"Come in, Ned, an you love me," I said. "If they see thee here all is done." Now I can give no good account of how it was achieved, remembering but confusedly that I did get my hands beneath his arms, and thereby pulled at him with a strength raised, I do think, for some few moments of time, by the mercy of God and my great fear, much above what by nature was in me; and he, as he was able, helping me, I did, in spite of the greatness of his shoulders, and the narrowness of the casement, with great silence and speed haul his long person head foremost into my chamber; and that was done but just as three of his pursuers, mounted on the horses they had pressed for the service, did gallop round the corner upon the grass. And I thanked God that I was burning no light within, else had they spied the soles of his great riding-boots, which yet rested upon the sill, while his head was on the floor, and I crouched beside him to hide the whiteness of my bedgown. To this day there is the mark of his spur upon the sill of that casement—a sort of dotted line, made as he did twist himself over on the floor the better to drag the long legs of him to the same level. Of the three that rode by beneath, it was afterwards supposed that they did further scatter the deer that Ned's horse had roused from sleep, each pursuing in the darkness a quarry of his own, which he took for the nag that was now well on his riderless way to Royston.
Now my first motion was to laugh loud and long, which with some wisdom I did check. Then I would have wept, but that desire too was speedily overcome, as for the first time since the pebble struck my window I remembered how I was clad, and again thanked God there was not even a rushlight in the chamber to show me so unmaidenly. But we were not quit of Kirke's men for the three that were so vainly and unseasonably chasing our deer; for, as I turned to a closet to take down a long cloak to throw over me, there arose a clamor of knocking and shouting at the great door below. For all that has been told since first we heard their horses was the happening of seconds fewer than the minutes spent in reading it.
"Where are you, mistress?" said Ned, now risen to his feet, and so standing between me and the window that I could make out the blackness of his shape against the thinner darkness without.
"You must not speak, dear Ned," I answered, laying my hand on his arm to show him where I stood.
"I cannot see you even yet," said he, as he felt my hand. "But now you were all white."
With which I was speedily all red with shame, and whispered: "Hush, Ned, hush! Even now you are in great peril."
"'T is no matter for that," he said. "The peril is for you, mistress. I did wrong to enter here, and must go, one way or the other."
And with that he looked warily from the window, but speedily drew back, having seen in that brief moment, by a faint gleaming of the moon through a thinness of the clouds, a sentry that moved to and fro beneath, musket on shoulder. And when he had told me in the lowest whisper what he had seen, he said: "So it must needs be by the door." And as he spoke we heard the clatter of bar and chain below, telling that the enemy was admitted among us. So he would have leapt from the window to take his chance with the sentry, rather than he should be so found closeted with me. But I would not, and ran between him and the window, saying low and quick that I would call aloud if he persisted. And since he knew me and the manner of voice I used to threat the thing I would surely do (for my crying out in such case had made things no worse for him, but only full of shame for me that called), he yielded, asking me, What, then, should we do? Which before I could answer, I heard them striking upon a door in the same gallery where stood the room we were in, and the slumberous expostulation of Mr. Telgrove, who there inhabited. There was but one room between, and I felt our turn was near and that the bitterness of death must soon take hold on me unless I could think of a thing. And truly I think that never before, and but once since, did my mind think so many thoughts in so short a space and to so much purpose.
Press, closet, and chimney—nay, even the space beneath the bed—were swiftly tried in my mind, and discarded as harborage too little secure to shelter what in all the world I did best love. But at last the thought came, and with it I was no longer a maid shaking at approach of danger, but a general with a device of strategy that should repel the invader.
"Ned," I said, low and sharp, "will you do what I bid?"
"Ay, sweetheart—mistress, I would say," he replied, and in all my passion of fear and purpose of action I marvelled, as I had done since he came under my window, why he would ever style memistress.
Now, while we spoke beneath our breath, I had tied my handkerchief over his head, and knotted it under his chin. Then I pushed him to the side of the bed that was farther from the door, guiding him with my hands, and bidding him lie down while I should pull the covers over him. But, "Nay, that will I not," he said, with a perilous raising of the voice. "Had rather swing than save my neck by these means." And I, in despair, did clap my hand over his mouth, and said with great fury of passion I scarce knew what, and beat him with my fists, till he was sorry to see me so moved, and suffered me, of his old gentle kindness, to force him down, and, trembling, to drag blanket and quilt over him, which in the dark did so fall foul of sword-hilt and spur, that I had laughed had I not been heart-sick with the fear of his life. When he was covered I sat me upon his chest, and, as best I might in the dark, twisted his long curls, which, in the fashion of his father's youth, he would still wear in place of peruke (and I think there is not a beau in London that has a wig from Paris so fair as what grew on his dear head), into some sort of womanish knot to thrust up beneath the handkerchief that must serve for night-cap. The sitting on him was to keep him there till they began to knock at the door, when I knew the desire to shield my fame would keep him quiet to the end.
Heavy steps now drawing near, I spoke my last word to him: "When they come lie thus, with thy face from the door, and, prithee, Ned, breathe hard and heavily, as you were Betty after a great supper."
"Nay," said he, "I will not stay to play the fool like a mummer in a play-house."
"If you but so much as stir a finger," said I, "you will put me to open shame before the servants of the house and those wicked soldiers. I think you will not so use your old playmate, Ned."
And then, to set my heart beating yet more horribly, so that it seemed I should never be able to speak when the need came, the searchers reached our door and knocked upon it, yet, from something more of gentleness that was in this knocking than was used upon the door of my tutor, I gathered a little hope. At once I threw off my cloak and held my breath in eagerness of hearing all that passed without.
"I say my daughter lies in that chamber," said my father's voice, growing more clear as he limped painfully up the gallery after his unwelcome visitors. "She is sleeping, and it will serve no purpose to arouse her."
"That's my business," said a harsh voice in surly reply. "I will rouse whom I please, since I am master here."
Sir Michael's voice rose somewhat higher, while his utterance became slower and more severe, as he answered this fellow.
"You mistake," said he, "for none is master here save I alone. And I will tell you, Master Sergeant, that, though I have admitted you to my house in the hope to do His Majesty the King a service, I do not purpose to endure in this house any show of ill manners such as your regiment is commonly noised to show toward helpless yokels and misguided rebels."
The sergeant's voice was still surly, but had in it a degree more of respect, as he replied that Sir Michael talked a deal of doing His Majesty a service, but when they came hot on the track of a rebel who had slain one that held His Majesty's commission, and was not yet well cold, he fell at once to putting obstacles in the way; that he was informed by his scouts that the man was seen not half an hour back making for this house; that he did but wish to make thorough search for the young murderer, with all fit observance of respect for His Majesty's loyal subjects, and search every room in that house he would before he left it. And inside the chamber, when he heard that the man was indeed dead, poor Ned shuddered beneath the bedclothes, and I, sitting on the other side, did lay my hand upon him for comfort. At that time, when I knew nothing but the man was dead, I thought no ill of my friend for the killing. If Ned Royston should slay a man, why, to me, the man was better dead. Later, hearing the whole tale, I was like to have been jealous of little Prudence Emmet, for whom the man was killed. Yet I wondered not that he shuddered, for I had heard my father say that it does take an old soldier long years to forget the first shedding of blood.
I heard one tearless and hard kind of sob from the dear lad, while my heart was sore that I could not speak in consolation, and then gave ear to my father's answer to the sergeant, which was very calmly delivered: "That we shall see, Master Sergeant. I have held no mean rank in the armies of his late Majesty, King Charles I., from wounds received in whose cause I shall not be recovered this side the grave, from which you are to understand what manner of bearing I am wont to receive from inferiors in rank. Moreover, I am greatly at fault if I have not still some credit at Whitehall—enough, at least, Master Sergeant, to make me a safer friend than enemy. I shall thank you for a sight of your search-warrant."
To which the sergeant: "Indeed, Sir Michael, I have none. In these ill times, with so much treason abroad, we do not think much of a warrant. But I am under a great necessity in what I do. Our colonel is no man to take soft words as atonement for the death of an officer after his own heart. I must report in the town of Taunton at noon to-morrow, and I dare not take thither this story of murder without the murderer. You talk well of warrants, sir, but there is none of us but fears Colonel Kirke worse than the law."
And on the other side of the door I did most heartily agree with this sergeant of Queen Catharine's Regiment of Foot. But my father continued: "I perceive, sergeant, that you are a man of some parts and education. Let us meet each other thus—I to summon my daughter, and, after a space, you and I alone of all these to enter the chamber." At which words my heart did sink to the place where the shoes had been but for my resolve, at any cost to nicer feeling, of showing unprepared.
And, the sergeant heartily consenting, Sir Michael himself rapped upon the door, and I still keeping silence (knowing I must open, yet not thinking it to be wise too soon to hear him, when I had been deaf to the sergeant), he next tried the latch, and, finding the door fast, knocked louder, and very gently called my name. Whereat I groaned, sighed, and cried, as one waking from sleep, "What is to do? Who is it, and what is wanted?"
And my father answered, "It is I, your father. Cloak yourself, Philippa, and open to me."
Whereupon I made my first mistake; for, to the end they might think I had heard nothing but my father's summons, I left my cloak lying upon the bed, and ran in my white gown, and barefoot, to the door, and suddenly flung it wide, when the glare of the lights that several did carry gave me the appearance of blinking with sleep the most naturally in the world. Then, putting a hand before my eyes to keep off the suddenness of the light, I said, with a little sharpness: "Well, sir, why am I roused? Does the house burn, or are Kirke and his Lambs at the door?"
And my father replied, with the first note of trepidation in his voice that I had ever heard, "Hush, child! All is well. There is no fire."
But I, resolved to show no dread, and now well launched in my comedy of deceit (for which, indeed, I was little fit, being reared in the utmost strictness of truth-telling), made answer I had rather the fire than Kirke, who would be the harder to sate. Then, taking my hand from my t eyes, and feigning now first to perceive the soldiers and other company, cried out as one mightily abashed to be so looked upon, and swiftly part-closed the door, and, in a voice whose shaking was easy to compass, asked who were all these with him. And he told me that I need not fear; that they were but some of the King's soldiers in search of a murderer, and that none should enter my chamber but himself and the sergeant of the party. So I left the door, seeing that they must enter, and ran to the bed and lifted my cloak, flung it over my shoulders, and turned again to face them; when I perceived that the sergeant, on my leaving the door, had thrust it wide to watch my movements. So I bade him and my father come in, begging at the same time that they would have a care not to arouse Betty, who was that night sharing my bed.
"And why," asked Sir Michael, "is Betty here? You do use to lie alone."
Nor were the words out of his mouth before I saw that he regretted them, and that he knew, whether from my face, or from the unwonted presence of Betty in my chamber, or from another cause that I did not then understand, that all was not well. He sat him down heavily upon the little settle at the bed's foot, with a countenance full of perplexity and astonishment. But the mischief was done, and I must find a reason for the presence in my bed of her who was safely snoring in her own above our heads. So I told him that I had been loath to sleep alone this night for the fear I had of the things that were afoot in Drayton village, and had begged Betty to keep me company. And with that the sergeant, who had, while we spoke, been peering about the dark corners of the room, turned and sharply enquired of me why this Betty that lay there in the bed must not be aroused. "Because," said I, taking refuge in the unreason of a woman's anger (for indeed I knew not what to say, and all seemed to go awry from what I had intended), "because I will not have it done. Is it become a custom with officers of the King to invade by force, and at dead of night, the sleeping chambers of ladies?"
"Madam," he answered, somewhat abashed as I thought, "I am only a poor sergeant that would do his duty to his officer. If you will answer my questions, I will the sooner be gone."
In this gentle manner of taking it I saw some hope, and answered him thus: "Poor Betty was my nurse, sergeant, and I love her dearly; and she hath all day been afflicted with a most violent toothache, and 't is but a little while since I gave her a great draught of a most sovereign remedy—an electuary of poppy-seed—by which she is eased of her pain and now fallen asleep." And in the manner the most imploring I could compass I did here raise pitiful eyes to his face. "I do perceive, sir," I continued, "I had no need to be angry, but oh! I do pray you will not waken the poor woman; for a sudden waking from a slumber procured by that drug is very harmful. Search all the place—the closets, presses, and beneath the bed; though, in good sooth, I do not know how you should think to find here any murderer."
The sergeant smiled with a certain grimness, and asked was it not strange I should seek comfort for my fears in the company of one that was sick of a toothache; whereon I replied that Betty sick was better than many another whole.
"And were you sleeping, madam, when we first called upon you to open?" says the sergeant.
"'T was my father's voice aroused me," I answered, wondering whither he would lead me with his questioning.
"And had you then slept long?" asked he.
"Since ten o'clock, I do suppose," I replied.
"Yet your cloak, that you now wear, lay, until we were about entering, there upon the bed," said he, with a meaning glance of which the significance was wholly hidden from me.
"Well, what if it did?" said I.
"It lay, madam," he replied, "above the turned-down bedcover."
I now was near at an end of my strategy, but my dear father came at once to the rescue, saying that the sergeant was a clever fellow, but what in the devil's name did he argue from that?
"That young Mistress Drayton has lately risen from her bed and covered herself with that same cloak she now wears, but wore not when she did now open to you, Sir Michael," said the man, with some acuteness, indeed, but not before I had my answer ready for him, and something over and above a mere answer.
"Why, indeed, you speak truth, sergeant," I said; and I had hope so great in what was next to come that I was enabled to laugh with much naturalness as I spoke; "you are a witch for certain, sir; for though I did forget the thing for a moment, having since slept, and being with sleep yet not a little confused, it is true that I did rise once before from my bed, when I fetched this cloak from the closet there, and did look from the window——"
"To what end did you do that, madam," said the sergeant, interrupting me, "on so dark a night?"
"That I cannot say," I answered, "for I was half in sleep when I rose. But I think, sergeant, that I can tell you something of the man you seek. For as I looked forth there came a man from the way of the deer park, and in a little gleam of the moon that did then shine out for a moment I saw him, and that he was mounted on a dapple-gray horse. And as he came he stopped as if he heard a sound that he feared. And then he turned his nag in such haste, and made off the way he had come with such speed, that I had no time to mark his face; but I saw that he did lose his hat in turning, nor stayed to recover it. And not long after him came from the front of the house three men, mounted, who followed after him. But as they passed the moon was again clouded, and I can tell nothing of them nor their horses. And after this I got to bed again, and I must suppose," I said, looking doubtfully at the bed, "that I slept again, the night being so warm, without drawing over me the covers whereon I had laid the cloak."
"Truly, 't is warm," said the sergeant. "But I ask your pardon, madam, for thus discussing private matters. Your story is a plain one, and may help to the fellow's capture." And then he took some steps towards the door, and I thought the danger was over, and I had much ado to keep my countenance from showing the sudden lightening of my heart. But even as he was going some devil of raillery, or cruelty, prompted him to turn and say that in his company he was counted an excellent tooth-drawer, and that he would just have a look at poor Betty's mouth. For a moment I could not speak, but turned to the bed as if to protect my old nurse, perceiving, as I turned, a movement as of a hand beneath the quilt; and I knew that Ned was feeling for his sword-hilt, and waiting to be discovered. At that I laid my hand upon his shoulder, and, finding again my voice, "Be still, dear Betty," I cried, "there is no need of rising yet. And I do pray you, Master Sergeant, that you will go now, when I have so fully told you everything. Her poor tooth will again be raging if she be disturbed." And this I said so pleadingly that the man was quite subdued, saying, with more of kindness than he had yet used: "Indeed, madam, I spoke but in jest, for which I ask your pardon."
And so he left the room, closing the door behind him, and I turned to regard my father. But before I could reach him to tell in his ear the reason of it all, and who it was indeed that there lay in the bed, he rose from the seat he had not left since his entering, and I at once knew why he had sat so close. For he lifted from the settle, crushed out of all shape by his sitting upon it, Ned's hat, which, not finding to be on the floor, I had thought to be fallen upon the grass below.
Then did we look hard and long in each other's eyes, and my father thrust out his thumb towards the bed with a gesture of questioning, and I answered him with one word, so softly breathed that his eyes must needs take the office of his ears. Then he raised the hat.
"He must find it below," he said, and, stealing to the window, of which the casement still stood open, he leaned out, and, seeing the sentry at the far end of his beat, flung out the hat softly with a skimming motion, so that it fell upon the grass at some distance from the house, and almost without sound. And returning from the window he found Ned standing upright, freed from the kerchief I had bound on his head, bearing in his countenance the flush of a strong indignation; for he felt, as he has explained to me, that the shame of that ignominious concealment would never leave him. But the flush died speedily away on my father's holding out his hand, in silence, indeed, but with his old frank and kindly smile. They grasped each the other's with a great clasp, and then Sir Michael whispered: "We must get him out of this," and went out at the door.
And as he closed it we knew, by the voices without, that he had encountered the sergeant in the gallery.
Sir Michael carried with him the one candle he had brought into my chamber, so we stood in the dark as if turned to stone by the sound of the sergeant's voice without, most horribly dreading that he would again enter, and all our work be undone. How long this lasted I do not know, but at last we heard him and my father walk together down the gallery to the stairhead, conversing in subdued tones. Sir Michael told him, as I did afterwards learn, that I had been mightily frightened and disturbed, and was now at his desire composing myself again to sleep. And the man replied that, as far as my chamber was concerned, he was satisfied, since he had discovered complete warranty of the tale I had told in the hat he then held in his hand, having found it where I had said it should lie. He added that he well knew the stigma of cruelty lying upon his regiment, yet he, for one, was vastly sorry that matters had so fallen as to discompose a young gentlewoman that was, he believed, the most beautiful and kind-hearted in the kingdom. And I have often thought of it as a thing passing strange that the first tribute I received in my life to the charms of my person did proceed from a man to whom I had most shamelessly lied, he being one of a company famed in all the world for wickedness and cruelty. And I have prayed to God that what good there was in this man might not be utterly cast away.
So, while we two, Ned and I, sat almost silent above-stairs in the dark, striving to smother the sound of the passion of tears that had seized upon me, my father descended the stair with the sergeant, thinking soon to be rid of him and his men; but was speedily disappointed in finding that the man had no intention to abandon his search, although he showed his altered temper in putting himself at my father's orders, whether to continue at once his visitation of the house from garret to cellar, or to set strict guard upon all its approaches till morning, then to complete his survey in the better light.
"For," said he, throwing poor Ned's damaged hat upon the table of the great hall where they stood, "though we do know the rascal was without, and that your worship does not willingly harbor him, we have no testimony that he did not get in after he had lost his hat. Some soft-hearted kitchen-maid might well——"
"'T is enough said, sergeant," interrupted Sir Michael, resolving to put a good face upon his choice of the lesser evil; "I commend the acuteness of your judgment. It is indeed as much for my honor as yours that suspicion of harboring this fellow should be removed from my house as well as from myself and my daughter. Do you set at once a sufficient guard without to watch every door and window, and while you call into the hall here all that are not needed for that duty, I will rouse some of the fellows that sleep above, and see that you have good food and drink in place of the sleep you must lose. And I doubt not," he added, turning at the door, "such of you as remember Tangier will find my old Burgundy, that has been much praised by good judges, a better substitute for the wines of Spain and Portugal than our west-country ale."
Whereupon the sergeant, pleased with prospect of good cheer, went out to make disposition of his men, while my father again mounted the stairs, turning swiftly in his mind the subterfuge by which he purposed getting Ned Royston safely from the house. And indeed I think he did devise a scheme as cunning as any of those happy strokes of adroitness and dexterity for which in the old wars he was justly famous.
The soldiers being now below, and the few servants first roused sent to fetch food for the sergeant and his men, my father found the stairs and galleries deserted. Pausing at my door, he gently opened it, and hearing the sound of my half-stifled weeping he bid me not check it, saying that it fell well with his scheme.
"Do but as I bid you, my children," said he, "and in less than an hour the poor lad shall be on the road to Bridport; and with Skewbald Meg between his legs 't is pity of the horse and man that would catch him. I can give you no light, for the sentry that is below the window, but you, my little Phil, must make shift to cut away from him those unfashionable curls; and it is little matter for the dark, since the more raggedly you play the barber the better for him; also pull off his great boots, with the gay coat and the waistcoat, and when I return with the real Betty to take his place in the bed, where, I vow, I think she will sleep better than he, I will so clothe him and so raddle his face that his mother would not know him again; and if you must speak in the doing all this, let it be little and in the veriest of whispers." And at this my dear and most wise old father left us, saying aloud, as he shut the door, and with intent to be heard if any were spying upon him: "Get thee to sleep, child. There is no further cause of fear. None shall harm thee."
Silent as mice midway between cat and cheese we fell to doing all that he had bidden us. I was bitterly sorry for the curls, and for the cruel fashion in which my small shears did lop them, but said no word till all was done. And then we sat waiting in the dark, and Ned found my hand and held it, and whispered after a while that he had not yet seen my face; that he doubted it was greatly altered, even as he perceived my body was increased in stature. And he asked me had I grown beautiful as he was used to predict, and I could only answer that I did not think I was fully so foul to look upon as I had been. And he was about getting hot in reply, and even raising his voice a little to vow that I was never that, nor thought he meant I was, and he had for the moment quite forgot tomistressme, as hitherto since I had dragged him headlong through my window, when the door again opened to admit my father, dragging by the arm poor sleep-dazed, blanket-wrapped Betty, who was, I do suppose, from the brief glimpse I caught of her figure as my father did set his candle on the floor without the door, a strange and admirable spectacle. In the darkened room she was mightily amazed, and we must needs thrust her into the bed almost by force, and had well-nigh to gag her mouth before we might check the wheezy thunder that she honored with the delicate title of whispering. Indeed, all this part of our night's adventure had been vastly comical and mirth-provoking had not a life, tenderly dear alike to father and daughter, hung upon our secrecy and despatch. Now Sir Michael had brought with him along with Betty the cast-off clothes of one of the grooms that slept in the garret. And there, still in darkness, we contrived among us to habit Ned in them—foul old broken shoes, a mile too large, which I stuffed with such rags as would keep him from walking out of them; rough woollen stockings, none too clean; his own leathern breeches, which he said were much worn and covered with the dust of all his ride from Oxford, my father did let pass; but the fine long-cloth shirt he would in no manner concede, making him take in its place a filthy clout it was well we could not see as we pulled it over his shorn head. "For," said my father, "there is nothing will so play the traitor to a gentleman disguised as his own linen. The very fabric will still tell tales when the fairness of it has disappeared under the dirt of long use." And then all was done; Ned did take me for a little moment in his arms, when Sir Michael bade him to thrust a hand up the chimney to befoul it with soot, with which, he said, he would have him bedaub face and neck when they had again such light that it might be done in measure and fitness.
"Good-by, Mistress Phil," said he, and "Good-by, dear Ned," said I. My father here slipping quietly out to spy up and down the gallery, and holding the door to behind him, in that last moment I seized Ned's hand, not knowing it was the sooty one, and whispered in his ear: "Why will you be ever throwingmistressat me, dear? Am I not your old friend Phil?" And he: "I did but think, Phil, that so unceremoniously visiting your chamber at night-time, which you know is a thing I never purposed, did call for terms of address more formal than our usage of childhood." Which before I could answer, Sir Michael, satisfied that he was not observed, had him swiftly out in the gallery, my door was closed for the last time that night, and I fell weeping on the bed as if the sun should never shine again.
I slept none of that night, and much of it I wept. But, rising in the sheer idleness of fatigue, when the dawn was well advanced, and chancing to see my face in the mirror, I perceived that I had most plentifully streaked and smeared a tear-wet countenance with the blackness of the soot that had passed in our last moment together from Ned's fingers to mine. Now my eyes and cheeks presented doubtless a spectacle that had moved another to laughter. But from the eyes that alone beheld the figure of ridicule that I was, the thought of how I became so besmirched brought fresh tears, plentiful enough, in all conscience, to have washed it clean of all the grime that face ever carried. But I washed hands and face, and so back to bed, where, worn out, and by this tolerably secure of Ned's evasion, I fell asleep, nor awoke until I was roused somewhat past eight o'clock of the morning.
Meantime to the tale of that same evasion which was, as I supposed, well accomplished. To tell it briefly, my father bade him play the clown as best he could, and, after his face had been cunningly smeared with that same soot, had led him by the back stair to the kitchen; whence, after Sir Michael had joined the soldiers eating and drinking in the great hall, he was sent by the cook, who was in the secret, to bear a dish of some dainty to the company. This, as before arranged, he let fall with a great clatter, bringing Sir Michael down upon him in pretence of anger; who did there, with many a curse on his clumsiness, so cuff him about head and ears, that it set all the redcoats laughing. "Silly varlet!" quoth Sir Michael, "is the cook underhanded that such as you must be fetched from garden and stable to spoil our meat? I warrant men are hanged for less in these days."
To this the seeming yokel blubbered in reply that he did but wish a sight of the soldier gentlemen at meat, which he said in that broad and slurring speech of our country that he could ever from his childhood put on with exact faithfulness to nature. And just here one of the strangers' horses, neighing wearily without, where he was tied to a tree, "Get out," said my father, "and see to those horses. Put them in the stable, and, if there be not room for all, turn some of your own cattle to graze in the park." And as he was going out slowly dragging one loose shoe after the other, one of the soldiers flung a bone at him, and threatened to flog the coat off his back, and the skin to follow it, if he did not rub down and well feed and water each of their borrowed nags.
So to this task he went, with a hundred pounds in gold of my father's in his one pocket that was sound. And five horses he did groom and feed and lodge in that stable, turning three of Sir Michael's out of their places into the park. But one of these, that is, Skewbald Meg, a mare of great hardness of limb and lasting power of wind, though a mean and ewe-necked thing to the eye, he tied, when out of hearing of the sentry on that side of the house, to a tree that stood handy for the direction he must take. He then returned to the stable, and there contrived an appearance of business about the nags, while he concealed upon him a bridle, with which about his waist he at last, having left his lantern burning within, loitered down to Meg in the hollow, where in a trice she was bridled and mounted by as good a horseman and as ill-looking as ever bestrid her lean and mottled ribs. And how he fared in that ride of near upon twenty-five miles to Lyme, and how he was taken safely out of the country by sea, you shall hear when I am come to the letter that came to me out of Holland.
And here this episode of my life may be counted at an end. For my father, having pressed upon his guests both bottle and tankard, until each man made a pillow where his head did strike in falling, and having sent out copious flagons until the sentries lacked little of being in the same case, did in the leisure thus obtained so drill and instruct every waking soul in the house that it was a sure matter that all, in case of need, would have the same story to tell: as, that Sir Michael had no horses but what might now be seen upon the place; that any who thought he had a skewbald mare was vastly mistook; that the scullion that was so roundly cuffed and rated was a half-witted thing from the stable that had now run off in terror of the beating promised him the night before by one of the sergeant's men; and so forth. All that night, as I have said, my father came not near me, thinking there had been enough and to spare already done in that part of the house, and not wishing to arouse any suspicion that might, in the sergeant's muddled head, survive the fumes of the wine. But between eight and nine of the clock Sir Michael knocked loudly at my door, asking, so that all might hear if they would, how I did, had I slept, and so forth. Then in a little voice he bade me tell Betty to keep her bed, to remember she was yet very sick, and that I should hide Ned's boots, sword, and clothes betwixt the mattresses, where Betty's huge person should keep them safe. All this, said he, merely as safeguard against another visit to my room.
And very shortly thereafter arose a great cursing below, and a swearing of many horrible oaths by the sergeant, with low grumbling accompaniment of his men, as they rose from many a twisted posture of swinish slumber. When with sousing, brushing, and breakfasting they were again brought to some semblance of men, the futile search after him that was by this well out of their reach was begun. Nor did it cease till close on noon. Now, as the sergeant and his file of men passed along the gallery, when there was left no further corner into which they might thrust nose, eyes, or sword-point seeking for hidden softness of human flesh, some spirit of bravado did seize upon me, and I flung open the door of my chamber, where all morning I had kept pretence of nursing poor Betty, sick only of an ill temper to be kept a lig-a-bed against her will; and I called to the sergeant that he had not searched here by daylight, and that all was at his service, even poor Betty, being now awake; and he came to the door, and stood upon the threshold, looking in upon us while Betty sat up in the bed and glared upon him, fear and anger struggling for mastery in her broad countenance, and rendering it grotesquely terrible. Now I was clothed this time in fit manner, with gown and hair fresh and neat, and, spite of my sorrow at losing Ned and the terrors of the night just passed, I had a sense of triumph in my growing certainty of his escape that I think I scarce tried to keep from appearing in my countenance. For a moment he regarded me doubtfully, and then there sprang into his eye a light as of days when he had been other than he now seemed, and I thought he would have spoken gaily and kindly. But, my father coming to the door, the sergeant checked his words, and, his eye lighting upon Betty, a dark cloud of suspicion passed over his face. This was succeeded by a look of resignation truly humorous and comical, as he thanked me for the help I had already given him, which was indeed, he said, more than he had deserved, apologized for the disturbance he had caused, and so bowed himself out. He straightway marched his detachment into Drayton, and, having failed by violent means to avenge the death of his ensign, he now had recourse to the law, summoning to him the coroner, and insisting upon a speedy inquest, in hope to discover—the few witnesses of the deed being put upon oath—the name of whom, if takenflagrante delicto, he would have hanged before it could be told.
To a wiser head than mine I must leave to be decided the point in casuistry, whether it was to the honor or rather to the shame of our village folk that among them could not be found two to give a similar account of Ned's appearance, nor one that knew his name or had ever set eyes upon him before; and this in spite of their oaths and their long and kindly knowledge of him. It may be they did all grievously sin in thus shielding him; for me, I can only say that, having myself done much the same the night before, in intent at least, I am glad they did what they did; and that I have always held those three men and two women in a most tender regard who did esteem the danger to his dear body of more account than the risk to their own souls. While this inquest was holding, and before its verdict of manslaughter by a person unknown had been delivered, there rode into the village with a small body of dragoons no less a person than Colonel Kirke himself, to whom our sergeant had sent a messenger immediately upon the death of his officer. He came roaring and ruffling into the room at the little inn where the coroner sat, and 't is a hard thing to say what might not have happened to many innocent persons had he not there met with my father. Sir Michael's knowledge of men, and, perhaps, some secret information of Kirke's character, taught him the true manner in which this hero, more deadly with the rope than with the sword, must be handled. I need here say no more of the matter, but that Colonel Kirke did that afternoon march to Taunton, with all his Lambs and dragoons, the body of the dead ensign, and a sum of two hundred pounds of my dear father's savings as ransom for the village.
Of Colonel Percy Kirke it was truly said that only one thing did he love better than blood.
A little sidelong eddy, it seemed, from the great tide of public events had washed up into our quiet backwater or creek of country life, setting us all agog with the tragic issues of death and dishonor. But the flutter and swirl of it had now drifted back into the main stream, leaving us, not indeed the same as we had been, but by contrast quieter than before. During some three years, for us at Drayton it might be said, with a measure of truth, that nothing happened. Yet of those things which I have recounted there were several consequences, so notable in effect upon our hearts and minds, that it were perhaps more true to say, in that same metaphor, that, after the first commotion, the tide maintained a steady though hourly imperceptible rise.
When I knew that Kirke and all his men were safely on their way for Taunton, I lost no time in riding across country in a bee-line to Royston Chase, which I found shut up in charge of three old servants. From these I learned that Ned's gray had that morning been discovered cropping a breakfast from the grass about his own stable door, and, while assuring them of their young master's safety, beyond, perhaps, what I truly felt myself, I bade them keep quiet tongues both about the horse and his master, who lay for safety, I said, in these perilous times, at the city of Oxford. Nor did I in truth lie to these good people, who from my manner of speaking did well perceive this was but the tale they must tell, I knowing what it were best they should not. Of the chief among them I had the promise that on the expected arrival of the Lady Mary my father should at once be advertised of it. And thence home, a little lighter in spirit to know that his horse was safe, and found my father musing heavily in his great chair in the hall, where the night before he had so feasted our enemies. At first it was a hard matter to bring him to talk, but at last, under stress of coaxing and such tricks of blandishment as I have practised from a child to win him from this heaviness of spirit, he broke silence.
"The times are hard when a Drayton must in his old age take to lying, little daughter Phil," he said.
"And his daughter in the days of her youth," I answered merrily. "But in truth 't is little I trouble myself for the falsehood. Whose, sir, upon the Day of Judgment, will be the blame of those untruths that were told to save from a death both cruel and contrary to law so kind and Christian a gentleman as my Ned?"
Sir Michael smiled and rallied me on that word of possession.
"Ho, ho!" said he; "'my Ned,' indeed! He is by this in Holland, little lass, and already, it is like enough, hath seen much that may put an unbroke filly out of his mind." Then, growing grave, "'There is something rotten,'" he said, quoting from Mr. Shakespeare's tragedy ofHamlet(for this play, and others of that writer, were his chief reading), "'There is something rotten in the state of Denmark,' when honest youths must needs kill soldiers of their sovereign, and old men and young maids must trump up a pack of lying tales to save a good lad from rope without jury. I would I had died when the late King did come again to his own."
"And what, then, of poor Philippa?" I piteously asked.
"Why, then," said my father, smiling on me with a countenance of great benignity, "poor Philippa had not been, and poor Michael had missed his best gift of God. So let us leave it to Him, dear maid, both for what is to be and for how much thy father shall see of it." And it was long thereafter before he would again talk to me of public matters; but I knew by his face, which to me was ever print of an open character, that he thought much, and that a strife was in his soul, waged between his life-long loyalty to the house of Stuart and the new thoughts born of his pity for the land that he loved as they had never loved but themselves.
If my father had hated in his life any man, it was Oliver, the late Protector. Yet thrice within the year that followed, when some neighbor would speak of the low opinion into which we were come upon the continent of Europe, or when the news-letter would drop some covert hint of the subservience of St. James to Versailles, he said: "It had not been thus, or so, if Old Noll were alive." And once to Mr. Greenlow: "Say what you will, Parson, Cromwell was an Englishman, and a brave one. I would he had been born of a queen."
And if the circumstances of Ned's evasion brought some change to Sir Michael's way of thinking, they caused no less an alteration in the value set upon his daughter by one whose good opinion I had much desired and was now at last to obtain.
Three days after that vain inquest upon the body of the dead ensign word came from Royston that my Lady Mary was arrived, and, thinking there to have found her son, and finding neither him nor his news, was fallen into great distress of mind. Sir Michael, being now somewhat better of his indisposition, made shift to ride back with the servant, and straightway gave her, I think, full account of all that had been done by her son and for him. But, his tale ceasing with Ned's departure upon Skewbald Meg, it can scarce be imagined he brought much of comfort to that proud lady and doting mother.
He returned the same afternoon, telling me in words less of his converse with Lady Mary than his face had already betrayed ere his feet were out of the stirrups.
Now, about the hour of ten the next morning, I was idling on the south terrace, feeding our doves and playing with the dogs, when my eye was caught by a strange fellow most uncouthly dressed that led a horse up the avenue. Nor did it take long gazing to see from the large maculation of its sides that the horse was Skewbald Meg; the man proving, on closer observation and his own rough introduction, to be a petticoated seaman of Bridport. But to our enquiries after him who had lately ridden the mare he would answer nothing. He knew, he said, naught but that one who was no longer this side the water had told him the horse was owned at Drayton, in Somerset, and he would get twenty shillings for the bringing it home; that he had done his best to con the craft from the poop, but found she would ever movestarnforemost when he went on deck, and so had taken her in tow; and he hoped the lady would, an the patchwork quilt of a beast were indeed hers, not forget that he had walked all the way but two miles, which two were indeed the sorest of the road; had forgot (on further question) what town he was from, had forgot how far it was, but thought he could find his road again; had forgot the gentleman's name that sent him, and even, he thought, his own. And Sir Michael laughed at the cunning of the fellow's folly, paid him well, and bade him go home and find his memory. So, having drunk his ale, he trudged off with a sea bow and a twinkle in his eye more knowing than his words, but paused to twist his face over his shoulder and his thumb significantly toward the mare, saying he thought her mane in sore need of a good combing; and so off, leaving me sick at heart for news, that, pulling through the knots of Meg's matted neck-hair, I did speedily encounter in form of a letter securely tied beneath the tangled mass. And, the string cut, seal broken, and paper unfolded, this is what we read within:
"To my very dear Friends and Saviors both, SIR MICHAEL DRAYTON and MISTRESS PHILIPPA, his most sweet Daughter.
"I write within thirty hours of leaving you, having already found a ship to set me beyond reach of harm.
"Good Meg did carry me well, and is, I hope, little worse of the twenty mile she ran in her never-changing stride, with never a false step and scarce one sweat drop; and I do truly think she hath eyes of a cat. 'T is not her fault if her back be first cousin to a handsaw, nor mine that saddles grow not in the hedgerows hereabout.
"It was two of the morning when I roused from his sleep old Jeremiah Soames, that I have known since Lady Mary did bring me, a sickly child, to Bridport for the sea-bathing. His boat is now about sailing for the fishing, and in the meantime Meg has been well hid in his curing-shed, and I in his little upper chamber. He would not, for caution, advance his hour to drop out of harbor, but once he has a fair offing will make a course for the French coast, or, if the wind serve, up Channel through the Straits for a Dutch port—Flushing perhaps, or Rotterdam. I have yet no clear purpose for the future, but already some thought to obtain a commission to serve under the great John Sobiesky against the Turk. It were some pleasure, in these days when Christians will be ever cutting each the other's throat for cause of heresy, to rise a little above the policy of dog-eating dogs, and to stand with men of all opinions for Christ against the Infidel.
"To my mother I must not now run the danger of writing, for since I know not surely where she is, whether in London or at Royston, the letter might well fall into other hands. So I will ask you, my two friends (the two best I do suppose that ever man had), by some means to advise her of all that has happened, and to convey to her my great love and duty. To her at Royston I will write so soon as I shall be landed, and in certainty of what is best to be done.
"To you, Philippa, my old comrade, the letter all for your private perusal that is in my mind must remain unwritten. 'T is not fit I should now ask more of you than the life I have received at your hands in the moment when my own were stained with blood. For, though I do piously trust it is rather the stain that a soldier must bear than the murderer's, sinking through till the soul itself is spotted, yet will I now say no word but what your kind father's eyes may read in the same moment with your own. Yet, even with a price, 't is very like, set on my head, let me be in thought your old comrade, that do in exile most bitterly regret I saw not your face of late, guessing from the mellow notes of your voice how fair it has become.
"To you, Sir Michael, I would say, knowing not what report has run of the deed I did, that I truly believe yourself had done no less, placed as I was placed. I meant not indeed to kill the man, but, when I remember, can scarce find it in my heart to be sorry that he died.
"To both of you I am grateful beyond any proof of words. If the chance come you will know I speak truth, and am indeed the true servant of you both till death and after.
"E. ROYSTON."
At another time the approach of a thing so rare among us as a coach had taken my mind off the most ingenious tale or history ever printed. But the tale is not written, nor like to be, that could for me vie in interest with this simple letter. Being then in my second reading of it, while Sir Michael, content with one perusal over my shoulder, had in kindness walked away along the terrace to the steps of the great door, leaving me to squeeze a second cup of sweetness, as it were, for my sole drinking, out of that letter, I neither knew that a coach had come, nor that my father was leading from it in my direction the Lady Mary Royston. And I, looking up in great joy of the letter, encountered with my eyes, in which I doubt not the light of my happiness was plain, her noble and austere countenance frowning upon me in manifest displeasure. But I was not dashed in my spirits, as perhaps she intended, by the gloom of her regard, partly because in serious things my father had long ceased to use me as a child, and partly because I guessed that, with his habit of kindness that was ever mindful of the small matters that do please women, he had left to me the pleasant task to tell of the letter. So I dropped my lady the finest courtesy I was mistress of, very freely thereafter smiling in her face, the letter whipt behind my back.
"Mistress Drayton seems but little cast down with all these terrible doings, Sir Michael," said her ladyship.
My father smiled grimly, but left reply to me, who answered: "Nay, dear madam, for we have but now received this news of Mr. Royston, which I believe as much intended for your ladyship as for my father and me." And, seeing by his face my father was willing, I handed her the letter.
With little courtesy she seized, and with great greediness perused, the letter, and her face was the face of a woman that tears at food after a great fasting; yet midway, at that passage, as I suppose, wherein I was peculiarly addressed, she looked from the letter to me in a manner to call to my mind those words which, in my eagerness to give ease to the mother's anxiety, I had forgotten the son to have used. With that memory, and under her gaze, the blood came hotly to my face, and I was glad when her eyes speedily fell again to the letter, which when she had finished, the heart of the woman within broke down the iron gates of pride and jealousy that had shut in the mother, even as they had so long shut out the friends of her son; for she now opened her arms to me, taking me to her bosom, and weeping over me tears of joy, while she blessed us, father and daughter, for the saving of her boy's life, declaring herself to be a jealous and wicked old woman, but, now she knew him safe, a very happy one, if her friends and Ned's would but forgive her.
When after a while she was soothed to a calmer temper of mind, Lady Mary turned her regard to my person and countenance, saying to Sir Michael that I had grown out of all knowledge, which I thought little wonderful, since it was some eight years since she had set eyes upon me.
"So this young madam," she said, patting me on the shoulder kindly enough, yet still with the grand air of the Court dame to a rustic damsel, "this is the child I have all these years envied and feared! I do trust, my dear, we shall be fast friends." Then after a little pause she added, as if in fear she had said too much: "But I would not have you think too gravely, Mistress Philippa, of what is said in that letter."
"That, madam, I could not do," I replied, leaving her in some doubt, it seemed, of my meaning. For, after a moment's musing:
"I will be plain with you, my child," she said. "I mean, although I am much your debtor, and do desire your love, I would not have you look to marry my son. He is yet but a lad, and I have a different purpose for him."
"Indeed, madam," I said with a little courtesy, "that must be, I think, as he wills."
"But you, my dear, who risked your good name of late to save his life, must be, I believe, of the mettle to deny your own happiness, were such denial plainly for his good," said her ladyship; and I was glad that the last week had taught me in some measure to conceal my thought.
"Nay, dear madam," I answered, holding my anger close within my heart, "I cannot believe that you think any woman will deny your son."
Whereat my dear father laughed softly, and my lady looked upon me searchingly, as wondering what animal this might be that looked so tender, and yet was not wholly innocent of claws. Her good humor, however, was speedily recovered, although it was long before she spoke again on that delicate subject.
But she kept her purpose of friendship, giving me constant and kindly welcome when I would ride over to Royston, and coming herself once or more in a month to us at Drayton. And in the two or three years that followed her son's departure it was to her kind instruction and wholesome advice that I owed what advance I made in manner, bearing, and knowledge of a greater world than I had seen; she was, in short, just such a friend as my father's daughter had need of; for there be many things women learn only from each other; and, knowing by some intuition of nature the need I was in, I was glad indeed, for all her intermittent asperities, that it was Ned's mother that did take up the task of leading me from the way of the hoyden into something of the grace of womanhood.
As a pupil, indeed, she found in me little food of complaint, but would be out with me for weeks at a time if Sir Michael received a letter from Ned out of his turn, as she counted, or one that covered more paper than her last. But I fearing her not at all, and she being a lady of high courage and loving fearlessness in another, by degrees she came to love me, and to forego much of her privilege of unreasoning displeasure.
The manners in which she was bred were more akin to the severer model of the reign of the first Charles than proper to this lighter age; but she had never been wholly cut off from the great world, and, knowing well what was doing and what changes making, she professed inculcating a judicious modification of old and new, that should leave a young woman open neither to the ridiculous charge of aping her grandmother nor to the censure of shaping herself upon the frail and beautiful women of a dissolute Court. My wardrobe, too, at my father's desire, she took in hand. And I confess that this was my favorite branch of study with my new teacher; and when I remember the gowns that were made in Taunton and the two that were fetched all the way from London, and the changing, turning, fitting, shaping, and trying done at Royston by my lady, her woman, and myself, I am free to admit that this matter of gowns was perhaps for more in bringing about our lasting friendship than any other thing that passed between us. For here my lady was not, as in the more serious domain of manners, under a desire of reverting to the days of her own upbringing, displaying rather the perennial youth that, behind the deepening wrinkles of age, lurks ever fresh in the feminine heart. She was in the choice of my attire all for the newest mode, holding, she would say, each fashion as it arose right and seemly, if set out upon the person of one that had the wit and discretion to fit new forms to her own needs and the counsels of modesty. I wish I may have done a little to lighten for Lady Mary the tedium of those days while Ned was from home, since I am deeply her debtor, as a maid must be to her who takes up, in how slight soever a manner, the office of the mother she has lost.
During the months of September and October of that same year we lived in great horror and dread of my Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys, whose terrible circuit, I thank God, it does not fall to me even in part to describe. For this storm passed us in Drayton and Royston safely by, though we both saw and heard, as it were, the flash of its lightning and roll of its thunder. The doings, however, of that wicked and shameless man, so terribly disgracing his high office and that of him from whom he derived it, seemed to hold a ghastly and irresistible attraction for my father. Every report, printed, written, or spoken, that he could come at he devoured. The concern he showed in all this cruel travesty of justice began with the report that reached him in September of the trial and execution in Winchester of the Lady Alice Lisle—a case too well known to need my telling, except in so far as it affected Sir Michael.
John Lisle, a man high in the military service of the Protector Cromwell, had once done great kindness to my father, who had come to know both him and his wife, and to regard them with an affection saddened only by the part the husband had adopted in the affairs of the nation. The news of what he called her murder moved him profoundly, and he pursued the Chief Justice in his mind, as it were, throughout his Bloody Assize, as one who waits to see a bolt fall from Heaven on a malefactor beyond the reach of justice merely human. Of that martyred lady I heard him one day speak in accents of deep sorrow to Madam Royston, who, though going with him heartily in abhorrence of the crime done in the name of justice, took quick exception to the title commonly bestowed on Mistress Lisle.
"For I do marvel, dear Sir Michael," she said, "that you, being of such principles as you are, should make use of a title bestowed by Cromwell in blasphemous parody of that ennobling power which on earth is granted to the Lord's Anointed alone."
"If God ever sent a lady on this sinful earth," said the old man, with a kind of holy exaltation in his countenance, "Alice Lisle was she. And by this, Lady Mary, she bears higher title and brighter crown than the highest of her murderers. And I pray that the fate of Gomorrah may not fall on the land where such things are done." And Lady Mary, perceiving well who was intended by that wordmurderer, dared not reply, but marvelled much afterwards, as I knew by words she would from time to time let fall, whither my father's musings were leading him. Which was, indeed, but to the same goal to which the tide of events was leading us all.
Now ever since the hanging of those two men in Drayton village, although Peter Emmet had continued to heat and hammer iron in the usual way, nothing had been heard of Simon, his father, nor of Prudence, his daughter. But one fine morning in mid-October, when my Lord Chief Justice was well back in London, receiving much honor and reward for the evil he had wrought and the grief he had left among us, but no thanks from any man for the only good thing he ever did by us in the west (I mean the leaving us), as I was going to the kitchen, my father being not yet out of his chamber, I passed by that little dark room we did use to call the steward's. But whether it were butler's pantry, museum of weapons out of all date and fashion, or the place where a steward should hold his audits, pay his wages, and keep his books, a stranger had been hard put to it to tell. I marked that the door stood partly open, a thing unusual since we had none to use it, and, peering within, perceived old Simon poring over a book of accounts the most naturally in the world. Indeed, had it not been for some trembling of the hand that held the pen, and the great emaciation of his countenance, I might almost have forgotten he had been absent at all, so fit and proper was his presence there. And the thought of this put in my head, I think, the best and kindest manner of welcoming his return; for I just nodded my head to him, and said: "Ah, Simon, 't is a fair morning, is it not? I trust the old Naseby wound and the rheumatism are better." And the old man turned to me a face full of gratitude, that showed a fresh-healed scar upon the forehead and a shaking smile about the lips.
"I am well recovered, pretty mistress," he said; then perceiving, perhaps, that in both dress and manner I was grown deserving of a more formal address, he added, "Madam Philippa, I would say."
And so I left him in haste to persuade my father to accept this aged prodigal's return even as I had done. And thus it came about that Simon Emmet slipped back into his old place among us without question asked; and I at least should never certainly have known he had been with Monmouth, nor that he was the man that did escape that night from the barn, if I had not, no long time after his return, taken his granddaughter Prudence into the house to be my handmaid, and in some sort, as it proved, my companion. For she came to me, having returned to her father's house on the same day as Simon to us, and begged me, in pretty rustic manner, and with tears in her pretty eyes, that I would take her into my service, being determined, she said, to serve, if she might, her who had saved the brave gentleman that had so nearly given his life for her protection. And she proved indeed a good servant, a merry companion, and afterwards, upon a great occasion, as will be seen, a friend not to be despised.
In the month of November there came to Sir Michael a long letter from Mr. Edward Royston. It was dated from The Hague, and contained matter of much interest to us all. I see that I have here written his name in style more formal than I have hitherto generally used. And I let it so stand, to serve as a sign of the reserve to which I had by degrees found myself obliged, at least in speaking of him. For to Lady Mary, as was but natural after those words of hers which I have already given, I never mentioned him if it could in any way be avoided, while of Prue I was too proud to seek sympathy, although I loved best her prattle when it was of Ned.
And I knew that Sir Michael had been hurt more than a little in his pride by that same speech of Lady Mary, and sought to make me forego all thought of her son by speaking of him only in the rare and painful manner that some use of the dead. Yet when he saw my face, eager, I doubt not, against my will, as he looked up from the last words of this letter, he rose and left the room, the letter lying there before me on the table, muttering reluctantly some words to the effect that I should read it if I pleased, an the subject had interest for me. So read it I very speedily and hungrily did, learning that after his safe arrival in Holland (of which we had a month before been advised through a letter to his mother) he had made his way to The Hague; that there he had sought out a good old merchant that had been a correspondent in business of the late Mr. Nathaniel Royston, and remembered him, as did many another, with much kindness, on account as much of his great sobriety of judgment and honesty of dealing as of the many successful ventures they had together undertaken.
Now this Mynheer van Bierstenhagen belonged, in that country where party spirit runs so high, to the faction that was the more patriotically opposed to the influence and aggressions of His Majesty King Lewis of France—to that party, I mean, which followed after the Stadtholder, who was that Prince of Orange that had married, when I was child of nine years, the Princess Mary, the eldest child of our reigning King James. "And when it is remembered," wrote Mr. Royston, "that the Prince is himself the grandson of King Charles I., 't is little wonder that all the talk here among the exiled and malcontent English and Scotch is of the Princess Mary and her husband, she being next in succession to the throne and he so nearly allied." And the letter went on to tell how he had secured, through the influence of Mynheer van Bierstenhagen, a favorable introduction to the Prince, had told him his story, and received from him a commission in one of his regiments of horse. For this fat old Dutch merchant was held at the Court of The Hague in high esteem for his wealth, his zeal for the public good, and chiefly, no doubt, added Mr. Royston, for the reason that a wealthy burgher on the Prince's side in politics was not to be slighted, when most of his class were of French leanings, the Stadtholder's chief support being among the common people.
But in all this not one word, beyond a civil message of regard, for poor Philippa, who spent some tears and much thought to come at an answer to the question, whether her old comrade began to forget what she must ever remember, or was but obstinately adhering to his resolve to say no word of those feelings which he held forbidden by the cause of his flight out of England. No answer could I get to this for all my vexing of my mind with questions, till one day Prue did find me in tears, and contrived, my pride being a little weakened with a consciousness of swollen and blubbered cheeks, to get some part of my woes from me. Whereupon she nodded sagely her little head, and asked if he was one wont to change.
"For sure, Mistress Phil," she said, "you have by all accounts known him long enough to tell."
In some indignation I answered he was not.
"I thought he was not, indeed," says Prue; "and you may take my word for it, madam, he but waits to become a great captain in this army of the Dutch to come riding home and claim you, as great as a lord."
At this I was at first much pleased, perceiving how likely a thing it was that Ned should so act; and next I was angry with Prudence for her wisdom. But when I petulantly would know how she came to read him more justly than I, she said a little sadly that it was not her own case she was judging, and saw the clearer for being but an onlooker. For which I kissed her, and so an end.
There is no need for me to tell ill what others have told well; the history, I mean, of the three years before the coming of His Highness of Orange. I suppose I had taken little note of the affairs of the country had I not heard much talk of them between my dear father and Mr. Telgrove. And as time went on it was curious to note how both would make me a party to their discussion of public matters, the reason being at first, I think, that their differences required an arbiter, and an ignorant girl was better than none, having indeed this advantage when fulfilling the office of judge, that there was no need to abide by her decision; and later, when they had begun to approach, if not an agreement, at least a temporary alliance, they would still be drawing me in because it had become a thing of custom. I learned then in this manner more of the state of the nation than if I had read every word of the LondonGazetteas it appeared in the capital; and when, in the spring of the year 1687, the country was deeply perturbed by the publication of the Declaration of Indulgence, which my father and Mr. Telgrove abhorred in common, I was able to bring the two old men at last to a position of sympathy—representing to my tutor that my father could never wish him to forego such liberties as the Indulgence offered; to my father that, in his heart, Mr. Telgrove scarce grudged the same to those of my dear mother's faith; and to both, that they were united to refuse a boon thus illegally offered, lest a door should so be opened to greater evils than the Indulgence pretended to cure. They said I was a little stateswoman, kissed the one my face, and the other my hand, and joined their own in the closest grip of friendship. Yet all this time my father neither let drop nor allowed one word of changing the head that wore the crown, while Mr. Telgrove was, I think, too wise to press him in that direction.
And so, from London and all parts of the country, we heard week after week that things went from bad to worse; while at home I was riding new horses, prinking myself out in new dresses, and reading new books when I could get them, and the old when I must; till I began at last to fancy, I suppose, that I was grown a woman, and a person of no little importance and consideration.
Christopher Kidd was a tenant farmer upon the Drayton land. Moreover, he was a suitor, earnest as bashful, for the hand of my little abigail, Prudence Emmet. While, therefore, matter of business might bring him four times in the year to the Manor House to speak with Sir Michael, love was used to fetch him thrice in a week dangling about the place for the chance of being well snubbed, mightily put upon, and most truculently railed at by little Prue. And she, for all her cruelty, was not to be thought altogether indifferent to this stalwart yeoman (for he was of that stock, though himself but a tenant). I at least could never think her intention to him unkindly after being witness of her distress when Mr. Kidd rode southwards on my father's behalf to seek news of the Prince of Orange more certain than the bare rumor that had reached us of his landing at Brixham. For no sooner was he departed than Prudence, although saucy with him even in her last words, became much cast down in spirit, fearing he would not return, and I know not what beside.
Now all the world knows that it was upon the fifth day of November, in the year 1688, that His Highness set foot on shore. And I remember well that the fifth fell that year upon a Monday. For ever since he had received by an unknown hand a printed copy of the Prince's Declaration, in which was set forth not only His Highness's purpose to come to the rescue of the liberties of England, but also at great length the reasons of this design, my father had resolved to throw in his lot with him; and, this resolve once made, he greatly desired to be among the very first to offer support, saying a Drayton should never be in the number of those that must wait to see how the cat would jump. And so he was, through the last days of October and the first week of November, in a great excitement of waiting ever for news that did not come. And, the first rumor of His Highness's coming reaching us on the morning after that landing in Torbay, Sir Michael came to the still-room, hobbling with his stick (for his wound was again troubling him) to find me, being in great hope that the news would prove true that the Prince had made choice of our coast, and not, as had been expected, that of Yorkshire. Now I was busied with the brewing of our gooseberry wine, while Prudence and two of the maids were mending the house-linen under my eyes for the greater despatch and fineness of their work. And it was of a Tuesday that this mending was always done, for Sir Michael had instilled much of the old soldier's order and system into my manner of housekeeping. But this day I do think the gooseberry wine had little thought or care, for to me the coming of the Prince meant the coming of Mr. Royston, that I had not encountered since I was a woman grown; it being indeed three years and over since he went out of the country, and near upon twice that space of time since we had so met that we might fairly perceive, the one what manner of man, the other what manner of woman, we were. And I laughed softly in myself to think at what advantage I held him. For him I should surely know among a thousand, while he—well, it would be as it should fall. For, knowing as I knew him, I was sure that if at all he remembered me, he had doubtless all those years been holding still in his inner eye the picture of a little, ugly, and ill-kempt hoyden. And I laughed again, and wondered why I laughed, finding my mind something of a puzzle to itself. For, while I knew I was no longer ill to look upon, I found my face grow hot at the thought of Ned's eyes on me, which before I had never done.
It was then upon the Tuesday that we heard the great news; upon the Wednesday that Mr. Kidd, at the instance of Sir Michael, rode off Exeter way to hear more. And so, in suspense little relieved by further and growing rumor, we waited until the Saturday, when about five in the afternoon Prudence, ever on the watch, was the first to spy her lover as he rode up the avenue. His horse was caked over with mud to the very girths, for the roads were foul with long and heavy rains. Nor had the mud spared the rider; but the soil borne by the two was as nothing to the weight of mystery and the burden of importance that I marked in Farmer Kidd's bearing as he flung himself from the saddle, and, brushing by little Prue with the briefest of nods, strode big with news to the little parlor beyond the hall, where Sir Michael did use to sit of an evening. And then, as I looked from the window of the hall where I sat, I knew from her face that Prudence would surely wed him some day, but first would make the rude fellow most bitterly repent that slight of counting her next to politics and warfare.
For my part, since I was not Prue, I soon forgave the man, in return for the great story he had to tell of the Prince's entry into the city of Exeter. For he had beheld that great pageant, with news of which all the west was soon to be ringing, and, indeed, in no great space, the whole country. And, if it gained as much in many mouths as I have since reason to suppose it gained in Farmer Kidd's, 't is little wonder it was soon believed an army of giants and magicians had crossed the sea in aid of the Protestant religion. The Earl of Macclesfield, who had come out of Holland with the Prince, leading a band of English gentlemen, two hundred strong, was with his following an object of wondrous admiration to Mr. Kidd, who would never tire, I thought, in telling of their great Flanders horses, their glittering armor, and their negro slaves, one to each man, in white and feathered turbans. And then it was the bridge of boats laid across the Exe in the twinkling of an eye to give passage to the wagons; the twenty pieces of ordnance—great brass cannon, only to be moved by teams of sixteen horses to each; the stature of the men; the new sort of muskets; the order of the discipline, so that none would so much as steal a hen from a cottage garden, but all things were as willingly paid for as supplied. Then Kidd must draw comparisons between these military manners and those of Kirke's and Trelawney's Regiments of Foot, as seen in the troubles of three years ago; and all this time poor I waiting on his words but half interested, and satisfied not at all, until I could lead him, too full of his own great importance to perceive the guidance, to some description of the Prince's Swedish Regiment of Horse. For it was to this body that Mr. Royston had, it was now some months, been transferred, receiving at the same time promotion to the rank of captain.