Tales telling of loves long ago,
although she was curious to know whether the heart, the possession of which she so much valued, had never been given to any but herself; and indeed could hardly believe that, amongst all the scenes through which he had passed, amongst the fair and beautiful with whom he had mingled, and in all the varying events in which he had taken a part, some one had not been found to love and be beloved, by one whom she felt it difficult to imagine any woman could behold without feeling the same sensation towards him that she experienced herself.
At first, indeed, she did not venture to question, but merely suggested with playful smiles the confession which she strove to extort. Then, when he spoke of beautiful scenes in other lands, or of bright and happy moments in former days, she would laugh, and ask whether there had not been some one near to give light to the light and add sweet to the sweetness; and he would reply sportively, "Oh! a multitude, dear Annie! I can assure you that in those days every woman was fair to my young eyes, and every smiling jest was full of wit."
But when she pressed him closer still, and inquired whether, amongst the many, there had not been one brighter than them all, who had found means to eclipse the loveliness around and make herself the beloved, the earl would draw her closer to him, and, gazing on the lids of her downcast eyes, would answer, "Nay, Annie, but I must have your confession first. Have you never loved before? Has no one, ere I knew you, brushed off with a touch the bloom of that dear heart before it was ripe for me?"
"Never, never!" she cried. "Never, Francis! I have had no one to love. Little as I have seen of the world, few as were those who have frequented our house since I was a mere girl, it was not likely, that I should meet with any who should either care to make themselves agreeable to me or have the power of doing so. I can assure you that, had it not been for my brother Charles, till I met with you I should have thought men very dull things indeed. We had, it is true, more than once, a crowd of roystering Cavaliers, and, more frequently still, half-a-dozen prim Puritans, staying in the house or in the neighbourhood; but the first were all too gay for me, the others all too sad; the one set too fond of their fine clothes and their fine horses, the others too fond of their own selves, for them to care for me or I to care for them. One man, indeed, asked my father for my hand when I was a girl of fifteen; but my father saved me the trouble of saying no, by valuing me at too high a price to part with me. But with you, Francis, it is very different: you have mingled with the bright dames of France and the beautiful ones of Italy and Spain; and I cannot even hope that you should have escaped heart-whole, to lay your first affections at the feet of poor Annie Walton, a country girl, well-nigh ignorant of courts, and of all the graces that you must have seen elsewhere."
"I have seen none like her, Annie," said Lord Beverley, in a tone of deep earnestness; "and I will tell you in truth and sincerity, I never loved till I did see her. I may have admired; I may have been pleased; but there have been things in my fate and history which came dimly between me and all others, like those glasses which star-gazers use to look upon the sun without having their eyes dazzled; and even, dearest Annie, when that thick veil was over me the moat, I was still the gayest, jesting with the light, laughing with the gay, and draining the bowl of pleasure to the dregs, even when the draught was most tasteless to my lips."
"Indeed!" said Annie Walton, gravely; "that seems strange to me."
"And yet it is true," replied the earl: "nay, more--it is common, Annie. Every man has his own secrets in his heart, and each his own way of hiding them--one in a dark, gloomy pall, one in a gay and glittering veil; and the latter was my case, sweet one. But perchance you have never heard the tale of what happened to my house in older times. My mother's brother was an Irish lord of a high and noble nature--wild, daring, and somewhat rash. For some poor and trifling fault he was pursued, unjustly, I believe--at all events, with unjust severity--in courts he did not recognise, to the confiscation of his property. He laughed such laws to scorn, however, defied them to take him from his mountain-holds, and added attainture to the judgment against him; but he had strong enemies even in his native country. Troops were led up through passes that he thought secure, by men who knew them but too well. His castle--for it was a house well fortified--was attacked and stormed, he being absent from it at the time; and my poor sister, a young child I loved most dearly, then but waiting for an opportunity of returning to her own home, perished in the flames, for they burned his dwelling to the ground. He himself was taken on his return, and, with indecent haste and many illegal circumstances, was condemned and executed."
"Good heaven!" cried Annie Walton, a wild fancy suddenly presenting itself to her mind. "Can it be that Arrah Neil is your sister? There are several strange things regarding her, and I may tell you she is not what she seems."
"No," answered Lord Beverley; "oh, no, my beloved! that could not be. My sister would now be seven or eight years older than poor Arrah, and, besides, the body was not so disfigured that it could not be recognised. She died beyond all doubt. In grief and indignation my father and my mother appealed to the king of England, strove to remove my uncle's trial to some more fit and competent tribunal before his sentence was pronounced, showed the evident illegality of many of the proceedings against him, petitioned, prayed--in vain. He died as I have said, and then to remonstrances they added complaints and reproaches, withdrew from the court, and uttered words which were construed into high offences; fines and punishments followed upon those whose hands had aided to uphold the monarch, and in bitter disgust at man's ingratitude, in abhorrence of his falsehood and indignation at his injustice, I quitted England, wandering over many distant lands, and resolving never to return. I sought forgetfulness, Annie; I sought pleasure, amusement--anything which, if it could not take the thorn out of my heart, might at least assuage the pain.--But, hark! there is the signal that you must return," and with one brief caress they parted.
Annie Walton, on her return to Lady Margaret's sitting-room, accompanied by Arrah Neil, who had given the signal agreed upon as a notification that longer stay would be dangerous, found her good aunt seated, her head leaning on her hand, listening to some intelligence brought by her faithful servant William, who stood before her, with his usual well-satisfied and shrewd look, detailing a valuable discovery which he had just made.
"It is indeed so, my lady," he said: "they have corrupted her, there can be no doubt. Give me a Puritan for ploughing with the heifer. I saw the fellow Jones and the girl, with their two heads near together, in the court; and as I was close to the casement and the casement was open, I drew up against the wall, saying to myself, traitors make eaves-droppers."
"What did they say? what did they say?" demanded Lady Margaret. "We must come to a quick decision, William."
"Why, all I heard, my lady, was, that the trullion said to the Roundhead, 'It is quite sure, for I saw her go in myself, and when she had been there for two or three minutes I walked in too, just as if I was going to look for something. There's no other way out of the room to be seen, and yet she was not there. She didn't come out for an hour either, for I watched.' Then the man answered, 'Well, we must wait till to-morrow, when the reinforcements are coming up from Beverley. We shall be enough then to overpower all resistance.'"
"Said he so? said he so?" cried Lady Margaret, with a thoughtful air. "We must contrive means to frustrate them. Quick, William!" she continued after a moment's meditation; "go and keep the people here. Tell the farmers I will give them a supper; and if you can, contrive to get more to come up. Then let some one go out and gather news in the country; see what's the truth of this report that came last night, of troops marching, and who they are."
The man hastened away to obey her orders, and Miss Walton gazed anxiously in her aunt's face, inquiring--
"Do you think they have discovered him?"
"They have discovered something, Annie--that is clear," replied Lady Margaret, "and enough to lead them to more; but they shall not have him notwithstanding, even if we should fight for it. I know the house better than they do, and could lead them into many a pretty trap if I liked it. We can get fifteen or sixteen men together, and then they are but twenty. Then there's Basto; he's worth three Roundheads at any time, though he's but an old dog--and all the women besides. Why, you would fight for this good earl--wouldn't you, Annie, my love?--else you are not fit for a soldier's bride. On my life, I should like to see you in a pair of jack-boots!" and the old lady laughed gaily enough, to cheer her fair niece, whose heart was more easily alarmed than her own.
"Could he not escape in the night, dear Lady Margaret?" said Arrah Neil. "I went to walk out by the moonlight last night, and no one noticed me."
"Because you are a woman, dear child," answered Lady Margaret. "He must have a horse, too, for, though his wound is well enough now, he could not walk far. However, it must be thought of if other things should fail. But we must go and hold counsel with this good lord. Well, William, what more?"
"Why, only, my lady, I have been asking Farmer Heathcote about the troops moving, and he says he is sure of it; he saw the men himself. They seem to be Cavaliers, too, and a good troop of them; but that was yesterday evening, and they were then ten miles off."
"That's unfortunate," replied his lady; "for, if we could have given them notice, we might have had help, and it would have been some satisfaction to enclose these rat-catchers in their own trap. However, you go now and watch Madam Maud for the next two hours; never take your eye off her, and be sure she does not come into this part of the house. You two girls stay here--I will be back presently;" and thus saying she retired to her own chamber, sought the private passage into the apartments where the earl was concealed, and, passing with a grave look through that which she called the "chamber of atonement," threaded a long and narrow corridor constructed in the wall of the building, and mounted a staircase of no greater width, which led to the sleeping-room of Lord Beverley, where she found him reading one of the books with which she had taken care to supply him.
"Well, my dear lord," she said, "they have found us out, I fear."
"Indeed, Lady Margaret!" replied the earl calmly; "then I suppose the sooner I quit my present quarters the better."
"I don't think so, my lord," replied the old lady: "I am not sure that it will not be wise to have a struggle for it, and that very speedily. We have got fifteen stout men in the house, and you make sixteen. They with their captain are twenty-one. I have a good store of arms here, too, and I could bring the people round, or part of them, through these passages to fall upon them in the rear, while the others attacked them in the front."
"No, no, my dear lady," replied the earl, smiling; "that must not be done on any account. In the first place, we might lose the day, and then you and yours, and all that is most dear to me on earth, would be exposed to violence of which I dare not think. The fire of musketry, too, in such a house as this, might lead to terrible disasters; and, besides, whatever were the result, unless Hull fall and the king can hold this part of Yorkshire, you would be obliged to fly from your own dwelling, and give it up as a prey to the parliamentary soldiery. It must not be thought of. If you can but keep these men from pushing their discoveries farther till nightfall, and get me out by the most private way, I will go and take my chance alone. It is the only course, depend upon it."
"Oh! we will keep them at bay," replied Lady Margaret. "They have been quaking for their lives the last three days, and, while my stout yeomen remain in the house, dare not stir one from another for fear of being taken unawares. I have ordered my men to remain all day, and have promised them supper at nightfall; so we are secure till then, and in the mean while you may rest safe; for, sooner than they should break in here, I will burn the house about their ears. If you are resolved to go----"
"Quite," replied the earl.
"Then I will despatch one of the young men," replied Lady Margaret, "as if he were going home, to have a horse ready for you on the road to York. He can come back again to help us when it is done. In the mean while I will send you food and wine, that you may be strong for your ride; but I must tell you that there is a party of horse out about Market Weighton, said to be Cavaliers, and it were well that you should be upon your guard if you fly that way, lest they should prove daws in peacocks' feathers."
"Nay, that cannot well be," replied the earl. "If I be not much mistaken, the news I sent by Walton will soon bring the king before the gates of Hull. It would not surprise me if these were some of his majesty's own parties, and I will direct my steps towards them with all speed."
Some further conversation took place regarding the arrangements to be made; and it was agreed that, as soon as Lady Margaret thought the earl's escape might be attempted with a probability of success, either she herself or one of her fair companions should visit him and give him notice; and after all had been thus settled, Lady Margaret, taking her leave of him, returned to the room where she had left her niece and Arrah Neil.
She found them speaking eagerly, poor Arrah's colour somewhat heightened, and Annie Walton's eyes bent down, with dewy drops resting on the lids.
"Nay, but tell my aunt," said Miss Walton. "Indeed, dear Arrah, you should tell her."
"No," replied Arrah Neil, with her own wild eagerness, "I will tell no one;" and then turning to Lady Margaret, she laid her hand upon her arm, gazing with an appealing look in her face, and saying, "I have a scheme, dear lady--a scheme which Annie opposes; but it is a good scheme too, and she only fears it on account of danger to myself. Now, I fear no danger in a good cause; and I am sure you will trust me--will you not, dear Lady Margaret?"
"That I will, my child," replied Lady Margaret Langley, "and ask no questions either."
"Nay, but hear," cried Annie Walton: "she is always ready to sacrifice herself for others, and if she does not tell you, I will, my dear aunt."
"Nay, nay," replied Lady Margaret; "you will not betray counsel, Annie, I am sure. Let her have her own way. It is right, I will answer for it; and if it be too generous for men, God will repay it. I will trust her."
Annie Walton shook her head; but the conversation dropped there, and the good old lady proceeded to make all her preparations for the execution of her scheme.
The hours went by; the yeomen still remained at the Hall. Captain Hargood continued to act upon the plan which he had previously followed, but showed no slight symptoms by uneasiness at the prolonged occupation of the house of Lady Margaret's tenantry, appearing from time to time with an indifferent and sauntering air, which ill-concealed no small degree of apprehension at all that he remarked, and retiring speedily to his men again, without venturing to suffer them to separate for a moment.
The hour of supper came on, and the table in the hall was crowded. Lady Margaret appeared for a moment, and bade her guests make merry; but two of her servants were stationed in the vestibule beyond, which communicated with the stairs and passages that led to the part of the house in possession of the militia, and whenever a step was heard above, one of them approached the foot of the staircase, and listened, to provide against surprise.
Night fell, and as soon as it was completely dark, Annie Walton accompanied her aunt to the good, dame's own chamber, and, while Lady Margaret herself remained there, proceeded with a lamp through the dark passages in the wall, to give her lover the warning agreed upon.
They might be pardoned if they lingered a moment or two together; but at length, descending with a rapid step, they approached the chamber where Lady Margaret was waiting. As soon as the door opened the old lady held up her finger, saying, "Hush! I heard a noise just now; but I think it is merely those clowns in the hall roaring over their liquor. Let us listen, however."
They paused for a minute or two, but all was quite still.
"It is quiet now," said the earl. "We should hear it any one were in your sitting room, and I am to go out into the fields by that way, you say."
"Yes, it is all quiet now," said Lady Margaret; and, advancing to the door which led to the withdrawing-room, she opened it quietly but quickly, followed closely by the earl and Annie Walton. No sooner was it open, however, than Lady Margaret stopped with a start; and Annie Walton with a low cry clung to her lover's arm, for the room before them was full of soldiery.
"Ha! Ha! ha!" cried Hargood, with a dry, mocking laugh, "So the dead have come to life again! Stand, sir, and give an account of yourself. Lady, you are a mighty skilful plotter, but we have doubled upon you, and I will not quit this house till I find this bird's nest."
"Run round, Annie," whispered Lady Margaret to her niece, "through the secret chamber, by the passage to the left and the door in the wall, where you will see a bolt. It will lead you to the hall. Bring our men upon them from behind: we will fight for it still."
Miss Walton took a step to obey; but the movement was not unperceived by the captain of the militia, who exclaimed in a loud voice, turning his head slightly towards his men--
"Cover them with your guns! If any one stirs a step, I order them to fire!" he added, addressing the party at the entrance of the room.
But the stout-hearted old lady was not to be daunted; and, motioning the earl back, she suddenly shut to the door, turned the key, and stepped behind the shelter of the wall, drawing Annie with her.
There was a momentary pause, to hear if Captain Hargood would keep his word; but not a gun was fired, and Lady Margaret reiterated her desire that Annie would run round and bring her tenantry from the hall, into the rear of the Roundheads.
"But no," she cried, interrupting herself. "Come with me, Annie. Come with me, my lord. They must be some time breaking in."
"It is useless, I fear, dear lady," said the earl. "They have better information than we imagined, and I think have been reinforced. There seem to me to be more than twenty men, so that most probably your people are disarmed."
"Hark!" cried Annie Walton; "there is a trumpet without! Oh! they have many more with them, you may depend upon it!"
"A trumpet!" cried Lady Margaret, listening, and her withered face assuming a look of joy as she heard the long, shrill blast ringing upon the air. "So there is; so there is! Cavaliers to the rescue! This is our dear Arrah's doing. These are king's troops, my lord. No roundheaded Puritan ever blew a blast like that."
"On my life, I believe it is true!" cried the earl, approaching the window and looking out. "A party have crossed the stream and are coming over the meadows."
As he spoke, there was a loud murmuring noise in the neighbouring chamber, and then the sound of a blow, as if from an axe, upon the door of the room in which they were. The earl instantly threw open the casement and vaulted out; and the next moment his voice was heard, calling loudly, "Hither, hither!" At the same time, however, the blows upon the door were repeated, and though made of strong solid oak, it crashed, and one panel gave way.
"Quick, Annie!" cried Lady Margaret; "let us through the other door. We can set them at defiance yet." But, just as they reached it, a still heavier blow of the axe dashed the lock from its fastenings, and the broken door flew back.
At the same moment, however, a man sprang into the open window. It was the Earl of Beverley, but another and another followed. The casement on the right, too, was burst open, and two or three leaped in at a time, casting themselves in the way of the advancing militia-men.
"Down with your arms, traitors!" cried a voice that Miss Walton thought she remembered.
"Back, Annie! Back, my beloved! Away, Lady Margaret! Keep out of the fire!" exclaimed the earl; and, drawing her niece with her, the old lady retired into what she called the "chamber of atonement," pushing the door nearly to.
The next instant a musket was discharged; then came volley after volley, then the clash of swords, and cries, and shouts, and words of command, with every now and then a deadly groan between, while through the chink of the door that was left open crept the pale blue smoke, rolling round with a sulphurous smell, and the blast of the trumpet echoed from without, as if calling up fresh spirits to the fray.
Lady Margaret Langley held her niece's hand firmly in hers, while Annie Walton bent her fair brow upon her old relation's shoulder, and struggled with the tears that would fain have burst forth.
The strife in the neighbouring room seemed to last an age, though in truth its duration was but a few minutes, and then came a pause, not of absolute silence, for the sounds were still various and many, but there was a comparative stillness, and a voice was heard speaking, though the words were indistinct. The moment after, some one near exclaimed--
"Lay down your arms, then, traitors! We will grant no conditions to rebels with arms in their bands. Hie to Major Randal, Barecolt. Tell him to guard well every door, that no one escape. Now, sir, do you surrender?"
Annie Walton recognised her brother's voice, and murmured, "He at least is safe."
"We will surrender upon quarter, sir," answered the voice of Captain Hargood.
"You shall surrender at discretion, or die where you stand," answered Lord Walton. "Make your choice quickly, or we fire!"
Almost as he spoke, there came a dull clang, as of arms grounded suddenly on the wooden floor; and, greatly to the relief of poor Annie Walton's heart, the voice of Lord Beverley was heard exclaiming--
"Treat them gently, treat them gently! They are prisoners, and must abide his majesty's pleasure."
"Thank God!" said Miss Walton; "thank God!"
"Hush!" said Lady Margaret. "Let us look out, Annie. There is a smell of burning wood."
As she spoke, she approached the door and opened it. Annie Walton followed close upon her steps, and gazed into the room beyond. It was a sad and fearful scene. The bed-chamber of Lady Margaret, in which the principal struggle had taken place, was comparatively dark, receiving its only light from the glare of the lamp and sconces in the drawing-room on the other side. The room was well-nigh filled with men; others were seen through the open door, and every sort of attitude into which the human figure can be thrown was displayed amongst them. At the further end of the table appeared Captain Hargood and some eight or nine of the militia, their arms cast down, and gloomy, sullen despondency upon their faces. Near them lay three or four others, still and motionless; one fallen upon his back, with his arms extended; one upon his face, his limbs doubled up beneath him. A little more in advance was another militia-man, sitting on the ground, supporting himself with one hand upon a chair, while the other was pressed tightly upon his side; and beside Lady Margaret's bed knelt a young Cavalier, his long and fair curling hair streaming down his shoulders, and his face buried in the bed-clothes. Several of the royalist party were stretched upon the ground near; the faces and hands of most of the others were bloody and begrimed with gunpowder; and several were seen in different parts of the room, tying up the wounded limb or staunching the flowing blood.
In the front stood Lord Walton and the Earl of Beverley; the one armed, and with the stern frown of vehement excitement upon his lofty brow; the other with no arms but a sword, and with his fine and speaking countenance animated certainly, but calm and open. Hanging in a thick cloud over the whole were wreaths of smoke, and a stream of a lighter colour was finding its way through the open door, and slowly mingling with that which the discharge of firearms had produced.
The party of the Cavaliers was by far the more numerous, and at the moment when Lady Margaret looked in, several of them were advancing to secure the prisoners. Lord Walton was in the act of giving various orders, from which it was apparent that the house was surrounded by a considerable party of the royalist cavalry; but no one seemed to notice, in the interest of the scene before them, the fact that there was, as Lady Margaret had observed, a strong and growing smell of burning wood, or that ever and anon, across the smoke which was finding its way in from the next room, came a fitful flash, unlike the quiet and steady light of the candles.
For a short time, even Lady Margaret's attention was withdrawn from what she had remarked to the striking scene before her; but after a moment's pause she exclaimed--
"Charles, Charles! there is something on fire in the drawing-room."
Lord Walton started and turned round, gave a smile to Annie and his aunt, and then, seeming suddenly to catch the meaning of her words, he directed a look towards the door, and instantly strode forward, passing Captain Hargood and the prisoners, and entered the drawing-room.
The moment that he was actually within that chamber, his voice was heard exclaiming aloud--
"Here, Wilson! Hardy! Help here! the place is on fire!" and a general rush was made towards the other room, where it was found that some spark or piece of lighted wadding, having fallen upon the low hangings, had set the whole in a flame, which, communicating itself to the old dry panelling and carved cornices, was running round the chamber on all sides.
Every exertion was now made to extinguish the fire. Some of the soldiers were sent, under Lady Margaret's direction, to get buckets from the hall, where they found and released the tenantry and servants, who had been locked in by the militia and secured under a guard. All efforts, however, proved vain. The flames spread from room to room; but little water was to be procured except from the stream, and Lord Walton and the earl soon turned their attention to save the valuable furniture, pictures, and plate.
The scene of confusion that ensued is indescribable; and indeed, to the mind of Annie Walton herself, it all seemed more like a dream than a reality, till she found herself standing in the gardens of the house, her hands clasped in those of Arrah Neil, and old Major Randal saying a few words of somewhat dry but kindly compliment; while Lady Margaret at her side patted the head of her old dog Basto, murmuring, "Let it burn, boy! let it burn! It has lasted its time and seen many a heartache. So let it burn, for the villains have not had their way and the right has triumphed."
To Annie Walton, however, it was a sad sight. Twice within a few months had she beheld the place where she had made her home a prey to the flames; and though she was not one to give way to idle superstitions, it seemed as if it were a warning that she was no more to have a fixed abode, and she said to herself with a sigh--
"Well, I will follow Charles wherever fortune shall lead him. Peace and repose, security and comfort, are gone from the land, and I must share the troubles of the rest."
A little in advance of the spot where she stood, guarded by two of the soldiers of the troop, were a large pile of plate and a number of other valuable articles; and as Miss Walton was thus thinking, her brother approached Lady Margaret at a rapid pace from the house, saying--
"My dear aunt, I fear it is impossible to save any part of the building. Where shall we send these things for safety?"
"Let the house burn, my boy! let the house burn!" said Lady Margaret. "It is not worth the hair of an honest man's head to save it. Take the pictures, and all the rest of the things but the plate, down to the steward's, and especially the papers. As to the silver, we will carry it away to the king at York. He may need it more than I shall."
"He is not at York, my dear aunt," replied Lord Walton. "Ere noon to-morrow I trust he will be in Hull, Luckily, we were on our march, and not very far distant from the Hall, when our dear Arrah here found us out and told us of the strait in which you were placed." As he spoke he took Arrah Neil's fair hand, and pressed his lips upon it warmly; and Lady Margaret, suddenly laying her hand upon his arm, exclaimed--
"Ah, Charles! when I am dead you must be her protector."
"I will," replied Lord Walton; and then repeated still more earnestly, "I will."
Arrah Neil gazed steadfastly in his face, and her beautiful eyes filled with tears.
It is quite abominable to have left Diggory Falgate for such a length of time in a cold damp vault, without anybody to keep him company but rats and mice and such small deer; but yet, dearly-beloved reader, it could not be helped without evident injustice to more important personages. Not that Diggory Falgate was an unimportant person, nor that his stay in the vault was unimportant to this history; far from it, as you shall speedily hear. The reader has already perceived that he was a man of action, fond of an enterprise, liking a certain sort of excitement; not always, indeed, quite confident of himself, and consequently exaggerating a little his sayings and doings, in order to keep himself up to the mark.
He drew back the shade of the lantern, then, as we have before said, and looked about. His next step was not quite determined, and it was wise to look about him. It always is wise, indeed, to look about one before one acts; but, nevertheless, the glance that Diggory gave around did not serve to strengthen him in any resolution or guide him in any course of action. On the contrary, it confused his mind and shook his firmness. The first feeling when Mr. Dry and the sexton made their escape from his pursuit, taking him to be a ghostly enemy, was one of triumph; but when he came to examine in what that triumph consisted, he felt induced to exclaim, like Napoleon, "Is this a victory?"
He was master of the field, it was true; the foe had fled; but there he was, left alone, with nothing but coffins, and shrouds, and other remnants of humanity, scattered around him. The door, too, was bolted; he had heard them fasten it; the other door they had talked of might be locked, and he might have to remain where he was till some person in the neighbourhood chose to die and be buried, or till hunger, fright, cold, and solitude, added his bones to the bones that were mouldering around. He calculated the chances; he entered into the details with painful minuteness; he knew that the parish was large, but very thinly peopled. There might be a funeral once a quarter, but not more, except when some epidemic raged in Hull, and people took a fancy for country lodging before or after death. Then he thought, with a glimpse of hope, that on Sunday there would be a congregation in the church, and he could make them hear; but Sunday was a long way off, for this was only Wednesday, and Diggory Falgate set himself to compute how long he could hold out. Thursday, Friday, Saturday--three days and a half! He had often fasted two, for very good reasons, but then it was not in a vault; it was not amongst dead corpses: it was under the free sky, with the fresh breath of heaven blowing on his cheek, and beautiful nature refreshing him with bright sights. The case was very different at present, and his knees began to shake at the very thought.
Then, however, he did what he should have done at first, but that Imagination, when she gets the bit between her teeth, is such a runaway jade that she carries one through all the ponds and quagmires of possibility in five minutes. He set out in search of the other door, to see whether there was any need of alarming himself at all. He took two steps forward, and then a third; the fourth struck against something that made a sort of creaking sound--something even softer than the skull of a man of fashion; and holding down the lantern he perceived the basket of Ezekiel Dry. His heart was instantly revived, and stooping over it he drew forth the bottle of genuine Nantz which the worthy Puritan had boasted of, and with a good conscience he put it to his mouth. The contents had certainly been diminished by the original proprietor and his friend; but still there was nearly half a bottle left, and that would, he thought, with prudence and economy, serve to keep him up till he could get help. There was some bread and cheese, too, in the basket, and the mouthful of spirits having acted speedily with cheering effect, he looked upon himself as provided against the worst contingency; and in a moment after his eye lighted on a crowbar, a mallet, and a chisel, with which he flattered himself he could unbar any door that ever yet was closed.
All Diggory Falgate's speculations, however, were vain, useless, unnecessary, as nine out of ten of all our speculations are. When he walked on, threading the lanes of coffins, till he reached a part of the vault where it was crossed by another under the chancel, there on his right hand stood the door that led into the churchyard, wide open, and moonlight shining in quite pleasantly. All his alarm took flight in a moment, the lion returned to his heart, and after an instant's pause he said to himself, "Hang me if I do not see before I go what these fellows were hunting after!" and with this doughty resolution he walked back, and began to examine the scene of Mr. Dry's operations.
There stood the coffin on the ground, the lid raised by tearing the screws out of the woodwork, and only holding by one at the end where the feet were placed. It was a very plain coffin; no velvet, no gilding spoke it to be that which contained the dust of high estate or noble birth; but simple black cloth was the covering, and a small lacquered plate upon the lid bore inscribed some letters, which the painter held the lantern to decipher. It was not without difficulty that he did so, and then could make nothing of them, for they were but
A: E: T:
A.D. MDCXXXIII.
A: Æ: 25.
The painter paused and gazed in silence. "There must be something more under this," he said at length, "or that old villain would not have come here to break open the coffin. I wish Captain Barecolt had told me more, for I cannot help thinking that he and that pretty young lady have some interest in this affair. I have a great mind to see what is in the inside: there is but one screw left in; it would be easily taken out."
He stooped and took up the chisel, but then paused again in doubt and hesitation. "Well," he said, "I can put it in again if I find anything. There is no harm in looking;" and quietly applying the chisel to the purposes of a turnscrew, without venturing to use any such violence as those who preceded him had displayed, he drew out the last remaining screw, and looked with an anxious face at the coffin-lid, with some feelings of awe and reluctance. Then giving a glance round the vault, he removed the covering and laid it down against the neighbouring pile.
Lifting the lantern, Falgate looked into the last receptacle of what had once been young, and fresh, and beautiful.
There was the dusty shroud, somewhat mouldy, but not decayed; and as the face of the dead was covered with a cloth, none of the ghastly appearances of corruption were visible; but the falling of the drapery of death, the sharp lines and angles that the folds presented, told plainly and solemnly that the flesh had long returned to dust, and that nothing but the bones remained uncrumbled. One thing, however, instantly attracted the poor painter's attention: a piece of parchment, covered with writing, lay upon the breast, and taking it up he read it with care. The words seemed to direct him to a further search, and putting his hand to the left side of the shroud, though with some reluctance, he drew forth a small packet folded up and sealed. Blowing away the dust from it, after a few moments' consideration he wrapped it in the parchment, and put it into his pocket, saying, "If I do not take it, others will, who may make a bad use of it. I will convey it to those who have a right to have it, if God helps me out of this scrape."
Then replacing the lid of the coffin nearly as he had found it, he ate some of the bread and cheese, applied his lips again to the bottle of Nantz, and walking to the door, peeped out into the churchyard. All was still and quiet, the moon shining upon the gravestones, and the wind whispering through the old yews; and stripping of the surplice which he had found in the vestry, Diggory Falgate stole forth into the open air, got over the low wall, and made speed toward some trees that he saw at a distance.
The small town of Beverley was as full as it could hold. It does not, indeed, seem at any time well calculated to hold a great many; but it is wonderful how elastic towns and even houses are when the inhabitants have a good mind to make room for others. It was, or seemed to be, as full as it could hold, however, as I have said, when about noon a body of some three hundred horse, followed at the distance of a quarter of a mile by a mixed troop of gentlemen and ladies, with a small party escorting some thirty-five or forty prisoners and two or three wagons, entered the place and marched up the principal street. A number of gay Cavaliers were lounging about at the doors of inns and private houses; some companies of train-bands were seen in the more open spaces, and guards appeared at the doors of the town-house, from the windows of which several heads were leaning forth, gazing listlessly upon the scene below. All was gay and pleasant confusion; for the party of the parliament took care to keep out of sight, and the royalists, exulting in the arrival of the king, were doing their best to show a hearty welcome to his court. Though somewhat less than two thousand cavalry, and a small infantry force, consisting entirely of train-bands, with half-a-dozen light pieces of artillery, certainly did not show much like an army, yet hope and excitement magnified the numbers; and the good townsmen of Beverley, as they reckoned up, with the exaggerating powers of imagination, more noblemen than they had ever seen in the parish before, and calculated the troop which each could bring into the field if he were willing, never doubted that, if the king had been so pleased, he might have brought a much larger host to the siege of Hull, and believed that many more would actually follow.
In this supposition, indeed, they were encouraged by a number of houses being already marked out as quarters for different persons who had not yet appeared. Amongst the rest, a handsome brick building, in a garden, on the side of Hull, had been assigned to the expected party of Lord Walton; and as soon as the head of the troop I have mentioned appeared, a man who had been waiting by the side of a saddled horse, at the door of the town-house, sprang into the saddle, and riding up to the commanding officer--our old friend Major Randal--informed him of the direction he was to take.
This old officer halted his men to let the party behind come up, and two or three gentlemen on foot advanced and spoke with him for a moment or two, while such exclamations as--"Indeed burned to the ground do you say?" "What! Langley Hall burned down? I saw a light over that way as I was marching. About nine, was it not?"--were heard as they conversed.
"Pooh!" cried Randal, as one of the gentlemen, for want of other amusement, asked him to describe all that had taken place; "I am not good at telling stories, my lord. Ask Barecolt there; he has always one ready, and if not, he will make one. But here come Lord Walton and the Earl of Beverley, with the ladies from the Hall, and we must go on. March!"
The troop followed, and on the whole party went to the quarters which had been provided for them; the soldiery billeted in certain ale-houses and cottages in the vicinity, and the higher personages in the house which has been mentioned.
The bustle of arrival was soon over; all orders were given, all arrangements made; and the ladies and gentlemen in whom we are most interested were assembled in the hall of the house--a large and handsome room, lined with dark carved oak, and possessing four windows, which looked out into a garden, well arranged according to the taste of that day, and surrounded by high walls.
In the march from Langley Hall, as may be supposed, much had been told to Lord Walton, but it had been confined to the events that had taken place since his departure from York, and there was another subject upon which he was anxious for information. As he stood talking with Lady Margaret, while the Earl of Beverley and Miss Walton gazed forth from one of the windows, the young nobleman's eye fixed upon Arrah Neil, who, seated in a choir at some distance, her look full of deep but tranquil thought, was caressing the large dog, which, from her very first arrival at Langley Hall, had shown so strange a partiality for her.
"Tell me, my dear aunt," said Lord Walton, interrupting what the good lady was saying in respect to a proposed visit to the king; "tell me what is all this about that sweet girl. Annie says she has a strange tale to relate, and Captain Barecolt has already roused my curiosity. Has anything more been heard since I went to York?"
"Nothing, Charles; nothing," replied Lady Margaret. "A strange tale, did Annie say? I have heard nothing of it, and yet I cannot cast from my mind the belief, that if that poor dog could speak he would tell us as strange a tale as one could wish to hear. Oh! those dumb witnesses of all the many acts done, as we think, in secresy and solitude--if they had but a voice, what dark and fearful things would be trumpeted to the ear! 'Tis as well that they have not. But let us go and ask her;" and, walking up to Arrah, who looked up at her approach, she laid her hand kindly on her shoulder, saying, "Annie has told Charles, dear child, that you have something strange to relate to him. You had better speak soon, my Arrah, for no one can count upon these soldiers for a minute. They go hither and thither like the winds and clouds."
The blood mounted slightly into the cheek of Arrah Neil, and she said, after a slight hesitation, "I must tell him alone, dear Lady Margaret. I would fain tell you too, because I know you would advise and help me well; but they made me promise that I would only tell him and Annie."
"Nay, my child, I seek not to know," replied Lady Margaret; "I have had too many sad secrets in my life, and desire no more. And yet, Arrah, and yet," she added, "there might be a tale for you to tell; but it is a dream--wild, idle dream: no more of it! Go with him into the gardens, my child, and tell him what you have to say."
Arrah Neil rose timidly, and raised her eyes to Lord Walton's face as he stood beside his aunt; but, grave and somewhat stern, as he sometimes seemed to others, to her he was always gentleness itself, and taking her hand he drew her harm through his and led her towards the gardens.
Lady Margaret seated herself where Arrah had been sitting, and, bending down her head over the dog, continued talking to him in a low murmuring voice for some minutes. Annie Walton and the Earl of Beverley remained conversing in the window, and their eyes soon rested upon Lord Walton and Arrah Neil, as they walked up and down one of the broad gravel-walks. The face of the young nobleman was grave and attentive; but from time to time he raised his look to his fair companion's countenance, and seemed to ask some questions, Arrah Neil's gaze was most frequently bent upon the ground, but nevertheless at different periods of their conference she glanced for a single instant eagerly at the face of Charles Walton, as if seeking to discover what impression her story made upon him, and then with downcast eyes again went on with her tale.
Annie Walton felt for her; for there was something is her heart that made her sure the telling of that tale to the ear that heard it would be matter of no light emotion to poor Arrah Neil. She would have given worlds to see her brother smile, to know that he spoke gentle words and kind encouragement; but he turned up and down the walk, again and again, with the same thoughtful air, the same high and lofty bearing--not proud, not harsh, but grave and calm. And yet it was better as it was, for Arrah Neil knew him well and loved him dearly as he was; and any deviation from his natural character, any softer, any more tender movement, might have agitated her and rendered her incapable of going on with tranquil clearness. At length, however, when it seemed all at an end--the story told as far as she could tell it--the whole truth known as far as she knew it herself--Lord Walton suddenly paused, and casting his arms suddenly round her who had been the object of his house's bounty, pressed a warm kiss upon her glowing cheek. Then taking her hand in his, he drew it within his arm again and led her back towards the house, her face crimson and her limbs trembling with deep emotion.
The Earl of Beverley turned to Annie Walton with a smile.
"God's blessing on them," he said, "and on all hearts that love!"
Miss Walton started. "You do not understand it, Francis," she replied.
"Yes, dear one, I do," said her lover; "I have long seen it. I know Charles Walton well, and the share that generous enthusiasm and calm reasoning prudence have in his nature. He has loved rashly, and checked his love. Some great obstacle is gone, and love has now the sceptre. He is not a man to debase that which he loves, or I should have feared for poor Arrah Neil; but he is not one either to sacrifice what he thinks right, even to his heart's dearest affections; and therefore, dear Annie, I have grieved for him. But, my beloved," he added, speaking even lower than before, "between us there is no such barrier as has always existed between them. A period of repose must soon come, and then, surely----"
Annie Walton cast down her eyes and the colour mounted in her cheek; but ere the earl's sentence was concluded Lord Walton and his fair companion re-entered the hall, and she turned towards them without reply. Her lover gently detained her, however, gazing into her face half-reproachfully; and she murmured in a low tone--
"I am always ready to fulfil my promises."
"Thanks, dear one! thanks!" answered the earl; and turning to Lady Margaret, he released her hand, seeing that her brother beckoned her towards him.
"You know all she tells me, Annie," said Charles Walton, as his sister joined him and Arrah at the other side of the room; "but this must be kept secret for the present. We must have the further proofs ere we say aught to any one."
"Even to my aunt?" asked his sister.
"Ay, to her more than all," answered Lord Walton; "but I will soon find means to clear up the whole. This man, O'Donnell, must be seen if possible. But here comes a message from his majesty. I trust we shall soon be in Hull, and then we shall have ample means of obtaining all the information that may be required."
The royal officer, as Lord Walton expected, brought him and the Earl of Beverley a summons to the presence of the king, to whom their arrival in the town had been immediately notified; and, hastening to the house, they found the unhappy monarch surrounded by the nobility, who were crowding to his standard. The scene was very different now from that presented by the court at Nottingham. Hope and expectation were in all faces, and even the melancholy countenance of Charles bore the look of satisfaction it so seldom assumed.
Commissioned by Lady Margaret Langley, the first act of Lord Walton was to present to his sovereign all the plate and jewels which had been brought from Langley Hall--an act which was imitated during the civil war by many of the noble families of the day; for loyalty was then a sentiment amongst a great number of the British nation, and attachment to the throne was not a matter of trade and calculation.
"My aunt commissions me to say, sire," the young nobleman continued, "that did her strength or her sex permit, no one would fight more zealously than herself in defence of your throne; but as she can bring you nought else, she brings you this small offering of good-will, to the value, she esteems it, of about ten thousand pounds, which will at least aid in the maintenance of your troops."
"I accept it as a loan, my lord," replied Charles, "which would be soon repaid if many more of my subjects would show such devoted loyalty. However, as a loan or as a gift it commands my sincere gratitude; and if God should bless my cause, as I trust he will, this is one of the acts that will not be forgotten."
The monarch then turned to other subjects, and with graceful courtesy inquired into the destruction of Langley Hall, and expressed his deep regret that, for attachment to his cause, a lady so far advanced in life as Lady Margaret should have been exposed to such inconvenience, alarm, and danger.
The audience of the two noblemen was long; and to Lord Beverley in particular the king addressed numerous questions, making him repeat over and over again the substance of his conversations with Sir John Hotham, and pondering over his replies, as if seeking to confirm in his own breast the hopes he feared to entertain. At length, however, the monarch put the question plainly to the earl--
"What is your own sincere opinion, my lord? Will Sir John keep his word?"
"If I must speak plainly, sire," replied the earl, "I can but reply that I think he will if he can: nay, I am sure of it. But I have some doubts as to his power of doing so;" and he proceeded to explain that an evident jealousy was entertained of the governor of Hull by the parliament; that his own son was in fact merely a spy upon him in the place where he appeared to command; and that before his (Lord Beverley's) departure he had heard of the arrival of several parliamentary officers, and that others were expected, whose presence in the town might act as a check upon Sir John Hotham, and prevent him from executing that which he intended.
Such a view of the case gave the king subject for further meditation; and at length he repeated twice--
"It were much to be wished that through a confidential person we could find some means of holding communication with the governor."
The Earl of Beverley was silent for a moment or two, for he had been dreaming happy dreams, and felt painfully reluctant to put their accomplishment to hazard by placing himself in peril of what seemed almost more terrible than death--a long and indefinite imprisonment. When the king repeated nearly the same words, however, and he felt that their application was to himself, he bowed with a grave and resolute air, saying--
"If your majesty thinks that my return to Hull can be for your service, I am ready to undertake it."
"It will be greatly for my service, my noble friend," replied Charles, "though it grieves me to place you in a situation of such danger, after all you have suffered in this cause."
"Well, sire," replied the earl with a sigh, "it will be better for me to set out immediately; for, in order to maintain the character I formerly assumed, I must come upon Hull upon the other side, and it is already late. I fear, moreover, my communications with your majesty must be through York, so that a good deal of inevitable delay will take place."
The further arrangements between the king and his loyal subject were soon made; and after spending one more brief hour with her he loved, Lord Beverley was again in the saddle, to execute the perilous commission he had undertaken.
In a brief conversation between himself and Lord Walton, the latter besought him to seek out the person named O'Donnell, and to gain from him every information he might possess regarding the early history of Arrah Neil. A note was added in Lord Walton's own hand, begging the Irish merchant to confide fully in the bearer; and undertaking the commission willingly, the earl rode away towards the banks of the Humber.