Chapter 3

CHAPTER X.The Birds Flown to the Mountains.The sun had risen high before any of the soldiers awoke, and even then they were helpless till their still sleeping comrade, who was to be their deliverer, should be aroused. This was at last accomplished by one of the men, who dragged himself along the floor so as to give him a hearty kick, but it was still some time before he came sufficiently to himself to comprehend the situation of affairs and release both himself and the others.The first thing that their captain did, after he had stretched his stiffened limbs, was to discharge a volley of oaths at them, the Lollards, and the world generally. He had determined not to relate the whole of his midnight adventure to his men for two reasons: one was, that he was afraid of rousing their superstitious fears, and making them insist upon leaving instantly a place which they would surely believe to be haunted by malignant spirits; and the other was, that he was a little ashamed of being thus caught napping by his enemies, and did not wish the story to be told against him to his superior officer. He was, however, fully determined to ransack the castle before the time fixed upon by the Lollards for their departure, at the same time guarding all the places of exit.He met with no better success than the day before; but soon a bright thought struck him, and his face glowed with malignant pleasure. He ordered his men into the woods to gather brushwood, and this, together with some straw and grain, he piled up in the apartments of the castle and set on fire. When it was fairly blazing, he mounted his whole troop, carefully removing all the horses from the stables, and placed his men in such positions that they might be able to watch all the roads, and be ready for instant pursuit should the Lollards attempt to flee.He himself sat grimly on his war-horse, surveying the work of destruction; waiting till the noble men, smoked like rats from their holes, should be seized and brought triumphantly before him. He already imagined how he would dispose of the reward when he presented the three heads to the archbishop.If this gallant soldier had been able to look downward a little way through the ground under his feet, his vision would not have been quite so rose-colored. Let us go back to the three men whom we left sleeping so quietly in the little turret-chamber.They were not aroused from their slumber till the fire had begun to rage, for they were so embedded in the stone that the heat and smell took a long time to penetrate to them; but at last the ivy on the outside caught, and the flames were roaring "from turret to foundation stone." The smoke which then poured in through the narrow slits aroused Bertrand, who soon understood the plot. It was with great difficulty that he and De Forest could get Lord Cobham through the narrow passages, for they were all almost suffocated with smoke, and the heat in some places was nearly unbearable. In more than one spot the walls had fallen in and choked the way with rubbish, but fortunately the soldiers were all outside, guarding the blazing ruins, so that they could pass easily through some of the more open rooms, and so into the vaults. Here they rested awhile, but not long, for they feared lest some arch should give way and cut off their retreat. They therefore passed along the subterranean passage mentioned in the first part of the story, which opened in the direction of the road they intended to take.They were in doubt where they should procure horses for their journey, but their trusty friend and servant, Charles Bertrand, had a plan in his head which he did not at first communicate to his master; but leaving them sitting on a block of stone in the passage, he crept through the little door concealed by brushwood, and closing it carefully behind him, stole along the bed of the stream, and then up the bank on his hands and knees. All this was done without noise, and he crouched down in the bushes not ten feet from the spot where the captain sat on his horse indulging in his day-dreams.Presently the soldier dismounted, and began to examine the animal. "Not a bad brute!" was his muttered comment, as he noticed the fine muscular development of his chest and the fire of his eye; "not a bad brute, nor an ugly one, and far too good for an heretic to ride. I have not had a better mount for years; and as for you," he added, bestowing a kick on his own abandoned charger, which had been degraded to the office of carrying some of the plunder from the castle, "you shall henceforth carry my wife, Ivan, to market, when she wears the new red cloak which I shall buy her in London; she is a good dame, and a handsome one too, and----"What further plans were in his head for the benefit of himself and wife can never be known; for just at that moment there was a shout in the direction of the burning building, and he, thinking that the rats had at last been smoked out of their hiding-places, did not stop to ride round by the road, but, hooking the horses' bridles on a branch, he flung himself down the steep bank in the direction of the castle, shouting to his men to "save them alive."Charles Bertrand chuckled with glee at the turn things had taken. It took but a moment to loosen the beasts, cut the pack from the one, and lead them both down into the wood. He then gave a whistle, and in a shorter time than it takes to relate it, Sir John was mounted on his own horse, Cobham on the captain's discarded steed, with Bertrand behind him, and all were spurring forward toward the blue mountains, whose snow-capped peaks invited them to a safe and happy asylum.The chances were much against Ivan's ever riding to market on the old gray war-horse, decked in the scarlet cloak purchased by the price of the three Lollard heads!For a mile or so both horses went at full speed, Sir John's steed urged on by his master's voice, and the trooper's abused charger showing itself not much the worse for wear, by carrying double almost as fast as the other bore single weight. They had need of all their exertions, for they had not been off more than fifteen minutes before the whole band was in pursuit of them. They gained a little time, however, by their pursuers taking a wrong road, and it was not long before the November twilight closed suddenly upon them, aiding still more their concealment in the gloom of the forest.It was nearly midnight before they dismounted, and then, though wearied with their journey, and chilled by the sleet which had fallen during the last few hours, the place at which they stopped did not seem at all likely to afford them any one of the traveller's three requirements--bed, food and fire. All seemed to be well acquainted with the spot. It was an old ruin of what had probably been a fine house in the days of Henry the First, but which had been destroyed, like many another, and its owner's name blotted from existence during the wars of Stephen. Bertrand dismounted, and led the horses carefully among the stones, into what had been the courtyard of the castle. There he sheltered them under some broken arches, while their riders entered a low room, still left almost entire, but so situated that a careless person passing by, would fail to distinguish it from the masses of rubbish by which it was surrounded.The air within was damp and chilly; but De Forest pulled aside a loose stone in the wall, and from the recess behind it drew out some fagots of dry wood, a pitcher of common wine, a loaf of bread, and some hard Welsh cheese. A cheerful fire was soon blazing on the stone floor, after De Forest had hung his cloak over the opening by which they entered, for the double purpose of keeping the cold air from blowing on the backs of those within, and the firelight from revealing itself to those who might be without. Then, after warming their benumbed limbs, they were quite ready to do justice to the simple fare.This ruin was one of the meeting-places of the Lollards. Wales being their great asylum, it was convenient to have some spot a little beyond the foot of the mountains, where they might come, and find out whether it was safe to proceed any farther. There was always a small stock of provisions and firewood kept there, so that in case any preachers were obliged to spend the night there, they might not have to endanger themselves or others by venturing to any of the neighboring cottages. There was also a set of signals here, conducted on the same system, and connected with those at the foot of the oak near Forest Castle, and Bertrand carefully deciphered them and arranged them anew. He learned that the road was clear as far as the mountains for those going thither, but that no one from the mountains had better venture down. He then placed such marks as would indicate to those who should read them the number of the archbishop's soldiers, the burning of the Tower, and the escape of De Forest and Cobham. So perfectly had this system of signals been arranged, and so well was their secret kept, that he knew in a few days the news of the escape of the two reformers would be known and rejoiced over by all the Lollards for many miles around, while their enemies would wonder how the intelligence was spread, and lay it all to the account of that diabolical assistance and knowledge of sorcery which they firmly believed was possessed by these outlaws.Before they retired to their rest, Cobham stood up and recited the ninety-first Psalm: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." How true and precious did these promises appear to those homeless fugitives! Each took to his own heart such passages as seemed most appropriate to his own particular case; but each found in them the same great comfort--the blessed fact of God's guardianship over those he loves, and their absolute and eternal safety, however earthly cares may oppress, dangers threaten, or sorrows impend. The soldier, Cobham, realized in the God whom he had learned to worship untrammeled by priestcraft and juggling tricks, a shield and buckler far stronger than he had ever borne in the wars under king Harry. The gray-haired knight, who had that day seen the home where his ancestors had lived and died, the birth-place of himself and his two sons, the inheritance which he had thought to leave to a long line of posterity, razed to the very ground by his enemies, and who now felt that he had no home in the wide world in which to shelter his gray hairs, crept up, as it were, to the promise, "I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, in him will I trust," and with child-like faith, taking his Heavenly Father at his word, cast away his sorrows and cares.Bertrand, the peasant, who had abandoned the old faith and followed his feudal lord into the new, but who had never imbibed the spirituality of the reform; who had cast aside the bondage of Rome, but who had not yet bowed his head to the yoke of the gentle Jesus; felt that night as he had never done before, and his aroused feelings were never quieted until he came, with no priestly mediator between, to the feet of his Saviour, and found peace in believing.Nor was the impression lessened when Sir John poured forth a simple, earnest prayer to their great Protector. There was no word of complaint in it, still less of anger toward their persecutors. He besought, with earnest pleadings, that as they were now Sauls in persecuting, they might become Pauls in defending the faith. And when the thought of his ruined home and desolate possessions came across his mind, he prayed that those mansions might be bestowed upon his enemies as well as himself, which are not made with hands, and whose treasures no moth nor rust can corrupt, no foe break through and steal.Then they laid them down and slept, calmly and peacefully, for so did they realize God's presence, that the rough stone walls seemed to them like the fingers of his almighty hand, stretched around them to guard them from their foes.CHAPTER XI.The Lesson of Forgiveness.When Charles Bertrand--for he it was who was their stranger guest--had further narrated how, the next day, the two Lollards had easily passed over the few miles that lay between their night's resting-place and Cobham's mountain retreat in that wild country which gave asylum to outlaws of every kind, he told them that Sir John still had his habitation in Wales, but frequently ventured down into the valleys of his own land, traversing several counties under various disguises, to attend and encourage meetings of the Reformers. Patiently they were all waiting for the time when, bursting over the land as the sunbeams after a thunder-cloud has passed, Bible truth, liberty, and toleration should make themselves to be known and acknowledged by the world. Patiently and trustingly they waited, for they had no doubt of the fulfillment of their Master's promises; but, alas! it pleased that Master, whose will must be unquestioned by human intellect, long, very long to delay the deliverance which was yet surely to come. The child that was then at its mother's breast grew up to boyhood, manhood, descended to old age, and then returned to his native dust, long ere that day came which those fond, simple hearts believed to be even then at the dawn. The nation was not yet sufficiently purged, men's faith not sufficiently tried; that precious "seed of the church," the blood of holy martyrs, had not yet finished dropping into the earth, nor had it yet been sufficiently watered by widows' and orphans' tears for the precious harvest to spring up, which now is yielding to every soul speaking the English tongue, the priceless boon of perfect liberty of conscience toward man, and toward God.Bertrand was glad to stretch his limbs by the hut fire after his journey; and after the simple worship, which always closed the day's labor of these people, all betook themselves to rest.All but one. Geoffrey could not sleep; so he arose softly, and, wrapping himself in his cloak, bounded up the cliffs by a path so narrow and rocky, and close to the brink of the precipice, that only so firm and steady a foot as his own would care to tread it by night. As he passed out of the shadow of the cottage, a man lifted up his head from behind some bushes, and shook himself as though wearied of a confined posture. Still, he did not stand boldly upright, but crouched again, keeping in the shade, and then throwing a look of malignant hatred at the little hut and its quiet sleepers, he muttered an oath of satisfaction, and crept stealthily upon the boy's track.Meanwhile, what were the thoughts of the young Lollard?Geoffrey and Hubert were both Lollards, but in a very different spirit. Geoffrey, the heir of a noble baronetcy, saw his patrimony destroyed, his father outlawed and hunted, himself dependent on the charity of the poor for a place of shelter, and his very soul went out in opposition to the oppressors and to their religion. In Lollardism he found a freedom which agreed with his notions of right, and a purity of morals suited to his taste. The younger brother embraced the reformed religion, because he found in the doctrines it taught, a way of relief for a sinning soul--because they brought to him, free, and untrammeled by superstition and the traditions of men, the Gospel of the Cross, "the sweet story of old." Geoffrey was a Lollard, because with all his strength he hated Rome, and desired to break its yoke from the necks of his countrymen; Hubert, because he loved Jesus, and longed, with all the fervor of his spirit, to convey the tidings of deliverance from a far greater power than that wielded in the Vatican, to the priest-ridden, ignorant poor of his native land.It was natural, therefore, that the former should have many a bitter thought rising in his mind as he thought of the smouldering ruins of Forest Tower. The insult and wrong which had been heaped upon his noble race seemed more than he could bear; his whole soul revolted against the tyranny."It is mine!" he cried aloud, as he reached the top of the cliff, and drew his fine though boyish figure up to its full height in an attitude of defiance--"mine by every law. King Henry holds his throne by no better right! I care not how strong they be, they shall give it back, or may a curse rest on them every one--may they all, from king Henry down to his hirelings, be as homeless as I am this night! Send down, O God of Justice!--if there be such a God--fire and sword upon their houses, as they have brought them on mine; curses on their meat and drink, curses----" He paused, then sank down on the ground and groaned bitterly. Had he not been so enrapt in his fiery thoughts, he might have noticed a face peering at him with malignant satisfaction from the shadow of a rock scarce ten feet from the spot where he stood in full moonlight, with his clenched right hand raised toward heaven, calling down vengeance for his wrongs. But now, as he sank to the earth, the figure stooped and became invisible, for at that instant another footstep was heard along the path, and a still more boyish form sprang across the little open space."Geoffrey! dear Geoffrey!""What are you doing here, Hubert?" cried the elder lad, springing to his feet, like all other lads displeased at being found giving way to his emotions. "Get you back to the cottage; this is no place for you, on the mountain-top at night!""Do not be angry, brother!" said the younger beseechingly. "I saw you rise and go out, and I followed, it is so wild and desolate for you to be here alone, and you so miserable.""Miserable!"--the word was spoken in a contemptuous tone--"that is for a woman to say. I am a man now, I must stand up for my lawful rights; I must pursue to the death those blood-hounds, those hirelings of the foul fiend himself, whom may Heaven----""Geoffrey! Geoffrey! stop; do not say such words. We may not curse, we must pray--we must bless!" And the boy clung to his brother in passionate entreaty. Geoffrey flung him off."You are a child, Hubert! you do not understand these things. Go back to your bed. I choose to be alone." He strode off to the furthest extremity of the little rocky platform, close, close to the lurker in the shadow! When he had styled his enemies blood-hounds, he was not far from the truth; for dearly they loved to track silently their victim's footsteps, to spring upon him when he felt most secure."Geoffrey," said the little pleading voice, "it is very cold, I thought you would wrap me in your cloak."The hard, stern look passed from the lad's face at the words; he turned, sat down by his brother, and clasped him tightly in his arms. Neither spoke for some time; at last Hubert broke the silence."How beautiful the moonlight is to-night!"It was indeed a glorious sight. Sheer down two hundred feet and more below them lay the calm, mirror-like sea, reflecting the moonbeams in a pathway of silver, stretching far, far into the horizon, till it ended in a distant speck on the great North Sea. The stars were paled by the radiance, but still stood out gloriously in the clear still atmosphere, like specks of shining foam dashed up from the silvery sea below. No sound broke the stillness but the low beating of the surf and the scream of a sea-bird skimming through the air after its prey. It seemed in that lone, desolate spot as if there might be no other living creature in existence but the bird flitting across the landscape. The two lads nestled under the cloak and--the watcher!"The moon was at the full, you know, when He died, Geoffrey, and fell upon his cross and his tomb. I wonder if it falls as brightly in that far-off land as it does here? Father Humphrey told me all about it the last time the moon was full, just before he died. How sad, and yet how glad a thing it was for Christ to die, Geoffrey! I can hardly tell where the sadness ends and the gladness begins, they seem so mingled in it all. May I talk to you about it now?""Yes, if you are warm," and the arm was drawn more tightly around the slender form."Oh! yes, I am so comfortable now;" and then he began, and in sweet, touching eloquence detailed the well-known story of the persecuted Nazarene. He drew the picture of the lowly manger, of the carpenter's workshop; he spoke of Him as homeless, hungry, thirsty, weary, desolate, despised, rejected, betrayed. He followed him to the garden, the judgment-hall, the cross. He described in burning words the gibes, the mocks, the sneers, the insults, the cruelty, the hatred that followed the meek and gentle Jesus from the cradle to the grave."And He forgave them, Geoffrey," said the little speaker, as he closed the account, "he forgave them every one.""He was a God," said Geoffrey solemnly."Yes, but he was a man too, and out of his man's heart, as well as his God's heart, he forgave them."The elder lad's face had softened strangely; there was a moisture on the lashes which shaded his downcast eyes."He taught us our 'Pater Noster.' He had a right to teach us to say: 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.' It is hard to act it, but then we must, for we have so many sins to be forgiven--so very, very many, Geoffrey. I think it is an awful prayer to say, though it is so simple and short. It is like Jesus himself, so perfect, so heart-searching. I tremble often; for just think, if we should have just the least little revenge in our hearts, we are praying for condemnation."Lower, lower on his bosom sank the proud head of the young noble."I said it to-night, Hubert." The words came in a trembling whisper."Then you mustactit, quickly, quickly, before God answers it against you."The boy had roused himself, and in his eagerness had caught both his brother's hands in an earnest grasp. What Geoffrey would have replied to this appeal cannot be known, for just at that moment there was a rustling among the stones, then the rush of a falling body, accompanied by one of those horrible screams of mortal agony, which those who have once heard them can never forget.Both boys sprang to their feet with a cry of horror. Geoffrey's clear, cool head first comprehended what was the matter. He ran as near the border of the precipice, as he dared, and then, creeping on his hands and knees to the very edge, looked down. There, far below him, but as far above the water, caught in a scrubby tree that grew out of a cleft in the rock, lay a dark object, only just discernible in the moonlight; and again came the cry for help, but feebler than before."It is a man over the cliff!" shouted the boy. "Run, Hubert, for Bertrand and a rope; quick, or it will be too late! He is hanging in the elf oak!"Then, when his brother was gone, he shouted words of encouragement to the unfortunate man. "Hold hard, man! help is near, and the tree strong, but trust not to the upper branch, it is a dead one; hold fast but a little while."The man was in too great a state of terror to hear or understand, but kept exclaiming that he was lost, and vowing candles to every saint in the calendar, and pilgrimages to a dozen shrines; but his voice grew fainter and fainter, and had ceased entirely, before Hubert returned, accompanied by Humphrey Singleton and Bertrand. It took but a moment to uncoil the rope and fasten one end around a rock; then Geoffrey hailed the stranger:"Ho! friend, help has come; courage! We will send you down a rope; have you strength to tie it round your body?"No reply came. All shouted together, and then waited breathlessly for an answer, but none came."He is dead, or he has swooned," said the old master; "may the Lord have mercy on his soul! We can do no more."Meanwhile there had been a tumult of varied feelings in Geoffrey's mind. Who can this stranger be? had been naturally his first thought when he saw the accident. There could be but one answer--it was an enemy; none other would have been concealed at such an hour on those lonely cliffs. One of Chichely's spies must have been lurking behind the rocks, and, missing his footing, had fallen to what must be his certain destruction if not speedily rescued. And this was the man whom certain feelings of humanity in his heart were calling on him to save at the risk of his own life--one of the very men, perhaps, who had aided in making his father a homeless outlaw; nay more, who had been but a few moments before thirsting for the blood of himself and his venerable protector. Was it not the dictate of common prudence which incited him to send a cross-bow bolt after the wretch, rather than rescue him to go on in the commission of crime?But however passionate Geoffrey might be when roused by a sense of his wrongs, in his calmer moments he was always ready to be led by the Bible laws of right and wrong, which had been taught him from his infancy. "Thou shalt not do evil that good may come," was a precept which had been impressed upon him by his father's lips more than once, and now the conversation he had just held with his brother brought a still more forcible argument to his mind. "He died for them even while they were murdering him." "Forgive us our sins as we forgive them who sin against us." He was decided: he would, as Hubert had said, act the prayer, and in a moment--for it took him far less time to think all this than it has to relate it--he stepped forward, and flung his loose cloak out of the way."Nay, father, there is yet hope: I will go down and help him.""You!" exclaimed the old master and Bertrand in a breath. "Boy, you are mad! It is almost certain death; and know you not that this is without doubt a spy, sent to hunt all of us to the scaffold?""He is a fellow-man," replied the boy undauntedly, "and a sinner too; perchance his soul may be hanging over the gulf of perdition, as his body is over yonder ocean. If it please God"--here he raised his cap reverently from his brow, then flung it down on the ground--"if it please God, I will save both!"He then stepped toward Hubert, and bending low so that he might not be overheard by the rest, said: "Brother, I am going to act the prayer; you have saved me from the vengeance of God!" There was one tight grasp of the hand, and then, before they had sufficiently recovered from their surprise to prevent him, Geoffrey had seized the rope and commenced his perilous descent.The next few moments, so full of agonizing suspense, were spent by Bertrand in pushing bunches of dried grass under the rope, to prevent it from cutting against the sharp corners of the rock, and by the rest in prayer. The dangerous descent was not quite unknown to the young Lollard, as but a week or two previous he had climbed down to that very tree to pick up a bird which he shot, and which had lodged in its branches; hence his warning to the man to beware of the dead bough. But then he had had the light and heat of the sun at noonday; now he must guide himself over slippery rocks by the uncertain light of the moon, which, glaring on the patches of snow, served only to render the shadows deeper; still the boy, naturally fearless, was now inspired with a supernatural bravery by the holy thoughts in his soul. Every sense was stretched to its utmost; with firm hands he grasped the rope, and with unerring feet sprang from rock to rock with a speed and sureness of footing which seemed to those who watched him from above almost miraculous, till at last he sent up a joyful shout:"I am safe, and the man is only stunned; but send us down another rope, and that speedily, for the tree is loosening."The rope was not so readily procured; and for some time the boy had to remain in the tree called the "elf oak" by the people around, on account of the strangeness of its situation, and support the moaning wretch who lay there, and whom his voice had recalled a little to life. He occupied himself by chafing the man's limbs, and striving to regulate their weight so as to press as little as possible on the tree, which, jarred by the fall of the heavy body upon it, was becoming more and more loosened from its frail tenure in the crevice of the rock.At length the other rope was dropped to him, and he fastened both round the man, who seemed incapable, either through terror or injury, of giving himself much assistance. Then, supporting himself partly by the rope, but more by clinging to the jutting points of rock, with a hand ever ready to steady the swinging body or turn it aside from a dangerous angle, he clambered up, and then sank down on the grass, wounded, dizzy, and exhausted, but with a strange calmness at his heart, and a great love burning there toward all mankind, and an intense feeling of gratitude toward God for his preservation from a danger whose full horrors he only now began to understand; for, just as he was mounting the last few feet of the ascent, he had heard a crash behind him--the old oak had torn itself from the rock, and was being dashed in fragments by the surf below.CHAPTER XII.Caught and Caged.The man whom Geoffrey had saved was indeed his greatest enemy. He was no other than the captain of the troop who had so lately burned Forest Castle and driven its lord into exile. Enraged at losing the reward which he had considered already his own, and mortified beyond expression at finding himself outwitted by the despised Lollards, he had found the traces of Bertrand like a bloodhound, and having followed them so far, had discovered the retreat of the children of his enemy.Bertrand recognized him the moment the blood and dust were wiped from his face, and nothing but the positive command of his master's son prevented him from killing him on the spot. Still all precautions must be taken for their safety, and they bound their prisoner securely, placing him in an out-house near the hut, while they prepared everything for instant flight. Their precious pages of Scripture were divided among them and concealed in their garments. Such of the old man's few effects as they could not carry with them they buried or concealed, and partook of a hasty meal.Their plan was to leave sufficient food and firewood near their prisoner to last him till he should recover or his friends come to seek him. For this purpose Bertrand went to carry him meat, but returned in a moment with a face expressive of mingled wonder and alarm."He is gone!" he exclaimed. "Gone, and we are undone! Why did I not strike him down at first? Fool that I was! why did you hinder me, master Geoffrey? We are indeed lost if he escape, for his band is but a short league off in the village. He may have had time to warn them even now;" and Charles Bertrand sprang to the door, cross-bow in hand; but when there, he stopped. Gleaming in the gray twilight which was heralding the morning, he saw the spears of quite a numerous band of soldiers approaching the hill on which the hut stood, from three sides, slowly but surely compassing their prey."It is too late," he added more calmly; and in a whisper to Geoffrey, who had followed him, "Wemight by a rare chance break through--but notthose;" and he pointed with the butt of his weapon to the old man, exhausted with the labors and excitement of the night, and Hubert, pale and unused to hardship."Go you, trusty Charles," said the boy, grasping the rough hand of the man-at-arms in both his; "I knew not that I had periled their life and yours as well as mine own; go you alone by the rocky path: it lies still in shadow, and they will not see it I stay to die with them.""Hold, young master," said the man, affecting a rough manner to conceal his emotion; "you do not know Charles Bertrand if you think he will basely flee and leave the old man and the child to perish alone, not counting the heir of his lord's house. Nay, I will stay and bring down more than one of the wretches ere they cross the threshold.""Not so, friend," said the young Lollard. "You have not my permission; for my father's sake, you must escape to tell him of our fate, and beside, you being free, may do somewhat for our liberty in planning some way of escape, while you can do us no good by shooting down one or two of yonder troop. I command you to follow yonder path to the first turning, then to the right, till you see a rock like a horse's head, then ten paces to the left, is a bush growing close to the cliff. Pull it away, and there is a hole large enough for one to lie concealed. Go, Bertrand; there is not a moment to lose, do not say a word."The man looked still reluctant; but there was such an air of decision in the flashing eye of the young man that he could not disobey, but bounding up the hillside, disappeared as Geoffrey turned to the hut."Up, father!" he said in a firm voice, lending his arm to the old man, at the same time motioning Hubert to his side. "Father! you have taught us how to live as Lollards and Christians; now teach us to die like them, for the time is come!" and he led them out to the rocky platform in front of the door.Scarcely had he ended when a dozen men leapt up to the top of the hill, and as many hands were laid on their unresisting victims, while the morning air was filled with their shouts of delight at their cowardly victory. Some tied them securely, some went to search for the missing soldier, while others threw firebrands about the hut and set it on fire.Then, driving the boys before them, but disregarding old Humphrey Singleton as a piece of worthless booty, they descended the hill toward the village, where they had left their horses. There each of the boys was fastened to a horse behind a soldier, and by the time the sun had risen they were on their way toward York.The captain, while looking with the utmost care to the safety of his prisoners, kept as far as possible from the boy whose kindness he was so shamefully repaying. Though his heart was pretty well steeled by many years of rough service as a soldier of fortune, and he was deeply impressed with the hatred of the Reformers which pervaded all classes, yet he had a little conscience left, and it pricked him sharply when he looked on the sea, and thought that but for that lad's strong arm and courageous heart he would there be dashing about, a lifeless, mangled mass. His better angel whispered to him that he might still partially retrieve his error by using his influence with his band to let them escape; but then rose the thought of the disgrace which the escape of Sir John and Lord Cobham had thrown upon him, which could only be atoned for by the capture of these "whelps of rebellion," as the archbishop styled them. Besides, his greedy palm itched for the golden angels which he already saw poured out to him by the delighted ecclesiastic.So at last he determined to divide matters with his troublesome conscience. He would not take them to York, where they would certainly be killed, but would leave them at a convent near by, where they might not be kept very safely, and thus escape, without the odium resting on him, or the loss of his reward. He therefore ordered his troop to turn into a side-road, and galloping on before, led them to a gloomy, fortified building, surrounded by thick woods, and known to all as the convent of "Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows."The porteress looked surprised and a little doubtful at the sight of such a band of armed men; but the archbishop's livery, worn by some of his retainers, and the assurance of the captain that he came on holy business, procured them an audience with the head of the establishment.Mother Beatrice, the prioress, was a tall, dark, hard-featured woman, who, being an importation from Spain, had brought with her all the austerities to which she had been accustomed from her childhood, and meted them out with unsparing hand to the nuns, novices, and pupils over whom she exercised her sway, and soon made the convent as famous for the rigor of its discipline, as she herself was for sanctity and devotion to the Church.It seemed as though there was scarcely an hour in the twenty-four in which the clanging of the bell did not arouse the luckless inmates to repair to the chapel for prayers, and woe to any one who were so unfortunate as to break any one of the strict rules of the house, for the slightest punishment of the abbess was a thing to be dreaded. Perhaps it was to lie for hours stretched in the form of a cross on the cold pavement of the cell or chapel; to stand in a painful posture before some shrine, till the offender fainted from weariness; to go day after day with the least possible quantity of the coarsest food that could keep soul and body together; or perhaps, in extreme cases, the holy lady would herself apply the scourge to the naked back of the criminal, accompanying each blow by a pious exhortation, or a passage in the life of a saint, until both voice and hand were too wearied to perform their part any longer."And now daughter," she would say, as her victim was led away, "go in peace; may this slight correction save thee from the pains of hell! Go in peace, and forget not in thy prayers to thank Our Lady and the saints that thou hast been placed here, where thy soul is so well cared for!"It was quite doubtful whether the offender ever experienced the gratitude which was expected of her for the benefits received at the reverend Lady's hand, but it was thought that Mother Beatrice quite enjoyed these little opportunities for doing good, and either found, or made them, as often as possible.It was after one of these occasions, when she was resting from the benevolent fatigue she had just undergone, that the porteress came bustling in, with an unusual air of excitement, to inform her of the arrival of the captain and his men.The abbess received the soldier with the cold dignity befitting her situation; but as soon as she had heard the story, her heart palpitated with joy and triumph, in a manner quite unusual to one covered with the serge robe of her order. Her ruling passion was for governing, and forcing those around her to an absolute subjection to her will; and she had lately begun to weary of the contracted scope given to her powers in this quiet convent. The sins which she was called upon to punish were, after all, mere peccadilloes, and her subjects were so subdued by severity that there was no hope of a serious enough rebellion among them to excite her faculties in putting it down; but here were intrusted to her two heretics, made all the more interesting by being of the opposite sex, and yet not old enough to bring a scandal upon the convent if it received them within its walls. She promised the captain to do all she could to draw from them the secret of their father's hiding-place and that of Lord Cobham, and to keep them safely till the archbishop, who was then in London, should return, and decide what was to be done with them.When the captain and his troop had departed, she ordered her prisoners to be brought into her presence. The boys had at first been rather rejoiced at the thought of being placed under female care, but one look at their stern jailer was sufficient to alarm them. Hubert shrank to his brother's side, but Geoffrey drew himself up proudly, and returned her scrutiny by an unabashed and not very polite stare.The wily prioress noticed this, and determined that they were very different characters, and as such must be differently treated. "Come hither, my pretty boy," she said, throwing as much tenderness as possible into her voice; and, drawing him gently toward her, she questioned him concerning his journey and his fatigue in such a way that his answers, at first confined to monosyllables, became more full, and he was soon talking with her quite freely, unheeding the signs by which Geoffrey, who was standing moodily by the door, tried to check him. At that moment the convent-bell pealed out its summons, and the abbess, arising, said, "Come, my little page, we will go to hear some of that music you were just telling me you loved so dearly;" and before the elder lad had time to put in a word, the superior and her charge had left the room. As the door closed behind her, another opened, and the porteress, entering, bade him follow her. He obeyed, though secretly determined not to be led to chapel, as he conceived Hubert must have been. His fears were groundless, as he soon discovered; it was not the abbess's plan to try him that way. He followed his guide through several passages and courts to a low damp-looking cell, and when Sister Ursula had shown him the pitcher of water and piece of bread for his refreshment, that were placed in a niche serving for a table, she withdrew, and bolting the door, left him to his own reflections.His first impulse was to examine his prison. The only light admitted was from a small window, or rather slit in the wall, which was well barred; and it was not till his eyes became somewhat accustomed to the dim light, that he found he was in a good-sized room, some twenty feet square, and built entirely of stone. It had evidently been originally intended for a cellar; but that it had sometime been used as a prison was also evident, as there was a chain fastened to the wall, and the door was strong, and well provided with bolts and bars. On a shelf covered with cloth, at the side, stood a crucifix, and behind it hung a rude sketch of the Virgin, with the legend, "Ora pro nobis, peccavi!" in black letter. The boy gave a scornful glance at this, and then threw himself down on the heap of straw in the corner intended for his bed.At first he buried his face in his hands in anxious thought, but soon started up, and began a careful examination of the walls and floor of his prison. His object was this. In the arrangements for flight at the hut on the cliff the preceding night, it will be remembered that the sheets of parchment containing parts of the Bible had been divided among the people. Geoffrey's share he carried in a bag under the cloth jerkin that he wore, and he was afraid lest the prioress should undertake to search him, and so discover those precious pages, which he would then not only lose forever, but which would prove witnesses sufficient to send him, without further question, to the stake. He therefore wished to find some place where he might secrete them, if a search seemed probable.In the darkest corner of the room, partly concealed by a recess, he found a door, which had evidently, by the cobwebs gathered thickly over it, not been opened for a long time. Induced by the decayed appearance of the wood, he applied his shoulder to it, and one forcible push sent it bursting in, and nearly choked him with dust. At first his heart beat high, for he thought he had found a way of escape; but he was soon disappointed. It only opened into what seemed to have been an entrance or vestibule to the old cellar, for there were marks where some steps had been fastened into the wall; and a doorway, half-way up the side, had been built up with a different kind of stone. The walls were, however, much thinner, and the window larger. After making himself sure that there was no way to it except through the outer cell, he placed his parchments in a crevice under the window and returned to the other room, replacing the door so as to make all look as much as possible as it did before.He had now time to consider his situation, which was by no means a promising one. He had noticed the deep ditch and massive wall which surrounded the building as he approached it, and the character of the place was better known to him than the prioress had supposed. He knew there were other ways of ridding the kingdom of heretics beside the open trial and public execution. He also knew that he and his brother would be especial objects of interest to the ecclesiastical authority, as it might be supposed that they could be induced to reveal the place of their father's retreat, or even draw him from his concealment, if he heard that his children were held as hostages for his appearance. He saw that great exertions would be made for their conversion, and he was very angry with Hubert for being so easily entrapped and led away, and he imagined him subjected to all kinds of questioning before he had opportunity to warn him how to answer so as to conceal most perfectly their secrets. He had worked himself into such a passion with the child for his "singing folly," as he termed it, that when the bolts were suddenly drawn back, the door opened, and his brother ran and threw himself sobbing into his arms, he repulsed him rudely and contemptuously, and began walking up and down the room, too angry to speak."Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" began the child in a trembling voice, springing up from the straw where the elder's rough push had sent him, but not daring to approach the irritated lad, "Geoffrey! I did not kneel, I did not kiss the image, though they told me they would let us go in the garden if I would, and the porteress says they will kill us soon. O brother! don't send me away; we always said we would die together!""They may kill me, but not you, Hubert," replied Geoffrey with a sneer. "They will rather keep you for one of their singing-birds; after that you may be a fat monk, and, who knows? his Lordship of Canterbury one of these days, and light up the land with Lollard bonfires perhaps; but"--he stopped suddenly and sprang to his brother's side, changing his tone from harshness and sarcasm to tenderness and anxiety--"but they have done you hurt; they have wounded you, the hounds! Why did you not tell me? You are bleeding fast!"The blood was indeed trickling down the child's pale face and mingling with his tears, while he was vainly endeavoring to stanch it with his hands."It is not much," he sobbed; "she struck me with her keys because I called out to such a pretty young lady who passed us as we came out of chapel. I am sure we saw her in London at the preaching in the brickyard. She was walking with the nuns, and looked very much surprised to see me; but they hurried her away, and then the porteress struck me.""There," said Geoffrey, whose rage against his brother had quite disappeared now that he had so much better an object to vent his spleen upon, "the old hag has not done you as much damage as she meant to, I think; it is but a little cut, and will scarcely leave a scar. Sit down here, and let me cover you with my cloak, and we will eat the supper our good jaileresses have provided; we have had nothing since daybreak." They were both exhausted with the fatigues and excitement of the last twenty-four hours, and their prison-fare was not much coarser than that to which they had been accustomed; so they ate it thankfully, and then lay down to rest in each other's arms.Much more tranquil was their rest than that of their betrayer, who, tossing on his pillow in his inn at York, was suffering from remorse in a manner different from any former experience. The conversation he had overheard on the cliff; the fright of the fall; the brave face that had looked into his with compassion as he lay in the tree; that same undaunted young figure standing at the hut door as his captors surrounded him; the patient, reproachful face which he could not help continually turning to meet during the long morning ride--all these rose up before him one after another, and not even the thought of his bag of gold pieces was able to restore the soldier's natural recklessness.

CHAPTER X.

The Birds Flown to the Mountains.

The sun had risen high before any of the soldiers awoke, and even then they were helpless till their still sleeping comrade, who was to be their deliverer, should be aroused. This was at last accomplished by one of the men, who dragged himself along the floor so as to give him a hearty kick, but it was still some time before he came sufficiently to himself to comprehend the situation of affairs and release both himself and the others.

The first thing that their captain did, after he had stretched his stiffened limbs, was to discharge a volley of oaths at them, the Lollards, and the world generally. He had determined not to relate the whole of his midnight adventure to his men for two reasons: one was, that he was afraid of rousing their superstitious fears, and making them insist upon leaving instantly a place which they would surely believe to be haunted by malignant spirits; and the other was, that he was a little ashamed of being thus caught napping by his enemies, and did not wish the story to be told against him to his superior officer. He was, however, fully determined to ransack the castle before the time fixed upon by the Lollards for their departure, at the same time guarding all the places of exit.

He met with no better success than the day before; but soon a bright thought struck him, and his face glowed with malignant pleasure. He ordered his men into the woods to gather brushwood, and this, together with some straw and grain, he piled up in the apartments of the castle and set on fire. When it was fairly blazing, he mounted his whole troop, carefully removing all the horses from the stables, and placed his men in such positions that they might be able to watch all the roads, and be ready for instant pursuit should the Lollards attempt to flee.

He himself sat grimly on his war-horse, surveying the work of destruction; waiting till the noble men, smoked like rats from their holes, should be seized and brought triumphantly before him. He already imagined how he would dispose of the reward when he presented the three heads to the archbishop.

If this gallant soldier had been able to look downward a little way through the ground under his feet, his vision would not have been quite so rose-colored. Let us go back to the three men whom we left sleeping so quietly in the little turret-chamber.

They were not aroused from their slumber till the fire had begun to rage, for they were so embedded in the stone that the heat and smell took a long time to penetrate to them; but at last the ivy on the outside caught, and the flames were roaring "from turret to foundation stone." The smoke which then poured in through the narrow slits aroused Bertrand, who soon understood the plot. It was with great difficulty that he and De Forest could get Lord Cobham through the narrow passages, for they were all almost suffocated with smoke, and the heat in some places was nearly unbearable. In more than one spot the walls had fallen in and choked the way with rubbish, but fortunately the soldiers were all outside, guarding the blazing ruins, so that they could pass easily through some of the more open rooms, and so into the vaults. Here they rested awhile, but not long, for they feared lest some arch should give way and cut off their retreat. They therefore passed along the subterranean passage mentioned in the first part of the story, which opened in the direction of the road they intended to take.

They were in doubt where they should procure horses for their journey, but their trusty friend and servant, Charles Bertrand, had a plan in his head which he did not at first communicate to his master; but leaving them sitting on a block of stone in the passage, he crept through the little door concealed by brushwood, and closing it carefully behind him, stole along the bed of the stream, and then up the bank on his hands and knees. All this was done without noise, and he crouched down in the bushes not ten feet from the spot where the captain sat on his horse indulging in his day-dreams.

Presently the soldier dismounted, and began to examine the animal. "Not a bad brute!" was his muttered comment, as he noticed the fine muscular development of his chest and the fire of his eye; "not a bad brute, nor an ugly one, and far too good for an heretic to ride. I have not had a better mount for years; and as for you," he added, bestowing a kick on his own abandoned charger, which had been degraded to the office of carrying some of the plunder from the castle, "you shall henceforth carry my wife, Ivan, to market, when she wears the new red cloak which I shall buy her in London; she is a good dame, and a handsome one too, and----"

What further plans were in his head for the benefit of himself and wife can never be known; for just at that moment there was a shout in the direction of the burning building, and he, thinking that the rats had at last been smoked out of their hiding-places, did not stop to ride round by the road, but, hooking the horses' bridles on a branch, he flung himself down the steep bank in the direction of the castle, shouting to his men to "save them alive."

Charles Bertrand chuckled with glee at the turn things had taken. It took but a moment to loosen the beasts, cut the pack from the one, and lead them both down into the wood. He then gave a whistle, and in a shorter time than it takes to relate it, Sir John was mounted on his own horse, Cobham on the captain's discarded steed, with Bertrand behind him, and all were spurring forward toward the blue mountains, whose snow-capped peaks invited them to a safe and happy asylum.

The chances were much against Ivan's ever riding to market on the old gray war-horse, decked in the scarlet cloak purchased by the price of the three Lollard heads!

For a mile or so both horses went at full speed, Sir John's steed urged on by his master's voice, and the trooper's abused charger showing itself not much the worse for wear, by carrying double almost as fast as the other bore single weight. They had need of all their exertions, for they had not been off more than fifteen minutes before the whole band was in pursuit of them. They gained a little time, however, by their pursuers taking a wrong road, and it was not long before the November twilight closed suddenly upon them, aiding still more their concealment in the gloom of the forest.

It was nearly midnight before they dismounted, and then, though wearied with their journey, and chilled by the sleet which had fallen during the last few hours, the place at which they stopped did not seem at all likely to afford them any one of the traveller's three requirements--bed, food and fire. All seemed to be well acquainted with the spot. It was an old ruin of what had probably been a fine house in the days of Henry the First, but which had been destroyed, like many another, and its owner's name blotted from existence during the wars of Stephen. Bertrand dismounted, and led the horses carefully among the stones, into what had been the courtyard of the castle. There he sheltered them under some broken arches, while their riders entered a low room, still left almost entire, but so situated that a careless person passing by, would fail to distinguish it from the masses of rubbish by which it was surrounded.

The air within was damp and chilly; but De Forest pulled aside a loose stone in the wall, and from the recess behind it drew out some fagots of dry wood, a pitcher of common wine, a loaf of bread, and some hard Welsh cheese. A cheerful fire was soon blazing on the stone floor, after De Forest had hung his cloak over the opening by which they entered, for the double purpose of keeping the cold air from blowing on the backs of those within, and the firelight from revealing itself to those who might be without. Then, after warming their benumbed limbs, they were quite ready to do justice to the simple fare.

This ruin was one of the meeting-places of the Lollards. Wales being their great asylum, it was convenient to have some spot a little beyond the foot of the mountains, where they might come, and find out whether it was safe to proceed any farther. There was always a small stock of provisions and firewood kept there, so that in case any preachers were obliged to spend the night there, they might not have to endanger themselves or others by venturing to any of the neighboring cottages. There was also a set of signals here, conducted on the same system, and connected with those at the foot of the oak near Forest Castle, and Bertrand carefully deciphered them and arranged them anew. He learned that the road was clear as far as the mountains for those going thither, but that no one from the mountains had better venture down. He then placed such marks as would indicate to those who should read them the number of the archbishop's soldiers, the burning of the Tower, and the escape of De Forest and Cobham. So perfectly had this system of signals been arranged, and so well was their secret kept, that he knew in a few days the news of the escape of the two reformers would be known and rejoiced over by all the Lollards for many miles around, while their enemies would wonder how the intelligence was spread, and lay it all to the account of that diabolical assistance and knowledge of sorcery which they firmly believed was possessed by these outlaws.

Before they retired to their rest, Cobham stood up and recited the ninety-first Psalm: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." How true and precious did these promises appear to those homeless fugitives! Each took to his own heart such passages as seemed most appropriate to his own particular case; but each found in them the same great comfort--the blessed fact of God's guardianship over those he loves, and their absolute and eternal safety, however earthly cares may oppress, dangers threaten, or sorrows impend. The soldier, Cobham, realized in the God whom he had learned to worship untrammeled by priestcraft and juggling tricks, a shield and buckler far stronger than he had ever borne in the wars under king Harry. The gray-haired knight, who had that day seen the home where his ancestors had lived and died, the birth-place of himself and his two sons, the inheritance which he had thought to leave to a long line of posterity, razed to the very ground by his enemies, and who now felt that he had no home in the wide world in which to shelter his gray hairs, crept up, as it were, to the promise, "I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress, in him will I trust," and with child-like faith, taking his Heavenly Father at his word, cast away his sorrows and cares.

Bertrand, the peasant, who had abandoned the old faith and followed his feudal lord into the new, but who had never imbibed the spirituality of the reform; who had cast aside the bondage of Rome, but who had not yet bowed his head to the yoke of the gentle Jesus; felt that night as he had never done before, and his aroused feelings were never quieted until he came, with no priestly mediator between, to the feet of his Saviour, and found peace in believing.

Nor was the impression lessened when Sir John poured forth a simple, earnest prayer to their great Protector. There was no word of complaint in it, still less of anger toward their persecutors. He besought, with earnest pleadings, that as they were now Sauls in persecuting, they might become Pauls in defending the faith. And when the thought of his ruined home and desolate possessions came across his mind, he prayed that those mansions might be bestowed upon his enemies as well as himself, which are not made with hands, and whose treasures no moth nor rust can corrupt, no foe break through and steal.

Then they laid them down and slept, calmly and peacefully, for so did they realize God's presence, that the rough stone walls seemed to them like the fingers of his almighty hand, stretched around them to guard them from their foes.

CHAPTER XI.

The Lesson of Forgiveness.

When Charles Bertrand--for he it was who was their stranger guest--had further narrated how, the next day, the two Lollards had easily passed over the few miles that lay between their night's resting-place and Cobham's mountain retreat in that wild country which gave asylum to outlaws of every kind, he told them that Sir John still had his habitation in Wales, but frequently ventured down into the valleys of his own land, traversing several counties under various disguises, to attend and encourage meetings of the Reformers. Patiently they were all waiting for the time when, bursting over the land as the sunbeams after a thunder-cloud has passed, Bible truth, liberty, and toleration should make themselves to be known and acknowledged by the world. Patiently and trustingly they waited, for they had no doubt of the fulfillment of their Master's promises; but, alas! it pleased that Master, whose will must be unquestioned by human intellect, long, very long to delay the deliverance which was yet surely to come. The child that was then at its mother's breast grew up to boyhood, manhood, descended to old age, and then returned to his native dust, long ere that day came which those fond, simple hearts believed to be even then at the dawn. The nation was not yet sufficiently purged, men's faith not sufficiently tried; that precious "seed of the church," the blood of holy martyrs, had not yet finished dropping into the earth, nor had it yet been sufficiently watered by widows' and orphans' tears for the precious harvest to spring up, which now is yielding to every soul speaking the English tongue, the priceless boon of perfect liberty of conscience toward man, and toward God.

Bertrand was glad to stretch his limbs by the hut fire after his journey; and after the simple worship, which always closed the day's labor of these people, all betook themselves to rest.

All but one. Geoffrey could not sleep; so he arose softly, and, wrapping himself in his cloak, bounded up the cliffs by a path so narrow and rocky, and close to the brink of the precipice, that only so firm and steady a foot as his own would care to tread it by night. As he passed out of the shadow of the cottage, a man lifted up his head from behind some bushes, and shook himself as though wearied of a confined posture. Still, he did not stand boldly upright, but crouched again, keeping in the shade, and then throwing a look of malignant hatred at the little hut and its quiet sleepers, he muttered an oath of satisfaction, and crept stealthily upon the boy's track.

Meanwhile, what were the thoughts of the young Lollard?

Geoffrey and Hubert were both Lollards, but in a very different spirit. Geoffrey, the heir of a noble baronetcy, saw his patrimony destroyed, his father outlawed and hunted, himself dependent on the charity of the poor for a place of shelter, and his very soul went out in opposition to the oppressors and to their religion. In Lollardism he found a freedom which agreed with his notions of right, and a purity of morals suited to his taste. The younger brother embraced the reformed religion, because he found in the doctrines it taught, a way of relief for a sinning soul--because they brought to him, free, and untrammeled by superstition and the traditions of men, the Gospel of the Cross, "the sweet story of old." Geoffrey was a Lollard, because with all his strength he hated Rome, and desired to break its yoke from the necks of his countrymen; Hubert, because he loved Jesus, and longed, with all the fervor of his spirit, to convey the tidings of deliverance from a far greater power than that wielded in the Vatican, to the priest-ridden, ignorant poor of his native land.

It was natural, therefore, that the former should have many a bitter thought rising in his mind as he thought of the smouldering ruins of Forest Tower. The insult and wrong which had been heaped upon his noble race seemed more than he could bear; his whole soul revolted against the tyranny.

"It is mine!" he cried aloud, as he reached the top of the cliff, and drew his fine though boyish figure up to its full height in an attitude of defiance--"mine by every law. King Henry holds his throne by no better right! I care not how strong they be, they shall give it back, or may a curse rest on them every one--may they all, from king Henry down to his hirelings, be as homeless as I am this night! Send down, O God of Justice!--if there be such a God--fire and sword upon their houses, as they have brought them on mine; curses on their meat and drink, curses----" He paused, then sank down on the ground and groaned bitterly. Had he not been so enrapt in his fiery thoughts, he might have noticed a face peering at him with malignant satisfaction from the shadow of a rock scarce ten feet from the spot where he stood in full moonlight, with his clenched right hand raised toward heaven, calling down vengeance for his wrongs. But now, as he sank to the earth, the figure stooped and became invisible, for at that instant another footstep was heard along the path, and a still more boyish form sprang across the little open space.

"Geoffrey! dear Geoffrey!"

"What are you doing here, Hubert?" cried the elder lad, springing to his feet, like all other lads displeased at being found giving way to his emotions. "Get you back to the cottage; this is no place for you, on the mountain-top at night!"

"Do not be angry, brother!" said the younger beseechingly. "I saw you rise and go out, and I followed, it is so wild and desolate for you to be here alone, and you so miserable."

"Miserable!"--the word was spoken in a contemptuous tone--"that is for a woman to say. I am a man now, I must stand up for my lawful rights; I must pursue to the death those blood-hounds, those hirelings of the foul fiend himself, whom may Heaven----"

"Geoffrey! Geoffrey! stop; do not say such words. We may not curse, we must pray--we must bless!" And the boy clung to his brother in passionate entreaty. Geoffrey flung him off.

"You are a child, Hubert! you do not understand these things. Go back to your bed. I choose to be alone." He strode off to the furthest extremity of the little rocky platform, close, close to the lurker in the shadow! When he had styled his enemies blood-hounds, he was not far from the truth; for dearly they loved to track silently their victim's footsteps, to spring upon him when he felt most secure.

"Geoffrey," said the little pleading voice, "it is very cold, I thought you would wrap me in your cloak."

The hard, stern look passed from the lad's face at the words; he turned, sat down by his brother, and clasped him tightly in his arms. Neither spoke for some time; at last Hubert broke the silence.

"How beautiful the moonlight is to-night!"

It was indeed a glorious sight. Sheer down two hundred feet and more below them lay the calm, mirror-like sea, reflecting the moonbeams in a pathway of silver, stretching far, far into the horizon, till it ended in a distant speck on the great North Sea. The stars were paled by the radiance, but still stood out gloriously in the clear still atmosphere, like specks of shining foam dashed up from the silvery sea below. No sound broke the stillness but the low beating of the surf and the scream of a sea-bird skimming through the air after its prey. It seemed in that lone, desolate spot as if there might be no other living creature in existence but the bird flitting across the landscape. The two lads nestled under the cloak and--the watcher!

"The moon was at the full, you know, when He died, Geoffrey, and fell upon his cross and his tomb. I wonder if it falls as brightly in that far-off land as it does here? Father Humphrey told me all about it the last time the moon was full, just before he died. How sad, and yet how glad a thing it was for Christ to die, Geoffrey! I can hardly tell where the sadness ends and the gladness begins, they seem so mingled in it all. May I talk to you about it now?"

"Yes, if you are warm," and the arm was drawn more tightly around the slender form.

"Oh! yes, I am so comfortable now;" and then he began, and in sweet, touching eloquence detailed the well-known story of the persecuted Nazarene. He drew the picture of the lowly manger, of the carpenter's workshop; he spoke of Him as homeless, hungry, thirsty, weary, desolate, despised, rejected, betrayed. He followed him to the garden, the judgment-hall, the cross. He described in burning words the gibes, the mocks, the sneers, the insults, the cruelty, the hatred that followed the meek and gentle Jesus from the cradle to the grave.

"And He forgave them, Geoffrey," said the little speaker, as he closed the account, "he forgave them every one."

"He was a God," said Geoffrey solemnly.

"Yes, but he was a man too, and out of his man's heart, as well as his God's heart, he forgave them."

The elder lad's face had softened strangely; there was a moisture on the lashes which shaded his downcast eyes.

"He taught us our 'Pater Noster.' He had a right to teach us to say: 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.' It is hard to act it, but then we must, for we have so many sins to be forgiven--so very, very many, Geoffrey. I think it is an awful prayer to say, though it is so simple and short. It is like Jesus himself, so perfect, so heart-searching. I tremble often; for just think, if we should have just the least little revenge in our hearts, we are praying for condemnation."

Lower, lower on his bosom sank the proud head of the young noble.

"I said it to-night, Hubert." The words came in a trembling whisper.

"Then you mustactit, quickly, quickly, before God answers it against you."

The boy had roused himself, and in his eagerness had caught both his brother's hands in an earnest grasp. What Geoffrey would have replied to this appeal cannot be known, for just at that moment there was a rustling among the stones, then the rush of a falling body, accompanied by one of those horrible screams of mortal agony, which those who have once heard them can never forget.

Both boys sprang to their feet with a cry of horror. Geoffrey's clear, cool head first comprehended what was the matter. He ran as near the border of the precipice, as he dared, and then, creeping on his hands and knees to the very edge, looked down. There, far below him, but as far above the water, caught in a scrubby tree that grew out of a cleft in the rock, lay a dark object, only just discernible in the moonlight; and again came the cry for help, but feebler than before.

"It is a man over the cliff!" shouted the boy. "Run, Hubert, for Bertrand and a rope; quick, or it will be too late! He is hanging in the elf oak!"

Then, when his brother was gone, he shouted words of encouragement to the unfortunate man. "Hold hard, man! help is near, and the tree strong, but trust not to the upper branch, it is a dead one; hold fast but a little while."

The man was in too great a state of terror to hear or understand, but kept exclaiming that he was lost, and vowing candles to every saint in the calendar, and pilgrimages to a dozen shrines; but his voice grew fainter and fainter, and had ceased entirely, before Hubert returned, accompanied by Humphrey Singleton and Bertrand. It took but a moment to uncoil the rope and fasten one end around a rock; then Geoffrey hailed the stranger:

"Ho! friend, help has come; courage! We will send you down a rope; have you strength to tie it round your body?"

No reply came. All shouted together, and then waited breathlessly for an answer, but none came.

"He is dead, or he has swooned," said the old master; "may the Lord have mercy on his soul! We can do no more."

Meanwhile there had been a tumult of varied feelings in Geoffrey's mind. Who can this stranger be? had been naturally his first thought when he saw the accident. There could be but one answer--it was an enemy; none other would have been concealed at such an hour on those lonely cliffs. One of Chichely's spies must have been lurking behind the rocks, and, missing his footing, had fallen to what must be his certain destruction if not speedily rescued. And this was the man whom certain feelings of humanity in his heart were calling on him to save at the risk of his own life--one of the very men, perhaps, who had aided in making his father a homeless outlaw; nay more, who had been but a few moments before thirsting for the blood of himself and his venerable protector. Was it not the dictate of common prudence which incited him to send a cross-bow bolt after the wretch, rather than rescue him to go on in the commission of crime?

But however passionate Geoffrey might be when roused by a sense of his wrongs, in his calmer moments he was always ready to be led by the Bible laws of right and wrong, which had been taught him from his infancy. "Thou shalt not do evil that good may come," was a precept which had been impressed upon him by his father's lips more than once, and now the conversation he had just held with his brother brought a still more forcible argument to his mind. "He died for them even while they were murdering him." "Forgive us our sins as we forgive them who sin against us." He was decided: he would, as Hubert had said, act the prayer, and in a moment--for it took him far less time to think all this than it has to relate it--he stepped forward, and flung his loose cloak out of the way.

"Nay, father, there is yet hope: I will go down and help him."

"You!" exclaimed the old master and Bertrand in a breath. "Boy, you are mad! It is almost certain death; and know you not that this is without doubt a spy, sent to hunt all of us to the scaffold?"

"He is a fellow-man," replied the boy undauntedly, "and a sinner too; perchance his soul may be hanging over the gulf of perdition, as his body is over yonder ocean. If it please God"--here he raised his cap reverently from his brow, then flung it down on the ground--"if it please God, I will save both!"

He then stepped toward Hubert, and bending low so that he might not be overheard by the rest, said: "Brother, I am going to act the prayer; you have saved me from the vengeance of God!" There was one tight grasp of the hand, and then, before they had sufficiently recovered from their surprise to prevent him, Geoffrey had seized the rope and commenced his perilous descent.

The next few moments, so full of agonizing suspense, were spent by Bertrand in pushing bunches of dried grass under the rope, to prevent it from cutting against the sharp corners of the rock, and by the rest in prayer. The dangerous descent was not quite unknown to the young Lollard, as but a week or two previous he had climbed down to that very tree to pick up a bird which he shot, and which had lodged in its branches; hence his warning to the man to beware of the dead bough. But then he had had the light and heat of the sun at noonday; now he must guide himself over slippery rocks by the uncertain light of the moon, which, glaring on the patches of snow, served only to render the shadows deeper; still the boy, naturally fearless, was now inspired with a supernatural bravery by the holy thoughts in his soul. Every sense was stretched to its utmost; with firm hands he grasped the rope, and with unerring feet sprang from rock to rock with a speed and sureness of footing which seemed to those who watched him from above almost miraculous, till at last he sent up a joyful shout:

"I am safe, and the man is only stunned; but send us down another rope, and that speedily, for the tree is loosening."

The rope was not so readily procured; and for some time the boy had to remain in the tree called the "elf oak" by the people around, on account of the strangeness of its situation, and support the moaning wretch who lay there, and whom his voice had recalled a little to life. He occupied himself by chafing the man's limbs, and striving to regulate their weight so as to press as little as possible on the tree, which, jarred by the fall of the heavy body upon it, was becoming more and more loosened from its frail tenure in the crevice of the rock.

At length the other rope was dropped to him, and he fastened both round the man, who seemed incapable, either through terror or injury, of giving himself much assistance. Then, supporting himself partly by the rope, but more by clinging to the jutting points of rock, with a hand ever ready to steady the swinging body or turn it aside from a dangerous angle, he clambered up, and then sank down on the grass, wounded, dizzy, and exhausted, but with a strange calmness at his heart, and a great love burning there toward all mankind, and an intense feeling of gratitude toward God for his preservation from a danger whose full horrors he only now began to understand; for, just as he was mounting the last few feet of the ascent, he had heard a crash behind him--the old oak had torn itself from the rock, and was being dashed in fragments by the surf below.

CHAPTER XII.

Caught and Caged.

The man whom Geoffrey had saved was indeed his greatest enemy. He was no other than the captain of the troop who had so lately burned Forest Castle and driven its lord into exile. Enraged at losing the reward which he had considered already his own, and mortified beyond expression at finding himself outwitted by the despised Lollards, he had found the traces of Bertrand like a bloodhound, and having followed them so far, had discovered the retreat of the children of his enemy.

Bertrand recognized him the moment the blood and dust were wiped from his face, and nothing but the positive command of his master's son prevented him from killing him on the spot. Still all precautions must be taken for their safety, and they bound their prisoner securely, placing him in an out-house near the hut, while they prepared everything for instant flight. Their precious pages of Scripture were divided among them and concealed in their garments. Such of the old man's few effects as they could not carry with them they buried or concealed, and partook of a hasty meal.

Their plan was to leave sufficient food and firewood near their prisoner to last him till he should recover or his friends come to seek him. For this purpose Bertrand went to carry him meat, but returned in a moment with a face expressive of mingled wonder and alarm.

"He is gone!" he exclaimed. "Gone, and we are undone! Why did I not strike him down at first? Fool that I was! why did you hinder me, master Geoffrey? We are indeed lost if he escape, for his band is but a short league off in the village. He may have had time to warn them even now;" and Charles Bertrand sprang to the door, cross-bow in hand; but when there, he stopped. Gleaming in the gray twilight which was heralding the morning, he saw the spears of quite a numerous band of soldiers approaching the hill on which the hut stood, from three sides, slowly but surely compassing their prey.

"It is too late," he added more calmly; and in a whisper to Geoffrey, who had followed him, "Wemight by a rare chance break through--but notthose;" and he pointed with the butt of his weapon to the old man, exhausted with the labors and excitement of the night, and Hubert, pale and unused to hardship.

"Go you, trusty Charles," said the boy, grasping the rough hand of the man-at-arms in both his; "I knew not that I had periled their life and yours as well as mine own; go you alone by the rocky path: it lies still in shadow, and they will not see it I stay to die with them."

"Hold, young master," said the man, affecting a rough manner to conceal his emotion; "you do not know Charles Bertrand if you think he will basely flee and leave the old man and the child to perish alone, not counting the heir of his lord's house. Nay, I will stay and bring down more than one of the wretches ere they cross the threshold."

"Not so, friend," said the young Lollard. "You have not my permission; for my father's sake, you must escape to tell him of our fate, and beside, you being free, may do somewhat for our liberty in planning some way of escape, while you can do us no good by shooting down one or two of yonder troop. I command you to follow yonder path to the first turning, then to the right, till you see a rock like a horse's head, then ten paces to the left, is a bush growing close to the cliff. Pull it away, and there is a hole large enough for one to lie concealed. Go, Bertrand; there is not a moment to lose, do not say a word."

The man looked still reluctant; but there was such an air of decision in the flashing eye of the young man that he could not disobey, but bounding up the hillside, disappeared as Geoffrey turned to the hut.

"Up, father!" he said in a firm voice, lending his arm to the old man, at the same time motioning Hubert to his side. "Father! you have taught us how to live as Lollards and Christians; now teach us to die like them, for the time is come!" and he led them out to the rocky platform in front of the door.

Scarcely had he ended when a dozen men leapt up to the top of the hill, and as many hands were laid on their unresisting victims, while the morning air was filled with their shouts of delight at their cowardly victory. Some tied them securely, some went to search for the missing soldier, while others threw firebrands about the hut and set it on fire.

Then, driving the boys before them, but disregarding old Humphrey Singleton as a piece of worthless booty, they descended the hill toward the village, where they had left their horses. There each of the boys was fastened to a horse behind a soldier, and by the time the sun had risen they were on their way toward York.

The captain, while looking with the utmost care to the safety of his prisoners, kept as far as possible from the boy whose kindness he was so shamefully repaying. Though his heart was pretty well steeled by many years of rough service as a soldier of fortune, and he was deeply impressed with the hatred of the Reformers which pervaded all classes, yet he had a little conscience left, and it pricked him sharply when he looked on the sea, and thought that but for that lad's strong arm and courageous heart he would there be dashing about, a lifeless, mangled mass. His better angel whispered to him that he might still partially retrieve his error by using his influence with his band to let them escape; but then rose the thought of the disgrace which the escape of Sir John and Lord Cobham had thrown upon him, which could only be atoned for by the capture of these "whelps of rebellion," as the archbishop styled them. Besides, his greedy palm itched for the golden angels which he already saw poured out to him by the delighted ecclesiastic.

So at last he determined to divide matters with his troublesome conscience. He would not take them to York, where they would certainly be killed, but would leave them at a convent near by, where they might not be kept very safely, and thus escape, without the odium resting on him, or the loss of his reward. He therefore ordered his troop to turn into a side-road, and galloping on before, led them to a gloomy, fortified building, surrounded by thick woods, and known to all as the convent of "Our Lady of the Seven Sorrows."

The porteress looked surprised and a little doubtful at the sight of such a band of armed men; but the archbishop's livery, worn by some of his retainers, and the assurance of the captain that he came on holy business, procured them an audience with the head of the establishment.

Mother Beatrice, the prioress, was a tall, dark, hard-featured woman, who, being an importation from Spain, had brought with her all the austerities to which she had been accustomed from her childhood, and meted them out with unsparing hand to the nuns, novices, and pupils over whom she exercised her sway, and soon made the convent as famous for the rigor of its discipline, as she herself was for sanctity and devotion to the Church.

It seemed as though there was scarcely an hour in the twenty-four in which the clanging of the bell did not arouse the luckless inmates to repair to the chapel for prayers, and woe to any one who were so unfortunate as to break any one of the strict rules of the house, for the slightest punishment of the abbess was a thing to be dreaded. Perhaps it was to lie for hours stretched in the form of a cross on the cold pavement of the cell or chapel; to stand in a painful posture before some shrine, till the offender fainted from weariness; to go day after day with the least possible quantity of the coarsest food that could keep soul and body together; or perhaps, in extreme cases, the holy lady would herself apply the scourge to the naked back of the criminal, accompanying each blow by a pious exhortation, or a passage in the life of a saint, until both voice and hand were too wearied to perform their part any longer.

"And now daughter," she would say, as her victim was led away, "go in peace; may this slight correction save thee from the pains of hell! Go in peace, and forget not in thy prayers to thank Our Lady and the saints that thou hast been placed here, where thy soul is so well cared for!"

It was quite doubtful whether the offender ever experienced the gratitude which was expected of her for the benefits received at the reverend Lady's hand, but it was thought that Mother Beatrice quite enjoyed these little opportunities for doing good, and either found, or made them, as often as possible.

It was after one of these occasions, when she was resting from the benevolent fatigue she had just undergone, that the porteress came bustling in, with an unusual air of excitement, to inform her of the arrival of the captain and his men.

The abbess received the soldier with the cold dignity befitting her situation; but as soon as she had heard the story, her heart palpitated with joy and triumph, in a manner quite unusual to one covered with the serge robe of her order. Her ruling passion was for governing, and forcing those around her to an absolute subjection to her will; and she had lately begun to weary of the contracted scope given to her powers in this quiet convent. The sins which she was called upon to punish were, after all, mere peccadilloes, and her subjects were so subdued by severity that there was no hope of a serious enough rebellion among them to excite her faculties in putting it down; but here were intrusted to her two heretics, made all the more interesting by being of the opposite sex, and yet not old enough to bring a scandal upon the convent if it received them within its walls. She promised the captain to do all she could to draw from them the secret of their father's hiding-place and that of Lord Cobham, and to keep them safely till the archbishop, who was then in London, should return, and decide what was to be done with them.

When the captain and his troop had departed, she ordered her prisoners to be brought into her presence. The boys had at first been rather rejoiced at the thought of being placed under female care, but one look at their stern jailer was sufficient to alarm them. Hubert shrank to his brother's side, but Geoffrey drew himself up proudly, and returned her scrutiny by an unabashed and not very polite stare.

The wily prioress noticed this, and determined that they were very different characters, and as such must be differently treated. "Come hither, my pretty boy," she said, throwing as much tenderness as possible into her voice; and, drawing him gently toward her, she questioned him concerning his journey and his fatigue in such a way that his answers, at first confined to monosyllables, became more full, and he was soon talking with her quite freely, unheeding the signs by which Geoffrey, who was standing moodily by the door, tried to check him. At that moment the convent-bell pealed out its summons, and the abbess, arising, said, "Come, my little page, we will go to hear some of that music you were just telling me you loved so dearly;" and before the elder lad had time to put in a word, the superior and her charge had left the room. As the door closed behind her, another opened, and the porteress, entering, bade him follow her. He obeyed, though secretly determined not to be led to chapel, as he conceived Hubert must have been. His fears were groundless, as he soon discovered; it was not the abbess's plan to try him that way. He followed his guide through several passages and courts to a low damp-looking cell, and when Sister Ursula had shown him the pitcher of water and piece of bread for his refreshment, that were placed in a niche serving for a table, she withdrew, and bolting the door, left him to his own reflections.

His first impulse was to examine his prison. The only light admitted was from a small window, or rather slit in the wall, which was well barred; and it was not till his eyes became somewhat accustomed to the dim light, that he found he was in a good-sized room, some twenty feet square, and built entirely of stone. It had evidently been originally intended for a cellar; but that it had sometime been used as a prison was also evident, as there was a chain fastened to the wall, and the door was strong, and well provided with bolts and bars. On a shelf covered with cloth, at the side, stood a crucifix, and behind it hung a rude sketch of the Virgin, with the legend, "Ora pro nobis, peccavi!" in black letter. The boy gave a scornful glance at this, and then threw himself down on the heap of straw in the corner intended for his bed.

At first he buried his face in his hands in anxious thought, but soon started up, and began a careful examination of the walls and floor of his prison. His object was this. In the arrangements for flight at the hut on the cliff the preceding night, it will be remembered that the sheets of parchment containing parts of the Bible had been divided among the people. Geoffrey's share he carried in a bag under the cloth jerkin that he wore, and he was afraid lest the prioress should undertake to search him, and so discover those precious pages, which he would then not only lose forever, but which would prove witnesses sufficient to send him, without further question, to the stake. He therefore wished to find some place where he might secrete them, if a search seemed probable.

In the darkest corner of the room, partly concealed by a recess, he found a door, which had evidently, by the cobwebs gathered thickly over it, not been opened for a long time. Induced by the decayed appearance of the wood, he applied his shoulder to it, and one forcible push sent it bursting in, and nearly choked him with dust. At first his heart beat high, for he thought he had found a way of escape; but he was soon disappointed. It only opened into what seemed to have been an entrance or vestibule to the old cellar, for there were marks where some steps had been fastened into the wall; and a doorway, half-way up the side, had been built up with a different kind of stone. The walls were, however, much thinner, and the window larger. After making himself sure that there was no way to it except through the outer cell, he placed his parchments in a crevice under the window and returned to the other room, replacing the door so as to make all look as much as possible as it did before.

He had now time to consider his situation, which was by no means a promising one. He had noticed the deep ditch and massive wall which surrounded the building as he approached it, and the character of the place was better known to him than the prioress had supposed. He knew there were other ways of ridding the kingdom of heretics beside the open trial and public execution. He also knew that he and his brother would be especial objects of interest to the ecclesiastical authority, as it might be supposed that they could be induced to reveal the place of their father's retreat, or even draw him from his concealment, if he heard that his children were held as hostages for his appearance. He saw that great exertions would be made for their conversion, and he was very angry with Hubert for being so easily entrapped and led away, and he imagined him subjected to all kinds of questioning before he had opportunity to warn him how to answer so as to conceal most perfectly their secrets. He had worked himself into such a passion with the child for his "singing folly," as he termed it, that when the bolts were suddenly drawn back, the door opened, and his brother ran and threw himself sobbing into his arms, he repulsed him rudely and contemptuously, and began walking up and down the room, too angry to speak.

"Geoffrey! Geoffrey!" began the child in a trembling voice, springing up from the straw where the elder's rough push had sent him, but not daring to approach the irritated lad, "Geoffrey! I did not kneel, I did not kiss the image, though they told me they would let us go in the garden if I would, and the porteress says they will kill us soon. O brother! don't send me away; we always said we would die together!"

"They may kill me, but not you, Hubert," replied Geoffrey with a sneer. "They will rather keep you for one of their singing-birds; after that you may be a fat monk, and, who knows? his Lordship of Canterbury one of these days, and light up the land with Lollard bonfires perhaps; but"--he stopped suddenly and sprang to his brother's side, changing his tone from harshness and sarcasm to tenderness and anxiety--"but they have done you hurt; they have wounded you, the hounds! Why did you not tell me? You are bleeding fast!"

The blood was indeed trickling down the child's pale face and mingling with his tears, while he was vainly endeavoring to stanch it with his hands.

"It is not much," he sobbed; "she struck me with her keys because I called out to such a pretty young lady who passed us as we came out of chapel. I am sure we saw her in London at the preaching in the brickyard. She was walking with the nuns, and looked very much surprised to see me; but they hurried her away, and then the porteress struck me."

"There," said Geoffrey, whose rage against his brother had quite disappeared now that he had so much better an object to vent his spleen upon, "the old hag has not done you as much damage as she meant to, I think; it is but a little cut, and will scarcely leave a scar. Sit down here, and let me cover you with my cloak, and we will eat the supper our good jaileresses have provided; we have had nothing since daybreak." They were both exhausted with the fatigues and excitement of the last twenty-four hours, and their prison-fare was not much coarser than that to which they had been accustomed; so they ate it thankfully, and then lay down to rest in each other's arms.

Much more tranquil was their rest than that of their betrayer, who, tossing on his pillow in his inn at York, was suffering from remorse in a manner different from any former experience. The conversation he had overheard on the cliff; the fright of the fall; the brave face that had looked into his with compassion as he lay in the tree; that same undaunted young figure standing at the hut door as his captors surrounded him; the patient, reproachful face which he could not help continually turning to meet during the long morning ride--all these rose up before him one after another, and not even the thought of his bag of gold pieces was able to restore the soldier's natural recklessness.

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