Strange as it may seem, I had during the time I had been with this woman wellnigh forgotten my own desire to enter this old house in the midst of the Pycroft woods. My own mission had somehow become dim and unreal. My interest in the strange journey of my companion had been so strong that nothing else seemed of much importance. Nay more, although my plan of accompanying her to this place, in order that I might gain knowledge of the thing I desired to possess, first helped me in my determination, I had never considered the reasons which should induce her to come hither. That she went there at the command of the man at the inn was plain enough, but why he wished her to go I had not even tried to surmise. The reason for this was, I suppose, owing to the fact that I was carried away by the excitement of the hour.
Now that we were within sight of the house, however, everything came to me like a flash of light. I realized that I was not only the companion of the woman, who at the bidding of her husband travelled to this lonely house at midnight, but that I had travelled thither that I might also discover the secret that lay therein. Then another thought struck me. Might not my own quest be associated with hers? Why did the man send her hither? It was for no light matter. Coward although I believed him to be, a midnight journey such as this must have sufficient reasons. Moreover, how could I help this woman—for this I had determined to do—unless I knew the reasons of her obedience?
My mind, I remember, was strangely clear at the moment. Excited as I was, all the issues came to me plainly, andI felt I must form some plan of action without delay. During the whole journey I had asked her no questions concerning the inmates of Pycroft Hall. According to the man in the inn the place was inhabited only by the spirits of the dead. Solomon the Fool, as he had been called, was dead, and the place had fallen into ruins. Nevertheless some one lived there. The man at the inn had said something about an "old man," from whom the woman was to obtain what he desired. What did this mean? Who was this old man? And what connection had he with the person to whom Katharine Harcomb had referred?
All these things whetted my curiosity, and made me determine to penetrate the secret of the light at the little mullioned window, and to learn what lay within the grim dark walls. I therefore hurried to the woman's side.
"Do you realize what you are doing?"
"Ay, I realize."
"But you must not go in there alone."
"Yes, I must go alone."
"No, I shall accompany you."
"You must not. You dare not."
"I must, and I dare," I replied. "I have promised to protect you, and I shall keep my word."
"Ay, and you promised not to interfere with me," she said. "I have your word as a gentleman. Besides if you went in there your life would not be worth a groat. You would never leave it alive."
"Why? Is it the home of a band of robbers?"
"It is the home of darkness. Besides, I must go alone—alone I tell you. Things are done behind those walls from which you could not protect me, from which no one can protect me save him who—who will not."
"Then why go?"
"Because I must. Because—but what is that to you? You have accompanied me hither against my will. You have given me your word of honour not to hinder me in the work I have to do—to try and learn nothing from me which I do not wish to tell you."
"I am determined to protect you," I said. "If there is danger there for me, there is danger for you. Naymore. I am a man and can protect myself, while you are a woman, weak and helpless."
"Weak and helpless!" She turned to me with flashing eyes as I had seen her first. "I am neither weak nor helpless," she said angrily. "I do not carry a sword, but I have weapons of which you know nothing, Master Rashcliffe. Moreover if you dare to hinder me I will use them, and perhaps against you."
Was this an empty threat, or was there some meaning behind it? Certainly she looked as though she might carry her words into effect, and I realized that although she had been moved to tears during the journey, she was no weak, helpless creature, but a strong woman, capable and self-reliant. It came to me then, moreover, as I have discovered since, that it must have been something beyond the ordinary to cause her to obey the man at the inn in this matter, even although he exercised a husband's control over her. Still I was not to be daunted by a woman's anger, and I answered calmly but firmly—
"I will keep to my words," I said; "I will ask you no questions which you do not desire to answer; but because I am determined to protect you I will discover the secret of this house."
At this she looked steadily in my face again, and by this time there was sufficient light for her to see my features plainly.
"Then let me tell you this," she said quietly. "If you seek to enter with me you will place me in danger. You will,—but never mind. If you desire to befriend me, I beseech you not to enter with me. Even now, even by being with you here, I may be writing my own death warrant. Oh, you do not know, you do not know! If you desire to go there," and here she pointed towards the light that still twinkled from the window, "well go, although I would beseech you never to seek to penetrate those walls. But do not come with me now. If you do I am undone."
She spoke in a low tone, scarcely above a whisper, but there was such intensity in her voice, almost amounting to agony, that my heart failed me. Moreover I considered that if I went with her I should not be able to discover thething I desired. I reflected that above everything my work must be done in secret, and to go with her would be out of accord with the plans I had been formulating.
"Has the person who caused the light to shine there power over you?" I asked.
"I will answer you nothing. Find out what you will and how you will, but do not seek to go with me."
I do not think she fully realized what she was saying, so eager was she to be alone. I could see that she desired at all costs to be rid of me, and at that moment I thought of a plan whereby I could seemingly yield to her desires and still have my own way.
"But what would you have me do?" I asked.
"You desire to help me?"
"Yes. I have said so. Nay, I am determined to protect you."
She hesitated a second.
"Then stay here until I return. I shall not be long, at least I do not think so."
"But if you are in danger there?"
"If I am, and I need your help, I will cry out loud enough for you to hear me."
"Then I may enter?"
"Then you may enter—yes, if you can."
There was mockery in her tones, but it was the mockery of despair.
"Very well," I replied quietly, "I will obey."
She looked at me eagerly.
"And you will not interfere with me?"
"No."
"And you will remain here hidden from sight?"
"I will stay outside, hidden from sight, but I shall be near to help in case of need."
She heaved a sigh as I spoke, a sigh with a tremble in it, and I knew she feared to do the work that lay before her, whatever it might be. But she did not hesitate. Walking in the direction of the house, which was about a musket shot away, I saw her walk steadily across the open space that lay between me and the house, and a little later was lost behind the dark shrubs that grew close to what I thought looked like the entrance to the building.
I waited in silence, straining every nerve to catch the least approach of sound, and presently heard the sound of voices. After that all became silent. The light still shone from the window, which as I have said was partly hidden by an evergreen tree that grew near. The fever of discovery was now hot upon me. I remembered the woman's words, "Find out what you can, and how you will, but do not seek to go with me," and I determined to act upon them. Evidently she believed that I could discover nothing from the outside, but I believed otherwise. It was this belief which caused me to yield to her wishes and remain outside. No sooner, therefore, did the sound of voices cease than I went stealthily across what had at one time been a lawn towards the evergreen tree I had seen growing near the window. I saw in a moment that it suited my purpose, and a few seconds later I was perched on a branch on a level with the window from which the light had been shining, but which was now dark even as the others were. This, as may be imagined, ruined my plans. My desire had been to look through the window, and so watch what took place in the room, and now everything had come to naught. Still I waited. I reflected that the light meant some living person in the room. It suggested that whoever lived in the old house used this part of it as a dwelling place. Even if the light was gone now it might be brought back presently, and I had plenty of time to wait. Meanwhile I placed myself in a position to watch the window, while the trunk of the tree was such an excellent protection that any one could pass under it, and look up at it, without ever dreaming that I was there. As far as I could judge the tree was about twenty yards from the house, thus while it was not near enough for me to hear much, it enabled me to see clearly.
I had not been there more than a minute when a light shot from the window again, and I was enabled to see the interior of the room. But this was of no great use to me, even although I saw on a table many things which were strange to me, and which even now I cannot describe. What was of interest to me was an old man carrying a candle. I could not see his face as plainly as I desired, for the panes of glass were small, while in the centre of eachone was a large lump which wellnigh blurred any object which lay behind. Presently, however, I saw that one of the panes had been broken, and by means of this I was able to see clearly. But my range of vision was narrowed. As I have said the panes of glass were small, and so I could not see the whole of the room; still, by means of supporting myself by holding the trunk of the tree and stretching as far as I could in each direction, I was able to obtain a view of a large part of the room.
After some trouble, therefore, I could see the old man's face more plainly. I saw that he was very old and looked dirty and unkempt beyond relief, his hair being in tangled wisps over his shoulders, while his beard seemed to wellnigh reach his waist. But old as he was there were no signs of decrepitude. His movements were quick and decided. His hands were steady, while there was an eager look on his face. His eyes were wellnigh hidden by his huge overhanging forehead and his bushy eyebrows, but as far as I could judge his sight was not dim.
No sooner had he entered than he was followed by another form. This I saw in spite of the badly made glass, but who it was I was not sure. It might have been a man, or a woman—I could not tell.
"The night is cold, come near the fire."
I heard these words plainly, but that was practically all I did hear during the time I was there. As I have said, the tree on which I was perched was twenty yards from the window, and except on this one occasion nearly everything was said in a low voice.
But his words enabled me to see who the other occupant of the room was, for at his behest the woman whom I had accompanied almost all the way from Folkestone town came to a part in the room where I could see her plainly. She had thrown off her headgear, and the heavy cloak which she had worn, and when I saw her there I wondered more than ever what business she could have with this old man. I have said that I thought she was young when I saw her at first, but in the light of the candle which fell straight upon her face she did not look more than nineteen years old. Her hair had been disarranged by her journey, but I saw that it lay in curling richness over her head. Incolour it was glossy brown, which was very near chestnut around the temples. Her features seemed to me the most noble I had ever gazed upon. It reminded me more of what I had read of the old Greek goddesses than of an Englishwoman. Every feature was clearly cut, and but for the look which seemed to me like despair which gleamed from her eyes, and rested on her face, I thought she would be beautiful beyond any one I had ever seen.
Presently they both drew near the fireplace, and both stood within the range of my vision at the same time. Then the strangeness of the situation came to me more vividly than ever. The old man with his long tangled locks of white hair, his head sunk in between his shoulders, his long beard wellnigh reaching the middle of his body, and with eager angry looks flashing from his deep sunk eyes, and the woman young and beautiful, her face clearly outlined, but pale as death, her hair like a flashing nimbus around her head, and her eyes fixed on the strange specimen of humanity before her.
As I have said, I could catch little or nothing of the purport of the conversation; but I saw that both looked eager and determined. Presently after the woman had been speaking the man shrugged his shoulders, and laughed mockingly. He spread out his large bony hands deprecatingly and I could see from the expression on his face that he was telling her that it was impossible to grant the request.
Then she changed her attitude. She appeared to be angry and to threaten him. I saw her lift her right hand and point at him with her forefinger. She seemed also to be urging something that made him afraid, for I saw him look around the room like a man in fear. But this was only for a moment. By the time she had finished speaking he had regained his former self-possession and seemed to regard her threats as so many idle words.
Then I thought they changed places. He seemed to be making some request of her, a request which I thought put fear into her heart, although she yielded not to him. If she could not make him bend to her will neither could he make her bend to his. What impressed me, moreover, was the courage of this young girl. For although she mightbe the wife of the man at the inn, ay, and even obeyed him in unreasonable requests, she held her ground boldly before this old man living in the lonely house in the midst of the Pycroft woods. But the wonder of it was to me beyond words. A young girl fighting for her ends against this weird looking old man. What was the meaning of it?
Presently their conversation seemed to change again. I saw her point to the curious looking things which lay on the table, and this drew my attention to what seemed to me like glass tubes, several strange looking vases, and, what was to me more strange and mysterious still, two human skulls. As she spoke he took up one of the skulls, and as far as I could judge began to tell her something of the horrible thing which he held in his hand.
To this she seemed to say something as if in protest for I heard his answer, in a harsh cracked voice.
"Let them. They who would harm me must know my secrets, and they who would know my secrets must penetrate the depths of this old brain. And can they, ah, can they?"
Her reply to this did not reach me plainly, but I gathered that she told him of men who for dealing with the powers of darkness had suffered at the stake.
"Burn me!" he cried, and his voice reached me clearly. "Let them try. Before a man is burnt, he confesses, and I would confess! Ay, I would confess such things as would bring many a high head low. Judges, judges. Ay, but who is the judge that would dare to anger me?"
He shook his fist angrily, while his long beard waved to and fro as he shook his head in rage.
After this I could gather nothing for a long time. Sometimes they moved to another part of the room and then I could see nothing but dim blurred figures behind the thick uneven glass, while their voices only reached me in low mutterings.
After a time they moved near the fireplace again, and then I saw another look upon the girl's face. I saw fear and anxiety which I had not noted before. Evidently he had told her of something, or she had somehow discovered something, that moved her more deeply than anything which had gone before. The look on her face was pleading, and she held up her hands beseechingly. I saw, too, that the old man was evidently well pleased with himself, for I heard him give utterance to a pleased little cackle, which he intended for a laugh.
"And if I do, and if I do, little Constance, what then?"
Again she spoke eagerly, passionately I thought, while the look on his face became more and more full of self-satisfaction.
"Ah, ah," I heard him cackle, "so you discover that Old Solomon still hath his wits, eh? That his bow hath many strings, eh? That he hath not sold himself to the devil for naught, eh? Ah, ah, but it does an old man's heart good to see you, pretty little Constance."
I had discovered her name at last. Constance. At that time I could think of nothing sweeter, even although it was spoken by this withered, wrinkled old man in tones of ribaldry and mocking. Put it down to my youth if you will, but the knowledge of her name made me long to be her friend more than ever.
I looked away towards the eastward sky, and saw a faint glow in the horizon. Evidently morning was drawing near. In another hour the sun would have risen, and I began to wonder how the strange visit would end; but in another moment the thought of morning was driven from me, for I saw that the girl had fallen on her knees before the strange old creature. I caught no words, but that she pleaded with him was evident, while more than once I heard her sobbing. I saw too that he seemed to be relenting, nay, I thought I saw even tenderness on his creased forbidding face, which was followed by a look of cunning.
"And if I do, what then?" I heard him say.
But of her answer I caught nothing, although I strained every nerve to catch even the faintest sound.
"More than that, more than that, pretty Constance," I heard him say. "Obedience, my pretty bird, obedience!"
And now I saw a look of terror in her eyes, yet did she keep on pleading until the old man seemed to make up his mind to grant her request.
I saw him leave the room, while she stood like one transfixed. She was standing where the light shone straightupon her face, so that I could see every feature, but nevertheless I could read no story thereon which revealed her secret. Courage I saw, tenderness I saw, nay, more it seemed to realize that it was not her own battle that she was fighting. What fear she had was not for herself. For who was it then? I could think of no one save the man at the inn, and there came into my head a great anger, and a desire to wrest the secret of his power over her from him.
What led her to the window, I wondered. Was it the faint twitter of the birds which began to bestir themselves at the rising of the King of Day, or did she give a thought to me who had promised to wait outside for her. I saw her place her face close against the glass and look steadily out. What was in her mind, I asked myself. Did the thought that I was near give her comfort or help? She could not see me, for it was yet dark and I was almost hidden by the tree which I had climbed; nevertheless she kept her face there until she was attracted, even as I had been attracted, by a noise in the room.
She turned around quickly, and then I saw her move hastily away. She was now behind the thick uneven glass again, so that I could see nothing clearly, but I could have sworn that I saw another woman there. What she was like I could not tell, for she never came to that part of the room where I could see plainly. A minute later the woman who had been my companion left the room with the other, while the old man stood watching the door, with a look of doubt on his face, as if he doubted the wisdom of what he had done. A moment later he followed them, leaving the room in utter darkness.
I waited a few minutes, but no one came back to the room. Moreover dawn was now appearing; the birds were singing louder every minute; the silence of night was dying in the gladsomeness of a new day. I crept down from the tree, my mind wellnigh bewildered by what I had seen and heard. When I had left my home two days before I had no idea that I should so soon be enshrouded in the mists of mystery. Nay, a few hours before, when I had ridden up to the inn in Folkestone town, I did not dream that before sunrise new interests and new hopes would arise in my life. Yet so it was. At sundown my one hope was to find the clue to the hiding place of the marriage contract of the new king with Lucy Walters, now, although I had in no way abandoned the mission which inspired me when I set out, it had become interwoven with other interests which kindled my imagination and stirred my heart even more.
Who was that old man? Why did he live there all alone? What was the secret of that old house? What was the link that bound the woman I had accompanied hither with this strange old creature? Why had she come hither, and who was that other woman who had come into the room?
These and a hundred other questions haunted my mind as I waited near the house, while both eyes and ears were open to every sight and sound. Almost unconsciously I crept away to the spot where I had separated from the woman, and this place being somewhat higher than the house gave me a full view of the building.
As day came on, the outlines of the house became more clear to me. I saw that it could scarcely be called amansion, while on the other hand it was larger than a farmer's dwelling, nay for that matter it was evidently intended as the dwelling place of a man of importance. It was a low irregular building, built of stone, and was evidently of great strength. The doors were heavy and iron studded. The mullioned windows were so constructed that no one could enter through them. Moreover iron bars obtained everywhere; at no place, as far as I could see, could any one find an entrance, save at the will of those who dwelt within. An air of dilapidation reigned. There was no evidence anywhere that the place was inhabited. The paths were covered with weeds and grass. What were at one time flower gardens had become a wild mess. The grass grew in large quantities, while wild flowers were appearing in great profusion. But nowhere was human care visible.
The spring air blew fresh and cold, and although the birds sang blithely they did not dispel the feeling of desolation which everywhere reigned. Had I not seen those two women and the old man I should have said that Pycroft Hall had been deserted at least ten years. Nothing save birds and insects betokened life. Not a bark of a dog, or the low of a cow even, could be heard. All told of lonely desolation.
In spite of myself I shivered. My clothes were wet with dew, and standing in the shadow of the trees as I was the rays from the rising sun did not reach me. Like a man dazed I crept to an open spot where the sun shone, but it seemed to give no heat. Bright spring morning though it might be it was deathly cold, and more than all, my heart was cold.
I waited in silence, how long I do not know, but it seemed a long time. Still I remained there, listening for the sound of footsteps, and for the presence of the woman. I made up my mind concerning the questions I should ask her. Cunning, searching questions I thought they were, such as would lead her, unknown to herself, to give me the clue to the secret which threw a shadow over her life. I planned how I could gain her confidence, and, presently, by my own wisdom and courage, free her from the weight which I felt sure was crushing her.
Meanwhile the sun rose higher and higher. The day wasnow fully come, and yet neither sight nor sound reached me.
"What is the meaning of this?" I asked myself. "She promised to cry out if she were in danger. She told me to wait for her."
I called to mind that she had said nothing concerning her future plans, or of her return to the inn at Folkestone. Then a thought came into my mind which dismayed me and determined me to take action. I therefore left the spot where I had been standing and crept closer and closer to the house. I did not keep within sight of the windows. I feared to do so, not for my own sake but for hers, even although I did not know what harm I should be doing her by exposing myself to sight. Still I remembered how eagerly she had pleaded with me not to enter the house with her. I judged she was anxious that I should not be seen by the man with whom she had an interview that night.
I was not long in discovering, however, that my precautions were needless. No one appeared, and all was silent. Presently growing bolder I walked around the building. There was no sign that any living being save myself was near. Every door, every window was closed and bolted, and as I listened the silence of death seemed to reign in the old home of the Pycrofts.
"She is gone," I cried out like one bewildered, "but whither hath she gone? what hath happened to her?" But only the deathly silence of the deserted house made answer to the question which had unwittingly come to my lips.
At first I could scarcely realize it, and I could not help believing that the dread calamity at which she had hinted had befallen her while in the company of the man.
Presently I climbed to one of the windows, some of the panes of which were broken, and looked in. I saw only an empty and deserted room. It looked very dreary just then, although I doubt not that at one time it had rung with joyous revelry. It was a large dining hall, oak panelled and oak ceiled. The chimney piece, moreover, although black with age and smoke, was quaintly carved, while there were many other indications that the builders of Pycroft Hall were people who loved things tastefuland pleasant to behold. I placed my ear to the broken pane also, but no sound could I hear. A silence like unto that of death reigned.
At this time all through which I had passed through the night seemed like a dream, and I felt like doubting the things which I have here set down. Especially was this so when, emboldened by the continuous silence, I gave a shout, which echoed and re-echoed through the forsaken rooms.
"What hath happened to her?" I asked myself again and again, and each time I asked the question the more difficult did the answer become.
Presently I took a more commonplace view of the matter. "Doubtless she hath gone back to Folkestone," I said to myself; "perchance, moreover, the other woman I saw hath gone back with her, while the old man hath accompanied them a part of the way. After all the woman did not promise to return to me. She did not ask me to accompany her; rather it was against her will that she allowed me to walk by her side. Perhaps if I make haste I shall overtake them before they reach theBarley Sheaf."
But although I said this I did not leave the place at the time the determination was born in my mind. There still remained lingering doubts whether she was not immured in this lonely house, and whether she might not even then be needing my aid. But after I had again made a journey around the building, I was led to the conclusion that it was deserted. I would have given much to have entered, so that I might have set my doubts at rest, but as I have said, every door was closed and bolted, while every window was so barricaded that no man might enter except after great preparations.
I therefore presently turned back disappointed and weary; the woman, the pathway of whose life I had so strangely crossed, had willed to go away without telling me whither she had gone, or perchance she had been compelled to do the will of the man with whom I had seen her in the room opposite the fir tree.
There seemed no reason why I should trouble about this, yet I did. A great weight rested upon my heart and, even when I had left the Pycroft woods and was out on the mainroad again and saw the clear blue sky above me, I was oppressed by what had taken place and I accused myself of being unfaithful to the promise I had made.
What o'clock it was when I reached Folkestone town I know not, but it was yet early, for but few people were stirring, neither did the inmates of the tavern seem to have aroused themselves from the carousal of the previous night. I found the main door opened, however, so I entered as carelessly as I was able, in the hope that if any one appeared I might give the impression that I had gone out for an early morning walk. But no man molested me as I found my way to the chamber which had been allotted to me, neither could I hear a sound coming from the adjoining room. All was perfectly still.
I went into the corridor and listened intently, but no man stirred. If the man, the thought of whom aroused angry feelings in my heart, slept near me, he must have slept as peacefully as a child.
After a time I heard the sound of bustle and movement in the rooms beneath me, and then, although the thought of food had never entered my mind during the night, I felt a great hunger. I therefore made my way down stairs, where great steaks of ham fresh from the frying pan were speedily set before me.
"A fine morning," I said to the maid who brought them.
"Ay, it feels like summer," she replied.
"Are there many people here who have been sleeping at the inn to-night."
"I dunnow," and with that she left the room.
I thought the maid desired not to answer my question, but this, while it aroused suspicions in my mind did not keep me from eating a hearty breakfast. Moreover, I felt neither tired nor sleepy. My journey of ten miles, my long watching and waiting, seemed to have affected me not one whit, and when I had finished breakfast I had no more weariness than when I had left my home two days before. In spite of my anxiety, too, I felt strangely light of heart, and as the sunlight streamed into the room I found myself humming a song.
"Good morning to you, young master, and a good appetite."
It was the landlord who spoke, the very man I wanted to see.
"The same to you Master Landlord," I replied.
"Ay, but I spoiled my appetite an hour ago, young master. An innkeeper must needs be an early riser."
"Ay, I suppose so," I made answer, blessing my stars that the man had given me the very opening which I desired. "Doubtless some of your guests have taken leave of you this morning."
"As to that, no, young master."
"Ah, no one has left you to-day?"
"No, not to-day."
"That is lucky for me," I said, "for I had fears lest one of your guests whom I wanted to see had left before I had a chance of speaking to him."
"And which might that be, if I am not making too bold in asking?" he said, and I thought his eyes searched my face curiously.
"The Cavalier who rode up last night with a lady."
"Ah, but which?"
"I saw but one," I made answer. "He came up even while the groom was unsaddling my own horse. A tall man, with black hair just turning grey. He wore a grey feather in his hat, and his sword was jewel hilted."
"That description might apply to many a traveller who puts up here," he replied. "His name, young master, his name?"
"As to his name," I replied, for here the man had found a weak place in my armour, "well there may be reasons for not mentioning it."
"I have naught to do with nameless wanderers, young master, and thank God the country will have less than ever to do with them since England's true king is coming back. Each traveller who comes to this inn gives his name as a gentleman should. It is well known for five miles around, ay, fifty for that matter, among those who travel, thatThe Barley Sheafbears a name second to none. Its sack is of the best, its company the best, while neither footpad nor traitor is ever welcomed within its walls."
The man spoke as I thought with unnecessary warmth.There seemed no reason why he should be so anxious to defend the character of the house before a youth like myself, who made no charge against it.
"Methinks he does protest too much," I said to myself, calling to mind the words of Master Will Shakespeare, whose writings had been little read during Cromwell's time, but whose plays I had often read with much delight. Still I remembered my father's advice, and determined to arouse no suspicion in his mind.
"I heard of that before I came hither," I replied. "As to the sack, and the company, I made acquaintance with both last night, and that with rare pleasure. Nevertheless a man doth not blazon his name on the walls of every inn he enters. Even King Charles II, who is expected to land at Dover before many days are over, had often to enter places like this under an assumed name, as every one knows right well. And, even although times will be changed at his return, it may be that many a man, while he may give his name to such as yourself, will not care to shout it aloud to the tapster or the ostler."
"Ay there is reason in that," replied the innkeeper, "and I perceive that young as you are you are a gentleman of rare wit."
"As to that, mine host," I made answer, "I may not boast, still I have wit enough to know that it may not always be best to speak names aloud in an inn, although the king will be in England soon."
"God bless King Charles II, and down with all psalm-singing traitors," he cried fervently.
"Amen to that," I cried; "down with all traitors whether they sing psalms or no. But to come to my question, since the worshipful gentleman whom I have described hath not had the misfortune to be obliged to leave this hospitable house, I trust you will take my name to him, with the request that I may enjoy a few minutes of his company."
"You mean the gentleman who rode a grey horse with a grey feather in his hat, and carried a jewelled hilted sword?"
"Ay, I mean him. He was accompanied by a lady, who wore a long cloak, and whose face was wellnigh hiddenby her headgear; I heard him ask you for private rooms as he entered."
"But did you not know?"
"Know what?"
"That he left last night at midnight."
"At midnight?"
"Ay, a messenger came bearing him important news, and although the lady had gone to bed he had to arouse her, ay, and the ostler too for that matter. Both their horses were saddled, and they rode away at one o' th' clock, but whither they have gone I know not."
At this I was silent, for I knew that the man had told a lie.
"But what would you?" continued the innkeeper. "We shall have bustling times now, and the innkeeper's trade will be brisk, so he must not grumble. Besides, he paid his count like a prince, and would not take the silver change which he could rightfully claim."
Now this brought me to a deadlock, as can be seen. I dared not ask direct questions, first because I did not wish to arouse suspicions, and next because I feared by so doing I should shew my state of utter ignorance concerning the man about whom I inquired. Still when one is twenty-three one does not lack confidence, and youth will dare to rush bareheaded where an older man would hesitate to enter with a steel head-cap.
"Ah, I would I had known," I replied. "I could perhaps have told him that his danger was not so great as he imagined."
At this he started like one surprised, while his eyes flashed a look of inquiry.
"Danger?" he said questioningly. "What danger, young sir?"
"Better not give it a name," I made answer. "Besides I do not know how much he hath told you, and I would betray no man's secrets. Solomon said many wise things and wrote them down in a book, and Solomon, whom some call a fool," here I stopped, and looked into his face, "although his writings are placed among the holy Scriptures, said that there was a time to hold one's peace as well as to speak."
"Solomon had many ways of obtaining knowledge," he said, almost timidly I thought.
"Ay, some have said that they were means known only to himself."
I could have sworn that the man trembled. Whether I was getting any nearer the truth or no I knew not, but I was sure that my words were construed by the innkeeper in such a way that he fancied I was the possessor of the secret he had sought to hide. Still the man doubted me, and he did not seem inclined to offer any information.
"God save King Charles II," he said, as though he thought I doubted his loyalty.
"Amen to that," I replied. Then I continued quietly, still watching him: "Charles is a good name, whether borne by a king or another man."
Now whether he was too thick in the head to understand the drift of my words, or whether I was on the wrong track I know not; whatever may be the truth he suddenly left the room, craving pardon for leaving me so abruptly, and assuring me that he had many things to attend to that morning.
Alone again, I had time to collect my thoughts. The landlord's communication if true, left me more in the dark than ever. That he had told me lies I knew, but whether it was a lie that the man had left the inn I had not yet been able to discover. I called to mind the words I had heard spoken in the bedchamber next to my own, and remembered that the man had told the woman to return early in the morning before any one was astir. Would he, having given such commands, depart at midnight leaving her alone and helpless?
In truth the mystery in which I had become involved seemed to entangle me more than ever. Then I called myself a fool for not taking a necessary step, and one which would have occurred immediately to any one that was not half-witted.
I hurried to the stables, and there I found that, whether the landlord had spoken truly or no, the horses which had brought the man and woman the previous night were gone. Only my own stood there eating her fill of oats. I went to her and patted her, and then looked round forsome evidence which might tell me how long it was since the others were taken away. But nothing could I see. The stable was cleaned, and every mark that they had been there was taken away.
The ostler entered as I made the examination.
"No horses here beside mine, ostler?"
"No sir; I had to get up in the middle of the night to saddle two which came about the same time as yours. I was rare and tired too. But there was a lady in the question, and you are old enough to know that what a woman wills will have to be."
"Ay," I replied with a laugh, wondering whether his information had not been given at the command of the innkeeper.
I therefore pretended to take no further notice of the fellow; nevertheless I kept him within sight, and presently when I saw him go up to the landlord, as though he had some special communication to make, I drew my own conclusions.
Nevertheless I was at my wits' end what to do. I had done all that was in my power, but as yet I had found out nothing. The man and the woman had crossed my path, and the man had gone without my speaking a word to him. But the case of the woman was different. I had seen her and spoken to her. I had heard the note of pain and anguish in her voice, I had watched her face as she spoke with the old man at Pycroft Hall, the man who my father believed held the secret of the king's marriage. But she had gone, leaving no trace behind. What was the meaning of it all? I wandered over the cliffs which border the sea at Folkestone, and presently my thoughts became more clear. If the old man possessed the secret of the king's marriage he also possessed the secret of the woman's life. It was true I had not been able to enter Pycroft Hall that morning but it might be that he would again visit it during the night. Well I would go to the old place again that night, and if the light shone at the window, I would demand admittance and then trust to my own courage and wit to meet whatever I might happen to see.
Directly I had made up my mind to pay a second visit to Pycroft Hall my spirits rose, and my heart grew warm. The thought of meeting the weird old creature, and speaking with him face to face, stirred my blood, and kindled my imagination. Moreover, for the first time the new king's marriage contract became real to me. For what did not come to me through the night came to me on the cliffs. And this I have found since then; it is when I have a sense of freedom that I am able to think. When I am beneath tall trees, or imprisoned within stone walls, my mind refuses to grasp the issues of things. But when I stand in the light, in God's open places, not only does my natural vision widen, but also the vision of mind and soul becomes more keen and has greater range. The thoughts which a man thinks in the dark, and in cramped places, are smaller than those which come to him beneath the great dome of the sky, when the wind blows free, and naught belittles his sight. At least this hath always been the case with me. When I would think the best thoughts I am capable of thinking, I long to live in a large place where the sunlight is strong.
Through the night I had wondered blindly what drew the woman to Pycroft Hall, and what was in the man's mind who sent her there, but no answer came to me. Now, as I walked along the cliffs, in sight of the great sea whose waters flashed brightly in the light of the early summer's sun, I thought of many reasons. And this among others: If my father, and Katharine Harcomb, and Lucy Walters' mother had heard of Pycroft Hall, and of Elijah Pycroft, why not others? If I had been led to try and obtainpower over the king might not others? If the man who had sent the woman to Pycroft at night were Sir Charles Denman, a man upon whom the king's anger rested, would he not desire to move heaven and earth to possess a secret whereby he could make terms with his monarch? If I had heard of the king's marriage contract he also had heard of it, and had sent his wife to obtain knowledge of the thing. But why had he sent her? To this many answers came. For one thing he was afraid, and for another he believed that this beauteous woman would succeed where he had failed. Besides his power over her was great. She also lived in great fear, and he used that fear in order to make her obey his behests.
All this seemed so natural that I called myself a fool for not thinking of it before. Why had I allowed my opportunities to slip through my hands? Besides, might not the woman have succeeded? What was the meaning of the other woman entering? And more, whither had they gone?
But this did not trouble me much. There was no sign of victory on the woman's face. Had she gained possession of such papers she would have revealed her victory, whereas I had seen her face the moment before the other woman had appeared, and it told only of yearnings and the shadow of a great fear.
I am putting down these thoughts here, so that those who may hap to read this may see the position in which I was placed, and the difficulties that stood in my way. I am aware also that those whose thoughts are clearer, and whose minds are better balanced than mine, may have good reason for thinking that I had acted foolishly, and had taken altogether the wrong way to accomplish my purpose. I would have them remember, however, that I was but a lad of twenty-three, and that youth is not famed for its discretion. Moreover, as I look back now, I wonder what I could have done whereby I could better have accomplished the thing I had set out to accomplish.
Before I had been on the cliffs an hour, I had made my plans, and these I started to carry out without delay. First of all I went back to the stable and had my horse saddled, and having ridden four miles in the direction of PycroftHall, I cast my eyes around in the hope of seeing some one. But no one was in sight. The neighbourhood was thinly inhabited. Not a horseman was to be seen on the road, not a labourer was working in the fields. I found out afterwards that practically the whole country side had emptied itself in order to be present at the landing of the king at Dover. That not knowing the exact day of his coming they had gone to Dover a few days in advance so that they might be certain to be there to give him a royal welcome. In truth I found out that for a full week before the king came the town of Dover was a huge fair, and that revelry continued from midnight to midnight without ceasing.
Presently, however, I caught sight of a man who was cutting wood by one of the fences some distance away, whereupon I rode across the fields to the place where he was.
He looked at me attentively, and then held the tool with which he worked in such a way that I imagined he thought I meant to attack him.
"You be young for your work, young master," he said, eyeing me grimly.
"Why?" I asked pleasantly.
"Otherwise you would never come to a working man who has not a groat in his pouch," he replied.
"Why, you think I am a footpad?" I asked.
"Else why should you gallop across hedges and ditches as though the devil were behind you? Eh, young man, give it up. It only ends in the gallows, and it must be a fearful life to live, always seeing the rope's end dangling before your eyes."
"Instead of wanting to take your groats from you, my man, I will e'en give you one instead. Nay, believe me, I am peaceably inclined, and instead of being a highwayman I am making inquiries about an old house which I am told is empty, and which may perchance be for sale."
Again he looked at me, and then touched his hat respectfully.
"You be from London, young master?"
"I left London less than a week ago," I replied. "I have come in search of a house, and I have been told there is one near here, which being empty and forsaken, a man might buy cheaply."
"The name o't, young master?" he said questioningly.
"It is called Pycroft, or some such name," I replied.
"And is it Pycroft you thought of buying, young master?"
"Rather, I am come to ask questions about it."
At this he laughed. "No man will ever live at Pycroft," he said.
"Why? Is not the house a good one?"
"It's the company, not the house I was thinking of."
"The company?"
"Many and many's the one who has thought of living at Pycroft, but no man hath dared. Through the day it's right eno', but at night the trouble begins. There is not a witch for twenty miles around but gets her marks at Pycroft; there's not a witches' revel but is held there, and as every man knows after they have met at their revels the devilry begins. The corn is blighted, the cows give no milk, the murrain blights the stock, children have the rickets, and everything goes wrong. I have heard that it can be bought for an old song, but no man will buy it. Through the day it seems all quiet and restful, but at night-time blue fires have been seen there, awful smells come from there, ay, and the devil hath been seen there."
These last words the man spoke with a shudder.
"It is said," he went on, "that the parson, who is a man of God if ever there was one, and who is death on wizards and witches, is going to appeal to the new king to have it blown up with gunpowder, so that we may have peace and quietness again, and so that farmers may sow their corn without fear that it will be blighted before harvest comes."
"But what is the cause of all this?"
"Ah, you are not from these parts, and have never learnt Solomon the Fool lived there. Who he was nobody knows, but he came there long years agone before I came to live in this parish, and I have heard that he had dealings with the Pope o' Rome. Anyhow, some said that his life was in danger, and in order to be match for all the world he sold himself to the devil."
At this I could not help laughing, for although such stories were generally believed in, that which I had seen the night before drove such thoughts from me.
"Ay, you may laugh, young master, but it is no laughing matter. For years he did things which no one can explain, and all sorts of things happened. Then one day he died."
"Died!"
"Ay, it must be ten years agone now, and ever since then no man will go near it after sundown. While the sun shines the devil dare not go there; but after dark Old Solomon and the devil do come back, and there Old Solomon do plead with the devil to give him back his soul."
Again I could not help smiling, even although the man's face was pale with fear.
"Ay, young master, but let me tell you this: One night three of the strongest men in these parts were over at theQueen's Head, in the parish of St. John, drinking. You may have heard of them even in London. Three brothers, and each man of them stood over six foot and a half high. Well, they declared after they had each drunk a quart of strong ale that they feared nothing under heaven. Then the landlord made a bet that they dared not go and spend the hours from eleven to one o'clock in the middle of the night at Pycroft. Well they took the bet, for five pounds it was, and the next night Jack, and Jim, and Tom Turtle started for Pycroft. A lot of us walked with them to the gates, and although we were in great fear we waited for them to return. We comforted ourselves by trying to sing psalms and saying our prayers, as the parson advised us to do. But we didn't have to wait two hours, young master. Before midnight they was back to us again, and each of them was trembling like an aspen leaf."
"Why, what did they see?"
"Ay, master, we could never get that from them, except by little bits. One spoke of blue flames, another told of howling, another said he had seen Old Solomon come to life again, and he chased them through the woods. The next day, when they told the parson, he went up there; but naught could he see. Every door was locked and barred, every window was fastened."
"And were there any evidences that any one had been there through the night?"
"Ay, there were; the parson saw footmarks which were half the footmarks of a man, and half of a beast. But thatwas not all. When the parson tried to look into the place, through a window where a small pane of glass was broken, he smelt brimstone—brimstone, young master. And since then the parson hath it that while a man may be safe to go there while the sun is shining, ten chances to one but he will be met with the devil after sundown. And so no man will buy the house master, and no man will go there after dark."
"But from whom did this old man Solomon get the house?" I asked.
"It is said that he was one of the Pycrofts, but I know not. Some have it that old Lord Denman had it at one time, but I do not know. Others say there's a spell cast upon it. Certain it is that the parson says that on a huge stone near the front door these words are carved—