang, and the abbess was 
 forced to retire. 
 
 On descending to the court, Lord Chartley 
 found Sir Charles Weinants and the priest, 
 walking up and down before the chapel, not 
 conversing together indeed, for the latter 
 seemed somewhat silent and gloomy. With 
 him, the young nobleman much desired to 
 speak ; but he thought that it might be dan- 
 gerous to connect his conference with the 
 abbess in any degree with the priest, even by 
 addressing him immediately afterwards ; and 
 therefore, turning at once to Sir Charles Wei- 
 
94 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 narits, he exclaimed : " Now Weinants, let us 
 into the chapel. It is quite dark ; and I am 
 somewhat eager for our supper, to fortify us 
 against our evening's ride." 
 
 The priest said not a word, but followed the 
 other two as they advanced towards the place 
 of worship, from which the light of tapers and 
 the sweet tones of the chant were beginning 
 to pour forth. 
 
 " 1 am hungry too," replied Weinants, "and 
 agree with you, my good lord, that a good 
 supper is a very necessary preparation for a 
 long ride. I hope they will sing quick, for by 
 my faith, even from Tarn worth here, I find, has 
 been a good medicine for a slow digestion. — 
 You need not look round for the others. They 
 are all in waiting eagerly for this grace before 
 meat — except indeed your infidel, who was 
 lolling in the stable with his arms round his 
 horse's neck. I should not wonder if the beast 
 were a princess in disguise, changed into that 
 shape by some friendly magician, in order that 
 she might share his captivity." 
 

 THE WOODMAN. 95 
 
 "The most probable thing in the world," 
 replied Chartley, " but undoubtedly, were I in 
 his place, I should prefer my lady mistress with 
 less hair upon her face ; but come, let us cease 
 our jokes : for here we are ; and you will scan- 
 dalize our reverend friend here." 
 
 Thus saying, they entered the chapel and 
 placed themselves by one of the pillars while 
 the service proceeded. 
 
 If the ceremonial observances of the Romish 
 church are many, the services have at all 
 events the advantage of being brief; and, on 
 this occasion, the visitors of the abbey were de- 
 tained for even a shorter space of time than 
 the abbess had mentioned. As soon as the last 
 notes of the chant were over, the abbess and 
 her nuns retired from their latticed gallery ; and 
 then, for the first time, she notified to her nieces 
 that she expected them to assist her in enter- 
 taining her guests. 
 
 " Oh, my dear aunt, pray excuse me," ex- 
 claimed Iola, while Constance submitted quite 
 quietly. " I would rather a thousandfold sup 
 
96 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 alone in the penitential cell, than with all these 
 men. They have frightened me out of my 
 wits once to-night already, especially that gay 
 gossamer looking youth, whom the young lord 
 called Hungerford." 
 
 " I must have it so, Iola," replied her aunt. 
 " I have my reasons for it, so no nonsense, 
 child. As for men," she continued, resuming a 
 gayer tone, " you will soon find, when more 
 accustomed to them, they are not such furious 
 wild beasts as they seem. With them, as with 
 bulls and dogs, they are only dangerous to 
 those who are frightened at them. Treat them 
 boldly and repel them sharply, and they soon 
 come fawning and crouching at your feet. 
 Man is a very contemptible animal, my dear 
 child, if you did but know all. However, you 
 shall sit beside the priest — between him and the 
 young lord, so you will escape the other, who 
 is but one of the empty courtiers of the day, 
 such as I recollect them in my youth — a sort 
 of thing that a woman of spirit could squeeze 
 
THE WOODMAN. 97 
 
 to death as she would a wasp in a hawking glove. 
 I dare say Constance does not fear him." 
 
 " I would rather not sit near him," replied the 
 other quietly. " His perfumes make me sick. 
 I would rather not live next door neighbour to 
 a civet cat. Let me -entertain the bluff old 
 gentleman, aunt. His rough speeches are 
 much more pleasant to my ear than all the 
 other's soft sayings." 
 
 " Don't call him old to his face, Constance,' ' 
 replied her aunt, " or his sayings will be rough 
 enough, depend upon it. Why I do not think 
 he is forty, child ; and no man ever thinks him- 
 self old, till he has told up the seventy, and 
 then he begins to fancy he is growing aged, 
 and had better begin to lead a new life." 
 
 The two girls laughed gaily ; and, in a few 
 minutes they were seated, as had been arranged, 
 at the plentiful table which had been prepared 
 for their aunt's distinguished guests. I will 
 not pause upon the feast. The reader is well 
 aware of the abundant provision which had 
 been made by the worthy woodman, and would 
 
 VOL. III. P 
 
93 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 be but little edified to hear of the strange ways 
 in which the various dishes were dressed, or 
 the odd sauces with which they were savoured. 
 The meal, as was usual in those days, lasted a 
 long while; and the conversation was some- 
 what more gay and lively than one would be 
 inclined to imagine was common within the 
 walls of a convent. At first, indeed, it was 
 somewhat stiff and restrained ; but there was 
 a gay, careless, happy spirit in the bosom of 
 the young nobleman, who sat beside the abbess, 
 which soon banished the restraint of fresh 
 acquaintance, and made every one feel as if 
 they had known him for years. This was less 
 difficult to effect with the elder lady than with 
 Iola who sat on his other hand ; but even she 
 could not resist the current long ; and a certain 
 degree of timidity, the natural fruit of retire- 
 ment from the world, gave way under the in- 
 fluence of his cheerful tone, till she caught 
 herself laughing and talking gaily with him, 
 and suffering unconsciously all the fresh 
 
THE WOODMAN. 99 
 
 thoughts of a bright pure heart to well forth like 
 the waters of a spring. She paused and blushed 
 deeply, when first she suddenly discovered that 
 such was the case; and, bending down his 
 head, for the conversation at the moment was 
 general aud loud, he said, with a kind and 
 graceful smile, but in a low tone — 
 
 " INay, nay, close not the casket ! The jewels 
 are well worthy of being seen." 
 
 " I know not what you mean, my lord ;" she 
 said, blushing more deeply than before. 
 
 " I mean," he answered, "that, judging by your 
 look and sudden pause, I think you have just 
 found out that the door of the heart and the mind 
 has been partly opened to the eye of a stranger, 
 — though it is but by a chink, — and I would fain 
 have you not close it against him, with the key 
 of cold formality. In a word, let us go on as 
 if you had not made the discovery, and do not 
 draw back into yourself, as if you were afraid 
 of letting your real nature come abroad lest it 
 should take cold." 
 
 f 2 
 
100 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Whether she would or not, a smile came 
 upon her lip ; and, after a minute's pause, she 
 answered frankly — 
 
 " Well, I will not. It is but for a little time 
 that it can take the air." 
 
 At that moment the general conversation 
 seemed to drop ; and Lord C hartley saw the 
 eye of the abbess turned towards him. 
 
 " It is excellent good," he said aloud, " made 
 into a pie ; but, I hate pasties of all kinds, if 
 it be but for hiding under a thick crust, the 
 good things they contain. Nevertheless, it is 
 excellent good." 
 
 " What ?" asked the abbess. 
 
 " A squirrel," replied Lord Chartley. " Oh, 
 there is nothing like your gay, clambering nut- 
 cracker, who scrambles about from branch to 
 branch, drinking the dew of heaven, leaping 
 through the free air, and feeding on the top- 
 most fruits, of which he must ever crack the 
 shell to get at the kernel. He is excellent in a 
 pasty, I assure you. Is he not, Hunger- 
 ford r 
 
THE WOODMAN. lOi 
 
 " Exceeding good," answ.ered the knight, 
 from the other side of the table ; " but a young 
 pea-fowl is better." 
 
 In this sort of conversation passed the time ; 
 and Iola, to say sooth, was amused and pleased. 
 She did not, however, forget to show kind at- 
 tention to the friar on her right ; and he, on his 
 part, seemed pleased and interested by her 
 manner towards him. He spoke little, indeed ; 
 but all that he did say was powerful and pointed. 
 Iola, however, could not but remark that he 
 eat hardly anything, while the others seemed 
 to enjoy the dainties prepared for them highly ; 
 and she pressed him kindly to take more 
 food. 
 
 " I am much fatigued, my daughter," he 
 said aloud, " and do not feel well to- 
 night. The less, therefore, I take, perhaps the 
 better." 
 
 Lord Chartley instantly caught at the 
 words — 
 
 fl Nay, good father," he said, " were it not 
 
]02 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 better for you to .take a little repose in your 
 chamber, before we ride ? I have marked all 
 the evening that you seemed ill." 
 
 " Perhaps it were as well," answered the 
 friar, rising ; " but let me not abridge your en- 
 joyment. I will find my way to my lodging 
 and lie down for a while ;" and thus saying, he 
 quitted the room. 
 
 The slightest possible smile curled the lip of 
 Sir Charles Weinants. It passed away in- 
 stantly ; but it had been remarked ; and, being 
 the most discreet man in the world, he felt that 
 the smile was an indiscretion, and to cover it, 
 asked in a gay but ordinary tone — 
 
 " Why, what is the matter with the friar I 
 You have knocked him up, my excellent lord, 
 with your quick travelling. The poor man, I 
 should think, is not accustomed to the back of 
 a hard-trotting horse ; and we rode those last 
 ten miles in less than an hour." 
 
 u He seems, indeed, a good deal tired," re- 
 plied Chartley ; "but I think it was yesterday's 
 
THE WOODMAN. 103 
 
 journey, rather than to-day's, that so much 
 fatigued him. We rode full forty miles before 
 we met with you, and five or six afterwards. 
 You know, I never think, Weinants, or I should 
 have had more compassion." 
 
 Here the conversation dropped ; and, after 
 sitting at table for about half an hour longer, 
 the whole party rose, and Lord Chartley bade a 
 graceful adieu to the abbess, saying — 
 
 " I trust that my poor friend, father 
 William, is by this time well enough to pro- 
 ceed." 
 
 " Can you not leave him here, my son?" said 
 the abbess. " He shall be well tended, and 
 gladly entertained. 1 ' 
 
 "Oh, no, no ;" replied the young nobleman. 
 " I dare say he is well enough now ; and I am 
 bound to my own paternal castle, dear lady, 
 and about to establish for the first time therein, 
 a regular household. 1 must take him with me, 
 therefore, if it be possible, for an almoner is 
 the first great requisite. Farewell then, with 
 
104 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 many grateful thanks for your hospitality. 
 I -will not forget the subjects on which we 
 spoke ; and they shall have immediate atten- 
 tion." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 105 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The trumpet sounded on the green beyond the 
 walls ; and by torch and lantern light, the young 
 lord and his companions mounted in the court 
 before the chapel, and rode forth to join their 
 attendants, after bestowing some rich gifts 
 upon the abbey. Though the sky was not un- 
 clouded ; for there were large masses of heavy 
 vapour rolling across the southern part ofthehori- 
 zon, and the night was much warmer than that 
 which had preceded, auguring rain to the minds 
 of the weather-wise ; yet the moon was bright 
 and clear, displaying every object upon the little 
 
 f 3 
 
106 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 green as clearly almost as if it had been day. 
 Though not very fond of deeds of darkness, 
 young Lord Chartley perhaps might have 
 wished the beams of the fair planet not quite 
 so bright. At all events, he seemed in a great 
 hurry to proceed upon his journey, without any 
 very strict inspection of his band ; for he ex- 
 claimed at once — 
 
 " Now, Arden ; now, Weinants ; let us on at 
 a quick canter. We shall sleep well to- 
 night." 
 
 But the eye of Sir Charles Weinants 
 scanned the party by the moonlight more ac- 
 curately than that of his companion ; and he 
 demanded aloud — 
 
 " Why, where is the friar ?" 
 " He is too unwell to ride on to-night. He 
 will follow to-morrow," said Lord Chartley, in 
 a careless tone ; and striking his horse with 
 the spur, he proceeded, but not before he had re- 
 marked Sir Charles Weinants make a very par- 
 ticular sign to one of his own attendants. The 
 knight raised his finger to his lips, pointed with 
 
THE WOODMAN. 1(>7 
 
 his thumb to the abbey, and then held up two 
 fingers of the same hand. No sooner was this 
 done than he shook his rein, and followed his 
 companion, apparently unconscious that he had 
 been observed. 
 
 For a minute or two the young lord seemed 
 uneasy, riding on in silence, and frequently 
 giving a sharp glance round to those who came 
 behind ; but he soon recovered his equanimity, 
 I might say cheerfulness, for he laughed and 
 talked gaily with those around him, especially 
 when they came to that part of the road 
 where, passing through the forest, it ascended a 
 hill so steep that the pace of the horses was 
 necessarily slackened. Sir Charles Weinants, 
 for his part, joined in, with his quiet, gentle- 
 manly cheerfulness, and seemed perfectly free 
 and unembarrassed. 
 
 The subject of their conversation, it is true, 
 was not a very merry one ; for they soon 
 began to speak of the discovery of a dead 
 man lying on that very road, the night 
 before — killed, as was supposed, by a fall 
 from his horse — an account of which they had 
 
108 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 received at the abbey, where the corpse was 
 still lying. Light-hearted, superficial man, 
 however, rarely suffers any event which hap- 
 pens to his neighbours, to produce any very 
 deep or permanent impression on himself; and 
 it is wonderful how merry that party of gen- 
 tlemen made themselves with the fate of the 
 dead man. 
 
 " See what it is to go too fast, Weinants," 
 said Lord Chartley. " Doubtless this fellow 
 was riding a hired horse, and thought he might 
 ride him up hill, and down dale, as hard as he 
 liked ; and so the poor beast threw him to get 
 rid of an unpleasant burden." 
 
 " Served him quite right, I dare say;" said 
 bluff Sir William Arden. 
 
 " Why, how can you know, Arden ?" de- 
 manded Sir Edward Hungerford, who was 
 riding his own beast in the most delicate and 
 approved manner of the times. " He might 
 be as virtuous as an anchorite for aught you 
 know." 
 
 " The best man that ever lived," answered 
 Arden, "deserves every hour to break his 
 
THE WOODMAN. 109 
 
 neck, and worse too ; and there never yet was 
 a king's courier, which they say this man was, 
 who is not worthy of the pillory from the 
 moment he puts the livery on his back. A set 
 of vermin. I wish I had but the purifying 
 of the court. You would see very few ears, or 
 noses either, walking about the purlieus of the 
 palace ; and as for couriers, I'd set them upon 
 horseback, and have relays of men behind 
 them, to flog them on from station to station, for 
 two or three thousand miles, till they dropped 
 off dead from fatigue and starvation — I would 
 indeed. — They should neither have meat, nor 
 drink, nor sleep, nor rest, till they expired." 
 
 Lord Chartley laughed, for he knew his 
 friend well ; and Sir Charles Weinants en- 
 quired — 
 
 " Why, what do the poor wretches do, to 
 merit such high indignation, Arden ?" 
 
 "Do!" exclaimed the other. "What do 
 they not do ? Are they not the petty tyrants 
 of every inn and every village ? Do they not 
 think themselves justified by the beastly livery 
 
110 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 they wear, to rob every host and every farmer, 
 to pay for nothing that they take, to drink ale 
 and wine gratis, to kiss the daughter, seduce 
 the wife, and ride the horses to death, because 
 they are on a king's service, forsooth — out 
 upon the whole race of them. We have not 
 a punishment within the whole scope of our 
 criminal law that is not too good for them." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Arden ;" cried Lord Chartley, 
 laughing again ; " if you do not mind, Wein- 
 ants will tell the king ; and it will be brought 
 in high treason." 
 
 " How so, how so V 3 demanded Sir William 
 Arden, with a start ; for the very name of high 
 treason was a serious affair in those days, when 
 the axe was seldom long polished before it was 
 dimned again with human blood. 
 
 " Why, do you not know the old proverb, 
 'like master like man?'" asked Chartley; 
 " so that if you abuse the king's couriers you 
 abuse the king himself. It seems to me con- 
 structive treason at all events. What say you 
 Hungerford?" 
 
THE WOODMAN. Hi 
 
 " Very shocking indeed," said the gentleman 
 whom he addressed, yawning heartily ; " but I 
 hate all couriers too. They are very un- 
 savoury fellows, give you their billets with hot 
 hands, and bring a hideous smell of horse flesh 
 and boot leather into the chamber with them. 
 I always order those who come to me, to be 
 kept an hour in a chill ante-room, to cool and 
 air themselves." 
 
 From the characters of all who surrounded 
 him, Lord Chartley seemed to draw no little 
 amusement ; but still, it would appear, his eye 
 was watchful, and his ear too ; for, when they 
 had ridden about a couple of miles through 
 the wood, and were in a shady place, where the 
 beams of the moon did not penetrate, he sud- 
 denly reined in his horse, exclaiming — 
 
 " Some one has left the company — Hark ! 
 Who is that riding away ?" 
 
 "Faith, I know not;" said Sir Charles 
 Weinants. 
 
 " I hear nobody," replied Hungerford. 
 
1 12 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " There go a horse's feet, nevertheless ;" 
 cried Sir William Arden. 
 
 " Gentlemen all, have you sent any one 
 back ?" demanded the young baron, in a stern 
 tone. 
 
 A general negative was the reply ; and 
 Chartley exclaimed — 
 
 " Then, by the Lord, I will find him. Ride on, 
 gentlemen, ride on. I will overtake you soon." 
 
 " Let me come with you, my good lord ;" 
 said Sir William Arden. 
 
 " No, no, I will find him, and deal with 
 him alone," replied the young lord ; and, 
 turning his head to add — " You can wait 
 for me at Hinckley if you will," he spurred 
 on sharply, on the road which led back to- 
 wards the abbey. The party whom he left, 
 remained gathered together for a moment, in 
 surprise at the rapidity and the strangeness of 
 his movements. 
 
 " In the name of fortune," cried Sir Ed- 
 ward Hungerford, " why does he not take 
 somebody with him V 
 
THE WOODMAN. 113 
 
 " Every one knows his own business best," 
 said Arden gruffly. 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" said Sir Charles Weinants. 
 " Let us hear which way he takes." 
 
 Now at the distance of perhaps two hun- 
 dred yards behind them, the road through the 
 wood divided into two : that on the left, by 
 which they had come, leading direct to the 
 abbey and its little hamlet : that on the right 
 pursuing a somewhat circuitous course towards 
 the small town of Atherston. The footfalls of 
 Lord Chartley's horse, as he urged him furi- 
 ously on, could be clearly heard as soon as Sir 
 Charles Weinants had done speaking ; and a 
 moment after they seemed to take a direction 
 to the right. The party still paused and lis- 
 tened, however, till it became clear by the 
 sounds, that the young nobleman had gone 
 upon the road to Atherston. 
 
 Then, Sir Charles Weinants drew a deep 
 breath, and said, in an easy tone : " Well, let us 
 ride on. We can wait for him at Hinckley, 
 Doubtless, he is safe enough," 
 
114 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Sir William Arden seemed to hesitate ; and 
 Lord Chartley's steward said in a doubtful 
 tone : " I think we ought to wait for my lord." 
 
 " You heard what he said himself," replied 
 Sir Charles Weinants. " Our business is to go 
 slowly on, and wait for him at Hinckley, if he 
 does not overtake us by the way." 
 
 So was it in the end determined ; and the 
 party proceeded at a foot pace in the direc- 
 tion which they had before been taking. Mile 
 after mile they rode on without being over- 
 taken by their companion, every now and then 
 pausing for a minute or two, to listen for his 
 horse's feet, and then resuming their progress, 
 till at length they arrived at Hinckley. They 
 entered the inn yard, just at the moment that 
 the carriers from Ashby de la Zouche to North- 
 ampton, usually presented themselves with their 
 packhorses ; and they instantly had out land- 
 lord and ostlers, and all the retinue of the inn, 
 with lanterns in abundance. 
 
 " Stay !" said Sir William Arden, as the at- 
 tendants were hurrying to dismount, and lead 
 
THE WOODMAN. 115 
 
 their lords' horses to the stables. " Please 
 Heaven, we will see who it is that is wanting." 
 
 " No need of that," exclaimed Sir Charles 
 Weinants. " We shall learn soon enough no 
 doubt." 
 
 But the good knight, who was a steady 
 campaigner, and one of the best soldiers of his 
 day, adhered tenaciously to his purpose, ordered 
 the gates of the inn-yard to be closed, and the 
 doors of the house and of the stables to be shut 
 and locked. He next insisted that the servants 
 should draw up in separate bodies, the attend- 
 ants of each master in a distinct line, and then 
 made the ostlers carry their lanterns along the 
 face of each. 
 
 " One of your men is wanting, Sir Charles 
 Weinants," he said at length. " It must have 
 been he who rode away, and left his company 
 in the forest." 
 
 " More fool, or more knave he," replied Sir 
 Charles Weinants, coolly. " He shall be pun- 
 ished for his pains by losing his wages. But, 
 if I am not mistaken, there is another wanting 
 
116 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 too. Where is Lord Chartley's Moor ? I have 
 not seen him for some time, and do not perceive 
 him now." 
 
 " He staid behind in the wood, Sir Charles," 
 replied one of the servants, " to look after the 
 noble lord. He said — let go who would, he 
 would stay there." 
 
 " Perhaps, my man staid for the same pur- 
 pose ?" said Sir Charles Weinants. 
 
 " No, sir," answered another of the servants, 
 attached to Sir William Arden. " He left us 
 some minutes before Lord Chartley, while we 
 were still riding on through the forest." 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, I shall remain here till 
 my friend comes," said Arden, in a marked 
 tone ; " for, I do not altogether like this affair." 
 
 " And I shall stay, because I have had riding 
 enough for one day ; and the inn looks com- 
 fortable," said Sir Edward Hungerford. 
 
 " I shall ride on, as soon as my horses have 
 been fed and watered," rejoined Sir Charles 
 Weinants, in a cold, resolute tone ; ' ; because I 
 
THE WOODMAN. 117 
 
 have business of importance which calls me to 
 Leicester." 
 
 His determination did not seem very pleasant 
 to Sir William Arc! en, who looked at him stea- 
 dily for a moment, from under his bent brows, 
 and then walked once or twice up and down 
 the court, without ordering the doors of the 
 stables to be opened. 
 
 Weinants however, took that task upon him- 
 self. His horses received their food and de- 
 voured it eagerly ; and then, just as the carriers 
 were arriving, Sir Charles Weinants rode out 
 of the court yard, bidding his companions adieu 
 in the most perfectly civil and courteous terms. 
 
 Sir William Arden suffered him to depart, 
 but most unwillingly it must be confessed, and 
 when he was gone, turned to Sir Edward Hun- 
 gerford, saying : " I should like to skin him 
 alive, the cold-blooded double dealer. It is very 
 strange, what can have become of Lord Chart- 
 ley." 
 
 " Strange !" said Sir Edward Hungerford, 
 in a tone of affected surprise; "why, he has 
 
118 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 gone to say a few more words to that pretty 
 girl at the abbey, to be sure. I should not 
 wonder to see him arrive in half an hour, with 
 the dear little thing on a pillion behind him." 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Arden. " You are a fool ;" 
 and he turned into the inn. 
 
THE WOODMAN, 1 19 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was a dark night ; and the appearance of the 
 cottage or hut was, in the inside at least, gloomy 
 enough. The large wooden boards, which shut 
 out wind and storm, covered the apertures 
 that served for windows; and neither lamp 
 nor taper, nor even a common resin candle 
 gave light within. Yet, it was only a sort of 
 half darkness that reigned in the first chamber, 
 as one entered from the forest ; for a large fire 
 was burning on the hearth, and a log weighing 
 some hundredweight, had just been put on. 
 The dry unlopped shoots, and withered leaves 
 which still hung around the trunk of the de- 
 
120 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 cayed tree, had caught fire first, and the flame 
 they produced went flashing round the walls 
 with a sort of fitful glare, displaying all that 
 they contained. 
 
 The room was a large one, larger indeed 
 than many, in buildings with far greater pre- 
 tensions ; for the chief woodman had upon par- 
 ticular occasions, to assemble a great number 
 of his foresters under that roof. Whole deer 
 were often brought in to be broken and flayed, 
 as the terms were, and prepared for cooking, 
 before they were sent down to the more delicate 
 hands of the abbey. Besides, the woodman's 
 house was usually in those days, a place of 
 general hospitality ; and, indeed the good ladies 
 of the abbey, always passed right willingly, the 
 charges which he sometimes had to make for 
 the entertainment of strangers and wayfarers 
 on their lands. 
 
 As compared with a poor man's cottage of 
 the present day, that of the woodman was a 
 large, but very wretched abode ; but as com- 
 pared with the huts of the ordinary pea- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 
 
 121 
 
 sail try of the time, it was a splendid mansion. 
 The walls were formed of large beams of wood, 
 crossing and supporting each other in various 
 strange directions, forming a sort of pattern 
 or figure inside and out, not unpleasant to 
 look upon. The interstices were filled up with 
 mud, mingled with small gravel stones and 
 thick loam ; and the floor was of mud, well 
 battened down and hardened, though, in spite 
 of all care, it presented various inequalities to 
 the foot. Ceiling, as may well be supposed, 
 the chamber had none. Large, heavy, roughly 
 hewn rafters appeared above, with the inside of 
 the thatch visible between the beams. A par- 
 tition wall, with a rude door in it, crossed the 
 building at about one third of its length, but 
 this wall was raised no higher than those which 
 formed the enclosure, that is to say, about seven 
 or at most eight feet ; and thus, though the 
 lower part of the building was divided into 
 several chambers, a clear passage for air, or 
 sound, or rats, or mice, existed immediately 
 under the roof, from one end of the building 
 vol. i. G 
 
122 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 to the other. The most solid or massive piece 
 of architecture in the whole structure, was 
 the chimney, with its enormously wide hearth 
 and projecting wings. These were all built of 
 hewn stone, the same as that of which the 
 abbey was composed ; and before the cottage 
 was raised around it — for the chimney was built 
 first — the mass must have looked like an obe- 
 lisk in the midst of the forest. 
 
 Although we have greatly abandoned that 
 sort of building at present, and doubtless our 
 houses are more warm and air-tight than those 
 of that day ; yet the plan of these large wooden 
 frame-works, with the beams shown on the in- 
 side and the out, was not without its conve- 
 nience. Thus nails and hooks, and shelves 
 and cupboards, were easily fixed in, or against 
 the walls, without any danger of knocking down 
 the plaster, or injuring the painting. Indeed, 
 I do not know what the woodman would have 
 done without this convenience, for the whole 
 walls, on three sides at least, were studded with 
 hooks and pegs, from which were suspended 
 
THE WOODMAN. J 23 
 
 all sorts of implements belonging to his eraft, 
 and a variety of other goods and chattels. 
 There were axes, knives, saws, bills, wedges, 
 mallets, hammers, picks ; long bows, cross 
 bows, sheaves of arrows, bags of quarrels, 
 boar spears, nets, and two or three pronged 
 forks, some serrated at the edges like Neptune's 
 trident, and evidently intended to bring up un- 
 willing eels out of their native mud. Then 
 again there were various garments, such as a 
 woodman might be supposed to use, leathern 
 coats, large boots, a cloth jerkin, apparently 
 for days of ceremony, gloves made of the 
 thickest parts of a buck's hide, and a cap 
 almost shaped like a morion, of double jacked 
 leather, which would have required a sharp 
 sword and strong arm to cut it through. But, 
 besides this defensive piece of clothing, which 
 was probably intended rather for the forest 
 than the field, was the ordinary steel cap, back 
 and breastplate of a feudal archer of the period ; 
 for each woodman was bound to serve the abbey 
 in arms for a certain period, in case of need. 
 
 g 2 
 
124 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Hanging from the beams above, was a very 
 comfortable store of winter provision, several 
 fat sides of bacon, half a side of a fallow deer 
 salted and dried, and several strings of large 
 sausages smoked in the most approved manner. 
 Bunches of dried herbs too were there, and a 
 salt fish or two, to eke out the lental soup and 
 eggs upon a fast day. 
 
 Within the wings of the large chimney, on a 
 coarse wooden settle, and with his foot resting 
 upon the end of one of the iron dogs or and- 
 irons, sat the woodman himself. His arms were 
 crossed upon his chest. His back rested against 
 the wall of the chimney ; and his eyes were 
 fixed upon the blazing fire, as if one of those 
 musing fits had seized him, in which eye and 
 fancy are at work, seeing castles, and towers, 
 and landscapes, and faces in the mouldering 
 embers, while the mind, abstracted from the out- 
 ward scene, is busy in the quiet secrecy of the 
 heart with things of more deep and personal 
 interest. By his side sat a large wolf dog, of 
 a kind not often seen in England, in form like 
 
THE WOODMAN. 1 25 
 
 a gigantic greyhound, covered with shaggy slate- 
 coloured hair, thickly grizzled with gray, espe- 
 cially about the head and paws. His long gaunt 
 jaws rested on the woodman's knee ; and some- 
 times he turned his contemplative eyes upon 
 the fire, seeming to watch it, and muse upon its 
 nature ; and sometimes he raised them with a 
 sleepy hut affectionate look to his master's 
 face, as if he would fain have spoken to him 
 and asked him, " What shall we do next ?' 5 
 
 Not a look did the poor hound get for some 
 time, however, for his master had other things 
 to think of; but at last the good man laid his 
 hand upon the shaggy head, and said " Honest 
 and true, and the only one !" 
 
 He then resumed his musing again, till at 
 length the dog rose up, and, with slow and 
 stately steps, advanced to the door, and putting 
 down his nose, seemed to snuff the air from with- 
 out. The woodman lifted up his head and list- 
 ened ; but the only sounds which were audible 
 were those produced by the footfalls of a horse 
 at a distance; and, turning round to the fire 
 
126 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 again with a well pleased look, the woodman 
 murmured, " Good. He is coming this way." 
 
 He did not budge from his settle however, 
 nor seem to pay much attention, till the rapid 
 footfalls of the horse seemed to cease altogether, 
 or turn in a different direction. Then he looked 
 up and said, " That is strange. He cannot 
 have missed his way after having twice found it 
 before." 
 
 He listened attentively ; but still there was no 
 sound audible to his ear ; and it was the dog 
 who first discovered that a stranger was ap- 
 proaching. A low growl, and then a fierce 
 sharp bark were the intimations which he gave, 
 as soon as his ear caught the sound of a 
 step, and his master immediately called him to 
 him, saying, " Hither, Ban, hither. Down to 
 foot — down, sir;" and the obedient hound im- 
 mediately stretched himself out at length be- 
 side the fire. 
 
 The woodman, in the mean time, gave an at- 
 tentive ear, and at length distinguished the steps 
 of a man approaching, mixed occasionally with 
 
THE WOODMAN. 127 
 
 the slow fall of horses' hoofs upon turfy ground, 
 where the iron shoe from time to time struck 
 against a pebble, but otherwise made no noise. 
 Nevertheless he sat still till the noise, after be- 
 coming louder and louder, stopped suddenly, as if 
 the traveller had paused upon a small green which 
 stretched out before the door, comparatively 
 open and free from trees for the space of about 
 three quarters of an acre, although here and 
 there a solitary beech rose out of the turf, over- 
 shadowing the greater part of the space. 
 No brushwood was there, however, and the 
 small forest road traversed the green on 
 its way towards the distant town, spreading out 
 into a wide sort of sandy track, nearly opposite 
 to the woodman's house. 
 
 As soon as the sound of footsteps ceased, the 
 first inhabitant of the cottage strode across, and 
 threw open the door, demanding, " Who goes 
 there ?" 
 
 " The answer was as usual — " a friend ;" but, 
 before he gave him admission or credence, the 
 woodman was inclined to demand further ex- 
 
128 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 planations, saying, " Every man in this day 
 professes himself a friend, and is often an 
 enemy. Say, what friend, and whence ?" 
 
 The visitor, however, without reply, proceeded 
 to fasten his horse to a large iron hook, which 
 projected from one of the beams of the cottage, 
 and then advanced straight towards the wood- 
 man, who still stood in his doorway. The man 
 eyed him as he came near, and then seeming 
 better satisfied, retired a step or two to give him 
 entrance. The traveller came forward with a 
 bold, free step, and without ceremony walked 
 into the cottage, and took a seat by the fire. 
 
 " Now let us talk a little, my friend," he said, 
 turning to the woodman ; " but first shut the 
 door." 
 
 The other did as he was bid, and then turning 
 round, gazed at the stranger from head to foot 
 with a slight smile. After his contemplation 
 was finished, he pulled his own settle to a little 
 distance and seated himself, saying, " Well ?" 
 while the large hound, after snuffing quietly at 
 
THE WOODMAN. 129 
 
 the stranger's boots, laid his head upon his knee 
 and looked up in his face. 
 
 " You are a hospitable man, I doubt not," said 
 the visitor, " and will give me shelter for an 
 hour or two I trust. I have ridden hard, as 
 you may see." 
 
 " But not far or long since supper time," 
 rejoined the woodman : " but what want you 
 with me, my lord ?" 
 
 "You seem to know me," said Lord Chartley, 
 " and indeed are a very knowing person, if I 
 may believe all. — Are you alone here?" 
 
 " Yes, we are man to man,'' answered the 
 woodman with a laugh. 
 
 " Is there no one at the back of that door V 
 demanded Lord Chartley. 
 
 " Nothing more substantial than the wind," 
 replied the other. " Of that there is sometimes 
 too much." 
 
 " Pray how do you know me V 9 demanded 
 Lord Chartley. 
 
 " I never said I know you," answered 
 the woodman. " Are not your silks and satins, 
 
 g 3 
 
130 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 your gilt spurs, the jewel in your bonnet, to say 
 nothing of the golden St Barnabas, and your 
 twisted sword hilt, enough to mark you out as 
 a lord ? But Lord, Lord, what do I care for a 
 lord ? However, I do know you, and I will 
 tell you how far it is marvellous. I was in 
 Tamworth yesterday, and saw a man wonder- 
 fully gaily dressed, upon a horse which must 
 have cost full three hundred angels, with some 
 forty or fifty followers, all gaily dressed too ; so 
 I asked one of the cunning men of the place, 
 who the gay man on the fine horse was, and he 
 answered, it was the young Lord Chartley. Was 
 not that surprising V 
 
 " Not very," replied Lord Chartley laughing ; 
 " but what came after was more marvellous ; 
 how this cunning man should know that the 
 young Lord Chartley would sup at the abbey of 
 Atherston St. Clare to-night." 
 
 " It was," answered the woodman, in the same 
 sort of ironical tone, " especially as the Lord 
 Chartley mentioned his purpose gaily to Sir 
 Edward Hungerford, and Sir Edward Hunger- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 131 
 
 ford told it to Sir Charles Weinants, and Sir 
 Charles Weinants to his servant Dick Hagger, 
 who, as in duty bound, told it to Boyd the wood- 
 man, and asked if there were really any pretty 
 girls to be seen at the abbey, or whether it was 
 a mere gibe of the good lord's." 
 
 " The good lord was a great fool for his 
 pains," said Lord Chartley thoughtfully ; " and 
 yet not so much so either, for it was needful to 
 give a prying ass some reason for going." 
 
 " Take care, my good lord," replied the 
 woodman, nodding his head sententiously. 
 " Take care that you don't find the prying ass 
 a vicious ass too. Those donkies kick very 
 hard sometimes, and there is no knowing when 
 they will begin." 
 
 " Oh, this is a soft fool, replied the nobleman. 
 " I fear him not. There are others I fear 
 more." ^ 
 
 " And none too much," replied the woodman, 
 " though this man you fear too little." 
 
 Lord Chartley sat and mused for several mo- 
 ments without reply. Then raising his head 
 
132 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 suddenly, he looked full in the woodman's face, 
 saying, " Come, come, my friend, we must speak 
 more clearly. If what the abbess told me be 
 true, you should know that we are upon no 
 jesting matters." 
 
 " Good faith, I jest not, my lord," said the 
 woodman. " I speak in as sober seriousness 
 as ever I can use in this merry world, where 
 everything is so light that nothing deserves a 
 heavy thought. Why, here the time was, and 
 I remember it well, when taking a man's life 
 without battle or trial, was held to be murder 
 by grave old gentlemen with white beards. 
 Now heads fall down like chesnuts about the 
 yellow autumn time of the year, and no one 
 heeds it any more than if they were pumpkins. 
 Then again I recollect the time when a man 
 confided in his wife and she did not betray him, 
 and might lend his purse to his friend without 
 having his throat cut as payment of the debt. 
 Learned clerks, in those days, sang songs and 
 not lewd ballads ; and even a courtier would tell 
 truth — sometimes. It is long ago indeed ; but 
 
THE WOODMAN. 133 
 
 now, when life, and faith, and truth cannot be 
 counted upon for lasting more than five minutes 
 beyond the little present moment in which we 
 stand, how can any man be very serious upon 
 any subject ? There is nothing left in the world 
 that is worth two thoughts." 
 
 " Methinks there is," answeredLord Chartley ; 
 " but you touch upon the things which brought 
 me here. If faith and truth be as short lived 
 as you would have it, master woodman, how 
 would you, that either the abbess or I, or a 
 person, to whom I will at present give no name, 
 should trust you in a matter where his life, aye, 
 and more than his life is perilled ?" 
 
 " Faith, only as a dire necessity," answered 
 the woodman, in an indifferent tone, " and be- 
 cause there is none other whom you can 
 trust. The abbess will trust me, perhaps, because 
 she knows me ; you, because it is too late to 
 think of any other means ; and your nameless 
 person, because he cannot help it." 
 
 " I know not that it is too late," replied Lord 
 Chartley. " You have not got the tally board 
 
]34 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 so completely in your hand, my friend, as to 
 run up the score without looking at the other 
 side. But in a word, I have made a good ex- 
 cuse to leave my friends and servants, in order 
 to see whether I could obtain some warrant for 
 trusting you, in a matter of such deep impor- 
 tance as that which may perhaps be soon cast 
 upon you." 
 
 " The best of all warrants for a man's good 
 faith, my lord," answered the woodman, " is 
 the certainty that he can gain nothing by break- 
 ing it. Now to speak plainly, I knew yesterday 
 that good old Father Morton, bishop of Ely, 
 was housed at Tamworth under the gown of a 
 friar. To-night I know that he is lodged in 
 the abbey. Had it so pleased me either yester- 
 day or to-day, I could have brought over as 
 many of King Richard's bands from Coleshill, 
 as would have soon conveyed his right rever- 
 ence to the tower, and if reward is to be got, 
 could have got it. Therefore, it is not a bit 
 more likely that I should betray him, were he 
 
THE WOODMAN. 135 
 
 now standing under this roof, than yesterday in 
 Tamworth, or to-day at Atherston St. Clare ?" 
 
 " There is some truth in what you say," an- 
 swered Lord Chartley ; " and I believe the best 
 plan is to let a good dog beat the ground his 
 own way. Yet I would fain know, how you 
 were informed that such a person was with 
 me." 
 
 "What has that to do with the matter?" 
 answered the woodman. " Take it all for 
 granted. You see I am informed. What 
 matters how V 9 
 
 " Because it is somewhat suspicious," an- 
 swered Lord Chartley at once, " that you 
 should gain intelligence having no reference to 
 your calling or station, while others both shrewd 
 and watchful, have gained none." 
 
 " I have no intelligence," replied the wood- 
 man. " Everything is simple enough when we 
 look at it close. I saw the bishop dismount, 
 knew him, and understood the whole business 
 in a minute. He was kind to some whom I 
 loved in years long past ; and I do not forget 
 
136 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 faces — That is all. But now, my good lord, 
 you have somewhat squeezed me with exami- 
 nations. Let me ask you a question or two, 
 of quite as much moment. On what excuse 
 did you leave your friends and servants ?" 
 
 " Good faith, you know so much," replied 
 Lord Chartley, " that methinks you might 
 know that also. However, as I must trust 
 you in more weighty matters, I may as well 
 tell that too. I have some doubts of one of 
 our party, who joined us just on the other side 
 of Tamworth, and has adhered closely to us 
 ever since." 
 
 " Like a wet boot to a swelled ancle, I will 
 answer for it," said the woodman, " if you 
 mean the knave Weinants." 
 
 " I mean no other," answered Lord Chart- 
 ley ; " but however to my tale ;" and he pro- 
 ceeded to relate all that had occurred that night 
 in the wood. " I did not follow the man, I 
 pretended to follow," he continued, " because 
 I knew that was in vain. He had got too far 
 away from me ; and, moreover, had I caught 
 
THE WOODMAN. 137 
 
 hiin, what could I have done ? I have no power 
 over Sir Charles Weinant's servants, and he 
 had but to name his lord, and plead his orders, 
 and my authority was at an end ; but as the 
 good lady abbess was very confident she could, 
 by your help, insure our friend's safety, even 
 should the abbey be searched, I came hither to 
 make myself more sure, by talking with you 
 myself." 
 
 While the young nobleman had been speak- 
 ing, the woodman had risen up, with a some- 
 what eager and anxious eye, but continued 
 gazing upon him, without interrupting him, 
 till he had done. 
 
 " This must be looked to," he said at length. 
 " There is no time to be lost. Are you sure 
 these excellent friends of yours have gone 
 
 on i 
 
 v 
 
 " So I besought them," answered the other. 
 
 " Besought them !" said the woodman. 
 " We must have better security than beseech- 
 ings;" and taking a horn that was hanging 
 
138 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 against the wall, he went to the door and blew 
 two notes, twice repeated. 
 
 " We shall soon have some tidings," he said ; 
 returning into the hut. " I have got my deer 
 keepers watching in different places ; for our 
 rogues here are fond of venison, as well as 
 their neighbours, and care not much whether 
 it be in or out of season." 
 
 " So then you are head keeper, as well as 
 head woodman," said Lord Chartley. 
 
 " Aye, my lord," answered the other. " We 
 have no fine degrees and distinctions here. 
 We mix all trades together, woodman, ver- 
 derers, keepers, rangers. Tis not like a royal 
 forest, nor an earl's park, where no man ven- 
 tures out of his own walk. This Sir Charles 
 Weinants," he continued, in a musing tone ; 
 " so he joined you on the other side of Tarn- 
 worth. 'Tis strange he did not betray you 
 earlier." 
 
 " He seemed not to know there was any- 
 thing to betray," replied the young lord ; 
 " looked innocent and unconscious, and talked 
 
THE WOODMAN. 139 
 
 of points and doublets, and the qualities of 
 Spanish leather, women, and perfumes, with 
 Sir Edward Hungerford ; or of horses, 
 and suits of armour, cannon, and such like 
 things, with Arden ; or with me of sheep, 
 poetry, and policy, the fit furnishing of an old 
 hall, or a great feast for Christmas Day." 
 
 " He knew his men belike," said the wood- 
 man, with a cynical smile. 
 
 " Perhaps he did," replied the young lord, 
 somewhat sternly, " and might be sure that, if 
 he betrayed my friend in my company, I would 
 cut his throat without waiting for royal per- 
 mission, though he had all the kings in 
 Christendom for his patrons." 
 
 " That might have a share in his discretion, 
 it is true," answered the woodman ; " but we 
 must not have him hear our counsels now, and 
 must make sure that he and his, as well as 
 your own people, have ridden on." 
 
 " How can we learn that V s demanded 
 Chartley. 
 
 " We shall hear anon," answered the wood- 
 
140 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 man ; and in a minute or two after, the door 
 opened, and a man in a forester's garb, put in 
 a round head covered with curly hair, demand- 
 ing— 
 
 " What would you, master Boyd ?" 
 
 " How goes all above V' demanded the 
 woodman. 
 
 " All well," answered the forester. 
 
 " Upon the road," said Boyd ; " upon the 
 Hinckley road ?" 
 
 " The company from the abbey just passed, 
 all but three," replied the man. " One rode 
 away first, and took the Ooleshill road, so Tim 
 Harris says. The other followed five minutes 
 after, and came hither." 
 
 " Who was the third ?" asked Lord Chartley 
 eagerly. 
 
 The man did not answer for a moment, but, 
 looked to the woodman, who nodded his head, 
 and then the other replied — 
 
 " 'Twas the tawny Moor. He is up the 
 road there, within sight of the door." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 141 
 
 " Let him rest, let hiui rest, " said the wood- 
 man. " Can you trust him, my good lord V 
 
 " Better than I could trust a king, a min- 
 ister, or a lover," replied Chartley. " If ever 
 there was true faith, out of a big dog, it lies 
 under that brown skin." 
 
 "To Coleshill?" said the woodman, musing 
 and turning round the horn in his hand, as if 
 he were examining it curiously. " Ten miles 
 by the nearest way. We shall hear more 
 soon, but not for three hours I wot. Go along 
 Dick, and get two or three more upon the 
 Coleshill road, about half a mile or so from 
 the abbey. Set one up in a tree ; and if he 
 sees a band of men coming down, let him 
 sound three notes upon his horn, over and 
 over, till he is answered. You, yourself, as 
 soon as you hear the sound, run down to the 
 abbey, and make St. Clare's baby call out 
 aloud. Tell the portress to let the lady abbess 
 know there are enemies coming near, and that 
 she had better take counsel immediately. 
 Then draw altogether here, as many men as 
 
142 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 you can get, for we may have work to do. Away 
 with you ! And now, my good lord," he con- 
 tinued, as the man shut the door, " I must 
 have my supper, and if you like to share it, you 
 shall have woodman's fare." 
 
 " I have supped already," replied Lord 
 Chartley ; " and methinks you eat late for a 
 forester. They are always ready enough for 
 their meals." 
 
 " I am ready enough for mine," replied the 
 woodman, " seeing that no morsel has passed 
 my lips this day. 1 never touch food, of any 
 kind, till midnight is near at hand. I am like 
 a hunting dog, which, to do its work well, 
 should have but one meal a day." 
 
 " Your habits are somewhat strange, for a 
 man of your condition," said Lord Chartley, 
 " and your language also." 
 
 " Oh," said the woodman, " as for my lan- 
 guage, I have seen courts, and am courtly. 
 Why, I was for several years a lackey to a 
 great man ; but my preferment was spoiled by 
 the jealousy of other lackeys, so, to save myself 
 
THE WOODMAN. 143 
 
 from worse, I ran away and betook myself to 
 the woods and wilds ; but I can be as delicate 
 and mincing as a serving maid should need be, 
 and as full of courtesies as a queen's ape. I 
 am like every widow of sixty, and like every 
 parson in rusty black without a parish : I 
 have had my sorrows and seen my best days, 
 which makes me at times melancholic ; but I 
 haven't forgot my gentility, when it suits my 
 turn, nor the choice words which one perfunc- 
 torily gathers up in courts." 
 
 All this was said in a bitter and sneering 
 manner, as if he made a mockery of the very 
 acquirements he boasted of; and Lord Chartley 
 replied : " By my faith, I believe your last 
 trade is honester than your first, my good 
 friend. However, get your supper, and tell 
 me in the mean while, in plain English, what 
 you think all this will come to." 
 
 The woodman took down a large bowl from 
 a shelf on the one side of the room, and poured 
 a part of the milk that it contained into an iron 
 pot. This he suspended over the fire, by a 
 
144 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 hook which hung dangling over the blaze, and 
 when the milk began to boil, scattered a hand- 
 ful of oatmeal in it, stirring it round at the same 
 time, till it was of a tolerable thick consistency . 
 Upon this mess, when he had removed it from 
 the fire and placed it on the table, he poured 
 the rest of the milk cold. But, it must not be sup- 
 posed, that all this time he had refrained from 
 speaking. On the contrary, in brief and broken 
 sentences, he replied to the young nobleman's 
 question, saying, " What will become of it ? 
 Why, simply Richard's bands will be down 
 about the abbey in an hour or two, and will 
 search every corner of it — or set it on fire, 
 perchance, or any thing else that they please 
 to do." 
 
 " They will hardly dare, I think," said Lord 
 Chartley. " This abbey, I am told, has the 
 privilege of sanctuary, and if King Richard 
 has a quality on earth, on which he can justly 
 pride himself, it is his strictness in repressing 
 the lawless violence which has risen up in times 
 of long and fierce contention." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 145 
 
 " Aye, lawless violence in other men," said 
 the woodman ; " but crimes committed in our 
 own cause, become gentle failings in the eyes 
 of tyrants. The man who punishes a robber 
 or assassin, rewards a murder committed on 
 the king's behalf. Was princely Buckingham , 
 the other day, judged by the laws or sentenced 
 by his peers ? No, no. The king's word was 
 warrant enough for his death, and would be 
 for the sacking of the abbey. There is but one 
 respect which could save it. This king would 
 fain be thought religious ; and he has respected 
 sanctuary before now — where it served the pur- 
 poses of a prison as well as a refuge ; but he is 
 cunning as well as resolute ; and he will find 
 means to hide his share in the deed he profits 
 by. Look you here now, my good lord ; sup- 
 pose some band of mere plunderers attacks 
 the abbey, as was done not very long ago ; 
 then an obnoxious bishop may fall into the 
 king's hands, without his avowing the deed." 
 
 " But, his officers would be recognised," re- 
 plied Lord Chartley. 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
146 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " True, if the deed were committed by regular 
 troops under noble leaders," said the woodman ; 
 " but these bands at Coleshill are mere merce- 
 naries, gathered together in haste, when the 
 report first ran, that the earl of Richmond was 
 coming over hither. Since then, the king knows 
 not what to do with them ; and there they lie, 
 living at free quarters upon the people. These are 
 men, easily disavowed. But it will be as I have 
 said: of that be you assured. If the bishop is 
 now within the abbey, it will go hard, but they 
 will seek him there. Then, if the abbess is 
 wise and follows counsel, she will send him 
 forth to me, and I will provide for his safety." 
 
 " But where ? But how V demanded Lord 
 Chartley. " This forest is not of such extent, 
 that you could shelter him from any keen 
 pursuit." 
 
 The woodman looked at him with a smile, 
 and then replied: "We do not trust all its 
 secrets to every one. They are more intricate 
 than you imagine. There are a thousand places 
 where he might be hid, not to mention the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 147 
 
 old castle on the hill. It was a stronghold of 
 the family of the Morleys, taken and sacked 
 in the civil wars, under the fourth Harry, and 
 the lands given over to the abbey. There is 
 many a chamber and many a hall there, which 
 would puzzle the keenest scented talbot of all 
 the king's pack, to nose out a fugitive therein. 
 You might almost as well hunt a rat through 
 the cript of an old church, as seek for any one 
 hiding there. That is one place ; but there are a 
 dozen others ; and whither I will take him, must 
 be decided at the time. However, rest you sure 
 that, once out of the abbey walls, and in my 
 charge, he is safe." 
 
 " We must trust so," replied the young 
 nobleman ; " and your goodwill and intentions, 
 I doubt not ; but fate is out of any man's 
 keeping, my good friend, and indeed we are 
 all in hers. However, we must do as we 
 can, and leave the rest to God's good will, who 
 shapes all things as seems fit unto him, and 
 often overrules our wishes and designs for ex- 
 cellent purposes that we cannot foresee. While 
 
 h 2 
 
148 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 you take your supper — a somewhat poor one 
 for a strong man — I will go out and tell my 
 good Arab, Ibn Ayoub, that I am safe and 
 well. Otherwise, having marked me hither, 
 he will stay watching near, till I or the sun 
 come forth." 
 
 " Well bethought," answered the woodman. 
 " "Tis strange, how faithful these heathens some- 
 times are. Bring him in hither, and let him 
 stable his horse and yours in the shed behind 
 the cottage. He will find the way there, round 
 to the left." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 149 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Let us now return within the abbey walls for a 
 while, and see what was passing there. The 
 departure of the guests had left behind, at least 
 with some of the fair inmates, that sensation of 
 vacant dulness, which usually succeeds a pe- 
 riod of unusual gaiety, especially with those 
 whose ordinary course of life is tranquil if not 
 tedious. 
 
 Iola felt that the convent would seem much 
 more cheerless than before ; and, as she stood 
 with her cousin Constance in the little private 
 parlour of her aunt, conversing for a few mi- 
 
150 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 nutes, before they retired to rest, upon the events 
 of the day, her light heart could not help pour- 
 ing forth its sensations, innocent and natural as 
 they were, to her somewhat graver and more 
 thoughtful cousin. 
 
 " Good lack, dear Constance/' she said, " I 
 wish they would not shew us such bright scenes 
 and give us such gay moments, if they are both 
 to be snatched away again the next minute. 
 How heavy will the next week be, till we have 
 forgotten all these gay feathers, and silks, and 
 satins, and gold embroidery, and gentle 
 speeches, and pleasant wit." 
 
 " Nay, I hope, Iola, that you did not have 
 too many gentle speeches," replied her cousin, 
 with a quiet smile ; " for I saw somebody's head 
 bent low, and caught the sound of words whis- 
 pered rather than spoken, and perceived a little 
 pink ear turned up to catch them all." 
 
 "Oh, my man was the most charming ever 
 seen," answered Iola, "just fitted for my com- 
 panion in a long ride through the forest, as 
 thoughtless, as careless, as merry as myself, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 151 
 
 who will forget me as soon as 1 shall forget 
 him, and no harm done to either. What was 
 your man like, Constance ? He seemed as gruff' 
 as a large church bell, and as stern as the sta- 
 tue of Moses breaking the tables." 
 
 " He was well enough for a man," answered 
 Constance. " He might have been younger, 
 and he might have been gentler in words ; for 
 his hair was grizzled gray, and he abused every- 
 body roundly, from the king on his throne to 
 the horseboy who saddled his beast. He was 
 a gentleman notwithstanding, and courteous to 
 me ; and I have a strong fancy, dear Iola, that 
 his heart is not as hard as his words, for I have 
 read in some old book that hard sayings often 
 go with soft doings." 
 
 " Ha, ha, say you so, Constance dear?" replied 
 Iola; " then methinks, you have been prying a 
 little closely into the bosom of this Sir William 
 Arden. Well you are free, and can love where 
 you list. I am like a poor popinjay tied to a 
 stake, where every boy archer may bend his bow 
 at me, and I do nothing but sit still and endure. 
 
152 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 I often wonder what this Lord Fulmer is like, 
 my husband that is to be, God wot. I hope 
 he is not a sour man with a black beard, and 
 that he does not squint, and has not a high 
 shoulder like the king, and has both his eyes of 
 one colour ; for I hate a wall-eyed horse, and it 
 would \)e worse in a husband — unless one of 
 them was blind, which would indeed be a com- 
 fort, as one could be sure of getting on the 
 blind side of him." 
 
 " How your little tongue runs," said her 
 cousin. " It is like a lap dog fresh let out into 
 the fields, galloping hither and thither for pure 
 idleness/' 
 
 " Well I will be merry whatever happens," 
 answered lola gaily. "'Tis the best way of 
 meeting fate, Constance. You may be as grave 
 and demure as a cat before the fire, or as sad 
 and solemn as the ivy on an old tower. I will 
 be as light as the lark upon the wing, and as 
 cheerful as a bough of Christmas holly, gar- 
 landing a boar's head on a high festival ; and 
 she sang with a clear, sweet voice, every note of 
 
THE WOODMAN. 153 
 
 which was full of gladness, some scraps of an 
 old ballad very common in those days. 
 " Nay, ivy, nay, 
 
 It shall not be I wis ; 
 Let holly have the mastery, 
 As the custom is. 
 
 Holly stands in the hall 
 
 Fair to behold ; 
 Ivy stands without the door 
 
 Shivering with cold. 
 
 Nay, ivy, nay, &c. 
 
 Holly and his merry men 
 
 They dance and play ; 
 Ivy and her maidens 
 
 Weep a well a day. 
 
 Nay, ivy, nay, &c. 
 
 Holly hath berries 
 
 As red as any rose ; 
 The forester and hunter 
 
 Keep them for the does. 
 
 Nay, ivy, nay, kc. 
 
 Ivy hath berries 
 
 As black as any sloe ; 
 There comes the owl, 
 
 With his long whoop of woe. 
 Nay, ivy, nay, &c. 
 
 H 3 
 
J 54 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 In the meanwhile, the abbess herself had not 
 been without occupation, for although the night 
 was waning fast, the usual hour of rest long 
 past, and the nuns in general retired to their 
 cells, yet before she went to her own snug 
 little room, the worthy lady saw, one after the 
 other, several of the officers of the abbey in 
 the great parlour. In dealing with these va- 
 rious personages, the worthy lady, notwith- 
 standing her little knowledge of the world, 
 showed a good deal of skill and diplomatic 
 shrewdness. Her situation indeed was some- 
 what delicate ; for she had to prepare against 
 events, which she could not clearly explain to 
 those with whom she spoke, and to give orders 
 which would naturally excite surprise, without 
 such explanation. She had prepared her story 
 however beforehand ; and she proceeded in a dif- 
 ferent manner with each of the different officers, 
 as her knowledge of their several characters 
 pointed out to her the most judicious course. To 
 the porter of the great hall, a stout old man, 
 who had been a soldier and had seen service, she 
 
THE WOODMAN. 155 
 
 said boldly, and at once ; " Leave the lodging 
 in charge of your boy, Giles, and go down di- 
 rectly through the hamlet, to all the tenants 
 and socmen within a mile. Tell them there is 
 danger abroad, and that they must be ready, 
 with their arms, to come up the instant they 
 hear the great bell ring. Bid them send out 
 some lads to the vassals who live farther off, 
 with the same news. Then come back hither 
 for we shall want you." 
 
 The man departed without a word, his an- 
 swer being merely a low inclination of the 
 head. The bailiff, who by right should have 
 presented himself before the porter, but who 
 had been impeded by the appropriation of 
 sundry good things left from the supper table, 
 appeared amongst the last. To him the abbess 
 put on a very different countenance. 
 
 "Well, master bailiff," she said, with a light 
 and cheerful smile, " have you heard anything 
 of the bands at Coleshill V 
 
 " Sad work, lady, sad work," replied the 
 bailiff, casting his eyes up to heaven. " Why 
 
15t> THE WOODMAN. 
 
 I understand that, last night, some of them stole 
 Joseph Saxton's best cow, and cut it up # before 
 his face, hardly taking the hide off." 
 
 " That shows they were very hungry," said 
 the abbess laughing. 
 
 " Aye, lady," rejoined the bailiff, "these are 
 not jesting matters I can tell you. Why I 
 should not wonder if they drove some of the 
 abbey lands before long ; and we have not cattle 
 to spare that I know of. There is no knowing 
 what such hell kites may do." 
 
 " That's very true," answered the abbess ; 
 " and so my son, I think it will be better for you 
 to sleep in the lodge for two or three nights ; 
 for we might want you on an occasion." 
 
 " Oh there is no fear of their coming as far 
 as this," answered the bailiff, who had no 
 fondness for putting his head into any dangerous 
 position. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I desire you to remain," an- 
 swered the abbess ; " 'tis well to have somebody 
 to take counsel with in time of need." 
 
 " Why there is the friar, lady mother,' 5 re- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 157 
 
 plied the bailiff, still reluctant, " the friar, whom 
 these young lords who were here left behind in 
 the stranger's lodging. He would give you 
 counsel and assistance. 5 ' 
 
 "Aye, ghostly counsel and spiritual assist- 
 ance," replied the abbess; " but that is not what 
 I want just now, good friend ; so you will stop 
 as I said, and remember that I shall expect a 
 bolder face this time, if anything should happen, 
 than when the rovers were here before. Men 
 fancied you were afraid. — However, send the 
 friar to me now, if he be well enough to 
 come. I will see what counsel I can get from 
 him." 
 
 " Well enough," cried the bailiff. " He is 
 well enough I warrant — nothing the matter 
 with him. Why he was walking up and down 
 in the great court before the chapel, with his 
 hood thrown back, and his bald crown glisten- 
 ing in the moonlight, like a coot in a water 
 meadow." 
 
 Part of this speech was spoken aloud, part 
 of it muttered to himself as he was quitting the 
 
158 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 room in a very sullen mood. He did not dare to 
 disobey the orders he had received, for the good 
 abbess was not one to suffer her commands to 
 be slighted ; and yet women never, or very 
 rarely, gain the same respect with inferiors that 
 men obtain ; and the bailiff ventured to grumble 
 with her, though he would have bowed down and 
 obeyed in silence, had his orders come from one 
 of the sterner sex. 
 
 However that might be, hardly three minutes 
 elapsed before the friar entered the parlour, and 
 carefully closed the door behind him. His con- 
 ference with the abbess was long, continuing 
 nearly an hour, and the last words spoken were 
 " Remember rightly, reverend father : the mo- 
 ment the bell sounds, betake yourself to the 
 chapel, and stand near the high altar. You can 
 see your way ; for there is always a lamp burning 
 in the chapel of St. Clare. Lock the great door 
 after you ; and I will come to you from our own 
 gallery." 
 
 The bishop bowed his head and departed ; 
 and the abbess, weary with the fatigue and ex- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 159 
 
 citeruent of the day, gladly sought repose. All 
 the convent was quiet around, and the nuns long 
 gone to rest. Even the lady's two nieces had 
 some time before closed their eyes in the sweet 
 and happy slumber of youth. 
 
 Sleep soon visited the pillow of the abbess 
 also ; for she never remembered having sat up 
 so late, except once, when king Edward, the 
 libidinous predecessor of the reigning monarch, 
 had visited the abbey during one of his pro- 
 gresses. 
 
 Still and deep was her rest : she knew no- 
 thing of the passing hours : she heard not the 
 clock strike, though the tower on which it 
 stood was exactly opposite to her cell. She 
 heard not even the baby of St. Clare, when, a 
 a little before two o'clock, it was rung sharply 
 and repeatedly. A few minutes after, however, 
 there was a knock at the room door ; but, no 
 answer being given, a lay sister entered with a 
 lamp in her hand, and roused her superior 
 somewhat suddenly. 
 
 " Pardon, lady mother, pardon," she said ; 
 
160 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " but I am forced to wake you, for here is Dick 
 the under forester come up to tell you, from 
 Boyd the head woodman, that enemies are 
 coming, and that you had better take counsel 
 upon it immediately. There is no time to be 
 lost, he says, for they are already past the Red- 
 bridge turn, not a mile and a half off, and 
 alack and a well-a-day we are all unprepared !" 
 
 " Not so little prepared as you think, sister 
 Grace," replied the abbess, rising at once, and 
 hurrying on her gown. You run to the porter 
 and tell him to toll the great bell with all his 
 might, opening the gate to the men of the 
 hamlet and the tenants, but keeping fast ward 
 against the rovers. Then away with you, as 
 soon as you have delivered that message, up to 
 the belfry tower. The moon must be still up — ,} 
 
 " She's down, she's down," cried the nun, in 
 great alarm. 
 
 " Then light the beacon," cried the abbess. 
 " That will give light enough to see when they 
 come near. As soon as you perceive men 
 marching in a band, like regular soldiers, ring 
 
THE WOODMAN. 161 
 
 the little bell to give the porter notice; and 
 after watching what they do for a minute or 
 two, come and tell me. — Be steady ; be care- 
 ful ; and do not let fright scare away your 
 wits. 35 
 
 The nun hurried to obey ; and in a minute 
 after, the loud and sonorous alarm bell of the 
 abbey was heard, shaking the air far and wide 
 over the forest, with its dull and sullen boom. 
 
 Having delivered her message to the porter, 
 the poor nun, with her lamp in her hand, hur- 
 ried up the numberless steps of the beacon 
 tower, trembling in every limb, notwithstand- 
 ing the courageous tone of her superior. Upon 
 the thick stone roof at the top she found an 
 immense pile of faggots, ready laid, and mingled 
 with pitch, and, lying at some distance, a heap 
 of fresh wood, to be cast on as occasion re- 
 quired, with a large jar of oil and an iron ladle, 
 to increase the flame as it rose up. 
 
 Fortunately, the night was as calm as sleep, 
 and not a breath of wind crossed the heavens ; 
 otherwise the lamp would assuredly have been 
 
162 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 blown out in the poor sister's trepidation and 
 confusion. As it was, she had nearly let it fall 
 into the midst of the pile, in the first attempt 
 to light the beacon ; but the next moment the 
 thin dry twigs, which were placed beneath, 
 caught the fire, crackled, nearly went out again ; 
 and then, with a quantity of dull smoke, the 
 fire rushed up, licking the thicker wood above. 
 The pitch ignited ; the whole pile caught ; 
 and a tall column of flame, some sixteen or 
 seventeen feet high, rose into the air, and cast a 
 red and ominous light over the whole country 
 round. The buildings on the little green 
 became distinctly visible in a moment, the 
 houses of the priests and choristers, the cottages 
 of the peasants and the laborers ; and running 
 her eye along the valley beyond, in the direction 
 of Coleshill, the lay sister saw, coming through 
 the low ground, just under the verge of the 
 wood, a dark mass, apparently of men on horse- 
 back, at the distance of less than half a mile. 
 At the same time, however, she beheld a sight 
 which gave her better hope. Not only from 
 
THE WOODMAN. 163 
 
 the cottages on the green, were men issuing forth 
 and hurrying to the great portal of the abbey ; 
 but along the three roads which she could 
 espy, she beheld eighteen or twenty figures, 
 some on foot, but some on horseback, running 
 or galloping at full speed. They were all se- 
 parate and detached from each other ; but the 
 flame of the beacon flashed upon steel caps 
 and corselets, and spear heads ; and she easily 
 judged that the tenants and vassals, warned 
 beforehand and alarmed by the sound of the 
 great bell, were hastening to do the military 
 service they owed. 
 
 When she looked again in the direction of 
 the mass she had seen on the Coleshill road, 
 she perceived that the head of the troop had 
 halted ; and she judged rightly that, surprised 
 by the sudden lighting of the beacon and tolling 
 of the bell, the leaders were pausing to consult. 
 
 For a moment, a hope crossed her mind, that 
 they would be frightened at the state of pre- 
 paration which they found, and desist ; but the 
 next instant the troop began to move on again ; 
 
164 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and remembering the orders which she had re- 
 ceived, she rang a lesser bell which hung near 
 the beacon, still keeping her eyes fixed upon 
 the party advancing up the valley. 
 
 Steadily and cautiously they came on ; were 
 lost for a minute or two behind the houses of 
 the hamlet ; then reappeared upon the little 
 green ; and dividing into three troops, the one 
 remained planted before the great gates, while 
 the others, gliding between the cottages and the 
 walls of the abbey, filed off the right and left, 
 with the evident purpose of surrounding the 
 whole building, and guarding every outlet. 
 The poor nun, however, fancied, on the con- 
 trary, that they were gone to seek some favour- 
 able point of attack ; and murmuring to herself, 
 " The Blessed Virgin have mercy upon us, and 
 all the saints protect us ! There will never be 
 men enough to protect all the walls," she hur- 
 ried down to make her report to her superior ; 
 but the abbess was not to be found. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 165 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 In a small cell, of size and proportion exactly 
 similar to those of the nuns, though somewhat 
 differently arranged and decorated, lay a very 
 beautiful girl sound asleep. A light coif of 
 network confined, or strove to confine, the rich 
 glossy curling hair ; but still a long ringlet 
 struggled away from those bonds, and fell over 
 a neck as white as ivory. The eyes, the bright, 
 beautiful, speaking eyes, the soul's interpreters, 
 were closed, with the long sweeping black eye- 
 lashes resting on the cheek ; but still the beau- 
 tiful and delicate line of the features in their 
 
166 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 quiet loveliness, offered as fair a picture as ever 
 met mortal sight. Stretched beyond the bed- 
 clothes too, was the delicate hand and rounded 
 arm, with the loop, which fastened the night- 
 dress round the wrist, undone, and the white 
 sleeve pushed back nearly to the elbow. One 
 might have sworn it was the hand and arm of 
 some marvellous statue, had it not been for the 
 rosy tips of the delicate fingers, and one small 
 blue vein through which the flood of young and 
 happy life was rushing. 
 
 The dull and heavy tolling of the great bell 
 woke her not, though the sound evidently 
 reached her ear, and had some indistinct effect 
 upon her mind, for the full rosy lips of her 
 small mouth parted, showing the pearly teeth 
 beneath ; and some murmuring sounds were 
 heard, of which the only word distinguishable 
 was " matins.' 5 
 
 The next instant, however, her slumber was 
 broken, for the abbess stood beside her with a 
 lamp in her hand, and shook her shoulder, 
 saying, " Iola, Iola !" 
 
THE WOODMAN. 167 
 
 The fair girl started up and gazed in her 
 aunt's face bewildered; and then she heard 
 the sullen tolling of the great bell, and various 
 other sounds which told her that some unusual 
 events were taking place. 
 
 " Quick, Iola," cried the abbess, " rise and 
 dress yourself. I have a task for you to per- 
 form in haste, my child. — There, no care for 
 your toilette. Leave your hair in the net. Lose 
 not a moment ; for this is a matter of life and 
 death." 
 
 " What is it, my dear lady mother?" asked 
 Iola, trying to gather her senses together. 
 
 " It is to convey one, whom his persecutors 
 have followed even hither, to a place of safety," 
 replied the abbess. " Listen, my child, and 
 reply not. The friar you saw this night is a 
 high and holy man, unjustly persecuted by an 
 usurping king. That he has taken refuge here 
 has been discovered. The abbey is menaced 
 by a power we cannot resist. It would be 
 searched, the sanctuary violated, and the good 
 man torn from the altar, to imprisonment, or 
 
168 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 perhaps death, had I not the means of convey- 
 ing him beyond the walls — aye, and beyond the 
 reach of danger. You must be his guide, Iola, 
 for I must not reveal the secret to any of the 
 sisters ; and if Constance is to take the veil as 
 has been proposed, she must not know it 
 either." 
 
 " Constance will not take the veil, dear aunt," 
 replied Iola quietly ; " but I am quite ready to 
 do whatever you will, and to help to the utmost 
 of my power. But cannot the good man find 
 the way himself if he be told, for I am as ig- 
 norant of it as he is V 
 
 " He could find his way through the passage," 
 replied the abbess, "easily enough, but not 
 through the wood when he issues forth." 
 
 " Oh I can guide him there, as well as Boyd's 
 great hound Ban," answered the gay girl, 
 " but where am I to take him, dear aunt?" 
 
 " First to the cell of St. Magdalene," an- 
 swered the elder lady, " and thence by the 
 wood walks to Boyd's cottage. If you push 
 the door that closes the end of the passage 
 
THE WOODMAN. 169 
 
 strongly, you will find that it opens one of tlie 
 pannels at the back of the shrine. Mind you 
 leave it ajar; however, till you come back ; for 
 once closed, you will not be able to open it from 
 that side. Then keep down the wood-road to 
 the east, and most likely you will meet Boyd ; 
 for he will be watching. If not, go straight on 
 to his house, and then return at once. I will 
 let you into the chapel as soon as the men are 
 gone. — Now, child, are you ready ?" 
 
 " One moment, dear aunt, one moment," an- 
 swered Iola. " Where is my hood ? — I cannot 
 clasp this gorget." 
 
 " Let me try," cried the abbess ; but her 
 trembling hands would not perform the work ; 
 and at last Iola succeeded herself. 
 
 " There is your hood, child," cried her aunt. 
 " Now come — come quick. We shall have 
 them at the gates before you are gone." 
 
 Hurrying along as fast as possible, she led 
 her fair niece through several of the long vaulted 
 passages of the abbey, and thence, by her own 
 private entrance, into the chapel. The door lead- 
 
 vol. i. i 
 
170 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 ing to the nuns' gallery was locked ; but one 
 of the keys at the abbess's girdle soon opened 
 it ; and, advancing to the grated screen, she 
 looked down into the choir before she ventured 
 to descend. 
 
 All was still and quiet. The glimmering 
 light from the shrine of St. Clare afforded 
 a view up and down the church ; and no human 
 form was to be seen. Neither was any sound 
 heard, except the swinging of the great bell, 
 as it continued to pour forth its loud vibrat- 
 ing call for assistance over the whole country 
 round. Through the richly ornamented win- 
 dows, however, came flitting gleams of many 
 coloured light, as lanterns and torches were 
 carried across the court, between the chapel 
 and the portal ; and once or twice the sounds 
 of voices were heard ; but the abbess distin- 
 guished the tongue of the porter, speaking with 
 the peasants as they hurried in. 
 
 " I cannot see him/ 5 whispered the abbess, 
 after looking down for a moment or two 
 into the body of the church. " There can be 
 surely no mistake." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 171 
 
 Iola took a step forward, and put her face 
 to the grate. " He may be behind that pillar," 
 she said. "Yes, don't you see, dear aunt? 
 The light from the shrine casts the shadow of 
 something like a man upon the pavement V 9 
 
 " Let us go down, let us go down," answered 
 the abbess. " If he be not there, nobody else is, 
 so we need not be afraid f and, opening the 
 door, leading to the lower part of the chapel, 
 she descended the spiral staircase which was 
 concealed in one of the large columns that 
 supported both the roof of the building, and 
 the gallery in which they had been standing. 
 The light foot of Iola made little sound upon 
 the pavement of the nave, as they proceeded 
 towards the high altar ; but the less elastic tread 
 of the abbess in her flat-soled sandal, soon called 
 from behind the pillar, a figure in a friar's gown 
 and cowl. 
 
 In a calm and not ungraceful attitude, the old 
 man waited for their coming ; and when the light 
 of the abbess's lamp shone upon his face, it dis- 
 played no signs of fear or agitation. " I have 
 
 i 2 
 
172 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 locked the door, sister," he said," as you desired 
 me ; but I almost feared I had made some mis- 
 take, when I found you did not come ; for I 
 have been here from the moment the bell began 
 to toll." 
 
 " I had to wake my niece to guide you, re- 
 verend and dear lord," replied the abbess ; " but 
 now let us hasten ; for no time is to be lost. I 
 am terrified for your safety. To stay were 
 ruin, and there is even peril in flight." 
 
 " There was as much in the flight from Breck- 
 nock," answered the bishop calmly ; " but I 
 am ready, my sister : lead the way. — And so 
 you are to be my guide, my fair child V he con- 
 tinued, as they followed the abbess. " Are you 
 not frightened ?" 
 
 " No, father," answered Iola quietly. " God 
 will, I trust, protect me ; and I think there is 
 more danger here than in the forest." 
 
 By this time they had passed round the great 
 altar, and through a door in the screen, which 
 separated the choir from the lady chapel be- 
 hind. Immediately facing them was a large 
 sort of flat pilaster, covered half way up, as 
 
THE WOODMAN. 173 
 
 was all that part of the building, with old oak 
 pannelling, in many places ornamented with 
 rude sculptures. By a very simple contrivance, 
 the pannelling, with which the pilaster was 
 covered, was made to revolve upon hinges, con- 
 cealed in the angle, where it joined the wall. 
 The abbess found some difficulty indeed, 
 amongst all the heads of dragons, and monkeys, 
 and cherubims, and devils, with which the wood- 
 work was richly but grotesquely ornamented, to 
 discover that which served as a sort of handle. 
 When she had found it, however, the whole of 
 the lower part of the pannelling moved back 
 easily enough, and a door was seen behind on 
 the face of the pilaster. It was low and nar- 
 row, suffering only one person to pass at once, 
 and that with a bowed head. It was locked 
 also at the moment ; but the abbess took the 
 key from her girdle ; and the bishop opened 
 the door easily with his own hands. 
 
 " And now, father, God speed you on your 
 way," cried the abbess, " for I must go no fur- 
 ther. There is the beacon bell ringing, which 
 shows that these knaves are in si^ht. Here, 
 
174 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 take the lamp with you, Iola. The passage is 
 long and dark." 
 
 " Heaven's benison be upon you, sister," 
 said the bishop, " and may God protect you 
 from all evil consequences of your Christian 
 charity towards me. Well have you repaid 
 the little kindness I once showed your brother 
 in times long past, and leave me a debt of gra- 
 titude besides." 
 
 " Nay, nay, I beseech you be quick, dear 
 lord," said the lady ; and passing through the 
 doorway, the prelate and his fair guide, found 
 themselves in a small vaulted chamber, with 
 the end of a long, dark passage open before 
 them. As soon as they had entered, the door 
 was closed, and they could hear the screen of 
 pannelling which covered it, roll back into its 
 place. Iola led the way on through the pas- 
 sage before them ; and the bishop, after gazing 
 round the vaulted room for an instant, followed 
 with a slower step and in silence. At the end 
 of some fifteen or sixteen yards, a small de- 
 scending flight of stairs presented itself; and 
 
THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Iola ran lightly down holding the lamp at the 
 bottom, till the bishop descended. He gazed 
 on her beautiful face and figure with a fatherly 
 smile, as, lifting the lamp above her head, she 
 stood with the light falling on her fair forehead 
 and graceful limbs. 
 
 " And so thy name is Iola, my fair daugh- 
 ter," said the bishop when he reached her side ; 
 " and thou art the niece of our good sister the 
 abbess. Which of her brothers is thy father ?" 
 
 " She has but one still living, my lord,'' re- 
 plied Iola. " My father is no more." 
 
 " Then you must be the daughter of Richard 
 St. Leger Lord Calverly," said the bishop, " I 
 knew him well." 
 
 "The same, my lord, 5 ' replied Iola; "and, 
 methinks I have heard that your lordship once 
 saved his life. If I understood my aunt's words 
 rightly but now, and you are the Lord Bishop 
 of Ely, I have heard my uncle, the present 
 Lord Calverly, say that the Bishop of Ely had 
 saved his brother's life, what time the red rose 
 was broken from the stalk." 
 
 " I was not the Bishop of Ely then, dauglt- 
 
176 
 
 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 ter, but merely Robert Morton," replied the 
 prelate ; " one of King Edward's privy coun- 
 cil, but one who took no share in policy or 
 party strife, and only strove to mitigate the 
 bloody rigour of a civil war, by touching men's 
 hearts with mercy, when the moment served. 
 The time will come, perhaps, when men will 
 marvel that I, who faithfully once served King 
 Henry, should serve, when he was dead, as 
 faithfully his great opponent ; but I had pon- 
 dered well the course before me, and feel my 
 conscience clear. I asked myself how I might 
 do most good to men of every faction and to 
 my country ; and I can boldly say, my child, 
 that I have saved more subjects for the crown 
 of England — good honest men too, misled by 
 party zeal — by interposing to stay the lifted 
 hand of vengeance, than were slain by any of the 
 mighty nobles who took part with either side in 
 these horrible wars. I never changed my fac- 
 tion, daughter, for I never had one. And now 
 the hatred of the reigning king has pursued me, 
 because he knew right well, that I would raise 
 
THE WOODMAN. 177 
 
 my voice against the wrong he did his brother's 
 children." 
 
 To a mind well versed in the world's affairs, 
 the fact of the good bishop entering into such 
 apologetical explanations, at such a moment, 
 and with such a companion, would have been 
 sufficient to shew that he did not feel quite sure 
 his conduct was without reproach ; for we al- 
 ways put our armour where we know we are 
 weak. But Iola was too young and simple to 
 suspect or to doubt ; and she only looked upon 
 him as the good and kind prelate, who in times 
 of intestine strife, had interposed to save her 
 father's life. Joyful then at the task imposed 
 upon her, she walked onward by his side ; and 
 the conversation, thus begun, proceeded in a 
 somewhat lighter tone. The bishop asked her 
 of her state, her future, her hopes, her wishes, 
 and seemed to forget his own perilous situation 
 in speaking and thinking of her. He was in- 
 deed a very fearless man, not with the rash, 
 bold, enterprising courage of some, but with 
 that calm, tranquil abiding of results which can 
 
178 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 never exist without high hope and confidence in 
 God. He had his faults as all men have ; but 
 still he had many virtues, and in an age when 
 few were religious, felt the truths of Christianity, 
 and knew religion to consist in something more 
 than forms. 
 
 Once, their conversation was interrupted by 
 the sound of horses' feet, beating the ground 
 immediately above them ; and Iola started and 
 looked up with an expression of fear. 
 
 " They will not break through, my child," 
 said the prelate, with a smile, lifting his eyes 
 to the solid masonry above. " That arch is 
 thick and strong, depend upon it ; but, I sup- 
 pose, by those sounds, we are already beyond 
 the abbey walls?" 
 
 " I do not know," answered Iola, " for I 
 have never been here before ; but the lady 
 abbess tells me, this passage will lead us out 
 into St. Magdalen's cell, and thence, I know the 
 way well.' 5 
 
 " How far is it V* asked the bishop. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 179 
 
 " Ob, a long- way," answered the fair girl, by 
 his side, " nearly a mile." 
 
 She thought only of its distance by the or- 
 dinary path, which, as I have before said, 
 took various turnings to avoid the ravine and 
 the rivulet ; but the passage that they were 
 now pursuing, sunk by the steps which they 
 had descended to a level below all such obstacles, 
 abridged the distance by nearly one half. It is 
 true that the bottom of the bed of the rivulet 
 itself, was somewhat lower than the top of the 
 arched vault; but nevertheless the latter had 
 been carried straight on and cemented, so as to 
 be impervious to the water, while broken rocks 
 and stones had been piled up above, con- 
 cealing the masonry, and forming a little cas- 
 cade in the stream. Thus, when they reached 
 that spot, the rush and murmur of the water- 
 fall was heard, and turning her bright eyes to 
 the prelate's face, Iola said : 
 
 " We must be passing under the river, I 
 think." 
 
 " It is not unlikely, daughter," replied the 
 
180 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 bishop. " In the other lands, which you most 
 likely have never seen, I have beheld vast struc- 
 tures for carrying rivers from hill to hill, raised 
 on high arches, underneath which, the busy 
 world of men passed to and fro, while the 
 stream flowed overhead." 
 
 " I have heard of such things, 55 replied Iola, 
 " and, oh how I long to see those lands, and to 
 dream of all that mighty men have done in 
 former days. How strange it is, that such arts 
 have not come down to us. Here, we see 
 nothing between the huge castle with its 
 frowning towers, or the lordly church with its 
 spires and pinnacles, and the wood cottage of 
 the peasant, or the humble abode of the frank- 
 lin." 
 
 The bishop smiled at her. 
 
 " You have been but little in cities, my child," 
 he said; "but your observation is just. It is 
 strange that the arts of other ages have not 
 descended to us ; for one would suppose, if any- 
 thing on earth could be permanent, it would 
 be, that knowledge and that skill, which tend 
 
THE WOODMAN. 181 
 
 to the elevation, the protection, and the comfort 
 of the human race, especially when the won- 
 ders they have performed, and the monuments 
 they have raised, are still before our eyes, al- 
 though in ruins. But birth, life, death, and cor- 
 ruption are the fate of nations, as well as of men, 
 of systems as well as creatures, of the offsprings 
 of the human mind as well as of the inheritors 
 of the corporeal frame. As in the successions 
 of the human race however, we see the num- 
 bers of the population still increasing, notwith- 
 standing periods of devastation and destruc- 
 tion ; as those who are born and die, give birth 
 to more than their own decease subtracts, so 
 probably the loss of the arts, the sciences, even 
 the energies which one nation or one epocha 
 has produced, is succeeded by the production 
 of arts, sciences, energies, more numerous, if 
 not more vigorous, in the nation or epocha 
 which follows. But these have again their 
 childhood, their maturity, their decay ; and 
 society with us, my daughter, is perhaps still 
 in its infancy — I believe, indeed it is." 
 
182 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Iola gazed at him surprised, and somewhat 
 bewildered, for he had led her mind beyond its 
 depth ; and the good prelate read the expression 
 aright, and replied to it — 
 
 " You are surprised at such reasonings," he 
 said, " because you are not accustomed to them ; 
 but I believe those people above would be more 
 surprised, if they knew, th'at at the very mo- 
 ment they are seeking me to destroy me, I am 
 walking along calmly beneath their feet, talk- 
 ing philosophy with a fair young creature like 
 yourself." 
 
 He spoke with a smile, and then cast down 
 his eyes in a musing mood, but, still that high 
 intelligent smile remained upon his lips, as if he 
 found some amusement in watching the work- 
 ings of his own mind, amidst the strange 
 circumstances with which fate surrounded him. 
 
 The moment after, the passage began to 
 ascend, not exactly by steps, though the broad, 
 flat stones with which it was paved, rose a little, 
 one above the edge of the other, rendering the 
 path somewhat rough and difficult. This lasted 
 
THE WOODMAN. 183 
 
 not long, however, and the bishop, raising his 
 eyes, observed — 
 
 " There seems a door before us. Have you 
 got the key V 
 
 " It will open, on being pressed hard," re- 
 plied Iola ; " but I cannot think we have 
 reached the cell yet. The way has seemed so 
 short." 
 
 So it proved however ; and approaching the 
 door, she attempted to push it open, but it re- 
 sisted her efforts. The bishop however aided ; 
 the door moved back ; and holding it open, he 
 desired Iola to pass through into the cell, 
 which was now before them. It was a low 
 vaulted Gothic chamber, opening on the side 
 of the hill, by an arch with an iron grate, and 
 having on one side a shrine and little altar. 
 The bishop followed his fair guide into this 
 small chapel ; but Iola herself, had forgotten 
 her aunt's injunction regarding the door. The 
 bishop let it slip from Ins hand, as he passed 
 through ; and it closed at once, leaving no 
 trace of its existence in the old woodwork of the 
 
184 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 walls. Had Iola recollected the difficulty she 
 might have in returning, she would certainly 
 have been alarmed ; and the sudden close of the 
 door would probably have brought her aunt's 
 warning to her remembrance, had not a sight 
 been presented to her, immediately on entering 
 the chapel, which at once occupied all her at- 
 tention. Through the low archway which I 
 mentioned, appeared the walls and towers of the 
 abbey, lighted up by the flame of the beacon, 
 and by a blaze, red and smoky as if proceeding 
 from torches, both in the great courtyard be- 
 tween the chapel and the portal, and on the little 
 green before the great gates. The green, itself, 
 was partly hidden by the priest's house and the 
 cottages ; but, under the walls, to the north 
 and west of the building, were seen several 
 groups of men on horseback ; and the sounds of 
 loud voices speaking, and of men calling to one 
 another, were borne to the ear distinctly, for 
 the great bell by this time, had ceased to toll, 
 and there was no other sound to interrupt the 
 murmur of the voices from the abbey. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 185 
 
 By a natural impulse, Iola clasped her fair 
 hands together, and uttered a low exclamation 
 of fear ; but the bishop gazed calmly forth for 
 a moment, and then said — 
 
 " We had better hasten on our way, my 
 child. Extinguish the lamp — Here, set it 
 down here. We must not show ourselves 
 more than we can help, lest any eye should be 
 turned this way." 
 
 " We must pass through the grate," said 
 Iola, recalled to herself by the prelate's words ; 
 " for there is no other way out ; but if we run 
 quickly round to the back of the building, no 
 one will see us." 
 
 " Let us go one at a time," said the bishop. 
 "It is well to take every precaution, though I 
 do not think the light is sufficiently strong to 
 show us to those on the opposite side of the 
 valley." 
 
 " Turn sharp to the right," said Iola, opening 
 the iron grate, for the prelate to pass through ; 
 and, as soon as he was gone, she followed and 
 rejoined him at the back of the building. 
 
186 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " Now this way, this way," she continued has- 
 tily, anxious to lead hiin away from dangers, 
 the imminence of which seemed now for the 
 first time to strike her ; and guiding him along 
 one of the forest paths, she hurried on with a 
 quick step, saying with one of her gay, short 
 laughs : 
 
 " They would not easily find us here. I could 
 lead them through such a labyrinth that they 
 would not know which way to turn, to get 
 out." 
 
 " You seem to know the forest well, daugh- 
 ter," said the bishop, in a good-humoured 
 tone. " I fear me you have been fonder of 
 rambling in the woods, than conning dry 
 lessons in the abbey of St. Clare." 
 
 He spoke in a gay and kindly manner, 
 which conveyed no reproof; but Iola blushed 
 a little while she answered — 
 
 " Surely ! My dear aunt has not been very 
 severe with me ; and every day, when the sun 
 was bright and the skies blue, I have gone out — 
 sometimes with my girl Alice, sometimes alone, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 187 
 
 sometimes on foot, sometimes on a mule, some- 
 times to bear a message to woodman or tenant, 
 sometimes for pure idleness. And yet not pure 
 idleness either, my lord ; for I do not know why, 
 but amidst these old trees and upon the top of 
 the hill, where I catch a view of all the woods 
 and fields and rivers below, bright, and beautiful 
 and soft, it seems as if my heart rose up to 
 Heaven more lightly than under the vault of 
 the chapel and amongst its tall columns of 
 stone. Then sometimes, I sit beneath a spread- 
 ing oak, and look at its giant limbs and com- 
 pare them with the wild anemone that grows 
 at its foot, and lose myself in musing over the 
 everlasting variety that I see. But hark ! 
 those voices are very loud. They cannot be 
 coming nearer, surely." 
 
 "You are brave at a distance, daughter," 
 said the bishop calmly, " but be not alarmed. 
 They are only raised a little higher." 
 
 " Oh, no," she answered ; " I am no coward ; 
 " and you would see, if they did come near, I 
 should not lose my wits." 
 
J 88 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Almost as she spoke, a voice exclaimed, in a 
 tone not very loud — 
 
 " Who goes there ?" and Iola started, and 
 laid her hand on the bishop's arm, as if to 
 keep him back. 
 
 " It is Boyd, the woodman's voice, I think," 
 she said in a whisper. " Slip in behind that 
 great tree, and I will go on and see." 
 
 "Who goes there?" repeated the voice 
 again raised higher ; and Iola, taking a step or 
 two forward, demanded — 
 
 " Who is it that asks ?" 
 
 " Is that you, Lady Iola V s said the voice, as 
 soon as the woman's tone was distinguished. 
 
 " Yes," answered Iola. "Is it Boyd who 
 speaks ?" 
 
 " The same," answered the woodman. " Have 
 you brought him? Where is he? Is he 
 safe r 
 
 " He is here, he is here," answered Iola. 
 " Father, this is Boyd the woodman, in whom 
 you can fully trust?" 
 
 "Ah, lady, lady,'" murmured the woodman, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 189 
 
 coming forward. " Where is the man in whom 
 you can fully trust?" 
 
 Advancing towards him, Iola and the prelate 
 found that he had been standing in a small 
 open space at the angle of two roads, both of 
 which led more or less directly to St. Mag- 
 dalen's cell. The light on the spot was 
 faint ; but the woodman's tall and powerful 
 figure was not to be mistaken ; and having re- 
 signed her charge to him, Iola turned to the 
 prelate, saying, 
 
 " Now 1 will go back as fast as possible, 
 father." 
 
 " Stay a moment, my child," replied the 
 bishop. " May the Almighty bless and pro- 
 tect you, and guide you in safety unto all 
 peace ;" and he laid his hand tenderly on her 
 head. 
 
 " Do not go in rashly, lady," said the wood- 
 man, " but stay in the little vaulted chamber at 
 the end of the passage, till you hear matins 
 sung in the chapel. The place will not be free 
 
190 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 of these rovers till then. If you hear not 
 matins or prime, you may suppose that they 
 still keep possession. In that ease, you had 
 better come away to me, dear lady — you know 
 that I will take care of you." 
 
 " Oh, I know that well, Boyd," replied Iola. 
 " Good night, good night — see to this reverend 
 father's safety before all things." 
 
 " Aye that will take two good hours at 
 least," said the woodman, " or I would go back 
 with you myself dear lady ; but I think you 
 are safe enough alone." 
 
 "I have no fear," answered Iola; and 
 she tripped lightly away, retreading the path 
 back towards the cell. 
 
 That path led along the rising ground just 
 at the verge of the forest, where the trees were 
 thin and the undergrowth scanty, so that the 
 sounds from the abbey continued to reach the fair 
 girl's ears as she pursued it. She thought she 
 heard the sound of horses' feet somewhat 
 nearer, also, as if coming from the road that 
 led up through the forest. At the same time 
 
THE WOODMAN. 191 
 
 it seemed to her that a redder glare, and a 
 broader light spread over the sky, reflected 
 thence upon the little footway which she trod. 
 " They must have piled more wood upon the 
 beacon," she thought ; but yet she felt some 
 degree of alarm. 
 
 Hurrying on, she at length reached the spot 
 where the path passed at the back of the cell, 
 and turning quickly round the little building, 
 the abbey, with the slight rise on which it 
 stood, was once more before her sight. What 
 was her terror and surprise at that moment, 
 when she saw the beacon light extinguished, 
 but a still wider and more fearful glare rising 
 up from the little green, the houses surround- 
 ing which were all in flames. Several of the 
 wooden cottages were already down, the still 
 burning beams and rafters lying in piles upon 
 the ground, like huge bonfires, casting up a 
 cloud of sparks into the flickering, fiery air 
 above ; and across the glare might now be seen 
 a number of dark figures moving about upon 
 the green, some on horseback, some ou foot. 
 
192 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 From the house of the priests and choristers 
 was rising up a tall spire of flame, sometimes 
 clear and bright, sometimes obscured by a 
 cloud of smoke and sparks ; but the abbey itself 
 was still unfired, and stood out dark and solemn 
 in the midst of the blaze, with the light 
 gleaming here and there upon the walls and 
 pinnacles. 
 
 The first sight startled and horrified her; 
 but she did not pause to gaze at it, till she had 
 entered the chapel and closed the iron gate, as 
 if for protection ; but then she stood and 
 watched the flames for a moment or two, and 
 at length asked herself what she should do. 
 
 " I will go back," she answered, after a 
 moment's thought. " I will not be absent 
 from my poor aunt's side at such a moment ;" 
 and she turned to seek the door into the pas- 
 sage. Then, for the first time, she perceived 
 that it was closed, and recollected the warning 
 of the abbess to leave it ajar. She now felt 
 really terrified ; and that need of protection and 
 help, that want of something to lean upon and 
 
THE WOODMAN. 193 
 
 to trust in, which most women experience 
 in the hour of danger, made itself terribly 
 felt. 
 
 " What will become of me ? Where shall 
 I go ? What shall I do?" she murmured 
 anxiously ; and then, again and again, cast a 
 timid glance at the burning buildings on the 
 opposite side of the dell. " I will go to 
 Boyd's house," she said at length. " I can 
 find protection there." 
 
 But suddenly she remembered what he had 
 said, in regard to the time he should be occu- 
 pied in providing for the safety of the bishop ; 
 but her determination was at length express- 
 ed — " I shall be more safe there than here at 
 all events. I will go;" and, without further 
 hesitation, she crept back into the path again. 
 
 Iola now knew for the first time in life, per- 
 haps, what it is to fear, and how the imagination 
 is excited by apprehension. The sight of the 
 burning buildings had shaken her nerves. She 
 crept along as stealthily as if she feared that every 
 
 VOL. I. k 
 

 194 THE WOODMAN'. 
 
 tree was an enemy. She thought she heard 
 sounds too, near at hand as she went on, and 
 then tried to persuade herself that it was but 
 the waving of the trees in the wind. Then she 
 felt sure that somebody must be near ; she 
 quickened her pace to reach a path which turned 
 suddenly to the right ; but at the very entrance, 
 when she reached it, there was standing a figure, 
 the form of which she could not distinctly see ; 
 but it seemed tall and thin, and garmented all 
 in white, according to the popular idea of a 
 phantom. She recoiled in terror and would 
 have fled back again ; but there directly in her 
 way was another figure ; and a voice ex- 
 claimed, as she was turning once more to 
 fly- 
 
 " Lady, lady, whither away ? Stay yet a 
 moment — stay it is a friend." 
 
 She thought she knew the tones ; but 
 as the stranger approached, she receded, ask- 
 ing— 
 
 "Who is it? Who is it?" 
 
THE WOODMAN. 195 
 
 " It is Lord Chartley," he said. " Stay, stay ! 
 You are running upon danger." 
 
 The last words were needless; for before 
 they were fully uttered, Iola had not only 
 stopped but sprung forward to meet him. 
 
 k 2 
 
196 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 Human fate, or rather the fate of the whole 
 human race, is but as a web of cloth fixed in the 
 frame of circumstances, with an unseen hand 
 continually throwing the shuttle. The threads 
 may be infinite, and some far apart from others : 
 some in the centre, some at the selvage, but all 
 tied and bound together by filaments that run 
 across and across, and never ceasing till the 
 piece is finished. When will that be ? Heaven 
 only knows. Certainly not till the end of the 
 world. 
 
 We must now, by the reader's permission, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 197 
 
 leave the thread of Iola, and take up that of 
 the abbess where we last left it. 
 
 As soon as she had closed the door and 
 pushed to the pannelling which concealed it, 
 the abbess reascended to the nuns' gallery in 
 the chapel, and thence proceeded into the 
 great body of the building. She found, as may 
 be supposed, the utmost confusion and alarm 
 prevailing ; for by this time the noise of the 
 great bell, and of the various sounds that were 
 rising up around the walls, had roused all the 
 nuns from their pallets, and with consternation 
 in their countenances, they were hurrying hither 
 and thither seeking something, and not know- 
 ing very well what they sought. Although a 
 good deal alarmed herself, and unable to foresee 
 what might be the end of all that was taking 
 place, the abbess, whose heart was naturally 
 merry, could almost have laughed at the gro- 
 tesque accidents which fear produced; but, having 
 more mind and character than the whole con- 
 vent put together, she at once proceeded to re- 
 store order. 
 
198 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " Go at once to the chapel," she said to every 
 nun she saw ; " gather all the sisterhood there, 
 and see that none be omitted. I will join you 
 soon." 
 
 This order had to be repeated frequently ; for 
 at every step she met some one, and several re- 
 quired it to be reiterated two or three times, 
 before terror would suffer them to comprehend 
 it. 
 
 At length, passing round the end of the 
 chapel, the abbess entered the great court, and 
 found to her joy and satisfaction, a much greater 
 body of men drawn up for her defence, than, 
 she expected ; for the woodman had not been 
 idle during the morning, and many more of 
 the peasantry had been warned to listen for the 
 sound of the bell, than the voice of the porter 
 could summon. Four of the inferior foresters 
 also had somehow found their way into the 
 building, dressed in leathern coats and iron 
 caps, and each carried on his shoulder a sort 
 of weapon, which none within the walls had 
 ever seen before. This was a sort of small 
 
the woodman. 199 
 
 cannon, fastened upon a rudely constructed stock, 
 and fitted to carry a ball of the weight of two 
 or three ounces. There was no lock, nor any 
 contrivance even for applying fire to the touch- 
 hole by one movement ; but round the arm of 
 the bearer was twined a coil of match, which 
 one of the men was as at that moment lighting 
 at the porter's lantern. # 
 
 "What is that? What is that?" cried the 
 abbess ; " it looks like a little falconet." 
 
 " It is a hand gun, lady," said the forester. 
 " Some of our people brought them from Bur- 
 gundy ; and Boyd sent in these four. When it 
 is time to use them, we hoist them over our 
 shoulders ; and, while the men behind take aim, 
 we fire." 
 
 * The first mention that I find of the real arquibuse, or 
 match lock, is in an account of the household of the 
 Duke of Burgundy in 1474 ; but small cannons, called in 
 France coulverines a la main, were used long before. They 
 are represented in the old miniatures, as resting on the 
 shoulder of one soldier, while another takes the aim from 
 behind, and the first applies the match at the word of 
 command. 
 
200 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 The abbess mused, for the invention was 
 quite new to her ; and, strangely clumsy as it 
 was, it seemed to her, a wonderful discovery in 
 the art of war. She even grew very valiant 
 on the strength of it, and called aloud for the 
 bailiff, to consult with him upon the means of 
 defence. The bailiff could not be found, how- 
 ever ; and the porter informed her, with a grin, 
 that he had gone to the buttery, thinking that 
 there must be the principal point of attack. 
 
 " Bring him hither directly," said the abbess ; 
 11 bring him by the ears, if he will not otherwise 
 come. — In the mean time how many men have 
 we here V 
 
 " Three and thirty, my lady," replied the old 
 porter, while one or two ran away to bring the 
 bailiff; " three and thirty, besides the gun men. 
 I think we can make good the place till morn- 
 ing ; and then we shall have the whole country up 
 to help us. But if you would take my advice, 
 you would lock that bailiff up in a cell. He 
 cools men's hearts with his cowardice. I wish 
 he were half as brave as you, my lady." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 201 
 
 " Well then you must command, porter," 
 said the abbess. " Let some of the men take 
 their bows and cross bows up to the top of the 
 portal, while others keep watch upon the walls 
 all round, that they may not raise ladders with- 
 out our knowing it. Let the four men with the 
 hand cannons draw up across the chapel door 
 for the present. They can there very well fire 
 upon the gates, if the enemy should break 
 them down." 
 
 The porter was venturing to remonstrate, 
 pointing out that the gun men would be better 
 on the walls, when the unfortunate bailiff was 
 dragged into the abbess's presence, with a face 
 so pale and eyes so haggard, that his very look 
 convicted him. He smelt strongly of wine too, 
 so that it was clear, he had been seeking to 
 gain courage from other sources than his own 
 heart. 
 
 " Coward !" cried the abbess, as soon as she 
 saw him, " are you not ashamed to see women 
 set you an example in defending the rights of 
 the church, while you are slinking away from 
 
 k 3 
 
202 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 your duty ? Take him hence ;" she continued, 
 as he attempted to stutter forth some vain ex- 
 cuses. " Take him hence at once, and lock him 
 up in the first cell on the left hand. — Away with 
 him, for fear his cowardice should become in- 
 fectious ! — Hark ! They are upon the green. 
 There is a trumpet. I will go up to the window 
 above the gates, and speak with them. Let 
 not the men shoot till I give the word." 
 
 Two or three of the people round besought 
 her to forbear, especially the priest and the 
 principal chorister ; but the abbess not only 
 persisted in her resolution, but besought them to 
 accompany her, in a tone which did not admit 
 of refusal ; and, walking on with an air of more 
 dignity than one would have supposed her little 
 plump figure could display, she ascended the 
 stairs in the left hand tower of the portal, and 
 presented herself at the grated window just 
 above the gates. The part of the green nearest 
 to the abbey, was now covered with armed men, 
 principally on horseback, though some had 
 dismounted and were approaching the gates. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 203 
 
 A group of six or seven, who were apparently 
 leaders, were seen at a little distance on the left, 
 and one of them was at that moment raising his 
 voice to an armed peasant who had appeared upon 
 the walls. The abbess, however, cut short this 
 oratory in the commencement, by demanding. 
 in that shrill high key which makes itself heard 
 so much farther than even a louder voice at a 
 lower note : " What want ye here, my masters X 
 How come you here in arms before the abbey 
 of St. Clare ? Bid those men keep back from 
 the gates ! Else I will bid the soldiers shoot and 
 the cannon fire." 
 
 " Cannons !" cried one of the leaders with a 
 laugh. " By my fay, the place seems a fortress 
 instead of an abbey." 
 
 " You will find it so to your cost, uncivil 
 churl, if you attempt to plunder here," cried 
 the abbess. " Bid them keep back I say, or 
 bide the consequence !" 
 
 " Halt, there, keep back !" cried the leader 
 who had before spoken ; and pushing his own 
 horse under the window where the abbess stood. 
 
204 THE WOODMAIC. 
 
 he looked up saying, " They were but going to 
 ring the bell. Are you the lady abbess ?" 
 
 " What need of six men to ring the bell V 
 exclaimed the abbess. " If you need so many 
 hands to do small work, you will require more 
 than you have brought here to get the gates 
 open. I am the lady abbess, and I bid you 
 go hence and leave me and my children at 
 peace, upon pain of anathema, and the greater 
 and the lesser excommunication. I know not 
 whether ye be the same who came to plunder 
 us some time ago ; but, if ye be, ye will find us 
 better prepared now, than we were then, though 
 it cost you dear, even at that time." 
 
 " Listen, listen, good lady," said the horse- 
 man ; " for, if you do not hear, you cannot un- 
 derstand, and a woman's tongue is sometimes 
 worse than a cannon." 
 
 " You will find the thunder of the church 
 worse still," cried the lady. 
 
 " Of that we are not afraid," answered the 
 other ; " for we come not to plunder, or commit 
 any act of violence, unless we are driven to it." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 205 
 
 " Pardieu, this is all chattering and non- 
 sense," cried another man, who had ridden up 
 from behind. "Break open the gates, Sir 
 John. If you do not, I will ; for they will con- 
 vey the man away, and by Heaven, if they do, 
 I will burn the place about their ears !" 
 
 " Peace, peace !" cried the other. " They 
 cannot convey him away. Our men are all 
 round the walls. Listen to me for a moment, 
 lady. We have certain information, that a man 
 took refuge here last night, disguised as a friar. 
 Him, we must have forth ; and if you will bring 
 him out and give him up, we will ride away 
 quietly and leave you. If not, we must find 
 our way in and take him. We should be sorry 
 to hurt any of your people, or to do any damage ; 
 but, when a place is forced, you know, soldiers 
 are under no command, and the consequence 
 be upon your own head. We must have him 
 out." 
 
 " Do you not know that this is sanctuary," 
 cried the abbess, " and even if he had committed 
 
206 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 paricide or treason, any man would be safe 
 within these walls." 
 
 " Aye, but he has not committed any offence 
 which makes sanctuary available," replied the 
 other. " This is a deserter from his right stand- 
 ard, and we will have him forth, sanctuary or 
 no sanctuary." 
 
 " There is no such man within the walls of 
 St. Clare," replied the abbess. " I only stand 
 up for the privileges of the place, because they 
 are its privileges ; but at the same time, I tell 
 you that there is no sanctuary man here, of any 
 kind or description whatever." 
 
 " Hell and damnation !" exclaimed the more 
 vehement of the leaders. " Will you pretend 
 to tell me that a man did not come here this 
 very evening, habited as a friar, who never went 
 forth again with those who brought him ? — On 
 upon the gates there. This is all jugglery !" 
 
 " Hold yet a moment, ere it comes to strife," 
 exclaimed the abbess ; and the other leader 
 also exclaimed : 
 
THE WOODMAV. 207 
 
 " Hold, hold there ! What would you say, 
 lady? for we cannot be dallied with." 
 
 " I say," replied the abbess, " that the dam- 
 nation you evoke will some day fall upon your 
 own heads, if you pursue this course. More- 
 over, I tell you, that there is no such man here, 
 nor any man at all, but the tenants and officers 
 of the abbey. A friar certainly did come here 
 this evening, with a goodly company of guests. 
 He did not depart with them ; but, he went 
 away afterwards, and is no longer here — Hear 
 me out ! To save bloodshed, I will give you 
 the means of satisfying yourselves, protesting 
 at the same time, against the act you commit, 
 and clearly reserving my right to punish you for 
 it, at an after time, when you shall not plead my 
 permission as an excuse." 
 
 " We will look to that," cried one of the 
 others boldly. " Open your gates. We shall 
 not want excuses for anything we do." 
 
 " Nay !" answered the abbess. " I open not 
 my gates to all your lewd band. Any six may 
 enter, if they will, and search every corner of 
 
208 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 the abbey, from one end to the other. You 
 will then soon see, that I have means of defence 
 if I choose to exert them. If you accept the 
 terms, bid all the rest of the men retire to the 
 other side of the green. If not, I will tell the 
 cross-bow men and cannoniers to fire." 
 
 " We must have ten with us ; otherwise we 
 shall never get through the search," said the 
 leader, who had first spoken. 
 
 " Well, ten be it then," said the abbess. 
 " We shall only have more in our hands, to hang, 
 if those without attempt to play us any trea- 
 chery." 
 
 " You are merry, lady," said the leader. " Is 
 it so agreed ?" 
 
 " Yes !" replied the abbess ; " bid your men 
 back, quite to the other side. Then let ten 
 advance, and I will come down and order them 
 to be admitted." 
 
 She waited till she had seen the retreat of the 
 band, to the far part of the green ; and then 
 descending, she gave her orders with great 
 clearness and rapidity, directing such arrange- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 209 
 
 ments to be made, as would display her little 
 force to the greatest advantage, and ordering 
 her porter as the commander-in-chief, to send 
 two or three stout men with each party of the 
 searchers, keeping a wary eye at the same time 
 upon the band without, to insure they did not 
 approach nearer to the gates. 
 
 She then retired into the chapel, where she 
 found the nuns all gathered round the great 
 altar, like a swarm of bees. Having quieted and 
 re-assured them, as well as she could, she betook 
 herself to the window, which gave light to the 
 gallery appropriated to the sisterhood, and, 
 opening the lattice, looked out into the court. 
 By this time, the ten men to whom she had 
 promised admittance, were entering, one by one, 
 through the wicket ; and she nattered herself 
 that their faces, seen by the light of the torches, 
 showed some surprise at the numbers collected 
 for the defence of the place. The first part of 
 the building however, which they chose to 
 search, was the chapel, and hurrying down, she 
 met them at the great altar in the midst of her 
 
210 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 nuns. No incivility was committed; for the men 
 without, with their loaded hand guns, and some 
 fifteen or sixteen others, with steel cross-bows 
 in their hands, had imposed a salutary reverence 
 upon the intruders. The chapel however, was 
 searched in every part ; and when this was done, 
 the soldiers gone, and the door once more 
 locked, the abbess again resumed her station 
 at the window, with a heart, which notwith- 
 standing her bold exterior, beat somewhat 
 anxiously for the departure of the band. 
 
 She saw the buildings on either side of the court 
 examined thoroughly ; and then, dividing into 
 three parties, the searchers proceeded on their 
 way, disappearing from her sight. She listened 
 for their voices as they went, and could trace 
 them part of the way round the great quad- 
 rangle ; but then, all was silent again, and she 
 judged that they had gone to the most remote 
 parts of the building — perhaps even to the gar- 
 dens — to sweep it all the way up, in order to 
 prevent the possibility of a fugitive escaping. 
 
 All was silent for some minutes, except the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 211 
 
 low murmurs of the abbey-men speaking* in the 
 court below ; but then came some sounds which 
 startled and alarmed the abbess ; for, after a 
 crash, as of a door forced open, she could dis- 
 tinctly hear a shout of, " Here he is, here he is ! 
 We've got him." 
 
 A loud murmuring of many tongues suc- 
 ceeded ; and in a state of trembling anxiety, 
 she waited for the result, till, to her great 
 relief and even amusement, she beheld the 
 whole party of ten re-appear, dragging along 
 her cowardly bailiff in the midst of them, while 
 several of the retainers of the abbey, followed 
 with a look of malicious fun upon their faces. 
 
 " Upon my life. Upon my soul. By all 
 the blessed saints, I tell you true," cried the 
 unhappy bailiff. " Here, Giles, porter, tell them 
 who I am, man — He can tell you — he can tell 
 you." 
 
 " Faith, you are mistaken there, if you call 
 me porter," said the man he addressed. "I 
 know nothing about you. You are mistaken in 
 me, good sir. I am the bailiff of the abbey." 
 
2] 2 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " There, there," said one of the leaders of 
 the soldiery. " It is all in vain, my good lord, 
 so come along — There take him out." 
 
 The abbess could not refrain from laughing, 
 although she felt a strong inclination to interfere, 
 and claim the poor bailiff as the especial pro- 
 perty of the convent. Before she could make 
 up her mind, however, the man was past the 
 gates ; but still, while one party of the searchers 
 remained in the court, another turned back and 
 pursued the examination, till not a hole or 
 corner of the abbey was left unexplored. 
 
 In the meanwhile, however, a great deal of loud 
 cursing and swearing was heard from the green ; 
 words of command were given, orders shouted 
 forth ; and at length, the porter hurriedly closed 
 the wicket, exclaiming — 
 
 " Up to the walls ! Bend your cross-bows ! 
 What are they about now ? — You gunners 
 stand here below ! — You pass not, sir, you 
 pass not, till we know what all this is," he con- 
 tinued, addressing the leader who had first 
 spoken to the abbess, and who, with three com- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 21b 
 
 panions, now hurried into the court from the 
 more secluded part of the building. 
 
 " I know not what it is any more than you 
 do, my good man," replied the other ; " but if 
 you let me out, I will soon see." 
 
 " They are coming forward towards the 
 gates, sir !" exclaimed the porter. " Shoot at 
 them if they come too close, my men ! — You are 
 a knight, sir, it seems ; and we will keep you as 
 a hostage for the safety of the abbey." 
 
 " Nay, I cannot be answerable for that un- 
 less you let me forth," replied the other ; " but 
 if you do, I pledge my knightly word, as a 
 gentleman and a Christian, that all the troops 
 shall be drawn off, and the abbey left un- 
 molested." 
 
 He spoke eagerly and hastily, evidently 
 under some alarm ; but the old porter was not 
 satisfied, and he replied — 
 
 " Here put it down and your name to it. 
 Here are pen and ink, and the visitor's book in 
 the lodge. The officer hurried in, and did as 
 was required at once ; for the four unpleasant 
 
214 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 looking hand culverins were pointed at him 
 and his companions, and a lighted match in 
 each man's hand ready to discharge them. 
 
 " There it is," he said, when he had written. 
 " Now let me pass." 
 
 The porter looked over the writing. Whe- 
 ther he could read or not, I cannot tell ; but 
 when he had satisfied himself as far as he was 
 able, he cautiously opened the wicket, and 
 let the intruders pass out one by one. 
 
 The commander led the way, hurrying on 
 with a quick step ; and he certainly did not 
 arrive as soon as he could have wished. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he exclaimed. 
 " W T hat is the matter ?" 
 
 " Mort Dieu !" cried the second in command, 
 " we have been cheated, Sir John. This man 
 is not the bishop after all. Here is one of our 
 own people who knows him, and says he is 
 really the bailiff." 
 
 " I am indeed," cried the miserable coward ; 
 " and if you would have let me, I would have 
 told you all long ago." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 215 
 
 " He says, the friar was there not an hour 
 ago," vociferated the second in command, " and 
 that they must have got him out, either into 
 these houses, or into the wood, as we were 
 coming up the valley." 
 
 " Search the houses," said the commander ; 
 " and send a troop up the road to the wood." 
 
 " It is done, it is done," cried the other. 
 " The men are furious ; for they will lose all 
 share of the reward. — By Satan and all his 
 imps," he added, " I believe they have set lire 
 to the houses." 
 
 " This will come to a serious reckoning," 
 said the commander gravely. " Try and stop 
 the fire there. Call off the men;" and as 
 promptly as might be, he did all that was pos- 
 sible to remedy the evil that had been done. 
 As every one who has had the command of rude 
 men must know, however, there are times when 
 they become perfectly ungovernable. Such was 
 the case at present. They were an irregular and 
 ruthless body who now surrounded the abbey ; 
 
216 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and without attending to the orders they received, 
 to the remonstrances or even to the threats of 
 their commander, they set fire to every building on 
 the right hand side of the green. Nor would the 
 others have escaped the same fate ; nor the 
 abbey itself have been left unassailed, had not 
 the officer, as a last resource, commanded the 
 trumpets to sound, and ordered all who 
 could be gathered together to march up the 
 road, for the purpose of searching the forest. 
 
 The stragglers followed, as soon as they found 
 that the principal part of the troop had left 
 them ; and the whole force, except three or four, 
 who remained to complete the pillage of the 
 priest's house, marched slowly up, till a halt 
 was sounded under the first trees of the 
 wood. 
 
 There, however, the officer in command se- 
 lected some twenty men from his band, and 
 rode back to the abbey green. The rest of the 
 men halted where they stood, inquiring of 
 each other what could be the meaning of this 
 proceeding. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 217 
 
 He gave no explanation even when he re- 
 turned ; but the next morning, at daybreak, 
 three bodies were found hanging by the neck 
 from poles stuck into the thatch of one of the 
 unconsumed cottages. 
 
 vol. I. 
 
218 THE WOODMAN 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Oh, I am very glad !" exclaimed Iola, in a tone 
 so confiding, so joyful, that it made Chartley's 
 heart thrill. 
 
 There is certainly something in trust and con- 
 fidence that is wonderfully winning. Even 
 with man — fierce, bloody, all-devouring man 
 — it is hardly possible to resist sacred con- 
 fidence. The birds, the beasts which trust us, 
 and shew their trust by cheerful familiarity, 
 we spare and cherish. The robin hops upon 
 the window sill, and we feed it with the crumbs 
 from our table ; and — to go from the least to the 
 greatest — we are told, that if we too trust in 
 God, He will feed us, as we feed the bird. 
 
THE WOODMAN". 2 i 
 
 Yes, there is something* very winning in 
 confidence ; and Lord Chartley, though he 
 could not see the fair face of Iola distinctly, 
 thought her more beautiful at that moment, 
 than when she had been sitting by his side at 
 the abbey. 
 
 " Dear lady," he said, taking her hand and 
 speaking in a low voice, " it rejoices me that 
 you are glad ; and right glad am I too, believe 
 me, to find you, though I did not rightly expect 
 it. I have seen our friend the woodman but 
 now, and him whom you wot of. They are 
 safely across the road ; but I could not be satis- 
 fied, when I heard that you had gone back 
 alone, without following you, to assure myself 
 of your safety. Why did you — " 
 
 " But who is that — who is that up there V 
 demanded Iola, pointing with her left hand, in 
 the direction of the spot where she had seen 
 another figure standing, but not withdrawing 
 her right from that of the young nobleman, 
 and, on the contrary, creeping closer to him. 
 
 l 2 
 
220 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " Fear not," replied Chartley ; " it is only 
 my good slave. I stationed him there, to warn 
 you there was danger on that path, while I 
 crept through the trees, to see you safely to the 
 cell. Why did you turn back ? Are you afraid 
 to go through the passage alone ?" 
 
 " No, no," she answered ; " but, alas, the 
 door is closed, and cannot be opened from this 
 side." 
 
 " Unfortunate indeed \" exclaimed Lord 
 Chartley. " What is to be done now 1 — Where 
 are you to pass the night ?" 
 
 " Oh," replied Tola, in a frank cheerful tone, 
 "I fear not now when you are with me. I will 
 go at once to the good woodman's cottage, if 
 you will but kindly take care of me till I reach 
 it. I shall be quite safe there." 
 
 " It would be indeed a pleasant task," replied 
 her young companion ; " but it is impossible, 
 either for you or me, dear lady, to reach the 
 cottage without danger, to which you must not 
 be exposed. There is already one troop of 
 these men upon the road; and if I judge rightly 
 
THE WOODMAN. 221 
 
 by the trumpet I heard just now, others will 
 soon follow. It would seem that they have 
 discovered our good friend's escape, and are 
 pursuing him hither. Besides, the woodman 
 will not be at his dwelling for several hours. 
 I saw him across the road, just before the head 
 of the troop came up the hill ; and then, after 
 watching for a moment, and perceiving that they 
 sent parties forward, as if to patrol, I came on 
 hither, fearful for you." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Iola, in a low and 
 sweet, but sad tone. " What I am to do now, I 
 know not. I must pass the night in the wood, 
 I fancy, like the poor children that they tell of. 
 Would that I had brought warmer garments ; 
 for in truth it is not warm ; and what between 
 fear and cold, I am shaking already. — What 
 will become of me, I wonder ?" 
 
 " Nay, the cold shall be soon remedied," an- 
 swered the young nobleman. " This furred 
 surcoat could not serve a fairer purpose or a 
 fairer maid, though in truth it might hold two 
 such slight fairy forms as this. — Nay, I insist 
 
222 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 upon it," he continued, as he wrapped the warm 
 garment round her ; " and as for fear, dear 
 lady, tremble not for that. I will defend you 
 with my life, and will not part with you, till I see 
 you safely back within the walls of the abbey, 
 or at least under your good aunt's protection. 
 Besides, I have strong help at need, in the 
 strength of my good Arab's arm. Woe be to the 
 rover who meets the edge of his scimitar. 
 Nevertheless, we must find out some place of 
 refuge for the night, if it be but a bower of 
 green boughs, where you can sleep while I 
 guard you as your sentinel." 
 
 " It were better to seek some more secure 
 hiding-place," answered Iola, " where these 
 people will not find us. There is what they 
 call Prince Edward's cave, I know not why ; 
 but that is on the other side of the road." 
 
 " The woodman spoke of an old castle on 
 the hill," said the young nobleman. " I saw 
 the keep too, towering up from below ; but now, 
 I cannot tell which way it lies." 
 
 " Oh, I can find the way," cried Iola gladly. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 223 
 
 li I know every path thither, and almost every 
 stone in the building. It lies on this side of 
 the hill too, though it is more than a mile off." 
 
 " Then let us thither if you can find the 
 way," replied Chartley. " Should we be pur- 
 sued, we can play at hide and seek there ; or at 
 the worst, make good some tower or staircase 
 till help comes. Were I sure that there is 
 any officer or man of repute with these bands, 
 I should not fear for you ; but so fair a flower 
 must not be trusted in the rude hands of law- 
 less soldiery." 
 
 Iola did not, or would not, notice the last 
 words. Indeed, it is rare, when a phrase con- 
 tains several parts, that more than one is at- 
 tended to by any individual. She fixed at once 
 upon what he had said regarding the old castle, 
 and answered, " Oh, we can play at hide and 
 seek with them there, for a year, if we can but 
 reach it safely ; and I think I can lead you 
 thither by a path they will never dream of; for 
 still, while approaching, it seems to be turning 
 away from the object at which it aims." 
 
224 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " Somewhat like woman's wit, dear lady," 
 answered Lord Chartley, laughing, " Which I 
 must say often takes the prettiest ways imagin- 
 able to its ends, in gay meanderings round 
 and round. But come. There is no fear of 
 their attempting to search the wood, this night 
 at least, though they may try to watch all the 
 outlets. We shall pass safe enough, if we enter 
 upon no high roads." 
 
 " No, no," answered Iola, with a little spice 
 of vengeance. " They shall be all crooked, 
 narrow, and obscure, like man's policy. Here, 
 we must turn up here, and take up your Moor 
 by the way." 
 
 " Lean upon my arm then," said Chartley, 
 drawing hers through his own. "You will 
 need some support on this long journey." 
 
 " It will be like the journey of life," she an- 
 swered, " where sometimes we must tread the 
 narrow path singly and unsupported ; some- 
 times guiding and helping each other." 
 
 Thus saying, she walked on with him leaning 
 lightly on his arm, but musing as she went. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 225 
 
 Chartley spoke a few words to Ibn Ayoub, 
 bidding him follow a few steps behind, and 
 keep a watchful ear for any sounds of pursuit ; 
 and thus he and his fair companion proceeded for 
 about five minutes in silence, till at length Iola, 
 broke from her fit of musing, saying abruptly, 
 " Heaven help me ! What would my poor aunt 
 think if she knew that I was wandering here 
 alone with you, my lord." 
 
 Lord Chartley thought he perceived in those 
 words a certain portion of doubt and fear, 
 which he could not but own was natural, but 
 yet he was very anxious to remove. " I trust 
 she would be glad/' he replied, "that you 
 had met with one, by a strange accident, in 
 whom you and she can fully trust, to guard and 
 defend you against all wrong. I think you 
 know that such a one is by your side." 
 
 " Oh that I do," she answered, looking up 
 towards his face, though she could not see it. 
 " Do not suppose I have any fears of you, my 
 lord ; for I feel as if I had known you many 
 a year ; and, though they say we should judge 
 
 l 3 
 
226 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 no man rashly, yet I am right sure you would 
 neither wrong me nor see me wronged, for any 
 good the world could give. My aunt, how- 
 ever, might be more suspicious ; for she has 
 strange notions of the world, and I trust not 
 true ones." 
 
 Chartley was silent for a moment or two, and 
 then laughed gaily. 
 
 " It were easy," he replied at length, " to 
 say as I was just going to say — Trust me, and 
 doubt all other men ; but I had better say 
 nothing of the kind however, for I can neither 
 tell you rightly why you should suspect others, 
 nor give you a good reason why you should 
 trust me. Happy is it, in my case, that you 
 have no choice. Trust me you must, sweet 
 girl, whether you will or not ; but believe me," 
 he added, thinking he felt a certain tendency to 
 withdraw her arm from his, " believe me, that 
 trust is not misplaced and never will be. So 
 now I will make no more professions. There 
 is another blast of the trumpet ; but it is far- 
 ther off than before." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 227 
 
 " It comes down the hill," answered Iola. 
 " They have got farther on than we have ; but 
 yet we shall beat them, I trust ; for the many are 
 ever outwitted by the few I hear. Though good 
 sooth I know nothing of life, and but repeat such 
 sage sayings as an old nurse's songs, without 
 being sure if they be to the right tune or not — 
 Oh prudery," she continued gaily, " what would 
 the dear nuns, and sister Bridget especially, say, 
 if they could hear me thus chattering with a 
 young lord, in a dark wood, when there is so 
 much sad and sober earnest going on near ? — 
 You too, perhaps, think it strange ; but I have 
 had so little practice in concealing what I think, 
 that my foolishness ever rushes to my lips be- 
 fore my slow wit can start forth to stop it." 
 
 " Nay, I think no such thing," replied Lord 
 Chartley, " for by my faith, the case is much 
 the same with me. Besides, did we not make 
 a bargain at supper time, that the casket was 
 not to be closed, but all the jewels of the heart 
 were to be left unveiled?" 
 
 " True," she answered. " It was a rash pro- 
 
228 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 mise ; but like all promises, I suppose, it must 
 be kept ; and indeed, had it not been made, I 
 am afraid the course would have been the same; 
 for the key of that casket which you talk of 
 is seldom to be found when needed ; and the 
 lock is somewhat rusty, from being left always 
 open. — Think not, however, I would act or 
 speak thus to all men, for had you, as did the 
 only young man I ever saw twice before your- 
 self, talked of my beautiful eyes or my charm- 
 ing flnerers — or even, like the friend who was 
 with you, had you thrown out a pretty neat 
 turned compliment upon bright and beautiful 
 looks, to be picked up by any one who thought 
 it worth the stooping for, I should have been as 
 grave and silent as a deaf canonness, or have 
 run away from you as fast as my feet could 
 carry me ; but you spoke of better things, 
 though gaily, and seemed to me to know, what 
 is due from knight and gentleman, to a 
 woman and a lady, and therefore, my good 
 lord, I trust you as a friend', and speak to you 
 as a brother." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 229 
 
 Whatever were the feelings of Lord Chart- 
 ley — whether he felt inclined to remain in the 
 cool relationship of friend and brother, or whe- 
 ther there were not growing upon him, sensa- 
 tions towards his fair companion of a some- 
 what warmer nature, he was well aware that 
 fraternal regard is one of the very best and 
 most serviceable trenches for attacking the 
 citadel of a woman's heart, and consequently 
 he thanked lola gracefully for her trust, and 
 did nothing in the world to scare the timidity of 
 early confidence. Perhaps his was a character 
 to win it more quickly than that of most men ; 
 gay, cheerful, brave, apparently thoughtless, 
 but in reality considerate and reflective, light- 
 hearted from strong corporeal health, fair for- 
 tunes and self reliance, as well as from a hope- 
 ful and sanguine heart, one seemed at once to 
 ;ee clear and distinct from the act to the mo- 
 tive, from the words to the emotions in which 
 they originated. There was none of that 
 misty clouded policy, none of that obscure and 
 twilight art, which is sure to create suspicion 
 
230 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and place the minds of others on their guard ; 
 but all was frank, open, free ; and though peo- 
 ple might judge him to be more rash than he 
 really was, and heedless of consequences when 
 he was in reality quite the reverse, no one ever 
 for a moment suspected half the deep feeling 
 that was in his heart, or the cool though rapid 
 reflection which went on in his mind. 
 
 We are inclined to imagine that when a man 
 acts quickly and decidedly, even in cases where 
 there is no need of haste, that he acts impru- 
 dently, and without due consideration. We 
 say — " he might have taken time for thought." 
 
 But thought is a very different thing in the 
 minds of different men. With one, it is the 
 cart-horse which plods slowly along with its 
 heavy load from one point of the road to an- 
 other. With others, it is the race horse, dart- 
 ing like an arrow shot from a bow to the object 
 in view. The distance and the path are the 
 same, but only they are travelled more rapidly 
 in the one instance than in the other. Un- 
 doubtedly the race horse was the illustration 
 
THE WOODMAN. 231 
 
 of Chartley's mind. It would Lave foamed 
 and fretted to be restrained to the slow pro- 
 gress which many another man preferred ; and 
 when forced to proceed tardily, in order to keep 
 the same pace as others, like the same horse, it 
 would curvet and passage, showing its im- 
 patience by a thousand wild gambols. 
 
 Short specimens of conversations are enough 
 upon all ordinary occasions ; and therefore I 
 will only say, that the young nobleman and his 
 fair companion, followed by the Arab, at 
 the distance of eight or ten yards, threaded 
 their way through the wood paths, lightly and 
 easily, talking as they went. It may seem 
 strange that they so soon lost the sense of 
 apprehension, and could converse on other 
 things, while dangers were round about ; but it 
 was a part of the characters of both, to be 
 little and but transiently impressible by any 
 thing like fear. Hope was ever predominant 
 in the heart of each, and hope is certainly a 
 great element of courage. Danger was 
 thought of only while it was actually present ; 
 
232 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and imagination was fonder of plucking 
 flowers than looking out for thorns. True 
 they stopped and listened from time to time, 
 to make themselves sure that no enemies were 
 near. True, that when Iola had to lead the 
 way through one of those narrow paths, where 
 two could not go abreast, she sometimes looked 
 back to assure herself that Chartley was near 
 her ; but when they were together, they gene- 
 rally conversed gaily, and often even laughed, 
 although Iola felt some apprehensions for her 
 good aunt and her cousin, which could not be 
 altogether removed, even by Chartley 's as- 
 surances that the burning of the houses upon 
 the green, was the strongest proof of Richard's 
 bands not having got into the abbey. 
 
 " Besides," he said, " I am quite sure that 
 the commanders of these men, as long as they 
 have the troops under their own eye, would 
 not suffer them to commit any violence in a 
 religious house ; for the king himself is devout 
 as we all know, and though he might wink at 
 a violation of sanctuary, for his own purpose, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 233 
 
 he would punish severely any unnecessary in- 
 jury done in effecting it." 
 
 These arguments certainly were consolatory 
 to Iola, and left the fears which still lingered, 
 only as passing shades, coming across her mind 
 for a moment, and soon disappearing, like 
 those cast by light clouds, floating over the 
 sun in a summer's day. 
 
 Onward they walked then, amidst the 
 branches of the wood, and along the paths cut 
 in the thick underwood, still covered by the 
 brown leaves of the preceding year. The 
 thaw which had prevailed since the night be- 
 fore, had penetrated even into the depths of 
 the wood ; and the grass was covered with un- 
 frozen drops which rendered it almost as white 
 as under the hoar frost. This was peculiarly 
 the case, upon what may be called the first 
 step of the hill ; but the path soon began to 
 ascend, at first winding gently about upon the 
 upland slope, and then, spreading out to a 
 greater width, ran along under some high 
 cliffy banks, somewhat too steep to surmount 
 
234 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 in a direct line. Here, from time to time, a 
 beautiful view of the abbey, with the lower 
 grounds surrounding* it, might have been ob- 
 tained, had there been daylight; and even in 
 the darkness of the night, aided by a faint 
 light from the smoking ruins of the cottages 
 on the green, the eye could distinguish the 
 sombre masses of the old pile, rising above all 
 the surrounding objects. 
 
 " You see the abbey is safe," said Chartley, 
 in a low tone ; " and the fires are going out. 
 
 I hear no sound. Perhaps these troops are 
 
 withdrawn." 
 
 " We could soon see," said Iola, " if we 
 turned to the westward, for there is a little 
 point, which commands a view of the road." 
 
 Perhaps Chartley did not very much wish 
 to see ; for to say the truth, he had no great 
 inclination to part with his fair companion so 
 soon. He had made up his mind, by this time, 
 to the not unpleasant task of passing the rest 
 of the night with her in the old castle. There 
 was a spirit of adventure in it — a touch of that 
 
THE WOODMAN. 235 
 
 romance which is agreeable to almost every 
 young man's mind. Nevertheless, he thought 
 it more proper to follow the suggestion, al- 
 though the result might be to convey her back 
 to the abbey, and send him onward on his way 
 to Hinckley. They turned then in the direc- 
 tion she indicated ; and at the distance of about 
 a hundred and fifty yards, came to a spot where 
 a small stream welled from the high bank, and 
 the waters were gathered, before they crossed 
 the road, into a small clear pool : a beautiful 
 object and beautifully situated. The rugged 
 cliff from which the spring flowed, like a parent 
 looking into a child's eyes, bent over the foun- 
 tain, and caught the image of itself. The stars 
 Avere mirrored in it ; and a light birch that 
 grew beside it, bent its head down to drink. 
 
 " I will sit here," said Iola, " upon this 
 stone, where I have often sat before, if you 
 will run up the bank by that little path, which 
 will lead you to a spot where a greater part of 
 the road can be seen. Stop where the path 
 stops ; and do not be long, for I shall be fright- 
 
236 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 ened. I do not know whether you can see 
 anything upon the road in this dark night ; 
 but the sand is light of colour, so as to show 
 anything dark moving upon it, I think." 
 
 " I will leave the Arab with you," said 
 Chartley. "You can trust him fully. Stay 
 with the lady, Ibn Ayoub," he continued, 
 " and guard her as you would the prophet's 
 tomb." 
 
 The man folded his arms upon his breast, 
 and remained precisely in the same attitude, 
 at the distance of three or four paces, while 
 his lord ran lightly up the path ; and Iola, 
 seating herself by the fountain, gazed down 
 upon the limpid water, from which a dim 
 shadowy form looked up at her again. What 
 were her thoughts then ? Perhaps, she too, 
 contemplated the result of all obstacles to her 
 return to the abbey being removed, the conse- 
 quent parting with her young and kind com- 
 panion, and the probability of her never meeting 
 with him again. It was not without a feeling 
 of regret. She almost wished that she had not 
 
THE WOODMAN. 237 
 
 proposed to Chartley, to see whether the troops 
 
 were still there or not ; and, then she was angry 
 
 with herself for entertaining such feelings. 
 
 Then she meditated upon the passing the night 
 
 with him in the ruins ; and certainly she did not 
 
 regard such a thing in the same way that he 
 
 did. She felt a little alarmed, of she knew not 
 
 what, a hesitation, a doubt. It would feel very 
 
 strange, she thought — almost wrong. While 
 
 there had seemed no other choice, such feelings 
 
 had never presented themselves, but now they 
 
 were strong. It would be very pleasant, she 
 
 could not deny, to have his society for some time 
 
 longer — with friends and companions about 
 
 them ; but alone, in a remote place, with the 
 
 world's eye afar — that eye which acts as a bond 
 
 but a safeguard, a restraint but a justification — 
 
 the matter was very different. Yet — strange, 
 
 human nature ! — when, a moment after, she 
 
 heard a blast of a trumpet coming from the 
 
 road, and a loud voice shouting forth some 
 
 orders, it was a relief to her. Perhaps she 
 
 feared the parting with Chartley so soon, even 
 
238 THE WOODMAN, 
 
 more than passing of a night with him in the 
 old castle. Dear girl, she could not help it. 
 It was no fault of hers. Nature taught her to 
 cling to that which had protected her. Nature 
 taught her to love that which came upon her 
 hitherto dull existence, like the first gleam of 
 summer's returning sunshine into the wintry 
 sky. 
 
 A moment after, Chartley's step was heard 
 returning ; and running down the bank, he said : 
 
 " They are upon the road still, and moreover, 
 preparing to surround the wood by patrols, 
 probably with the intention of searching it 
 thoroughly to-morrow. Let us on sweet Iola, 
 and seek our place of refuge, for we have no 
 choice left ; and they may perchance push some 
 of their parties along these broader paths to- 
 night. I should not like to come into collision 
 with them, if I can help it. Here, let me stay 
 your steps ;" and once more, he drew her arm 
 through his. 
 
 " I had hoped," answered Iola — little hypo- 
 crite — " that they were all gone, and that you 
 
THE WOODMAN. 239 
 
 might be spared farther trouble on my account 
 to-night." 
 
 "Trouble !" said Chartley ; and he laughed. 
 u I know not what you feel, dear lady ; but I 
 cannot, for my life, think all this night's ad- 
 venture so very disastrous. I grieve, of course, 
 that you should be alarmed or pained in any- 
 way ; but, yet a few hours of such sweet so- 
 ciety, the power of protecting, assisting, sup- 
 porting you, the linking of feelings, and sympa- 
 thies, and associations with yours, even for so 
 short a space, has something very pleasant in 
 it. Whatever may be our fate hereafter, Lady 
 Iola, we shall both remember this night, as one 
 of those high points of time, which raise their 
 heads out of the ocean of the past, and glitter 
 afar in the light of memory." 
 
 " I must tell him about myself and my fate," 
 thought Iola ; but Chartley pursued the subject 
 no farther ; and turning back upon their steps, 
 they renewed their ascent towards the castle, 
 winding along amongst the trees, which were 
 
240 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 there farther apart and less encumbered by 
 underwood. 
 
 How rapidly the wild encroaches upon the 
 cultivated, when the hand of man is once with- 
 drawn. In former years- — not very long before, 
 certainly not a century — the detached elevation 
 in the wood, on which the castle stood, had been 
 covered with smooth, clean-shaven green turf, 
 without tree or shrub, which could cover an 
 approaching enemy from the shafts of the 
 garrison. It had its road winding round it 
 from the principal gate, and passing, till it 
 approached the edge of the neighbouring forest, 
 within bow shot of some loop hole or battle- 
 ment, at every turn. Now the trees had grown 
 over the whole mount, as thick and close as 
 any where in the wood — over road and all ; and 
 nothing but a pathway remained, where bands 
 of retainers had formerly ridden up and down 
 on horseback The self sown oaks, indeed were 
 small and thin ; but there were some enormous 
 ash trees, and large fine elms and beaches, which 
 
THE WOODMAN. 241 
 
 no one would have supposed of so late a 
 growth. A great number of birches — " the 
 ladies of the wood," — mingled their slight silvery 
 stems with the sturdier and more lordly forest 
 trees, and the winged seeds of the ash, wafted 
 to the walls, had planted themselves here and 
 there, wherever a fallen stone had left a vacant 
 space in the mortar, and had shot up into feathery 
 shrubs, fringing the ancient battlements and 
 cresting the tall tower. Thus, in the early 
 summer time, when leaves are green, the castle 
 at a distance could hardly be distinguished 
 from the forest. 
 
 Up the small path I have mentioned, Iola 
 and Chartley took their way, and at length 
 stood under the old arch of the barbican. One of 
 the towers which had flanked it, had fallen 
 down, and filling up the fosse, afforded a 
 firmer path than the drawbridge, which, partly 
 broken down, I know not whether by age or 
 war, offered but an insecure footing. One of 
 the long beams indeed, and two or three of the 
 planks still hung by the heavy chain used for- 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
242 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 merly to raise the bridge ; but Iola hesitated, 
 although she had often crossed before, fearing 
 in the darkness, to lose her footing on the 
 bridge, or to stumble amongst the stones, if she 
 chose the path over the fallen tower. Chartley 
 instantly divined her doubt, and going on part 
 of the way over the drawbridge, held out his 
 hand, saying : " Let me steady your steps. It 
 is quite firm." 
 
 Iola followed at once ; and the Arab came 
 after ; but when they reached the great gate, 
 the lady again paused, saying, " It is so dark, 
 I fear we shall never find our way about the 
 building, without the risk of some accident, 
 for many of the steps are broken down, and 
 fragments of the walls, encumber the doorways, 
 although some of the rooms in the keep are 
 almost as if they had been just inhabited. I 
 wonder how long it is to daybreak." 
 
 " I have not heard the bell for lauds," re- 
 plied Chartley, " and therefore, probably, three 
 or four hours may elapse before we see the face 
 of day. Perhaps, however, we can contrive to 
 
THE WOODMAN. 243 
 
 light a fire somewhere in the court, for the high 
 trees and walls would screen it from the eyes 
 of the men upon the road." 
 
 " Let us find our way into the great court 
 first," said Iola. " There is plenty of dry wood 
 about the place, if we could but find a light." 
 
 " That will be soon obtained," answered Lord 
 Chartley, " and, perhaps, something that may 
 serve the purpose of a torch or candle also ;" 
 and, speaking a few words to the Arab, which 
 Iola did not understand, he led the way forward, 
 stretching out his hands,like a blindman,to make 
 sure of the path he trod ; for if the night 
 was dark without, the darkness was doubly 
 deep under the shadow of the arch. After 
 passing through the gateway, the great court 
 seemed light enough by comparison. In the 
 centre rose the large keep or donjon tower, 
 frowning heavily over the scene below ; and forth 
 from the side of the keep came a pile of very 
 ancient buildings, now silent and desolate like 
 the rest. 
 
 Chartley and Iola are now alone ; for the 
 
 m 2 
 
"244 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Arab had left them. But yet she did not and 
 she would not fear, for she had great confidence 
 in her companion, and woman's confidence is 
 of a very capacious measure. Nor did he 
 wrong it — shame upon him who does — but, 
 guiding her quietly to the flight of steps lead- 
 ing into the keep, he made her sit down upon 
 the dilapidated stairs, and stood beside her, 
 talking about subjects which could awake no 
 emotion, or a very slight one, and, informing 
 her that he had sent the slave to seek for 
 materials to light a fire. None of those 
 events, however, occurred, which continually 
 happen to people cast upon a desert island. 
 There were none of those appliances or means 
 at hand, with which wandering sailors are usu- 
 ally supplied accidentally. No bituminous 
 pine was found to fulfil the office of a torch ; 
 and at length after the Arab's return, the only 
 resource of the fugitives was to light a fire, after 
 the most ancient and approved fashion, by a 
 flint and steel. This, however, was accom- 
 plished with less difficulty than might have 
 
THE WOODMAN. 
 
 245 
 
 been expected, the young lord's dagger sup- 
 plying the steel, and flints being numerous in 
 the neighbourhood. The old brown leaves, and 
 the young but well dried shoots, soon caught 
 the flame ; and in a few minutes the joyous 
 light was spreading round the old court yard, 
 and raising Iola's spirits by the very look. 
 
 " Ah, now we can rest here in comfort," said 
 the young lady gazing around her ; " but the 
 light is not yet sufficient to see the inside of the 
 hall." 
 
 " But still you cannot sleep here, sweet Iola," 
 answered her companion. " I and the slave 
 will go in and light a fire in the hall, if you will 
 tend this in the meanwhile." 
 
 " Nay,' she answered, " I want not to sleep ;" 
 and she detained him gently by the arm. " Let 
 us sit down here. See here is a stone bench 
 bowered in the ivy. We can pass the night 
 in telling tales ; and first you shall inform me 
 how you came hither on foot in the forest, 
 when I thought you had gone away for Lei- 
 cester." 
 
246 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Lord Chartley easily satisfied her on that 
 point ; and seated on the stone bench by her 
 side, as near as possible, gazing from time to 
 time on her bright countenance, by the gleams 
 of the firelight, he related to her all that had 
 occurred to him since he had left the abbey. 
 
 " As to my being on foot," he said, " your 
 good friend the woodman judged it best that I 
 and my Arab should leave our horses at his 
 hut, for fear of attracting attention. All I 
 hope is, that they will not be found there by 
 these good gentlemen, who are watching the 
 wood ; for it might be dangerous if they were 
 recognised as my property." 
 
 "There is a great risk indeed," said Iola 
 anxiously. " What will you do if such should 
 be the case ?" 
 
 " As best I can," answered Chartley. " I 
 never premeditate, dear lady ; for I always re- 
 mark that those who go lightly and carelessly 
 through the world, go the farthest. The cir- 
 cumstances of the moment determine my con- 
 duct ; and as I have no ties to bind me but 
 
THE WOODMAN. 247 
 
 those of honour and truth, no ambitious schemes 
 to be frustrated or executed, no deeds done that 
 I am ashamed of, so I have never any great 
 store of fears for the future, nor much need of 
 forming plans at any time for after action. " 
 
 "Happy are those," answered Iola with a 
 sigh, " who, as you say, have no ties to bind 
 them." 
 
 Her reply was a natural one, springing at 
 once from what was passing in her own heart. 
 Something had whispered that it would be better 
 to tell her companion, that her own fate was 
 linked to another, that she had been contracted 
 in fact in infancy, by her relations, to a person 
 of whom she knew nothing. The thought of 
 informing him of her fate, however, led her to 
 think of that fate itself; and thence came the 
 sigh and the answer that she made. But as 
 soon as it was uttered, she felt that it rendered 
 more difficult, nay impossible, the task of tell- 
 ing the circumstances as she had meditated. The 
 words she had just spoken, the sigh she had 
 just breathed, expressed too clearly the regret 
 
248 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 that she really felt ; but to explain to him the 
 source of that regret, to show him the nature of 
 the tie that oppressed her, would, she thought, 
 be unwomanly and indecent. 
 
 Her words, however, had not been un- 
 marked; and Chartley, reading them wrongly, 
 pressed her gaily for explanation. 
 
 " Nay," he said, " you have no ties to re- 
 gret. Your good aunt, the abbess, told me 
 herself, that you are not destined for the life of 
 the convent. If you do take the veil, it must 
 be from some fancied resolution of your own 
 heart, against which, it is the duty of every 
 knight and gentleman to war. Fie, fie ! Let 
 those who have tasted the world and found it 
 bitter ; let those to whom it has pleased Heaven 
 to deny beauty, and grace, and mind, and kindly 
 feeling ; let those who have sorrows to mourn, 
 or evil acts to repent, seek the shades of the 
 convent ; but do not bury there charms of per- 
 son, and mind, and heart, such as yours, in- 
 tended by Heaven to be the blessing and the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 294 
 
 hope and the comfort of another. I must not, 
 I will not have it." 
 
 He spoke so eagerly, so warmly, and his eyes 
 looked so bright, that Iola felt glad the Arab 
 was standing near piling fresh wood upon the 
 fire. She knew not how to answer ; but at 
 length she said. "I am not destined for 
 a convent ; but there may be other ties as 
 binding as the vow to the veil." 
 
 "You are not married," exclaimed Chartley, 
 starting ; and then he added, with a laugh — a 
 gladsome laugh. " No, no. You told me your- 
 self that you had only seen one other young 
 man twice in life besides myself." 
 
 " No, not married — " answered Iola, casting 
 down her eyes, and speaking in a low and sad 
 tone. But her farther reply was interrupted ; 
 for the Arab suddenly lifted his finger with a 
 warning gesture, and said in a low voice : 
 
 " Steps come." 
 
 " Let us into the old hall," said Chartley, 
 rising, and taking a burning brand from the 
 fire. " This will give us some light at least. 
 
 m 3 
 
250 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Ibn Ayoub, stay you in the archway till I 
 return. I will come directly ; but let no one 
 
 The Arab drew a long sharp pointed knife 
 from his girdle, saying ; "I will take care ;" 
 and the young lord and Iola hurried, through 
 the gateway of the keep, into the interior of the 
 building. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In a small, but rich and beautiful Gothic 
 chamber, splendidly decorated, and splendidly 
 furnished, sat a gentleman, in the very prime 
 of life, at a table covered with manifold papers. 
 His dress was gorgeous ; but the eye rested 
 hardly for a moment on the splendour of his 
 apparel, for there was something in his coun- 
 tenance which at once fixed all attention upon 
 itself. The features were delicate and beautiful, 
 the eyes dark, keen, and expressive. The lips 
 were somewhat thin, and apparently habitually 
 compressed, though when they parted they 
 
252 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 showed a row of teeth as white as snow. The 
 long dark brown hair was of silky fineness and 
 gloss, bending in graceful waves about a brow 
 broad, high, and majestic, which would have 
 been perfect in form, had not habit or nature 
 stamped a wrinkled frown upon it, while some 
 long lines, the traces of deep thought, fur- 
 rowed the wide expanse which age has not yet 
 had time to touch. He was in the prime of 
 life, the early prime, for he had not yet seen 
 three and thirty years ; and not a particle of 
 bodily or mental energy had been lost ; but yet 
 his form did not give any promise of great 
 strength, for he was somewhat below the mid- 
 dle height, and the limbs seemed small and 
 delicate. One shoulder was rather higher 
 than the other, but not so much so as to be a 
 striking deformity ; and the left arm seemed 
 somewhat smaller than its fellow. No means 
 had been taken to conceal these defects ; and 
 yet he might have passed anywhere for an 
 exceedingly good-looking man, had it not been 
 for a certain expression of fierce and fiery pas- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 253 
 
 sion which occasionally came into his counte- 
 nance, blending strangely with the look of 
 sarcastic acuteness which it usually bore. It 
 was upon his face at that moment, as he read 
 a letter before him ; but it passed away speedily, 
 and it was with a bitter smile he said — speak- 
 ing to himself, for there was no one else in the 
 room — 
 
 " Not know ? He must be made to know ! 
 We will pluck the heart of this treason out ;" 
 and he wrote a few words hastily on the back 
 of the letter which he had been reading. 
 
 Then, however, he paused, laid his finger on 
 his temple, and thought deeply for a minute or 
 two. " No," he said at length, " no ! It must 
 be passed over. If they catch him in the 
 abbey, the lad's fault shall be passed over. He 
 has served the purposes of a decoy — done good 
 service without knowing it ; and we will not 
 kill the bird that lures the game to us, though 
 it little thinks that it betrays its fellows — per- 
 haps imagines it is serving them, not us. I 
 have heard there was friendship between the 
 
254 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 bishop and his father ; and we must alienate 
 no friends just now — Friends !" he continued, 
 with a bitter sneer. " What are friends 1 I 
 know but one, whom men can ever count upon ; 
 and he dwells here;" and at the same time he 
 laid his hand significantly on his own broad 
 forehead. 
 
 He then took the pen again, and struck out 
 the words he had written on the paper, pushed 
 it aside, raised another, and after glancing 
 over it, clapped his hands, exclaiming — 
 
 "Without there!" 
 
 A servant instantly appeared ; and the king, 
 for it was Richard himself, demanded — 
 
 " Did you not tell me that this man, John 
 Radnor, had been killed by a fall from his 
 horse ?" 
 
 " Yes, sire," answered the servant, " so the 
 posts say, who brought your grace the news 
 that the earl of Richmond's fleet had been 
 dispersed. He was found dead upon the road, 
 but with his purse and papers all secure, so 
 that they could not be thieves who slew him." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 255 
 
 " I trust there are few such left in the land," 
 said Richard. " I have done something al* 
 ready to crush the lawless spirit engendered 
 in this country by long turbulence and domestic 
 strife; and I will trample out the last spark 
 ere I have done. By Christ, the name of thief 
 shall be unknown in the land if I live long 
 enough. — I grieve for this man," he continued 
 musing. " He was a serviceable knave, and 
 one, to whose dexterity we could trust instruc- 
 tions somewhat difficult to write, and yet not 
 make him an ambassador — Send Sir John 
 Thoresby to me," he continued, " and as soon 
 as Sir Charles Weinants comes, give him ad- 
 mission." 
 
 With a low reverence, the man withdrew : 
 and the king busied himself with the papers 
 again, till the door opened and a gentleman in 
 black entered the room. 
 
 " Let those be answered, Sir John," said the 
 king, pushing some letters to him, " and take 
 order that lodging and entertainment be pre- 
 pared at York for the Princess, Countess of 
 
256 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 Arran. Send off too, by a private hand, which 
 can be trusted, a letter to the king her brother, 
 greeting him well from us, and telling him that 
 the secret note, sent with the letters of the coun- 
 tess, has been received. Bid him set his mind at 
 ease, for that the matter is very sure, and that 
 search, as she will, search will be fruitless, so 
 that she can come safely. — Have you seen the 
 queen ?" 
 
 ''• I passed her but now, your grace, in the 
 hall," replied the gentleman ; " and she en- 
 quired if there were any news from Middle- 
 ham. She seemed much alarmed on account 
 of the prince's illness." 
 
 " Oh, it is nothing, it is nothing," answered 
 the king. " It will soon pass. Children are 
 well and ill in a day. The next post will 
 bring us news that he is better ; but women 
 are full of fears — Yet it is strange we have not 
 heard to-day — I will go and see her, while you 
 write here ;" and with a slow pace and thought- 
 ful air, he quitted the room. 
 
 At the end of a short corridor, Richard 
 
THE WOODMAN. 257 
 
 opened a door which gave him admission to a 
 large old hall, in one part of which were 
 seated several young ladies of high family, 
 working busily at embroidery frames. At one 
 of the tall arched windows, gazing out on the 
 prospect below, with a look of restless anxiety 
 on her face, stood the fair and unfortunate 
 daughter of the earl of Warwick, his youngest 
 and his best beloved, whom with the prophetic 
 spirit of parental affection, he had endea- 
 voured in vain to hide from the pursuit of him, 
 who never set his eyes upon an object without 
 sooner or later attaining it. She was richly 
 dressed, according to the mode of those times ; 
 and her slight figure and her fair face, still re- 
 tained many traces of that delicate and femi- 
 nine beauty which had once so highly distin- 
 guished them. 
 
 The instant she heard her husband's step, she 
 turned quickly round with a timid and in- 
 quiring glance ; but Richard was in one of his 
 milder moods. The subject of his thought and 
 hers, was one of common affection ; and he 
 
258 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 advanced tenderly towards her, and took her 
 in his arms saying — 
 
 " I have heard nothing, Ann ; but cast these 
 fears from your mind. I trust that this is no- 
 thing but one of those sicknesses of childhood 
 which come and pass away like spring 
 showers." 
 
 The tears came into the queen's eyes, rising 
 from very mingled emotions. Her apprehen- 
 sion for her child, her husband's tenderness, 
 the feeling perhaps of her own failing health, 
 the recollections of early years, all moved her 
 heart; and yet she feared that her emotions 
 might rouse an impatient spirit in Richard's 
 breast. 
 
 It was not so, however ; and pressing her 
 somewhat closer to him, he said — 
 
 " Well, well, wipe away your tears, love. If 
 we hear not better tidings to-day, thou shalt go 
 to Middleham ; and I will go with thee." 
 
 " Thanks, my gracious lord, thanks," replied 
 the queen. " Perhaps it is but a weak wo- 
 man's fears for her only one, that so sink my 
 
THE WOODMAN. 259 
 
 spirit ; but I feel to-day a sort of awe, as if of 
 approaching fate." 
 
 " You give way, you give way," said Richard 
 with a slight touch of impatience. " However, 
 there is good news abroad. This rash, exiled 
 earl of Richmond, whom you have heard of 
 doubtless, has seen his Breton ships — which 
 the good doating duke now bitterly regrets he 
 lent him — dispersed and broken by a heavy 
 tempest; and he himself has slunk back to 
 St. Maloes ; but I have already limed some 
 twigs for this light bird, which will yet stick 
 to his feet ; and he may find conveyance into 
 England more speedy, though not so prosper- 
 ous as that which he has been contriving for 
 himself. — How now, Lovel? You look peril- 
 ous grim, as if you and your cognizance had 
 changed countenances." 
 
 " I grieve to be the bearer of bad tidings, 
 gracious sire," replied Lord Lovel, to whom 
 these words were addressed, and who had en- 
 tered the room the moment before : " I did not 
 
260 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 know that either of your graces were here, and 
 was hastening to your closet." 
 
 " But, the news, the news," cried Richard, 
 eagerly. " Heavy tidings grow doubly weighty 
 by long carrying — Out with them, man. Is 
 there a new insurrection in the west ? — Has 
 Richmond landed ? — Speak, speak at once !" 
 
 " I had better have your grace's private ear 
 for a few minutes," replied Lord Lovel, in a 
 low and very sad tone, at the same time giving 
 a glance towards the queen. Her eyes were 
 fixed upon his face ; and she caught the ex- 
 pression at once. 
 
 " My boy," she exclaimed. " He is worse. 
 He is hopeless — I see it there — I see it there ;" 
 and she pointed with her hand to his face. 
 
 Richard gazed at him in profound, deathlike 
 silence, with his brow knitted over his fine keen 
 eyes, and the thin, pale lip quivering fearfully. 
 It was a terrible thing to see the traces of such 
 deep and unwonted emotion on that powerful 
 and commanding countenance; and Lovel felt al- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 261 
 
 most afraid to proceed. Richard tried to speak ; 
 but for the first time in life, his voice found no 
 utterance ; and all he could do, was to make a 
 vehement sign for his favourite to go on. 
 
 " Alas, sire," said Lovel, in a tone of un- 
 feigned anguish, " your worst fears are, I grieve 
 to say " 
 
 " No, no," cried Richard, in a broken voice, 
 grasping his arm as if he would have sunk the 
 fingers into the flesh. " No, no, not the worst 
 — not the worst ! — He is very ill, you would 
 say — The physicians have no hope — but we 
 will find more, wiser, skilfuller ! There are 
 simples of great power — There are — There 
 are — No, not dead, not dead — no, not dead, not 
 dead ! — Oh, Jesu !" and he fell headlong to the 
 ground. 
 
 The unhappy queen stood with her hands 
 clasped together, her eyes bent upon the floor, 
 not a trace of colour in her cheeks or lips. 
 She moved not, she spoke not, she wept not, 
 she uttered no cry, but remained standing like 
 a statue where the words had reached her ears 
 
262 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 with all the terrible anguish of the moment 
 concentrated in her heart. 
 
 In the meantime, the embroidery frames 
 were cast away. Her ladies gathered round 
 her, and drew her gently to her chair of state, 
 in which they placed her unresisting ; but there 
 she remained, precisely as they had seated her, 
 with her eyes still bent down, and her lips still 
 motionless. At the same time, Lovel raised 
 the king, and called loudly for assistance. At- 
 tendants hurried in, and amongst them the 
 messenger from Middleham, who had brought 
 the tidings of the young prince's death, and 
 had been left at the door by Lord Lovel, when 
 he undertook to communicate the sad intelli- 
 gence. But it was long ere Richard could be 
 brought to himself ; and then he sat where they 
 had placed him, rubbing his brow with his 
 hand, and muttering broken sentences to him- 
 self. At length he looked up, and gazed with 
 a curious, wild expression of countenance — still 
 shrewd, still cunning, but hardly sane ; and 
 
THE WOODMAN. 263 
 
 then he laughed aloud, and rising from his 
 chair, exclaimed : 
 
 " Why this is well. Why, this is mighty 
 well ! We'll march ten thousand men on York, 
 to-morrow, and then to Middleham. — We'll 
 have cannon too, aye, cannon too, lest the 
 usurper should refuse to give up the boy. 
 Why, he is the son of a king, a prince — a prince 
 I tell you, Lovel, the dog — Ha, ha, ha ! That 
 was a merry distich — 
 
 "The cat, the rat, and Lovel, the dog, 
 Rule all England under the hog." 
 
 But we paid the poet handsomely. — Kings 
 should be always bountiful to poets — Good Sir 
 John Collingburn, he little thought that he 
 should be hanged for the cat, drawn for the 
 rat, and quartered for Lovel the dog — Ha, ha, 
 ha ! It is very good." 
 
 At that moment, the queen's lips moved ; 
 and raising her eyes towards Heaven, she began 
 to sing a sweet and plaintive air, in a very 
 musical voice : 
 
264 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " The castle stood on a hill side, 
 
 Hey ho, hey ho, 
 And there came frost in the summer tide, 
 
 Hey ho, the wind and the snow- 
 
 ** A hoy looked from the casement there, 
 
 Hey ho, hey ho, 
 And his face was like an angel's fair ; 
 
 Hey ho, how the violets grow. 
 
 " The snow, it fell on his golden hair, 
 
 Hey ho, hey ho, 
 And the wind has blighted the flower so fair, 
 
 Hey ho, the flower's laid low." 
 
 I think I'll go to bed, ladies. It is growing 
 dark ; but this night gear is somewhat stiff and 
 
 cold, and I think it is dabbled with blood 
 
 Blood, blood, blood ! Yes it is blood!" and she 
 uttered a loud scream.* 
 
 In the midst of this distressing scene, Lord 
 Lovel stood like one bewildered ; and he noted 
 
 * For an account of the terrible effect — approaching 
 to madness — of the death of Edward, Prince of Wales, 
 upon Richard III. and his queen, see the history of Croy- 
 land Abbey. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 265 
 
 not, that while the king was speaking, another 
 person, none of the ordinary attendants had 
 entered the room. Now, however, Sir Charles 
 Weinants pulled him by the sleeve, saying in a 
 low voice : " I ought to speak with the king 
 immediately ; but he seems in no fit state, my 
 lord. What is all this?" 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Lovel, in a whisper. 
 " Go into the closet. I will come and speak 
 with you, for I have full instructions. The 
 king is indisposed, with the sad news from 
 Middleham. He will soon be better. I will 
 join you in a minute. Your business will bear 
 no delay." 
 
 Thus saying, he turned to the king again ; 
 and Sir Charles Weinants, with a slow and quiet 
 step, crossed the hall, and proceeding through 
 the short corridor I have mentioned, reached 
 the king's closet. He there found Sir John 
 Thoresby, writing diligently ; and the latter 
 merely raised his head for an instant, gave a 
 brief nod, and resumed his occupation. Sir 
 Charles Weinants, ever discreet, walked to the 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
266 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 window, and looked out ; for, as I have before 
 said, there were manifold papers and letters 
 on the table, and he knew that it was danger- 
 ous, even to let the eye pause upon any of 
 Richard's secrets. He waited there with per- 
 severing patience, saying not a word to Sir 
 John Thoresby, and never turning round his 
 head, till Lovel entered the room, at the end 
 of about ten minutes, and boldly dismissed the 
 secretary for a few moments. 
 
 " Now, Sir Charles," said the king's favourite. 
 " His grace, thank Heaven, is somewhat better, 
 and will soon be well. We have persuaded 
 him to let blood ; for his spirits are too much 
 oppressed. This is a severe blow, the death 
 of the young prince, and will make many 
 changes in the realm. You received the king's 
 letter ? ' 
 
 "In safety, my good lord," replied Sir 
 Charles, " but not the letter which was to have 
 followed, informing me whether the Duke of 
 Bretagne would receive me on this errand or 
 
THE WOODMAN. 267 
 
 ' How is that?" exclaimed Lord Lovel. 
 We sent it to York, thinking to find you 
 there ;" and he laid his hand upon his brow 
 and thought. " Ratcliff, in his last letter, re- 
 ceived but this morning, assured me that he 
 had sent it on to you at Tamworth, by a trusty 
 messenger, who was passing from Scotland to 
 the king. Now, it should have reached you 
 some days ago, for Ratcliff thought we were 
 at Coventry, and his letter to me has gone 
 round. 
 
 " It never reached me, my lord," replied Sir 
 Charles Weinants, "and yet I made known 
 my name and quality wherever I came, and 
 bade my servants watch well, in order that no 
 news from the court might miss me." 
 
 " It must be inquired into," replied Lovel ; 
 " but, in the mean time you must hasten your 
 departure ; for I have seen the reply from Bre- 
 tagne, and you will be received with all favour. 
 Monsieur Landais is fully gained ; and all 
 that is required, is some one to confirm the 
 king's promises, and give an earnest of his 
 
 * 2 
 
268 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 goodwill towards the duke. You must set out 
 this very night. I trust by that time, his grace 
 will be well enough to see you himself and 
 give you his last instructions ; for his is not a 
 mind to bend long, even under the burden cast 
 upon it." 
 
 These words seemed intended to conclude 
 the conversation; but Sir Charles Weinants 
 still stayed and mused. At length he looked 
 up in Lovel's face with a smile, saying, " I 
 always love to be successful in my negociations ; 
 and methinks, this young vapouring earl may 
 take fright when he hears of my coming. 
 Were it not better to go with the most perfect 
 secrecy V 3 
 
 " Nay, that would be hardly possible," an- 
 swered Lovel ; but we have been thoughtful. 
 You must go in some sort as a fugitive. A 
 report has already been spread that you are 
 suspected by the king. Measures will be taken 
 to strengthen the belief; and, while you bear 
 full powers as his envoy, and the money for 
 Landais, you must quit the court suddenly by 
 
THE WOODMAN. 269 
 
 dark ; and with a small train affect to seek 
 refuge in Brittany. The news of your dis- 
 grace has gone before ; but good Monsieur 
 Landais is made aware of the truth, and pre- 
 pared to receive you." 
 
 Sir Charles Weinants was not altogether well 
 pleased with the arrangement; but he was 
 discreet — very discreet ; and he did not think 
 fit to make any objection. However, he knew 
 there could be no harm in establishing a claim 
 where none previously existed ; for he was well 
 aware that great men are ever ready enough to 
 deny a claim, whether it exists or not. He 
 therefore said quietly. " The king's will, of 
 course, I submit to without a murmur, my 
 good lord ; but it is a very unpleasant sort of 
 reputation for an ambassador to appear with, 
 that of a fugitive and a traitor ; and I trust 
 that his grace will remember that I take upon 
 myself such a character solely in obedience to 
 his commands." 
 
 " You shall not be forgotten, Sir Charles," 
 replied Lovel ; entertaining, but not uttering 
 
270 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 precisely the same sentiment, which was after- 
 wards boldly propounded by a vast minded but 
 little spirited man ; namely, that " to submit to 
 indignities is the way to rise to dignities/ 5 
 
 " The king never neglects," he said, " those 
 who place themselves in painful situations for 
 his service. And now, Sir Charles, prepare, pre- 
 pare — but quietly ; never forgetting that your 
 preparations are to be those of a fugitive. 
 The ambassador is to come after, you know. 
 When you have Harry of Richmond firm in 
 your grasp, the splendour of your train shall 
 efface the memory of its scantiness now. 
 Hark ! There is the king's voice, and his step 
 comjng hither. Do not wait or take any 
 notice. I dare say the barber is here to bleed 
 him." * 
 
 The next instant Richard entered the closet ; 
 and Sir Charles Weinants passed him, bowing 
 
 * Richard's attempt to obtain possession of the per- 
 son of Richmond by bribing Landais, the duke of 
 Britanny's minister, is too well known to need parti- 
 cular notice. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 271 
 
 low and reverently. But the king took no 
 farther notice of him, than merely by giving a 
 slow and inquiring glance, from under his bent 
 brows, at the face of Lis envoy ; and then seat- 
 ing himself in a chair, he suffered one of two 
 persons who followed him into the room to 
 withdraw his arm from his doublet, the 
 barber-surgeon, who was close behind, directing 
 the valet particularly to give him the left arm, as 
 that was nearest to the heart. The servant 
 then held a silver basin, while the operator 
 made his preparations and opened a vein. 
 During all this time Richard uttered not a 
 word, but sat with his brows contracted, and 
 his dark thoughtful eyes fixed upon vacancy, 
 till the sombre red blood began to flow forth 
 from the vein ; and then he turned his look 
 upon the stream, and seemed to watch it 
 curiously. At length, he lifted his right hand 
 to his head, saying. " I am better — Open the 
 window. Give me air;" and the servant in- 
 stantly hurried to obey his commands. The 
 barber suffered the blood still to flow on, for 
 
272 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 a little while, and then bound up the king's 
 arm. 
 
 " I am better, said Richard. " I am better ; 
 and stretching forth his hands, he added, in an 
 imperative tone. " Leave me — All leave me ! 
 I am better — I would be alone." 
 
 The whole party hastened to obey, and as 
 soon as they were gone, Richard, the iron 
 spirited, relentless Richard, placed his hands 
 before his eyes, and wept. It is a terrible sight, 
 to see a man weep at any time. What must 
 it have been to see tears forced from such a 
 heart as Richard's. 
 
THE WOODMAN. '273 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Let us take up the history of the woodman, 
 after he and the bishop of Ely had quitted 
 Lord Chartley. They crossed rapidly over the 
 road, hearing the sound of horses advancing, 
 and of men speaking, as they did so. Neither 
 uttered a word ; and the prelate was hastily 
 directing his steps towards a spot, where, 
 by the dim light, he saw what seemed a con- 
 tinuation of the path he had just quitted ; but 
 the woodman seized his arm, and drew him on 
 a little way up the road to a place where the 
 bushes seemed so thick as to afford no passage 
 
 n 3 
 
274 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 through them. Putting aside the branches, 
 however, with his sturdy arm, Boyd dragged 
 rather than led Morton forward ; and, for some 
 way, the good bishop fancied that they should 
 never find a path again, so thick and difficult 
 seemed the copse. It extended not fifty yards 
 however ; and, though somewhat scratched by 
 the brambles, which clung round his feet and 
 legs at every step, Morton, at length, found him- 
 self emerging into an open part of the wood, 
 where the ground was covered with thick fern, 
 out of which, every here and there, rose an old 
 hawthorn or the bushy shoots of an oak or 
 beech felled long ago. 
 
 " Tis a rough road," said the woodman, in a low 
 voice, as he relaxed his hold of the prelate's arm. 
 
 " So are all the ways of life, my son," an- 
 swered the bishop. 
 
 " And the roughest often the safest," an- 
 swered Boyd. " I know it by experience. 
 Smooth paths end in precipices." 
 
 At that instant, something started up before 
 them out of the fern ; and a quick rush was 
 
THE WOODMAN. 'i/O 
 
 heard through the neighbouring brushwood. 
 The bishop started, and drew a little back; but 
 Boyd said with a laugh, — 
 
 " Tis but a doe, my lord. If she find her 
 way amongst the soldiers, there will be more 
 chases than one to night. Fear not however. 
 I will answer for your safety, though not for 
 hers." 
 
 " I do not fear," answered the prelate. " In- 
 deed, I am little given to fear ; but, as you 
 doubtless well know my son, the mind has not 
 always that command over the body which can 
 prevent the mere animal impulse from starting 
 at dangers, which calm consideration could 
 meet unshrinking." 
 
 "True," replied the woodman. "So long 
 as life is happy it may be so ; but with the loss 
 of all that makes existence valuable, the body 
 itself loses its sensibility to all signs of danger. 
 Hope, dread, anxiety, and the struggle with the 
 ills of life, make us vibrate as it were to the 
 touch of all external things; but when hope and 
 fear are dead, when there is neither care nor 
 
276 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 thought of existence, 'tis wonderful how this 
 blind horse of the body, ridden by that plod- 
 ding wayfarer, the mind, learns to jog on, with- 
 out starting at anything that glistens on the 
 way — But come on, my good lord, for I must 
 take you first to my cottage, and then send 
 you forward some miles upon your journey." 
 
 Thus saying, he walked forward ; and the good 
 bishop followed through the more open space, 
 musing as he went ; for to say the truth, he 
 was pulled different ways by different inclin- 
 ations. Self preservation, was, of course, one 
 great object ; and that led him to desire im- 
 mediate escape : but yet there was another ob- 
 ject, which he had much at heart, and which 
 would have bound him to remain. Nor was 
 he a man who would suffer the consideration 
 of personal safety alone to make him abandon 
 what he considered a duty; but, as yet, he 
 knew not fully what were the risks, and what 
 the probabilities ; and, as the only means of 
 obtaining information, he, at length, after 
 some consideration, determined to have re- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 277 
 
 course to the woodman. Boyd was striding 
 on however; and it cost the prelate two or 
 three quick steps to overtake him, so as to be 
 able to speak in that low tone which he judged 
 necessary in the existing circumstances. 
 
 " You think you can insure my safety," he 
 said. 
 
 " Beyond a doubt," replied the woodman 
 laconically. 
 
 " But only, I suppose, by instant flight," said 
 the prelate. 
 
 " By flight before daylight," replied Boyd. 
 
 " But if I tell you," continued the bishop, 
 " that it is absolutely necessary, for a great pur- 
 pose I have in view, that I should remain in 
 this immediate neighbourhood for some few 
 days, do you think it possible for me to lie con- 
 cealed here, till I receive the intelligence I am 
 seeking? Remember, I do not heed a little 
 risk, so that my object be attained." 
 
 " That is brave," answered Boyd ; " but yet 
 'tis difficult to weigh nicely in the balance, 
 for another man, the estimation of his own life. 
 
278 THE wood'man. 
 
 If I knew what you sought, I could judge 
 better. However, I will say this : the risk 
 were very great to stay, but yet such as any 
 one of courage would encounter for a great 
 and noble object." 
 
 " Then I will stay," replied the bishop firmly. 
 "My object is a great, and I believe, a just 
 and holy one ; and life must not be weighed 
 in the balance against it. 
 
 " Would that I knew what it is," said the 
 woodman, " for methinks I might show you 
 that more may be gained by going than by 
 staying. Of that, however, anon. Let me see 
 if I can divine your object." 
 
 The bishop shook his head, saying — 
 
 " That is not possible. You are keen and 
 shrewd I see ; but this you could not dis- 
 cover by any means, without information from 
 others." 
 
 " I may have more information than you 
 fancy," answered Boyd ; " but at all events 
 you must tell me fairly, if I am right. 
 You were once esteemed and promoted by 
 
THE WOODMAN. 279 
 
 Harry the Sixth. The house of Lancaster gave 
 your first patrons." 
 
 The bishop winced a little — 
 
 "True," he said, "true!" 
 
 " The house of Lancaster fell," continued 
 the woodman ; " and after the king's death, you 
 continued in office under the opposite faction — 
 I do not blame you, for the cause seemed hope- 
 less." 
 
 " Nay, but hear me," said the bishop in a 
 louder tone than he had hitherto used. " You 
 speak somewhat authoritatively ; and I must 
 explain." 
 
 " I speak plain truth," replied the woodman. 
 " At this hour of the night, and under these 
 gray boughs, we are upon a par. Elsewhere, 
 it is, Morton, Lord Bishop of Ely, and Boyd 
 the woodman. But I have said, I blame you 
 not. What need of explanations ?" 
 
 " Yes, there is need," answered the bishop. 
 " I had my motive for doing as I have done ; 
 and that motive sufficient for my own con- 
 science. As you say the cause of Lancaster 
 
280 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 had fallen, and hopelessly fallen. All efforts 
 in its favour could but produce more blood- 
 shed, and protract a desolating civil strife. 
 By yielding to the conqueror, by giving him 
 the counsel of a christian man, not unversed 
 in affairs of state, I did believe — I do believe, 
 that I could, and did do more good, than if I 
 had withdrawn from the counsels of the ruler 
 of the country, and joined with those who 
 sought to throw him from his seat. I never 
 advised in those affairs, where York and Lan- 
 caster opposed each other. It was part of my 
 compact with him, that I should take no share 
 in acts or councils against a family I once had 
 served. Yet in my humble way I could do 
 good, in moderating the fury of men's passions, 
 and the rancour of party strife." 
 
 "You plead, my lord, to an indictment I 
 have never laid," replied the woodman. " I 
 blame you not. I never thought of blaming 
 you. But hear me on ! You became at- 
 tached to a prince who favoured you greatly — 
 a man of many high qualities, and also of many 
 
THE WOODMAN. 281 
 
 great vices ; brave, courteous, graceful, and 
 good-humoured ; lewd, idle, insincere, and 
 cruel ; a consummate general, a short seeing 
 statesmen, a bad king, a heartless kinsman, a 
 man of pleasant converse, and a devoted friend. 
 You loved him well ; you loved his children 
 better, and would not consent to their murder." 
 
 41 Nay, nay, not their murder," cried the 
 bishop ; " no one ever ventured to speak of 
 their death. Even now, we know not that they 
 are really dead ; but I believe it. If you had 
 said, I would not be consenting to their depri- 
 vation of their rights, you had been justified." 
 
 " Tis the same thing," answered the wood- 
 man ; " deposed princes live not long, where 
 they have many friends in the realm they lose. 
 However, committed to the tower, and then 
 to the custody of Buckingham, you found 
 means to make of your jailer your friend, 
 choosing dexterously a moment of disappoint- 
 ment to turn him to your purposes. I speak 
 now only from hearsay ; but I am told, you 
 two together framed a scheme for choosing a 
 
282 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 new king from the race you first served, and 
 uniting him to the heiress of your second lord. 
 It was a glorious and well devised plan, 
 worthy of a great statesman — ay, and of a 
 christian prelate ; for thereby you might hope 
 to end for ever, a strife which has desolated 
 England for half a century — but rash Buck- 
 ingham lost all at the first attempt. The 
 scheme still lives however, I am told, though 
 one of the great schemers is no more. The 
 other walks here beside me, returned in secret 
 to his native land, after a brief exile, and the 
 question is, for what? Money perhaps, or 
 arms, or friends, I may be told. Yet he would 
 linger still for some intelligence, even when his 
 life is staked ! Has he heard of machinations 
 going on in Britanny, for the overthrow of all 
 his plans, by the betrayal of him on whom 
 their success depends ? Has he heard of secret 
 negociations between the usurper, and a feeble 
 duke or his mercenary minister ? Does he 
 wish to obtain the certainty of such things ? 
 
THE WOODMAN. 283 
 
 and is he willing to stake his life upon the 
 chance of discovering the truth ?" 
 
 He paused as if for an answer ; and the 
 bishop who had been buried in deep thought — 
 considering less the questions put and the tale 
 told, for all that was speedily digested, than 
 the character of his companion — replied at 
 once — 
 
 "You are an extraordinary man, sir, and 
 must speak from something, more sure than a 
 mere guess." 
 
 " Assuredly," replied the woodman, " I 
 speak from calculation. He who, in the calm 
 retirement of a lowly station, removed afar 
 from his fellow men, has still a fair view of the 
 deeds they do, can often, by seeing things, hid- 
 den from the eyes of those who are near the 
 scene of action, judge of the motives and the 
 result, which the one part of those engaged do 
 not know, and the other do not perceive. I 
 once stood upon a high hill, while a battle 
 raged at my feet, and could I have directed, 
 with the prospect of the whole before me, I 
 
284 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 could have made either army win the field ; for 
 I saw what neither saw, and understood what 
 neither understood. Thus is it with a man 
 who stands afar from the troublous strife of 
 human life, with his eye above the passions, 
 the prejudices, and the vanities which more or 
 less interrupt each man's vision on the wide 
 plain of the world where the combat is going 
 on. But yet you have not answered my ques- 
 tion. Have I divined rightly or not ?" 
 
 The bishop paused for another instant, and 
 then replied — 
 
 " Why should I not speak ? My life is in 
 your hand. I can trust no greater thing than 
 I have trusted. — You are right. I have heard 
 of these machinations ; and I have laid my 
 plans for frustrating them, or at least discover- 
 ing them. My faithful servant, companion, 
 and friend, who has accompanied me in^ all my 
 wanderings, has gone on with Sir Charles 
 Weinants even now ; for that is the man who 
 has been entrusted with many a secret negoci- 
 ation between England and Britanny. He, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 285 
 
 my servant, will return in disguise to seek me 
 at the abbey ; and if I go before he arrives, I 
 carry no definite information with me." 
 
 " You must go before he arrives," replied 
 the woodman, " or 'tis likely you will not go at 
 all; but you shall not go bootless — Now let us be 
 silent and cautious, for we are coming near 
 more dangerous ground." 
 
 The hint was not lost upon the bishop, who, 
 though bold and resolute, as I have shown, did 
 not think it necessary to sport with life as a 
 thing of no value. While this conversation 
 had been taking place, they had traversed that 
 more open space of forest ground, which has 
 been mentioned, and were approaching a thicker 
 copse, where sturdy underwood filled all the 
 spaces between the larger trees. It seemed to 
 the bishop, in the dimness of the night, that 
 there would be no possibility of penetrating the 
 vast mass of tangled thicket which rose sweep- 
 ing up the side of the hill before his eyes ; but 
 still the woodman bent his step straight towards 
 
286 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 it, till at length he paused at a spot where there 
 seemed no possible entrance. 
 
 " We are now coming near one of the wider 
 roads of the wood," he said, in a whisper ; " and 
 the little path by which I will lead you, runs 
 within a hundred yards of it, for more than a 
 mile. We must therefore keep silent, and even 
 let our footfalls be light." 
 
 " If we have to force our way through all 
 this brushwood," answered the bishop in the 
 same tone, " the noise will instantly betray the 
 way we take." 
 
 " Fear not," replied Boyd, " only follow me 
 close and steadily. Leaders make bad followers, 
 I know ; but it must be so just now." j 
 
 Thus saying, he pushed aside some of the 
 young ash trees, and held them back with his 
 strong arm, while the bishop came after. Three 
 steps were sufficient to bring them, through 
 the thick screen, to the end of a small path, 
 not above three feet in width, but perfectly clear 
 and open. It was drawn in a line as straight 
 
THE WOODMAN. 287 
 
 as a bowstring, and had probably been formed 
 for the purposes of the chase ; for arrow or 
 bolt sent along it, could not fail to hit any 
 object of large size, such as a stag or fallow 
 deer, at any point within shot. The bishop, it 
 is true, could not see all this, for the boughs 
 were thick over head, though cleared away at 
 the sides ; and he followed slowly and cau- 
 tiously upon the woodman's steps, setting down 
 his feet with that sort of timid doubt, which 
 every one feels more or less when plunged in 
 utter darkness. 
 
 Steadily and quietly, the woodman walked 
 on, seeming to see his way as well in the deep 
 nighjt, as he could have done in the full day ; 
 and at length, after having proceeded, for what 
 seemed to his companion, much more than one 
 mile, he again stopped, where the path abruptly 
 terminated in another thicket. As no sign would 
 have been effectual to convey his meaning, in 
 the profound darkness which reigned around, 
 the woodman was fain to whisper to his compa- 
 nion, to remain for a moment where he stood, 
 
288 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 while an examination was made to ascertain 
 whether the great road was clear. He then 
 forced his way forward through the boughs ; and 
 a moment after, the bishop heard the whining of 
 a dog, followed by the voice of the woodman, 
 saying, " Down, Ban, down. Seek, boy, seek. 
 Is there a strange foot ?" 
 
 A short interval elapsed ; and then was heard 
 the sound of a low growl, very close to the 
 spot where the prelate himself was stationed. 
 
 " Nay, that is a friend," said the woodman, 
 in a low tone. " Come in Ban ! To heel, good 
 dog." 
 
 The sound of the stout and stalwart form of 
 his companion, pushing its way once more 
 through the brushwood, was then heard ; 
 and Boyd again stood by the good prelate's 
 side. 
 
 "All is safe," he said ; "and now you must 
 force your way forward, at the risk of tearing 
 your gown. But never mind that, for you 
 must not travel in this attire ;" and he led the 
 way on. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 289 
 
 After a struggle of some difficulty, with the 
 brambles and thin shoots of the ash, which 
 formed the copse, the bishop found himself in 
 the midst of a small open space, with the road 
 running across it, and the woodman's cottage 
 on the other side. The door was open ; and a 
 faint glare, as from a half extinguished fire, 
 came forth into the air, showing the tall, sinewy 
 form of the woodman, and the gaunt outline 
 of his gigantic hound. The cottage soon re- 
 ceived the whole party ; and, closing and barring 
 the door, Boyd pointed to the threshold, saying 
 to the dog," Down, Ban ! Watch!" and imme- 
 diately the obedient animal laid himself across 
 the door way, and remained with his head 
 raised, his ears erect, and his muzzle turned 
 towards the entrance, as if listening for the 
 sound of approaching footsteps. 
 
 " Now, reverend father and good lord," said 
 Boyd, " we must not dally. You must throw 
 away that gown, and put on this common wag- 
 goner's frock. You must cover the tonsure 
 with this peasant's bonnet, and take part in 
 
 vol. i. o 
 
290 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 driving a load of wood a stage on the way to 
 Litchfield. You will be met with by those who 
 will see you safely to the coast ; and you will 
 have one with you, who will in reality perforin 
 the office — unworthy of your profession and 
 name — which you must seem to fulfil only for 
 the sake of security. I will bring you the gar- 
 ments in a moment ; but first," he continued, 
 " let me place in your hands this letter, which 
 you must conceal with the greatest care, and 
 contrive to convey it to the earl of Richmond. 
 How it fell into my hands matters not ; but if 
 you run your eye over it, you will see, that it 
 contains all the information for which you were 
 inclined to wait — Stay, I will give you a light ;" 
 and stirring the fire into a blaze, he lighted a 
 lamp at the flame. 
 
 " Ha, from Landais, himself," exclaimed the 
 bishop, as he read the letter, " with a promise 
 to arrest the earl and all his companions, as 
 soon as Richard's ambassador has arrived, and 
 the money is paid ! — The money is paid ! What 
 may that mean ?" 
 
THE WOODMAN. 291 
 
 " Can you not divine, good father ?" asked the 
 woodman. " In this good world of ours, there 
 is a price for everything. We are all mer- 
 chants, traders with what we make, or with 
 what we possess. One man sells his barony, 
 another his honour, another his conscience, 
 another his soul. One acquires for himself 
 power and sells the use of it, another gains a 
 reputation and trades on that, as others do on 
 learning or on skill. There is a difference of 
 prices too ; and the coin in which men require 
 payment, is various. A kingly crown is the 
 price which some demand ; a high office the 
 price of others. The crosier or the triple 
 crown is one man's price ; the smile of a fan- 
 lady is another's ; the sordid soul requires mere 
 money ; and this Landais, this Breton peasant, 
 risen to be the minister and ruler of his imbe- 
 cile prince, sells the duke's honour and his own 
 for hard gold* Ha, ha, ha ! He is quite right ; 
 for, of all the things which go to purchase such 
 commodities, gold is the only solid, permanent 
 possession. What is honour, fame, power, or 
 
 o 2 
 
292 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 even woman's smile, but the empty, transitory, 
 visionary deceit of an hour. Gold, gold, my 
 lord bishop, untarnishable, persisting, ever- 
 valuable gold is the only proper payment, 
 when honesty, honour, feeling, and character 
 are to be sold — Upon my life, I think so ! — 
 But there is the letter. Let the duke have it ; 
 show him the toils that are around him ; and 
 bid him break through before they close upon 
 him." 
 
 "This is important, indeed," said the bishop, 
 who had been reading the letter attentively ; 
 " and it shall be in the hands of the earl as 
 soon as it be possible to deliver it. One 
 question, however, let me ask you. Who, shall 
 I tell the earl, has procured and sent to him this 
 most valuable information ? for I do not affect 
 to believe that you are, that which you seem 
 to be.' 
 
 " Nothing is what it seems to be," replied 
 the woodman ; " no, nothing in this world. It 
 is a place of unreal things ; but yet you might 
 have satisfied yourself at the abbey, that Boyd 
 
THE WOODMAN. 
 
 203 
 
 the woodman is a faithful servant of the good 
 abbess and nuns of St. Clare, and has been so 
 long enough for them to have great confidence 
 in him — However," he continued, in a some- 
 what changed tone, " tell the earl of Richmond, 
 you have had it from a man who may ask his 
 reward hereafter ; for we are all mercenary. 
 That reward shall neither be in gold, nor es- 
 tates, nor honours, nor titles ; but, when the 
 struggle before him is accomplished, and he is 
 successful, as he will be, then, perchance Boyd 
 the woodman may ask a boon ; and it shall be 
 but one — Now I bring you your disguise ;" and, 
 passing through the door in the back of the 
 room, he disappeared for a moment or two, and 
 then returned, loaded with various pieces of 
 apparel. The bishop smiled as he put them 
 on ; and the transformation was certainly most 
 complete, as the frock of the carter was sub- 
 stituted for that of the monk, and the peasant's 
 bonnet took the place of the cowl. 
 
 " We must get rid of your sandals, my lord,'' 
 said the woodman ; " and that is the most difficult 
 
294 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 part of the matter ; for my foot is well nigh 
 twice as large as yours, so that my boots will 
 fit but iH." 
 
 " We will manage it," answered the bishop, 
 " for I will thrust my feet in, sandals and all, 
 and that will fill them up." 
 
 The woodman laughed; but the plan seemed 
 a good one, and was adopted. 
 
 " Here is a little Venice mirror," said the 
 woodman. " Now look at yourself, my good 
 lord. I will not ask, if your be3t friend 
 would know you, for dear friends always for- 
 get ; but would your bitterest enemy recognise 
 you, though hatred has so long a memory V 
 
 " I do not think he would," answered the 
 bishop, smiling at his own appearance ; " but 
 yet I fear, if we should be met in the wood by 
 any of these people, and detained, they may 
 discover me by the tonsure." 
 
 "We will not be met," answered Boyd. 
 " Now, follow me ; but first stick this axe into 
 your girdle, which may serve, both as an ensign 
 of your new trade, and a means of defence." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 295 
 
 The woodman then led his companion through 
 the door in the back of the room into another 
 large chamber behind. Thence, after locking 
 the door, he took his way through a shed, half 
 tilled with piles of firewood ; and then, proceed- 
 ing through an orchard, surrounded on three 
 sides by the forest, he entered a little garden of 
 pot-herbs, at the farther end of which, was a 
 fence of rough hewn oak. 
 
 On approaching the paling, the bishop found 
 himself standing on the edge of a very steep bank, 
 at the bottom of which he could catch the glisten- 
 ing of a stream ; and after a warning to take 
 good heed to his footing, the woodman led him 
 down a flight of steep steps, cut in the bank, to a 
 small path, which ran along by the side of the 
 water. The dell, which the stream had appa- 
 rently channelled for itself, and, which was 
 flanked by woody banks, varying from twenty to 
 forty feet in height, extended for nearly a mile 
 through the wood, and at length issued forth 
 from the forest screen, at the edge of a rich 
 and well cultivated tract of country. 
 
296 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 At this spot there was a bridge, over which ran 
 one of the roads from the abbey ; but the little 
 path, which the woodman and his companion 
 were following, passed under the bridge by the 
 side of the river ; and Boyd continued to pursue 
 it for two or three hundred yards farther. He 
 then ascended the bank, which had by this 
 time become low and sloping, and took his way 
 across a field to the right, so as to join the road 
 at some distance from the bridge. A few yards 
 in advance, was seen a lantern, and a wood cart 
 with its team of horses, and two men standing 
 by its side. To one of these, the woodman 
 spoke for a few moments in a low voice ; and 
 then turning to the other, he said, " You un- 
 derstand your orders, David. Here is the 
 man who is to go with you — Now, my lord," 
 he continued, in a whisper ; " you had better 
 get up on the front of the waggon. I must 
 here leave you ; for I have the security of some 
 others to provide for." 
 
 " I trust my fair guide from the abbey has 
 met with no peril on her return," said the 
 
THE WOODMAN. 297 
 
 bishop in a whisper. " It would be bitter to 
 me indeed, if any evil befel her in consequence 
 of her charity towards me." 
 
 " I trust not," said the woodman ; " but yet 
 I now find she could not return to the abbey, 
 and has taken refuge elsewhere. There were 
 eyes watching her she knew not of, and help at 
 hand in case she needed it. But I must go and 
 provide for all this ; for a fair girl like that 
 ought not to be trusted too long with a gay 
 young lord. He seems a good youth, 'tis true, 
 though wild and rash enough." 
 
 " Oh, he may be fully trusted," replied the 
 prelate. " I will be his sponsor, for he was 
 brought up under my own eye, and I know 
 every turn of his mind. His rashness is but 
 manner, and his light gaiety but the sparkling 
 of a spirit which has no dark thought or me- 
 mory to make it gloomy. If he is with her, 
 she is safe enough ; for he would neither wrong 
 her nor see her wronged." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I must see to the safety of 
 both," replied the woodman ; " so now fare- 
 
 o 3 
 
*298 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 well, and peace attend you — Stay, let me help 
 you up." 
 
 Thus saying, he aided the bishop to mount 
 upon the front of the cart ; and at a crack of 
 the waggoner's whip the team moved slowly on. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The lighted brand which Chartley carried in 
 his hand, hardly remained unextinguished till 
 he and Iola had passed through the deep gate- 
 way into the large hall ; but there they found 
 much more light than they had expected, for 
 the fire in the courtyard threw a broad glare 
 over the two large windows, and served, in 
 some degree, to illuminate the interior. It was 
 one of those vast old halls, of which but few are 
 now remaining, though at that time, no great 
 baronial residence was without one of them. 
 Some indeed were of greater extent than the 
 
300 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 one I now speak of; but few, if any, had a 
 bolder sweep of arch than was displayed by 
 the vaulted roof which now covered the young 
 nobleman and his companion. Time had 
 spared it ; and ruin had not as yet laid any 
 hand upon it, so that the eye could roam 
 through the framework of richly carved 
 oaken beams above, without detecting any 
 flaw in the slating which overspread the whole. 
 No columns or obstructions of any kind inter- 
 rupted the sight from one end to the other ; 
 and, by the flickering of the fire-light, Chartley 
 could perceive two doors opening out of 
 the opposite end of the hall, one upon the 
 right hand and another upon the left. To the 
 door upon the right, two or three stone steps 
 led up from the pavement ; and he inquired at 
 once, remembering that Iola had boasted a 
 thorough knowledge of the building, if she 
 could tell him whither that entrance led." 
 
 " To the great square tower," she replied, 
 " by a staircase in the little turret that you 
 
THE WOODMAN. 301 
 
 might see at the side of the keep. It is very 
 narrow, but quite good and perfect still." 
 
 " If the door be still there and sound," re- 
 plied Chartley, " it will be as good a place of 
 refuge as any ; for the mouth of a narrow stair- 
 case is no bad spot for defence." 
 
 " I think the door is there," replied Iola ; 
 " but we can soon see." 
 
 " Thanks to the fire without, we can, sweet 
 Iola," replied Chartley, walking forward by 
 her side ; but as he did so, his foot struck 
 against something lying on the pavement, 
 which he sent rattling to the other side of the 
 hall. " Why, what is here ?" he exclaimed, 
 stooping down. " Some one has been lighting 
 a lire here, not very long ago. And on my life 
 here is a lamp too, seemingly not very long 
 extinguished ; at all events, there is oil in it." 
 
 " Oh yes, it is long ago," answered Iola, 
 " as long ago as Christmas. I remember all 
 about it now. The nuns come up here every 
 year, on the morrow of Christmas, for there is 
 still a mass, kept up once a year in the chapel ; 
 
302 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and, the last time, sister Bridget left her lamp 
 behind her, which she brought to light the 
 tapers on the altar. It may now serve us in 
 good stead ; and I do not see why we should 
 not light a fire here too ; for they do so every 
 Christmas day, and heat a flagon of Malvoisie, 
 for the priest, who says the mass." 
 
 " Would to Heaven we had a flagon of Mal- 
 voisie to heat," replied Lord Chartley, laugh- 
 ing. " I know few things better, on a cold night 
 or in a doubtful hour. Strange, sweet Iola, 
 that so spiritual a thing as hope should go up 
 and down, burn more faintly or more brightly, 
 for the want or the possession of a few drops 
 of grape juice." 
 
 " It may be so with men," answered Iola ; 
 *' but I do not think it is so with women. Hope 
 with me, never burns brighter than in a fine 
 clear summer morning, when I hear the birds 
 sing. There seems, in the sweet sounds and in 
 the sweet sights, a world of promises from a 
 voice that never lies." 
 
 " Oh yes, but Malvoisie is good too," an- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 303 
 
 swered Chartley gaily, " especially when sum- 
 mer mornings are not here, when no sweet bird 
 gives music, unless it be the hooting owl ; and 
 even Iola's eyes do not afford light enough to 
 show one this great thick door, the hinges of 
 which seem somewhat rusty." 
 
 As he thus spoke, with his foot upon the 
 second step, he swung the heavy door back- 
 wards and forwards, with a grating sound, 
 which seemed to make the old hall shake. 
 
 " Come," he continued, " I will go light sis- 
 ter Bridget's lamp at the fire, and see what 
 good Ibn Ayoub is about. His watch has 
 been undisturbed, or we should have had his 
 Arabic gutterals finding their way into the 
 hall, and echoing round and round as harshly 
 as this rusty hinge. You shall stay near the 
 other door till I return ; but mind, if there 
 should be anything like a fray, you run up 
 here and shut yourself in. I am bound by 
 knightly courtesy to take you back to the 
 abbey safe and sound ; and so if I am killed 
 
304 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 you must take the task upon yourself, in justice 
 to my reputation." 
 
 " Killed ! Oh do not talk of such a thing !" 
 exclaimed Iola. " I beseech you, my noble 
 lord, think not of risking life in such a case." 
 
 " To protect and serve you," answered 
 Chartley, " I would risk more than life, sweet 
 girl, if I had any thing more than life to lose. 
 A man's life is worth very little in these days ; 
 for there is so little certainty of its continuing 
 from one hour to another, that, good faith, I am 
 fain to shake my head every morning when I 
 rise, to see that it is upon my shoulders. Buck- 
 ingham and Hastings, Vaughan, Grey, and 
 others, besides some hundreds more, would 
 have done better to have died in the field, or 
 in defence of some fair lady, than to have 
 waited for the headsman's axe. I trust when- 
 ever my hour comes, that it will find me sword 
 in hand. It is the only way I ever could make 
 up my mind to look upon death complacently. 
 I suppose I am a sad coward, for the thought 
 of a sick bed, and feverish pillow, and lament- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 305 
 
 able friends, and the grave doctor with a potion 
 in his hand, frightens me immensely. Nor is 
 the axe much better ; for it usually has its dull 
 antecedents of trial, condemnation, gaping 
 fools, and blocks and scaffolds ; whereas, on 
 the battle field, or in the lists, lance to lance, 
 for a lady's honour, with stroke for stroke, and 
 clanging trumpets, and charging horse, and 
 shouts of victory, the spirit springs forth tri- 
 umphant through the wounds of the flesh, and 
 soars away to glory, with the light of renown 
 upon its wings." 
 
 Iola sighed, she knew not why ; but still the 
 enthusiasm touched her, and she felt a thrill 
 run through her veins at his high words, which 
 made her almost fearful of the sensations 
 which were creeping over her heart. 
 
 " You do not make me brave," she said ; " and 
 therefore I will come with you under the 
 arch, for I shall feel frightened if I lose sight 
 of you." 
 
 " Oh, I will v, illingly live ever in your eyes," 
 
306 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 answered Chartley ; " and he who reaches you, 
 must first pass over my corpse." 
 
 Iola started ; for it is not to be supposed 
 that, in that age, she, or any one, was 
 without superstition ; and she read a sort of 
 double sense in his words, which seemed to 
 her almost to have the force of prophecy. She 
 followed him closely, however, and only paused 
 when she again got sight of the court-yard, 
 with the Arab still standing quietly by the fire, 
 upon which he had piled some more wood. 
 
 " Has no one come ?" demanded Chartley. 
 " Have you heard the steps again ?" 
 
 " I have heard the steps." answered the 
 Arab ; " but no one has come. They seem to 
 wander round and round the court ; but the 
 eye sees not the walker. 'Tis most likely 
 an Afrit, watching this old castle. There may 
 be treasures buried here." 
 
 " There is a treasure hidden here," replied 
 the young nobleman, speaking to himself but 
 thinking of Iola. " As to Afrits they never 
 cross the sea. However, good Ibn Ayoub, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 307 
 
 as we have not men enough in the garrison to 
 man all the walls or guard all the gates, we 
 will withdraw into the great hall, light our fire 
 there, and close the door, though we cannot 
 drop the portcullis. Bring as much of the 
 embers in as you can contrive to carry, without 
 burning your garments, and a quantity of 
 wood, of which there seems a great store there 
 in the corner." 
 
 " ? Tis an old gate broken to pieces," said the 
 Arab. " 'Twill soon burn, for it is as dry as 
 camel's dung." 
 
 Chartley waited and listened, while his slave 
 performed the task he had set him about ; and 
 then returning to Iola, after he had lighted the 
 lamp, he said — 
 
 " I can hear no sound. It was good Ibn 
 Ayoub's fancy, I suppose, though his ears 
 are as sharp as those of a page in a fairy tale. 
 He traced me through the forest to-night, by 
 the sound of my horse's feet, as surely as a 
 hound traces the deer by the scent. — Nay, 
 cheer up, sweet Iola, or we shall both grow sad 
 
308 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 and fanciful in this old pile. What, though we 
 have no Malvoisie, there is better wine than 
 ever flowed from the grape, or was imprisoned 
 in a bottle — the wine of the heart, dear lady, 
 of the heart unconscious of evil, the bright 
 gay spirit, the cheerful contentment with the 
 event of the hour, the fearless trust of the 
 morrow. 'Tis but a little time we shall be to- 
 gether. Let us make the moments pleasant 
 as they fly ; for to me they will fly all too soon. 
 Come, let us look round the hall, and see what 
 it contaiiis ;" and he held the lamp high up 
 above his head, gazing round, but unable to see 
 the whole of the vast extent of the chamber. 
 
 " Oh, there is nothing here," answered Iola. 
 " It has been stripped of every thing, long, 
 long ago. But there are some things in the 
 chambers above, which the plunderers did not 
 think it worth while to bring down, I suppose — 
 settles and stools, and a huge bed, which they 
 say was made in the room where it stands, and 
 cannot pass the door." 
 
 " Come, we will go and see them," cried 
 
THE WOODMAN. 309 
 
 Chartley. " Sitting on these cold stones is not 
 made for those delicate limbs; and perchance we 
 may find something which we can bring down. 
 But first let the Arab light the fire here ; and 
 then we will try and close the great door." 
 
 No great difficulty occurred in either pro- 
 cess ; for the Arab contrived, on two broad 
 pieces of wood, to bring in a sufficient quantity 
 of embers speedily to kindle a large fire on the 
 wide hearth of the old hall, and the ponderous 
 door, though it had one or two large holes in it, 
 and groaned most desperately at being forced to 
 turn upon its hinges — a process which it proba- 
 bly had not undergone for more than half a cen- 
 tury — nevertheless swung to easily enough, and 
 the heavy bolt was forced into the deep hole 
 made for its reception in the stone-work. 
 
 When the young lord turned round, after 
 aiding the Arab in this work, the aspect that the 
 hall presented was cheerful enough. The pile 
 of wood on the hearth had caught fire at once ; 
 and, mingled with the smoke which was rush- 
 ing up the wide chimney, were thick columns 
 
310 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 of many coloured flame, which cast a warm 
 and flickering glow over the ancient stone 
 walls and upon the painted glass of the win- 
 dows, where knights, and priests, and angels, 
 and apostles, were grouped in somewhat 
 strange confusion. In the bright blaze of the 
 fire, on the opposite side of the hearth, stood 
 the fair form of Iola, wrapped indeed in the 
 earl's surcoat, which veiled, without altogether 
 concealing the beautiful outline of the figure. 
 The long sable lined sleeves trailing upon the 
 ground, seemed to form a sort of train behind 
 her as she stood, while the beautiful neck and 
 shoulders rose from the furred collar, lightly 
 fastened over her chest, and the fair and speak- 
 ing countenance, turned towards those who 
 were closing the door, was now shown in 
 bright light, now cast into shadowy indistinct- 
 ness as the flame rose and fell. 
 
 Chartley gazed at her, and thought it was 
 the fairest sight he had ever seen ; and sensa- 
 tions rose up in his breast, which he took no 
 pains to master. He was young, free, trust- 
 
THE WOODMAN. 311 
 
 ful, full of happy confidence in the future, and 
 he said to himself — " Why not ? Roam the 
 world over, can I find anything more lovely 
 than she is, more gentle, more sweet, more full 
 of noble feelings and bright thoughts, than she 
 seems. In marriage one always casts one's 
 fate upon a die, the fall of which is uncertain. 
 — Why not ? — But not now, not now," he con- 
 tinued, the spirit of gentlemanly courtesy com- 
 ing to guide him instantly ; "I must wait till 
 she is free from danger, and then seek her 
 when she is safe and in the midst of her 
 friends again. I must not agitate or alarm her 
 now." 
 
 Though the resolution was a strong one, as 
 well as a good one, it was difficult to keep the 
 feelings which were busy at his heart, from in- 
 fluencing his manner in some degree. Nor to 
 say truth, did he keep them in such subjection. 
 He would have liked very much to make her 
 sit beside him, and, with his arm cast around 
 her, pillow her beautiful head upon his bosom, 
 while she took the repose so needful to her. 
 
3J2 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 He would have liked to stand before that open 
 hearth, with her hand clasped in his, and their 
 eyes fixed upon the faces and landscapes in the 
 fire, talking of love and dreaming of happy 
 days. He did none of these things ; but 
 yet there was a softness and a tenderness in his 
 manner and his tone, every now and then, which 
 went thrilling through Iola's young fresh heart, 
 and creating dreads for herself and for him, 
 which might have shaken her terribly, had it 
 not been for the gay and sparkling spirit which 
 broke forth in his conversation from time to 
 time, and carried away all heavier thoughts 
 upon its wings. 
 
 " Now come," he said, taking up the lamp 
 after he had paused by her side for a moment, 
 " let us go up to these chambers above, and 
 see if we can find some seat or another, that 
 we can bring down. You have been walking 
 and standing a long, long while ; and those beau- 
 tiful little feet will be sadly tired, unless we can 
 discover some means of resting them. I would 
 rather walk an hundred miles than stand an 
 
THE WOODMAN. 313 
 
 hour. I have always thought, that a bird's life 
 must be a sad wearisome one, except when it 
 is on the wing, to stand all day on a bare bough 
 with those thin shanks of its, and nothing to 
 do but trim its feathers." 
 
 " And sing its songs," said Iola following 
 him. " It must have its consolation there." 
 
 Chartley went first, lighting her by the way ; 
 and the stairs, narrow and worn with many 
 feet, soon afforded a fair excuse for taking her 
 hand to lead her up. When once it was in 
 his, it was not easy to part with it ; and, as he 
 held it neither very loosely nor very tightly, 
 there seemed no plea for withdrawing it, so 
 that it remained where it was, even after they 
 had reached the top of the stairs, and had 
 entered a low-roofed stone corridor, and a large 
 old fashioned vaulted chamber, which had pro- 
 bably been the state bedroom of the former 
 possessors of the castle. There, still, remained 
 the great bedstead which Iola had mentioned, 
 probably of the reign of Edward III. formed 
 of dark black wood, apparently ebony, richly 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
314 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 carved and inlaid with ivory, upon the lower 
 cornices. The rich hangings, with which it 
 had been at one time adorned, had all been 
 torn down and carried off with the bedding ; 
 but the framework was so artificially joined, 
 that no means of removing it were apparent, 
 without breaking it all to pieces ; and it is pro- 
 bable that the rude soldiers, who had sacked 
 the castle, were not disposed to burden them- 
 selves with any heavy booty. Marks on the 
 floor, showed where three truckle beds had 
 stood ; but not one now remained ; and the 
 only seat to be seen, was a large chair of the 
 same materials as the bed, with a footstool, from 
 which the embroidery, that once covered it, had 
 been ripped. 
 
 "These will do/' cried Chartley. "The 
 chair must have come up, and so it can go 
 down the stairs. Then we will set it by the 
 fire ; and it shall be your throne, queen of the 
 May, while I sit on the footstool at your feet, 
 and Ibn Ayoub crouches, as is his wont upon 
 the dry hearth. But you must be my lamp 
 
THE WOODMAN. 315 
 
 bearer, or I shall never get them down;" and 
 giving the light to Iola, he raised the chair in 
 his strong arms. " It is as heavy as iron," he 
 said, " but, it shall come down, if it were made 
 of adamant." 
 
 As he spoke, an extraordinary sort of sound 
 like a low groan, echoed through the room, 
 so clear and distinct, that there could be no 
 doubt their ears deceived them not. Iola 
 started, and well nigh dropped the lamp, while 
 Chartley set down the chair, and laid his hand 
 upon his sword. 
 
 " It is some door, moving on its rusty 
 hinges," he said, after listening for a moment. 
 " The wind is blowing it backwards and for- 
 wards ;" and taking up the chair again, he 
 bore it into the corridor, while Iola went before 
 with the light, gazing timidly around. 
 
 Nothing occurred to disturb them however ; 
 and at length, though not without difficulty, 
 Chartley got the cumbrous seat down the nar- 
 row stairs. The Arab was now standing in 
 
 p 2 
 
•'* 16 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 the midst of the hall, gazing towards the door, 
 with his naked scimitar in his hand. 
 
 " What is the matter, son of Ayoub ?" asked 
 Chartley. " What have you heard V 
 
 " Feet, and a groan," answered the Arab, 
 with his dark eyes glaring in the fire light. 
 
 " Pooh, 'tis some rusty hinge," said Chartley, 
 " and the feet of rats or martins, driven to take 
 shelter here, by this long continued wintry 
 weather. — Seat yourself here, sweet Iola. Put 
 your feet to the fire, and dream of pleasant 
 things, while I go up again and bring the 
 stool." 
 
 Thus saying, he took the lamp from her 
 hand, and re-ascended. He was not long 
 absent; but Iola listened anxiously for his re- 
 turning step. She felt safe while he was near 
 her, but fearful, the moment he was away. 
 
 Chartley was soon at her side again, and 
 placing the stool close to her feet, he seated 
 himself thereon, and leaning upon the arm of 
 her chair, gazed up into her face with a gay 
 smile. 
 
THE WOODMAN 317 
 
 " Now, this is comfortable," he said. " We 
 may pass the remaining hours of night cheer- 
 fully enough here ; and if you doze, sweet Iola, 
 your little head will but fall upon Chartley's 
 shoulder, where it may rest as securely, though 
 not so softly as on your own pillow in the 
 abbey. There, seat yourself there, Ibn Ayoub, 
 in the nook of the chimney, or your southern 
 blood will be frozen in this cold northern night. 
 Think no more of groans and footfalls. These 
 are all tricks of the imagination — It is won- 
 derful," he continued, turning to Iola, " what 
 wild fancies superstition will beget, aye, and sad 
 as well as wonderful, when one thinks of the 
 horrible cruelties which reasonable men will 
 commit upon the strength of stories, that a child 
 should be whipped for believing. When I was 
 in Flanders a few years ago, a poor woman was 
 burned alive, in the public market place ; and 
 what do you think was the crime of which she 
 was accused ?" 
 
 " Xay, I know not," answered Iola ; " but, 
 
318 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 it should be a terrible crime indeed, to draw 
 down so terrible a punishment." 
 
 " The tale is simply this," replied Chartley. 
 " There was a poor woman in one of the towns 
 of Flanders, who gained her bread by the 
 work of her needle. One of those who em- 
 ployed her, was the wife of the bailiff of the 
 black monks of that town ; but when her work 
 was done, the bailiff and his wife refused to pay 
 the wages promised, and being poor and dis- 
 tressed for money, she was naturally importu- 
 nate. Obtaining no redress, she applied to 
 the curate of the village, where she was born, 
 for advice and assistance. It happened, how- 
 ever, that the good man had been entangled in 
 a lawsuit with the bailiff of the monks, and 
 whatever was the advice he gave to the poor 
 woman, their conference resulted in evil to 
 both. The woman sent her daughter to de- 
 mand a part of that which was due, if she 
 could not obtain the whole ; and the poor girl 
 arriving, while the bailiff and his family were 
 at dinner, stood beside the table for some time, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 319 
 
 petitioning for payment in vain. Several days 
 after, one of the family was taken ill and died. 
 The disease it would seem was infectious ; and 
 before its ravages ceased, the bailiff and two 
 others were dead. The rest of the family took it 
 into their heads to accuse the poor woman, her 
 daughter, and the curate, of having bewitched 
 them ; and fools and knaves enough were 
 found to relate and to believe, that the curate 
 had baptized a toad, and had administered to it 
 the blessed sacrament, at the instigation of the 
 poor needlewoman. The toad cut in four 
 pieces, was said to have been thrown under the 
 table, where the bailirf dined, by the woman's 
 daughter ; and upon this fabricated charge, the 
 unhappy creature was cast into prison, put 
 to the torture, and afterwards burned to 
 ashes." 
 
 Iola shuddered. 
 
 " It is very horrible," she said, " and one can 
 hardly believe that such cruelty can exist in 
 the breasts of human creatures." 
 
 " Or such folly either," answered Chartley, 
 
320 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " as to suppose that the quarters of a baptized 
 toad, could bewitch to the death three in- 
 nocent people. If there be charms and peri- 
 apts, they must be produced by other means 
 than that." 
 
 " But do you doubt there are such things V* 
 asked Iola. " We read of them continually." 
 
 " Ah, fair Iola," answered Chartley, " we 
 read and hear of many a thing, which, tried by 
 the strong tests of reason and religion, vanish 
 away like empty dreams. If we but ask our- 
 selves, thinking for one moment of the good- 
 ness and majesty of the Almighty, is it proba- 
 ble, is it possible, that God can suffer such 
 things, there will be found an answer in our 
 own hearts, which will banish all such imagi- 
 nations." 
 
 Iola mused ; and Chartley, laughing at the 
 grave subject he had introduced, was proceed- 
 ing to change it for some lighter topic, when 
 the Arab suddenly rose up from the spot where 
 he had seated himself, and lifted up his finger 
 as a warning to listen. 
 
THE -WOODMAN. 32 L 
 
 " I hear something move," he said, " and not 
 far off. Hark ! You will hear." 
 
 Even as he spoke, a strange kind of whining 
 sound, and then a dull groaning, came upon the 
 air ; and Chartley starting up, exclaimed — 
 
 " This is indeed very strange." 
 
 The sounds had ceased almost instantly ; but 
 a sort of long drawn sigh seemed to follow, 
 and then a heavy rattling fall, as if a part of 
 the wall had rolled down. 
 
 " Whatever that is," exclaimed Chartley, " it 
 is in the court-yard. I will go out and see." 
 
 " Nay, nay, I beseech you," cried Iola, 
 clinging to his arm, " do not, dear lord, do 
 not rush into needless danger. Let us go up 
 to the rooms above, and look forth from the 
 windows there, as these are too high." 
 
 " Stay, I can reach them by the chair," said 
 Chartley ; and, placing the heavy seat under- 
 neath the window, the sill of which was a few 
 inches above his eyes, he mounted upon it 
 and looked out in silence, while Iola crept 
 to his side, and raised her eyes towards his 
 
 p 3 
 
322 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 face. After gazing for a few moments, Chart- 
 ley held out his hand to her, saying — " Come 
 up hither beside me, sweet Iola, and see what 
 is here. Be not afraid. There is no danger." 
 
 Iola gave him her hand, and setting her 
 lio-ht foot on the seat beside him, rose till her 
 eyes just came above the window sill. 
 
 Her first impulse, had she not repressed it, 
 when she obtained a view through the dim 
 small pane into the ruinous court, would have 
 been to utter a cry of terror and surprise ; for 
 certainly such were the sensations which she 
 felt. The fire which she and her companion 
 had left nearly extinguished, had been re- 
 lighted and piled up with fresh wood, which 
 was sending forth a volume of flame, higher 
 tkan a man's head ; but the object which most 
 struck the fair girl as she gazed forth, was a 
 dark black looking figure, sitting between the 
 window and the fire, crouched up in the posi- 
 tion often assumed by an ape, and seemingly 
 holding its hands, to warm them at the blaze. 
 The attire, as far as it could be seen, which 
 
THE WOODMAN. 323 
 
 was very indistinctly, for the back being turned 
 towards them was in deep shadow, appeared to 
 be quaint and strange ; and, rising straight up, 
 though somewhat on the left side of the head, 
 appeared a long thin object like a horn. 
 Chartley continued gazing on this apparition in 
 silence ; but one glance was enough for Iola ; 
 and, springing down, she covered her face with 
 her hand, saying in a low terrified voice — 
 " Oh, come down, come down !" 
 
324 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 To the surprise of Iola, and certainly not less 
 to that of good Ibn Ayoub, though with Ma- 
 hommedan gravity he gave no voice to his 
 wonder, Chartley burst into a violent fit of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Good Heaven, what is it?" exclaimed 
 Iola looking up ; and at the same moment 
 Chartley sprang down from the chair, still 
 laughing. 
 
 " Forgive me, dear Iola," he said, taking 
 her little hand and kissing it, "but did you 
 ever see the devil play on a bag-pipe V 
 
THE WOODMAN. 325 
 
 " I never saw the devil at all," replied Iola 
 with a bewildered look ; " but I do not under- 
 stand what you mean." 
 
 " I mean, sweet friend, that this is evidently 
 a piper, and if I mistake not much, 'tis a man 
 I saw in Tamworth this very morning and yes- 
 terday also. He seemed the life and soul of 
 the people round, a merry, happy hearted 
 fellow, whom they call Sam the Piper, with 
 a breast without guile, if one may judge by 
 his face, which bespeaks him no one's enemy 
 but his own. Strange to say, he would drink 
 neither wine nor ale, though I offered him 
 either, and though his face betrayed many a 
 potation past, if not present. Stay a while. 
 I will go out and see. If it be the man I mean, 
 I will bring him in ; for by all means we will 
 have the piper of our faction." 
 
 " But are you sure that it is safe," said Iola, 
 timidly, but holding his arm to detain him. 
 
 " Oh, he will not betray us," exclaimed 
 Chartley ; " and besides we can keep him here 
 as long as we like." 
 
326 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " But if it should prove to be the— the— " 
 said Iola, adding after a moment's pause, 
 " some evil being." 
 
 Chartley laughed again ; and gently putting 
 his arm round her for a single instant, he 
 said — 
 
 " Fear not, Iola. With the angels in those 
 eyes upon my side, I would undertake to pro- 
 tect you against all the evil spirits in the uni- 
 verse." 
 
 Iola dropped the eyelids over the lustrous 
 orbs below ; and a blush spread over her cheek 
 like the crimson light of the setting sun. 
 Chartley instantly withdrew his arm ; and re- 
 peating — " Fear not," he opened the door and 
 went out of the hall. 
 
 A few words were then heard, spoken 
 without ; and a moment after he re-entered, 
 followed by Sam the Piper, with his beloved 
 instrument still tight under his arm. The 
 good man's steps were not quite steady, 
 and certainly it was not natural feebleness that 
 caused their vacillation. Yet his eye was clear 
 
THE WOODMAN. 327 
 
 and bright ; and his merry voice seemed not in 
 the least thickened by any liquor he might 
 have imbibed. 
 
 " Gad ye good night, lords and ladies, gad 
 ye good night," he said as he entered, making 
 a low obeisance, and producing at the same 
 time a lamentable squeak from his chanter. 
 " Gad ye good night, tawny Moor. I did not 
 think to see your beautiful black face again 
 for many a day. Gad ye good night, fairest of 
 ladies. To see you and his dark lordship here, 
 one would think one's self upon the confines 
 of the upper and the nether world, with angels 
 on the one side and devils on the other." 
 
 " Meaning me for one, knave," said Chart- 
 ley, giving him a good-humoured shake. 
 
 " Ah, mercy, mercy, noble sir," cried the 
 piper in a pitiful tone. " Shake me not ; for 
 my legs are not made of iron to-night, and my 
 stomach is as full as my bag when well 
 blown up." 
 
 " But your stomach has something stronger 
 than air in it, if I mistake not," said Chart- 
 
328 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 ley laughing, " Come tell me, sirrah, how it 
 happens that you, who would take no strong 
 drink yesterday, are well nigh drunk to- 
 night." 
 
 " There's no contradiction in that," replied 
 the man, " though I take no liquor, liquor may 
 overtake me, and if a man is overtaken in 
 liquor, the fault's in the liquor, not in him." 
 
 " Still, if the fault's in the liquor, and the 
 liquor in him, the fault is in him," answered 
 Chartley ; "for learned doctors say that the 
 thing which contains another, contains all that 
 it contains." 
 
 " But, then," replied the piper, who, like 
 many of his class, was exceedingly fond of 
 chopping logic ; " if the fault's in the liquor, 
 and the liquor in him, he cannot be in fault, 
 for the thing that contains cannot be in the 
 thing contained. But marry, my good lord, 
 the truth is, I made a promise to good sister 
 Alice at the convent, not to get drunk at Tam- 
 worth fair, and gloriously I redeemed my word, 
 and gloriously I got drunk afterwards." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 329 
 
 While this dialogue had been proceeding, 
 Iola stood by, marvelling greatly at all she 
 heard ; for it was a scene altogether new to her, 
 and one, of which in her simplicity and ignorance 
 of the world's ways, she could have formed 
 no conception. In her ramblings hither and 
 thither, which her good aunt had permitted 
 pretty liberally, she might indeed have seen, 
 now and then a drunken man, for alas, drunken- 
 ness is a virtue of no particular age ; but she had 
 never met with the merry reckless wine-bibber 
 — one of the peculiar character of the good piper 
 — who has an excuse for his sins always ready, 
 by which he does not even hope to impose 
 upon others, and certainly does not impose 
 upon himself. 
 
 After a few more words of the same kind, 
 Chartley moved her chair for her back to the 
 lire, seated himself as before on the stool by 
 her side, and while the Arab resumed his place, 
 pointed to the opposite side, saying to the piper, 
 " There, sit you down, and tell us what you've 
 seen in the forest to-night." 
 
330 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " Good faith, I have seen nothing," answered 
 Sam, " for the night's dark, and I have been 
 somewhat dark too. After I had been to the 
 abbey for the morning dole, to show good sister 
 Alice that I had kept my word and was quite 
 sober, I went away to the first tavern, and with 
 all the pence I had collected in the fair, bought 
 myself a stoup of small wine, and a farthing's 
 worth of sugar. — Your lordship's groat helped 
 me wonderfully — Then, not liking the thought 
 of a forcible division of my property, I brought 
 my wine up here, ensconced me in the door- 
 way of the little tower, and went on sipping 
 till I fell asleep. When I woke, it was black 
 night ; but there was still something left in 
 my winepot, and I set to again to gain 
 courage, and to keep out the cold. When I 
 looked abroad, however, I soon saw that some- 
 body had lighted a fire in the court ; and I crept 
 round and round on the walls, to see who it 
 was, saying Paters and Aves all the time, and 
 thinking it might be the devil had done it ; for 
 
THE WCODMAN. 33 J 
 
 he, it is said, keeps up the best fire in his house 
 of any man." 
 
 Lord Chartley gave a meaning and merry 
 glance to Iola; and Iola smiled in return. 
 
 " At length, seeing no one there," continued 
 the piper, " I ventured down into the court to 
 warm myself, when suddenly your lordship 
 came upon me, and took me prisoner. I sup- 
 pose it was my mad pipes betrayed me, for like 
 a chattering wife, they are always talking where 
 they should not, unless I am careful to blow 
 all the wind out of the bag. However, I am 
 never much afraid of robbers, plunderers, 
 camp-followers, or anything, for nobody meddles 
 with a piper. You cannot have more of a cat 
 than her skin, nor of a piper than his pipes, 
 and neither the one nor the other is of much 
 use to those who do not know how to handle 
 them." 
 
 Chartley mused for a minute or two, and 
 then said in a low tone to his fair companion : 
 
 " Do you not think, dear lady, that we could 
 make use of this merry ribald, to communicate 
 
332 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 our situation here to those who could give us 
 intelligence — aye, and even help in case of 
 need. It is very sweet," he continued, tenderly, 
 "to sit here by your side, whiling away the 
 livelong hours of night, with one so fair and 
 gentle. But, I must not forget your comfort 
 in my own happiness You have passed a 
 weary and an anxious night, and the sooner I 
 can restore you to your friends, to tranquillity 
 and repose, the better. I must find some other 
 moment," he added rapidly, " brighter and 
 calmer, to say more of myself — I think that we 
 may use this man, who will not be stopped by 
 the soldiery, to bear tidings of where you 
 are " 
 
 " Oh yes," exclaimed Iola, " let him go as 
 quickly as possible to the abbey. My aunt 
 will be sadly anxious about me." 
 
 " I fear that would be dangerous," replied 
 Chartley. " Rather let him go to the wood- 
 man, tell him where we are, request him to 
 send us information and advice, and, if possible, 
 to communicate to the abbess, that you are 
 
THE WOODMAN. 333 
 
 quite safe. That I think is the best course to 
 pursue." 
 
 " Perhaps it is,' 1 answered Iola, and then in 
 a lower tone, she added, " if you can quite 
 trust to this man — He seems a libertine and a 
 drunkard." 
 
 " You must not judge him too harshly," re- 
 plied Chartley. " Most men, especially of his 
 class, have their peculiar vices : but, though 
 it may seem strange ; from those vices you 
 must not imply others of a different class and 
 character. Nay more, there are faults which 
 are almost always accompanied by certain 
 better qualities ; and from what I know of 
 the world, I am inclined to think, that this 
 man's good faith might be better trusted than 
 that of many a sanctimonious friar or smooth- 
 spoken, propriety-loving trader." 
 
 "But is he fit?" asked Iola. "To me he 
 seems hardly sober/' 
 
 "Oh, fit enough," answered Chartley. "With 
 daily tipplers a certain portion of good wine is 
 needful to sharpen their senses. That gives 
 
334 THE WOODMAN, 
 
 them wit which takes away the wits of other 
 men ; and he is not likely to find more drink 
 in the forest unless he apply to the pure stream. 
 — Hark ye, good master piper. Tell me 
 how much discretion is left in that noddle of 
 yours ?" 
 
 " Enough to prevent me running my head 
 against a post, or leading another into a ditch," 
 answered the piper. " Now, good my lord, 
 did I not come down the stairs, from the little 
 turret into the courtyard, with every stone step 
 as frail and moveable as the rounds of ambi- 
 tion's ladder ?" 
 
 " And thou art trustworthy, methinks," said 
 Chartley, in a musing tone. 
 
 " Else have I drunk many a butt of good 
 liquor to no purpose," replied the piper. 
 
 " How should that make thee trustworthy ?" 
 demanded the young lord. 
 
 " Because the liquor was sound and honest 
 my lord," replied the piper ; " and as by this 
 time it must have penetrated every part, I 
 should be sound and honest too. Moreover, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 335 
 
 it was best half drunk in secret, so that se- 
 crecy's a part of my composition also." 
 
 "Well, I will trust thee," replied Chartley, 
 "and if thou wilt win a gold angel, thou shalt 
 have the means of doing so." 
 
 " I will not debate upon the question long," 
 said Sam, starting up. " 1 am always ready to 
 go upon a pilgrimage, and far readier to wor- 
 ship a gold angel than a painted saint. Let 
 me see, six stoups, at one shilling and two 
 pence the stoup, would be — soul of my body 
 there's drink for a week in a gold angel." 
 
 " There, there, cease your calculations," cried 
 Chartley ; " first win the angel, and then use 
 it discreetly afterwards." 
 
 " So shall it be my better angel," said the 
 piper, laughing, and winking his eye. " But 
 how is the celestial coin to be obtained, my 
 lord?" 
 
 " Listen, and you shall hear," replied the 
 young nobleman; "and be serious now, for 
 this is a matter of importance. Do you know 
 Boyd, the head woodman of the abbey?" 
 
336 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 " Do I know the great oak of Ashton ?" 
 exclaimed Sam. " Do I know the old tower 
 of Tarn worth ? Do I know anything that men 
 frequenting this neighbourhood see every day ? 
 — Why, Boyd has given me both a beating 
 and a breakfast, at times, has made my back 
 groan under a cudgel and under a bacon — That 
 last was a good deed, for it saved my boy, who 
 is now over the sea with the Marquis of Dorset, 
 from starving, when he was hid away in Mount 
 Sorel wood. Oh yes, we all know Boyd : the 
 roughest tongue, the hardest hand, the clearest 
 eye, and the kindest heart in the country." 
 
 " Well then," said Chartley, " I wish you 
 to find him out, and to tell him for me, that I 
 am here in the old castle, and have a lady with 
 me whom he wots of. My name, I suppose 
 you have learned from the horse boys, by your 
 be-lording me so often ; and he will divine who 
 the lady is, if you tell him that she is with me, 
 and safe, but that we dare not venture forth 
 without further information, while these sol- 
 diers are watching the wood. Let him send 
 
THE WOODMAN. 337 
 
 word to the lady's friends that she is in secu- 
 rity, but above all, give us intelligence and help 
 if he can." 
 
 "Soldiers watching the wood ?" said the piper, 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 "Aye, even so," answered Chartley. "Thou 
 hast been like one of the seven sleepers, my 
 friend, and hast dozed, unconscious, while 
 great events were going on around thee. Half 
 the houses on the abbey green have been 
 burned ; and there are bands now upon all the 
 great roads of the wood. Does that frighten 
 thee?" 
 
 " Not a whit," cried the piper. " How 
 should it frighten me ? They could but slash 
 the sow's stomach under my arm, or my own ; 
 and neither the one nor the other is worth the 
 sharpening of a knife. They'll not harm me ; 
 for all your mud - splashing, sheep -stealing, 
 wench-kissing, big-oathed, blaspheming horse 
 troopers are fond of a minstrel ; and I will 
 strike up my pipes when I come near the high 
 road, to let them know who I am. It may be 
 
 vol. i. Q 
 
338 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 a signal to old Boyd too, if he's wandering 
 through the wood, as most likely he is ; for, 
 like a ghost, he goes about more by night than 
 by day. — Burned half the houses on the abbey 
 green ! That's serious. By my pipes, some 
 necks '11 be twisted for it I think." 
 
 " I trust there will," answered Chartley ; 
 " but now set out upon your errand, my 
 good man, and when next you see me, my 
 message being delivered, claim of me a gold 
 angel ; but if you say a word of it to any one 
 else but Boyd himself, when next I see you, 
 you shall have another sort of payment." 
 
 The piper laughed, and giving the bag under 
 his arm a squeeze, made his pipes squeak in a 
 very ludicrous manner. Then quitting the hall, 
 with a steadier step than that with which he 
 had entered, he took his way down through the 
 wood which had often been his home during 
 many a warm summer night. Most of the 
 paths were familiar to him ; and trudging on, he 
 entered one of the broader ways, which led 
 directly to the high road that divided the forest 
 
THE WOODMAN. 339 
 
 into two unequal parts. After he had gone on 
 for about half a mile, he heard voices speaking, 
 and paused for an instant to consider. " I 
 will be very drunk," he said to himself. 
 " Drunkenness is often as good a cloak as hy- 
 pocrisy. All men make their garments out of 
 the skins of beasts ; and the smoothest are not 
 always the thickest. Here go I then;" and 
 assuming a reeling and unsteady step, he blew 
 up the bag of his pipes, and soon, from the 
 various stops, produced a gay, wild air, which 
 would have been pretty enough, but for the 
 continued dull squeaking with which it was 
 accompanied. 
 
 " Ha, who goes there ?" cried a voice, a mi- 
 nute or two after, as he emerged upon the 
 road ; and two mounted men were immediately 
 by his side. 
 
 " Sam the piper, Sam the piper," he an- 
 swered, in drunken accents, "And who are 
 you, jolly boys ? What do you keep the 
 king's highway for ? Are you looking to see 
 if any man has dropped his purse ? If so, I 
 
 Q 2 
 
340 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 cry shares ; for by St. Dominic, there's nothing 
 in mine. Now, marry, if a fat priest were to 
 fall in your way, I would rather be his mule 
 afterwards than before." 
 
 "Why so, knave?" asked one of the men. 
 
 " Marry, because he'd ride lighter I've a 
 notion," replied Sam. 
 
 " Ha, say'st thou so, knave?" cried one of 
 the men, lifting up his hand to strike him ; but 
 the other interposed, saying — 
 
 " Nay, nay, 'tis Sam the piper. He has a 
 fool's privilege, and means no harm. Besides 
 the man is drunk." 
 
 " Come, tell me, knave," exclaimed the 
 other, " whither thou hast been wandering in 
 the wood?" 
 
 " Nay, Heaven knows," answered the 
 piper, " wherever wine and destiny led me. I 
 have been asleep half the time ; and since I 
 woke, I have been walking about in the cool, to 
 clear my complexion, and get the fumes of 
 Tamworth fair out of my head ; for I felt my 
 knees weaker than they ought to be, and a 
 
THE WOODMAN. 341 
 
 solemn sort of haziness of the wits, just such 
 as the preaching parson at Ashton must have, 
 after writing one of his sermons, and his con- 
 gregation do have, after hearing one." 
 
 The two soldiers laughed ; and the fiercer of 
 the two demanded — 
 
 " Did'st thou meet any man in the forest ?" 
 " Not till I met your reverences," replied the 
 piper. " I do not know what any man should 
 do here, unless it were to sleep off a tipsy fit, 
 lose his way, or pick up a purse, though the 
 last has grown a rarity since the wars came to 
 an end. In former times men might gather 
 purses like blackberries upon every bush. That 
 was when I was a soldier. But that whorson 
 poke with a pike I got at Barnet, crippled my 
 crupper joint for life, and made me walk un- 
 steady, which causes the poor fools to say I am 
 drunk, though all the world knows that I live 
 like an anchorite, eat herbs and roots, when I 
 can get no flesh, and drink pure water, when 
 there's neither wine nor ale to be had. Give 
 
342 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 you good den, my masters — What's the time 
 o'day?" 
 
 " Night, you drunken dolt," replied one of 
 the men. " It's matins by this time ; but are 
 you sure that you have not seen a man in 
 a friar's gown. If you lie to me, your ears 
 won't be safe for the next month." 
 
 " A man in a friar's gown ?" said the piper 
 with a hiccup, " aye to be sure I did." 
 
 " When ? Where ?" cried the soldiers ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 "Why in Tamworth, yesterday morning," 
 answered the piper ; and one of the men, giv- 
 ing him a smart blow with his fist, told him to 
 go on his way, with no very commendatory 
 valediction. 
 
 Playing his part admirably well, the piper 
 reeled down the road, passing two other pa- 
 troles, each of which stopped and interrogated 
 him, as the other men had done : somewhat 
 more briefly, however, when they found he had 
 been stopped and questioned before. At 
 length, sitting down by the road side, as if his 
 
THE WOODMAN. 343 
 
 legs refused to carry him farther, when two of his 
 interrogators had just passed on, he waited till 
 they had gone to a little distance, and then plunged 
 into the wood. He soon forced his way on, to 
 one of the lesser paths, but there he stopped to 
 consider, saying to himself — " How shall I 
 make Boyd hear, if he be roaming about ? I'll 
 go straight to his house ; but this forest is for 
 all the world like a rabbit burrow ; and I may 
 be popping out of one hole while he is popping 
 into another, if I cannot contrive to send some 
 messenger to his ears, that will run a few hun- 
 dred yards on each side of me, at least. I 
 must not try the pipes again ; but I will make 
 the belling of a deer. If he hears that at this 
 season of the year, he will be sure to come up 
 to see what's the matter." 
 
 Accordingly, by placing his fingers after a 
 fashion of his own upon his lips, he contrived to 
 produce a very accurate imitation of the pecu- 
 liar call of the deer at certain periods of the 
 vear. He continued to emit these sounds from 
 
344 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 time to time, as he walked on, till at length he 
 heard a rustle in the brushwood near. 
 
 " Now that's either a stag," he said to him- 
 self, " who like a young gallant of nineteen, 
 makes love at all times and seasons, and I shall 
 have his horns in my stomach in a minute ; or 
 else it is Boyd or one of his men, and I have 
 hit the mark. I must risk the horns I fancy." 
 
 A moment after, a low voice said — 
 
 " Who goes there ?" 
 
 " Sam the piper," answered our good friend, 
 " looking for what he cannot find ;" and the 
 next moment, pushing through the shrubs, the 
 tall and powerful form of the woodman stood 
 before him. 
 
 " Ah, Sam," said Boyd, " what are you seek- 
 ing, you drunken dog?" 
 
 " Seeking you, master Boyd," answered 
 Sam in a very different tone from that in 
 which he had addressed the soldiers. " I have 
 news for you." 
 
 " Aye, and what may that be ?" demanded 
 Boyd with the utmost indifference of manner, 
 
THE WOODMAN. 345 
 
 ' k some of the gossip of Tam worth I suppose. 
 The bailiff lias beat his wife, or the mercer's 
 daughter has gone off with the smart ap- 
 prentice ; but I have other things to think of, 
 master Sam, to-night. Have you heard that 
 the rough bands from Coleshill have burnt the 
 houses on the abbey green." 
 
 "Yes I've heard of it," answered Sam, 
 " and there has been a great fire up at the old 
 castle too." 
 
 The woodman started. 
 
 " At the old castle ! What do you mean V 
 he exclaimed. " Who should burn the old 
 castle ?" 
 
 " I didn't say it had been burned," replied 
 the piper. " I only said that there was a great 
 fire there ; and very comfortable it was too, con- 
 sidering the cold night and the good company." 
 
 " Speak out man! What do you mean?" 
 demanded the woodman sternly. " This is no 
 time for fool's play." 
 
 "I think not," answered the piper; "and 
 so the plain truth is, that I was ordered, by a 
 
 Q 3 
 
346 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 certain young lord, to tell you, that a certain 
 young lady is up there safe with him and his 
 tawny Moor, and that they are afraid to stir 
 out while the wood is watched by the soldiers, 
 without farther information and advice ; and 
 they look to you to give both, and moreover to 
 send intelligence to her friends, that she is quite 
 safe. There, I have delivered my message, 
 better than ever message was delivered before, 
 for I have given it word for word, and you 
 may make the best of it." 
 
 " Up there, with him alone throughout the 
 night!" said the woodman in a tone of no 
 very great approbation. Yet he may be 
 trusted I think — but still 'twere better not. 
 What will the other feel, when he hears of it ? 
 — No matter. It cannot be helped. There is 
 nothing else to be done." 
 
 " Oh yes there is," answered the piper ; " if 
 you could take them up a stoup of wine, or a 
 blackjack of good strong beer, you would do 
 more ; for if I judge rightly, they have nothing 
 to keep up the spirits, or support the body, or 
 
THE WOODMAN. 347 
 
 amuse the time, unless it be making love, and 
 that is cold work without meat or drink." 
 
 " Listen to this fool now !" said the wood- 
 man, " how he hits the nail aright — T will go 
 up myself." 
 
 " They will not thank you, if you come 
 empty-handed," answered the piper ; " and 
 you had better take me with you, to show you 
 the way ; for the forest is changed since you 
 last saw it, and there are living trees on the 
 high road, which stop up the paths, and move 
 to and fro." 
 
 " I understand thee, piper," answered the 
 woodman. "Thou art a shrewd knave witli 
 thine enigmas. Come along with me then. I 
 will try to make thee useful, for the first time 
 in thy life.'' 
 
 " Not useful !" said the piper, as the wood- 
 man moved on, taking a branch of the path 
 that led away to the right. " I am the most 
 useful man in the whole hundred. What would 
 weddings be without me, or baptisms either ? 
 How many quarrels do my sweet notes allay I 
 
348 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 How often do I make peace between man and 
 wife, by drowning her shrill voice by my 
 shriller notes, and outroaring him with my 
 drone ? Go to, you would never get on with- 
 out me — Useful quotha ! — But where are you 
 going now? This is not the way to the 
 castle/' 
 
 " I am going to take thy sage advice," re- 
 plied the woodman, " which on ordinary occa- 
 sions is not worth a groat. But we may as 
 well carry up some provisions ; and for that 
 purpose, as well as others, I must take my cot- 
 tage by the way. But now hold thy peace, 
 man, for I would have my thoughts clear." 
 
 Thus saying, he strode on before, the piper 
 following, till they reached the broader road, 
 which passed the cottage, and came in sight of 
 the little green. 
 
 " Hist, hist," said the piper. " There is 
 some one before the door. It may be one of 
 the soldiers who set fire to the houses." 
 
 " Then I will cleave his skull with my axe," 
 answered the woodman, lightly ; " but, 'tis only 
 
THE WOODMAN. 349 
 
 David. Go on — get thee into the house. I 
 want to speak to him ;'' and striding forward, he 
 approached the man, and spoke a few words to 
 him, of which the piper could only distinguish 
 a i'ew, though he was all ears. 
 
 " By half-past five," said the woodman, " as 
 many as you can, and well armed." 
 
 " At the old castle ?" asked the man. 
 
 " Yes," answered the woodman, " under the 
 gateway. The sky will be gray by that time. 
 Quarrel not with the soldiers, if you can help 
 it. Say you are but doing your needful ser- 
 vice ; but, keep to it sturdily — Nay, now I 
 think of it, 'twere better to gather in the wood, 
 upon the hill below the castle, especially if the 
 soldiers follow you. There, begin hewing clown 
 the young trees which we marked for cutting 
 out, and run up to the gate if you should hear 
 my horn. Now away, and bring all you can ; 
 but mind you send Adam up on his pony at 
 once to the abbey." 
 
 The man replied not, but ran away with a 
 peculiarly quick but easy trot ; and Boyd 
 
350 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 entered the hut, where he found the piper 
 standing very near the door. He felt inclined 
 to ask him why he had not gone in, feeling sure 
 that he had lingered to listen ; but there, just be- 
 fore him, stood the great deer hound Ban, neither 
 growling nor attempting to seize the intruder, 
 but gazing at him with a very fierce and for- 
 midable expression of countenance, which might 
 well daunt even a stout heart in the breast of 
 an unarmed man. The moment the dog saw 
 his master, however, he dropped his stiffened 
 tail and raised ears; and the woodman said, 
 " Now, Sam, come you with me, and we will 
 load ourselves with food for the nonce. Here, 
 sling this great bottle under your right arm, to 
 balance your bag-pipes, and take this loaf upon 
 your back. I will carry the rest; but I must 
 leave my right hand free, in case of need, to 
 use my weapon. 
 
 " But how am I to use my weapon, if you 
 load me so ?" asked the piper, making his in- 
 strument give a squeak. 
 
 "The less you use it the better," answered 
 the woodman. 
 
THE WOODMAN. 351 
 
 11 1 say the same of all weapons," rejoined 
 Sam. " Bat never mind, put on the load and 
 let us go." 
 
 Their arrangements were soon complete, and 
 with a rapid pace they gained once more the 
 edge of the high road, and there paused under 
 the trees, to watch the proceedings of the 
 enemy. The same vigilant patrol was kept up ; 
 but the woodman marked it with a smile. 
 
 " They think the person they seek, must have 
 taken refuge there," he said in a whisper to his 
 companion, " because he could not pass by the 
 hamlet or the lower road, without falling in 
 with them ; but if they keep their parties so 
 loose, I would pass a hundred men across, one 
 by one. I will go first, and you follow. He 
 waited till the next couple of soldiers had rid- 
 den slowly by, and then with a silent step 
 crossed to the opposite side of the road, where 
 he paused for his companion ; but the poor 
 piper had nearly brought himself into a 
 dangerous situation, by a hankering for the 
 great bottle which hung under his arm. In 
 
352 
 
 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 extracting, with his stout finger and thumb, the 
 cork from the mouth, he produced a sound 
 loud enough to make two of the soldiers stop, and 
 then ride up to the spot ; but his bagpipe once 
 more saved him ; for squeezing the bag hard, 
 and running his fingers over the pipe, he pro- 
 duced a series of sounds only to be equalled by 
 those of two cats in a gutter ; and one of 
 the soldiers exclaimed : 
 
 " It is only that drunken piper again — Cease 
 your squalling, knave, or I'll break your 
 pate." 
 
 The sound of the pipe instantly stopped ; and 
 the moment the two men had gone on, the 
 piper passed the road and joined his companion. 
 The rest of the way was speedily accomplished ; 
 and a little before five, the woodman approached 
 the gates of the old castle. There he paused, 
 and after a moment's thought, turned to his 
 companion, saying : 
 
 " It would be a great advantage to us, my 
 good friend, Sam, if we could get some infor- 
 mation of the movements of these bands." 
 
THE WOODMAN. 353 
 
 " I'll undertake it," said the piper, whom 
 success had made bold. " You shall have tid- 
 ings of any change in their dance. But, you 
 must give me something to wet my mouth first, 
 Master Boyd." 
 
 " Well, well," answered the woodman, " set 
 the bottle to your lips, but only drink to the 
 peg, do you hear. Stay, I'll hold my hand 
 upon it, and stop you in time ; for you must 
 leave some for others, and not take too much 
 yourself." 
 
 The piper took a deep draught, and was 
 only stayed by his companion snatching the bot- 
 tle from him. Then followed a consultation, as 
 to what was to be done in the many contingencies 
 which might arise. It was agreed, that if the 
 piper did not return within half an hour after 
 day-break, that the party in the castle should 
 conclude he had been detained by the sol- 
 diery ; that if he came back without being- 
 followed, and having remarked no movement 
 of importance, he should play a low and quiet 
 air upon his instrument ; while, on the contrary, 
 
354 THE WOODMAN. 
 
 if the soldiers were at his heels, and danger 
 menacing, he should come on with a quick, 
 loud march. 
 
 This being settled, he departed on his errand ; 
 and passing over the frail remains of the bridge, 
 the woodman entered the great court, where 
 the embers of the fire were still gleaming in 
 the ashes, like the eyes of a wild beast through 
 a thicket. Approaching the door of the hall, 
 he paused and listened, not knowing what 
 might have occurred since the wandering mu- 
 sician had quitted the place. But all was silent ; 
 and bending down his head a little, he looked 
 forward into the interior of the hall, through 
 one of the rifts, which had been made violently 
 in the door, at the former siege. The party were 
 nearly in the same position as when the piper had 
 left them, the Arab crouching upon the ground 
 near the fire, which he seemed lately to have 
 supplied with wood, and his dark face resting 
 on his darker hand. Chartley was seated on the 
 footstool, with his feet stretched towards the 
 fire, and his left side leaning against the arm 
 
THE WOODMAN. 355 
 
 of the chair. In the chair, was Iola as be- 
 fore; but her eyes were closed. Her hand 
 rested upon Chartley's arm ; and her head 
 drooped upon his shoulder, while her balmy 
 breath fanned his cheek, as she slept, tired out. 
 by emotions and fatigues. 
 
 END OP VOL I. 
 
 J. BILLING, PRINTKR, WOKING. SURREY. 
 

 

 ■■■ 
 
* ILUNO 18-URBANA 
 
 ■■III 
 
 049064402 
 
 l