The beauty of the illustrious Captain Barecolt, in its kind, was rather heightened than diminished by a large stripe of black plaster which he had drawn across the bridge of his egregious nose; for he was one of those provident men who never go without a certain store of needful articles in their pockets, and his professional habits had taught him exactly what sort of small commodities were most frequently required. Thus, there were few occasions on which that personage would have been found unprovided with a piece of strong cord, a sharp pocket-knife, a lump of wax, a corkscrew, a hand's-breadth of good sticking-plaster, and a crown-piece. I do not say more than one, for but too frequently the piece of silver was a mere unity; and, indeed, he seemed to have a pleasure in reducing it to solitude; for, no sooner had it any companions, than he took the most expeditious means of removing them. At the last crown, however, he always paused; and it seldom happened, what between good luck and occasional strong powers of abstinence, that sheer necessity compelled him to spend that piece before he had recruited his stock.
He now advanced towards Arrah Neil and Miss Walton with all the consciousness of great exploits about him; and, after a long inquiry regarding their health, began a recapitulation of all his deeds that day, notwithstanding the presence of an eye-witness, by which it would have appeared that he had killed at least seven of the enemy with his own hand; regretting indeed, in a deprecatory tone, that he had not killed more, but attributing this short-coming, in comparison with his usual achievements, to the care he had been obliged to take of the earl after he was wounded; otherwise, he hinted, he might have destroyed the whole force. He was still in full career when Lord Walton and Lady Margaret reappeared; and, whether it was to be attributed to the fact of his having delivered himself of a sufficient quantity of long-pent-up hyperbole, or whether it was that he knew that the young lord was not likely to give entire credit to his military statements, certain it is that his tone became moderated as soon as that gentleman appeared.
Captain Barecolt, however, was obliged to answer several questions; for, while the lady of the house went to give orders for the accommodation of the numerous unexpected visiters by whom her house was thronged, Lord Walton proceeded to inquire how all the events of the day had come about, and especially how it had happened that a party of five or six persons, quietly crossing the country, were charged by a body of the parliamentary horse.
"This is worse than civil war," he exclaimed; "and if such a state of things is to be established, we shall have nothing but anarchy from one end of the country to the other. Had you been an armed party, bearing the royal colours, with drum or trumpet, it might have been excusable, considering these lamentable dissensions; but to attack you thus, without cause and without warrant, was the act of a mere marauder. This Captain Batten, whom you have killed, I find, has met with too honourable a fate. He deserved to die by the hands of the hangman and not by those of a gentleman."
"Yes, my lord," replied Barecolt, with an air of calm grandeur; "I put him to death, amongst others, and we had no time to consider what sort of fate was meet for them. However, I must do the men justice, and say that I suspect they did not act without a motive, or perhaps without many. In the first place, I believe that I was the unhappy object of their enmity. I had been recognised at the first inn where we stopped by the cornet of this Captain Batten's troop; and though we were speedily joined by the noble earl and a certain Colonel Warren, the latter of whom vowed manfully that I was not the Captain Barecolt of whose little exploits they had heard so much, but one Captain Jersval, an officer employed by Sir John Hotham on the fortifications of Hull--I never heard a man lie so neatly in my life, and he deserves great credit for the same: although, I say, this Colonel Warren delivered me from the first danger, and carried Cornet Stumpborough back with him to Hull, yet I saw clearly that the worthy Roundhead was not convinced, and afterwards, as we were riding along, I caught a glimpse of a man, very like a trumpeter, going at full speed on our left."
"But what would that imply?" demanded Lord Walton.
"Simply, that Cornet Stumpborough had sent off a messenger to tell his commander, Captain Batten, who knew me well from having seen me with your lordship on the march from Bishop's Merton, that he would catch me on the road if he looked out sharply. In this opinion I am confirmed from having heard in the kitchen of an inn where we stopped to feed the horses, that this same trumpeter had been seen half-an-hour before galloping round on the outside of the village, and taking his way in the direction of Captain Batten's party. This might be one plea for attacking us; and another might be, that we were certainly riding as fast as we could go. Now every beast, my lord, has an inclination to run after another beast which it sees run away. Then again, when they had nearly come up with us, they commanded us to halt, an order which we disobeyed to the best of our ability. The natural consequence was, they charged us immediately, and brought us fighting along the road for half-a-mile. Nevertheless, I am very much afraid that your lordship's humble servant was the great object of the attack."
"However that might be," replied Lord Walton, "my friend the Earl of Beverley has informed me of the gallant service you rendered on this occasion; and you may depend upon it, Captain Barecolt, that his majesty will have a full report thereof."
"A trifle, my lord, a mere trifle;" replied the worthy captain, with an indifferent air: "these are things that happen every day, and are hardly worthy of notice. If I have an opportunity afforded to me, indeed, of performing the same deeds that I achieved at Rochelle and in the Cevennes, then there will be something to talk of. The only thing, at present, for which I shall claim any credit," he continued, turning towards Arrah Neil, "is for the skill and dexterity which I displayed in setting free this young lady, and enabling her to acquire certain information regarding her birth, parentage, and education, as the broadsheet has it, which may be of vast importance to her."
"Indeed, sir, you have been most kind, zealous, and resolute in my behalf," replied Arrah Neil; "and though, perhaps, I may never have the means of showing you how grateful I am except in words, yet I shall be ever grateful, and there is One who rewards good deeds, even when those for whom they are done have no power to offer a recompense."
"Whatever he has done for you, my poor Arrah," said Lord Walton, "shall not go without reward, if I can give it. But what is this Captain Barecolt says about your birth and parentage? He rouses my curiosity."
"I will tell you all, my lord, when I can tell you alone," replied Arrah. "I mean all that I have heard, for I have no proof of the facts."
"But I have some proof," said Captain Barecolt, "for I have a copy of the paper I found amongst the old knave's goods--one Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, whom your lordship may remember. He did not carry off Mistress Arrah without a motive, and the paper shows clearly that she is not what she seems to be; that she is of high race, and if I judge right, of large property."
Lord Walton paused and mused; but his sister threw her arm round Arrah Neil, exclaiming, "Oh, dear child! I do rejoice at this indeed."
"And so do I," said Arrah Neil with a sigh; "but as I was enjoined strictly not to mention any of the facts but to you, Annie, or to your brother--the person who told me said, on many accounts--I hope Captain Barecolt, who has been so kind in all this business, will not mention what he believes to be the truth till he have his lordship's leave to do so."
Captain Barecolt laid his hand upon his heart and made her a low bow; but Lord Walton shook his head with a half-reproachful smile, saying, "When you were a poor unfriended girl, Arrah, you used to call me Charles Walton, and, now you are to become a great lady it seems, you give me no other name but 'my lord.'"
The blood spread warm over Arrah Neil's fair cheek and brow. "Oh! no, no!" she exclaimed: "I know not why I did it; but I will call you so no more. You will be always Charles Walton to me, the noble, the good and true, who fondled me as a child, and protected me in my youth, did not despise me in my poverty, and cheered and consoled me in my distress."
Her face was all glowing, her eyes were full of tears, when Lady Margaret returned; but for a moment or two Lord Walton did not speak. The look, the manner of Arrah Neil produced emotions in his mind that he did not rightly understand, or rather roused into activity feelings that he did not know were there. On Lady Margaret Langley, too, the poor girl's appearance at that moment seemed to produce a strange effect. She stopped suddenly as she was crossing the room, gazed intently upon her; and then, as the stag-hound rose and walked slowly up to her, she stopped and patted his head, saying, "Ah, Basto we might well be both mistaken. Come," she continued, turning to her nephew, "supper is ready in the hall; and in the good old fashion of other days we will all take our meal together, and then to rest. For you, my sweet child, whose name I do not yet know----"
"They call me Arrah Neil," replied the girl to whom she addressed herself.
"Well, then, Arrah, I have ordered a chamber for you near my own."
"Nay," said Annie Walton, "Arrah shall share mine; it is not the first time she has done so."
"That is better, perhaps," answered Lady Margaret; "you will doubtless have much to speak of, but I must have my share of her, Annie; for when I look at those eyes, it seems as if twenty sad years were blotted out, and I were in bright days again. But come; the people are waiting for us in the hall, with furious appetites, if I may judge from what I saw of them as I passed through."
Thus saying, she led the way; and in a few moments they were all seated at a long table, the followers of Lord Walton and the men who had accompanied the Earl of Beverley being ranged on either side below the more dignified part of the company.
It was altogether a somewhat curious and interesting scene, as they supped in the old oak-lined hall, with the light flashing upon twelve suits of armour placed between the panels, and showing, seated round, a body of men, scarcely one of whom was without some wound recently received. One had his hand bound up in a napkin, another his arm in a sling, a third had his coat thrown back from his shoulder, having received a pistol-shot in the fleshy part of his breast; another had a deep gash upon his cheek, not very neatly plastered up by the hands of some of Lady Margaret's servants; while Captain Barecolt appeared at the head of the file with a large black patch across his nose.
Not much conversation took place during the first part of the meal, for Lord Walton was grave and thoughtful; and every one at his end of the table, except Captain Barecolt, was too much occupied with busy memories of the past, or deep interest in the present, to be very loquacious.
The persons at the lower part of the board were restrained by respect for those above them from talking in aught but whispers; and Captain Barecolt himself; with that provident disposition which has been remarked in him, always thought it best to secure his full share of the good things of this life while they were going, and to keep his eloquence in reserve for a season of leisure.
The lady of the house, with her two fair guests, rose as soon as the actual meal was over and quitted the hall; and all the inferior persons also retired, with the exception indeed of Captain Barecolt, if he can be included in that class. He, however, though Lord Walton had also risen, remained seated, eyeing a half-empty tankard which stood at his right hand, with an evident dislike to abandon its society while anything remained within its shining sides. Knowing well the habits of this peculiar species of Cavalier, Lord Walton pointed to the tankard, saying, "Go on, captain, you will soon finish it, and then I must see the earl and go to rest, for I depart early to-morrow. But, in the mean while, I would fain hear more particularly how you met with our fair Mistress Arrah, and, indeed, how you and Lord Beverley happen to be here at all, for I cannot imagine that you can have fulfilled the mission with which you were charged.
"Faith, my lord," replied the worthy captain, after a deep draught, "our mission was cut wondrous short, as your lordship shall hear," and he proceeded to give his noble companion a full account of all that had occurred, from Lord Beverley's departure from the court till they found themselves prisoners at Hull.
Lord Walton listened, without making the slightest comment, to the tale with which the reader is already acquainted; but he could not refrain from a smile as Barecolt went on to detail all his proceedings with regard to Sir John Hotham; and as the narrator clearly saw he amused his listener, he dwelt perhaps longer than necessary upon all the particulars. At length, however, growing somewhat impatient for facts, the young nobleman again pointed to the tankard, saying, "Drink, captain, and let me hear of your meeting with my sister's young friend. I see how you obtained your own freedom--what more?"
"Why, you see, my lord," replied Barecolt, "as I hinted to your lordship just before I left the good town of Nottingham, I had obtained a little information, which showed me that Master Dry, of Longsoaken, had taken pretty Mistress Arrah to Hull, and I had laid a little scheme for setting her free, thinking that I should thereby pleasure your lordship."
"Undoubtedly!" replied Lord Walton, gravely, "nothing could give me greater pleasure than to have this young lady freed from the hands of one who combines the characters of hypocrite, cheat, and ruffian in his own person."
"Well, my lord, such being the case," continued Barecolt, "and finding myself suddenly in Hull, I determined to seek even if I did not find; and as the man who was sent with me, partly as my guide, partly as a spy, was walking with me through the town to seek for an inn at which to lodge, I determined, if possible, to ascertain if Dry was in any of them, and to take up my quarters in the same. He recommended the 'Lion' and the 'Rose,' and half-a-dozen places; but I thought to myself; 'Dry will not put up at a first-rate victualler's;' and I accordingly fixed upon one which I judged to be the sort of house at which he would stop. In I accordingly went; and while taking a glass of wine in the bar, who should appear, followed close by the watch, but the worshipful Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, beastly drunk! He was speedily carried to his bed, and from that moment I determined to remain at the 'Swan,' and make use of my advantages. I found the landlady an excellent good woman, and speedily opened a communication with her upon the subject of the young lady. She was a little shy at first, indeed, but I soon brought matters round by telling her that I had been sent especially to Hull by your lordship to set Mistress Arrah free.
"That was wrong," said Lord Walton, somewhat sternly: "however, no matter, as it did no harm. What did you discover there?"
"Why, I found out," continued Captain Barecolt, "that the very inn at which we were was that where the poor young lady had been brought when first she came to England; that her mother was a very beautiful lady at that time, much like herself; but taller; that she died in that house of a terrible fever that was then raging; that Mistress Arrah herself had well-nigh died of it; and that an old man, whom they called Sergeant Neil, was then in attendance upon the two ladies, as a sort of servant, though he afterwards passed as her grandfather, they say."
"He did, he did," answered Lord Walton, musing. "This is a strange story, Captain Barecolt; let me hear more."
"Why, I suspect the young lady knows more than I do, my lord," replied Barecolt, "and the tankard is empty."
"There is more here," answered Lord Walton, pushing over another flagon from the opposite side of the board: "what more did you hear?"
"Why, I instantly went and saw Mistress Arrah herself," continued Barecolt, after having assuaged his thirst, "and found that old Dry had swept Sergeant Neil's house of all his papers at his death, especially some that the old man had told the young lady where to find; and that he now dragged her about with him, treating her sometimes well, sometimes ill, as he was in the humour, pretending to be her guardian, and asking for a Mister O'Donnell, who lives in Hull. From all this, I divined that the old hypocrite had got better information out of the old sergeant's papers than we had, and that he intended to marry the young lady, or perhaps gain possession of her property."
"Marry her!" exclaimed Lord Walton, with a scornful smile curling his lip.
"Well, my lord, I do not know," answered Barecolt; "but, as she is so very beautiful, even such a stockfish as that might think it no unpleasant way of getting hold of her fortune, to make her his wife. But, as I was saying, having taken this fancy, I determined to see what papers the old man had with him, and consequently I walked straight into his room, where he lay like a drunken sow, snoring in his bed; and I rummaged his bags till I found all the papers he had with him. I found only one that referred to this business, however, and it was but a string of questions to be asked of this Mister O'Donnell. However, they proved clearly that what the good landlady of the 'Swan' had told was quite true, as your lordship shall see presently."
The worthy captain then went on to tell all that had taken place subsequently, mingling what portion of falsehood with his truth he might think proper, and taking especial care to make whatever advantage fell in his way by accident appear to have been obtained by his own skill and calculation. Lord Walton was not deceived by his representations; nor can he be said to have been aware of his misrepresentations. He took in the general facts, casting away, as is usually the case with men of high mind, the minor circumstances. Thus he was aware that Captain Barecolt had greatly served one in whom he took a deep interest; but the small particulars of that personage's skill and judgment in effecting the object, he cared very little about, and gave no attention to them whatever, hearing the details indeed, but without pausing upon them for consideration, and waiting for the principal results.
"We must find means," he said at length, "of having further information from this Master O'Donnell. He is evidently aware of all the facts."
"Ay, and he has made the lady aware of them too, my lord," rejoined Barecolt, emptying the second tankard, "or at least some of them; for when I came up after having lingered behind at the gates for a short time, in order to give the enemies the change, I found him in close conference with her, and the last words he spoke were to bid her tell no one but yourself or your sister."
"So she said, I recollect," replied Lord Walton; "I will hear more from her, and perhaps, Captain Barecolt, if you be not otherwise engaged in the king's service, I may ask you to have the goodness to employ yourself farther in this affair."
"That I will do most gladly, my lord," replied Barecolt. "I remember well, when in the year thirty-five I was requested by----"
"Oh, I neither doubt your capacity nor your zeal, my good sir," answered the young nobleman, interrupting the anecdote, "and the reward shall be equal to the service performed. I will now, however, go and converse with my friend, Lord Beverley, for a short time; to-morrow I will talk over the matter with Mistress Arrah Neil; and, as I suppose you will think it fit to hasten over to give an account to his majesty of what has taken place, we by the way can speak of what is further to be done. In the mean time, let me see the paper you mentioned; I should like to think over the contents during the night."
Barecolt put his hand in his pocket, but the moment after he gave a sudden start, and then looked round the table from place to place, as if he were trying to recollect who had sat in each particular seat. Then turning to Lord Walton, with a look of horror and consternation, he exclaimed--"Diggory Falgate! where is poor, jolly Diggory Falgate?"
"I do not know whom you speak of," replied Lord Walton; "what has he to do with this affair?"
"The paper is in his bundle," cried Barecolt, with increasing dismay; "and we have left the poor devil outside in the hands of those rascally Roundheads, whom he hates as a cat hates salt."
"But who is he?" demanded Lord Walton; "this is the first time you have mentioned his name."
As Captain Barecolt was about to give a true and particular account of Diggory Falgate, however, William, Lady Margaret's servant, entered the hall, and addressing the young nobleman, informed him that the Earl of Beverley would be glad to speak with him as soon as he had done supper.
"I will come to him directly," replied Charles Walton, taking a step or two towards the door; and then pausing, he turned again to Barecolt, saying, "As to this friend of yours, I think you had better take any of the people who may be still up, and seek for him with torches as far as the fight continued. The road must be clear by this time, for the adversary suffered much, and would not like the neighbourhood; but you had better have five or six men with you, and fire-arms. A watch shall be kept in case you need help, and I shall not be in bed for an hour or two. The poor fellow may be lying wounded."
"Oh, I need little help in such cases, my lord," replied Barecolt; "but, as we may have to carry him hither if he be wounded, I will take some men with me and go directly."
While our worthy captain proceeded to execute this resolution, Lord Walton walked on towards the chamber which had been assigned to his wounded friend; but as he passed through the room in which Lady Margaret usually sat, he turned thither for a moment to see whether his sister and fair Arrah Neil had yet retired to rest. He found his aunt alone, however; and in answer to his inquiries she replied, "I have sent them both to bed, Charles. Poor things! they have had much fatigue of body and more of mind. I never leave my book till the house-clock strikes one; but that was no reason why I should keep them waking."
"Well, dear Aunt Margaret, I am going to see Francis Beverley, and will return to you ere you retire to rest," said Charles Walton; and proceeding on his way, he found with some difficulty his friend's room, and went in.
"Charles," said the earl, who was lying with a lamp on the table beside him, and several papers in his hand, which he seemed to have been reading attentively, "I feel that I cannot ride to-morrow, and the time it would take to send a litter hither from York is too valuable to be lost. You must take the first tidings to the king, and I will follow as soon as some conveyance arrives. I will relate to you all that has happened since we parted, but tell his majesty, I beg, that it was no weak idleness which prevented me from hurrying on to give him all the information I possess."
"He knows you too well to imagine such a thing," replied Lord Walton; "but I can shorten your narrative till your arrival at Hull. All your first adventures I have heard from Captain Barecolt."
"And a glorious tale he has made of it, doubtless," said the earl: "however, all that is of little importance in comparison with that which is to follow." He then went on to give an account of his various interviews with Sir John Hotham, of which, as the reader is already acquainted with the particulars, I will give no detail. The result, however, is still to be told, and it was stated by Lord Beverley in few words.
"At length," he said, "I found that the good governor was so tired of his position, so deeply offended with the conduct of the parliament, so desirous of returning to his duty, and so willing to risk all but his head to restore Hull to the king, that it wanted but some excuse to save his honour to induce him to do all that we can desire. It was finally agreed between us, then, that if the king would advance against the city and fire but a shot at it, Sir John would capitulate, and deliver that important place into his majesty's hands. There are many minor particulars to be told; but this principal fact should be communicated to the king without the loss of a day, as it may decide his future movements."
"Without the loss of an hour," replied Lord Walton; "for when I left his majesty, he told me that I had barely time to reach this place and return before the army would be in motion. This is an important affair indeed; for the example set by Hull would bring over a dozen other towns; and, even if it did not, the possession of a port in the north is worth any jewel in his crown. I would set off this very moment, but that both men and horses are so much fatigued that we should lose more time by going than by staying for a few hours' repose. To-morrow morning, however, at daybreak, I will set out. I shall not be able to see my sister, indeed; but it is perhaps as well to avoid leave-taking, and you must console her, Francis. Had you not better write to the king?"
"No," answered the earl, "I think not. I have been considering that question while you were away; but, looking to the danger of the roads and the risk of your being intercepted, as well as the peril to Sir John Hotham, if such should be the case it will be more prudent to bear nothing but the tidings by word of mouth."
"I believe you are right," replied Lord Walton "and such being the case, Beverley, I will at once go and prepare for the journey. Having all the facts, I need not disturb you to-morrow morning before I go."
"Perhaps I had better see you," answered the earl, "for something might strike me in the night which I might wish to say."
"Well, then, I will come in," rejoined Lord Walton; "and now, good night. Sleep if you can, Francis, and let not all the thoughts of this affair disturb your repose."
"I want that quality of a great man, Charles," answered the earl with a smile. "I cannot cast off the thought of things that have occupied me, the moment that action has ceased. A quick imagination is a curse as well as a blessing. In bright days it is a happiness indeed, but in those of shadow and darkness it but tends to increase the gloom. Good night, good night!"
Lord Walton shook his hand and retired, and then, rejoining Lady Margaret, announced to her his intention of setting off at daybreak the next morning. We will not pause upon all the little particulars of their conversation--the discussion which took place as to whether it would be better and kinder for the young nobleman to take leave of his sister or not, or the after arrangements that he made for leaving four of his men behind him to give aid and protection to Lady Margaret and her household, several of her own servants being absent at the time. Before he retired to rest, he wrote a short note to his sister, and another to Arrah Neil, begging her to write the statement which the hurry of his departure prevented him from hearing in person; and then, giving orders for his horses to be saddled by daybreak, he only further paused to inquire whether poor Falgate had been found. Barecolt and his companions, however, had not yet returned; but, while Charles Walton was undressing, the gallant captain made his appearance in the room, and with a woeful face informed him that no trace of the merry painter could be discovered.
"Then he has certainly been taken prisoner," replied Lord Walton, "and we cannot help him. We have more important business in hand, Captain Barecolt, now: by what Lord Beverley tells me, I am induced to return to the king with all speed. I think you had better accompany me, and if so, remember I shall be in the saddle by daybreak."
"I am with you, my lord," replied Barecolt; "and as human beings must sleep, I will even go to bed for the present."
"Do so," replied Lord Walton; "I shall follow the same course."
But before he put his resolution into effect, after Captain Barecolt left him, the young nobleman fell into a fit of deep thought, from which he did not rouse himself for nearly an hour. When he did rise from his seat, however, he said to himself in a low, sad voice, "'Tis as well I am going."
Annie Walton slept well, but Arrah Neil was restless and agitated, and after a few hours of disturbed slumber she awoke, and saw the blue, faint light of the first dawn through the curtains of the room. She turned to gaze upon her fair companion, and remarked with a smile the tranquil repose she was enjoying. "Sleep, sleep, sweet lady!" she murmured; "and, oh! may no heartache ever keep your eyes from rest!"
The moment after, she heard the sound of arms and of horses' feet, and rising quietly she approached the window and looked out. The opposite room, which, as we have described it, was destined for a sitting-room, commanded the view at the back of Langley Hall, but the bed-room was turned towards the court and the drawbridge; and as poor Arrah Neil gazed forth from the window, she saw a party of five horsemen mounted, and Lord Walton putting his foot in the stirrup. The next moment he was in the saddle; and after speaking a few words to his aunt's servant William, who was standing beside his horse, he rode over the drawbridge and at a quick pace pursue the way to York.
"He is gone without my seeing him," murmured Arrah Neil to herself; and then, creeping quietly to bed again, she turned her face to the pillow and deluged it with tears.
"Nay, do not drag me so; I will go right willingly, my masters!" cried poor Diggory Falgate. "I was there with them upon compulsion. It is hard to be made prisoner by one's friends as well as by one's enemies."
"Hold thy prating tongue, liar!" replied one of the troopers, who were bearing off the painter across the country towards Hull, which lay at about ten miles' distance, the course that the earl and his party had pursued having been rendered very circuitous by the various accidents of the journey. "Hold thy prating tongue, liar, or I will strike thee over the pate! Did we not see thee at their heels, galloping with the best?"
"But no man can say that he saw me draw a sword in their behalf," answered Falgate.
"Because thou hadst no sword to draw," rejoined the man. "And thou mayst be sure that to-morrow morning thou wilt be swinging by the neck in the good town of Hull, for the death of Captain Batten and the rest."
"I killed them not," said Falgate, in a deprecatory tone.
"What! wilt thou prate?" rejoined the trooper, striking him in the ribs with the hilt of his sword. But at that moment one who seemed in command rode back from the front, and bade the man forbear.
"Come hither beside me," he said, addressing Falgate, who in the darkness could not see his face, to judge whether it was stern or not. "You are a malignant--deny it not, for it will not avail you. You are a malignant, and the blood of Christian men has been shed by those who were with you. Your life is forfeit, and there is but one way by which to save it."
"What is that?" asked Falgate. "Life is not like a bad groat, only fit to be cast into the kennel; and I will save mine if I can."
"That is wise," answered the soldier. "You can save it if you will. You have but to tell truly and honestly who they are who were with you, and what was their errand in these parts. You know it right well; therefore deny it not."
"Nay, I do not know, right worshipful sir," replied the painter.
"I am not worshipful," answered the man; "but if thou dost not know, I am sorry, for thou hast lost a chance of life."
"But only hear how I came to be with them," cried poor Falgate. "I met the long-nosed man by chance in Hull; and finding him in godly company, and some of the governor's people with him, I thought there could be no harm in going with him to York, whither business called me."
"But he in the buff coat?" asked the soldier; "who is he?"
"Of him I know less than the other," rejoined the painter; "for he came up with us on the road, as we stopped at a little inn to bait our horses. There was with him then a Colonel Warren, who, after leaving us returned to Hull with a pious man, one Stumpborough, who had with him a troop of horse----"
"We know all that," replied the soldier gravely. "But, as it is so, you must prepare to die to-morrow. I say not that you lie unto us. It may be that you speak truth; but it is needful in these times that one should die for an example; and as you are a malignant, for your speech proves it, 'tis well you should be the man." Thus saying, he rode on again without giving time for Falgate to answer, and leaving him in the hands of the troopers as before.
The party, however, had suffered such loss that the number was now but small; and the poor painter, who by no means loved the idea of his promised suspension in the morning air of Hull, could hear the buzz of an eager but low-toned conversation going on in front, without being able to distinguish the words. He thought, indeed, that he caught the term "church" frequently repeated; but of that he was not sure. And though with a stout heart he resolved to say nothing, either of what he knew or suspected, it must be confessed he shook a little as he rode along.
At length, after an hour and a half's farther ride, they began to approach the Humber, and the moon shining out showed Falgate scenes which he had often passed through in former days, upon journeys of business or of pleasure. Now they came to a village in which was swinging, before a fast-closed house, a sign of his own painting; and now a hamlet in which he had enjoyed many a merry dance; till at length, passing over a long, bare, desolate piece of land, without tree, or hedgerow, or house, or break, running along the water's edge, they perceived upon a slight elevation, an old time-worn church, the resort of parishioners from a wide and thinly-populated tract, the old stone monuments and gloomy aisles of which had often filled the somewhat imaginative head of the painter with strange and awful visions, when he visited it on the Sunday evening in the decline of the year. At about five hundred yards farther on was a solitary house where the sexton lived; and stopping suddenly before the gate of the church-yard, the commander of the party bade one of his men ride on and get the key.
"What are they going to do?" thought Falgate. "The profane villains are not going to stable their horses in a church surely. Well, I shall be glad enough of rest anywhere, for Hull is three miles off; and I do not think my skin would hold out."
While he had been thus reasoning with himself, one of the troopers had got off his horse, and advancing through the little wicket of the church-yard, tried the door of the church.
"It is open," he cried; "they have left their steeple-house open."
The other man was instantly called back, and Falgate was then ordered to dismount. He observed, however, that the soldiers in general kept their saddles, and he advanced with some trepidation, accompanied by the commander, to the door where the other trooper still stood. There he halted suddenly, however, asking in a lamentable tone--
"You are not going to leave me here alone all night, surely?"
"Not alone!" answered the man; "we will put a guard in the porch to watch you; and you will have full time to prepare your mind for to-morrow morning, and to turn in your head whether you will tell us who your companions were, before the rope is round your neck. You may speak now, if you will."
But Falgate was faithful to the last; and though he by no means approved of being shut up in the church all night, he repeated that he could not tell, for he did not know.
"Well, then," rejoined his captor, "here you must rest; but think well of the condition of your soul, young man, for nothing will save you if you remain obstinate."
Thus saying, he thrust him into the building, and closed the door. The poor painter now heard some conversation without in regard to the key, which, it appeared, was not in the lock; and a consultation was held as to whether it should be sent for; but the voice of the commander was heard at length, saying--
"Never mind. We have not time to stay. Keep good watch; that is all that is needed."
"But if he try to escape?" asked the trooper.
"Shoot him through the head with your pistol," answered the other voice. "As well die so as by a cord."
The conversation then ceased, and Falgate heard the sound of horses' feet the next minute marching down the hill. The situation of Diggory Falgate was to himself by no means pleasant, and, indeed, few are the men who would find themselves particularly at their ease, shut up for a whole night within an old church, and with even the probability of death before them for the next morning. Silence, and midnight solitude, and the proximity of graves, and shrouds, and mouldering clay, are things well calculated to excite the imagination even of the cold and calculating, to damp the warm energies of hope, and open all the sources of terror and superstitious awe within us. How often, in the warm daylight, and in the midst of the gay and busy world, does man, roused for a moment by some accidental circumstance to a conviction of the frail tenure by which life is held, think of death and all that may follow it with no other sensation than a calm melancholy. It is because every object around him, everything that he sees, everything that he hears, and everything that he feels, are so full of life, that he cannot think death near. He sees it but in the dim and misty perspective of future years, with all its grim features softened and indistinct. But when he hears no sound of any living thing, when his eye rests upon nothing moving with the warm energies of animation, when all is as dark as the vault, as silent as the grave--it is then, that, if the thought of death presents itself, it comes near--horribly near. Clearer from the obscurity around, more distinct and tangible from the stillness of all things, death becomes a living being to our fancy, with his icy hand upon our brow, his barbed dart close at our heart. We see him, feel him, hear the dread summons of his charnel voice; and prepare for the extinction of the light within the coffin's narrow bed, the mould and corruption of the tomb.
Poor Falgate had hitherto tried to fancy that the announcement of his fate for the morrow had been merely a threat: but now, when he was left alone in the old church, with no one near him to speak to, with not a sound but the sighing of the night wind through some broken panes in the high casement, his convictions became very different. He felt his way with his hands from pillar to pillar, towards a spot where a thin streak of moonlight crossed the nave, and seated himself sadly upon a bench that he found near. He there sat and tortured himself for half an hour, thinking over all the bold and infamous things the parliament party had done, and clearly deducing thence what they might probably do in his own case. He loved not the thought of death at all as it now presented itself to his mind; the hero's enthusiasm was gone; he had no desire to be a martyr; but of all sorts of death that of the cord seemed the worst. And yet, what was to be done? Could he betray the confidence of others, could he flinch from what he conceived to be a duty? No; though he felt a little weakness, he was not the man to do that; and he said again to himself that he would rather die. But still he turned with repugnance from that close grappling with the thought of dying which the scene and the hour forced upon him: he tried to think of something else; he strove to recal the early days when he had last stood in that aisle, and many a boyish prank he had played in years long gone; but the image of death would present itself amidst all, like a skull in a flower-garden, and the very sweet ideas that he summoned up to banish it but made it look more terrible.
In the mean while, the moon gradually got round, till she poured a fuller flood of light into the building, showing the tombs and old monumental effigies upon the walls and in the aisle; and many a wild legend and village tale came back to Falgate's memory, of ghosts having been seen issuing from the vaults beneath the church, and wandering down even to the gates of Hull. The painter was a firm believer in apparitions of all kinds, and he had often wished, with a sort of foolish bravado, to see a ghost; but now, when, if ever, he was likely to be gratified, he did not quite so much like the realization of his desires. He thought, nevertheless, that he could face one, if one did come; but then arose the sad idea, that he might very soon be one of their shadowy companions himself; wandering for the allotted term beneath "the pale glimpses of the moon."
Suddenly a thought struck him. Might he not, perchance, employ the semblance of that state to facilitate his own escape? Doubtless, the man placed to keep guard would not long remain upon his dull watch without closing an eye, after a long day's march and a hard fight; the door was not locked; he could open it and go out and, could he but so disguise himself as to appear like the inhabitant of another world, if the sentinel did wake, he would most likely be so stupified and alarmed, that he would let him pass, or miss his aim if he fired. Falgate remembered the words of the officer as he had retired: "As well die so as by a cord;" and he resolved he would at least make the attempt. A daring and enterprising spirit seized him; he felt he could be a hero in ghostly attire, and the only difficulty was to procure the proper habiliments. At first he thought of making a shift with his own shirt; but then he remembered that the length thereof was somewhat scanty, and he had never heard of ghosts with drapery above their knees.
However, as, when one schoolboy opens a door into forbidden piece of ground, and puts his head out, a dozen more are sure to follow and hurry him on before them, so the thought of becoming a ghost seemed to bring a thousand other cunning devices with it; and at length good Diggory Falgate asked himself if the vestry might not be open, and if a surplice might not be found therein. He determined to ascertain; and creeping up to the door which he had often seen the parson of the parish pass through, he lifted the latch, and to his joy found that it was not locked. All, however, was dark within, and the poor painter, entering cautiously, groped about, not knowing well where to seek for that which he wanted. Suddenly his hand struck against something, hanging apparently from a peg in the wall; but he soon ascertained that the texture was not that of linen, and went on, still feeling along the sides of the little room. In a moment after, he came to something softer and more pliant, with the cold, glassy feel of linen upon it, and taking it down he mentally said, "This must be the surplice." He crept back with it into the moonlight in the church, treading like a ghost, not only in anticipation of the character he was about to assume, but also in palpable terror lest he should call the attention of the guard at the church door, by tripping over a mat or stumbling against a bench. The white and snowy garment, however, the emblem of innocence, was there in his hand, and he gazed all over it, inquiring in his own mind how he was to put it on. He knew not the back from the front; he scarcely knew the head from the tail; and seldom has a poor schoolboy gazed at the "ass's bridge," in the dry but reason-giving pages of Euclid, with more utter bewilderment and want of comprehension than Diggory Falgate now stared at the surplice. As he thus stood, addressing mock inquiries to the folds of white linen, he suddenly started, thinking he heard a noise; but after listening a moment without catching any further sound, he quietly crept up to the great door of the church, and bent both eye and ear to the keyhole, to ascertain whether the sentinel was awake and watching or not.
The only noise that met his ear, when he first applied the latter organ to the task of discovery, was a loud and sonorous snore; and looking through the aperture, he found, by the light of the moon, which was shining into the porch, that the guard had seated himself on one of the benches at the side of the door, and, with his legs stretched out across the only means of egress, had given way to weariness, and was indulging in a very refreshing sleep, while his horse was seen cropping the grass within the wall of the churchyard.
The poor painter was calculating the chances of being able to pass the outstretched limbs of the sentinel without awakening him, and, screwing his courage to the sticking point--to use Lady Macbeth's pork-butcherish figure--when suddenly he was startled and cast into a cold perspiration by hearing a sound at the farther end of the church. All was silent the moment after; but the noise had been so distant while it lasted, that there was no doubting the evidence of his ears; and the only question was, what it could proceed from--was it natural or supernatural? was it accidental or intentional? Diggory Falgate could not at all divine, till at length, encouraged by its cessation, he began to think that he might have left the door of the vestry open, and the wind might have blown down some book. Yet the sound had been sharp as well as heavy--more like the fall of a piece of old iron than that of a volume of homilies, the prayer-book, or the psalter. He determined to see, however; and sitting down for a moment to gather courage, and to ascertain that the trooper without had not been roused by the noise that had alarmed himself, he listened till, mingled with the beating of his own heart, he heard the comfortable snore of the guard once more. Then, thinking that at any time he could call the good man to his aid if he encountered ghost or goblin too strong for him, he shuffled himself into the surplice, and with the stealthy step of a cat crept up the nave towards the vestry.
When he was about two-thirds up the church, and was just leaning against a bench to take breath, another sound met his ear. It was that of a deep voice speaking low, and seemed to come almost from below his feet.
"They must be gone now," said the invisible tongue. "All is silent you hear."
"I do not know," said another, in tones somewhat shriller. "Hush! I thought I heard a noise."
"Pooh! the rustling of the casements with the wind," rejoined the other; "I cannot stay all night: unshade the lantern and let us to work."
If a fragment of superstitious doubt as to the interlocutors of this dialogue being of a ghostly character had lingered in the mind of Diggory Falgate, the words about unshading the lantern removed it completely; and the next instant a faint and misty light was seen issuing from a low narrow doorway, which had apparently been left open on the opposite side of the church, towards the eastern angle.
"Some vagabonds robbing the vaults," thought the painter to himself: "I will see what they are about, at all risks. Perchance I may frighten them, make them run over the sentinel, and escape in the confusion. If he shoots one of them instead of me, it will be no great matter; and of course, if these men are as anxious to get away as I am, we shall make common cause and be too strong for him. But I will watch for a minute first; and let them be fairly at their work, as they call it, before I show myself."
Thus thinking, with a noiseless step he advanced towards the door leading from the main body of the building to the vaults below, guided by the light, which continued to glimmer faintly up, casting a misty ray upon the communion-table. When he approached the arch, he looked carefully forward at every step; but nothing could he see till he came to the top of the stone stairs, when he perceived a dark lantern, with the shade drawn back, standing on the ground at the bottom. No human beings were visible, however, though he heard a rustling sound in the vault, as if some living creatures were at no great distance; and the next moment there came a sort of gurgling noise, as if some fluid were poured out of a narrow-necked bottle. An instant after, the first voice he had heard observed, in a pleasant and well-satisfied tone, "That's very good! genuine Nantz, I declare."
"Ay, that it is," answered the second voice: "the stomach requires comfort in such a cold and dismal place as this."
"Oh, 'tis nothing when one is used to it," rejoined the first speaker; "but come, we had better do the business. There stands the coffin. You bring the mallet, and I will take the chisel and bar."
Diggory Falgate did not like their proceedings at all, though he would by no means have objected to a glass of cordial waters himself. But they were evidently about to break open one of the coffins--every word showed it; to violate the sanctity of the grave--to disturb the ashes of the dead; and the poor painter had sufficient refinement of feeling to think that the drinking of intoxicating liquors, while so engaged, was an aggravation of their offence. The collocation of "genuine Nantz, I declare," with "there stands the coffin," shocked and horrified him; and he paused for a moment to consider, feeling as if it would render him almost a partaker in the sacrilege if he were to descend into the vault. A moment's thought, however, settled this case of conscience; and by the time that he had settled his plan he heard a hollow noise, as if some hard substance had struck against an empty chest.
"Now is the time," he thought; "they are busy at their hellish work."
There stood the lantern on the ground beneath; the men were evidently at some small distance. If he could get possession of the light and shade it, they were at his mercy; and the only difficulty was how to descend the stairs without calling their attention. Recollecting, however, that it was the invariable practice of ghosts, whatever sounds they might produce with any other organs with which they may be endowed, to make no noise with their feet, the good painter stooped down, took off his shoes, and put them in his pockets. Then with a quiet and stealthy step he began the descent, totally unperceived by those who were by this time busily engaged wrenching and tearing some well-fastened woodwork.
Stooping down before he quite reached the bottom of the steps, Diggory Falgate looked into the vault, and immediately perceived two men, both of them somewhat advanced in life--one a thin, tall, puritanical-looking person, dressed in black, raising with a chisel and mallet the lid of a coffin which stood upon the ground. Forty or fifty other coffins, some small and narrow, some large, were within the pale glimpse of the lantern, and the painter's imagination filled up the dark space which the rays did not reach with similar mementoes of mortality. On his left hand, near the foot of the stairs, were four coffins placed in a row, with three others laid crosswise upon them, and all raised two or three feet from the floor by trestles. There was a narrow sort of lane behind, between them and the damp wall, and taking another step down, he brought himself as far on that side as possible.
Just at that moment one of the men turned a little, so as to bring his profile within the painter's view, and he instantly recognised a face that he had seen at the "Swan" Inn in Hull, the day before his expedition with Captain Barecolt and Arrah Neil.
"I'll wager any money it is that old villain, Dry, of Longsoaken, whom I have heard them talk so much about," thought Falgate; but he was not suffered to carry his meditations on that subject farther, for Mr. Dry, turning his head away again towards his companion, said-- "I cannot see; get the lantern."
The painter had just time to slip behind the pile of coffins he had observed, and to crouch down, before the other man, after having given another vigorous wrench at the lid, laid down the bar he had in his hands and moved towards the foot of the stairs. The rustle of the surplice seemed to catch his ear, for he stopped for a moment, apparently to listen; but the next instant he advanced again, took up the lantern, looked round with a somewhat nervous stare, and then returned to Mr. Dry.
"Did you not hear a noise?" he asked in a low voice.
Mr. Dry stopped in his proceedings and evidently trembled. Their agitation gave courage to the painter, and creeping on so as to bring himself nearly on a line with them, he ventured to utter a low groan. Both the culprits started, and gazed around with hair standing on end and teeth chattering.
"Now's the time!" thought Falgate, and taking two steps farther towards the end of the lane formed by the coffins and the wall, he uttered another groan, followed by a shrill unearthly shriek, and then started up to his full height, as if he were rising from the midst of the pile of mortal dust upon his right. The rays fell straight upon the white garments and the face of this unexpected apparition, pale and worn as he was by fatigue and fear. Struck with terror and consternation, the limbs of the two men at first refused to move; but when they saw this awful figure advancing straight towards them with another hollow groan, they both darted away, the one crying--
"Through the church! through the church! It will catch you before you can reach the other door!" and Mr. Dry followed at full speed towards the steps by which Falgate had descended.
Not liking to be left in the vault in the dark, the painter sprang after them with another wild shriek. Fortune favoured him more than skill; for, just as the foremost of the fugitives was mounting the steps, Mr. Dry seized hold of his cloak to stay his trembling limbs; the other, who was the sexton, in the agony of his terror fancied the ghost had caught him, dropped the lantern and rushed on, his companion clinging close to him. Falgate instantly picked up the light before it was extinguished, and drew the shade over it; and almost at the same moment he heard the door above banged to by those he was pursuing, and a bolt drawn; for they did not stay to inquire whether spiritual beings are to be stopped by material substances or not.
The painter paused and listened; he heard quick steps beating the pavement above, and then a door opening. The next instant came a loud shout, and then the report of a pistol; then a shout again, then a momentary silence, and lastly the quick galloping of a horse.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Diggory: "they have cleared the way for me, and left me master of the field of battle;" and he drew back the blind from the lantern and looked about him.