Even then I tried to find the place into which the old man had put the black box, but in this I was unsuccessful. Had I a light, I felt sure I could have found it, for I had marked the place carefully; but, as I have said, I was in utter darkness, neither had I means of obtaining light.
After a time I was wellnigh despairing, and I felt sure that old Solomon intended the place to be my grave. The more I tried to find my way out, the more confused I became. Still I was young and strong, and youth does not for long give way to hopelessness.
Of the thoughts which passed through my mind, or of the plans I made, as well as of the schemes of vengeance I meditated upon I will not speak, for while they were doubtless natural, they had so little of sense in them that they are not worth recording. Only one plan, indeed, promised aught, and that was to lie still until old Solomon came to seek me, as I felt sure his curiosity would compel him to do. But that was given up, for, as I reflected, it would be terrible to lie there in the cold and in the darkness; besides, he would doubtless wait until lack of food had so weakened me that he would be able to work his will on me.
I therefore continued to examine each level or tunnel in turn, and in this I had to manifest great care, for there were many pitfalls which might easily lead to a man's death. How long I remained in the darkness I know not, neither for that matter do I care to dwell upon the endeavours I made while there to find my way to the light, for even now, after the lapse of years, I shudder to think of my sufferings during that terrible time. For if there is one thing harder than another to bear, it is to be alone in black darkness such as I was. I have faced death more than once, I have experienced imprisonment in a noisome evil-smelling cell, I have had to stand face to face with dread alternatives; but at no time do I remember such utter despair as I felt then. And this any man who hath imagination can easilybelieve. For I had no other prospect than a slow death amidst darkness and loneliness. Could I have heard human voice, I do not think I should have minded so much; but nothing could I hear save the echo of my own sighs, while the darkness was so great that it could be felt.
Moreover, I presently grew faint and weak. I needed food sadly, while even worse than hunger was the thirst that presently gat hold of me. My body grew stone cold, and yet my throat became parched and burnt.
"This must be hell," I thought to myself. "I am become like the rich man in the New Testament—ay, I am worse than he, for I cannot see one afar off to whom I can cry."
Presently, however, in spite of my suffering I fell asleep, and when I awoke I felt better. My head ceased to ache, and although I felt very weak my tongue had become cool again.
"Thank God," I cried out in my joy. "O, great Lord, who didst suffer for the sins of the world, be pleased to help me in my dire distress."
But no answer came to my prayer: only silence, a great and terrible silence, filled the place. Nevertheless, my prayer gave me hope. If God lived, I reflected, I was in His keeping here in the bowels of the earth as truly as if I was aboveground. This feeling put new heart into me, and I determined to make another effort.
I had now no knowledge concerning the levels I had explored, but I kept on praying for guidance, and ere long I found myself in another tunnel, although whither it led I no more knew than a child but last night born.
I could not help reflecting, however, that the air grew purer, and presently I put my foot in a pool of water. Giving no time to reflection as to whence this water came, I knelt down and took a long deep draught, and immediately I felt a new man. A great confidence possessed me, the hideous time which I had been passing lost much of its terrors, and while I was still in black darkness, I felt sure I was moving towards the light.
I therefore pressed onward, feeling the air grow purer and purer at each step, and then I fancied that, instead of gazing into black darkness, I saw a darkness that was grey. I held my hand before me, and thought I could seemy fingers move. This inspired me with still greater hope, and after a time my hope became a certainty. I could even see the sides of the tunnel in which I walked. A few minutes later a streak of light, very small but very distinct, reached me. I realized, moreover, that a little stream of water trickled along the bed of the tunnel in which I walked, and ere long I saw what appeared to me to be a small hole which let in the light.
At this time my heart filled with a great joy, and in spite of my weakness I shouted aloud for joy. I bethought me of the psalms which I had heard the Puritans sing: "Such as sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, being bound in affliction and iron; they fell down and there was none to help; then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them out of their distress."
Never surely did man thank God as I thanked Him then, and when, a little later, I crept out of the level through a hole scarce big enough for a man to drag his body through, I could scarce breathe for very joy. I heard the birds singing, and looking above me I saw the sunlight piercing the leaves of the trees. Then I think I fainted, for I remember falling down, while all became dark again.
When I awoke I found myself lying where I had fallen, and although I was terribly weak I had still strength enough to look around and take notice of my surroundings. I saw that the mouth of the level out of which I had come was closed by a great heap of fallen débris, save for the hole through which I had passed. It was much overgrown too, and a man might pass it a hundred times without seeing it. There was another thing which struck me also. Not a footmark of any sort was to be seen, not a suggestion that any one had visited the place. Huge heaps of stones and rocks were around, but they had become overgrown by bushes and trees. The place seemed far away from human habitation.
"Father Solomon knows nothing of this entrance," I reflected, "and he believes that he left me there to die. Well, all the better; the time may come when I can make use of my knowledge."
After making careful examination, I rose, and found my way slowly from the place. I took what I believed was theseaward direction, and after walking wellnigh a mile through a wood, I saw a cottage among some fields. It was with much difficulty that I reached it, but I succeeded at length, and presently saw a peasant woman lighting a fire outside the cottage door.
"What's o'clock, good dame?" I asked.
"Six o' th' mornin'," she made answer.
"Then perchance you can give me some breakfast," I said.
"I've nothing but milk and bread," she answered, looking at me suspiciously.
"For which I will pay you well," I replied, taking a coin from my pocket.
The sight of the money altered her behaviour with wondrous quickness.
"It's all ready," she replied. "Th' milk is boilin' and the bread be in the dishes. My man will not be here for a minute or two, but there's no need for you to wait, young master."
Hunger made me ravenous, and I gave no thought to others. I doubt not the bread was black and heavy, but the milk was sweet, and I partook of it greedily.
When I had finished it seemed to me as though my strength had come back to me as if by a miracle.
"Will ye 'a' more, young master?"
"Presently, presently;" and I gave her the coin I had promised.
"Ah, here be my man comin';" and I noticed a farmer's man come up, who looked at me wonderingly.
It was at this time that I realized the condition of my clothes. They were covered with dirt; and catching reflection of my face in a bucket of water, I saw that it was much bruised and smeared with blood.
"I will have a wash, good dame," I said, "after which I would like to talk with you."
"Ay, and 'ere's water, master," she said; and I washed myself while she looked on in silence.
"Servant, sir." The man saluted me as he spoke, and moved a step nearer.
"Thank you for a good breakfast," I said. "I have been out all night, and lost my way among the woods."
"Easy enough to do," he replied, nodding towards the great forest from which I had come.
"To whom do they belong?"
He shook his head. "Pycroft woods," he added presently.
"And no one lives at Pycroft Hall, I suppose?"
"No one but the devil."
"I saw great heaps of stones in the woods."
"Ay, it is said there was a great mine at one time."
Beyond this the man could tell me nothing, though I asked him many questions. I also made inquiries in a roundabout way concerning Pycroft Hall, but he only shook his head. Evidently he knew nothing of it. I also asked him concerning the day of the week, and I found that I must have been full thirty hours alone in the bowels of the earth. I concluded that old Solomon had not come to seek me, neither did he believe that I should be able to find my way out.
After a time I felt sleepy, and the woman having offered me a bed whereon to rest, I fell into a sleep, from which I did not awake until past noon. After the dame had given me a meal consisting of boiled bacon and potatoes, I felt strong enough to walk back to Folkestone, which, after giving the woman another coin, I did.
I found that my absence had caused no surprise at theBarley Sheaf; indeed, the news that the king was to land at Dover the next day but one seemed to drive all other thoughts from their minds. I made many inquiries, but could hear nothing of either Sir Charles Denman or his wife. The woman had come mysteriously into my life, and had passed out of it again just as mysteriously. And yet I thought much of her. I felt in a way which I cannot explain that my life was linked with hers, and that some time in the future I should see her again.
The following morning I had my horse saddled and started for Dover. I had much company on the way, for, as it seemed to me, the whole countryside had emptied itself in order to be at Dover to welcome the new king. When I arrived at Dover town, moreover, I found a great uproar; in truth, no fair I had ever seen provided such food for sport and carnival as Dover town provided that day. In the inns and taverns there was much drinking, while, in the streets, booths and shows were everywhere in evidence. On every hand the people were shouting and singing. Every street was festooned with flowers and flags, while it appeared that every one was glad that the reign of Puritanism was over, and that they would have a king instead of a parliament to reign over them. I noticed, too, that in the booths there were plays representing the downfall of the Puritans, while the great butt of most of the jokes were those who dressed in the dark sober fashion of the times of Oliver Cromwell, and quoted psalms with a pious sniffle.
"God save His Most Gracious Majesty King Charles the Second!" many cried.
"Ay, ay," was the response. "We shall have a merry life under the king. Plenty to drink, plenty to eat, and plenty of fun."
"Down with the psalm-singing hypocrites!"
"As though cock-fighting, dog-fighting, and bull-baiting hath not always been an Englishman's sport."
"The King loves it, I hear."
"Ay, and he loves to kiss a pretty girl, too."
"Well, what's the harm in that?"
"None at all. He's young and comely, and loves his pleasure as a king should."
"It'll go hard with the sour-faced psalm-singers, I hear."
"Well it ought. Did they not kill the king's father? I hear that at least five hundred are to be hanged."
"But what about the Act of Oblivion?"
"Marry! as though the king will care aught about the Act of Oblivion. The thing is, the country will be able to enjoy itself."
"Well it ought. After a man hath been to church once a week he's done enough religion. After that let him enjoy himself."
All this and much more I heard as I passed along the streets; in truth, much of what I saw and heard is not fit to record here, for many of the people might have just been let out of Bedlam, so little did they seem to care for what was clean and decent. Moreover, no notice was taken of these things. There was neither law nor order, while, if some man should say a word rebuking them for wrong-doing, he was immediately pounced upon as a sour-faced Puritan. Such was the difference which was already manifest, even before the new king had set his feet on English soil.
It was now the twenty-fourth day in May, and many reported that they had seen a number of vessels bearing the king's retinue far away at sea, but that he would not arrive until the following morning, as he desired to enter the town, not when the people were tired and dusty, but as they appeared after a night of rest and sleep, and when their finery was not bedavered by a day's jostling.
I remembered that my father had told me he intended being in Dover on the twenty-sixth of the month, but I imagined that he would make diligent inquiries concerning the coming of the king, and would surely be in Dover before it was too late for him to offer his welcome.
I therefore made my way to theFox and Hounds, which I found to be very full of people, and for a long time I was unable to gain any answer to my inquiries, but I discovered presently that not only had Master Philip Rashcliffe been to the inn, but he had also left word for me, in case I should call, to wait for him in a private room which he had hired.
I followed the servant to this room, and, being left alone, was about to review the events which had taken place since I had left my home a few days before. Apparently I had accomplished nought, but really I had accomplished much, especially if there was truth in what old Father Solomon had told me. Although I have said nothing concerning it here, I had thought much before returning to Folkestone without again seeking out the old man and accusing him of treachery. I reflected that it would be best for him to think of me as dead, for if I went to him he would take other steps for hiding the precious document, and then all through which I had gone would be in vain. Only one thing tempted me to go back to Pycroft Hall and again descend into those dark regions underground, and that was the dread that he had treated the woman called Constance as he had treated me. But, although the thought fretted me sorely, the more I reflected, the stronger was my conviction that she had left the house by some other means.
It was late in the evening before my father returned, and then he greeted me as though we had been separated for years, instead of a few days.
"How fares it with you, Roland, my son? You look pale, and there is a bruise on your forehead."
"My hat covers the bruise, father," I replied gaily. "As to my pale face, it will be quickly ruddy again."
"But tell me, hast thou done aught?" he said anxiously.
"As to that, I have much to relate, father, but whether it will end in aught of advantage you shall speedily judge."
I therefore set to work and, as clearly as I could, told him of much through which I had passed since the day I left him. For a long time he spoke no word, either good or bad, concerning what he had heard, and even when he broke the silence it was only to ask me many keen searching questions, the which I found difficult to answer, for I had not thought of many of the meanings which he attached to what had happened to me. Nevertheless, he seemed well pleased with me, and admitted that I had acted with much wisdom and caution. Concerning the black box, which lay hidden in the cavern beneath the grounds of Pycroft, he pondered long, so much so that Ithought he forgot the dismal condition I had been in when old Solomon had left me there alone.
"Thou hast done well, Roland," he said, "so well that I have no advice to give thee save this. When thou dost appear before the king, do not parade thy knowledge over-soon."
"I appear before the king!" I cried.
"Ay. That must be."
"But how?"
"I may be able to help thee in this; but if I cannot, thou hast a clever head and must make thine own way. And another thing: if ever thou dost see Dame Walters again, see to it that thou dost tell her nothing."
I looked at him questioningly.
"Never trust a woman more than you must," he said quietly. "The best schemes in the world have been frustrated by women. The truth is, she knows not how to hold her tongue."
"But it seems to me that you have gained knowledge of this through a woman—through Katharine Harcomb," I suggested.
"Ay," he replied slowly and thoughtfully; "but women must be managed. When dealt with by wise men they can become useful, even as Katharine Harcomb became useful. Perhaps in the future you will be brought into contact with women; well, never be impatient with them, and always keep the mastery over them."
"But how came Katharine Harcomb to come to you with her news?" I asked. "How came I to be commissioned with this work?"
"You will know some day," he replied; "it is nought of great importance, but you shall know. The great matter for us to consider now is how you are to gain the ear of the new king."
"What have you in your mind?" I asked.
"That I will not tell you," he replied. "A man is made, not by having things done for him, but by doing things himself. For myself I care but little for the future, but you are young, and life is before you. Well, I shall leave your future mostly in your own hands. You have shown me that you have courage and brains. Withknowledge such as yours, you ought to do much. Even if the king is unmoved by that knowledge, the king's brother would give much to possess the thing of which you have told me. But you must be wary; and you must be careful not to try and pluck your apple before it is ripe."
I looked into his face, and tried to understand the thought behind all this; but I could discover nothing. His face was like a mask which hid the thoughts which I felt were passing through his mind.
"There will be gay doings to morrow," I suggested. "Ay, gay doings—gay doings. The old order of things hath come to an end in a day. Yesterday England was still Puritan; to-morrow it will be—God only knows what. To-day the same people who, a little while ago, were shouting 'A free Parliament!' are crying 'God save the king!' Bah! but we must be wise, Roland, and you must win both fame and riches, or I shall be sorely disappointed."
"What do you mean, father?"
"I mean that no man can be trusted, and every man must look out for himself. In a week from now England will be changed. The theatres which have been closed, will be opened, and there will be a new order of the day. Cromwell wanted to make England the land of God. With him religion was everything. He wanted to make England pious by law. Thus his cry was ever, 'We must have men of God in all our public offices.' With Charles all will be different—ay, I know him, and all will be different. The devil will be let loose to-morrow—that is plain enough. The poets will write poetry of a new order, pure waters will be made puddle, and pious language will be made putrid. It's plain to be seen. Why, it hath begun to appear in Dover even to-day. Evil is already naked and is not ashamed, and filthiness crieth aloud. Well, Roland, methinks you have your hand upon power. You must use it, but you must use it as one who hath gentle blood in his veins."
"I do not like all this," I said at length.
"Do not like what?" asked my father almost roughly.
"I do not like the motive which is to prompt my deeds,"I made answer. "If it were only that justice may be done, then there is reason; but to use my knowledge to squeeze favours out of the king is not acting the part of one who bears the name of Rashcliffe."
My father started as though he had been stung.
"Ay, and what would you, Roland?" he cried. "Kings rule through fear, and I would only obtain justice by the same means. I have been robbed—thou hast been robbed. I know these Stuarts, and I shall never get back mine own save by making the king or his brother feel that he will do well to listen to my behests."
"Do you believe that what I saw is the real contract of marriage between the king and Lucy Walters?"
"Ay, I believe it."
"Then that lad, James Croft, is next King of England?"
"He should be."
"Then let us understand," I said. "Suppose by this means we obtain from the king all we desire? Suppose he gives you back our lands, and a place in the nation's life, are we to keep quiet concerning this thing?"
My father was silent for some time, and then he said, "Roland, thou art but a boy yet. There is much to be done. But thou must see the king, and thou must go to the king's Court. Meanwhile thou hast thine hand on the secret of power, and every wise man uses his power wisely."
And that was all he would say to me that night, which, as may be imagined, puzzled me much. Nevertheless, I slept well that night, and was only awakened by the jangling of bells and the shouts of a mighty multitude.
My father had already risen and gone out, and so, no food being yet obtainable, I also left the house and went towards the sea. I found a great concourse of people on the sea shore, who were watching with great eagerness the ships which lay quite near to land. Never did I witness such rejoicing before. One might have imagined that the man who was in the royal vessel outside had done some wondrous deeds for the nation, and that we wanted to welcome him back, even as the Romans of olden time welcomed back their great conquerors, who were followed by the trophies of their warfare.
Many thought the king would land early in the morning,but it was not until noon that the boat which was to bring him ashore touched the sand, and then it seemed as though the shouts of the multitudes would rend the very heavens.
As fortune would have it, both my father and I obtained a place close to where General Monk stood, and so we were able to view the king's landing. I took but little note of the others who accompanied King Charles, for I was eager to see the man who was to be the new ruler of the nation, and as I looked I saw that he looked older than his real age, which was just thirty years. His face was deeply marked, and that in spite of the fact that he was of full habit. I noticed too that he was very dark, and that a very black moustache grew on his upper lip. His eyes were small, and what some men might call sleepy-looking, but every now and then they flashed, just as I have seen a serpent's eyes flash when aroused from its sleep. He watched the shouting multitude, not with the glad look that one might have expected, but with a kind of mocking smile. Indeed, he seemed far more interested in a very small dog that he carried than in the greeting of his subjects.
When he put his foot on the shore, however, and a great shout went up from the multitude, he bowed and smiled pleasantly, and it was then I saw wherein his fascination lay, and so much moved was I that I shouted with the rest, at the which I saw my father, who was close by my side, regard me with an amused smile.
After the great shout of welcome, a signal was given for silence, and then General Monk came forward, and welcomed him with all possible marks of reverence and love. But even although silence was commanded, the enthusiasm of the people was so great that I could not hear all General Monk's words. But I could not help noting, even although this great man had welcomed the king with such evidences of loyalty, that he seemed to be only playing a part. He seemed to despise the plaudits of the multitude, even as the king did as he gazed over the sea of upturned faces.
"Here, your Majesty, you see the love of a devoted and loyal people."
This was the conclusion of General Monk's speech, the former part of which was, as I have said, drowned in the sea of voices.
Again the king smiled, a smile that was half cynical and bitter, even although he seemed pleased at his reception.
"I thank my people, General," he said, "and in truth I blame myself for not coming back before, so glad doth every one appear at my coming."
But no man seemed to note the meaning which lay at the back of his words, nor to think of the time when this same king was hunted like a fox throughout England, for they started to shouting again like men possessed. And this was seen not only among the common people, but among noblemen and gentlemen of all sorts.
After this the mayor of the town came forward, and offering him his welcome, also gave him his white staff of office, which the king returned with a pleasant smile.
"You govern the town so well, Master Mayor, that I will not rob the people of such good service," he said with a smile, whereupon the people shouted again, although they did not seem to know why they were shouting.
Then the mayor, who looked very elated and joyous, presented the king with a very gaily and beautifully bound Bible, saying as he did so—
"In the name of your loyal citizens, I do humbly offer your Majesty a copy of the sacred Scriptures, which we possess through the learning, the piety, and the gracious goodness of your most learned and sacred grandfather, King James the First of England."
At this the king smiled again, and receiving the Bible, which he afterwards gave to one of his retainers, he said, "I accept this gift with great thanks, Master Mayor; among all things which I love in the world, I love the Bible best."
He wellnigh laughed as he said this, but the people, if possible, became more excited than ever.
"He loves the Bible!" they cried. "He is a pious king! God save His Majesty!"
After this he walked with General Monk towards a canopy, under which he stood talking with his nobles.It was at this time that I realized how keen and penetrating was the king's gaze. For although his eyes seemed to be habitually half closed, he did at times open them wide and look keenly around him. Moreover, he seemed to understand everything at a glance. I noticed also that when the king spoke it was to the point, and that his remarks were weighty with sense.
"I will not stay at Dover," he said to General Monk. "The people have seen me, and that is enough. From what I can gather they love a king more than a protector; nevertheless, it is well that I go straight to Canterbury Cathedral, where, in the interests of religion, I will publicly give thanks to God for my safe return to my people."
"A wise step, your Majesty," said a young man who had stood near the king the whole time.
"Ah, Master Tom Killigrew, I expect you to write a great ode to our landing this day."
"I would that my poor wit were equal to the subject, your Majesty."
"Well, we shall see. Thou hast been faithful in mine adversity, and now we return to gladder times."
"There have been many faithful during your Majesty's adversity. Through all the dark years there have been many who have not bowed the knee to Baal."
It was my father who spoke. Through influences that I knew not of, he had obtained a place for us near General Monk, at the landing, and now through the same means we had followed the king to the canopy.
"Who is this?" asked the king sharply.
"It is Master Philip Rashcliffe," said a voice. "He was one who fought for your gracious sire in the first civil war, and was grievously wounded."
He gave only a passing glance to my father, but fixed his eyes on me, who stood by his side.
"And who is this brave youth? Nay, nay, do not speak for him; speak for yourself, young man."
"My name is Roland Rashcliffe, your Majesty," I made answer.
"The son of Master Philip here?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"A youth of spirit, I should judge," he said, "ay, and well grown too. He pleaseth me well."
Now at this my heart was all elate, for let who will say otherwise, it is no light thing for a youth to be noticed by his king.
"And thou hast come to bid me welcome, Master Roland?"
"Yes, sire," I replied, scarce daring to look him in the face.
"Well, rise; thou hast knelt long enough. And what favour dost thou ask?"
I lifted my eyes as he spoke, and saw a quizzical look upon his face. Nay, it was more than quizzical. He seemed, as I thought, suspicious of my motives in coming, although I knew not why.
I had it on my tongue to tell him how my father had been impoverished by the Puritans, but I only said—
"Nothing, your Majesty."
"Nothing? Then is thy request easily granted. Fancy, General Monk: I have put it in the way of this youth to ask me a favour, and yet he hath demanded nothing. Will this be an augury of my reign?"
"I trust so, your Majesty," replied Monk, and I thought I saw greed in his eyes. "And yet many, although they ask not favour at your hands, will seek justice," continued Monk boldly.
"Ah, how is that? Ay, I remember now. It hath been told me that your life hath been in danger. That a fanatical Puritan woman, a daughter of John Leslie, Constance by name, and wife of Sir Charles Denman, of painful memory, sought your life when you took steps to ensure my coming back to mine own. We must inquire into into this. She must be taken prisoner and put to death."
"She hath already been taken prisoner."
"Ah, that is well. Well, we will see to it that both she and those who aided and abetted her shall have justice. Where is she imprisoned?"
"At present in Bedford, sire."
"Ah, that is well. But I will not think of these things now. I must away to Canterbury."
He took no further notice of me; nay, for that matter he regarded none of those who gazed eagerly into his face. Instead, still carrying the small dog, which he seemed to prize greatly, he left the canopy, and made his way to a stately coach, which set out, amidst the continued acclamations of the people, towards Canterbury.
As for myself, I took but little note of the king's departure, while the feeling of joy which had come into my heart at his kind words passed away. Why, I knew not, but the news that the woman called Constance, the wife of Sir Charles Denman, had been put in prison and was doomed to death, drove all other thoughts from my mind, and there and then I did make up my mind that I would save her from such a terrible end.
It is difficult for me to describe my feelings at this time. For while on the one hand I was pleased that the king should speak so kindly to me, I was in a most unaccountable way disturbed at the news of Mistress Constance Denman's imprisonment. So much so that, as I have said, I determined that, happen what would, I would rescue her from prison. Why I should decide to do this may seem to the reader somewhat of a puzzle. I knew but little of her, and even that which I knew was not in her favour. She was the wife of a man who, although calling himself a Puritan, was a hard, unscrupulous man, evidently one who would intrigue against the king, and be a party to murder. But not only this, she was herself guilty of attempted murder, and therefore a dangerous woman. I knew that General Monk had been much hated when he had yielded to the desires of those who sought to bring about the king's return, especially as he was thought to have been a traitor to all the promises he had made. Nevertheless, none but a desperate lawless woman would be guilty of attempted murder, and thus the justice of which the king had spoken was surely merited.
In spite of this, however, I determined to save her. It is true she had treated me with scant courtesy, and although she had told me to wait outside Pycroft Hall until her return, she had never again appeared. Evidently she had left Pycroft Hall only to be taken prisoner, and then conveyed to Bedford. I knew by the look on Monk's face that no mercy would be shown, while it was easy to be seen thatthe new king would be anything but clement towards the daughter of John Leslie, who had been one of the principal actors in bringing about the death of his father.
Still, I was not changed in my resolution, neither for that matter could I bring myself to believe that she was guilty of the crime of which she was accused. I knew that she was a brave, resolute woman. No one could be with her as I had been and not be sure of that, but her face was not the face of one who could coldly meditate upon and arrange for murder. Passionate she might be, and therefore in the heat of the moment might be led to do a terrible deed. But she could not plan to do it. Such a scheme as had been described to me must have been brooded over in cold blood, and I could not believe that she could have done this.
I called to mind my first sight of her features, and I felt confirmed in my impression. She was only twenty, and her face was free from the possibility of such a crime. A noble face I thought it was, and even at the time I felt that its possessor was a noble woman.
All this passed through my mind as I stood beneath the canopy prepared for the king, while the multitudes were shouting all around. So much was I occupied with them, moreover, that unlike the others I did not follow his Majesty to the great coach in which he was to ride to Canterbury; but remained there alone, brooding over what I had heard.
"Roland."
"Yes, father."
"Come! we must needs haste."
"Why?"
"Because we will follow in the procession to Canterbury. The horses are saddled. I have seen to that."
"Yes, father."
This I said like one in a dream, for while I had it in my mind that the journey to Canterbury would suit me well, seeing that we should be on our way to London, my mind was so occupied with other things that I paid but scant heed to his words.
A little later we were on our way out of the town, a great crowd following the king, while a greater crowd prepared to remain in Dover, so as to take part in the carousingwhich had, been arranged. On the hill near I saw Dover Castle, which looked stately and grand in the smiling sunlight, while seaward the waters gleamed brightly, as though nature sought to harmonize with the gladness of the multitude. All around the people continued to cry "God save the king!" while guns boomed with a great, thundering noise, and bands of music played merry tunes.
"Methinks, this is a great day, Roland," said my father, who rode close to my side.
I did not reply, for my mind was full of the thought of the woman who lay in prison.
"The king seemed pleased with you."
"Ay," I replied, "I trust so."
"Trust nothing, Roland."
I gazed nervously around, fearing lest my father's words should be heard and reported to the king.
"You need not fear to speak, Roland," said my father. "No attention is paid to us. Besides, there is such a noise that no man can hear you speak, save me, whose ear is close to your mouth. In truth had I a matter of secrecy to discuss I would desire no better place."
I continued silent, first because there seemed nought to say, and second because I thought of other matters.
"I have thought much of what you related to me last night," continued my father, "and I have concluded that you have forgotten to speak to me of many matters."
In this my father spoke truly, for although I had spoken freely concerning my interview with old Solomon, I had said but little concerning the woman whose fate had become of so much interest. Why I had refrained from doing this I knew not, yet so it was.
"I have told you all I know concerning the thing I went to seek," I replied.
"Ay, that is so, Roland, and thou hast never told me a lie. But I am convinced of this: That old man never intended thee to die in that cavern."
"No," I replied. "What is your reason for believing that?"
"I have many reasons."
"Then why did he leave me?"
"To return after you had fasted two or three days, andwhen your strength would be so gone that he would be able to make his own terms with you."
I had not thought of this before, and I wondered at my dullness, for there was sense in my father's surmise, and I fancied there might be truth in it.
"I see gay doings ahead," said my father presently.
"Ay," I replied, for I was thinking of the reception the king would meet in London.
"Never did a king come to a throne under fairer skies," said my father. "He hath come back without conditions. His will is as powerful as his father desired his own to be. But there will be a terrible time for the Puritans."
"But he hath promised general forgiveness."
"He is the son of his father, and all the world knows what a Stuart's promises are worth. But never mind, thou hast found favour. See that thou dost make use of it. But ask for nothing yet; throw your dice carefully. But, Roland, you must obtain those papers."
Again I looked nervously around, but I saw at a glance that no one paid heed to us.
"I tell you, you must do nothing until they are in your possession."
"No," I replied eagerly enough, for his commands fell in with my mood.
"I can do nothing to help you."
I looked at him inquiringly.
"Nothing. I shall have other things to look after. But you are no fool, and you must do it yourself. And mind, never sow your seed until your ground is prepared."
At this I set to wondering much as to what might be in my father's mind, but not, I am afraid, to much purpose, seeing that the noise of the crowd seemed to increase rather than diminish, especially as we drew near Canterbury.
Arrived at this old city, the king make straight for the Cathedral, and so great was the multitude who desired to follow him that I became separated from my father; and then, scarcely regretting the happening, I rode away from the turmoil, and set out for London town with all speed. A full hundred miles lay before me, but I hoped that by hard riding, even although the day was somewhat spent, I should get thither before midnight. My horsehad rested for several days, and had been well fed and groomed during the time, and being a creature of high mettle, he responded to the feelings of his rider, and dashed forward at a fine speed. I had not ridden many miles, however, before I noticed that two men were riding behind me, and as I judged were anxious to keep me in sight. At first I took but little note of them, but when I found they kept about the same distance from me, neither losing nor gaining upon me, I began to wonder what was in their minds. About five o'clock in the afternoon I stopped at an inn, so that I might obtain refreshment for my horse and myself, and also, as I thought, give them an opportunity of passing me. I took my place near the window, so that I might be able to watch my horse and the road, at the same time, but although I let nothing escape me, I saw neither of them pass by the hostelry in which I was sitting.
"They must have taken some other road," I said to myself, and when after a few minutes I again mounted, and on looking around saw no sign of them, I was confirmed in my impression. But in this I was quickly deceived, for I had not gone a mile along the road, before I heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and on turning round, I saw these same two men at a short distance from me.
I stopped, determining to have the matter out with them, but the moment I did so they likewise stopped, as if by set purpose.
"Two to one," I said to myself, "and both are armed. It were foolish for me to pick a quarrel." So I determined to outdistance them by hard riding. But here again I failed to succeed, for although as I have said Black Ben was young and fleet, I could gain not one yard upon them.
If I galloped they did likewise, and if I dropped into a canter they followed my example. This kind of thing was kept up until I saw the sun begin to sink, and then, seeing a piece of lonely country before me, I began to apprehend an attack.
"Two to one," I repeated to myself, and I began to examine my pistols, and to see to it that my sword lay easy in its sheath; but no sooner had I done this than they vanished as if by magic, and I was left alone. Upon this I again gave Black Ben rein, but by this timehe had become somewhat wearied by his long journey, so that although I made good speed, I feared to press him too hardly.
A little later, and the night had fallen; moreover my way led through a wood, which made everything dark, so that I had to ride warily. Added to this, I presently approached a steep hill, where I rode slowly so that my horse might take breath. I had scarcely gone half-way up when I heard a rustle among the bushes at my side, and before I had time to draw either pistol or sword, my arms were pinioned, and I was thrown to the ground with great force.
"Not a sound, not a movement, or I will blow your brains out," said some one in my ear.
I tried to catch sight of his face, but in vain. The woods made the road dark, and as far as I could judge he was closely muffled. Moreover the fall stunned me, and so numbed my senses that I was unable to think clearly. I remember, however, that they searched my pockets, which made me think of them as common footpads, but even when they had done this they did not leave me.
"Have you found it?" said one.
"Not a sign of it," said another.
"But the fellow hath it: we must get it out of him somehow."
"He hath not, I tell you. I've searched him to the skin. This was easy, for the fall knocked all life out of him. He lies like a man dead."
"Surely, we've not killed him?"
"No, he breathes."
"Then ask him where he put it, and threaten to flog him alive if he will not tell you."
"A good thought. I say there—wake up!" and he shook me violently.
By this time my senses had come back to me sufficiently to know that I should learn most by holding my peace. I therefore continued to lie like a man dead.
"I say, you Rashcliffe, speak up. It's to your advantage, man," the man continued.
This, as you may be sure, made me more alert than ever, I was now convinced that these were no commonfootpads, but men who had followed and attacked me for a purpose. They knew my name, and they suspected me of having something which they desired. Immediately I thought of old Solomon's words, "the Duke of York would give his eyes to have this thing." Were these men agents of the duke, and had they discovered that I had found out where the marriage contract was?
"It's no use, Rickmore. He must have struck his head against a stone when we dragged him from his horse. He may lie like this for hours."
"You are sure you've searched him thoroughly?"
"Every rag upon his body?"
"And what have you found?"
"Nought but a little money and his pistols."
"Pull off his boots, it may be there."
I allowed them to pull off my boots, lying limp and inert as they did so; but, as may be imagined, they were again disappointed.
"The fellow hath nought," said the man who had been called Rickmore, "and 'pon my word, I believe he's dead."
"Then Duke James will have to wait."
"Hush, man, some one may hear!"
"Hear!" and the other laughed scornfully. "There's not a living soul within three miles of the place. I say Duke James will have to wait. The thing must be found, but this springald hath it not, spite of the woman's speech."
"Doth the thing exist at all?"
"Exist! You should have seen the look on Duke James' face when I told him what Katharine Harcomb had said to me. 'By the Holy Virgin, Hamilton,' said he, speaking like the good Catholic he is, 'get hold of the young rascal. Never let him out of your sight until you have obtained all he hath found, and know all he can tell you.'"
"Did he say that?"
"Ay he did. I tell you he puts great store on it."
"But the fellow hath it not."
"No, and what is worse we have so nearly killed him that he might as well be dead."
"Well, what are we to do?"
"We can do nought but return to London, and waitfor the coming of the king. At all events the king is king, thanks to Monk."
"He's to be made a duke, I hear."
"After Denman's wife tried to send him to heaven?"
"Ay, and would have succeeded, but for a mishap."
"Nay, nay. She might have sent him to hell, but never to heaven."
"Well, from all I hear no one could wish to be sent to the other world by a fairer hand. Men have it that when Denman married Master Leslie's daughter, he wedded a face as fair as an angel's."
"Well, it'll not save her from the gallows. Had her father not been such a Puritan, it might have gained her favour with King Charles, but I hear that the very name stinks in his nostrils. I am told that she nearly escaped, but a man rode night and day to Dover to tell Monk that she had been captured, and was safely lodged in Bedford Gaol."
"She must be a brave woman. Were she not the wife of such a fellow as Denman I would strike a blow for her deliverance. Bedford Gaol is not a hard place to get out of, for the gaoler not only loves his wine, but will take a bribe. Besides, the woman who tried to send Monk into eternity deserves some help. But say, what are we to do with this young jackanapes?"
"Do you think he's dead?"
"No; he lives, although there's no knowing how much we've hurt him. We dare not let it be known that we've had aught to do with him. Duke James was very careful to tell us that everything must be done in secret."
"Then let him lie, while we make our way to London."
"Shall we take his money? He will think then that we are footpads."
"No, we cannot do that, badly as we need it. After all, a gentleman is a gentleman."
"Nor his horse? It is a good one."
"Nay, that might tell tales. Besides, we are well supplied; let us on to London. A good night's rest to you, Master Rashcliffe."
"With apologies for delay."
"And a curse upon you for not having what we wanted."
I heard them laugh as they mounted and rode away, as though they were pleased with themselves. For some time I did not move; I thought it would be wiser to keep up the part I had been playing, for fear they might come back. Presently I heard the sound of horses coming towards me from the Canterbury road, and this led me to get up with all speed, and to call Black Ben to my side. A few minutes later I was again on horseback, but little the worse for my happening, although sore vexed with myself for being mastered so easily. Still, I had learnt something. I was not the only one who was trying to obtain Lucy Walters' marriage contract, while my father was not the only one to whom Katharine Harcomb had spoken concerning the thing. Moreover I had been confirmed in my information concerning the prison of Mistress Denman, neither did I fail to take note of what was said about the gaoler.
On the whole, therefore, I was not ill-pleased with the night's events, and possessed no very bitter feelings towards either Master Rickmore or Master Hamilton.
Nothing of importance happened further to me that night. As I drew nearer London, I found the people talking much about the gay doings which were to take place when the king came back to his loyal city, as well as the terrible punishments which would be meted out to all who in any way took part in King Charles' death. I did not stay in London longer than I could help, however, for, foolish as it may appear, I determined to ride to Bedford, and if possible deliver from prison the woman who had been my companion to Pycroft Hall but a few nights before.
The night was falling fast as I drew near Bedford town. The weather was very fine, however, and the country side was fair to behold. Flowers were blooming on all sides, and the scent of the young and bursting life was indeed pleasant. Not that I was in a mood to enter into the joyousness of that spring evening, for I had ridden hard since morning, and I noticed that Black Ben's head drooped, and he dragged one leg wearily after another. Besides, my mind was filled with many doubts and fears. Why had I come to a town of which I knew nothing? And why should I seek to rescue a woman from prison who thought so little of my help that she had treated my offer with but little respect? Added to this, why should I, the son of a gentleman who had fought for Charles Stuart, seek to befriend the woman who had attempted murder in order to prevent the rightful king of the country from coming back to his throne?
These questions, which persisted in coming to me, were real and forceful enough, and try as I would I could find no satisfactory answer to them. Yet did I ride straight on, determined to do that which reason and welfare declared to be madness. For the woman's face haunted me. The look of despair I had seen in her eyes, the tone of her voice, appealed to me so strongly for help that I could not resist. More than that, the very mystery which surrounded her strengthened my determination. What led her to Folkestone, and what connection had she with the old man with whom I had had such strange experiences at Pycroft Hall?
All this determined me to get to Bedford that night, andthen to use my utmost endeavour to deliver her from the hands of Monk's minions and from the king's power.
I heard the bells from the old church at Bedford pealing out a note of joy, when I saw a man in plain homely garments trudging along the road in front of me.
"Give you good even," he said, as I rode up.
"Good even," I replied, trying to discern in the fast failing light whether he was a man of quality.
"You look as though you have ridden far."
"From London," I replied, reflecting that although he looked not like a man of wealth, there was an air of authority about him, which made it impossible to pass him by without a second look.
"Ah," he said eagerly. "And what is the news from London?"
"There is much," I replied; "and yet it will not take long in the telling."
"And how is that?"
"Because it all hath to do with the same thing. When you have said that the new king is on his way thither and that the people are preparing to welcome him, you have told all."
"Ah, but that means much, I fear."
"You fear?"
"Ay, I fear, young master, for I fear me the devil is unloosed in London town. If what I have heard be true, then all those things which the children of the Lord have fought against, and driven into the darkness, are to be flaunted in broad daylight, and no man will dare to cry shame."
"The new king loves pleasure," I made answer.
He looked at me steadily, and was silent.
I would have ridden on at this; but thinking he might be able to tell me things I desired to know, I determined to alight and walk by his side.
"We are not far from Bedford, I take it?" I said.
"But a mile."
"Know you of a good hostelry there?"
"I know all that may be found there."
"Then, by your leave, I will walk back with you, for I judge you are travelling thither."
"Ay," he replied, "my home is at Bedford, and my wife and dear ones live there."
There was a quiet dignity in the way he spoke, and although I detected none of the evidences of the schoolman in his speech, I could not help feeling that he was a man of some authority.
"Do you love God, young master?" he said, the moment I had dismounted, and walked by his side.
"How may a man do that?" I asked, for the question took me aback.
"By loving His Son, whom He hath sent in the flesh to proclaim his love, by dying for a sinful world."
"And what may be the signs which show forth that one loves the Son of God?" I continued, concluding that I had happened across one of the Puritans of the district.
"The sign of love is obedience," he replied. "For what are His Words? 'He that hath My commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth Me.'"
"That also may need explanation," I replied, for I determined not to endanger myself in any way by hasty speech.
"The explanation is simple," he replied quietly. "The teaching of Christ is that we do good, not only in lip but in life. That we love one another, and that we also love the truth of God. It is also that we obey God at all costs, even as the Apostles did of olden time. We have a safe guide to the will of God in the Holy Scriptures, and especially is it made clear to us in the New Testament Scriptures. The proofs of love to God are trust in and obedience to Him, as is set forth therein. For what said Martin Luther, when he stood before his judges, who called upon him to recant. 'Confute me with scripture; if you cannot do that, neither can I recant, for it is neither safe nor wise for a man to disobey his conscience.' So then he loves God who is true to Him, and this he does by instructing his conscience by Holy Writ and much prayer, and then obeying his conscience whatever may befall him."
"But may a man not need instruction in Holy Writ?" I asked.
"A man's prayer obtains the best instruction," he made answer. "If we read the Scriptures in prayer and reverence,God will guide us. Thus it is that a wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err in the ways of truth."
"But suppose that one be led in reading the Scriptures to hold views different from those of those set in authority over us?" I asked.
He lifted his large eyes to mine, and scanned my face intently.
"Yet should he hold fast by his integrity," he replied.
"Even if the teachers of the Church command otherwise?" I asked.
"Who are the teachers of the Church?" he asked. "Are they such as Cardinal Pole, and Stephen Gardiner, falsely called the Bishop of Winchester, or Dr. Ridley and Master Hugh Latimer, whom they put to death by fire? Ay, and to whose voice shall we listen; that of Laud, the Papist in disguise, and his lying master Charles Stuart, or to such as Cromwell, and Pym, and Hampden, who saved England from Popery and slavery?"
"That is treason," I said.
"To whom—God or man?" he asked quietly.
"To man," I made answer, even before I knew the words had escaped from my lips.
"Ay, to man," he replied; "but he who loves God will never be a traitor to Him. Nevertheless, may God grant that the will of man and the will of God may never be set against each other."
"Do you fear they will?" I asked.
"What say men in London town?" he asked.
"That the king will bring in a new order of things," I made answer, "and that those who favoured his father's death shall be punished."
"Ay, ay," he said slowly. "But what of the Church, young master, what of the Church?"
"It is said that the bishops are already looking forward to the time when schism shall be overcome, and that they are already making preparation for the change. That they are overjoyed that the king is coming back is but to make suggestion of the whole truth."
"Ay, ay," he replied; "but we fight not with carnal weapons; our strength is in the Lord of Hosts. The three Hebrew youths would not fall down and worship, and theywere thrown into the furnace seven times heated, yet did the Lord deliver them. The Apostles were commanded not to preach the Gospel, yet did they preach it, and were thrown into prison; but the Lord opened the prison doors. At present the cloud is no bigger than a man's hand, yet it will darken this land. I can see it plainly, yet must the children of God bear witness to the truth."
The man spoke like one would think the prophets of old times spoke, so calm and quiet, and yet so full of authority were his tones.
"Methinks, those who call themselves the children of God fight with other than carnal weapons," I made answer. "If ever there was a man of the sword it was Oliver Cromwell."
"Ay, but he trusted not in the arm of flesh, but in the Lord God," he made answer, "else would his armies have been but burning stubble in a strong wind. It was the men of God whom Cromwell selected, who won Marston Moor and Naseby. On the other hand, it was the lies and the base living of Charles and his followers which caused their defeat."
"Ay, but Cromwell is dead, and men have it that a whining, hypocritical crew have taken his place. There have been some Judas Iscariots and traitors at the head of England for many months."
"Ay, and some Monks too," he added, a little bitterly, I thought.
"Ay, and a Puritan woman sought to kill him, and if report speaks truly, she is even now in Bedford Gaol."
I thought I saw him start as I spoke, so being young and foolish, and wishing to get the better of an argument of which, as I thought, he had the best all the way, I went on—
"Men have it that Master John Leslie, the father of this woman, is a great man among the hot-gospellers and Independents, while Sir Charles Denman, her husband, is almost as much renowned for his preaching as Hugh Peters himself."
For a moment he stopped still in the road, and he lifted his right hand above his head. Even in the dim light I noted his sturdy thick-set figure, his broad mouth, and his searching, yet kindly eyes.
"Is that what men are saying?" he asked presently, dropping his hand.
"It is common gossip," I replied.
"Men have it that Constance, daughter of John Leslie, together with her husband and father, plotted the murder of Monk, have they? Is that the talk in London town?"
"It is given out by General Monk himself," I replied. "It is told to the new king and his counsellors, and more it hath been proved by many witnesses. The wound in the arm of Monk's secretary is sufficient proof."
He stood still for a minute without speaking, then he said quietly—
"And have you heard aught concerning the probable fate of this maiden?"
"She is to be brought to London without delay after the king hath arrived thither, and then she is to be tried, condemned, and put to death. Men also have it that there is a warrant out against Sir Charles Denman and Master John Leslie."
"Perhaps it is the will of God," he said, presently. "The blood of the martyr hath ever been the seed of the Church of the living God."
"Martyr," I said, for something made me feel that this man knew much of these people. "Can the death of a woman who hath attempted murder be called martyrdom?"
I could have almost bitten my tongue for having uttered these words, for although my reason told me they were true, my heart went against them, and accused me of being unjust to the woman to whom I had avowed that she could never do an unworthy deed.
"There be many things known only to God," he replied solemnly, "and God's ways are not our ways, neither His thoughts our thoughts, yet will we trust Him though He slay us."
"Know you aught of this woman?" I asked.
"I know what all men know," he answered. "I know that she was on her way to Bedford to visit her father, who is a man of substance in Bedford, as well as in London, and that while coming hither she was taken by the minions of Monk, and dragged to gaol."
"From whence did she come?"
"From the south, somewhere."
"But had she no protector?"
"She had none. She was taken during the night."
"But surely she could not travel from the south on foot."
"Nay, she rode a good horse."
I wanted to ask other questions, but I was afraid, for I knew not who the man was, and I dared not trust him so far as to lead him to think I knew anything concerning her.
"Know you aught of her, young master?"
"I have come from the south," I answered, "and it was said that she had been seen not twenty miles from where the king landed but yesterday."
"Ay, poor child, I fear me that this led her to think she would be safe here. For you are mistaken in believing that a warrant is out against her father. It is not true. It hath been proved that Master Leslie had neither part nor lot in the attempt to murder Monk, and in proof of my words he may be seen in Bedford town, although in sore grief that his daughter is now awaiting such a fearful end."
"But he would have sheltered her, ay, and have sought to hide her, had she reached his house?" I said.
"Did not the early Christians hide each other in Rome?" he asked. "And did not men hide their faithful friends in the time of Mary?"
"But they were innocent?"
"And is not she innocent?"
At this I did not speak, although there seemed but little doubt, as I gathered from the words spoken to the king, that proofs of her guilt were unanswerable.
"Nevertheless," he went on, "although Master John Leslie is a man of station and wealth, he has been much insulted these last three days. Men wag their heads as he passes by, especially those who are godless, and rejoice because they believe the coming of the king will mean godlessness and licentiousness. Ay, and whatever be the state of things in London, it seems as though the devil is unchained. Drunkenness and vice walk naked and notashamed, while many who I thought were founded in the faith have joined the hosts of those who love not the Lord."
By this time we had entered the town, and I began to look around me for some inn where I could find fodder for my horse and a supper for myself.
"Stay you long in Bedford, young master?"
"I hope my stay may be brief," I replied. "Will you show me to the best inn the town affords?"
"The place most free from reproach, and where men of standing gather, isThe Bull," he replied, "but methinks even that will scarce be a fitting place to-night for a well-behaved youth, as you seem to be."
"And why?" I asked.
"Because, as I told you, the whole town, since the news of the coming of the king, hath been a scene of drunkenness and revelry. Wherever there is much ale there is much devilry, whether it be drunk atThe Bullor elsewhere. Even the ostlers cannot be got to attend to their duties, therefore I fear you will have to groom and feed your horse yourself. As for sleep, I much fear me that you will not be able to obtain it. I will e'en call with you so that you may see for yourself, and if the place is given over to carousal, then if you can think of nought better, I will gladly offer you a bed in my own poor home."
"Thank you, good friend," I made answer, "I trust I may not need to take advantage of your good nature; all the same I am grateful to you, and would like to know the name of one who hath proffered such kindness."
"My name is John Bunyan," he replied, "and I minister to God's people in this town."
"You are then an Independent preacher?" I asked.
"I am called to preach the Gospel of Christ," he replied, "and God hath so blessed me, that I, who was a vile sinner, have been able to point a great multitude to the Lamb of God which taketh away the sins of the world."
I do not know why it was, but although my father had not influenced me to lean either towards the Episcopal Church or towards the Dissenters, I felt prejudiced against him. I determined therefore that nothing should induce me to sleep at his house, and when we presently reachedThe Bull, and I found the place given over to drinking and revelry even as he had said, I persisted in having the room offered to me.