Excited as I was, I found my way back to the inn and slept like a child. No ill dreams disturbed my rest, nor did a shadow of fear enter my heart. When I awoke next day the clouds had rolled away, the sun shone in a clear sky, and there was indeed a smell of spring in the air. I would have given much to have paid a visit to the gaol to see John Bunyan, but this I dared not do, for I knew that suspicion would fasten upon me if I made the attempt. So, although I remembered his former speech with much kindness, my love's safety forbade my going to him, and hear him tell me the wondrous story of how he had, as he said, "found the King in His beauty." In truth, throughout the whole day I kept indoors, not shewing myself to any man, and simply telling mine host that I must leave him that night at eight o'clock, in order to do business elsewhere. I had no need to seek a steed for Constance, for the old farmer who lived at Goodlands was able to obtain one, so I e'en sat in the inn dreaming of the glad time to come when my Jove and I would ride side by side towards my father's house.
When night came on, however, that happened which caused me to go into the town, and it was well I did so, else had all things happened different to me. Not that I meant to leave the place until I mounted Black Ben to ride to Goodlands, but as I looked out of the window, I saw Peter Blewitt hurrying by with an eager look in his eyes as though he were bent on a matter of importance.
"Ah, whither go you, Peter?" I heard mine host say.
"That is my business, Jonathan Coad," was the reply.
"Thy business," laughed the other.
"Ay, mine, and such as I will not tell the landlord of theGeneral Fairfax."
"Ah, ah!" laughed the landlord, "as though thou ever had business in thy life. Thou could'st never catch a thief even if he took thine own horse."
"Ah, could I not?" said Peter.
"Why, no," said the landlord. "If thou could'st have caught aught, thou wouldst have caught Mistress Constance Leslie. That would have meant a hundred pounds, and yet thou did'st e'en let her slip through thy fingers."
"Wait a bit!" said Peter.
"Ay, wait till doomsday, and thou will never catch her."
"Wait till to-morrow noon," said Peter, and he hurried away.
Now it was this which caused me to go out into the town, and to follow Peter as closely as I could without him seeing me.
The night had now come on, perchance it was turned six o'clock, but it was not so dark but I saw Master Sturgeon coming towards the constable.
"Ah, Peter, whither goest thou?"
"To the chief constable, Master Sturgeon."
"Ah, why?"
I did not catch his answer to this; nevertheless, I knew it to be of import by the look on the gaoler's face.
"Good, Peter," I heard him say presently, "then I shall have her under lock and key again this very night, and I'll warrant young Master Rashcliffe shall not get her out a second time."
"Ay, we know where she is hidden, and we must go to her without a minute's delay. I must make haste, for if news were to reach her at Goodlands, then should I lose my hundred pounds."
With this Peter hurried on, while I fled back to the inn with the speed of the wind. In less time than it takes me to tell, I had paid my count, and had saddled Black Ben, and without saying a word to mine host, I rode to Goodlands as fast as my horse could carry me.
When I reached there all was dark. Not one sound could I hear, no one could I see. I hammered again and again at the door, but no man answered, until, as I remembered how rapidly the time was flying, I was wellnigh in a frenzy.
"Come, farmer, come!" I cried; "it's a matter of life and death!" But still I got no answer, save that I thought I heard a low, mocking laugh.
I knew not what to do, for it was full two hours before I had arranged to meet Constance. Neither did I mean to go into the house at all. She had told me that her horse should be waiting at the door saddled, and that we could ride away together. But no horse was there, neither was there, as I have said, any sign of life; and when I remembered that the constables might be there at any moment, I was in danger of losing my senses.
Thus I did what under any other circumstances might have placed my life in great danger, for I called to her aloud by name, and if watchers had been near they would have known that she was there.
"Constance, my love!" I cried, "it is Roland!" and then, quick as a flash of light, I felt that she was coming towards me.
"Roland, is it you?"
"Ay, it is. Quick! Quick!"
"Why, what is the matter?"
"The constables have discovered your hiding-place—they are even on the way now. Where is your horse?"
"In the stable. It will take me ten minutes to saddle him." It was the farmer who spoke.
"Then saddle him," I cried. "As for you, Constance, will you make yourself ready for the journey?"
"Ay, I have been ready for a full hour," she said, and I noticed that she wore close-fitting garments, but in the dimness of the light I could not see her as plainly as I desired.
At that moment I heard the sound of horses' hoofs. Evidently they had wasted not a moment in coming hither.
"It is they!" I cried. "Hark! they be coming towards us!"
My love spoke not a word; but she came close to me as if to gain strength from my strength.
"We dare not wait for your horse to be brought," I said.
"Tell me what to do, and I will do it," she whispered. "Do not be afraid for me, Roland."
With one leap I was on Black Ben's back, and a second later she sat before me.
"Who goes there?"
I did not speak, but touched Black Ben's side with my spur. The brave horse leaped forward, and then stopped as if held by a strong hand.
"'Tis she, 'tis she! Help! help!"
"Forward, Ben!" I said, and the horse gave a great leap, leaving himself at liberty. But this was only for a moment. Another man had leaped forward, and brought the horse to his haunches.
"We've got them!" he cried. "Help! help!"
My sword hand was by this time free, and I brought my weapon down upon the man's head. The blade turned in my hand, or I must have cleaved his skull with the blow. But I think he must have worn a steel cap, for although he fell, I knew I had not killed him.
"Let me guide your horse, then will your right arm be free, I know the road," cried Constance; and she took the reins, heedless of the cries we heard, and a few seconds later we were in a lonely lane.
"Towards London!" I said, as she hesitated which way to turn, and then a bullet passed so close to me that it e'en shaved my ear, and to this day my right ear is not perfect as my left ear is.
It was no longer a fight. It had now become a race. We had much against us, seeing we both sat on one horse; but we had much for us also, seeing that Black Ben had the strength of two horses, and bore us as though we were feathers. Nevertheless, I knew we could not ride to my father's house in this fashion, and even then I remember wondering how I was to get a steed for my love.
I quickly discovered that there were two horses following us, but whether they gained on us I could not tell; sometimes I thought they did, and again I fancied otherwise; but, in any case, we had happened upon a dangerous time,for more than once I heard a pistol shot, even although neither of us was harmed.
"They are gaining on us," I said presently.
"But only one, Roland."
"That is true," I said with a laugh, for now that I had my love by my side I cared not one whit for danger; neither did I feel my weakness, as I had feared I should. In truth, my strength had come back to me wondrously.
Black Ben dashed on at a fine speed as soon as we gained the highway, but I knew that if our pursuers were well mounted we must in time be overtaken, for I was never a light man, and must have weighed nine score pounds even then; while Constance, as I have before stated, was no slender slip of a maid, but well grown and finely proportioned. However good a horse may be, he cannot carry two as easily as one, and thus, as one of our pursuers gained upon us, I had to think of what we were to do.
"I have a plan," I said presently.
"What, Roland?"
"We will presently let the man close behind us come up to us. I will unhorse him, and then you shall take his place. There is only one thing against that."
"What is that?" she asked eagerly.
"Only that a man's saddle will be on the nag's back, and it will look strange for a maid to be riding on a man's saddle."
I felt her laughing as I spoke, at the which I wondered.
"Why do you laugh?" I asked.
"Because I am afraid I should look more strange on a woman's saddle than a man's," she replied.
At this I laughed too, for now I realized that she was dressed in the attire of a gallant, the which I had not noticed at first, seeing that she wore a long cloak.
She did not seem to have a vestige of fear, and I knew by the tone of her voice that her heart was light, even in spite of all she had passed through.
Presently we came to a lonely spot, and then I allowed the man who had been shouting at us to stop to overtake us.
It was but the work of a moment. The man was no swordsman, neither was he prepared for my attack. In truth, I believe he expected to find only Constance, soheedlessly did he ride up. As it was, he fell to the ground stunned and helpless.
In less time than it takes me to tell, Constance had leaped on to the man's horse, and we were soon galloping side by side towards London.
"They cannot catch us now," she laughed.
"Why do you think so?"
"Because I have the better horse. The man who rode this left the other far behind."
After this we spoke not for some time, but rode steadily on.
"You are not afraid, Constance?"
"Not with you," she replied, and my heart burned with joy at the sound of her voice.
Now and then as we passed into an open space I saw that the feather of her hat waved in the wind, and that the cloak slipped from her shoulders, revealing the gay attire she wore.
"I'faith, you make a pretty man," I said.
"Do I ride like one, Roland?"
"Ay, and you ride like one, too. In truth, so well do you ride that I would e'en like a kiss to assure myself that thou art not some gay gallant who hath come riding with me."
Again we dashed on, until when morning came we had wellnigh reached Barnet, and here I deemed it well to turn aside and make my way through the village of Enfield instead of keeping nearer London. Here we stopped and breakfasted while the horses were fed and groomed. No one cast suspicious eyes upon us, for in truth Constance might have passed as my younger brother, so bravely did she carry herself. Not even the maid of whom Will Shakespeare wrote in the playAs You Like It, looked half as sweet and charming as she.
"I would call you Rosalind, only Will's heroine was not half so fair as thee, neither was she half so brave," I laughed as we breakfasted together in the inn.
I saw her lip quiver at this, and the tears well up into her eyes; and then I felt that, although she was as brave as any man—nay, braver than any man I ever knew—she was still a woman. I saw that, while she was fearless and bold in the face of danger, she became trembling and fearful nowthat the danger was over. Perchance, too, she remembered her father's fate, and thought of her own lonely condition. But that was only for a minute, for her eyes had neither tears nor sorrow in them as they looked up into mine and told me of her love.
By noon we had reached my father's house. I did not come in at the lodge gate, but entered by an unfrequented way. It was by a wicket gate which led through a shrubbery and up to a postern door, a door which was seldom opened in the old days when I lived at home.
My heart seemed ready to burst as I came in sight of the house, for it was now nearly two years since I had seen it; and after all, there is no spot on earth which affects a man as much as the place where he was born and reared.
"I trust my father is at home," I said to Constance.
"Ay, he is, and here to greet thee, Roland!"
I turned and saw my father standing by my side.
"I have been expecting thee, Roland."
I looked at him in astonishment.
"Ay, I knew what thou would'st do. Art thou not my own son? That is why I have been waiting and watching these last twenty-four hours. But come in," and he opened the postern door. "Fasten the horses here," he said. "I will give orders concerning them."
He led the way into the room, where I had had the interview with Katharine Harcomb two years before, while I watched his face closely, wondering what he would think of Constance.
"Remove your hats and cloaks, will you?" he said.
This we did, and I saw him looking at my love all the time.
Presently, after gazing at her steadily for some moments, his lips moved.
"I do not wonder," he said. "He could not help it. How could he help it? Had I been the lad, I should have done just the same."
Neither of us spoke, for I do not think either of us knew what was in his mind.
"Dost thou love this boy—my boy Roland?" he asked of Constance presently.
Her face became rosy red, and her eyes gleamed brightly.
"Ay, I do," she said.
"Then wilt thou kiss me, my child?"
Had it been any other man on earth I should have been jealous, but my heart rejoiced as I saw him kiss my love, for I knew what he thought of her.
After that he asked us many questions, and when we had answered them he said sadly, "I have made all provisions."
"What provisions?" I asked.
"Even for thy wedding, and for thy departure," he said sadly. "To-morrow morn thou shalt go to the old church and be wedded, and then thou must e'en ride to Gravesend and take passage in the vessel there. Perchance, when another king cometh, thou canst return again, but not until then."
Neither of us asked him what he meant, for we knew. It grieved us that we should have to leave my old home, but it had to be, and yet were our hearts filled with a joy that passeth understanding.
The next night, as we sailed down the river past the Kentish coast, we stood side by side and hand in hand. We were man and wife.
"Are you sad, Constance?"
"Nay, Roland. The morning will come. Nay, morning is in my heart now, but morning will also come for our country. For myself I desire nought—nought, I have everything."
In truth so had I, and yet I longed to bring my wife back to the home of my boyhood.
Of how we fared in the new land I will say nothing here. Neither will I tell by what means we at length returned to England again, or describe the joy of our children as they played amongst the gardens of my old home, while my father, a white-haired man, watched them tenderly. That is a part of another story which, please God, I may tell some day.
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.
BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
ALL MEN ARE LIARSFIELDS OF FAIR RENOWNISHMAEL PENGELLYTHE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAXJABEZ EASTERBROOKTHE MONK OF MAR-SARAZILLAH.A RomanceWEAPONS OF MYSTERYMISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTHTHE BIRTHRIGHT:A RomanceAND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE?THE SCARLET WOMANTHE MADNESS OF DAVID DARINGLEST WE FORGETO'ER MOOR AND FENGREATER LOVEESAUFOLLOW THE GLEAMA FLAME OF FIRE.
ALL MEN ARE LIARSFIELDS OF FAIR RENOWNISHMAEL PENGELLYTHE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAXJABEZ EASTERBROOKTHE MONK OF MAR-SARAZILLAH.A RomanceWEAPONS OF MYSTERYMISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTHTHE BIRTHRIGHT:A RomanceAND SHALL TRELAWNEY DIE?THE SCARLET WOMANTHE MADNESS OF DAVID DARINGLEST WE FORGETO'ER MOOR AND FENGREATER LOVEESAUFOLLOW THE GLEAMA FLAME OF FIRE.
Illustrated byGrenville Manton.
The first stages of Nonconformity supply the theme of Mr.Hocking'slatest book, "The Coming of the King" is an impressive story which possesses a real value as a faithful study of one of the most important epochs in religious history.
Illustrated byBertha Newcombe.
"Remarkable for the dramatic power with which the scenes are drawn and the intense human interest which Mr. Hocking has woven about his characters. 'Esau' is sure to be one of the novels of the season."—The Outlook.
"A brilliant, exciting narrative by a writer who has never penned a dull page."—The British Weekly.
"The story is excellent, with no lack of dramatic situations; and the characters, whether of Cornish folk or Spaniards, are drawn with considerable skill."—The Birmingham Post.
Illustrated byGordon Browne.
"An excellent story, in which the reader will soon find himself enthralled, the author skilfully compelling his close attention. This must take rank as one of the best and most interesting of the author's books."—The Birmingham Post.
"Though of a totally different character from 'Lest We Forget,' Mr. Hocking's latest story is entitled to take rank along with that fine romance. The story arrests the attention from the first chapters, and soon becomes highly dramatic."—The Newcastle Chronicle.
Illustrated byJ. Barnard Davis.
"His story is quite as good as any we have read of the Stanley Weyman's school, and presents an excellent picture of the exciting times of Gardiner and Bonner."—Public Opinion.
"A striking, highly dramatic story. Mr. Hocking has written a very fine historical novel, full of the fire and dash of youth and love."—Sunday Special.
Illustrated byJ. Barnard Davis.
"Mr. Hocking's most interesting romance. It is exceedingly clever, and excites the reader's interest and brings out the powerful nature of the clever young minister. This most engrossing book challenges comparison with the brilliance of Lothair. Mr. Hocking has one main fact always before him in writing his books—to interest his readers; and he certainly succeeds admirably in doing so."—The Queen.
With Eight Full-page Illustrations bySydney Cowell.
"We know of no novel by Mr Hocking that we have liked so much, and we have liked many. Powerful and human from beginning to end, and throbbing with the moral healthiness of a work by a writer who, while he interests more than many who merely interest, has the higher purpose of inculcating truths that lead to healthiness of life and human endeavour."—Weekly Dispatch.
"The story goes with a swing. The struggle between nature and religious training is skilfully described, and the plot is carried from one vivid incident to another."—Christian World.
"This is Mr. Hocking's strongest and best book. We advise every one to read it. The plot is simple, compact and strenuous; the writing powerful. It brings out sharply the real character of the typical Jesuit, his training, motives, limitations, aims."—Methodist Recorder.
With Frontispiece and Vignette byGordon Browne.
It is no exaggeration to say that the publication of this unique book created a sensation. It was so strenuously in earnest, so pitiless in its exposure of the effects of pessimism, and so realistic in its picture of the dark side of London life, that thousands who had not read any previous work of Mr.Hocking'sread it and discussed it in the press, in the class-room and in private. The striking title, the sombre strength of the writing, but above all the correctness and purity of the purpose, combined to render "All Men are Liars" one of the most remarkable works of the day.
"This is a notable book. Thoughtful people will be fascinated by its actuality, its fearlessness, and the insight it gives into the influence of modern thought and literature upon the minds and morals of our most promising manhood."—Christian World.
"A striking book.... It is strong and earnest and vigorous; it shows knowledge of the lower class, and impatience and contempt of shams of all sorts."—Standard.
"We are in the midst of real life, with a record at all times eloquent and not infrequently brilliant."—Literary World.
With Frontispiece and Vignette byW. S. Stacey.
From the point of view of lurid power and breathless interest one of the very strongest of all Mr.Hocking'sbooks. The wild Cornish background, the strength of the character-drawing, the atmosphere of tragedy, combine to make it a work of singular originality.
"As a story this book is a splendid piece of writing, every detail is interesting, and the situations it creates are novel and striking."—Record.
"A remarkable novel.... The plot of the story is ingenious, the manner of its telling essentially dramatic, the character-drawing excellent and consistent."—Christian World.
"The characters are admirably drawn. An extremely vigorous, healthful and interesting tale."—Academy.
"The book is to be recommended for the dramatic effectiveness of some of the scenes. The wild, half-mad woman is always picturesque wherever she appears, and the rare self-repression of her son is admirably done."—Athenæum.
With Frontispiece and Vignette byGeorge Hutchinson.
"Andrew Fairfax" is undoubtedly the story by which Mr.Hockingcame into his own. It placed him at once in the front rank of popular novelists, and by many competent critics it is considered to be by far his best book. It has been compared favourably with the best novels of MrThomas Hardy, but the class of realism to which many readers take objection, and that is connected with the name of Mr. Hardy, is never to be found in Mr Hocking's works. A purer, more wholesome, and more manly book than "Andrew Fairfax" it would be hard to write.
"Rustic scenes and characters are drawn with free, broad touches, without Mr. Buchanan's artificiality, and, if we may venture to say it, with more realism than Mr. Hardy's country pictures."—Manchester Examiner.
"Beautifully told. There are few books better adapted to widen the mind and discipline the judgment than this noble story."—Liverpool Mercury.
"Few stories by later-day novelists have interested us so keenly. A brilliant story, rich in sparkling incident and clever character sketches."—Christian Age.
With Three Full-page Illustrations byHarold Piffard.
"This volume proves beyond all doubt that Mr. Hocking has mastered the art of the historical romancist. 'The Birthright' is, in its way, quite as well constructed, as well written, and as full of incident as any story that has come from the pen of Mr. Conan Doyle or Mr Stanley Weyman."—Spectator.
"For an historical romance to hold a weary reviewer, to hold him at this time of day, and to interest him to the end, is in itself a complete testimony to the power and excellence of that story. We confess that we read Mr Hocking's book at a sitting; not because we had any leisure for the task, but simply because the book compelled us.... We hold our breath as each chapter draws to an end, yet cannot stop there, for the race is unflagging. We congratulate Mr Hocking upon the book, for it is a very great advance upon anything he has done."—Daily Chronicle.
With Six Full-page Illustrations byF. H. Townsend.
"'Mistress Nancy Molesworth' is as charming a story of the kind as could be wished, and it excels in literary workmanship as well as in imaginative vigour and daring invention.... It would hardly be possible to tell a story of its kind better, or to leave the reader better pleased at the end."—Scotsman.
With Frontispiece and Vignette byJ. Barnard Davis.
This striking story has all the fine qualities which have made MrHocking'snovels so popular with his huge circle of readers. In none of his books has he drawn finer pictures of Cornish life, or told a sweeter love-tale. But this particular story has a peculiar interest of its own, telling, as it does, of the literary beginnings of an author who afterwards became one of the most popular novelists of the day. Every one interested in literature—every one who wishes to know something of the wire-pulling which is too often at work m the literary world—should read this remarkable story.
"Mr. Joseph Hocking's 'Fields of Fair Renown' is a novel with a purpose, and the theme is worked out with a good deal of force and effective power ... it is both interesting and powerful."—Scotsman.
"Mr Hocking has produced a work which his readers of all classes will appreciate.... There are exhibited some of the most beautiful aspects of disposition."—Dundee Advertiser.
With Three Full-page Illustrations byLancelot Speed.
"We can strongly recommend both stories as healthy and hearty tales, sensational but not incredible."—British Weekly.
"An engaging and fascinating romance. The reader puts the story down with a sigh, and wishes there were more of these breezy Cornish uplands, for Mr. Joseph Hocking's easy style of narrative does not soon tire."—Weekly Sun.
With Frontispiece and Vignette byW. S. Stacey.
"Jabez Easterbrook" is one of the very few "religious novels" which are also strikingly interesting as stories, quite apart from their religious purpose. The life of the Wesleyan Minister has seldom been so painstakingly or so sympathetically pictured.
"Real strength is shown in the sketches, of which that of Brother Bowman is most prominent. In its way it is delightful."—Rock.
"A book that can be read with interest and with profit. A clever tale, cleverly told."—Record.
With Frontispiece
"Weapons of Mystery" is a singularly powerful story of occult influences and of their execution for evil purposes. Like all MrHocking's novels, "Weapons of Mystery" has an underlying religious and moral purpose, but merely as a story, and quite apart from the purpose which was in the mind of the author, the tale has a curious fascination for the reader. The cleverly conceived plot, and the strange experience of the hero and heroine make "Weapons of Mystery" a story which it is not easy to put down when once commenced.
With Frontispiece.
"Zillah" is also a novel with a purpose—in fact—with two purposes. Its first purpose is to tell a thoroughly interesting story in a thoroughly interesting way, and in that it certainly succeeds. Its second purpose is to deal fairly but fearlessly with certain theories about the After Life and the Spirit World which are just now very much agitating the minds of religious thinkers. Every one interested in Clairvoyance, Hypnotism and Spiritualism, should read this strikingly just but fearlessly outspoken novel.
"The drawing of some of the characters indicates the possession by Mr Hocking of a considerable gift of humour. The contents of his book indicate that he takes a genuine interest in the deeper problems of the day."—Spectator.
With Frontispiece and Vignette byWalter S. Stacey.
A very beautiful and human story, the scene of which is laid in the Holy Land, which Mr.Hockingvisited personally before writing the tale.
"Great power and thrilling interest.... The scenery of the Holy Land has rarely been so vividly described as in this charming book of Mr Hocking's."—Star.
"The author has turned his visit to Palestine to good account.... His descriptions of the wild scenery of different parts of the Holy Land are both vigorous and graphic, and the stories themselves are interesting."—Manchester Guardian.
"Powerfully written."—Daily Telegraph.
"Mr. Hocking has undoubtedly the power of telling a stirring incident well, and he gives one the impression of being pervaded by moral earnestness."—Spectator.
London: WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED.