Leaving poor Diggory Falgate to find his way out of the vault as best he might, or, if he rather chose to stay there, to make what discoveries he could, we must return by the reader's good leave to some of the more important personages of our tale; premising, however, that although we have dwelt thus long upon the adventures of the worthy sign-painter, those adventures were by no means without their influence upon the fate of the other personages in their history. We must also pass over a period of several days since last we were at Langley Hall, allowing the reader's imagination to supply the few and quiet changes which time had brought about, no event of any consequence having taken place in the interim.
It was a warm and glowing evening, though Autumn had spread his brown mantle over the trees; and while fair Arrah Neil and Lady Margaret Langley sat in the old lady's usual drawing-room, with the windows open as in midsummer, Annie Walton was seated under a little clump of beeches at the back of Langley Hall, the Earl of Beverley, somewhat recovered from his wound, stretched on the dry grass at her feet.
They were happy enough to enjoy long pauses in conversation; for their mutual love, as the reader has already been given to understand, was known and acknowledged by each; and their minds, starting from one common point, would run on in meditation along paths, separate indeed, but not far distant, and then, like children playing in a meadow, would return to show each other what flowers they had gathered.
"How calm and sweet the evening is!" said the earl, after one of these breaks. "One would hardly fancy the year so far advanced. I love these summer days in autumn, dearest. They often make me look on to after years, and think of the tempered joys and tranquil pleasures of old age, calling up the grand picture of latter life left us by a great Roman orator, when the too vivid sun of youth and manhood has somewhat sunk in the sky, and we have freshness as well as warmth, though not the fervid heat of midsummer."
"I love them too," answered Miss Walton; "and I think that in every season of the year there are days and hours of great beauty and grandeur. Though I like the early summer best, yet I can admire the clear winter sky, and the dazzling expanse of white that robes the whole earth as if in ermine, and even the autumnal storm with its fierce blast, loaded with sleet, and hail, and withered leaves. But I was thinking, Francis, of how peaceful all things seem around, and what a horrible and sinful thing it is for men to deform the beautiful earth, and disturb the quiet of all God's creation with wild wars and senseless contests."
"A woman's thought, dear Annie," replied the earl, "and doubtless itissinful; but, alas? the sin is shared amongst so many, that it would in any war be difficult to portion it out. 'Tis not alone to be divided amongst those who fight or amongst those who lead; it is not to be laid at the door of those who first take arms or those who follow; it is not to be charged to the apparent aggressor: but every one who, by folly, weakness, passion, prejudice, or hatred, lays the foundation for strife in after years, has a share in the crime. Oh! how many are the causes of war! Deeds often remote by centuries have their part; and always many an act done long before rises up--like an acorn buried in the ground and springing up into a tree--and is the seed from which after contentions spring. Even in this very contest in which we are now engaged, though we may see and say who is now right and who is wrong, yet what man can separate the complex threads of the tangled skein of the past, and tell who most contributed to bring about that state which all wise men must regret? Years, long years before this, the foundation was laid in the tyranny of Henry, in the proud sway of Elizabeth, in the weak despotism of James, in the persecution of the Papists of one reign, in that of the Puritans in another; in lavish expenditure, in vicious indulgence, in favouritism and minions, in the craving ambition of some subjects, in the discontented spirit of others, in the interested selfishness, the offended vanity, the mortified pride of thousands; in weak yieldings to unjust demands, in stubborn resistance of just claims, in fond adherence to ancient forms, in an insatiate love of novelty and change: and all this spread through generations, dear Annie, all of which have their part in the result and the responsibility."
"Too wide a range, Francis, for my weak mind to take in," replied the lady; "but I do know it is sad to see a land that once seemed happy overspread with rapine and wrong, and deluged in blood."
"To hear no more the church-bells ringing gaily," said the earl with a smile, "or to see the market and the fair deserted. These may indeed seem trivial things; but yet they are amongst those that bring home to our hearts most closely the disruption of all those ties that bind men together in social union."
"But there are in the home of every one more terrible proofs than that of the great evil," answered Miss Walton. "Never to see a friend, a brother, a father, quit our side without the long train of fearful inquiries--When shall I see him again? Will it be for ever? How shall we meet, and where? Oh, Francis! how many a heart feels this like mine throughout the land! Danger, accident, and death, at other times dim, distant forms that we hardly see, are now become familiar thoughts, the companions of every fireside; and calm security and smiling hope are banished afar, as if never to return."
"Oh! they will come back, dear Annie," replied the earl. "This is a world of change. The April day of man's fluctuating passions has never cloud or sunshine long. No sooner does the calm light of peace overspread the sky than storms are seen gathering on the horizon; and no sooner do war and tumult imitate the tempest in destruction and ruin than a glimpse of the blue heaven gleams through the shadow, and gives promise of brighter moments at another hour."
"But that hour is often a lifetime," answered the lady. "We are but at the beginning shall we ever see the close?"
"Who can say?" rejoined Lord Beverley; "but one thing is certain, Annie. We are under God's will, my beloved. He can lengthen or shorten the time of trial at his pleasure; we ourselves, and all the men with whom or against whom we may act, are but his instruments. We can no more stride beyond the barrier he has fixed than the sea can pass the boundary of sands with which he has surrounded it. Our task is to do that which we conscientiously believe it is our duty to him to do in the circumstances wherein he has placed us; and we may be sure that, however much we may be mistaken, if such is our object and purpose, the errors of understanding will never be visited on our heads as crimes by him who knows the capabilities of every creature that he has made, and can judge between intention and execution. God punishes sins and not mistakes, dear girl; he tries the heart as well as the actions, and holds the balance even between each; and though we may suffer in this world for the errors of others or for our own, there is exhaustless compensation in the hand of the Almighty for those who seek to do his will, and those who wilfully disobey it."
"I have learned a lesson on that score from the dear girl within there," replied Miss Walton; and as she spoke she naturally turned her eyes to the room where she knew Arrah Neil was sitting. "What can be the matter?" she continued instantly: "see! Arrah is making eager signs to us to come in!"
The earl rose slowly and with difficulty; and before he had advanced more than a step or two with Annie Walton, who hastened anxiously to return to the house, Arrah Neil, with her sunny brown hair floating wildly about her face, came running out to meet them.
"Quick, quick, my lord, for pity's sake!" she cried "there is a large body of men before the drawbridge. The people are holding them in parley; the Lady Margaret says she can conceal you from all eyes if you make haste." She spoke with breathless eagerness; and Lord Beverley hurried his pace as much as possible, but with perfect calmness, turning with a smile to Annie Walton, and saying--
"Fresh evils of civil war, Annie; but I fear not the result."
The time occupied in crossing to the house seemed fearfully long to Miss Walton and Arrah Neil; but they found Lady Margaret waiting tranquilly enough at the small door that led into the meadow, and the old lady's only words were--
"Follow;" to the earl; and "Wait in the withdrawing-room--they will not let them in till I order it," to her two fair guests. Then leading the way with a calm step, she conducted Lord Beverley up the same stairs and through the same passages which she had followed with her niece on the first night of her stay at Langley Hall; but turning a little to the right at the door of Annie Walton's chamber, she brought the earl into a small detached room, which seemed isolated from every other part of the building.
"Here you will be safe," she said.
"I think not, dear Lady Margaret," replied Lord Beverley, with a smile at what he thought her want of experience in such matters.
"We will see," she answered, advancing to the other side of the room, where stood a huge antique fireplace, with a chimney-piece of rich wrought stone. "No moving pictures, no sliding panels here," said Lady Margaret; "but place your hand upon that pillar, my good lord, and push it strongly--more strongly towards the hearth. There," she continued, as the whole mass swung back, displaying an aperture large enough for a man to pass, but not without stooping; "you will find a bolt within which will make it as fast as masonry. The stairs lead you into rooms below, where no one can come without my leave. You shall be supplied with all you want.--But, hark! On my life, they have let the men in! Quick, my lord, and bolt the door. I will send somebody soon but I must go down lest those girls make some mistake if questioned."
Lord Beverley entered at once, and feeling over the face of the stone for the bolt, pushed it home, and made the whole secure. He then paused and listened, waiting patiently for several minutes. At first he could hear no sound in the remote and well-covered place where he was concealed; but at length he caught the noise of voices and steps running hither and thither in the house. They came near, passed away into other chambers on the left, returned, sounded in the passage, and then in the adjoining room. He could perceive that several men entered, examined the wainscot, tried every panel, moved every article of furniture, and at length shook the mantel-piece and the stone pillars on either side of the chimney; but the bolt held close and fast, and the receding steps showed him that these unwelcome visiters had turned their course elsewhere.
Good Lady Margaret Langley had seen troublous days, and was well fitted by a strong understanding to deal with them; but one of the advantages of misfortune, if I may use so strange a phrase, is, that experience of danger suggests precautions which long prosperity knows not how to take, even in the moment of the greatest need. As soon as she had left the Earl of Beverley, instead of going direct to the part of the house where she heard the voices of her unwished-for visiters, she directed her steps through sundry long and intricate passages, which ultimately led her to a small door communicating with the garden, smiling as she did so at distinguishing the fierce growl of her good dog Basto in the hall, and the querulous tone of an old man calling loudly for some one to remove the hound, showing apparently that some visiting justice was kept at bay by that good sentinel. Passing through the garden and round by the path across the lawn, Lady Margaret approached the windows of her own withdrawing-room, just as a party, consisting of five militia-men with the parliamentary justice of Beverley, entered the chamber in haste; and she heard the justice demand in a sharp tone, addressing Miss Walton and Arrah Neil--
"Who are you, young women? What are your names?"
The old lady hurried in, to stop anything like an imprudent reply; but she had the satisfaction of hearing her niece answer--
"Nay, sir; methinks it is for us to ask who are you, and what brings you hither in such rude and intrusive guise."
"Well said, my sweet Annie!" thought Lady Margaret; but entering quickly she presented herself before the justice, whom she knew, exclaiming--
"Ha, Master Shortcoat! good morning to you. What brings you hither? and who are these men in buff and bandolier? I am not fond of seeing such in my house. We had trouble enough with them or their like, a few nights ago."
"Ay, lady, that is what brings us," replied the justice. "I have orders from Hull to inquire into that affair, and to search your house for the bloody-minded malignants here concealed, who slaughtered like lambs a number of godly men even within sight of your door, and then took refuge in Langley Hall. I must search, lady--I must search."
"Search, if you will, from the cellars to the garret," replied Lady Margaret; "but the story told me by those who did take refuge here was very different, Master Shortcoat. They said that, peaceably passing along the country, they were attacked by a body of bloody-minded factious villains, who slaughtered some of them, and drove the rest in here, where finding some of their companions waiting for them, they issued forth again to punish the knaves who had assailed them."
"It's all a lie, good woman!" exclaimed an officer of militia. "But who are these girls? for there was a woman amongst them."
"You are a rude companion, sirrah!" answered Lady Margaret. "These ladies are of my own family--this one my niece, Mistress Anne Walton; and this my cousin, Mistress Arabella Langley."
"Come, come," said another, interposing; "we are wasting time, while perhaps those we seek may be escaping. It is not women we want, but men. Search the house, Master Justice, with all speed. I will go one way with two or three of the men--go you another with the rest."
"Stay, stay!" said Justice Shortcoat; "you are too quick: we cannot make due inquest if you interrupt us so. Lady, I require to know who were the persons in your house who went forth to assist the malignants on the night of Wednesday last."
"Why, I have told you already, Master Shortcoat. You must be hard of hearing. Did I not say they were friends of theirs who were waiting here for them? In these times, when subjects are governors and servants masters, how can I keep out any one who chooses to come in? That very night one of the men swam the moat, and let down the drawbridge for himself. How am I to stop such things? If I could, I would keep every party out that appeared with more than two, be they who they might. I seek but to live a peaceable life; but you, and others like you, break in at all hours, disturbing my quiet. Out upon you all! Search, search where you will! You can find nothing here but myself and my own people."
"Well, we will search, lady," replied the officer of militia who had spoken before. "Come, worshipful Master Shortcoat--let us not waste more time;" and seizing him by the arm, he dragged rather than led him away.
The moment he was gone, Lady Margaret whispered in Annie Walton's ear, "Quick, Annie! run to the room where all the maidens sit, and tell them, if asked what mean the clothes in the earl's chamber and the blood upon them, to say that they are those of one who was killed the other night, and that the body was carried away by his comrades. I will go to the men's hall and to the kitchen, and do the same. You hear, sweet Arrah? such must be our tale;" and away the old lady went. But she found the task of communicating this hint somewhat more difficult than she had expected, for the hall was half full of the parliamentary militia, and she had to send her servants to different parts of the house, one upon one pretence, and another upon another, before she could find the opportunity of speaking with them in private.
In the mean while she heard with a smile the feet of the justice and his companions running through all the rooms and passages of this wide, rambling pile of building, except those which, separated from the rest by stone partitions, and forming a sort of house within the house, could only be discovered either by one already acquainted with some of the several entrances, or by the line and rule of the architect. She had just done instructing her servants, not having omitted, as she thought, one of the household, when feet were heard descending the principal stairs, and the perquisitions were commenced in that wing of the hall in which the room inhabited by the Earl of Beverley was situated.
In a few minutes the justice and one of the militia-men returned, carrying a cloak and a heavy riding-boot, and demanding with a triumphant laugh, "Where is he to whom these belong?"
"In the grave, probably," replied Lady Margaret, with perfect composure. "If you are authorized to take possession of dead men's property, you may keep them; and indeed you have a better right to them than I have, for your people shot him, so that you have only to divide the spoil."
"Do you mean to say, Lady Margaret, that the man is dead?" asked Justice Shortcoat, with a look of some surprise and consternation.
"All the better if he be," exclaimed the officer of militia; "'tis but one malignant the less in the world. But let us hear more, worshipful Master Shortcoat. I don't believe this story. Let us have in the servants one by one----"
"Ay, one by one," said the justice, who was one of the men who may be called Echoes, and who repeat other men's ideas in a very self-satisfied tone. "You see about it, sir, and ensure that there be no collusion."
The whole matter was soon arranged; and Lady Margaret, taking her wonted chair, drew an embroidery-frame towards her, through which she passed the needle to and fro with the utmost calmness, while sweet Annie Walton sat with a beating heart beside Arrah Neil, who, with the tranquil fortitude that had now come over her, watched the proceedings of the intruders as if she had been a mere spectator. The magistrate placed himself pompously at the table in the midst; the officer, who had now been joined by two companions with various other articles from the earl's chamber, stood at Master Shortcoat's right hand to prompt him; and then the servants were called in singly, and asked to whom the clothes belonged which had been found.
"To the gentleman who was killed," replied the man, William, who was first examined.
"And where is the corpse?" demanded the officer of militia.
"I do not know," replied the servant; "they took it away with them."
"Was he killed at once, or did he die here?" asked the officer
"He lingered a little, I believe," answered William.
The justice looked at the officer, and the latter said, "You may go; see him through the hall, Watson."
Another and another servant was called, and all gave the same answers till they came to the maids, who had not been so well or fully instructed by fair Annie Walton as the men had been by her aunt. Their first reply, indeed, was the same--that he was dead; but when they were interrogated as to the time of his death, they hesitated and stumbled a little; but they were generally girls of good sense, and contrived to get out of the scrape by saying that they did not know, as they had not seen him till he was dead; and all agreed that the corpse had been taken away.
At length, however, at the last, appeared the scullion; and Lady Margaret's face for the first time showed some anxiety, as the girl had not been in the kitchen when she visited it, and, to say truth, had been hearing some sweet words from a soldier in the court. When the usual first question was asked her, namely, whom the clothes belonged to, she replied--
"To the gentleman who was brought in wounded."
"And who died shortly after," said Lady Margaret, fixing her eyes upon her.
"Do not venture to prompt her, lady," said the officer, turning sternly towards her. "Speak, girl, and tell truth. Did he die?"
"I never heard as he died," answered the scullion.
"Do you know where he is now?" asked the justice.
"No, that I don't," replied the girl. "I have not seen him to-day."
Both judge and officer gazed at her with a frowning brow, and demanded, one after the other--
"Did you see him yesterday?"
Poor Annie Walton's heart fluttered as if it would have broken through her side; but the girl, after a moment's consideration, replied, somewhat confusedly--
"I don't know as I did."
"Then, when did you see him last?" inquired the militia-man.
"I can't tell," answered the scullion. "I don't justly know. I saw him the night he was brought in, for the men laid him down on the floor there, and I saw him through the door chink, just where Basto is lying."
She pointed to the dog as she spoke, and he, with whom she was by no means a favourite, started up with a sharp growl and rushed towards her. He was checked by his mistress's voice, however; but the girl, uttering a terrified shriek, ran out of the room, and the officers with the justice laid their heads together over the table, conversing for some minutes in a low tone.
At length the worshipful magistrate raised his eyes, and turning to Lady Margaret he said--
"Madam, it is clear that this is a very dark and mysterious affair; and any one can see with half an eye that you have given shelter and comfort to notorious malignants. It is, therefore, my unpleasant duty to quarter upon you a guard of twenty men, under this worshipful gentleman, who will take what means he may think proper for discovering the dark practices which clearly have occurred here."
"In this dark clear case, sir," replied Lady Margaret, with a stiff and haughty air, "will it not be better to furnish them with a general warrant? Its having been pronounced illegal will be no obstacle with those who set all law at defiance. As to quartering those men upon a widow lady, I care little about it, so that I do not see them. Keep them away from the apartments of my family, and you may put them where you like. If they come near me, I will drive them forth with that feather broom. Away with you all, and keep out of my sight, wheresoever you bestow yourselves. Or do you intend to spoil the Egyptians, and take my beef and beer, or my goods and chattels?"
"Though you are uncivil to us, lady," said the officer, who, perhaps, thought that the comfort of his quarters might depend upon fair words, "we do not intend to be uncivil to you. We will give you no trouble so long as you and your people comport yourselves properly; and in the trust that you will do so, I shall now retire, and fix the rooms for my men as I shall judge expedient, of course not interfering with your accommodation. Come, Master Shortcoat."
"Stay, sir!" said Lady Margaret. "You speak well. Perhaps I was too warm; but all these intrusions into a peaceable household do heat one. I will see that you have all that you want and can desire; I wish to show you no inhospitality," and she bowed with graceful dignity as the Roundhead party retired.
Night had succeeded to day, and that day had been an uneasy one; for during the hours of light that remained after the parliamentary militia had taken possession of Langley Hall, Lady Margaret had in vain endeavoured to find some opportunity of opening one of the several doors which led into the private rooms and passages of the house. Wherever she went she found one or other of the soldiers on the watch, and she became alarmed lest the want of necessary food should, in the earl's weakened state, prove detrimental to his health.
Miss Walton said nothing; but her beautiful eyes were so full of anxious thought, that whenever they turned upon her aunt, the good old lady felt her heart ache for the painful apprehensions which she knew were in her fair niece's bosom; and as the shades of evening fell, she rang for her servant William, and asked him several questions in a low tone. What his answers were, neither Annie Walton nor Arrah Neil could hear for some time; but at length, in reply to some injunction of his mistress, he said aloud, "I will try, my lady; but I do not think it will do. He is a sad, sober man, and when they were eating, shortly after they came, he would drink little or nothing."
"Well, give him my message," said Lady Margaret, "and if he will not drink, we must find another means. Warn all the tenants, William, to-morrow early, that they may be wanted; but now go, and see the wine be the best in the cellar."
The man retired, but in a few minutes after he opened the door again, announcing Captain Hargood, and the commander of the small force left at the Hall made his appearance with a ceremonious bow.
"Madam," he said, "I hope you do not put yourself to inconvenience or restraint to ask a stranger to your table who is here against your will, and in some degree against his own."
"Not in the least, Captain Hargood," answered Lady Margaret; "I always have loved and esteemed brave men, whatever be their party; and though, in all that is justifiable, I would never scruple to oppose to the death an enemy, yet where we are not antagonists I would always wish to show courtesy and forget enmity."
"I hope, madam, you will not consider me as an enemy," replied the officer.
"Whoever keeps forcible possession of my fortress," said the old lady, with a smile, "must be so for the time; but let us not speak of unpleasant things--supper must be served," and advancing unembarrassed, she rested her hand upon the arm of her unwelcome guest, and led the way with him to the hall.
But the stout Roundhead was not one to lose his active watchfulness by indulging in the pleasures of the table. The wine was excellent, and the servants were always ready to fill for him; but he drank sparingly, and Lady Margaret did not venture to press him, lest her purpose should become apparent, and lead to suspicions beyond.
After partaking lightly of the wine, she rose, and with her two fair companions retired, leaving him with the potent beverage still on the board, in the hope that he might indulge more freely when he was alone. As soon as they were in the withdrawing-room, she explained to Annie Walton and Arrah Neil, in low but earnest tones, the exact position of the room in which was the entrance to the secret passage which she had opened for Lord Beverley, and the means of making him hear and withdraw the bolt.
"I will send up a basket of food and wine to your chamber, Annie," she said; "and as soon as all seems quiet in the house, you and our dear Arrah go, by the moonlight if you can, to that place, and try to gain admission. If you should fail, or if you should find any one on the watch, come down to me. They have so scattered their men about, that it is well-nigh hopeless before they go to sleep. It would almost seem that they knew whereabouts the doors lie. There is one means, indeed, and that must be taken if all others fail; yet I would fain shrink from it."
"What means is that, dear aunt?" asked Annie Walton.
But the old lady replied that it mattered not; and shortly after they separated, and the two fair girls retired to their chamber. Miss Walton's maids were there ready to aid her in undressing; and though Annie and her friend had much to say to each other, all private conversation was stayed for the time. Shortly after Lady Margaret's chief woman appeared with a covered basket, set it down, and retired without saying a word; and in a few minutes more Annie sent her maidens to bed, saying that she would sit up for a while, and adding, "Leave me a lamp on that table."
But, now that they had the opportunity of speaking more freely, Arrah Neil and her noble friend could but poorly take advantage of it, so eager were they to watch for the diminution of all sounds in the hall. They did speak, indeed, words of kindly comfort and support; and manifold dreamy reasonings took place on all the events of the day, and their probable consequences; but still they interrupted their speech continually to listen, till all at length seemed profoundly still, and Arrah whispered--
"Now I think we may go."
"Yet but a moment or two, dear Arrah," replied Miss Walton. "Let them be sound asleep."
In deep silence they remained for about a quarter of an hour, but then Annie herself rose and proposed to go.
"I am grown such a coward, Arrah," she said, "that I would fain perform this task speedily, and fain escape it too."
"'Tis the desire to do it," answered her fair companion, "that creates the fear of failing. But let me go, Annie, if you dread it so much."
"Nay, nay! No hand but mine, for worlds!" exclaimed the young lady. "But come, I am ready; let us go."
Slowly and quietly opening the door, they issued forth into the passages, and, remembering as well as they could Lady Margaret's direction, were making their way towards the room to which she had led the earl, when suddenly, out of a neighbouring chamber, walked the officer of militia, and stood confronting them in the midst of the passage. Annie Walton trembled, and caught poor Arrah's arm to stop her; but her fair companion was more self-possessed, and whispering, "Come on; show no fear!" she advanced straight towards the officer, saying aloud--
"Will you have the kindness, sir, to accompany us to the door of Lady Margaret's chamber? We are afraid of meeting some of your men, who might be uncivil."
"Do you not think that Lady Margaret may be asleep by this time?" asked the officer, with a doubtful smile.
"Oh, dear, no!" replied Annie Walton, who had gained courage from her fair companion's presence of mind. "She never goes to bed till one or two. Perhaps we may even find her in the withdrawing-room."
"I think not," said the officer; "but we can easily see." And thus speaking, he led the way down, having made himself thoroughly acquainted with the ordinary passages of the house.
The door of the usual sitting-room was ajar, a light was within, and the officer put in his head. Instantly perceiving Lady Margaret Langley seated reading, and recollecting her threatened vengeance if any one of his band approached her apartments, he said, "I have escorted these two young ladies hither, madam, as they were afraid to come alone."
"I thank you, sir," replied the old lady, laying down the book. "Down, Basto! down! Come hither, Annie. Close the door, my sweet Arrah. I thank you, sir. Good night. They are foolish, frightened girls; but I will see them back when we have done our evening duties."
The perfect tranquillity of the old lady's manner removed the suspicion which Captain Hargood had certainly entertained; and closing the door, he retired to the room he had chosen for himself.
As soon as he was gone, Lady Margaret said, in a low tone, "So you were stopped, I suppose, by that rascal?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Annie Walton: "we had scarce taken twenty paces when he met us, and I was fool enough to lose all judgment; but this dear girl saved us both."
"Well," rejoined Lady Margaret, "there is but one means, then. I am weak, girls--very weak--or I would not have kept the good earl so long in darkness and in hunger for my own foolish thoughts. Come with me;" and, opening the door which led from the right-hand side of the withdrawing-room to her own chamber, she went in, closing it again when they had both passed, and fastening it with a bolt. She then paused for a moment in the midst, gazing down upon the floor with a look of deep sadness, and then approached a large closet, which she opened. It was full of shelves; but, putting her hand upon one of them, Lady Margaret drew it forth, laid it down beside her, and pushed hard against the one below. It instantly receded with the whole back of the closet, showing the entrance to a room beyond.
"See, but say nothing," whispered the old lady; and while Annie Walton followed with the lamp, she entered before them.
It was a small room, fitted up somewhat like a chapel, but hung with tapestry. At the farther end was a table or altar, covered with a linen cloth yellow with age, and having beneath what Annie Walton imagined to be the chalice and plate of the communion. Above, however, hung the picture of a very young woman, whose sweet and radiant look, yet tender and mournful eyes, might well have accorded with a representation of the Blessed Virgin; but the figure was dressed in the fashion of no very remote time; and as soon as Lady Margaret raised her eyes to it, the tears rose in them, and tottering to one of the large crimson chairs that were ranged along the side, she sank into it and bent her head in silence.
Annie Walton and Arrah Neil stood and gazed upon the picture as if they were both fascinated, but neither spoke; and at length Lady Margaret rose again, saying abruptly, "I am a fool, and will be so no more. This is the chamber of retribution, my sweet Arrah," she continued, approaching the two fair girls, and taking the lamp out of the hand of Miss Walton. "Here for many a year I and one now gone wept and prayed for forgiveness;" and, holding up the lamp towards the picture, she gazed at it with a mournful look. Then, laying her hand upon the edge of the cloth which covered the table, she seemed about to withdraw it, but paused, and her face became almost livid with emotion. "I will do it!" she said at length; "I will do it--but say nothing--ask no question--utter not a word!"
As she spoke, she cast back the cloth; and lying on the table, which was covered with crimson velvet, appeared a pale and gory human head, severed at the neck. The face was turned up, the eyes were closed, the mouth was partly open, and the fine white teeth were shown. Though pale as ashes, the traces of great beauty remained in the finely-chiselled features: the curling lip, covered with the dark moustache; the wide, expansive brow, the high forehead, the blue tinge of the eyes shining through the dark-fringed lids--all showed that in life it must have been the face of as handsome a man as ever had been seen, but over all was the grey shade of death.
Annie Walton started back in terror; but Lady Margaret turned to her sternly and sadly, saying, "Foolish girl! it is but wax. For you it has none of those memories that give it life for me. There--you have seen enough!" and she drew the cloth back again over that sad memento. Then, gazing for a moment again at the picture, the old lady set the lamp down upon the table; and casting her arms round the fair neck of Arrah Neil, she leaned her eyes upon her shoulder and wept bitterly.
Annie Walton would not intrude upon her aunt's grief, either by asking any questions or by calling to her remembrance the situation of the Earl of Beverley, although, as soon as the first impression of the extraordinary spectacle which had been presented to her had passed away, the state in which her lover had been so long kept naturally occurred to her mind. But Lady Margaret, herself a woman of strong and vigorous character, though somewhat eccentric in her habits of thought, soon roused herself, and starting up she wiped the tears from her eyes, exclaiming, "This is not all folly, my child; but yet any grief, if it prevent us from doing our duty, is a weakness and a wrong. Come, we will soon find the earl."
Miss Walton took up the basket; and Lady Margaret, with the light, approached a door on the other side of the room which led to a narrow and very steep staircase; but Arrah Neil paused till the light was nearly gone, to gaze at the picture, and when she at length followed, her eyes too were running over with bright drops. A long passage at the top of the stairs conducted them to a door, which Lady Margaret gently opened, exposing a room within, furnished with a chair, a bed, and a small table, by which the earl was sitting, his head resting on his hand.
As may readily be supposed, he was well pleased to see his visiters; for long solitude in darkness and uncertainty, without occupation, will have a depressing effect upon the firmest heart and best regulated mind. The cause of their long absence was soon explained; and, the acceptable stores which they brought being taken from the basket and deposited on the table, though Annie Walton would fain have remained some time to console her lover in his imprisonment, he too strongly felt the danger of her so doing to permit it; and, only petitioning that when any one returned some books might be added to his store, to while away the hours of solitude, he saw them depart, though not without a sigh. No interruption took place on the return of the two young ladies to their room, and the night passed over without any other event deserving of notice.
Tan household of Lady Margaret Langley was increased, during the day following the adventures related in the last two chapters, by the return of two stout servants, whom she had sent upon various errands to a considerable distance from Langley Hall; and in the evening the steward and his man came back, as they termed it--though, in truth, they both ordinarily lived in a house and cottage about two miles off--to the dwelling of the good lady. The hind, too, arrived, and took up his lodging in the house; and the shrewd servant, William, was busy amongst the farmers and tenants, talking with one, whispering with another, winking at a third. Langley Hall in truth became quite a gay place; for, in addition to the militia-men from Beverley, every morning saw five or six good yeomen, sometimes eight or nine, attending Lady Margaret's orders and directions about farming matters. Captain Hargood felt somewhat uneasy; for these visiters, all stout men and generally armed, became so numerous that he saw it was not at all unlikely that in process of time he might be outnumbered in the Hall. He perceived that, should such be the case, at any unexpected moment he might easily be overpowered, if the disposition which he had at first made of his men continued; for, scattered over that large, rambling mansion, in order to watch what was taking place in every part at once, there were not to be found more than two or three of the militia together at any one given point; and it was by no means an easy or rapid process to gather them from their several quarters into one body for the stairs and passages, the rooms and ante-rooms, the lobbies and galleries, the halls and corridors, were so intricate and in such number, that it was a good half-hour's march from one end of the house to the other; and the shutting of a door or barricading of a passage might in a moment isolate any one party from the rest. He could not help fancying, too, that Lady Margaret felt the advantage of her position, and that there was something more than chance in this influx of tenantry; and thus the feeling of security with which he had taken possession of Langley Hall soon disappeared, and he became very uneasy indeed.
In after periods of the civil war, when the bold and decided tone of the parliament had spread to the whole party, and the simple justice or petty commissioner, knowing that any violence against a malignant would receive countenance and applause from those who had the power of the state in their hands, ventured every excess against their enemies, Captain Hargood would have overcome the difficulty at once by marching off Lady Margaret and the principal members of her household to Beverley or Hull. But the Roundhead party, in remote provinces, had not yet acquired full confidence either in its strength or in its leaders; and steps afterwards taken as a matter of course were now not even thought of. His only resource, therefore, was to reinforce his numbers, if possible, and to make such changes in the disposition of his men in the mean while as would guard against surprise.
During the hours, then, at which the hall was thronged with the tenants and farmers, he gathered his men together into one part of the house, and there kept them till he found that the visiters who alarmed him were departing. But this was all that Lady Margaret desired; and, the unpleasant espial being removed from about nine in the morning till about one o'clock, ample time was afforded for very easy communication with the Earl of Beverley, both to cheer him by the society of his friends and supply him with all that might be necessary to his comfort.
As only one of the party could venture to be absent at a time, it may easily be supposed that Annie Walton was the person most frequently fixed upon, as she was certainly the one best fitted to console the weary hours of the earl in the strange sort of captivity to which he was reduced; and many and many a happy hour, during the next four days, did the two lovers spend together.
Of the present they had but little to say. No news of any importance reached the Hall, and the brief laugh excited by the success of Lady Margaret's stratagem for driving the militia-men into one particular portion of the house soon passed away. It was upon the past and upon the future, then, that their thoughts and conversation principally turned; but, though the mind of Annie Walton certainly rested more often and more anxiously upon the coming years than upon the past, yet the apprehensions that she entertained regarding them, the too intense interest they excited, and the agitation which the contemplation of all that might take place produced, naturally led her to seek relief in the softened influences of the past; and she would willingly dwell with her lover upon all the thousand little events of early days, showing him, without reserve, all the secrets of her own pure and guileless heart, and seeking playfully and yet eagerly to discover those of his.
Nor did he much strive to conceal them, although there were, of course, some things that he would not say; but whenever he saw that she was deeply interested, and that mystery might create doubts injurious to her peace, he was as frank and free as she was: sporting, perhaps, a little with her curiosity, but always satisfying it in the end. He did not, indeed, amuse himself or her, to use the words of a sweet old song that one time cheered my infancy, by