"And what then? How shall we enter? Will not the gates be shut?""I think not. An they be 'tis no great matter to have them opened. They make small difficulty of letting any enter, 'tis in getting out the trouble lies.""Aye! 'tis ever easier to go into a trap than to get out again," muttered Ralph doubtfully."Oh, Ralph! what words of ill omen!" cried Barbara with a shudder."In truth, I see not why we should go to Wells at all. Why not ride straight to the coast?" he queried, discontentedly."Simply because Mistress Barbara cannot lie out in any hole and corner, until we have the luck to find a vessel bound for Holland. She is not as we are," answered Captain Protheroe sharply. "In Wells she will be at least comfortably housed.""But indeed I am strong. I can endure hardship," cried Barbara eagerly. "Think not of that. Let us to the coast an it be indeed the safer plan.""On my honour, Mistress Barbara, I believe the boldest plan is ever the safest. I know that the coast is strictly guarded, escape in these garments would be impossible; we have 'fugitive' writ large upon us. But who would dream of seeking us in Wells? Where should we be safer than under the protecting care of my Lord Jeffreys himself?"So they acquiesced, and galloped on rapidly through the gathering darkness. But half-a-mile from the town they halted, and dismounting, drove their horses into the fields, deeming it wiser to enter the town on foot. Half-an-hour later they were safely sheltered in an old rambling house, situated in the lower part of the towns where Mistress Fytch dwelt.CHAPTER XXMistress Fitch was a quiet old dame who, unlike the majority of her kind, concerned herself but little with her neighbours. Her connection with the Protheroe family had imbued her with a certain show of pride, and the gossips in their turn—finding that she displayed a disposition to resent their advances, and finding, moreover, that the old lady's uneventful existence furnished no scope for their curiosity—had ceased to interest themselves in her and her affairs.She lived in a house larger, indeed, than her needs, where one room was ever kept prepared for the occupation of her beloved Master Miles, should he chance to be in the neighbourhood. The main feature of her life indeed was a devotion to her foster-son; nothing he could do ever came amiss to her, and she had the most absolute confidence in his judgments.Accordingly, when he and his companions arrived late one night, and abruptly informed the old lady that they must take up their abode with her for a while, it required only a word or two of explanation of the circumstances of their position to satisfy the old lady, and to cause her to set about her preparations for their accommodation.They found but little difficulty in concealing their presence in the house. Lest an arrival had been noted, Mistress Fytch was instructed, if questioned, to speak of a visit from her nephew and niece from Taunton; but their entry into the house had been at a late hour, when the neighbours had already retired to rest, and as a matter of fact none had marked them.They dared not venture forth save after nightfall and then with extreme caution, but, although at times the hours hung somewhat heavily on their hands, the rest and the peaceful atmosphere of the house were very welcome after the turmoil of the past week.Barbara soon found full occupation for her time. With intent to relieve Mistress Fytch, she took into her own hands the greater part of the housework, and busied herself about parlour and kitchen with all the delight of a child engaged in a new amusement. She had certainly slight knowledge of the art of cookery, but it was never her nature to anticipate difficulties, and she applied herself to her new tasks with the same grave resolution, the same hopeful self-confidence that she was ever wont to bring to bear upon all her undertakings.Some of her experiments certainly horrified poor Mistress Fytch, but the old lady speedily grew to love the girl, despite her whimsies, and despairing of controlling so determined an assistant, she let her have her way.But Barbara had also another task to her hand. For Ralph, his strength exhausted by exposure and starvation, was laid low with a fever, and for two days lay delirious, dependent on her care. She nursed him with unwearying tenderness, though the duty was no light one, and she shrank in dread at his raving, which wrung her heart sorely. For ever his talk was of Barbara, Barbara his perfect woman, Barbara whom he worshipped with his heart and soul. And as she listened to his words, and learned the story of his years-long devotion, her heart grew heavy with pity and she redoubled her tenderness towards him, crying to herself that she was cruel, cruel, to have nought to give him in return.Even when the delirium passed, and he was on the speedy road to recovery, her self-reproach, her gratitude, led her in cruel kindness still to continue her tender ministrations, and as he watched her waiting upon him, hovering over him, ever watchful to supply his wants, it seemed to him that Mistress Fytch's simple rooms were changed to a veritable paradise, and those few short days passed like a glimpse of heaven.But for Miles Protheroe life during those days was alternate heaven and hell.For howsoever rapturously a man may love a woman, regarding constantly her courage, her beauty or even her disdain, yet is his love made more devout when he may watch her, moving simple, gracious, sweet, about her household work. Then first is revealed to him the full influence of her nature. No haughty queen, no unapproachable goddess she, but the bright light of a man's life, the very homemaker, glorifying by the beauty of her gracious presence the humblest tasks.Captain Protheroe thus day by day grew to love Barbara more, but with the growth of his love his despair increased at sight of her devotion to Sir Ralph.As she listened perforce to the sick man's ravings, he would steal from the room with despairing heart and maddened thought, that another could pour out to her so freely the words which he might not speak.So the days passed, until preparation for their escape from the country could be perfected. Captain Protheroe had not been idle in searching for news of a vessel bound for Holland. There was a certain old shipmaster, John Quelch, whom he had known since boyhood, and to him he resolved to turn for help, for Master Quelch, he knew well, was a frequent visitor to Wells, where his sister kept an inn. Accordingly at the inn he ventured secretly to seek news of him, and there, luck being with him, he discovered the man himself, and confided to him his difficulties. Master Quelch owed something to the captain's kindness in former days, and having readily promised his help, two days later brought the welcome news that his brother's vessel, theRoaring George, was shortly to sail from Listoke and the skipper would take them on board. He further suggested that they journey to the coast as his companions, and thus there would be less danger of interruption on their way, since such journeys of seamen and their relatives were frequent betwixt Wells and the sea, and he was a man well known upon the road.The fugitives accepted the offer right willingly, and this matter being arranged, time again hung heavily on Captain Protheroe's hands until the day arrived for departure. It was easy for Barbara to wait, busy with her many duties; it was easy for Ralph, still weak from his fever; but he had nought to do save sit hour-long watching Barbara at her work, and wondering wherein exactly lay the magic of her charm. All her ways fascinated him, and he could not keep his eyes from following her every movement.This persistent watch upon her doings for a time annoyed and embarrassed Barbara. She felt sadly conscious of a want of habitude in her work, and feared lest a critical brain lurked behind his observant glance. She endeavoured to appear perfectly confident even with the results of her cookery, but 'twas at times a trying effort. Yet, finding no comments were offered, and her failures passed unnoticed, she grew emboldened to meet him glance for glance, and what she read in his eyes was so unmistakable that it brought the blush to her cheek, and the mischievous smile to her lips, and, for women are at best but mortal, sent her about her work with added daintiness and allurement.But at length he could no longer satisfy himself with watching in silence; the force of his love, hopeless though he feared it to be, overpowered his prudence; he could not restrain his tongue.Barbara was in the kitchen, concerned with the making of a pasty. She was alone, nor aware of his presence in the next room, and as she worked she sang a plaintive little song concerning the mystery of love. Thus it ran:"Oh! what is love? Some say it is but sorrow,Passion unholden, joy a three-part pain.Here for to-day but gone for aye to-morrow,Leaving behind a memory and a stain,If this be so, my heart it shall not move.Let me not love. Let me not love."Oh! what is love? Some say 'tis but a dreamingBorn in the Spring-time of a single sigh.Blazing in glory, earth an Eden seeming,Dying of passion as the roses die.If this be so, if love a vision prove,Let me not love. Let me not love."Oh! what is love? A worship all undying.Faith looks to faith, and heart to heart has fled.Faith is fulfilled, no more the soul goes sighing.Love is for aye, and time itself is dead.If this be so, if earth a heaven may prove.Ah! give me love. Ah! give me love."Scarcely was the song ended when Captain Protheroe strode abruptly into the room, and crossing to her side seized her almost roughly by the arm."Mistress Barbara," he asked hoarsely, "know you aught of what you sing?"She paused, silent, wondering at his tone."Ah! Mistress Barbara," he continued more gently; "would it were mine to teach you the meaning of your words."But, though she dearly loved to read that look upon his face, yet at his words a spirit of mischief possessed her; and, maiden-like, loving him she loved to show him cruelty that she might hereafter prove the kinder in atonement. So drawing from him she turned to place her pasty in the oven, at the same time asking mischievously:"What! Wouldest teach me that love is sorrow, sir?"He smiled at her and shook his head."Nay, that was not all your song, Mistress Barbara.""A worship all undying," she repeated softly. Then she turned to him demurely."Captain Protheroe, how long is't since you saw the lady of whom you spake to me in the forest, she who was once your queen?"He started back angrily."Mistress Barbara! Who hath been spreading scandalous stories concerning me?" he cried in a fury of indignation.She stared at him in amazement."Nay, sir, none that I know on," she faltered."Then what——""I did but wonder how long a man's 'worship undying' lives," she answered mischievously.He eyed her keenly for a moment, then he laughed."Sure a man can scarce be writ down inconstant because he remain not true to his childhood's love.""Yet some men have proved themselves so constant," she murmured softly."That should be easy, madame, to one who hath known you all his life," he answered quickly, disarming her by his gallantry. Then he continued: "'Twould indeed go hard with me, must I forfeit all other loves for that one, seeing the lady hath been wed for more than ten years.""She is wed! Ah!" Then she looked at him curiously. "You loved her once?" she asked gently."Love!" he cried quickly. "What should a boy of eighteen know of love? Oh! he may dream he loves, but he knows nought of life; to him all women are angels. But when a man loves, a man who knows his world, who hath seen both what is good and evil in woman, who hath outgrown his illusions; when he loves—— Ah! madame, what must a man feel, who, having learned to detect the flaw in every gem, yet finds one perfect pearl; who, having come to fear that purity in woman is but a dream of youth, yet meets one to restore to him his hope. Ah! truly, a boy may love a perfect woman, but a man must worship her with all his soul."There was silence between them. Presently he continued more lightly."That, Mistress Barbara, is a man's love; what do you know of a woman's?""A woman's love!" she began dreamily. Then on a sudden she sprang to her feet with a sudden cry."Oh! my pasty, my pasty! I had altogether forgot it."She flew to open the oven-door, but alas! it was too late, the pasty was a cindered crust. She drew it out and laid it on the table, then turned to Captain Protheroe with a look of deep reproach. To her indignation he was laughing heartily at the disaster."Oh! 'tis too bad!" she cried indignantly. "'Twas you who made me forget it.""'Pon my honour, Mistress Barbara, I am very sorry," he answered penitently; "is't indeed ruined. Could we not scrape it or—or in some other means——""No," she answered in melancholy tone; "'tis useless. I must e'en set to work upon another.""But I may stay and talk to you?" he pleaded."Certes, no," she cried sharply; "'twould but cause me to forget again. Prithee, leave me alone, I do better so. Indeed I will not have you here. Go!"She frowned angrily, and he fled from her in despair, nor marked the blank look of disappointment on her face when he obeyed her, nor the sigh with which she turned again to work. For man will never understand that he was not born to obey woman, and that woman, true to nature, does not require obedience at his hands.'Twas that same evening. Ralph was rapidly recovering health and spirits, and the three were seated together in his room, chatting merrily.Presently Mistress Fytch climbed the stair, and entered the room, her face beaming with pleasure."Mistress Barbara, my dearie," she began. "There is a pedlar below.""A pedlar!" cried Barbara, springing up with an alacrity that drew a laugh from both her companions; "a pedlar!""Aye, dearie. 'Twas Master Miles here bid me find one, saying you had need of matters for your journey. This fellow hath but just come to town, and they tell me he hath some rare stuffs to show, so I e'en bade him bring them here to-night.""Oh! Nannie, how good, how—how heavenly of you," cried Barbara with shining eyes. "I will go to him on the instant, I will buy of his best, I will. Oh! how I have grown to hate the very sight of this gown! To think that I need no longer wear it!"She clapped her hands in sheer delight."Don't buy the whole pack, Barbara," cried Ralph cheerily as she hurried away; "or we must charter a special vessel to carry your wardrobe to Holland!""You grow well too fast, Ralph," was the laughing reply. "I must needs put you on bread and water an you wax too impertinent."She shut the door behind her, and tripped down the stairs humming a merry tune, all a woman's inexplicable joy of purchase dancing in her eyes. The visitor was in the parlour, into which opened alike the door of the staircase and the door of the street. He was standing with his back towards her, busily unstrapping his pack, but turned upon her entrance.On a sudden her cheeks grew white as her kerchief, and her eyes filled with fear. It was none other than Simon!—For a moment she hoped wildly that he might not recognise her or, even recognising her, might not be aware of her arrest and trial, but the hope was destined soon to fade. For an instant the man stared at her in amazement, then a quick gleam of satisfaction flashed across his face, and he broke into a low chuckle."Mistress Barbara Winslow!" he cried with an ugly grin at the trembling girl. "I come from Taunton, Mistress Winslow, from Taunton, where there be those who mightily desire your presence. There's an empty cell in Taunton gaol for your ladyship, there's an idle whipping-post awaiting you there, Mistress Barbara Winslow!"Again he chuckled and rubbed his hands with malicious glee.Barbara's first impulse was to cry for help, and so bring down the two men from above stairs to her aid. But with an effort she controlled herself, for she perceived on the instant what must be the result. The pedlar was but a step from the street door; at her first alarm he would make his escape, and returning speedily with the guard, would secure not herself alone, but her friends. Her wit seemed to desert her now, in her greatest need; she could devise no plan of escape to insure the safety of the three. As yet the others might be safe, the man knew nothing of their presence in the house. Was it not better, braver, to go with him at once, surrender herself, since clearly Heaven willed not her escape, and so shield her companions from the danger that threatened them? For had Captain Protheroe rescued her from prison (she gave poor Rob little credit for his share) only that she should, by cowardice, betray him now? And Ralph! Had she saved him from death in the forest, only to insure for him a death a thousand times more horrible? Ralph, so weak, so lightly despairing, who loved her so truly. Yes, she might still save these two who had done so much for her. She would not shrink from the sacrifice.Her mind was made up."God wills it," she said. "You have found me. I will go with you.""That is wisdom, mistress," grinned the man. "'Tis not here as at Durford." Quickly he put up again his pack, and shouldering it, laid his hand upon her arm.Firm and unflinching Barbara followed him to the door. Simon laid his hand upon the latch, another moment and they would have been in the street. Suddenly he paused. He turned his head to listen, and a smile of low cunning crept slowly into his eyes. For they heard the opening of a door, and a man's cheery whistle sounded in the room above. Barbara gave a quick gasp of terror, she felt the pedlar's eyes were fixed upon her face."Quick, quick," she cried losing her wits in her excitement; "let us be off. Someone is coming.""Aye," said the man slowly; "someone is coming. And there are two rewards to be won in Taunton."He released her arm, and still with his hand upon the latch, turned to confront the newcomer.Barbara could do no more. With a sigh of desperation she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.The door opened and Captain Protheroe appeared.For a moment the two men stood staring at each other, then the truth flashed to the brain of the soldier and he made a spring forward to secure the pedlar. But the man was too quick for him; he darted through the already opened door, into the street, slamming the door behind him.Captain Protheroe was about to follow, but recognising the hopeless folly of such action, he stopped, and having fastened the door turned to where Barbara sat, white and trembling."The fellow knew you?" he asked sharply."Yes, he was about to take me to the guardhouse," she answered, trembling."Good Heavens! why didn't you cry for help? We might have seized him perchance.""I—I feared, an I did so, he would discover that you and Ralph were here," she stammered. "'Twould have undone all three. And Ralph——""You would have gone without a word?"Barbara hesitated."I—I could not bear that Ralph should be taken," she muttered, shy even then, of confessing her fear for his capture too.He looked down at her for a moment with deep pain in his eyes:"I see," he said gently; "I—I understand."She knew that he did not understand but she could not tell him so, and indeed he gave her no time. In an instant he was alert, ready for action."No time to lose, Mistress Barbara," he said cheerily. "We must be out of this directly. I'll give your friend a quarter of an hour to tell his tale and return with the guard.""But how! Where?" she cried desperately. "Ralph can't travel yet.""He must. You don't know, Mistress Barbara, what can be done when it's a case of do it or hang. Come."They hurried upstairs, summoned Mistress Fytch, and quickly told their story.Ralph was up in an instant."I'm ready," he cried abruptly. "What are the orders?"He had learned much during the past ten days. Despite his jealousy of Captain Protheroe he knew him as one to be relied on, and his love for Barbara forbade him do aught that would increase the difficulties of the one man who could save her."We've little time to consider ways and means now," muttered Captain Protheroe, striding about the room as was his wont when in deep thought. "You'll take Mistress Barbara at once out by the north gate (twill not yet be closed) and go by the fields to Mallet, 'tis but a mile hence. Nannie must go too—'tis safe here for her no longer; and she knows the road."The old dame was called and matters quickly explained to her."Very good, Master Miles," she answered, as calmly as though he had bidden her serve his supper. She had implicit faith in her foster-son in all matters save those appertaining to the care of his health."To Mallet then, and wait there. Is Johnny Dean still living, Nannie?""Why, for sure he is, Master Miles, why not? Shall I take the young mistress thither?""Yes, go to Johnny Dean's and wait me there.""But you? What will you do?" cried Barbara suspiciously."Why, Mistress Barbara," he answered, smiling and drawing from his breast the green silk letter-case found in the Sedgemoor ditch. "I purpose to see an these letters will fetch their price.""But how? Of whom?""Of whom but the man most likely to pay it, my Lord Jeffreys.""What? you would go there, to him, alone! Oh, no, no, you must not, indeed you must not. 'Tis too rash, 'tis madness. Better risk all than that you—you should—— Oh! Captain Protheroe, we can't leave you behind."Her voice trembled, her eyes were full of tears. For a moment he hesitated, gazing at her with surprise, with a faint, wondering hope; but he shook his head."Do not be afraid, Mistress Barbara," he said lightly; "I have faith in the power of these bits of paper. Trust me, I'll join you ere two hours are passed."Somewhat comforted by his words, Barbara said no more. She had learned to know by his face when he had made up his mind, and recognised that further argument would but waste time.When the two women had left the room in search of cloaks, Captain Protheroe turned abruptly to his companion."Look you, Sir Ralph, this is a desperate strait. You can await me at Mallet till nine o'clock. If by that time I have not come, then go north, make for Listoke, try to get aboard theRoaring George. And, look you, take these letters (I have made copies of them). If you are ta'en, get them to Churchill, or, better still, Rochester. They may save you yet, even if I fail.""But, Heavens, man! if you fail it's death for you. Why not come with us, and try to win to Holland? Why go to Jeffreys at all?""Because, tho' a desperate chance, 'tis worth risking. Zounds! man, you don't think. What hope have two women and a man weak with fever of escaping the royal troops? Practically none, unless I can buy free pardons for all and a safe conduct into Holland from Jeffreys."The women being now ready to set out, Captain Protheroe went with them to the door at the back of the house, from whence a short labyrinth of streets led to one of the gates of the town.There he turned to the girl who stood beside him, her dark eyes gleaming in the shadow of her hood. It was a crimson hood and reminded him of the night he first met her in the country lane at Durford."Good-bye, Mistress Barbara," he said wistfully.A sudden fear awoke in her eyes."But you will come after us, you will see me again?" she cried quickly."Assuredly, Mistress Barbara," he answered softly; "if there be pity in Heaven I shall see you again."She looked at him doubtfully, but urged him no more."God keep you," she said gently.Captain Protheroe watched them disappear in the darkness. But he failed to note a dark figure flit from the shadow of a neighbouring house, and follow them on their way.CHAPTER XXIChief Justice Jeffreys sat alone in his lodging at Wells.The long sitting in court was over. All day he had stormed and bullied, reducing prisoners and advocates alike, and even his brothers on the bench, to a state of terrified submission. He had poured forth abuse on the heads of timorous witnesses, cracked his jests and thundered his threats at the miserable victims of the law's severity. He had sworn, wrangled, and blustered, and now he was alone.The wearying journey, the tedious days of work, the long nights of carouse, above all the unrestrained passions in which he daily indulged had conduced to the inevitable result; on his arrival in Wells his malady had become greatly aggravated, and his physicians had urged on him the absolute necessity of quiet and abstinence. Accordingly to-night he followed their advice; the officers and other jovial gentlemen who formed his escort feasted apart, and, sick in body, weary in mind, he sat alone.And as he sat there in all the luxury of his surroundings, despite his high position, despite his success, despite his wealth, power, and influence, 'twould have been hard to find in all the length and breadth of the kingdom a more wretched man than George Jeffreys, lord chief justice of England, lord chancellor elect.For the man was cursed with a double curse, and the burden of his life seemed at times too heavy to be borne. Cursed with an ambition which would not let him rest, which ever urged him to new struggles, new extravagances, new ventures, and contrariwise cursed with a sensitiveness, a cowardice that made each step in the path of his career an added terror to his brain, each rough encounter a fresh misery, each rebuff a stinging agony.The mainspring of his character was an overweening vanity. He must be first of his company, he must, by whatever means offered, rise to the highest; but on the other hand he could brook no opposition, a taunt or a rebuke was torture to him, a threat a terror that moved him at times to tears. The rebuffs and sneers which to a braver nature appear but the natural pricks of life, were to him a veritable torment from which he shrank with all the horror of a keenly sensitive soul. While his ambitious vanity drove him to assume airs of overweening insolence, to bully and overawe all who came before him, to delight to see men shrink and tremble at his words; yet if he met with opposition, his haughty mien vanished in a burst of childish passion, and if he found his aims thwarted he became reduced to a state of helpless misery.Thus his ambition drove him into a struggle with the world, but the very enmity and hatred naturally evoked were to him the source of misery unspeakable.Such was the man who had elected to climb the highest rung of the ladder. Verily he paid his price.As he sat alone, forced no longer to wear his mask, to preserve an air of proud assurance and command, the reflection of his thoughts played across his face, and 'twas a bitter tale to read. His brows frowned in pain and perplexity, his lips twitched nervously, and in his eyes lurked a look as of one cowering beneath an ever-present dread. He leaned weariedly back in his chair, his hands idly resting on its arms, his face drawn with suffering.On the table before him lay many letters from friends of the prisoners he had recently condemned, heart-rending pleas for mercy, despairing appeals for a mitigation, however slight, of the agonising sentences he had pronounced; and among them was a letter from his father, the old man whom still in spite of all he respected and in his own way loved, a letter entreating him to show pity in his judgments, threatening to disown him should he still persist in his bloody methods. And Jeffreys himself, save in his outbursts of rage, was not a cruel man, and took little enough delight in his brutal task. Still he had no choice. For the King's commands had been absolute; no mercy must be shown and the King's commands he dared not disobey.And in addition to these commands, apart from his hope to win by his zealous service the office of lord chancellor, there was jet another reason, more poignant than all, why he dared show no mercy to those associated with the late rebellion; why, if he could have had his own way, every man who had so much as looked at Duke Monmouth should be put to death.For he himself, in one of those sudden fits of alarm which formed the cause in him of so much double-dealing, had intrigued secretly with Monmouth, and the haunting fear of discovery had sent him down into the west like a savage beast of prey, panting to sweep from sight all traces of rebellion, striving to prove, by the very ferocity of his judgments, his loyalty to the King and his repugnance of the course of his enemies. So he was driven, by the very desperation of his ambition, to win for himself a hatred and contempt that almost broke his heart.And to-night, as he sat alone, he wondered wearily whether the struggle was worth the torture it created, and his heart cried to him to give up the contest, resign his office, and in retirement find rest for his suffering body, and peace for his weary soul. So spake his heart, and he longed for determination to follow its dictates. Yet he knew too well the while that peace was not for him, for the curse of Lucifer was upon him, and so long as there remained power to strive for, or enemies to overthrow, so long must he struggle on in misery, until death should bring to him the only rest such as he may ever know.He was interrupted in his musings by the entrance of his secretary, Master Stephen Jewars. Perturbed and anxious the man hurried into the room, and after a moment's pause advanced to his master's side."My lord," he began nervously, "there is an officer without, asking to see your lordship."Jeffreys moved impatiently."Not to-night, Jewars," he said sharply; "I will see no one to-night. His business will wait.""Pardon, my lord, even so I answered him, but he declares his business will not wait. Moreover, 'tis a matter of the most absolute importance, so he states, that he see you.""Devil take you!" cried Jeffreys angrily. "Why, fellow, have you not heard the same tale ten thousand times of late? 'Tis another o' these petitioners, I'll warrant. I will not see him."A moment the secretary hesitated. Then he stooped over his master and said in a low, cautious tone:"My lord, it may be I am mistaken, but—methinks the man knows something."Jeffreys started."What mean you, fellow?" he asked quickly. "What does he say?""Nay, my lord, 'tis mostly by his manner I judge it, for he demands to see your lordship as tho' 'tis nought to him yet for your sake 'twere wise. And then also his words—for he claims to have information concerning an intrigue with the late Duke, an intrigue which may not astonish your lordship as much as most folk, yet 'twill be of greater moment to your lordship to be the first to hear on't.""Tut!" cried Jeffreys nervously. "Any man might say that.""Aye, my lord, any man might say it, but an I be any judge of men, this man hath meaning in his words."Jeffreys was silent."Well, well, Jewars," he said after a pause; "I will see the man. But not alone. You will remain in the room, and look you, have an escort ready at hand, lest the man must be—lest he prove an impostor.""Very good, my lord," answered Jewars with a sigh of relief. "I will bring him in at once."Two minutes later he ushered Captain Protheroe into the judge's presence.At sight of his visitor Jeffreys started, and eyeing him sharply for a moment, rapped out a fierce oath."What's this!" he cried. "What do you here? How dare you come here? I know you, fellow, I know your face well.""'Tis possible," answered the other coolly. "I have been frequently before your lordship—er—unofficially. I was one of Colonel Kirke's officers.""Truly, you do well to saywas," shouted Jeffreys angrily. "I mind you well, sir. You are he who was committed at Taunton and who afterwards escaped. I have not forgot you, sir.""Indeed! I congratulate your lordship upon an excellent memory," was the cool reply."Zounds! Jewars. What is the fellow here for?" blustered the judge. "A condemned rebel! A traitor! Call in the guard.""Nay, my lord," interrupted Captain Protheroe quietly. "I have that to say to your lordship of the deepest import. You will do well to hear me out. The guard afterwards—an you will."Jeffreys eyed him, frowning."You are a cool fellow," he muttered. "Have a care, sir, have a care. Do not trifle with me. Your life is not worth one——""I am aware of that fact, my lord," he interrupted coolly. "Judge then whether the business which led me to place myself in your power be likely to be of import or no. Indeed, my lord, you will do well to hear me."For a moment the judge hesitated, trying to outfrown the officer's cool glance, but finding here was a different man from those whom he was accustomed to bully in the law courts, he submitted with a bad grace to the demand."Well! Well! say what you desire, sir; but look you, waste no time.""I have no desire to do so, my lord. In fact waste of time were more fatal to me than ever it could be inconvenient to your lordship. Briefly then, I am here to give your lordship an opportunity of exercising mercy."Judge Jeffreys stared for a moment in amazement, then dropped his fist upon the table with a fierce oath."Mercy! Mercy!" he shouted. "And have you dared, fellow, to force your way into my presence, to interrupt my rest, solely to beg for mercy on your miserable life. Have you indeed so dared, fellow?""My name is Protheroe, since it seems to have escaped your lordship's otherwise excellent memory," was the cool reply. "But indeed I certainly have not intruded on your seclusion merely to beg so slight a thing as my pardon. 'Tis a most wide-reaching exercise of mercy I offer your lordship, the release of four rebels at least."Jeffreys sprang to his feet, trembling with fury, and roared out a torrent of oaths that startled even the accustomed ears of his hearer. But Captain Protheroe did not change a tittle of his cool, resolute mien. He knew his man, and knew well that the only way to master such as he was to meet insolence with insolence, and rage with cool contempt."To the guardhouse with the insolent fellow," shouted Jeffreys, glaring with passion. "Away with him!""You forget, my lord," shouted the officer, endeavouring vainly to win a hearing; "I do not come empty-handed, I bring my price."But the Judge was beside himself with fury, and Captain Protheroe had hardly escaped immediate arrest, had not the secretary stepped quickly forward and whispered a few words in his master's ear. At first he could gain no attention, but gradually the storm subsided, the judge's fury wavered before the calm indifference of the soldier, and after a moment's silence he submitted sulkily to his secretary's persuasion."Well! Well! Jewars. I will hear him," he muttered. "Look you, sir, say clearly what has brought you here. You claim to have information to give. What is it? What have you to offer?""Two letters, my lord.""Letters!" The judge started forward, grasping the table with his hands, his eyes glaring at the officer. "Letters, say you?""Aye, my lord," answered the officer nonchalantly. "Certain letters of your lordship's own hand, which have come into my possession. They are, I venture to believe, a most sufficient guarantee for my trust in your clemency."Jeffreys dropped his hands and fell back into his chair, his eyes fixed on the speaker with horrible intensity. His fingers moved nervously and his lips twitched. Jewars touched him on the shoulder, and with a start he recovered himself."Show me the letters!" he snarled abruptly.Captain Protheroe drew the papers from his breast, and handed them across the table. He was purposely deliberate in his movements, revelling in the anxiety of the judge's face.There was a dead silence in the room while Judge Jeffreys perused the letters. He bent his head low over the paper, therefore his face was hidden from the officer, who waited breathless for the pronouncement upon the contents.At length after a long pause, the judge raised his head.His face was calm, his voice as usual loud and raucous.He eyed the officer firmly."These"—he said slowly, tapping the papers—"these are forgeries."A sudden cold chill crept round Captain Protheroe's heart. He stared at the judge in amazement, in slowly rising despair."Forgeries, sir," said Jeffreys again coldly. "Have you no more to say?"But even while he spake, Captain Protheroe noted, though the face and voice were calm, yet the hand which held the letter trembled till the paper shook like an aspen leaf. He noted this, and took fresh courage from the sight."Pardon me, my lord," he drawled politely; "not forgeries, but—er—copies."The judge glared at him."Copies," he cried sharply. "Then where are the originals! Show them to me?""Indeed, my lord, you underrate my very high opinion of your lordship's—er—ingenuity, if you deem I have brought the originals with me," answered the captain with the same slow politeness. "They are in safe-keeping elsewhere."Jeffreys swore under his breath. Then he turned to the officer with a scornful laugh."And you dream, by these letters, you can prove me traitor, eh?" he asked mockingly."Certainly not, my lord, if your lordship can prove your innocence," was the cool answer.There was silence. The two men eyed one another defiantly. Then Jeffreys laid down the letters, and leaned across the table."You are a fool, sir," he said sharply, "an you think to reap any advantage from these letters. I tell you the plain truth. I have intrigued with Monmouth, but solely that by gaining his confidence, I might prove of greater assistance to his Majesty.""Indeed, my lord, I never held so low an opinion of you as to suppose you would confine your treachery to one party only," answered Captain Protheroe insolently. But his heart beat quickly, for he liked not the suggestion in the judge's words."Have a care, sir," shouted Jeffreys angrily. "Recollect you are in my power.""With reservations, my lord. For, if I join not my friends within two hours, the originals of these letters will, before to-morrow night, be in the hands of one likely to take a deeper interest in the matter than your lordship seems to do.""Devil damn you, fellow! Have I not told you wherefore these letters were writ?""You have. For your lordship's sake I trust others may place more credence in your story than I do myself.""What! Do you dream his Majesty will believe there is one word of truth in your story if I deny it? Your letters are powerless to destroy me. Heavens, man, do you suppose his Majesty would disgrace me on such evidence? I tell you, sir, I am as necessary to him as his crown.""My lord, you yourself undoubtedly are the best judge as to what extent his Majesty finds your services a necessity. But 'tis said he is easily suspicious, and 'twill not be the first time such accusations have been brought."Jeffreys winced at the suggestion.Captain Protheroe continued quietly:"But 'tis not to his Majesty the papers would be delivered. He is the head of the kingdom, but by no means the only power therein. It might be, my lord, that the accusation once brought, he would be powerless to save you.""What do you mean?" snarled the judge."I think, my lord, 'twas his late Majesty who remarked that your lordship was not 'parliament-proof.'"Jeffreys started back and glanced uneasily at the speaker."Parliament," continued the officer slowly, "is indeed almost entirely Tory, but yet, as your lordship has good reason to know, it hath no great love for your person. There may not be many honest men among the members, but 'tis certain there are many cowards, and cowards will not brook traitors. If this accusation be brought forward it will not be lightly set aside, And it should not be necessary for me to remind your lordship that you have many enemies in the House."Jeffreys sat silent, gnawing his nails, and gazing moodily on the ground.After a pause Captain Protheroe continued with rising courage."Now, my lord, should these letters fall into the hands of the Duke of Rochester for example."Jeffreys started to his feet with a sudden wild cry."Your price, man, your price?" he shouted fiercely. Then he sank down again and leaned his head wearily upon his hand.Captain Protheroe's eyes flashed with triumph."My price!" he cried eagerly. "My lord, I might ask much, but I refrain. All I demand is a free pardon for four rebels, Mistress Barbara Winslow, Sir Rupert Winslow, Sir Ralph Trevellyan, and myself. That is my price, and no dear one for such evidence as this.""Pardons! Pardons!" cried Jeffreys testily; "what have I to do with pardons? 'Tis his Majesty alone who can grant such.""Truly, my lord," answered the officer politely; "yet knowing the great confidence his Majesty places in your lordship, I venture to believe you will find no great difficulty in procuring what I demand. In the meantime I will content myself with a safe pass to Holland for myself and my companions."A sudden light gleamed in the judge's eyes. Drawing towards him ink and paper he wrote the necessary orders, signed and sealed them and laid them on the table beside him."That will serve your purpose, sir," he said quietly. "My secretary will now accompany you to fetch the originals of the letters; on your return with them this passport shall be delivered to you."Captain Protheroe laughed quickly.Then he turned to Jeffreys with an air of deep reproach."Alas! my lord," he cried, "you do indeed underrate my opinion of your ability; moreover, I fear, you take me for a fool. No, no, my lord; that plan likes me not."Judge Jeffreys started up with an oath, and made a movement to tear the paper in pieces. Captain Protheroe stopped him sharply."Hearken, my lord," he said sternly, "you will hand that pass to me now, you will take no steps to interfere with our departure, and you will at once apply yourself to obtain the pardons I demand. If money be required to win them I doubt not your lordship has sufficient to meet all expenses. In the meantime I and my friends will ride in safety to the coast, stopping a night or so at Durford Manor house——""Durford," cried Jeffreys sharply, "what would you at Durford?""Er—a small matter of an old gold brocade, I believe," answered Captain Protheroe, with a little smile of reminiscence. "From there we will take ship and sail for Holland. On the day your lordship procures our pardons, the letters you require shall be delivered into your hands.""And if I refuse?""Refuse! why, then, as I have already explained, the letters have another destination. His Majesty, I believe, has now left Winchester, but the Duke——""I should at least soon see you hanged," interrupted Jeffreys furiously."I believe you, my lord," answered the captain drily; "but I do not anticipate I should have long to wait before your lordship followed me."There was a pause. Then Jeffreys continued testily."What assurance have I these letters will be delivered to me?""My word.""Pah! What faith put you in my word that you should have your pass?""None whatever! but the parallel is hardly just. I am a man of honour. That is one of the few titles to which your lordship has never aspired." Then he continued sharply, "Come, my lord, there is no time to lose; I beg you to come to a decision. I will not insult your intellect by repeating the facts of the case. Briefly, the matter runs thus: Whose head do you count of greatest value, mine or your lordship's?"There was a full minute's silence. Then without a word Jeffreys picked up the passport and handed it to the officer."Ah, my lord! I thought I should not be mistaken in your answer," said the captain coolly. "I need not impress upon you the advisability of doing all in your power to facilitate our safe journey. Our interests will doubtless be dear to you as—as your own neck. My lord, I bid you good-evening."The judge made no answer. He leaned wearily back in his chair, staring moodily before him. Behind him stood the secretary, silent, immovable, but with an expression of deepest relief upon his face. Captain Protheroe turned on his heel, and strode across the room, but scarcely had he reached the door when it was opened suddenly from without, and he found himself face to face with Colonel Kirke.Both men gave a sharp exclamation of astonishment and sprang back. Then the colonel with a sudden quick movement stepped into the room, shut the door, and set his back against it.For a moment all was still, the two stared at each other in dead silence, measuring glances of hatred and contempt. Then Jeffreys rose from his chair and stepped quickly forward."What do you want, colonel?" he asked hoarsely.Kirke turned abruptly to the judge."What is this man doing here, my lord?" he demanded sharply.Jeffreys moved nervously."Captain Protheroe is about to start upon a mission to Holland, at my direction," he answered nervously."But, my lord, have you forgot? this fellow is an escaped rebel, committed for treason.""I know, colonel. But he is pardoned.""Pardoned! By whom? For what reason?""In return for information received," answered Jeffreys quickly."Hell-fire! That he is not!" shouted the colonel fiercely. "I know you, Jeffreys, you've made your money out of him, and now you would let him go. But, by Heaven! an you do, I'll noise it abroad till all London hear on't. And you know, none better, his Majesty's commands concerning these rebels, not one is to escape. Pardoned! Now, by the light of the Prophet's beard, the man is a traitor and shall hang e'en if I had to do it with my own hands. Pardoned! Pah! The man shall hang as sure as my name is Percy Kirke."He ceased, and there was another silence. Captain Protheroe loosened in its sheath the sword he earned and glanced rapidly round the room. He turned to the chief justice, but no further help showed there. Jeffreys had sunk back in his chair, and looked the picture of helpless dismay. The man was a mass of nerves, sensitive as a girl; he trembled under Colonel Kirke's fierce attack, and had no words with which to defend himself."Do you understand me, Jeffreys?" the colonel again shouted. "By Heaven, I'll publish the facts.""My lord," interposed Captain Protheroe quietly, "'tis but a night's ride to Winchester."Jeffreys looked from one to the other hopelessly calculating his chances with a desperate cunning."Tut, colonel," he began nervously; "what is the man to you? Let him——"He was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door, and the entrance of an orderly."A messenger from London, my lord," he said.He marched across to the chief justice, and handed him a packet, then saluting, turned and left the room.Partly with the idea of gaining time, partly with a faint hope of there finding a way out of his difficulty, Jeffreys broke open the packet and began to read. Colonel Kirke stood silent, watching him angrily, but Captain Protheroe glanced hurriedly up and down the room, puzzling his wits to devise some method of escape.Suddenly the chief justice started to his feet and turned to the colonel. There was a look of excitement on his face, and triumph in his eyes."Colonel Kirke," he exclaimed harshly, "you are recalled to London!"With clenched hands and blazing eyes Kirke turned on Jeffreys."Recalled! I! What in the devil's name do you mean?""Here are your orders. The regiment will proceed there in the course of a week. You are to set out immediately."Kirke stared at the paper in amazement; then he threw it to the ground and stamped on it in a sudden fury. "Recalled! Disgraced! Bah! Have you had a hand in this, Jeffreys? Recalled! Now, by——" He roared out a torrent of oaths.Presently he grew calmer, picked up the paper, read it once more, and locked moodily at the chief justice."I must set out at once," he muttered. "But look you, Jeffreys, a word of warning; this is but a passing affair, the work o' that meddlesome Sunderland, I'll be bound. I shall soon return, so be careful what you do. I've set my heart on this matter"—pointing to the captain. "When I return, an that fellow be not handed over to me for court-martial, then, by all the devils in heaven and hell, I'll be revenged. You know me, Jeffreys, and you know what I can do. Take warning."He swung to the door, then pausing, turned to Captain Protheroe, and eyed him with a scornful glance."A narrow shave for you," he said; "but I'll hope to see you hanged yet, my fine fellow."Captain Protheroe smiled scornfully."I'm afraid, colonel," he answered drily, "unless our executions take place simultaneously on the same spot, we can't both realise our mutual hope."With an oath Colonel Kirke swung out of the room, and the door was shut. Then Captain Protheroe turned to Jeffreys. The judge's face was a study of indecision. He stared moodily at the letters before him, he glanced nervously at the door through which the colonel had retired. He was a man standing betwixt two abysses, doubting over which to risk a jump. At last he raised his head, and faced the captain defiantly."Captain Protheroe," he said, "I must withdraw your passport and place you under arrest."Captain Protheroe stared at the judge in dismay. The secretary took a rapid step forward, and stooped over his master's chair."My lord," he whispered, "think what you do. These letters——""I know! I know!" cried Jeffreys testily; "but I also know Kirke. 'Tis one or the other, and Kirke is not a man to deny."Again the secretary stooped to argue, but Jeffreys thrust him aside."No, no, Jewars, I tell you 'tis the safer way. This is the only evidence"—tapping the letters—"and it may be disproved."Then, with a sudden inspiration Captain Protheroe stepped forward, and leaning over the table, fixed his eyes on Jeffreys."The only evidence, my lord?" he asked quietly. "Tell me, has your lordship ever heard of a certain Master Hugh Peters, of Lime?""Peters!" gasped the secretary, with a sudden start of horror."Aye," answered the officer slowly. "A worthy man who can give much valuable information concerning the manner of Ferguson's escape, about which there has been so great a pother in London. And, my lord, he is not the only man who knows the secret."With a sudden cry the secretary caught the chief justice's arm; his face was livid, he trembled from head to foot."My lord," he cried, "there is no help for it, this man must go. There is no safety else. He knows—Heavens! what does he not know? My lord, Colonel Kirke may be dangerous, but he is disgraced, and he hath but little evidence, and 'tis but a matter of bribery after all. But this man—oh, my lord! let him go, out of the country with him, and Heaven grant we may never see him more."Jeffreys turned and stared at the terrified man, and slowly the fear passed into his own heart. Fiercely he clutched the arms of his chair, his eyes rolled, he moved his head from side to side, as one hounded to death, and seeing no escape. Then with a loud cry of rage and despair, he sprang to his feet, and pointed wildly to the door."Go!" he cried. "Go! You are free! But have a care. For an you come within my power again, by God! you shall pay for this. You shall die a thousand times; at the cart-tail, at the post, at the gallows, at the stake. You shall feel a thousand torments, till hell itself shall show more merciful. I will——""Silence!" shouted the captain sternly. "Peace, fool, I will hear no more o' such vapourings. I go now, but first, mark you this, my Lord Jeffreys, see to it you carry out our contract to the smallest detail, for should harm befall me and mine thro' your doing, I vow to heaven, my lord, I will not hang alone. So, an you value your own neck, leave us in peace."For one moment Jeffreys stood gasping open-mouthed, gazing at the speaker in a fury of impotent rage, then he suddenly collapsed and sinking into his chair, he fell forward across the table and burst into bitter tears.But Captain Protheroe waited no longer, but tucking the passport into his breast, proceeded calmly to the street. Nor did he pause until he had passed out of the north gate and left the town behind him."Phew!" he muttered, wiping his forehead, "I've played high in my time, but never for such stakes as these. Heaven help me! what a hand I held, and God forgive me, but how I played it!"
"And what then? How shall we enter? Will not the gates be shut?"
"I think not. An they be 'tis no great matter to have them opened. They make small difficulty of letting any enter, 'tis in getting out the trouble lies."
"Aye! 'tis ever easier to go into a trap than to get out again," muttered Ralph doubtfully.
"Oh, Ralph! what words of ill omen!" cried Barbara with a shudder.
"In truth, I see not why we should go to Wells at all. Why not ride straight to the coast?" he queried, discontentedly.
"Simply because Mistress Barbara cannot lie out in any hole and corner, until we have the luck to find a vessel bound for Holland. She is not as we are," answered Captain Protheroe sharply. "In Wells she will be at least comfortably housed."
"But indeed I am strong. I can endure hardship," cried Barbara eagerly. "Think not of that. Let us to the coast an it be indeed the safer plan."
"On my honour, Mistress Barbara, I believe the boldest plan is ever the safest. I know that the coast is strictly guarded, escape in these garments would be impossible; we have 'fugitive' writ large upon us. But who would dream of seeking us in Wells? Where should we be safer than under the protecting care of my Lord Jeffreys himself?"
So they acquiesced, and galloped on rapidly through the gathering darkness. But half-a-mile from the town they halted, and dismounting, drove their horses into the fields, deeming it wiser to enter the town on foot. Half-an-hour later they were safely sheltered in an old rambling house, situated in the lower part of the towns where Mistress Fytch dwelt.
CHAPTER XX
Mistress Fitch was a quiet old dame who, unlike the majority of her kind, concerned herself but little with her neighbours. Her connection with the Protheroe family had imbued her with a certain show of pride, and the gossips in their turn—finding that she displayed a disposition to resent their advances, and finding, moreover, that the old lady's uneventful existence furnished no scope for their curiosity—had ceased to interest themselves in her and her affairs.
She lived in a house larger, indeed, than her needs, where one room was ever kept prepared for the occupation of her beloved Master Miles, should he chance to be in the neighbourhood. The main feature of her life indeed was a devotion to her foster-son; nothing he could do ever came amiss to her, and she had the most absolute confidence in his judgments.
Accordingly, when he and his companions arrived late one night, and abruptly informed the old lady that they must take up their abode with her for a while, it required only a word or two of explanation of the circumstances of their position to satisfy the old lady, and to cause her to set about her preparations for their accommodation.
They found but little difficulty in concealing their presence in the house. Lest an arrival had been noted, Mistress Fytch was instructed, if questioned, to speak of a visit from her nephew and niece from Taunton; but their entry into the house had been at a late hour, when the neighbours had already retired to rest, and as a matter of fact none had marked them.
They dared not venture forth save after nightfall and then with extreme caution, but, although at times the hours hung somewhat heavily on their hands, the rest and the peaceful atmosphere of the house were very welcome after the turmoil of the past week.
Barbara soon found full occupation for her time. With intent to relieve Mistress Fytch, she took into her own hands the greater part of the housework, and busied herself about parlour and kitchen with all the delight of a child engaged in a new amusement. She had certainly slight knowledge of the art of cookery, but it was never her nature to anticipate difficulties, and she applied herself to her new tasks with the same grave resolution, the same hopeful self-confidence that she was ever wont to bring to bear upon all her undertakings.
Some of her experiments certainly horrified poor Mistress Fytch, but the old lady speedily grew to love the girl, despite her whimsies, and despairing of controlling so determined an assistant, she let her have her way.
But Barbara had also another task to her hand. For Ralph, his strength exhausted by exposure and starvation, was laid low with a fever, and for two days lay delirious, dependent on her care. She nursed him with unwearying tenderness, though the duty was no light one, and she shrank in dread at his raving, which wrung her heart sorely. For ever his talk was of Barbara, Barbara his perfect woman, Barbara whom he worshipped with his heart and soul. And as she listened to his words, and learned the story of his years-long devotion, her heart grew heavy with pity and she redoubled her tenderness towards him, crying to herself that she was cruel, cruel, to have nought to give him in return.
Even when the delirium passed, and he was on the speedy road to recovery, her self-reproach, her gratitude, led her in cruel kindness still to continue her tender ministrations, and as he watched her waiting upon him, hovering over him, ever watchful to supply his wants, it seemed to him that Mistress Fytch's simple rooms were changed to a veritable paradise, and those few short days passed like a glimpse of heaven.
But for Miles Protheroe life during those days was alternate heaven and hell.
For howsoever rapturously a man may love a woman, regarding constantly her courage, her beauty or even her disdain, yet is his love made more devout when he may watch her, moving simple, gracious, sweet, about her household work. Then first is revealed to him the full influence of her nature. No haughty queen, no unapproachable goddess she, but the bright light of a man's life, the very homemaker, glorifying by the beauty of her gracious presence the humblest tasks.
Captain Protheroe thus day by day grew to love Barbara more, but with the growth of his love his despair increased at sight of her devotion to Sir Ralph.
As she listened perforce to the sick man's ravings, he would steal from the room with despairing heart and maddened thought, that another could pour out to her so freely the words which he might not speak.
So the days passed, until preparation for their escape from the country could be perfected. Captain Protheroe had not been idle in searching for news of a vessel bound for Holland. There was a certain old shipmaster, John Quelch, whom he had known since boyhood, and to him he resolved to turn for help, for Master Quelch, he knew well, was a frequent visitor to Wells, where his sister kept an inn. Accordingly at the inn he ventured secretly to seek news of him, and there, luck being with him, he discovered the man himself, and confided to him his difficulties. Master Quelch owed something to the captain's kindness in former days, and having readily promised his help, two days later brought the welcome news that his brother's vessel, theRoaring George, was shortly to sail from Listoke and the skipper would take them on board. He further suggested that they journey to the coast as his companions, and thus there would be less danger of interruption on their way, since such journeys of seamen and their relatives were frequent betwixt Wells and the sea, and he was a man well known upon the road.
The fugitives accepted the offer right willingly, and this matter being arranged, time again hung heavily on Captain Protheroe's hands until the day arrived for departure. It was easy for Barbara to wait, busy with her many duties; it was easy for Ralph, still weak from his fever; but he had nought to do save sit hour-long watching Barbara at her work, and wondering wherein exactly lay the magic of her charm. All her ways fascinated him, and he could not keep his eyes from following her every movement.
This persistent watch upon her doings for a time annoyed and embarrassed Barbara. She felt sadly conscious of a want of habitude in her work, and feared lest a critical brain lurked behind his observant glance. She endeavoured to appear perfectly confident even with the results of her cookery, but 'twas at times a trying effort. Yet, finding no comments were offered, and her failures passed unnoticed, she grew emboldened to meet him glance for glance, and what she read in his eyes was so unmistakable that it brought the blush to her cheek, and the mischievous smile to her lips, and, for women are at best but mortal, sent her about her work with added daintiness and allurement.
But at length he could no longer satisfy himself with watching in silence; the force of his love, hopeless though he feared it to be, overpowered his prudence; he could not restrain his tongue.
Barbara was in the kitchen, concerned with the making of a pasty. She was alone, nor aware of his presence in the next room, and as she worked she sang a plaintive little song concerning the mystery of love. Thus it ran:
"Oh! what is love? Some say it is but sorrow,Passion unholden, joy a three-part pain.Here for to-day but gone for aye to-morrow,Leaving behind a memory and a stain,If this be so, my heart it shall not move.Let me not love. Let me not love."Oh! what is love? Some say 'tis but a dreamingBorn in the Spring-time of a single sigh.Blazing in glory, earth an Eden seeming,Dying of passion as the roses die.If this be so, if love a vision prove,Let me not love. Let me not love."Oh! what is love? A worship all undying.Faith looks to faith, and heart to heart has fled.Faith is fulfilled, no more the soul goes sighing.Love is for aye, and time itself is dead.If this be so, if earth a heaven may prove.Ah! give me love. Ah! give me love."
"Oh! what is love? Some say it is but sorrow,Passion unholden, joy a three-part pain.Here for to-day but gone for aye to-morrow,Leaving behind a memory and a stain,If this be so, my heart it shall not move.Let me not love. Let me not love.
"Oh! what is love? Some say it is but sorrow,
Passion unholden, joy a three-part pain.
Here for to-day but gone for aye to-morrow,
Leaving behind a memory and a stain,
If this be so, my heart it shall not move.
Let me not love. Let me not love.
"Oh! what is love? Some say 'tis but a dreamingBorn in the Spring-time of a single sigh.Blazing in glory, earth an Eden seeming,Dying of passion as the roses die.If this be so, if love a vision prove,Let me not love. Let me not love.
"Oh! what is love? Some say 'tis but a dreaming
Born in the Spring-time of a single sigh.
Blazing in glory, earth an Eden seeming,
Dying of passion as the roses die.
If this be so, if love a vision prove,
Let me not love. Let me not love.
"Oh! what is love? A worship all undying.Faith looks to faith, and heart to heart has fled.Faith is fulfilled, no more the soul goes sighing.Love is for aye, and time itself is dead.If this be so, if earth a heaven may prove.Ah! give me love. Ah! give me love."
"Oh! what is love? A worship all undying.
Faith looks to faith, and heart to heart has fled.
Faith is fulfilled, no more the soul goes sighing.
Love is for aye, and time itself is dead.
If this be so, if earth a heaven may prove.
Ah! give me love. Ah! give me love."
Scarcely was the song ended when Captain Protheroe strode abruptly into the room, and crossing to her side seized her almost roughly by the arm.
"Mistress Barbara," he asked hoarsely, "know you aught of what you sing?"
She paused, silent, wondering at his tone.
"Ah! Mistress Barbara," he continued more gently; "would it were mine to teach you the meaning of your words."
But, though she dearly loved to read that look upon his face, yet at his words a spirit of mischief possessed her; and, maiden-like, loving him she loved to show him cruelty that she might hereafter prove the kinder in atonement. So drawing from him she turned to place her pasty in the oven, at the same time asking mischievously:
"What! Wouldest teach me that love is sorrow, sir?"
He smiled at her and shook his head.
"Nay, that was not all your song, Mistress Barbara."
"A worship all undying," she repeated softly. Then she turned to him demurely.
"Captain Protheroe, how long is't since you saw the lady of whom you spake to me in the forest, she who was once your queen?"
He started back angrily.
"Mistress Barbara! Who hath been spreading scandalous stories concerning me?" he cried in a fury of indignation.
She stared at him in amazement.
"Nay, sir, none that I know on," she faltered.
"Then what——"
"I did but wonder how long a man's 'worship undying' lives," she answered mischievously.
He eyed her keenly for a moment, then he laughed.
"Sure a man can scarce be writ down inconstant because he remain not true to his childhood's love."
"Yet some men have proved themselves so constant," she murmured softly.
"That should be easy, madame, to one who hath known you all his life," he answered quickly, disarming her by his gallantry. Then he continued: "'Twould indeed go hard with me, must I forfeit all other loves for that one, seeing the lady hath been wed for more than ten years."
"She is wed! Ah!" Then she looked at him curiously. "You loved her once?" she asked gently.
"Love!" he cried quickly. "What should a boy of eighteen know of love? Oh! he may dream he loves, but he knows nought of life; to him all women are angels. But when a man loves, a man who knows his world, who hath seen both what is good and evil in woman, who hath outgrown his illusions; when he loves—— Ah! madame, what must a man feel, who, having learned to detect the flaw in every gem, yet finds one perfect pearl; who, having come to fear that purity in woman is but a dream of youth, yet meets one to restore to him his hope. Ah! truly, a boy may love a perfect woman, but a man must worship her with all his soul."
There was silence between them. Presently he continued more lightly.
"That, Mistress Barbara, is a man's love; what do you know of a woman's?"
"A woman's love!" she began dreamily. Then on a sudden she sprang to her feet with a sudden cry.
"Oh! my pasty, my pasty! I had altogether forgot it."
She flew to open the oven-door, but alas! it was too late, the pasty was a cindered crust. She drew it out and laid it on the table, then turned to Captain Protheroe with a look of deep reproach. To her indignation he was laughing heartily at the disaster.
"Oh! 'tis too bad!" she cried indignantly. "'Twas you who made me forget it."
"'Pon my honour, Mistress Barbara, I am very sorry," he answered penitently; "is't indeed ruined. Could we not scrape it or—or in some other means——"
"No," she answered in melancholy tone; "'tis useless. I must e'en set to work upon another."
"But I may stay and talk to you?" he pleaded.
"Certes, no," she cried sharply; "'twould but cause me to forget again. Prithee, leave me alone, I do better so. Indeed I will not have you here. Go!"
She frowned angrily, and he fled from her in despair, nor marked the blank look of disappointment on her face when he obeyed her, nor the sigh with which she turned again to work. For man will never understand that he was not born to obey woman, and that woman, true to nature, does not require obedience at his hands.
'Twas that same evening. Ralph was rapidly recovering health and spirits, and the three were seated together in his room, chatting merrily.
Presently Mistress Fytch climbed the stair, and entered the room, her face beaming with pleasure.
"Mistress Barbara, my dearie," she began. "There is a pedlar below."
"A pedlar!" cried Barbara, springing up with an alacrity that drew a laugh from both her companions; "a pedlar!"
"Aye, dearie. 'Twas Master Miles here bid me find one, saying you had need of matters for your journey. This fellow hath but just come to town, and they tell me he hath some rare stuffs to show, so I e'en bade him bring them here to-night."
"Oh! Nannie, how good, how—how heavenly of you," cried Barbara with shining eyes. "I will go to him on the instant, I will buy of his best, I will. Oh! how I have grown to hate the very sight of this gown! To think that I need no longer wear it!"
She clapped her hands in sheer delight.
"Don't buy the whole pack, Barbara," cried Ralph cheerily as she hurried away; "or we must charter a special vessel to carry your wardrobe to Holland!"
"You grow well too fast, Ralph," was the laughing reply. "I must needs put you on bread and water an you wax too impertinent."
She shut the door behind her, and tripped down the stairs humming a merry tune, all a woman's inexplicable joy of purchase dancing in her eyes. The visitor was in the parlour, into which opened alike the door of the staircase and the door of the street. He was standing with his back towards her, busily unstrapping his pack, but turned upon her entrance.
On a sudden her cheeks grew white as her kerchief, and her eyes filled with fear. It was none other than Simon!—For a moment she hoped wildly that he might not recognise her or, even recognising her, might not be aware of her arrest and trial, but the hope was destined soon to fade. For an instant the man stared at her in amazement, then a quick gleam of satisfaction flashed across his face, and he broke into a low chuckle.
"Mistress Barbara Winslow!" he cried with an ugly grin at the trembling girl. "I come from Taunton, Mistress Winslow, from Taunton, where there be those who mightily desire your presence. There's an empty cell in Taunton gaol for your ladyship, there's an idle whipping-post awaiting you there, Mistress Barbara Winslow!"
Again he chuckled and rubbed his hands with malicious glee.
Barbara's first impulse was to cry for help, and so bring down the two men from above stairs to her aid. But with an effort she controlled herself, for she perceived on the instant what must be the result. The pedlar was but a step from the street door; at her first alarm he would make his escape, and returning speedily with the guard, would secure not herself alone, but her friends. Her wit seemed to desert her now, in her greatest need; she could devise no plan of escape to insure the safety of the three. As yet the others might be safe, the man knew nothing of their presence in the house. Was it not better, braver, to go with him at once, surrender herself, since clearly Heaven willed not her escape, and so shield her companions from the danger that threatened them? For had Captain Protheroe rescued her from prison (she gave poor Rob little credit for his share) only that she should, by cowardice, betray him now? And Ralph! Had she saved him from death in the forest, only to insure for him a death a thousand times more horrible? Ralph, so weak, so lightly despairing, who loved her so truly. Yes, she might still save these two who had done so much for her. She would not shrink from the sacrifice.
Her mind was made up.
"God wills it," she said. "You have found me. I will go with you."
"That is wisdom, mistress," grinned the man. "'Tis not here as at Durford." Quickly he put up again his pack, and shouldering it, laid his hand upon her arm.
Firm and unflinching Barbara followed him to the door. Simon laid his hand upon the latch, another moment and they would have been in the street. Suddenly he paused. He turned his head to listen, and a smile of low cunning crept slowly into his eyes. For they heard the opening of a door, and a man's cheery whistle sounded in the room above. Barbara gave a quick gasp of terror, she felt the pedlar's eyes were fixed upon her face.
"Quick, quick," she cried losing her wits in her excitement; "let us be off. Someone is coming."
"Aye," said the man slowly; "someone is coming. And there are two rewards to be won in Taunton."
He released her arm, and still with his hand upon the latch, turned to confront the newcomer.
Barbara could do no more. With a sigh of desperation she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands.
The door opened and Captain Protheroe appeared.
For a moment the two men stood staring at each other, then the truth flashed to the brain of the soldier and he made a spring forward to secure the pedlar. But the man was too quick for him; he darted through the already opened door, into the street, slamming the door behind him.
Captain Protheroe was about to follow, but recognising the hopeless folly of such action, he stopped, and having fastened the door turned to where Barbara sat, white and trembling.
"The fellow knew you?" he asked sharply.
"Yes, he was about to take me to the guardhouse," she answered, trembling.
"Good Heavens! why didn't you cry for help? We might have seized him perchance."
"I—I feared, an I did so, he would discover that you and Ralph were here," she stammered. "'Twould have undone all three. And Ralph——"
"You would have gone without a word?"
Barbara hesitated.
"I—I could not bear that Ralph should be taken," she muttered, shy even then, of confessing her fear for his capture too.
He looked down at her for a moment with deep pain in his eyes:
"I see," he said gently; "I—I understand."
She knew that he did not understand but she could not tell him so, and indeed he gave her no time. In an instant he was alert, ready for action.
"No time to lose, Mistress Barbara," he said cheerily. "We must be out of this directly. I'll give your friend a quarter of an hour to tell his tale and return with the guard."
"But how! Where?" she cried desperately. "Ralph can't travel yet."
"He must. You don't know, Mistress Barbara, what can be done when it's a case of do it or hang. Come."
They hurried upstairs, summoned Mistress Fytch, and quickly told their story.
Ralph was up in an instant.
"I'm ready," he cried abruptly. "What are the orders?"
He had learned much during the past ten days. Despite his jealousy of Captain Protheroe he knew him as one to be relied on, and his love for Barbara forbade him do aught that would increase the difficulties of the one man who could save her.
"We've little time to consider ways and means now," muttered Captain Protheroe, striding about the room as was his wont when in deep thought. "You'll take Mistress Barbara at once out by the north gate (twill not yet be closed) and go by the fields to Mallet, 'tis but a mile hence. Nannie must go too—'tis safe here for her no longer; and she knows the road."
The old dame was called and matters quickly explained to her.
"Very good, Master Miles," she answered, as calmly as though he had bidden her serve his supper. She had implicit faith in her foster-son in all matters save those appertaining to the care of his health.
"To Mallet then, and wait there. Is Johnny Dean still living, Nannie?"
"Why, for sure he is, Master Miles, why not? Shall I take the young mistress thither?"
"Yes, go to Johnny Dean's and wait me there."
"But you? What will you do?" cried Barbara suspiciously.
"Why, Mistress Barbara," he answered, smiling and drawing from his breast the green silk letter-case found in the Sedgemoor ditch. "I purpose to see an these letters will fetch their price."
"But how? Of whom?"
"Of whom but the man most likely to pay it, my Lord Jeffreys."
"What? you would go there, to him, alone! Oh, no, no, you must not, indeed you must not. 'Tis too rash, 'tis madness. Better risk all than that you—you should—— Oh! Captain Protheroe, we can't leave you behind."
Her voice trembled, her eyes were full of tears. For a moment he hesitated, gazing at her with surprise, with a faint, wondering hope; but he shook his head.
"Do not be afraid, Mistress Barbara," he said lightly; "I have faith in the power of these bits of paper. Trust me, I'll join you ere two hours are passed."
Somewhat comforted by his words, Barbara said no more. She had learned to know by his face when he had made up his mind, and recognised that further argument would but waste time.
When the two women had left the room in search of cloaks, Captain Protheroe turned abruptly to his companion.
"Look you, Sir Ralph, this is a desperate strait. You can await me at Mallet till nine o'clock. If by that time I have not come, then go north, make for Listoke, try to get aboard theRoaring George. And, look you, take these letters (I have made copies of them). If you are ta'en, get them to Churchill, or, better still, Rochester. They may save you yet, even if I fail."
"But, Heavens, man! if you fail it's death for you. Why not come with us, and try to win to Holland? Why go to Jeffreys at all?"
"Because, tho' a desperate chance, 'tis worth risking. Zounds! man, you don't think. What hope have two women and a man weak with fever of escaping the royal troops? Practically none, unless I can buy free pardons for all and a safe conduct into Holland from Jeffreys."
The women being now ready to set out, Captain Protheroe went with them to the door at the back of the house, from whence a short labyrinth of streets led to one of the gates of the town.
There he turned to the girl who stood beside him, her dark eyes gleaming in the shadow of her hood. It was a crimson hood and reminded him of the night he first met her in the country lane at Durford.
"Good-bye, Mistress Barbara," he said wistfully.
A sudden fear awoke in her eyes.
"But you will come after us, you will see me again?" she cried quickly.
"Assuredly, Mistress Barbara," he answered softly; "if there be pity in Heaven I shall see you again."
She looked at him doubtfully, but urged him no more.
"God keep you," she said gently.
Captain Protheroe watched them disappear in the darkness. But he failed to note a dark figure flit from the shadow of a neighbouring house, and follow them on their way.
CHAPTER XXI
Chief Justice Jeffreys sat alone in his lodging at Wells.
The long sitting in court was over. All day he had stormed and bullied, reducing prisoners and advocates alike, and even his brothers on the bench, to a state of terrified submission. He had poured forth abuse on the heads of timorous witnesses, cracked his jests and thundered his threats at the miserable victims of the law's severity. He had sworn, wrangled, and blustered, and now he was alone.
The wearying journey, the tedious days of work, the long nights of carouse, above all the unrestrained passions in which he daily indulged had conduced to the inevitable result; on his arrival in Wells his malady had become greatly aggravated, and his physicians had urged on him the absolute necessity of quiet and abstinence. Accordingly to-night he followed their advice; the officers and other jovial gentlemen who formed his escort feasted apart, and, sick in body, weary in mind, he sat alone.
And as he sat there in all the luxury of his surroundings, despite his high position, despite his success, despite his wealth, power, and influence, 'twould have been hard to find in all the length and breadth of the kingdom a more wretched man than George Jeffreys, lord chief justice of England, lord chancellor elect.
For the man was cursed with a double curse, and the burden of his life seemed at times too heavy to be borne. Cursed with an ambition which would not let him rest, which ever urged him to new struggles, new extravagances, new ventures, and contrariwise cursed with a sensitiveness, a cowardice that made each step in the path of his career an added terror to his brain, each rough encounter a fresh misery, each rebuff a stinging agony.
The mainspring of his character was an overweening vanity. He must be first of his company, he must, by whatever means offered, rise to the highest; but on the other hand he could brook no opposition, a taunt or a rebuke was torture to him, a threat a terror that moved him at times to tears. The rebuffs and sneers which to a braver nature appear but the natural pricks of life, were to him a veritable torment from which he shrank with all the horror of a keenly sensitive soul. While his ambitious vanity drove him to assume airs of overweening insolence, to bully and overawe all who came before him, to delight to see men shrink and tremble at his words; yet if he met with opposition, his haughty mien vanished in a burst of childish passion, and if he found his aims thwarted he became reduced to a state of helpless misery.
Thus his ambition drove him into a struggle with the world, but the very enmity and hatred naturally evoked were to him the source of misery unspeakable.
Such was the man who had elected to climb the highest rung of the ladder. Verily he paid his price.
As he sat alone, forced no longer to wear his mask, to preserve an air of proud assurance and command, the reflection of his thoughts played across his face, and 'twas a bitter tale to read. His brows frowned in pain and perplexity, his lips twitched nervously, and in his eyes lurked a look as of one cowering beneath an ever-present dread. He leaned weariedly back in his chair, his hands idly resting on its arms, his face drawn with suffering.
On the table before him lay many letters from friends of the prisoners he had recently condemned, heart-rending pleas for mercy, despairing appeals for a mitigation, however slight, of the agonising sentences he had pronounced; and among them was a letter from his father, the old man whom still in spite of all he respected and in his own way loved, a letter entreating him to show pity in his judgments, threatening to disown him should he still persist in his bloody methods. And Jeffreys himself, save in his outbursts of rage, was not a cruel man, and took little enough delight in his brutal task. Still he had no choice. For the King's commands had been absolute; no mercy must be shown and the King's commands he dared not disobey.
And in addition to these commands, apart from his hope to win by his zealous service the office of lord chancellor, there was jet another reason, more poignant than all, why he dared show no mercy to those associated with the late rebellion; why, if he could have had his own way, every man who had so much as looked at Duke Monmouth should be put to death.
For he himself, in one of those sudden fits of alarm which formed the cause in him of so much double-dealing, had intrigued secretly with Monmouth, and the haunting fear of discovery had sent him down into the west like a savage beast of prey, panting to sweep from sight all traces of rebellion, striving to prove, by the very ferocity of his judgments, his loyalty to the King and his repugnance of the course of his enemies. So he was driven, by the very desperation of his ambition, to win for himself a hatred and contempt that almost broke his heart.
And to-night, as he sat alone, he wondered wearily whether the struggle was worth the torture it created, and his heart cried to him to give up the contest, resign his office, and in retirement find rest for his suffering body, and peace for his weary soul. So spake his heart, and he longed for determination to follow its dictates. Yet he knew too well the while that peace was not for him, for the curse of Lucifer was upon him, and so long as there remained power to strive for, or enemies to overthrow, so long must he struggle on in misery, until death should bring to him the only rest such as he may ever know.
He was interrupted in his musings by the entrance of his secretary, Master Stephen Jewars. Perturbed and anxious the man hurried into the room, and after a moment's pause advanced to his master's side.
"My lord," he began nervously, "there is an officer without, asking to see your lordship."
Jeffreys moved impatiently.
"Not to-night, Jewars," he said sharply; "I will see no one to-night. His business will wait."
"Pardon, my lord, even so I answered him, but he declares his business will not wait. Moreover, 'tis a matter of the most absolute importance, so he states, that he see you."
"Devil take you!" cried Jeffreys angrily. "Why, fellow, have you not heard the same tale ten thousand times of late? 'Tis another o' these petitioners, I'll warrant. I will not see him."
A moment the secretary hesitated. Then he stooped over his master and said in a low, cautious tone:
"My lord, it may be I am mistaken, but—methinks the man knows something."
Jeffreys started.
"What mean you, fellow?" he asked quickly. "What does he say?"
"Nay, my lord, 'tis mostly by his manner I judge it, for he demands to see your lordship as tho' 'tis nought to him yet for your sake 'twere wise. And then also his words—for he claims to have information concerning an intrigue with the late Duke, an intrigue which may not astonish your lordship as much as most folk, yet 'twill be of greater moment to your lordship to be the first to hear on't."
"Tut!" cried Jeffreys nervously. "Any man might say that."
"Aye, my lord, any man might say it, but an I be any judge of men, this man hath meaning in his words."
Jeffreys was silent.
"Well, well, Jewars," he said after a pause; "I will see the man. But not alone. You will remain in the room, and look you, have an escort ready at hand, lest the man must be—lest he prove an impostor."
"Very good, my lord," answered Jewars with a sigh of relief. "I will bring him in at once."
Two minutes later he ushered Captain Protheroe into the judge's presence.
At sight of his visitor Jeffreys started, and eyeing him sharply for a moment, rapped out a fierce oath.
"What's this!" he cried. "What do you here? How dare you come here? I know you, fellow, I know your face well."
"'Tis possible," answered the other coolly. "I have been frequently before your lordship—er—unofficially. I was one of Colonel Kirke's officers."
"Truly, you do well to saywas," shouted Jeffreys angrily. "I mind you well, sir. You are he who was committed at Taunton and who afterwards escaped. I have not forgot you, sir."
"Indeed! I congratulate your lordship upon an excellent memory," was the cool reply.
"Zounds! Jewars. What is the fellow here for?" blustered the judge. "A condemned rebel! A traitor! Call in the guard."
"Nay, my lord," interrupted Captain Protheroe quietly. "I have that to say to your lordship of the deepest import. You will do well to hear me out. The guard afterwards—an you will."
Jeffreys eyed him, frowning.
"You are a cool fellow," he muttered. "Have a care, sir, have a care. Do not trifle with me. Your life is not worth one——"
"I am aware of that fact, my lord," he interrupted coolly. "Judge then whether the business which led me to place myself in your power be likely to be of import or no. Indeed, my lord, you will do well to hear me."
For a moment the judge hesitated, trying to outfrown the officer's cool glance, but finding here was a different man from those whom he was accustomed to bully in the law courts, he submitted with a bad grace to the demand.
"Well! Well! say what you desire, sir; but look you, waste no time."
"I have no desire to do so, my lord. In fact waste of time were more fatal to me than ever it could be inconvenient to your lordship. Briefly then, I am here to give your lordship an opportunity of exercising mercy."
Judge Jeffreys stared for a moment in amazement, then dropped his fist upon the table with a fierce oath.
"Mercy! Mercy!" he shouted. "And have you dared, fellow, to force your way into my presence, to interrupt my rest, solely to beg for mercy on your miserable life. Have you indeed so dared, fellow?"
"My name is Protheroe, since it seems to have escaped your lordship's otherwise excellent memory," was the cool reply. "But indeed I certainly have not intruded on your seclusion merely to beg so slight a thing as my pardon. 'Tis a most wide-reaching exercise of mercy I offer your lordship, the release of four rebels at least."
Jeffreys sprang to his feet, trembling with fury, and roared out a torrent of oaths that startled even the accustomed ears of his hearer. But Captain Protheroe did not change a tittle of his cool, resolute mien. He knew his man, and knew well that the only way to master such as he was to meet insolence with insolence, and rage with cool contempt.
"To the guardhouse with the insolent fellow," shouted Jeffreys, glaring with passion. "Away with him!"
"You forget, my lord," shouted the officer, endeavouring vainly to win a hearing; "I do not come empty-handed, I bring my price."
But the Judge was beside himself with fury, and Captain Protheroe had hardly escaped immediate arrest, had not the secretary stepped quickly forward and whispered a few words in his master's ear. At first he could gain no attention, but gradually the storm subsided, the judge's fury wavered before the calm indifference of the soldier, and after a moment's silence he submitted sulkily to his secretary's persuasion.
"Well! Well! Jewars. I will hear him," he muttered. "Look you, sir, say clearly what has brought you here. You claim to have information to give. What is it? What have you to offer?"
"Two letters, my lord."
"Letters!" The judge started forward, grasping the table with his hands, his eyes glaring at the officer. "Letters, say you?"
"Aye, my lord," answered the officer nonchalantly. "Certain letters of your lordship's own hand, which have come into my possession. They are, I venture to believe, a most sufficient guarantee for my trust in your clemency."
Jeffreys dropped his hands and fell back into his chair, his eyes fixed on the speaker with horrible intensity. His fingers moved nervously and his lips twitched. Jewars touched him on the shoulder, and with a start he recovered himself.
"Show me the letters!" he snarled abruptly.
Captain Protheroe drew the papers from his breast, and handed them across the table. He was purposely deliberate in his movements, revelling in the anxiety of the judge's face.
There was a dead silence in the room while Judge Jeffreys perused the letters. He bent his head low over the paper, therefore his face was hidden from the officer, who waited breathless for the pronouncement upon the contents.
At length after a long pause, the judge raised his head.
His face was calm, his voice as usual loud and raucous.
He eyed the officer firmly.
"These"—he said slowly, tapping the papers—"these are forgeries."
A sudden cold chill crept round Captain Protheroe's heart. He stared at the judge in amazement, in slowly rising despair.
"Forgeries, sir," said Jeffreys again coldly. "Have you no more to say?"
But even while he spake, Captain Protheroe noted, though the face and voice were calm, yet the hand which held the letter trembled till the paper shook like an aspen leaf. He noted this, and took fresh courage from the sight.
"Pardon me, my lord," he drawled politely; "not forgeries, but—er—copies."
The judge glared at him.
"Copies," he cried sharply. "Then where are the originals! Show them to me?"
"Indeed, my lord, you underrate my very high opinion of your lordship's—er—ingenuity, if you deem I have brought the originals with me," answered the captain with the same slow politeness. "They are in safe-keeping elsewhere."
Jeffreys swore under his breath. Then he turned to the officer with a scornful laugh.
"And you dream, by these letters, you can prove me traitor, eh?" he asked mockingly.
"Certainly not, my lord, if your lordship can prove your innocence," was the cool answer.
There was silence. The two men eyed one another defiantly. Then Jeffreys laid down the letters, and leaned across the table.
"You are a fool, sir," he said sharply, "an you think to reap any advantage from these letters. I tell you the plain truth. I have intrigued with Monmouth, but solely that by gaining his confidence, I might prove of greater assistance to his Majesty."
"Indeed, my lord, I never held so low an opinion of you as to suppose you would confine your treachery to one party only," answered Captain Protheroe insolently. But his heart beat quickly, for he liked not the suggestion in the judge's words.
"Have a care, sir," shouted Jeffreys angrily. "Recollect you are in my power."
"With reservations, my lord. For, if I join not my friends within two hours, the originals of these letters will, before to-morrow night, be in the hands of one likely to take a deeper interest in the matter than your lordship seems to do."
"Devil damn you, fellow! Have I not told you wherefore these letters were writ?"
"You have. For your lordship's sake I trust others may place more credence in your story than I do myself."
"What! Do you dream his Majesty will believe there is one word of truth in your story if I deny it? Your letters are powerless to destroy me. Heavens, man, do you suppose his Majesty would disgrace me on such evidence? I tell you, sir, I am as necessary to him as his crown."
"My lord, you yourself undoubtedly are the best judge as to what extent his Majesty finds your services a necessity. But 'tis said he is easily suspicious, and 'twill not be the first time such accusations have been brought."
Jeffreys winced at the suggestion.
Captain Protheroe continued quietly:
"But 'tis not to his Majesty the papers would be delivered. He is the head of the kingdom, but by no means the only power therein. It might be, my lord, that the accusation once brought, he would be powerless to save you."
"What do you mean?" snarled the judge.
"I think, my lord, 'twas his late Majesty who remarked that your lordship was not 'parliament-proof.'"
Jeffreys started back and glanced uneasily at the speaker.
"Parliament," continued the officer slowly, "is indeed almost entirely Tory, but yet, as your lordship has good reason to know, it hath no great love for your person. There may not be many honest men among the members, but 'tis certain there are many cowards, and cowards will not brook traitors. If this accusation be brought forward it will not be lightly set aside, And it should not be necessary for me to remind your lordship that you have many enemies in the House."
Jeffreys sat silent, gnawing his nails, and gazing moodily on the ground.
After a pause Captain Protheroe continued with rising courage.
"Now, my lord, should these letters fall into the hands of the Duke of Rochester for example."
Jeffreys started to his feet with a sudden wild cry.
"Your price, man, your price?" he shouted fiercely. Then he sank down again and leaned his head wearily upon his hand.
Captain Protheroe's eyes flashed with triumph.
"My price!" he cried eagerly. "My lord, I might ask much, but I refrain. All I demand is a free pardon for four rebels, Mistress Barbara Winslow, Sir Rupert Winslow, Sir Ralph Trevellyan, and myself. That is my price, and no dear one for such evidence as this."
"Pardons! Pardons!" cried Jeffreys testily; "what have I to do with pardons? 'Tis his Majesty alone who can grant such."
"Truly, my lord," answered the officer politely; "yet knowing the great confidence his Majesty places in your lordship, I venture to believe you will find no great difficulty in procuring what I demand. In the meantime I will content myself with a safe pass to Holland for myself and my companions."
A sudden light gleamed in the judge's eyes. Drawing towards him ink and paper he wrote the necessary orders, signed and sealed them and laid them on the table beside him.
"That will serve your purpose, sir," he said quietly. "My secretary will now accompany you to fetch the originals of the letters; on your return with them this passport shall be delivered to you."
Captain Protheroe laughed quickly.
Then he turned to Jeffreys with an air of deep reproach.
"Alas! my lord," he cried, "you do indeed underrate my opinion of your ability; moreover, I fear, you take me for a fool. No, no, my lord; that plan likes me not."
Judge Jeffreys started up with an oath, and made a movement to tear the paper in pieces. Captain Protheroe stopped him sharply.
"Hearken, my lord," he said sternly, "you will hand that pass to me now, you will take no steps to interfere with our departure, and you will at once apply yourself to obtain the pardons I demand. If money be required to win them I doubt not your lordship has sufficient to meet all expenses. In the meantime I and my friends will ride in safety to the coast, stopping a night or so at Durford Manor house——"
"Durford," cried Jeffreys sharply, "what would you at Durford?"
"Er—a small matter of an old gold brocade, I believe," answered Captain Protheroe, with a little smile of reminiscence. "From there we will take ship and sail for Holland. On the day your lordship procures our pardons, the letters you require shall be delivered into your hands."
"And if I refuse?"
"Refuse! why, then, as I have already explained, the letters have another destination. His Majesty, I believe, has now left Winchester, but the Duke——"
"I should at least soon see you hanged," interrupted Jeffreys furiously.
"I believe you, my lord," answered the captain drily; "but I do not anticipate I should have long to wait before your lordship followed me."
There was a pause. Then Jeffreys continued testily.
"What assurance have I these letters will be delivered to me?"
"My word."
"Pah! What faith put you in my word that you should have your pass?"
"None whatever! but the parallel is hardly just. I am a man of honour. That is one of the few titles to which your lordship has never aspired." Then he continued sharply, "Come, my lord, there is no time to lose; I beg you to come to a decision. I will not insult your intellect by repeating the facts of the case. Briefly, the matter runs thus: Whose head do you count of greatest value, mine or your lordship's?"
There was a full minute's silence. Then without a word Jeffreys picked up the passport and handed it to the officer.
"Ah, my lord! I thought I should not be mistaken in your answer," said the captain coolly. "I need not impress upon you the advisability of doing all in your power to facilitate our safe journey. Our interests will doubtless be dear to you as—as your own neck. My lord, I bid you good-evening."
The judge made no answer. He leaned wearily back in his chair, staring moodily before him. Behind him stood the secretary, silent, immovable, but with an expression of deepest relief upon his face. Captain Protheroe turned on his heel, and strode across the room, but scarcely had he reached the door when it was opened suddenly from without, and he found himself face to face with Colonel Kirke.
Both men gave a sharp exclamation of astonishment and sprang back. Then the colonel with a sudden quick movement stepped into the room, shut the door, and set his back against it.
For a moment all was still, the two stared at each other in dead silence, measuring glances of hatred and contempt. Then Jeffreys rose from his chair and stepped quickly forward.
"What do you want, colonel?" he asked hoarsely.
Kirke turned abruptly to the judge.
"What is this man doing here, my lord?" he demanded sharply.
Jeffreys moved nervously.
"Captain Protheroe is about to start upon a mission to Holland, at my direction," he answered nervously.
"But, my lord, have you forgot? this fellow is an escaped rebel, committed for treason."
"I know, colonel. But he is pardoned."
"Pardoned! By whom? For what reason?"
"In return for information received," answered Jeffreys quickly.
"Hell-fire! That he is not!" shouted the colonel fiercely. "I know you, Jeffreys, you've made your money out of him, and now you would let him go. But, by Heaven! an you do, I'll noise it abroad till all London hear on't. And you know, none better, his Majesty's commands concerning these rebels, not one is to escape. Pardoned! Now, by the light of the Prophet's beard, the man is a traitor and shall hang e'en if I had to do it with my own hands. Pardoned! Pah! The man shall hang as sure as my name is Percy Kirke."
He ceased, and there was another silence. Captain Protheroe loosened in its sheath the sword he earned and glanced rapidly round the room. He turned to the chief justice, but no further help showed there. Jeffreys had sunk back in his chair, and looked the picture of helpless dismay. The man was a mass of nerves, sensitive as a girl; he trembled under Colonel Kirke's fierce attack, and had no words with which to defend himself.
"Do you understand me, Jeffreys?" the colonel again shouted. "By Heaven, I'll publish the facts."
"My lord," interposed Captain Protheroe quietly, "'tis but a night's ride to Winchester."
Jeffreys looked from one to the other hopelessly calculating his chances with a desperate cunning.
"Tut, colonel," he began nervously; "what is the man to you? Let him——"
He was interrupted by a sudden knock at the door, and the entrance of an orderly.
"A messenger from London, my lord," he said.
He marched across to the chief justice, and handed him a packet, then saluting, turned and left the room.
Partly with the idea of gaining time, partly with a faint hope of there finding a way out of his difficulty, Jeffreys broke open the packet and began to read. Colonel Kirke stood silent, watching him angrily, but Captain Protheroe glanced hurriedly up and down the room, puzzling his wits to devise some method of escape.
Suddenly the chief justice started to his feet and turned to the colonel. There was a look of excitement on his face, and triumph in his eyes.
"Colonel Kirke," he exclaimed harshly, "you are recalled to London!"
With clenched hands and blazing eyes Kirke turned on Jeffreys.
"Recalled! I! What in the devil's name do you mean?"
"Here are your orders. The regiment will proceed there in the course of a week. You are to set out immediately."
Kirke stared at the paper in amazement; then he threw it to the ground and stamped on it in a sudden fury. "Recalled! Disgraced! Bah! Have you had a hand in this, Jeffreys? Recalled! Now, by——" He roared out a torrent of oaths.
Presently he grew calmer, picked up the paper, read it once more, and locked moodily at the chief justice.
"I must set out at once," he muttered. "But look you, Jeffreys, a word of warning; this is but a passing affair, the work o' that meddlesome Sunderland, I'll be bound. I shall soon return, so be careful what you do. I've set my heart on this matter"—pointing to the captain. "When I return, an that fellow be not handed over to me for court-martial, then, by all the devils in heaven and hell, I'll be revenged. You know me, Jeffreys, and you know what I can do. Take warning."
He swung to the door, then pausing, turned to Captain Protheroe, and eyed him with a scornful glance.
"A narrow shave for you," he said; "but I'll hope to see you hanged yet, my fine fellow."
Captain Protheroe smiled scornfully.
"I'm afraid, colonel," he answered drily, "unless our executions take place simultaneously on the same spot, we can't both realise our mutual hope."
With an oath Colonel Kirke swung out of the room, and the door was shut. Then Captain Protheroe turned to Jeffreys. The judge's face was a study of indecision. He stared moodily at the letters before him, he glanced nervously at the door through which the colonel had retired. He was a man standing betwixt two abysses, doubting over which to risk a jump. At last he raised his head, and faced the captain defiantly.
"Captain Protheroe," he said, "I must withdraw your passport and place you under arrest."
Captain Protheroe stared at the judge in dismay. The secretary took a rapid step forward, and stooped over his master's chair.
"My lord," he whispered, "think what you do. These letters——"
"I know! I know!" cried Jeffreys testily; "but I also know Kirke. 'Tis one or the other, and Kirke is not a man to deny."
Again the secretary stooped to argue, but Jeffreys thrust him aside.
"No, no, Jewars, I tell you 'tis the safer way. This is the only evidence"—tapping the letters—"and it may be disproved."
Then, with a sudden inspiration Captain Protheroe stepped forward, and leaning over the table, fixed his eyes on Jeffreys.
"The only evidence, my lord?" he asked quietly. "Tell me, has your lordship ever heard of a certain Master Hugh Peters, of Lime?"
"Peters!" gasped the secretary, with a sudden start of horror.
"Aye," answered the officer slowly. "A worthy man who can give much valuable information concerning the manner of Ferguson's escape, about which there has been so great a pother in London. And, my lord, he is not the only man who knows the secret."
With a sudden cry the secretary caught the chief justice's arm; his face was livid, he trembled from head to foot.
"My lord," he cried, "there is no help for it, this man must go. There is no safety else. He knows—Heavens! what does he not know? My lord, Colonel Kirke may be dangerous, but he is disgraced, and he hath but little evidence, and 'tis but a matter of bribery after all. But this man—oh, my lord! let him go, out of the country with him, and Heaven grant we may never see him more."
Jeffreys turned and stared at the terrified man, and slowly the fear passed into his own heart. Fiercely he clutched the arms of his chair, his eyes rolled, he moved his head from side to side, as one hounded to death, and seeing no escape. Then with a loud cry of rage and despair, he sprang to his feet, and pointed wildly to the door.
"Go!" he cried. "Go! You are free! But have a care. For an you come within my power again, by God! you shall pay for this. You shall die a thousand times; at the cart-tail, at the post, at the gallows, at the stake. You shall feel a thousand torments, till hell itself shall show more merciful. I will——"
"Silence!" shouted the captain sternly. "Peace, fool, I will hear no more o' such vapourings. I go now, but first, mark you this, my Lord Jeffreys, see to it you carry out our contract to the smallest detail, for should harm befall me and mine thro' your doing, I vow to heaven, my lord, I will not hang alone. So, an you value your own neck, leave us in peace."
For one moment Jeffreys stood gasping open-mouthed, gazing at the speaker in a fury of impotent rage, then he suddenly collapsed and sinking into his chair, he fell forward across the table and burst into bitter tears.
But Captain Protheroe waited no longer, but tucking the passport into his breast, proceeded calmly to the street. Nor did he pause until he had passed out of the north gate and left the town behind him.
"Phew!" he muttered, wiping his forehead, "I've played high in my time, but never for such stakes as these. Heaven help me! what a hand I held, and God forgive me, but how I played it!"