The day which we have begun in the last chapter, passed over without any other event of importance. Lord Harold left Alice at the door of the house, mounted his horse, and departed. Alice communicated to her father all that had taken place, and found him more grieved than she had expected, but not at all surprised. The angler was again seen fishing in the stream as the first shadows of evening began to fall; but his efforts were not so successful as before, and he retired early to rest.
The following morning was again a bright one--too bright, indeed, for his sport; and in the course of the forenoon Langford made his appearance at the Manor House and paid a lengthened visit. At first he found only Sir Walter Herbert at home, but the visitor seemed to enjoy his conversation much; and the good old knight suffered it to be sufficiently evident that the society of his new acquaintance was anything but disagreeable to him. In the course of half an hour, however, Alice Herbert herself appeared; and not only did Langford's eye light up with pleasure, but the conversation, which had before been of somewhat a grave, if not of a sad cast, instantly, as if by magic, became bright and sparkling, like the dark woods in the fairy tale, which, by a stroke of the enchanter's wand, are changed to crystal palaces and illuminated gardens. Alice, without knowing what had passed before, felt that her presence had produced a change. She felt, too, that her society had an influence upon Langford; that it called forth and brought into activity the treasures and capabilities of his mind; and, if truth must be spoken, it was not unpleasant to her to feel that such was the case.
We may go further still, and look a little deeper into her heart. Her acquaintance with Langford, short as it had been, had proved most disadvantageous to the hopes and wishes of Lord Harold; but in saying this, we mean no more than we do say. She was not--hers was not a nature to become in so short a time--in love with Henry Langford; nor, indeed, so rapidly to become in love with any one on the face of the earth. She was capable of deep, and intense, and ardent feeling; and the depths of her heart were full of warm affections. But the waves of profound waters are not easily stirred up by light winds; a ripple may curl the surface, but the bosom of the deep is still. She was not in love with Langford; but had she not known him, it is possible--barely possible, that though she would not have accepted Lord Harold at once, she might, as many a woman does, have suffered him to pursue his suit till she felt herself bound in honour to give him her hand, without feeling any ardent attachment towards him even at last, and trusting for happiness to esteem and regard. Her acquaintance with Langford, however, had given her feelings a more decided character, had taught her that she could not marry any one whom she did not absolutely love. It went no further; but as far as that, the sort of surprise and pleasure which his conversation had given her certainly did go; and now, on their second meeting, there might be a kind of thrilling satisfaction at her heart in finding that her society had an influence over him, that his eye sparkled with irrepressible light, that his thoughts, and manner, and feelings seemed to take a deeper tone as soon as she appeared.
So went on the conversation for some time; both feeling, while it proceeded, that though they might be talking of indifferent subjects, they were thinking a good deal of each other; and thus they established between themselves, all unwittingly, a secret sympathy, which but too often throws wide the doors of the heart, to admit a strange guest, who soon takes possession of the place.
The course of the conversation speedily brought Sir Walter to remark, "You must have visited many foreign countries, Captain Langford, and apparently not as our young men usually do, in a hurried and rapid expedition, to see without seeing, and to hear without understanding. I must confess it was the case with myself, in my young days; but the habit of travel was not then so much upon the nation as at present, and it was something for a country gentleman to have been abroad at all."
"I have been very differently situated, Sir Walter," replied his guest; "though not born upon the continent, being, thank God! an Englishman, yet the greater part of my early life was spent in other lands. My mother was not of this country, and she loved it not--nor, indeed, had occasion to love it. We resided much in France and much in Italy: some short time, too, was passed in Spain; but those visits were in early years; and I have since seen more of various countries while serving with our troops under Turenne. I was very young, indeed, a mere boy, when the British forces in which I served were recalled from the service of France; but I was one of those who judged, perhaps wrongly, that England had no right to leave her allies in the midst of a severe war, and who therefore remained with the French forces till the peace was concluded. I have since served for many years in several other countries; and I have always been of opinion, that while there is no life which affords more opportunity for idleness than a soldier's, if his natural disposition so lead him, there is no life which gives so much opportunity of improvement, if he be but inclined to improve."
Alice had listened eagerly and attentively, for Langford had approached a subject which had become of interest to her: his own fate and history. Sir Walter listened, too, with excited expectation; but their guest turned the conversation immediately to other things, and shortly after took his leave.
When he was gone, Sir Walter himself could not refrain from saying--"That is certainly an extraordinary young man. Poor fellow! I much fear, Alice, that he is one of those whom the faults of their parents--the weakness of a mother, and the vices of a father--have sent abroad upon the world without the legitimate ties of kindred."
"Oh! no, indeed, my dear father!" cried Alice, "I cannot believe that. He would never speak so boldly and so tenderly of his mother, if there were any stain upon her name. He has twice mentioned her, and each time I have seen a glow of mingled love and pride come up in his countenance."
"Well, I trust it is so," replied Sir Walter, "for otherwise no situation can be more lamentable; with no legitimate relations of his own, with no hope of uniting himself to any upright and ancient house; for that bar sinister must always be an insuperable objection to every family of pure and honourable blood."
Perhaps Alice might not see why it should be so; but she knew her father's prejudices upon that point well, and she dropped the subject.
In the meanwhile, the person who had thus afforded them matter for speculation, returned to the inn, sat, read, and wrote for some time in his own chamber, and then sauntered forth with a book in his hand, and his rod and line left behind, in order to meditate more at leisure by the side of the stream, wherein, during the whole of the preceding evening, he had lost his time in unsuccessful angling. He was not at all inclined to renew his sport; and if truth were to be spoken, he took his book more to cover his meditations than to prompt them.
Let us draw back the curtain, however, for a moment, and look through the window in his breast, in order to see what were the motives and causes which rendered even that sport which has been called "The contemplative man's recreation," too importunate an occupation for the body, to suffer the agitated mind to deliberate with ease. We have seen what had been the effect of Alice Herbert's society upon him, during the first evening of their acquaintance: he could not but admire her beauty, for it was not of that cold and abstracted kind which may be seen and commented on by the mind, without producing any other emotion. It was of what we may call the most taking sort of beauty; it was of that sort which goes at once to the heart, and thence appeals to the mind, which cannot but admit its excellence. But still, even had he fallen in love that night, it might have been called love at first sight, and yet have implied a very false position. During each of the preceding years he had spent nearly six weeks in the small country town we have described; and, in the neighbourhood of Alice Herbert, he had heard from every lip but one account of her character. He had spoken of her with many, and every one with whom he spoke loved her.
He might therefore be well pleased to love her too, when he found that to virtue and excellence were joined beauty, talents, and sweetness, such as he had never beheld united before. We know also what was the conclusion he had come to when he saw her in the society of Lord Harold; and we may add, that he was more mortified, disappointed, and angry with himself, than he was at all inclined to admit. When, however, on the following day--placed in a situation from which he could not retreat unperceived--he had been an unintentional, and even an unwilling witness to a part of her conversation with Lord Harold, and when from that part he learned undeniably that she rejected that young nobleman's suit, he felt grateful to her for reconciling him with himself, and for removing so speedily the mortification of the preceding evening. That which had been at first but a mere spark upon Hope's altar, and had dwindled away till it seemed extinct, blazed up into a far brighter flame than before: and in their second interview he felt as if an explanation had taken place between them, and that she had told him, "I am to be won, if you can find the right way and use sufficient diligence."
But still there was much to be thought of, there was much to be considered; there were peculiar points in his own situation, which rendered the chance of gaining her father's consent to his suit almost desperate. He felt--he knew, that if he lingered long near her, he should love her with all the intensity of a strong and energetic mind, of a generous and feeling heart; he felt, too, from indications which he did not pause to examine, but which were sufficient for him, that there was a chance of his winning her love in return. But then, if giving his heart and gaining hers were to produce misery to both, ought he--ought he to pause for a moment, ere he decided on flying for ever from a scene of such temptation? But then came in again the voice of hope, representing prospects the most improbable as the most likely, changing the relative bearings of all the circumstances around him, and whispering that, even for the bare chance of winning such happiness, he might well stake the tranquillity of his whole life. Such were the thoughts that agitated him, with many another, on which it is needless here to touch. Such was the theme for meditation on which he pored while wandering on beside the stream.
The afternoon had gone by, and the brightness of the day had become obscured, not only by the sinking of the sun, but by some large heavy clouds which had rolled up, and seemed to portend a thunder-storm. Langford had looked up twice to the sky, not with any purpose of returning home, for the rain he feared not; and, in witnessing the grand contention of the elements he had always felt an excitement and elevation from his boyhood. There seemed to him something in the bright light of the flame of heaven, and in the roaring voice of the thunder, which raised high thoughts, and incited to noble efforts and great and mighty aspirations, he looked up twice, however, to mark the progress of the clouds, as writhing themselves into strange shapes, they took possession of the sky, borne by the breath of a quiet sultry wind, which seemed scarcely powerful enough to move their heavy masses through the atmosphere.
When he looked up a third time, Langford's eye was attracted to the opposite bank by the form of the half-witted man, Silly John, making eager signs to him without speaking, although, from the point at which he stood upon this slope, Langford could have heard every word with ease.
As soon as he saw that he had caught the angler's eye, however, the half-witted man called to him vehemently to come over, pointing with his stick towards a path through the trees, and shouting, "You are wanted there!"
Langford paused, doubting whether he should cross or not; for though the stream was shallow, and the trouble but little, still the man who called him was, as he well knew, insane, and might be urged merely by some idle fancy.
While he hesitated, however, the other ran down the bank, exclaiming, when he had come close to the margin--"Quick, quick, Master Harry, or ill may happen to her you love best!"
Langford stayed not to ask himself who that was, but crossed the stream in a moment, demanding, "What do you mean, John?--what ill is likely to happen to----"
He was about to add the name of her who had so recently and busily occupied his thoughts; but suddenly remembering himself, he stopped short, and the half-witted man burst into a laugh, exclaiming, "What, you won't say it, Master Harry? Well, come along with me; you will find I am right. I settled it all for you long ago, when I was an usher at Uppington School; and I said you should marry her, whether the old lord liked it or not. But come on! come on quickly! There are two of the foxes down there waiting by the dingle, just beyond the park gates. You know what foxes are, Master Harry? Well, you never thought to go fox-hunting this evening; but I call them foxes, because the law won't let me call them by any other name; and she has gone down to the old goody Hardy, the blind woman, to talk with her. Then she will have to read a chapter in the Bible, I warrant; so that she will be just coming back about this time, and then she will meet with the foxes; though, after all, they are waiting for Master Nicholas, the collector's clerk, I dare say; but they will never let her pass without inquiry."
While he spoke these wild and rambling words, he walked on rapidly, followed by Langford, who was now seriously alarmed; for, although what his companion poured forth was vague and incoherent, yet there were indications in it of something being really wrong, and of some danger menacing Alice Herbert. He remarked, too, that the half-witted man, as he walked along, frequently grasped the cudgel that he carried, and lifted it up slightly, as if to strike: but it was in vain that Langford tried to gain any clearer notion of what was amiss, for his questions met with no direct reply, his companion answering them constantly by some vague and irrelevant matter, and only hurrying his pace.
Thus they proceeded through the wood that topped the bank over the stream, across a part of the manor-park, to a spot where a belt of planting flanked the enclosed ground on the side furthest from the house and the village. It was separated by a high paling from a lane which ran along to some cottages at the foot of an upland common, and the lane itself was every here and there broken by a little irregular green, ornamented by high trees.
The ground around, indeed, seemed to have been cut off from the park, and probably had been so in former times.
There was a small gate opened from the park into the lane, at the distance of about a quarter of a mile from the spot at which Langford and his companion approached the paling, and at that hour of the evening they could discern the gate with the path leading up to it; for though the sun was just down, it was yet clear twilight. Towards that gate Silly John rapidly bent his steps; but they had not yet reached it, when Langford suddenly heard a scream proceeding from the lane on his right hand, and apparently close to them. The memory of the ear is perhaps stronger and keener than that of the eye; and, though he had never heard that voice in any other pitch than that of calm and peaceful conversation, the distinctive tone was as discernible to the quick sense in the scream now heard, as it would have been had Alice Herbert simply called him by his name. He paused for no other indication in a moment he was through the belt of planting; and vaulting at a bound over the paling, he stood in one of the little greens we have mentioned, an unexpected intruder upon a party engaged in no very legitimate occupation.
On the sandy path which marked the passage of the lane across the green, stood Alice Herbert, with a tall powerful man grasping her tightly by the right shoulder, and keeping the muzzle of a pistol to her temple, in order, apparently, to prevent her from screaming, while another was busily engaged in rifling her person of anything valuable she bore about her. So prompt and rapid had been the approach of Langford, that the two gentlemen of the road were quite taken unawares, and the one who held her was in the very act of vowing that he would blow her brains out if she uttered a word, when the muzzle of the pistol he held to her head was suddenly knocked up in the air by a blow from the unexpected intruder. The first impulse of the robber was to pull the trigger, and the pistol went off, carrying the ball a foot or a foot and a half above the head of Alice Herbert.
Instantly letting go his grasp of the terrified girl, the man who had held her threw down the pistol and drew his sword upon his assailant. But Langford's blade was already in his hand; and his skill in the use of his weapon was remarkable, so that in less than three passes which took place with the speed of lightning, the robber's sword was wrenched from his grasp and flying amongst the boughs of the trees, while he himself, brought upon his knee, received a severe wound in his neck as he fell. At that moment, however, another terrified scream from the lips of Alice Herbert called her defender's attention, and turning eagerly towards her, Langford at once perceived that it was for him and not for herself that she was now alarmed. The robber whom he had seen engaged in rifling her of any little trinkets she bare about her, had instantly abandoned that occupation, on the sudden and unexpected attack upon his comrade, and was now advancing towards Langford, better prepared than the other had been, with his drawn sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. The moment which Langford had lost in turning towards Alice had been sufficient to enable the man whom he had disarmed to start upon his feet again, and to run to the spot where his sword had fallen, and the angler found that in another instant he should be opposed single-handed, and with nothing but his sword, to two strong and well-armed men. He did not easily, however, lose his presence of mind; and seizing Alice Herbert's arm with his left hand, he gently drew her behind him, saying, "Crouch down low that you may not be hurt when they fire. I will defend you with my life."
Scarcely had he spoken, when the second ruffian deliberately presented the pistol at him, and fired. Langford felt that he was wounded in the left shoulder, and the blow of the bullet made him stagger; but, in the course of a soldier's life he had been wounded before, more than once, and as far as he could judge, he was not now severely hurt.
His two assailants, however, were rushing fiercely upon him, and the odds seemed strong against him; but at that moment another arm, and a strong one, came in aid of his own. His half-witted guide had by this time scrambled over the paling, as well as his lameness would permit; and, with the cunning of madness, had crept quietly behind the two plunderers. As soon as he was within arm's length, which was but a moment after the shot was fired that wounded Langford in the shoulder, he waved his cudgel in the air, and struck the man who had discharged the pistol a blow on the back of the head, which laid him prostrate and stunned upon the ground.
Langford's quick eye instantly perceived the advantage, and he rushed forward, sword in hand, upon the other man. Finding, however, that the day was against them, the ruffian fled amain, after making an ineffectual effort to raise his companion; and, in a moment after, the sound of a horse's feet, as it galloped rapidly away, was heard in the road above.
"It is right that every man should have his nag," said the half-witted man, turning over the prostrate robber with his foot; "but thou wilt ride no more, simpleton! I wonder if these clerks of Saint Nicholas, have lightened the burden of Master Nicholas, the clerk?" he continued, turning as if to speak to him whom he had guided thither; but by this time Langford had returned to the spot where Alice Herbert stood; and, holding both her hands in his, was congratulating her upon her escape, with all those feelings sparkling forth from his eyes which might well arise from the situation in which he was placed, combined with all the thoughts and fancies that had lately been busy at his heart.
Alice looked up in his face with an expression that could not be mistaken. It was full of deep gratitude. Perhaps there might be something more in it too; and without listening much to vanity, he might have read it: "I would rather be thus protected by you than by any one I ever knew."
There are times and circumstances that draw two hearts together in a moment, which might otherwise have been long in finding each other out; and such were the times and circumstances in which they stood. She was very pale, however; and Langford was somewhat apprehensive, also, that the worthy personage who had galloped off might return with more of his fraternity; so that, after a few words of congratulation and assurance to Alice, he called to his half-witted companion--"Come, John, come! Leave the scoundrel where he is: we have not time to make sure of him, and we had better get into the park and towards the manor as fast as possible."
Thus saying, he drew Alice's arm within his own, and led her to the gate, speaking eagerly to her of all that had occurred. The madman followed more slowly; but they had scarcely gone a hundred yards within the paling when Langford perceived that his fair companion was turning more and more pale every moment. Her eyelids too drooped heavily, and she said at length, in a low voice, "I am very faint." Scarcely had she spoken the words when he felt that she was beginning to sink, and placing her upon a bank beneath one of the old trees of the park, he bade their crazy companion hasten as fast as possible to the house, and bring some of the servants to assist in carrying their fair mistress home.
The man seemed to comprehend at once, and set off to obey; but Langford did not wait for the return of his messenger ere he endeavoured to recall Alice to herself. From a little brook which ran towards the stream, he brought up some water in his hands, in order to sprinkle her face therewith; but as he did so, something struck his eye which he had not before perceived, and which made his heart sink with sensations that he had never yet felt, even in scenes of carnage and horror such as man seldom witnesses: the sleeve of Alice Herbert's white dress on the right arm was dripping with blood, and Langford, in agony lest she should have sustained some injury, after casting the water in her face, tore her sleeve open to seek for the wound. No hurt was to be found, however; no blood was flowing down that fair smooth skin; the stains were less in the inside of her garment than on the out, and the blood which he now saw trickling down his own arm--the arm on which she had been leaning--so as to dabble the back of his hand, showed him whence that had proceeded which had stained her dress.
The cool air, the recumbent position, and the water he had thrown in her face, had by this time begun to recall Alice to consciousness; and the joy of seeing her recover, of finding that she was unhurt, and of having successfully defended her, threw Henry Langford off his guard, so far at least that he pressed a long kiss on the fair hand he held fondly in his own. Alice's languid eyes met his as he raised his head; but there was a slight smile upon her lip, and he saw that he had not offended.
Her first faint words, as soon as she had sufficiently recovered herself to speak, were--"You are hurt! Oh, Captain Langford, I am sure you are very much hurt; and my being weak enough to faint when I found the blood trickling down my arm has delayed you but the longer in getting assistance. For Heaven's sake leave me here, and seek some one to attend to your wound as soon as you can. I shall be quite safe here. I have no fear now, but am only afraid that I cannot walk very fast; and, indeed, you should not be without help any longer."
Langford assured her that his wound was a trifle, that it was a mere nothing, that the blood he had lost could do him no injury. But Alice would not be satisfied; and, finding that Langford would not go without her, she insisted upon proceeding immediately. She trembled very much, and could walk but slowly; but she persevered in her determination, and had half crossed the park when they were met by Sir Walter himself and four and five of the servants. The feelings of the father at that moment may be conceived, but cannot be described; he threw his arms round his daughter, exclaiming, "My child, my dear child! But are you not hurt, my Alice? Yes, yes, you are! You are covered with blood!" and his own cheek grew deadly pale.
"It is his, my father," replied Alice, leaning upon Sir Walter's bosom, and holding out her hand to Langford; "I am quite unhurt, but he is wounded, and I am afraid seriously. He gave me his arm to help me home, and, in a minute, my whole sleeve was wet with blood. I was foolish enough to faint when I saw it, and that has made us longer; so pray look to his wound immediately."
All eyes were now turned upon Langford; and as Sir Walter hurried him and his daughter on to the Manor House, he loaded him with both thanks and inquiries. Langford assured him the wound that he had received was a mere trifle, that the ball had lodged in the flesh, and that he could move his arm nearly as well as ever; and then, to change the subject, he recounted to Sir Walter and Alice as they went how he had been led to the spot where he had found her, by the unfortunate half-witted man, John Graves.
"He shall wander about the world no more, if I can provide him with a home," exclaimed Sir Walter, turning to look for the person of whom they spoke; but he was no longer with the party, and they could hear his voice in the woods at some distance singing one of the old melodies of those times.
When they reached that door of the Manor House which opened into the park, Langford was about to take his leave, and proceed to the village to seek for a surgeon. Alice cast down her eyes as he proposed to do so; but Sir Walter grasped him by the hand, and led him gently in, saying, "In no house but mine, Captain Langford! Do you think, after having received such an injury in defending my daughter, that we would trust you to the attendance of an inn?"
Langford made but slight opposition. If there had been hesitation in his mind, and doubt at his heart, when he had gone forth that afternoon to wander by the side of the stream, both doubt and hesitation were by this time over; and, after a few common-places about giving trouble, he accepted Sir Walter's invitation, and became an inmate of one house with Alice Herbert.
We must now return for a short space of time to the spot beneath the park wall where we left one of the assailants of Alice Herbert stunned by a blow from the cudgel of John Graves. He lay there for some minutes perfectly motionless and perfectly alone. At length, however, the sound of a horse's feet, cantering lightly along the road was heard, and a goodly gentleman, dressed in a fair suit of black, and mounted on a dun fat-backed mare, made his appearance in the lane, and approached rapidly towards the spot where the discomfited wayfarer lay.
The good round face of the new comer was turned up towards the sky, calculating whether there was light enough left to admit of his reaching Uppington in safety, or whether he had not better pause, and sleep at the little neighbouring town; and the first thing that called his attention to the object in his path was his dun mare, who had never before shied at any object on earth, recoiling from the body of the robber so violently as to throw forward the good round stomach of the rider upon her neck and shoulders with a sonorous ejaculation of the breath.
"Ugh! Gad's my life! who have we here?" exclaimed Master Nicholas, the clerk of the collector at Uppington, whose saddle-bags were in truth the tempting object which had brought forth the gentlemen of the road, when they had been unseasonably diverted from their purpose by the appearance of Alice Herbert--"Gad's my life, who have we here?" and, dismounting from his mare, with charitable intent, he bent down over the stranger.
There were two or three particulars in the sight that now presented itself which made the heart of the collector's clerk beat rather more rapidly than was ordinary. In the first place the stranger had in his hand a drawn sword, in the next place a discharged pistol might be seen lying within a foot of his nose, the sand was stained with blood hard by, and in the countenance of the prostrate man, the collector's clerk, who was a great physiognomist, discovered at once all the lines and features of a robber. The good feelings of the Samaritan vanished from his bosom as soon as he had made this discovery, and, stealthily creeping away, as if afraid of waking a sleeping lion, the gentleman in black regained his mare's back, made her take a circuit round the little green, and, riding on as hard as he could to the country town we have described in the commencement of this book, sent out a posse of people to take charge of the body of the stunned or defunct robber.
Before this detachment reached the spot, however, the personage it sought was gone. Shortly after the clerk had passed, he had began to recover, and speedily regained his legs, looking about him with some degree of wonder and amazement at the situation in which he found himself. Whilst busy in recalling all that had passed, the sound of some one singing met his ear, and, in another minute the head and shoulders of John Graves appeared above the park paling. The half-witted man saw that the robber was upon his feet again, and without any hesitation, he proceed to clamber over the fence, and approach his former antagonist.
"I have come to apprehend thee!" cried the madman, laying his hand boldly upon the collar of the robber's vest. Strange to say, the freebooter not only suffered him so to take hold of him, but very probably might have even gone with him like a lamb to the slaughter, so much was he overpowered by surprise, and so little did he imagine that such an act would be performed without some power to support it, had not two or three horsemen at that moment come galloping down the lane as hard as they could ride. A single glance showed the captive of John Graves that there was an infinite accession of strength on his side. He accordingly twisted himself out of his mad antagonist's grasp in a moment, and prepared to lay violent hands upon him in return. Silly John, however, seemed by this time entirely to have forgotten his purpose of arresting the robber; and looking round him as the others came up, with an air of wonder, indeed, but not of alarm, he muttered, "More foxes! more foxes!"
The worthies by whom he was surrounded, in the meantime held a sharp consultation, of which he seemed to be the object; but at length one of them exclaimed, "Come along, come along! Bring him with you, and do what you like with him afterwards. If you stay disputing here, you will have the whole country upon you."
After a moment's hesitation, the plan proposed was adopted, and two of the robbers, seizing upon John Graves, dragged him along between them, at a much quicker rate of progression than was at all agreeable to him. After the first ten or twelve steps he resisted strenuously, and showed a disposition to be vociferous, which instantly produced the application of a pistol to his head, with a threat of death if he did not keep silence. He was quite sufficiently sane to fear the fate that menaced him; and the sight of the pistol had an immediate effect both upon his tongue and his feet, which now moved rapidly onward. The paths pursued by his captors were as tortuous as might well be, and the lane which had been the scene of their exploits was quitted almost immediately. For nearly an hour they hastened on as fast as they could drag the half-witted man along; but at length, much to his relief, the whole party stopped before a small lonely house on the edge of a wide common. There was a tall pole, with a garland at the top, planted before the door; and a bush hung above the lintel, giving notice to all whom it may concern that entertainment for man, at least, was to be found within. The sound of the strangers' arrival, in a moment drew out the landlord of the place, who seemed not at all surprised to see the company which visited his house at that late hour; and his own pale-brown countenance bore, in its hawk-like features, an expression very harmonious with the calling of his guests.
"Quick! take the horses up to the pits," he said, speaking to the boy of all work, who appeared round the corner; and shading the candle which he carried in his hand from the wind. "Why, Master Hardie, who have you got there? By my life, it is Silly John! What, in the devil's name, did you bring him here for?"
"Why, Master Guilford," replied one of the men, but not he to whom he spoke, "here's Hardy and Wiley have got themselves into a pretty mess. They would go out against the Captain's orders to try a bit of business on a private account, and they have got more than they bargained for, I take it. Here is Hardie with a cut in his neck, which has made him bleed like an old sow pig; and Wiley was left for dead by a blow of this same fellow's cudgel whom we have got here. Hardie came up for us two upon the downs, or else it is likely Wiley would have been in the pepper-pot at Uppington by this time; for we caught his horse half a mile up the green lane."
This conversation had taken place while the party was alighting; but no sooner was that operation concluded than the landlord pressed them to come in quickly, and Silly John was hurried by them into a large room behind, with a long deal table, and several settles and benches, for its sole furniture, if we except a polished sconce over the chimney, from which a single candle shed its dim and flickering rays. Underneath the light, with his two arms leaning on the table, and his head resting again upon them, the curls of the fair hair falling over the sleeves of his coat, and his face hidden entirely, sat the boy Jocelyn, whom we have before mentioned; and the gang of plunderers had been in the room several minutes before he was aware of their presence, so sound was the slumber in which he was buried.
"Hark ye, Master Doveton!" said the landlord, as soon as the door was shut, and addressing the man who had given him an account of his companions' adventure; "hark ye! I think it a very silly thing of you to bring this fellow up here."
"Why, we did not know what else to do with him, Guilford," answered the other. "Wiley wanted to shoot him as soon as he heard that it was his cudgel which had beaten about his head so foully."
"You shall do no harm to him in my house, Master Doveton," replied the other; "the man is a poor innocent, whom I have known this many a year, and I won't have him hurt."
"Thank you, Master Guilford, thank you!" exclaimed the poor fellow, as he heard this interposition in his favour. "These foxes have almost twisted my thumbs off. Do not let them hurt me, Master Guilford, and I'll give you the crooked sixpence out of my tobacco-box."
"You see, Guilford," replied Doveton, while one or two others crowded round to hear the consultation, "the thing is we risk this fellow betraying us. He has seen all our faces, and could, I dare say, swear to us any where."
"What signifieshisswearing?" demanded the landlord; "he is as mad as a March hare; nobody will believe his swearing."
"Ay, but he may give such information as will lead them to ferret us out," replied another of the gang; "now we do not want to hurt the man, but he must be got out of the way somehow."
"He sha'n't be got out of the way by foul means, howsoever, Master Doveton," replied the landlord, whose new character of protector was pleasant to him. "Come: nonsense! make him sit down and drink with you, and he'll forget all about it. He'll sing you as good a song as any man in the country; and, if he promises not to tell anything he has seen, you may be quite sure of him."
"Truth--truth, Master Guilford," cried the object of their discourse. "If my godfathers and godmothers at my baptism had known what they were about they would have called me Truth. Why not Truth as well as Ruth? I had a sister they called Ruth, though she never found out a Boaz, poor girl! but died without being a widow--how could she, when she was never married? If I had been married to Margaret Johnson myself, I should not have gone mad, you know; but I always tell truth. Did anybody ever hear me tell a lie in my life?"
So he rambled on, while the friendly landlord busied himself in hastily setting out the table in the midst for the coming entertainment of his worthy guests; and, at the same time, lent a sharp ear to the consultation which they held together concerning the madman. That consultation was not of a nature to satisfy him entirely; for, though it seemed that the party were willing to follow his counsel so far as keeping poor Silly John to drink with them, a word or two was spoken of its being easy to do what they liked with him when he was drunk, which did not at all please Master Guilford.
As he went round and round the table, however, setting down a cup here, and a platter there, he gave the boy Jocelyn a sharp knock on the elbow, which roused him from his sleep; and, the next time he passed, the landlord whispered a word in his ear. The boy took no particular notice at the moment, but rubbed his eyes, yawned, spoke for a moment to Doveton and the rest, and then disappeared from the room.
Large joints of roast meat soon graced the board; and the hall assumed very much the appearance of the palace of Ulysses, in the days of the suitors; except that, in all probability, it was a little more cleanly, and that the beef was not killed at the end of the table. Silly John was made to sit down between the two men, Hardcastle and Wiley, who were certainly not his greatest friends; but they, nevertheless, loaded his platter with food, which he devoured with a wonderful appetite, and filled his cup with ale from a tankard called a black jack, which circulated freely till supper was over.
The gentlemen into whose society he was thrown, however, were not of a class to rest satisfied with even the best old humming ale; and while one body of them demanded the implements and materials for making punch, another called for a pitcher of Burgundy, which, notwithstanding the size, character, and appearance of the house, was produced as a matter of course. John Graves had his ladleful from the bowl, and his glassful from the pitcher; and Doveton, who was beginning to get merry, and eke good-humoured in his cups, insisted upon having one of the songs the landlord had so much vaunted. The madman required no pressing; the very name of music was enough for him; and with a full sonorous voice, and memory which failed not in the slightest particular, he began an old song, one of the many in praise of punch.
"Now I will sing you a song in return, Master John," cried the rough-featured fellow called Hardcastle, who had been one of the assailants of Alice Herbert.
"Why, Hardie, thou canst never sing to-night," replied Doveton. "Thou canst never sing to-night, with the slit in the weasand thou hast gotten there. It will let all the wind out, and thy song will be like the song of a broken bellows or bursten bagpipe."
"Never you mind that, Doveton," replied the other; "my song shall be sung, if the devil and you stood at the door together; a pretty pair of you!" and he accordingly proceeded to pour forth, in a voice of goodly power, but very inferior in melody to that of the madman, a song well suited to the taste of his auditors:--
THE WATERY MOON.The wat'ry moon is in the sky,Looking all dim and pale on high;And the traveller gazes with anxious eye,And thinks it will rain full soon:And he draws his cloak around him tight,But if I be not mistaken quite,He will open that cloak again to-nightBeneath the wat'ry moon.The wat'ry moon is sinking low,The traveller's beast is dull and slow,And neither word, nor spur, nor blowWill bring him sooner boon.But the saddle-bags are heavy and full,And all too much for a beast so dull,Up this steep shady hill to pull,Beneath the wat'ry moon.The wat'ry moon is gone to bed;The traveller on his way has sped;The horse seems lighter the road to tread,And he'll be home very soon;But with a young man he met on the hill,Who lightened his load with right good will,Hoping often to show the same kindness still,Beneath the wat'ry moon.
The wat'ry moon is in the sky,Looking all dim and pale on high;And the traveller gazes with anxious eye,
And thinks it will rain full soon:
And he draws his cloak around him tight,But if I be not mistaken quite,He will open that cloak again to-night
Beneath the wat'ry moon.
The wat'ry moon is sinking low,The traveller's beast is dull and slow,And neither word, nor spur, nor blow
Will bring him sooner boon.
But the saddle-bags are heavy and full,And all too much for a beast so dull,Up this steep shady hill to pull,
Beneath the wat'ry moon.
The wat'ry moon is gone to bed;The traveller on his way has sped;The horse seems lighter the road to tread,
And he'll be home very soon;
But with a young man he met on the hill,Who lightened his load with right good will,Hoping often to show the same kindness still,
Beneath the wat'ry moon.
Scarcely had Hardcastle done his song, amidst great applause on the part of his companions, when a step was heard in the neighbouring passage, which made the whole party start and look in each other's faces. The next moment, however, the door was opened, and the personage of whom we have already spoken more than once, under the title of Franklin Gray, stood amongst them. It was very clear that he was an unexpected and not a very welcome guest at that moment; but, at the same time, the whole of the fraternity who occupied the hall, immediately put on the most agreeable look in the world, and strove to appear delighted with his coming. His brow was somewhat cloudy, indeed, but his bearing was frank and straightforward; and sitting down in a chair which had been placed for him with busy haste by the others, he fixed his eyes sternly upon the man who had suffered from the cudgel of Silly John, demanding, "What is all this I hear, Wiley?"
The personage to whom he spoke hesitated to reply, bit his lip, tried to frown, and to toss his head; and, before he had made up his mind what to say upon the occasion, the one who had been called Doveton answered for him.
"I believe, Captain," he said, "the best way when one has been in the wrong is to own it, and to tell the truth. Now, we have all, more or less, been wrong, I believe. Wiley, there, heard that Master Nicholas, the clerk of the collector at Uppington, was coming along the green lane this evening with all the receipts, and he thought it would be a good sweep for us all if we could get the bags. He asked us all to go, but only Hardcastle would have a hand in it, though the rest of us promised to exercise our horses upon the hill above, and come down if they were likely to be caught. Well, they fell in with a young lady first, and they thought they might as well have her purse too--"
Franklin Gray set his teeth hard, but said nothing; and Doveton, who saw the expression on the other's face, went on--"It was very wrong, I know, Captain Gray--quite contrary to your orders, to do anything of the kind; and more especially to attack a woman, which you spoke of the other day. But, however, temptation, you know, Captain, temptation will get the better of us all, at times. As I was saying, however, some one came to help the lady, with this poor silly fellow; and Hardcastle got a cut in his neck that won't be well these ten days, and Wiley a broken head, which I hope will teach him better manners for the rest of his life."
The brow of Franklin Gray never relaxed its heavy frown, except at the moment when Doveton announced the corporeal evils which had befallen the two adventurers as a reward for their disobedience; and then a grim smile for a moment curled his lip. It passed away, however, instantly, and he demanded, looking at Wiley, "Do you know who it was that came to the lady's help?"
"Oh! I marked him well enough," replied Wiley; "I shall not forget him; and, if ever the time comes----" The rest of the sentence was lost between his teeth; but he went on in a louder tone immediately after, adding, "He is one of your good friends, Captain Gray. I have seen you walking with him twice; and I think he might have known better than interrupt a gentleman in his occupations. We should not have hurt the young woman. What business was it of his?"
"The only pity is," said Franklin Gray, coolly, "that he did not send a bullet through your head."
"He has got one in his own shoulder," said Wiley, doggedly; "for I saw the ball strike, and I hope it may do for him."
"If he chance to die of it," said Gray, in the same calm, stern tone, "I will blow your brains out! Remember what I say, Master Wiley: you know me! Nay, a word more. When we joined together, and came down here, it was for a particular purpose, and you all swore an oath to obey my directions, and submit to my laws for the next three months. You and Hardcastle have scarcely been a fortnight with me, but you break your oaths; and when I especially told you not to enter into any petty enterprise, because we had a greater in hand, which you would ruin if you did, you go and disgrace yourselves by attacking a girl. Now it seems that you have received some punishment in the very act, and therefore I shall inflict no other; but be warned, both of you! I am not a man to be trifled with; and if once more either of you disobey, be sure that I will then be as severe as I am now lenient. Can any one tell," he continued, "who the lady was that was attacked by them? I can only suppose that it was old Sir Walter's daughter."
"Just so! just so!" cried Silly John Graves, from the other end of the table; "it was pretty Mistress Alice Herbert, and good Mrs. Alice Herbert, too, which is better than pretty: and you too, seem to be good, which is better than brave--very good, indeed, for a fox, and a leader of foxes. I vow and protest you have read them a homily as fair as any in the book; and now pray let me go, for I have sung them a song such as they won't hear again in a hurry."
"Why have you brought him hither?" continued Franklin Gray, in a sharp tone, without making any reply to John Graves's observation. "Was it to end folly by madness, and conclude your own disobedience by insuring its own punishment?"
It took some time to explain to the leader of the band the motives which had induced them to bring the half-witted fellow thither, and how he had been found busy in the laudable occupation of arresting Wiley when the rest of the party came to the rescue.
"And therefore," exclaimed Gray, interrupting the speaker, "because he was likely to recognise Wiley, and bring him to the gallows, Master Wiley persuaded you to drag him up here, that he may recognise us all, and bring us to Tyburn along with him. It was worthy of you, Master Wiley."
"You are wrong for once, Captain," said Wiley; "if I had had my wits, I would have taken care that he should recognise no one. Dead men tell no tales, I said then; and I say so still."
"They tell tales that are heard long years after!" replied Franklin Gray, with melancholy sternness. "Ay! and often, when time has flown, and the hot blood has become cool, and the black hair grey, and the strong limbs feeble, and easy competence has soothed regret, and either penitence or pleasure has stilled remorse; I tell ye, my masters, that often then, in the hour of security, and tranquillity, and luxury, the avenger of blood needlessly spilt--the avenger, who has slept so long--will awaken, and the merest accident bring forth proof fit to lead us to shame, and condemnation, and death. No, no! I will deal with this man, but I must first go forth, and ascertain what are likely to be the consequences of this act of folly. In the mean time, Harvey, I leave him under your charge! See that no evil befal him, and keep as quiet as may be. No roaring, no singing, mark me! and, if possible, abstain from drink."
Thus saying, he left them: but returned much sooner than they had expected, and when he appeared was evidently much moved. His dark brow was gathered into angry frowns, and his bright eye flashed in a manner which made those who knew him best augur some sudden violence. He sat down at the table, however, and remained for a moment in silence, with his brow leaning upon his hand.
"I am foolish enough," he said, at length, "to follow the weak custom of the world, and be more angry at the bad consequences of an evil act than I was at the act itself: but I will not yield to such folly. What think ye, sirs? I find that the whole county is already in a stir against us on this bad business. There have been large parties of men from Uppington, scouring the lanes in every direction. Messengers have been sent out from the Manor to call a general meeting of the magistrates for to-morrow. There is foolish Thomas Waller and silly Matthew Scrope, and all the men who are likely to be the most active and violent against us, called to consult at the Talbot; and nothing is to be done but for each one of us to take his own way out of the county till the storm has blown over. Let us all meet this day week at Ashby. That is seventy miles off; and we can there see how to pass the time till we can return here, and pursue our great enterprise in safety. But one word more. We are all men of honour; and, if any of us should chance to fall into the hands of the enemy, we can die in silence: that is enough."
"But what is to be done with him?" demanded one or two of the fraternity, pointing to the unhappy lunatic; while, at the same time, some of the others came forward and whispered to their captain, apparently on the same subject, with somewhat sinister looks. But Gray replied, sternly, "No! I say, no! Leave him to me: I know him well, and he may be trusted. I shall remain a day, or perhaps two, behind you. Now to horse, and depart, but one by one."
The tone in which he spoke courted no reply; and the band quitted the room, every man according to his own peculiar manner of doing such things; for there is as much art in quitting a room as in entering one, though the first is much more important as an evolution. However, one walked straight out, without saying a word to anybody; one spoke for a few minutes with a companion, and then, suddenly turning, passed through the door; one entered into a conspiracy with another to go out conversing with each other; one stayed a moment to empty the remains of the tankard into a large cup, and drink it off at a draught; and another (Doveton) went up to Gray, shook him by the hand, wished him well, and told him he was very sorry that he had even connived at Wiley's scheme. The last was the only one who, in fact, suffered to appear the feelings which affected all the others, and embarrassed them in their exits. They all felt they had been wrong, with the exception of him who emptied the tankard; they all felt that Gray had just cause to be angry and indignant; but one feeling or another--pride, vanity, shyness, and many others, keep nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand from opening their lips under such circumstances. It is only the thousandth who candidly and straightforwardly walks up to the truth, and says, "I am sorry I have done wrong."
At length the room was left untenanted by any but Franklin Gray and his half-witted companion, who sat twirling his thumbs at the table, apparently lost to the recollection of what was passing around him. He was roused, however, by the voice of Gray pronouncing his name, and found the keen dark eye of the Robber fixed intently upon him.
"John Graves," said Gray, "do you know what those men pray me to do with you? They say that if I let you go, you will betray what you have seen this night, lead people to the places where we meet, or give evidence against us if ever we are in trouble; and they say that the only way to avoid this is, to silence your tongue for ever."
"No, no, no!" cried the poor man, fully awakened to his situation by such words; "pray don't! pray don't! I will never tell anything about it, as I hope for God's mercy, and that he will restore my wits in another world. Wits? I have not got wits enough to tell anything; besides, I won't, indeed I won't."
"If you will swear," said Gray, "by all you hold dear, never to tell any one what you have seen to-night; never to point any one of us out, by word, or look, or gesture, as men you have seen do this or that; never to lead any one to this our place of meeting."
"I will! I do!" cried the madman, solemnly; "I will betray you in no respect--"
"So far, so good," answered Gray; "but that is not all. I give you your life, when every voice amongst us but my own was for taking it; and with it you must promise, if ever I call upon you, to do me a piece of service."
The other gazed earnestly in his face, seeming, by a painful effort, to gather together all his remaining fragments of mind, to cope with one, who he feared was trying to lead him astray by the bribe of life. "What is it," he demanded; "what is it I am to do? I will break none of the commandments. I will neither rob nor murder, nor help to rob, or murder. Ah, man! remember, though perhaps I am crazy, as people say, I have a soul to be saved as well as others. If it must be, I will die sooner than do these things."
"I require no such things at your hands," replied Gray, moved a good deal by his companion's earnestness. "I may only require you to guide me on my way in a moment of difficulty; to lead me by the paths which, I am told, no one knows so well as you do, and, perhaps, to guide me into a house--"
"Not to take other men's goods!" cried Graves. "No, never! Guide you I will, in moments of difficulty; lead you I will, when you want it, but not to commit a crime, for then I am a sharer."
"What I shall ask you." said Gray, solemnly, "is to commit no crime. My purpose shall be to take no man's goods, but rather to restore to him who is deprived of it that which is his own."
"Swear to that!" exclaimed the other, "and I will lead you anywhere."
"I swear it now!" answered Gray; "and remember that, having sworn it, I shall never ask you to do anything but that which you now agree to do, and in consideration of which I give you your life. No questions, therefore, hereafter, even were I to ask you to lead me into the heart of Danemore Castle."
The madman laughed loud. "There should be none!" he answered; "for I know why you go."
"Indeed!" said Gray, with a smile; "but it is enough that you are willing. I trust to your word in everything, and doubt not that you will keep it to the letter. Hast thou any money, poor fellow?"
"Nothing but my crooked sixpence in my tobacco-box," replied the man, looking ruefully in his interrogator's face. "Pray, do not take that from me: it and I are old friends."
"I would rather give than take from thee," replied his companion. "There is a guinea to keep thee warm; and now thou art at liberty to go, so fare thee well."
As he said this, he turned away, and left the room, and poor Silly John continued gazing upon the gold piece in his palm with evident delight, though he held some curious consultations with himself regarding the lawfulness of taking money from such hands as those which had bestowed it. In those consultations much shrewd casuistry was mingled with much simple folly; but, in the end, the counsel for the defence, as usual, got the better, and he slipped the gold piece into his pouch, chuckling. He then crept quietly out of the inn; and, although it may seem strange to attach ourselves go particularly to a personage of the class and character of Silly John, yet must we nevertheless follow him a little further in his wanderings.
By the time that all this had passed, it was near midnight; and, instead of taking his way back to the little town of Moorhurst, the half-witted man walked on, with his peculiar halting gait, towards the high dim moors that might be seen rising dark and wild against the moonlight sky, like the gloomy track of difficulties and dangers which we too often find in life lying between us and the brighter region, lighted up by hope, beyond. On the edge of the moor was a low shed and a stack of fern, which the poor fellow must have remarked in some of his previous peregrinations; for towards these he directed his steps at once, pulled down a large quantity of the dry leaves, dragged them into the shed, and, having piled them up in a corner, nestled down therein, though not without having addressed a prayer and a thanksgiving towards the God whom, in all his madness, he never forgot. We will not inquire whether that act of adoration was couched in wild and wandering terms, whether it was connected or broken, reasonable or distracted--it was from the heart, and we are sure it was accepted.
By daylight he was upon his way, and an hour's walk brought him into the deep woods that backed the splendid dwelling of Lord Harold and his father, which was known in the country by the name of "The Castle;" for very few of the good folks round had ever seen any other building of the kind, and it was therefore "their castle,"par excellence, It was by the back way that Silly John now approached the mansion, seeming quite familiar with all the roads and paths about the place; but before he reached the spot where the wood, cut away, afforded an open space, in which were erected the principal offices, he was met by a person, at the sight of whom he bent down his head, and glanced furtively up with his eye, like a dog who does not very well know whether it will be kicked or caressed.
The figure that approached him in the long dim walk was that of a tall thin woman, of perhaps fifty years of age, dressed in dark-coloured garments, exceedingly full and ample, with a sort of shawl of fine white lace pinned across her shoulders; while over a broad white coif, which she wore upon her head, was a black veil drawn close, and crossing under the chin. Her features were high and sharp, her eyes fine, and fringed with long black eyelashes, her lips thin and pale, her teeth very white, and her complexion, which must have been originally dark and troubled, now sallow, without the slightest trace of red in any part of the cheek. She did not frown, but there was a cold calmness about her compressed lips and tight-set teeth, and a piercing sharpness about her clear black eye, which rendered the whole expression harsh and forbidding. Although past the usual period of grace, yet she walked gracefully and with dignity, and bore every trace of having been a very handsome woman, though it was impossible to conceive that she had ever been a very pleasing one.
From the moment she saw him, her eye remained fixed upon Silly John, steadfastly, but not sternly: and he advanced towards her, crouching, as we have said, and sidling with a degree of awe which he would not have shown to the highest monarch on the earth from any reverence for mere external rank. But the sharp and seemingly cold decision of her character was exactly that which most strongly affects people in his situation; and "Mistress Bertha, the housekeeper of Danemore Castle," the servants used to declare, "could always bring Silly John Graves to his senses when she pleased." Although no smile curled her lip, and her countenance underwent no change, the tone of her voice, while she spoke the first few words, at once showed the half-witted man that he was not out of favour.
"Why, how is it, John," she asked, speaking with a very slight foreign accent, "how is it that you have not been up at the Castle for these six weeks?"
"Because I got my fill at the town and the Manor, Mistress Bertha," replied the other.
"Ay, that is it!" she exclaimed; "that is it! if every one would but say it. Men go for what they can get; and when they can get their fill at one place, they seek not another. The only difference between madmen and the world is, that madmen tell the truth, and the world conceals it."
"I always tell the truth," cried the half-witted man, caught by the sound of a word connected with one of his rooted ideas; "I always tell the truth; do not I, Mistress Bertha?"
"Yes; but you are only half mad," answered the housekeeper; "for you can sometimes conceal it too. But go in John; go into the Castle; and, if you go through the long back corridor below, you will find my little maid in the room at the end. Bid her give you the cold meat that Lord Harold left after his breakfast."
"After his breakfast!" cried the half-witted man. "He has breakfasted mighty early! But now--oh, I guess it; he has gone to London. I heard her tell him to go."
"Heard who tell him?" demanded Mistress Bertha, with an air of some surprise.
"Why, pretty Mistress Alice Herbert, to be sure," replied the other. "Did not I hear all they said as they came down the walk and through the woods?"
"Nay, then," said the housekeeper, smiling, as far as she was ever known to smile, "I suppose he's gone to buy the wedding ring, and have the marriage settlements drawn up. Methinks he might have told me, too."
"Nay, Mistress Bertha," replied the other, "no wedding rings! no marriage settlements! Mistress Alice is not for him!"
A slight flush came over the pale cheek of her to whom he spoke. "Not for him!" she exclaimed! "Does she refuse him, then!"
"Yes, to be sure," replied John Graves; "every man is refused once in his life. I was refused myself, for that matter; but I was wise, and resolved that I would never be refused again."
"Art thou lying, or art thou speaking truth?" demanded Mistress Bertha, fixing her eyes sternly upon him. "Did she refuse him?"
"Truth!" replied the man: "I always speak truth! She refused him, as sure as I am alive: nothing he could say would move her. I knew it very well, and I told him so before; but he would not believe me."
Bertha stood and gazed upon the ground for several minutes "I do believe," she said, speaking to herself, "I do believe that things possessed without right have a doom upon them, which prevents them from bringing happiness even to those who hold them, unconscious of holding them wrongly. Now is this poor boy, notwithstanding all his great wealth and high expectations, destined to be crossed in this long-cherished love, which was to make both himself and his father so happy! Poor youth! how long and deeply he has loved her! How his heart must have ached when I talked about her this morning! and shall I help to take from him anything he possesses?"
"We ought always to do what is right, Mistress Bertha," exclaimed the half-witted man, whose presence she had totally forgotten. "And both you and I know that right has not always been done."
"Out upon the fool!" exclaimed the housekeeper. "Hold thy mad tongue! Now darest thou prate of right and wrong, not having wit to keep thee from running thy head against a post! Get thee in before me! Thou shalt give the Earl an account of this refusal!"
John Graves slunk away before her flashing eye and angry words, like a cowed dog, looking ever and anon to the right and left, as if for some means to escape; but she kept him in view, following closely upon his steps till they both entered the large mansion before them.