Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.The Use of a Sword.Several days passed away, but Lady Royland always put off sending in search of news, and seemed to be more cheerful, so that Roy soon forgot his anxiety in the many things he had to think about,—amusements, studies, and the like. But he had a few words with his father’s old follower on the subject of the absence of news, one day, when Ben was busy, as usual, in the armoury.“Not heard lately from the master, sir? Pish, that’s nothing; soldiers have got their swords and pistols to think about, not their pens. Best soldiers I ever knew couldn’t write at all. Enough for them to do to fight. You’ll hear from him some day, and when you do, you’ll know as he has been pretty busy putting the people straight,—more straight than some on ’em’ll like to be, I know. Sarve ’em right; nobody’s a right to fight agen the king.—Looks right, don’t it?”He held up an old sword which he had rubbed and polished till it flashed in the light.“Splendid!” said Roy. “Is it sharp?”“Sharp enough to take your head off at one sweep.”“Nonsense!” said the boy, laughing.“Oh, it’s true enough, Master Roy. Here, you stand all quite stiff and straight, and I’ll show you.”“No, thank you, Ben. Suppose I try it on you.”“There you are, then,” said the man; “but I must have one, too, for a guard.”He handed the boy the sword, and took up another waiting to be cleaned from galling rust, and, throwing himself on guard, he cried—“Now then, cut!”“No; too dangerous,” said Roy.“Not a bit, my lad, because you couldn’t touch me.”“I could,” said Roy, “where I liked.”“Try, then.”“Not with this sharp sword.”“Very well, then, take one of those; they’ve no more edge than a wooden one. It’s time you did know how to use a sword, sir.”Ben exchanged his glittering blade, too, and once more stood on guard.“I won’t bother you now about how you ought to stand, sir,” he said; “that’ll come when I begin to give you some lessons. You go just as you like, and hit where you can.”“No, no,” said the boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ben.”“Won’t hurt me, sir; more likely to hurt yourself. But do you know you’re standing just as badly as you possibly could? and if I was your enemy, I could take off your head, either of your ears, or your legs, as easily as look at you.”Roy laughed, but he did not seem to believe the old soldier’s assertion, and, giving his blunt sword a whirl through the air, he cried—“Now, then, Ben; which leg shall I cut off?”“Which you like, sir.”Roy made a feint at the right leg, and, quickly changing the direction of his weapon, struck with it softly at the old soldier’s left.“Tchah!” cried the old man, as blade met blade, his sword, in the most effortless way, being edge outward exactly where Roy struck. “Why, do you know, sir, if I’d been in arnest with you, that you would have been spitted like a cockchafer on a pin before you got your blade round to cut?”“Not I,” said the boy, contemptuously.“Very well, sir; you’ll see. Now, try again, and cut hard. Don’t let your blade stop to get a bit of hay and a drop of water on the way, but give it me quick.”“But I don’t want to hurt you, Ben.”“Well, I don’t, either; and, what’s more, I don’t mean to let you.”“But I shall, I’m sure, if I strike hard.”“You think so, my lad; but do you know what a good sword is?”“A sword.”“Yes, and a lot more. When a man can use it properly, it’s a shield, and a breastplate, helmet, brasses, and everything else. Now, I’ll just show you. Helmet, say. Now, you cut straight down at my head, just as if you were going to cut me in two pieces.”“Put on one of the old helmets, then.”“Tchah! I don’t want any helmets. You cut.”“And suppose I hurt you?”“S’pose you can’t.”“Well, I don’t want to,” said Roy; “so look out.”“Right, sir; chop away.”Roy raised his sword slowly, and the old soldier dropped the point of his and began to laugh.“That won’t do, my lad; lift your blade as if you were going to bring it down again, not as if you meant to hang it up for an ornament on a peg.”“Oh, very well,” said Roy. “Now, then, I’m going to cut at you sharp.”“Oh, are you, sir?” said Ben. “Now, if ever you’re a soldier, and meet a man who means to kill you, shall you tell him you’re going to cut at him sharply? because, if you do, you’ll have his blade through you before you’ve half said it.”“You are precious fond of your banter,” cried Roy, who was a little put out now. “Serve you right if I do hurt you. But this blade won’t cut, will it?”“Cut through the air if you move it sharp; that’s about all, my lad.”“Then take that,” cried the boy.Clang—cling—clatter!Roy stared, for his sword had come in contact with that of the old soldier, and then was twisted out of his grasp and went rattling along the floor, Ben going after it to fetch it back.“Try again, sir.”Roy was on his mettle now, and, grasping the hilt more firmly, he essayed to deliver a few blows at his opponent’s legs, sides, and arms. But Ben’s sword was always there first, and held at such an angle that his weapon glided off violently, as if from his own strength in delivering the blow; and, try hard as he could, he could not get near enough to make one touch.“Arms and head, my lad; sharp.”Better satisfied now that he would not hurt his adversary, Roy struck down at the near shoulder, but his sword glanced away. Then at the head, the legs, everywhere that seemed to offer for a blow, but always for his blade to glance off with a harsh grating sound.“There, it’s of no use; you can’t get near me, my lad,” said Ben, at last.“Oh, yes, I can. I was afraid of hurting you. I shall hit hard as hard,” cried Roy, who felt nettled. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s have sticks.”“I’ll get sticks directly, sir. You hit me first with the sword.”“Oh, very well; if you will have it, you shall,” cried Roy, and, without giving any warning now, he delivered a horizontal blow at the old soldier’s side; but it was turned off just as the dozen or so which followed were thrown aside, and then, with a quiet laugh, the old fellow said—“Now, every time you hit at me, I could have run you through.”“No, you couldn’t,” said Roy, sharply.“Well, we’ll see, sir. Put that down, and use this; or, no, keep your sword; the hilt will protect your hand in case I come down upon it.”He took up a stout ash stick and threw himself on guard again, waiting for Roy’s blow, which he turned off, but before the next could descend, the boy’s aim was disordered by a sharp dig in the chest from the end of the ash stick; and so it was as he went on: before he could strike he always received a prod in the chest, ribs, arms, or shoulders.“Oh, I say, Ben,” he cried at last; “I didn’t know you could use a stick like that.”“Suppose not, my lad; but I knew you couldn’t use a sword like that. Now, I tell you what: you’d better come to me for an hour every morning before breakfast, and I’ll begin to make such a man of you as your father would like to see when he comes back.”“Well, I will come, Ben,” said the lad; “but my arm does not ache so much now, and I don’t feel quite beaten. Let’s have another try.”“Oh, I’ll try all day with you, if you like, sir,” said the old soldier; “only, suppose now you stand on guard and let me attack.”“With swords?” said Roy, blankly.“No, no,” said Ben, laughing; “I don’t want to hurt you. We’ll keep to sticks. Better still: I want you to get used to handling a sword, so I’ll have the stick and you shall defend yourself with a blade.”“But that wouldn’t be fair to you,” cried Roy. “I might hurt you, while you couldn’t hurt me.”“Couldn’t I?” said the old fellow, drily. “I’m afraid I could, and more than you could me. Now, then, take that blade.”He took one from the wall, a handsome-looking sword, upon which the armourer who made it had bestowed a good deal of ingenious labour, carving the sides, and ornamenting the hilt with a couple of beautifully fluted representations in steel of the scallop shell, so placed that they formed as complete a protection to the hand of the user as that provided in the basket-hilted Scottish claymore.“Find that too heavy for you, sir?”“It is heavy,” said Roy; “but one seems to be able to handle it easily.”“Yes, sir; you’ll find that will move lightly. You see it’s so well balanced by the hilt being made heavy. The blade comes up lightly, and, with a fair chance, I believe I could cut a man in two with it after a few touches on a grindstone.”“Ugh!” ejaculated Roy; “horrid!”“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Much more horrid if he cut you in two. It’s of no use to be thin-skinned over fighting in earnest. Man’s got to defend himself. Now, then, let’s give you a word or two of advice to begin with. A good swordsman makes his blade move so sharply that you can hardly see it go through the air. You must make it fly about like lightning. Now then, ready?”“Yes; but you won’t mind if I hurt you?”“Don’t you be afraid of doing that, sir. If you hurt me, it’ll serve me right for being such a bungler.En garde!”Roy threw himself into position, and the old soldier attacked him very slowly, cutting at his neck on either side, then down straight at his head, next at his arms and legs; and in every case, though in a bungling way, Roy interposed his blade after the fashion shown by his adversary.Then the old fellow drew back and rested the point of his ash stick upon his toe, while Roy panted a little, and smiled with satisfaction.“Come,” he said; “I wasn’t so bad there.”“Oh, no, you weren’t so bad there, because you showed that you’d got some idea of what a sword’s for; but when you’re ready we’ll begin again. May as well have something to think about till to-morrow morning. First man you fight with won’t stop to ask whether you’re ready, you know.”“I suppose not; but wait a minute.”“Hour, if you like, sir; but your arms’ll soon get hard. Seems a pity, though, that they’re not harder now. I often asked the master to let me teach you how to use a sword.”“Yes, I know; but my mother always objected. She doesn’t like swords. I do.”“Of course you do, sir. It’s a lad’s nature to like one. Ready?”“Yes,” cried Roy, standing on his guard; “but look out this time, Ben, because I mean you to have something.”“That’s right, sir; but mind this: I’m not going to let my stick travel like a snail after a cabbage-leaf this time. I’m going to cut as I should with a sword, only I’m going to hit as if you were made of glass, so as not to break you. Now!”The old soldier’s eyes flashed as he threw one foot forward, Roy doing the same; but it was his newly polished sword that flashed as he prepared to guard the cuts, taking care, or meaning to take care, to hold his blade at such an angle that the stick would glance off. The encounter ended in a few seconds.Whizz, whirr, pat, pat, pat, and the elastic ash sapling came down smartly upon the boy’s arms, legs, sides, shoulders, and finished off with a rap on the head, with the result that Roy angrily threw the sword jangling upon the floor, and stood rubbing his arms and sides viciously.“You said you were going to hit at me as if I were made of glass,” cried the boy.“So I did. Don’t mean to say those taps hurt you?”“Hurt? They sting horribly.”“Why, those cuts would hardly have killed flies, sir. But why didn’t you guard?”“Guard? I did guard,” cried Roy, angrily, as he rubbed away; “but you were so quick.”“Oh, I can cut quicker than that, sir. You see I got in before you did every time. I’d cut, and was on my way to give another before you were ready for the first. Come, they don’t tingle now, do they?”“Tingle? Yes. Here, I want a stick. I’m not going to leave off without showing you how it does hurt.”“Better leave off now, sir,” said the man, grinning.“But I don’t want to,” cried Roy; and picking up the sword which he had handled with a feeling of pride, he took the other stick, and, crying “Ready!” attacked in his turn, striking hard and as swiftly as he could, butcrack, crack, crack, wherever he struck, there was the defensive sapling; and at last, with his arm and shoulder aching, the boy lowered his point and stood panting, with his brow moist with beads of perspiration.“Well done!” cried Ben. “Now that’s something like a first lesson. Why, those last were twice as good as any you gave before.”“Yes,” said Roy, proudly; “I thought I could make you feel. Some of those went home.”“Not one of them, my lad,” said Ben, smiling; “you didn’t touch me once.”“Not once?”“No, sir; not once.”“Is that the truth, Ben?”“Every word of it, sir. But never you mind that; you did fine; and if you’ll come to me every morning, I’ll make you so that in three months I shall have to look out for myself.”“I don’t seem to have done any good at all,” said Roy, pettishly.“Not done no good, sir? Why, you’ve done wonders; you’ve taken all the conceit out of yourself, and learned in one lesson that you don’t know anything whatever about a sword, except that it has a blade and a hilt and a scabbard. And all the time you’d been thinking that all you had to do was to chop and stab with it as easy as could be, and that there was nothing more to learn. Now didn’t you?”“Something like it,” said Roy, who was now cooling down; “but, of course, I knew that you had to parry.”“But you didn’t know how to, my lad; and look here, you haven’t tried to thrust yet. Here, give me a sharp one now.”“No, I can’t do any more,” said Roy, sulkily. “I don’t know how.”“That’s a true word, sir; but you’re going to try?”“No, I’m not,” said Roy, whom a sharp sting in one leg from the worst cut made a little vicious again.“Come, come, come,” said the old soldier, reproachfully. “That aren’t like my master’s son talking; that’s like a foolish boy without anything in his head.”“Look here, Ben; don’t you be insolent.”“Not I, Master Roy. I wouldn’t be to you. Only I speak out because I’m proud of you, my lad, and I want to see you grow up into a man like your father. I tried hard not to hurt you, sir, but I suppose I did. But I can’t say I’m sorry.”“Then you ought to be, for you cut at me like a brute.”The old soldier shook his head sadly.“You don’t mean that, Master Roy,” he said; “and it’s only because you’re tingling a bit; that’s all.”The man’s words disarmed Roy, and the angry frown passed away, as he said, frankly—“No, I don’t mean it now, Ben. The places don’t tingle so; but I say, there’ll be black marks wherever you cut at me.”“Never mind, sir; they’ll soon come white again, and you’ll know next time that you’ve got to have your weapon ready to save yourself. Well, I dunno. I meant it right, but you’ve had enough of it. Some day Sir Granby’ll let you go to a big fencing-master as never faced a bit o’ steel drawn in anger in his life, and he’ll put you on leather pads and things, and tap you soft like, and show you how to bow, s’loot, and cut capers like a Frenchman, and when he’s done with you I could cut you up into mincemeat without you being able to give me a scratch.”“Get out!” cried Roy. “You don’t think anything of the sort. What time shall I come to-morrow morning—six?”“No, sir, no. Bed’s very nice at six o’clock in the morning. You stop there, and then you won’t be hurt.”“Five, then?” said Roy, sharply.“Nay, sir; you wait for the big fencing-master.”“Five o’clock, I said,” cried Roy.The old soldier took the sword Roy had held, and fetching a piece of leather from a drawer began to polish off the finger-marks left upon the steel.“I said five o’clock, Ben,” cried the boy, very decisively.“Nay, Master Roy, you give it up, sir. I’m too rough an old chap for you.”“Sorry I was so disagreeable, Ben,” said the boy, offering his hand.“Mean it, sir?”“Why, of course, Ben.”The hand was eagerly seized, and, it being understood that the sword practice was to begin punctually at six next morning, they separated.

Several days passed away, but Lady Royland always put off sending in search of news, and seemed to be more cheerful, so that Roy soon forgot his anxiety in the many things he had to think about,—amusements, studies, and the like. But he had a few words with his father’s old follower on the subject of the absence of news, one day, when Ben was busy, as usual, in the armoury.

“Not heard lately from the master, sir? Pish, that’s nothing; soldiers have got their swords and pistols to think about, not their pens. Best soldiers I ever knew couldn’t write at all. Enough for them to do to fight. You’ll hear from him some day, and when you do, you’ll know as he has been pretty busy putting the people straight,—more straight than some on ’em’ll like to be, I know. Sarve ’em right; nobody’s a right to fight agen the king.—Looks right, don’t it?”

He held up an old sword which he had rubbed and polished till it flashed in the light.

“Splendid!” said Roy. “Is it sharp?”

“Sharp enough to take your head off at one sweep.”

“Nonsense!” said the boy, laughing.

“Oh, it’s true enough, Master Roy. Here, you stand all quite stiff and straight, and I’ll show you.”

“No, thank you, Ben. Suppose I try it on you.”

“There you are, then,” said the man; “but I must have one, too, for a guard.”

He handed the boy the sword, and took up another waiting to be cleaned from galling rust, and, throwing himself on guard, he cried—

“Now then, cut!”

“No; too dangerous,” said Roy.

“Not a bit, my lad, because you couldn’t touch me.”

“I could,” said Roy, “where I liked.”

“Try, then.”

“Not with this sharp sword.”

“Very well, then, take one of those; they’ve no more edge than a wooden one. It’s time you did know how to use a sword, sir.”

Ben exchanged his glittering blade, too, and once more stood on guard.

“I won’t bother you now about how you ought to stand, sir,” he said; “that’ll come when I begin to give you some lessons. You go just as you like, and hit where you can.”

“No, no,” said the boy. “I don’t want to hurt you, Ben.”

“Won’t hurt me, sir; more likely to hurt yourself. But do you know you’re standing just as badly as you possibly could? and if I was your enemy, I could take off your head, either of your ears, or your legs, as easily as look at you.”

Roy laughed, but he did not seem to believe the old soldier’s assertion, and, giving his blunt sword a whirl through the air, he cried—

“Now, then, Ben; which leg shall I cut off?”

“Which you like, sir.”

Roy made a feint at the right leg, and, quickly changing the direction of his weapon, struck with it softly at the old soldier’s left.

“Tchah!” cried the old man, as blade met blade, his sword, in the most effortless way, being edge outward exactly where Roy struck. “Why, do you know, sir, if I’d been in arnest with you, that you would have been spitted like a cockchafer on a pin before you got your blade round to cut?”

“Not I,” said the boy, contemptuously.

“Very well, sir; you’ll see. Now, try again, and cut hard. Don’t let your blade stop to get a bit of hay and a drop of water on the way, but give it me quick.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you, Ben.”

“Well, I don’t, either; and, what’s more, I don’t mean to let you.”

“But I shall, I’m sure, if I strike hard.”

“You think so, my lad; but do you know what a good sword is?”

“A sword.”

“Yes, and a lot more. When a man can use it properly, it’s a shield, and a breastplate, helmet, brasses, and everything else. Now, I’ll just show you. Helmet, say. Now, you cut straight down at my head, just as if you were going to cut me in two pieces.”

“Put on one of the old helmets, then.”

“Tchah! I don’t want any helmets. You cut.”

“And suppose I hurt you?”

“S’pose you can’t.”

“Well, I don’t want to,” said Roy; “so look out.”

“Right, sir; chop away.”

Roy raised his sword slowly, and the old soldier dropped the point of his and began to laugh.

“That won’t do, my lad; lift your blade as if you were going to bring it down again, not as if you meant to hang it up for an ornament on a peg.”

“Oh, very well,” said Roy. “Now, then, I’m going to cut at you sharp.”

“Oh, are you, sir?” said Ben. “Now, if ever you’re a soldier, and meet a man who means to kill you, shall you tell him you’re going to cut at him sharply? because, if you do, you’ll have his blade through you before you’ve half said it.”

“You are precious fond of your banter,” cried Roy, who was a little put out now. “Serve you right if I do hurt you. But this blade won’t cut, will it?”

“Cut through the air if you move it sharp; that’s about all, my lad.”

“Then take that,” cried the boy.

Clang—cling—clatter!

Roy stared, for his sword had come in contact with that of the old soldier, and then was twisted out of his grasp and went rattling along the floor, Ben going after it to fetch it back.

“Try again, sir.”

Roy was on his mettle now, and, grasping the hilt more firmly, he essayed to deliver a few blows at his opponent’s legs, sides, and arms. But Ben’s sword was always there first, and held at such an angle that his weapon glided off violently, as if from his own strength in delivering the blow; and, try hard as he could, he could not get near enough to make one touch.

“Arms and head, my lad; sharp.”

Better satisfied now that he would not hurt his adversary, Roy struck down at the near shoulder, but his sword glanced away. Then at the head, the legs, everywhere that seemed to offer for a blow, but always for his blade to glance off with a harsh grating sound.

“There, it’s of no use; you can’t get near me, my lad,” said Ben, at last.

“Oh, yes, I can. I was afraid of hurting you. I shall hit hard as hard,” cried Roy, who felt nettled. “But I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s have sticks.”

“I’ll get sticks directly, sir. You hit me first with the sword.”

“Oh, very well; if you will have it, you shall,” cried Roy, and, without giving any warning now, he delivered a horizontal blow at the old soldier’s side; but it was turned off just as the dozen or so which followed were thrown aside, and then, with a quiet laugh, the old fellow said—

“Now, every time you hit at me, I could have run you through.”

“No, you couldn’t,” said Roy, sharply.

“Well, we’ll see, sir. Put that down, and use this; or, no, keep your sword; the hilt will protect your hand in case I come down upon it.”

He took up a stout ash stick and threw himself on guard again, waiting for Roy’s blow, which he turned off, but before the next could descend, the boy’s aim was disordered by a sharp dig in the chest from the end of the ash stick; and so it was as he went on: before he could strike he always received a prod in the chest, ribs, arms, or shoulders.

“Oh, I say, Ben,” he cried at last; “I didn’t know you could use a stick like that.”

“Suppose not, my lad; but I knew you couldn’t use a sword like that. Now, I tell you what: you’d better come to me for an hour every morning before breakfast, and I’ll begin to make such a man of you as your father would like to see when he comes back.”

“Well, I will come, Ben,” said the lad; “but my arm does not ache so much now, and I don’t feel quite beaten. Let’s have another try.”

“Oh, I’ll try all day with you, if you like, sir,” said the old soldier; “only, suppose now you stand on guard and let me attack.”

“With swords?” said Roy, blankly.

“No, no,” said Ben, laughing; “I don’t want to hurt you. We’ll keep to sticks. Better still: I want you to get used to handling a sword, so I’ll have the stick and you shall defend yourself with a blade.”

“But that wouldn’t be fair to you,” cried Roy. “I might hurt you, while you couldn’t hurt me.”

“Couldn’t I?” said the old fellow, drily. “I’m afraid I could, and more than you could me. Now, then, take that blade.”

He took one from the wall, a handsome-looking sword, upon which the armourer who made it had bestowed a good deal of ingenious labour, carving the sides, and ornamenting the hilt with a couple of beautifully fluted representations in steel of the scallop shell, so placed that they formed as complete a protection to the hand of the user as that provided in the basket-hilted Scottish claymore.

“Find that too heavy for you, sir?”

“It is heavy,” said Roy; “but one seems to be able to handle it easily.”

“Yes, sir; you’ll find that will move lightly. You see it’s so well balanced by the hilt being made heavy. The blade comes up lightly, and, with a fair chance, I believe I could cut a man in two with it after a few touches on a grindstone.”

“Ugh!” ejaculated Roy; “horrid!”

“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Much more horrid if he cut you in two. It’s of no use to be thin-skinned over fighting in earnest. Man’s got to defend himself. Now, then, let’s give you a word or two of advice to begin with. A good swordsman makes his blade move so sharply that you can hardly see it go through the air. You must make it fly about like lightning. Now then, ready?”

“Yes; but you won’t mind if I hurt you?”

“Don’t you be afraid of doing that, sir. If you hurt me, it’ll serve me right for being such a bungler.En garde!”

Roy threw himself into position, and the old soldier attacked him very slowly, cutting at his neck on either side, then down straight at his head, next at his arms and legs; and in every case, though in a bungling way, Roy interposed his blade after the fashion shown by his adversary.

Then the old fellow drew back and rested the point of his ash stick upon his toe, while Roy panted a little, and smiled with satisfaction.

“Come,” he said; “I wasn’t so bad there.”

“Oh, no, you weren’t so bad there, because you showed that you’d got some idea of what a sword’s for; but when you’re ready we’ll begin again. May as well have something to think about till to-morrow morning. First man you fight with won’t stop to ask whether you’re ready, you know.”

“I suppose not; but wait a minute.”

“Hour, if you like, sir; but your arms’ll soon get hard. Seems a pity, though, that they’re not harder now. I often asked the master to let me teach you how to use a sword.”

“Yes, I know; but my mother always objected. She doesn’t like swords. I do.”

“Of course you do, sir. It’s a lad’s nature to like one. Ready?”

“Yes,” cried Roy, standing on his guard; “but look out this time, Ben, because I mean you to have something.”

“That’s right, sir; but mind this: I’m not going to let my stick travel like a snail after a cabbage-leaf this time. I’m going to cut as I should with a sword, only I’m going to hit as if you were made of glass, so as not to break you. Now!”

The old soldier’s eyes flashed as he threw one foot forward, Roy doing the same; but it was his newly polished sword that flashed as he prepared to guard the cuts, taking care, or meaning to take care, to hold his blade at such an angle that the stick would glance off. The encounter ended in a few seconds.Whizz, whirr, pat, pat, pat, and the elastic ash sapling came down smartly upon the boy’s arms, legs, sides, shoulders, and finished off with a rap on the head, with the result that Roy angrily threw the sword jangling upon the floor, and stood rubbing his arms and sides viciously.

“You said you were going to hit at me as if I were made of glass,” cried the boy.

“So I did. Don’t mean to say those taps hurt you?”

“Hurt? They sting horribly.”

“Why, those cuts would hardly have killed flies, sir. But why didn’t you guard?”

“Guard? I did guard,” cried Roy, angrily, as he rubbed away; “but you were so quick.”

“Oh, I can cut quicker than that, sir. You see I got in before you did every time. I’d cut, and was on my way to give another before you were ready for the first. Come, they don’t tingle now, do they?”

“Tingle? Yes. Here, I want a stick. I’m not going to leave off without showing you how it does hurt.”

“Better leave off now, sir,” said the man, grinning.

“But I don’t want to,” cried Roy; and picking up the sword which he had handled with a feeling of pride, he took the other stick, and, crying “Ready!” attacked in his turn, striking hard and as swiftly as he could, butcrack, crack, crack, wherever he struck, there was the defensive sapling; and at last, with his arm and shoulder aching, the boy lowered his point and stood panting, with his brow moist with beads of perspiration.

“Well done!” cried Ben. “Now that’s something like a first lesson. Why, those last were twice as good as any you gave before.”

“Yes,” said Roy, proudly; “I thought I could make you feel. Some of those went home.”

“Not one of them, my lad,” said Ben, smiling; “you didn’t touch me once.”

“Not once?”

“No, sir; not once.”

“Is that the truth, Ben?”

“Every word of it, sir. But never you mind that; you did fine; and if you’ll come to me every morning, I’ll make you so that in three months I shall have to look out for myself.”

“I don’t seem to have done any good at all,” said Roy, pettishly.

“Not done no good, sir? Why, you’ve done wonders; you’ve taken all the conceit out of yourself, and learned in one lesson that you don’t know anything whatever about a sword, except that it has a blade and a hilt and a scabbard. And all the time you’d been thinking that all you had to do was to chop and stab with it as easy as could be, and that there was nothing more to learn. Now didn’t you?”

“Something like it,” said Roy, who was now cooling down; “but, of course, I knew that you had to parry.”

“But you didn’t know how to, my lad; and look here, you haven’t tried to thrust yet. Here, give me a sharp one now.”

“No, I can’t do any more,” said Roy, sulkily. “I don’t know how.”

“That’s a true word, sir; but you’re going to try?”

“No, I’m not,” said Roy, whom a sharp sting in one leg from the worst cut made a little vicious again.

“Come, come, come,” said the old soldier, reproachfully. “That aren’t like my master’s son talking; that’s like a foolish boy without anything in his head.”

“Look here, Ben; don’t you be insolent.”

“Not I, Master Roy. I wouldn’t be to you. Only I speak out because I’m proud of you, my lad, and I want to see you grow up into a man like your father. I tried hard not to hurt you, sir, but I suppose I did. But I can’t say I’m sorry.”

“Then you ought to be, for you cut at me like a brute.”

The old soldier shook his head sadly.

“You don’t mean that, Master Roy,” he said; “and it’s only because you’re tingling a bit; that’s all.”

The man’s words disarmed Roy, and the angry frown passed away, as he said, frankly—

“No, I don’t mean it now, Ben. The places don’t tingle so; but I say, there’ll be black marks wherever you cut at me.”

“Never mind, sir; they’ll soon come white again, and you’ll know next time that you’ve got to have your weapon ready to save yourself. Well, I dunno. I meant it right, but you’ve had enough of it. Some day Sir Granby’ll let you go to a big fencing-master as never faced a bit o’ steel drawn in anger in his life, and he’ll put you on leather pads and things, and tap you soft like, and show you how to bow, s’loot, and cut capers like a Frenchman, and when he’s done with you I could cut you up into mincemeat without you being able to give me a scratch.”

“Get out!” cried Roy. “You don’t think anything of the sort. What time shall I come to-morrow morning—six?”

“No, sir, no. Bed’s very nice at six o’clock in the morning. You stop there, and then you won’t be hurt.”

“Five, then?” said Roy, sharply.

“Nay, sir; you wait for the big fencing-master.”

“Five o’clock, I said,” cried Roy.

The old soldier took the sword Roy had held, and fetching a piece of leather from a drawer began to polish off the finger-marks left upon the steel.

“I said five o’clock, Ben,” cried the boy, very decisively.

“Nay, Master Roy, you give it up, sir. I’m too rough an old chap for you.”

“Sorry I was so disagreeable, Ben,” said the boy, offering his hand.

“Mean it, sir?”

“Why, of course, Ben.”

The hand was eagerly seized, and, it being understood that the sword practice was to begin punctually at six next morning, they separated.

Chapter Five.Roy takes his next Lesson.The clock in the little turret which stood out over the gate-way facing Lady Royland’s garden had not done striking six when Roy entered the armoury next morning, to find Ben hard at work fitting the interior of a light helmet with a small leather cap which was apparently well stuffed with wool.“Morning, Ben,” said the boy. “What’s that for?”“You, sir.”“To wear?”“Of course. Just as well to take care of your face and head when you’re handling swords. You can use it with the visor up or down, ’cording to what we’re doing. You see, I want to learn you how to use a sword like a soldier, and not like a gentleman who never expects to see trouble.”“Ready?”“Yes, sir, quite; and first thing ’s morning we’ll begin where we left off, and you shall try to learn that you don’t know how to thrust. Nothing like finding out how bad you are. Then you can begin to see better what you have to learn.”“Very well,” said Roy, eagerly. “You’ll have to look out now then, Ben, for I mean to learn, and pretty quickly.”“Oh, yes; you’ll learn quickly enough,” said Ben, placing the helmet upon the table and taking the pair of sticks up from where he had placed them. “But say, Master Roy, I have been working here. Don’t you think the place looks better?”“I think my father would be proud of the armoury if he could see the weapons,” said Roy, as he looked round. “Everything is splendid.”The old soldier smiled as he walked from suit to suit of armour, some of which were obsolete, and could only be looked upon as curiosities of the day; but, in addition, there were modern pieces of defensive armour, beautifully made, with carefully cleaned and inlaid headpieces of the newest kind, and of those the old soldier seemed to be especially proud. Then he led the way on to the stands of offensive weapons, which numbered quaint, massive swords of great age, battle-axes, and maces, and so on to modern weapons of the finest steel, with, guns, petronels, and horse-pistols of clumsy construction, but considered perfect then.“Yes, sir, I’m proud of our weepuns,” said Ben; “but I aren’t a bit proud of the old castle, which seems to be going right away to ruin.”“That it isn’t,” cried Roy, indignantly. “It has been repaired and repaired, whenever it wanted doing up, again and again.”“Ah! you’re thinking about roofs and tiles and plaster, my lad. I was thinking about the defences. Such a place as this used to be. Look at the gun-carriages,—haven’t been painted for years, nor the guns cleaned.”“Well, mix up some paint and brush it on,” said Roy, “and clean up the guns. They can’t be rusty, because they’re brass.”“Well, not brass exactly, sir,” said the man, thoughtfully. “It’s more of a mixtur’ like; but to a man like me, sir, it’s heart-breaking.”“What! to see them turn green and like bronze?”“Oh, I don’t mind that so much, sir; it’s seeing of ’em come down so much, like. Why, there’s them there big guns as stands in the court-yard behind the breastwork.”“Garden, Ben.”“Well, garden, sir. Why, there’s actooally ivy and other ’nockshus weeds growing all over ’em.”“Well, it looks peaceful and nice.”“Bah! A gun can’t look peaceful and nice. But that aren’t the worst of it, sir. I was along by ’em a bit ago, and, if you’ll believe me, when I put my hand in one, if there warn’t a sharp, hissing noise!”“A snake? Got in there?”“Snake, sir? No! I wouldn’t ha’ minded a snake; but there’s no snakes here.”“There was one, Ben, for I brought it up out of the woods, and kept it in a box for months, till it got away. Then that’s where it is.”“Nay. It were no snake, sir. It were one of them little blue and yaller tomtit chaps as lays such lots o’ eggs. I fetches a stick, and I was going to shove it in and twist it in the hay and stuff o’ the nest and draw it out.”“But you didn’t?”“No, sir, I didn’t; for I says to myself, if Sir Granby and her ladyship like the place to go to ruin, they may let it; and if the two little birds—there was a cock and hen—didn’t bring up twelve of the rummiest little, tiny young uns I ever did see. There they was, all a-sitting in a row along the gun, and it seemed to me so comic for ’em to be there that I bust out a-laughing quite loud.”“And they all flew away?”“Nay, sir, they didn’t; they stopped there a-twittering. But if that gun had been loaded, and I’d touched it off with a fire-stick, it would have warmed their toes, eh? But would you clean up the old guns?”“I don’t see why you shouldn’t, Ben. They’re valuable.”“Vallerble? I should think they are, sir. And, do you know, I will; for who knows what might happen? They tell me down in the village that there’s trouble uppards, and people gets talking agen the king. Ah! I’d talk ’em if I had my way, and make some of ’em squirm.—Yes, I will tidy things up a bit. Startle some on ’em if we was to fire off a gun or two over the village.”“They’d burst, Ben. Haven’t been fired for a hundred years, I should say. Those brass guns were made in Queen Elizabeth’s time.”“Oh, they wouldn’t burst, sir; I shouldn’t be afraid of that.—But this is not learning to thrust, is it?”“No. Come on,” cried Roy, and he took one of the stout ash rods. “Here, hadn’t I better put on this helmet?”“Not yet, sir. You can practise thrusting without that. Now then, here I am, sir. All ready for you on my guard. Now, thrust.”Ben dropped into an easy position, with his legs a little bent, one foot advanced, his left hand behind him, and his stick held diagonally across his breast.Roy imitated him, dropping into the same position.“Where shall I stab you?” he cried.“Just wherever you like, sir,—if you can.”The boy made a quick dart forward with his stick, and it passed by his teacher, who parried with the slightest movement of his wrist.“I said thrust, sir.”“Well, I did thrust.”“That wasn’t a thrust, sir; that was only a poke. It wouldn’t have gone through a man’s coat, let alone his skin. Now, again!”The boy made another push forward with his stick, which was also parried.“Nay, that won’t do, my lad; so let’s get to something better. Now, I’m going to thrust at you right in the chest. Enemies don’t tell you where they’re going to hit you, but I’m going to tell you. Now, look out!”Roy prepared to guard the thrust, but the point of the old man’s stick struck him sharply in the chest, and he winced a little, but smiled.“Now, sir, you do that, but harder.”Roy obeyed, but failed dismally.“Of course,” said Ben. “Now that’s because you didn’t try the right way, sir. Don’t poke at a man, but throw your arm right back till you get your hand level with your shoulder, and sword and arm just in a line. Then thrust right out, and let your body follow your arm,—then you get some strength into it. Now, once more.”Roy followed his teacher’s instructions.“Better—ever so much, sir. Now again—good; again—good. You’ll soon do it. Now, can’t you see what a lot of weight you get into a thrust like that? One of your pokes would have done nothing. One like that last would have sent your blade through a man. Now again.”Roy was now fully upon his mettle, and he tried hard to acquire some portion of the old soldier’s skill, till his arm ached, and Ben cried “Halt!” and began to chat about the old-fashioned armour.“Lots of it was too clumsy, sir. Strong men were regularly loaded down; and I’ve thought for a long time that all a man wants is a steel cap and steel gloves. All the rest he ought to be able to do with his sword.”“But you can’t ward off bullets with a sword, Ben,” said Roy.“No, sir; nor you can’t ward ’em off with armour. They find out the jyntes, if they don’t go through.”“Would that suit of half-armour be much too big for me, Ben?” said Roy, pausing before a bronzed ornamental set of defensive weapons, which had evidently been the work of some Italian artist.“No, sir, I shouldn’t think it would. You see that was made for a small man, and you’re a big lad. If you were to put that on, and used a bit o’ stuffing here and there, you wouldn’t be so much amiss. It’s in fine condition, too, with its leather lining, and that’s all as lissome and good as when it was first made.”“I should like to try that on some day, Ben,” said the boy, eagerly examining the handsome suit.“Well, I don’t see why not, sir. You’d look fine in that. Wants three or four white ostrich feathers in the little gilt holder of the helmet. White uns would look well with that dark armour. Looks just like copper, don’t it?”“How long would it take to put it on?” said Roy.“Hour, sir; and you’d want some high buff boots to wear with it.”“An hour?” said Roy. “There wouldn’t be time before breakfast.”“No, sir. But I tell you what—I’ve only cleaned and polished and iled the straps. If you feels as if you’d like to put it on, I’ll go over it well, and see to the buckles and studs: shall I?”“Yes, do, Ben.”“That I will, sir. And I say, if, when you’re ready, I was to saddle one of the horses proper, and you was to mount and her ladyship see you, she’d be sorry as ever she wanted you to be a statesman.”Roy shook his head dubiously.“Oh, but she would, sir. Man looks grand in his armour and feathers.”“But I’m only a boy,” said Roy, sadly.“Who’s to know that when you’re in armour and your visor down, sir? A suit of armour like that, and you on a grand horse, would make a man of you. It’s fine, and no mistake.”“But you were sneering at armour a little while ago, Ben,” said Roy.“For fighting in, sir, but not for show. You see, there’s something about armour and feathers and flags that gets hold of people, and a soldier’s a man who likes to look well. I’m an old un now, but I wouldn’t say no to a good new uniform, with a bit o’ colour in it; but if you want me to fight, I don’t want to be all plates and things like a lobster, and not able to move. I want to be free to use my arms. Right enough for show, sir, and make a regiment look handsome; but fighting’s like gardening,—want to take your coat off when you go to work.”“But you will get that armour ready, Ben?”“Course I will, sir. On’y too glad to see you take a liking to a bit o’ armour and a sword. Now, then, what do you say to beginning again?”“I’m ready,” said Roy, but with a longing look at the armour.“Then you shall just put that helmet on, and have the visor down. You won’t be able to see so well, but it will save your face from an accidental cut.”He placed the helmet on the boy’s head, adjusted the cheek straps, and drew back.“Find it heavy, sir?”“Rather! Feels as if it would topple off as soon as I begin to move.”“But it won’t, sir. The leather cap inside will stop that. Now, then, if you please, we’ll begin. I’m going to cut at you slowly and softly, and you’ve got to guard yourself, and then turn off. I shall be very slow, but after a bit I shall cut like lightning, and before I’ve done I shan’t be no more able to hit you than you’re able now to hit me.”Roy said nothing, and the man began cutting at him to right and to left, upward from the same direction and downward, as if bent upon cleaving his shoulders; and for every cut Ben showed him how to make the proper guard, holding his weapon so that the stroke should glance off, and laying especial weight upon the necessity for catching the blow aimed upon theforteof the blade toward the hilt, and not upon thefaiblenear the point.Then came the turn of the head, and the horizontal and down right cuts were, after further instruction, received so that they, too, glanced off. Roy gaining more and more confidence at every stroke. But that helmet was an utter nuisance, and half buried the wearer.“I’m beginning to think you’re right, Ben, about the armour,” said the lad, at last.“Yes, ’tis a bit awkward, sir; but you’ll get used to it. If you can defend yourself well with that on, why, of course, you can without. Now, then, suppose, for a change, you have a cut at me.”“Why, what tomfoolery is this?” said a highly-pitched voice; and Roy tried to snatch off his helmet as he caught sight of the secretary standing in the door-way looking on.But the helmet would not come off easily, and, after a tug or two, Roy was fain to turn to the old soldier.“Here,” he said, hastily, “unfasten this, Ben, quick!”“Yes, sir; but I don’t see as you’ve any call to be in such a hurry. You’ve a right to learn to use a sword if you like. Only the strap fastened over this stud, and there you are.”Red-faced and annoyed, Roy faced the secretary, who had walked slowly into the armoury, to stand looking about him with a sneer of contempt upon his lip.“Only practising a little sword-play, sir,” said the boy, as soon as his head was relieved.“Sword-play! Is there no other kind of play a boy like you can take to? What do you want with sword-play?”“My father’s a soldier,” said Roy.“Yes; but you are not going to be a fighting man, sir; and, behindhand as you are with your studies, I think you might try a little more to do your instructor credit, and not waste time with one of the servants in such a barbaric pursuit as this. Lady Royland is waiting breakfast. You had better come at once.”Feeling humbled and abashed before the old soldier, Roy followed the secretary without a word, and they entered the breakfast-room together, Lady Royland looking up pale and disturbed, and, upon seeing her son’s face, exclaiming—“Why, Roy, how hot and tired you look! Have you been running?”The secretary laughed contemptuously.“No, mother; practising fencing with Ben.”“Oh, Roy!” cried his mother, reproachfully; “what can you want with fencing? My dear boy, pray think more of your books.”Master Pawson gave the lad a peculiar look, and Roy felt as if he should like to kick out under the table so viciously that the sneering smile might give place to a contraction expressing pain.But Roy did not speak, and the breakfast went on.

The clock in the little turret which stood out over the gate-way facing Lady Royland’s garden had not done striking six when Roy entered the armoury next morning, to find Ben hard at work fitting the interior of a light helmet with a small leather cap which was apparently well stuffed with wool.

“Morning, Ben,” said the boy. “What’s that for?”

“You, sir.”

“To wear?”

“Of course. Just as well to take care of your face and head when you’re handling swords. You can use it with the visor up or down, ’cording to what we’re doing. You see, I want to learn you how to use a sword like a soldier, and not like a gentleman who never expects to see trouble.”

“Ready?”

“Yes, sir, quite; and first thing ’s morning we’ll begin where we left off, and you shall try to learn that you don’t know how to thrust. Nothing like finding out how bad you are. Then you can begin to see better what you have to learn.”

“Very well,” said Roy, eagerly. “You’ll have to look out now then, Ben, for I mean to learn, and pretty quickly.”

“Oh, yes; you’ll learn quickly enough,” said Ben, placing the helmet upon the table and taking the pair of sticks up from where he had placed them. “But say, Master Roy, I have been working here. Don’t you think the place looks better?”

“I think my father would be proud of the armoury if he could see the weapons,” said Roy, as he looked round. “Everything is splendid.”

The old soldier smiled as he walked from suit to suit of armour, some of which were obsolete, and could only be looked upon as curiosities of the day; but, in addition, there were modern pieces of defensive armour, beautifully made, with carefully cleaned and inlaid headpieces of the newest kind, and of those the old soldier seemed to be especially proud. Then he led the way on to the stands of offensive weapons, which numbered quaint, massive swords of great age, battle-axes, and maces, and so on to modern weapons of the finest steel, with, guns, petronels, and horse-pistols of clumsy construction, but considered perfect then.

“Yes, sir, I’m proud of our weepuns,” said Ben; “but I aren’t a bit proud of the old castle, which seems to be going right away to ruin.”

“That it isn’t,” cried Roy, indignantly. “It has been repaired and repaired, whenever it wanted doing up, again and again.”

“Ah! you’re thinking about roofs and tiles and plaster, my lad. I was thinking about the defences. Such a place as this used to be. Look at the gun-carriages,—haven’t been painted for years, nor the guns cleaned.”

“Well, mix up some paint and brush it on,” said Roy, “and clean up the guns. They can’t be rusty, because they’re brass.”

“Well, not brass exactly, sir,” said the man, thoughtfully. “It’s more of a mixtur’ like; but to a man like me, sir, it’s heart-breaking.”

“What! to see them turn green and like bronze?”

“Oh, I don’t mind that so much, sir; it’s seeing of ’em come down so much, like. Why, there’s them there big guns as stands in the court-yard behind the breastwork.”

“Garden, Ben.”

“Well, garden, sir. Why, there’s actooally ivy and other ’nockshus weeds growing all over ’em.”

“Well, it looks peaceful and nice.”

“Bah! A gun can’t look peaceful and nice. But that aren’t the worst of it, sir. I was along by ’em a bit ago, and, if you’ll believe me, when I put my hand in one, if there warn’t a sharp, hissing noise!”

“A snake? Got in there?”

“Snake, sir? No! I wouldn’t ha’ minded a snake; but there’s no snakes here.”

“There was one, Ben, for I brought it up out of the woods, and kept it in a box for months, till it got away. Then that’s where it is.”

“Nay. It were no snake, sir. It were one of them little blue and yaller tomtit chaps as lays such lots o’ eggs. I fetches a stick, and I was going to shove it in and twist it in the hay and stuff o’ the nest and draw it out.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No, sir, I didn’t; for I says to myself, if Sir Granby and her ladyship like the place to go to ruin, they may let it; and if the two little birds—there was a cock and hen—didn’t bring up twelve of the rummiest little, tiny young uns I ever did see. There they was, all a-sitting in a row along the gun, and it seemed to me so comic for ’em to be there that I bust out a-laughing quite loud.”

“And they all flew away?”

“Nay, sir, they didn’t; they stopped there a-twittering. But if that gun had been loaded, and I’d touched it off with a fire-stick, it would have warmed their toes, eh? But would you clean up the old guns?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t, Ben. They’re valuable.”

“Vallerble? I should think they are, sir. And, do you know, I will; for who knows what might happen? They tell me down in the village that there’s trouble uppards, and people gets talking agen the king. Ah! I’d talk ’em if I had my way, and make some of ’em squirm.—Yes, I will tidy things up a bit. Startle some on ’em if we was to fire off a gun or two over the village.”

“They’d burst, Ben. Haven’t been fired for a hundred years, I should say. Those brass guns were made in Queen Elizabeth’s time.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t burst, sir; I shouldn’t be afraid of that.—But this is not learning to thrust, is it?”

“No. Come on,” cried Roy, and he took one of the stout ash rods. “Here, hadn’t I better put on this helmet?”

“Not yet, sir. You can practise thrusting without that. Now then, here I am, sir. All ready for you on my guard. Now, thrust.”

Ben dropped into an easy position, with his legs a little bent, one foot advanced, his left hand behind him, and his stick held diagonally across his breast.

Roy imitated him, dropping into the same position.

“Where shall I stab you?” he cried.

“Just wherever you like, sir,—if you can.”

The boy made a quick dart forward with his stick, and it passed by his teacher, who parried with the slightest movement of his wrist.

“I said thrust, sir.”

“Well, I did thrust.”

“That wasn’t a thrust, sir; that was only a poke. It wouldn’t have gone through a man’s coat, let alone his skin. Now, again!”

The boy made another push forward with his stick, which was also parried.

“Nay, that won’t do, my lad; so let’s get to something better. Now, I’m going to thrust at you right in the chest. Enemies don’t tell you where they’re going to hit you, but I’m going to tell you. Now, look out!”

Roy prepared to guard the thrust, but the point of the old man’s stick struck him sharply in the chest, and he winced a little, but smiled.

“Now, sir, you do that, but harder.”

Roy obeyed, but failed dismally.

“Of course,” said Ben. “Now that’s because you didn’t try the right way, sir. Don’t poke at a man, but throw your arm right back till you get your hand level with your shoulder, and sword and arm just in a line. Then thrust right out, and let your body follow your arm,—then you get some strength into it. Now, once more.”

Roy followed his teacher’s instructions.

“Better—ever so much, sir. Now again—good; again—good. You’ll soon do it. Now, can’t you see what a lot of weight you get into a thrust like that? One of your pokes would have done nothing. One like that last would have sent your blade through a man. Now again.”

Roy was now fully upon his mettle, and he tried hard to acquire some portion of the old soldier’s skill, till his arm ached, and Ben cried “Halt!” and began to chat about the old-fashioned armour.

“Lots of it was too clumsy, sir. Strong men were regularly loaded down; and I’ve thought for a long time that all a man wants is a steel cap and steel gloves. All the rest he ought to be able to do with his sword.”

“But you can’t ward off bullets with a sword, Ben,” said Roy.

“No, sir; nor you can’t ward ’em off with armour. They find out the jyntes, if they don’t go through.”

“Would that suit of half-armour be much too big for me, Ben?” said Roy, pausing before a bronzed ornamental set of defensive weapons, which had evidently been the work of some Italian artist.

“No, sir, I shouldn’t think it would. You see that was made for a small man, and you’re a big lad. If you were to put that on, and used a bit o’ stuffing here and there, you wouldn’t be so much amiss. It’s in fine condition, too, with its leather lining, and that’s all as lissome and good as when it was first made.”

“I should like to try that on some day, Ben,” said the boy, eagerly examining the handsome suit.

“Well, I don’t see why not, sir. You’d look fine in that. Wants three or four white ostrich feathers in the little gilt holder of the helmet. White uns would look well with that dark armour. Looks just like copper, don’t it?”

“How long would it take to put it on?” said Roy.

“Hour, sir; and you’d want some high buff boots to wear with it.”

“An hour?” said Roy. “There wouldn’t be time before breakfast.”

“No, sir. But I tell you what—I’ve only cleaned and polished and iled the straps. If you feels as if you’d like to put it on, I’ll go over it well, and see to the buckles and studs: shall I?”

“Yes, do, Ben.”

“That I will, sir. And I say, if, when you’re ready, I was to saddle one of the horses proper, and you was to mount and her ladyship see you, she’d be sorry as ever she wanted you to be a statesman.”

Roy shook his head dubiously.

“Oh, but she would, sir. Man looks grand in his armour and feathers.”

“But I’m only a boy,” said Roy, sadly.

“Who’s to know that when you’re in armour and your visor down, sir? A suit of armour like that, and you on a grand horse, would make a man of you. It’s fine, and no mistake.”

“But you were sneering at armour a little while ago, Ben,” said Roy.

“For fighting in, sir, but not for show. You see, there’s something about armour and feathers and flags that gets hold of people, and a soldier’s a man who likes to look well. I’m an old un now, but I wouldn’t say no to a good new uniform, with a bit o’ colour in it; but if you want me to fight, I don’t want to be all plates and things like a lobster, and not able to move. I want to be free to use my arms. Right enough for show, sir, and make a regiment look handsome; but fighting’s like gardening,—want to take your coat off when you go to work.”

“But you will get that armour ready, Ben?”

“Course I will, sir. On’y too glad to see you take a liking to a bit o’ armour and a sword. Now, then, what do you say to beginning again?”

“I’m ready,” said Roy, but with a longing look at the armour.

“Then you shall just put that helmet on, and have the visor down. You won’t be able to see so well, but it will save your face from an accidental cut.”

He placed the helmet on the boy’s head, adjusted the cheek straps, and drew back.

“Find it heavy, sir?”

“Rather! Feels as if it would topple off as soon as I begin to move.”

“But it won’t, sir. The leather cap inside will stop that. Now, then, if you please, we’ll begin. I’m going to cut at you slowly and softly, and you’ve got to guard yourself, and then turn off. I shall be very slow, but after a bit I shall cut like lightning, and before I’ve done I shan’t be no more able to hit you than you’re able now to hit me.”

Roy said nothing, and the man began cutting at him to right and to left, upward from the same direction and downward, as if bent upon cleaving his shoulders; and for every cut Ben showed him how to make the proper guard, holding his weapon so that the stroke should glance off, and laying especial weight upon the necessity for catching the blow aimed upon theforteof the blade toward the hilt, and not upon thefaiblenear the point.

Then came the turn of the head, and the horizontal and down right cuts were, after further instruction, received so that they, too, glanced off. Roy gaining more and more confidence at every stroke. But that helmet was an utter nuisance, and half buried the wearer.

“I’m beginning to think you’re right, Ben, about the armour,” said the lad, at last.

“Yes, ’tis a bit awkward, sir; but you’ll get used to it. If you can defend yourself well with that on, why, of course, you can without. Now, then, suppose, for a change, you have a cut at me.”

“Why, what tomfoolery is this?” said a highly-pitched voice; and Roy tried to snatch off his helmet as he caught sight of the secretary standing in the door-way looking on.

But the helmet would not come off easily, and, after a tug or two, Roy was fain to turn to the old soldier.

“Here,” he said, hastily, “unfasten this, Ben, quick!”

“Yes, sir; but I don’t see as you’ve any call to be in such a hurry. You’ve a right to learn to use a sword if you like. Only the strap fastened over this stud, and there you are.”

Red-faced and annoyed, Roy faced the secretary, who had walked slowly into the armoury, to stand looking about him with a sneer of contempt upon his lip.

“Only practising a little sword-play, sir,” said the boy, as soon as his head was relieved.

“Sword-play! Is there no other kind of play a boy like you can take to? What do you want with sword-play?”

“My father’s a soldier,” said Roy.

“Yes; but you are not going to be a fighting man, sir; and, behindhand as you are with your studies, I think you might try a little more to do your instructor credit, and not waste time with one of the servants in such a barbaric pursuit as this. Lady Royland is waiting breakfast. You had better come at once.”

Feeling humbled and abashed before the old soldier, Roy followed the secretary without a word, and they entered the breakfast-room together, Lady Royland looking up pale and disturbed, and, upon seeing her son’s face, exclaiming—

“Why, Roy, how hot and tired you look! Have you been running?”

The secretary laughed contemptuously.

“No, mother; practising fencing with Ben.”

“Oh, Roy!” cried his mother, reproachfully; “what can you want with fencing? My dear boy, pray think more of your books.”

Master Pawson gave the lad a peculiar look, and Roy felt as if he should like to kick out under the table so viciously that the sneering smile might give place to a contraction expressing pain.

But Roy did not speak, and the breakfast went on.

Chapter Six.Ben Martlet feels Rusty.“Come to me in half an hour, Roy,” said Master Pawson, as they rose from the table, the boy hurrying away to the armoury to find Ben busy as ever, and engaged now in seeing to the straps and fittings of the Italian suit of bronzed steel.“Thought I’d do it, sir,” he said, “in case you ever asked for it; but I s’pose it’s all over with your learning to be a man now.”“Indeed it is not,” said Roy, sharply. “I’m sure my father would not object to my learning fencing.”“Sword-play, sir.”“Very well—sword-play,” said Roy, pettishly; “so long as I do not neglect any studies I have to go through with Master Pawson.”“And I s’pose you’ve been a-neglecting of ’em, sir, eh?” said the old man, drily.“That I’ve not. Perhaps I have not got on so well as I ought, but that’s because I’m stupid, I suppose.”“Nay, nay, nay! That won’t do, Master Roy. There’s lots o’ things I can do as you can’t; but that’s because you’ve never learnt.”“Master Pawson’s cross because I don’t do what he wants.”“Why, what does he want you to do, sir?”“Learn to play the big fiddle.”“What!” cried the man, indignantly. “Then don’t you do it, my lad.”“I don’t mean to,” said Roy; “and I don’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings; and so I won’t make a lot of show over learning sword-play with you, but I shall go on with it, Ben, and you shall take the swords or sticks down in the hollow in the wood, and I’ll meet you there every morning at six.”“Mean it, sir?”“Yes, of course; and now I must be off. I was to be with Master Pawson in half an hour.”“Off you go, then, my lad. Always keep to your time.”Roy ran off, and was going straight to Master Pawson’s room in the corner tower, but on the way he met Lady Royland, who took his arm and walked with him out into the square garden.“Why, mother, you’ve been crying,” said the boy, tenderly.“Can you see that, my dear?”“Yes; what is the matter? I know, though. You’re fretting about not hearing from father.”“Well, is it not enough to make me fret, my boy?” she said, reproachfully.“Of course! And I’m so thoughtless.”“Yes, Roy,” said Lady Royland, with a sad smile; “I am afraid you are.”“I try not to be, mother; I do indeed,” cried Roy; “but tell me—is there anything fresh? Yes; you’ve had some bad news! Then you’ve heard from father.”“No, my boy, no; the bad news comes through Master Pawson. He has heard again from his friends in London.”“Look here, mother,” cried the boy, hotly, “I want to know why he should get letters easily, and we get none.”Lady Royland sighed.“Father must be too busy to write.”“I am afraid so, my dear.”“But what is the bad news he has told you this morning?”They were close up to the foot of the corner tower as Roy asked this question; and, as Lady Royland replied, a few notes of some air being played upon the violoncello high up came floating down to their ears.“He tells me that there is no doubt about a terrible revolution having broken out, my boy; that the Parliament is raising an army to fight against the king, and that his friends feel sure that his majesty’s cause is lost.”“Then he doesn’t know anything about it, mother,” cried the boy, indignantly. “The king has too many brave officers like father who will fight for him, and take care that his cause is not lost. Oh, I say, hark to that!”“That” was another strain floating down to them.“Yes,” said Lady Royland, sadly; “it is Master Pawson playing. He is waiting for you, Roy.”“Yes, playing,” said the boy, hotly. “It makes me think of what I read with him one day about that Roman emperor—what was his name?—playing while Rome was burning. But don’t you fret, mother; London won’t be burnt while father’s there.”“You do not realise what it may mean, my boy.”“Oh, yes, I think I do, mother; but you don’t think fairly. You are too anxious. But there! I must go up to him now.”“Yes, go, my boy; and you will not cause me any more anxiety than you can help?”“Why, of course I won’t, mother. But if it is going to be a war, don’t you think I ought to learn all I can about being a soldier?”“Roy! No, no!” cried Lady Royland, wildly. “Do I not suffer enough on your father’s account?”“There, I won’t say any more, mother dear,” said Roy, clinging to her arm; “and now I’ll confess something.”“You have something to confess?” said Lady Royland, excitedly, as she stopped where they were, just beneath the corner tower, and quite unconscious of the fact that a head was cautiously thrust out of one of the upper windows and then drawn back, so that only the tip of an ear and a few curls were left visible. “Then, tell me quickly, Roy; you have been keeping back some news.”“No, no, mother, not a bit; just as if I would when I know how anxious you are! It was only this. Old Ben is always grumbling about the place going to ruin, as he calls it, and I told him, to please him, that he might clean up some of the big guns.”“But you should not have done this, my dear.”“No; I’ll tell him not to, mother. And I’d made an arrangement with him to meet him every morning out in the primrose dell to practise sword-cutting. I was going to-morrow morning, but I won’t go now.”Lady Royland pressed her lips to the boy’s forehead, and smiled in his face.“Thank you, my dear,” she said, softly. “Recollect you are everything to me now! And I want your help and comfort now I am so terribly alone. Master Pawson is profuse in his offers of assistance to relieve me of the management here, but I want that assistance to come from my son.”“Of course!” said Roy, haughtily. “He’s only the secretary, and if any one is to take father’s place, it ought to be me.”“Yes; and you shall, Roy, my dear. You are very young, but now this trouble has come upon us, you must try to be a man and my counsellor so that when your father returns—”She ceased speaking, and Roy pressed her hands encouragingly as he saw her lips trembling and that she had turned ghastly white.“When your father returns,” she said, now firmly, “we must let him see that we have managed everything well.”“Then why not, as it’s war time, let Ben do what he wanted, and we’ll put the place in a regular state of defence?”“No, no, no, my dear,” said Lady Royland, with a shudder. “Why should you give our peaceful happy home even the faintest semblance of war, when it can by no possibility come into this calm, quiet, retired nook. No, my boy, not that, please.”“Very well, mother. Then I’ll go riding round to see the tenants, and look after the things at home just as you wish me to. Will that do?”Lady Royland smiled, and then pressed her son’s arm.“Go up now, then, to Master Pawson’s room,” she said; “and recollect that one of the things I wish you to do is to be more studious than you would be if your father were at home.”Roy nodded and hurried up into the corridor, thinking to himself that Master Pawson would not like his being so much in his mother’s confidence.“Then he’ll have to dislike it. He has been a bit too forward lately, speaking to the servants as if he were master here. I heard him quite bully poor old Jenk one day. But, of course, I don’t want to quarrel with him.”Roy ascended the staircase and entered the room, to find the secretary bending over a big volume in the Greek character; and, as he looked up smiling, the boy felt that his tutor was about the least quarrelsome-looking personage he had ever seen.“Rather a long half-hour, Roy, is it not?” he said.“Yes, sir; I’m very sorry. My mother met me as I was coming across the garden, and talked to me, and I could not leave her in such trouble.”“Trouble? Trouble?” said the secretary, raising his eyebrows.“Of course, sir, about the bad news you told her this morning.”“Indeed! And did Lady Royland confide in you?”“Why, of course!” said Roy, quickly.“Oh, yes,—of course! Her ladyship would do what is for the best. Well, let us to our reading. We have lost half an hour, and I am going to make it a little shorter this morning, for I thought of going across as far as the vicarage.”“To see Master Meldew, sir?”“Yes; of course. He has not been here lately. Now, then, where we left off,—it was about the Punic War, was it not?”“Yes, sir; but don’t let’s have anything about war this morning.”“Very well,” said the secretary; “let it be something about peace.”It was something about peace, but what Roy did not know half an hour later, for his head was in a whirl, and his reading became quite mechanical. For there was the trouble his mother was in, her wishes as to his conduct, and his secret interview with Ben, to keep on buzzing in his brain, so that it was with a sigh of relief that he heard the secretary’s command to close his book, and he gazed at him wonderingly, asking himself whether the words were sarcastic, for Master Pawson said—“I compliment you, Roy; you have done remarkably well, and been very attentive this morning. By the way, if her ladyship makes any remark about my absence, you can say that you expect Master Meldew has asked me to stay and partake of dinner with him.”“Yes, sir.”“Not unless she asks,” continued the secretary. “In all probability she will not notice my absence.”Roy descended with his books; then felt that he should like to be alone and think, and to this end he made his way to the gloomy old guard-room on the right of the great gate-way, ran up the winding stair, and soon reached the roof, where he lay down on the breastwork over the machicolations, and had not been there long before he heard steps, and, looking over, saw Master Pawson cross the drawbridge and go out of the farther gate-way, watching him unseen till he turned off by the pathway leading through the village and entering the main road.Then it occurred to Roy that, as he had an unpleasant communication to make, he could not do better than get it over at once. So he descended, and began to search for the old soldier; but it was some time before he could find him out.Yet it seemed to be quite soon enough, for the old fellow looked very grim and sour as he listened to the communication.“Very well, Master Roy,” he said; “the mistress is master now, and it’s your dooty to obey her; but it do seem like playing at fast and loose with a man. There, I’ve got no more to say,—only that I was beginning to feel a bit bright and chirpy; but now I’m all going back’ard again, and feel as rusty as everything else about the place.”“I’m very sorry, Ben, for I really did want to learn,” said Roy, apologetically.“Yes, sir, I s’pose you did; and this here’s a world o’ trouble, and the longer you lives in it the more you finds out as you can’t do what you like, so you grins and bears it; but the grinning’s about the hardest part o’ the job. You’re ’bliged to bear it, but you aren’t ’bliged to grin; and, when the grins do come, you never has a looking-glass afore you, but you allus feels as if you never looked so ugly afore in your life.”“But you’ll have to help me in other things, Ben.”“Shall I, sir? Don’t seem to me as there’s anything else as I can help you over.”“Oh, but there is,—while the war keeps my father away.”“War, sir? Nonsense! You don’t call a bit of a riot got up by some ragged Jacks war.”“No; but this is getting to be a very serious affair, according to what Master Pawson told my mother this morning.”“Master Pawson, sir! Why, what does he know about it?”“A good deal, it seems. Some friends of his in London send him news, and they said it is going to be a terrible civil war.”“And me not up there with Sir Granby!” groaned the man. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! it’s a wicked, rusty old world!”“But I’ve promised to help my mother all I can, Ben, and you must promise to help me.”“Of course, sir; that you know. But say, sir, war breaking out, and we all rusted up like this! We ought to be ready for anything.”“So I thought, Ben; but my mother says there’s not likely to be trouble in this out-of-the-way place.”“Then bless my dear lady’s innocence! says Ben Martlet, and that’s me, sir. Why, you never knows where a spark may drop and the fire begin to run.”“No, Ben.”“And if this is sure to be such a peaceful spot, why did the old Roylands build the castle and make a moat and drawbridge, and all the rest of it? They didn’t mean the moat for nothing else, sir, but carp, tench, and eels.”“And pike, Ben.”“No, sir. They thought of very different kind of pikes, sir, I can tell you,—same as they I’ve got on the walls yonder in sheaves. But there; her ladyship gives the word to you, and you gives it to me, and I shouldn’t be worth calling a soldier if I didn’t do as I was ordered, and directly, too, and—Hark!”The old soldier held up his hand.“Horses!” cried Roy, excitedly. “Why, who’s coming here?”

“Come to me in half an hour, Roy,” said Master Pawson, as they rose from the table, the boy hurrying away to the armoury to find Ben busy as ever, and engaged now in seeing to the straps and fittings of the Italian suit of bronzed steel.

“Thought I’d do it, sir,” he said, “in case you ever asked for it; but I s’pose it’s all over with your learning to be a man now.”

“Indeed it is not,” said Roy, sharply. “I’m sure my father would not object to my learning fencing.”

“Sword-play, sir.”

“Very well—sword-play,” said Roy, pettishly; “so long as I do not neglect any studies I have to go through with Master Pawson.”

“And I s’pose you’ve been a-neglecting of ’em, sir, eh?” said the old man, drily.

“That I’ve not. Perhaps I have not got on so well as I ought, but that’s because I’m stupid, I suppose.”

“Nay, nay, nay! That won’t do, Master Roy. There’s lots o’ things I can do as you can’t; but that’s because you’ve never learnt.”

“Master Pawson’s cross because I don’t do what he wants.”

“Why, what does he want you to do, sir?”

“Learn to play the big fiddle.”

“What!” cried the man, indignantly. “Then don’t you do it, my lad.”

“I don’t mean to,” said Roy; “and I don’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings; and so I won’t make a lot of show over learning sword-play with you, but I shall go on with it, Ben, and you shall take the swords or sticks down in the hollow in the wood, and I’ll meet you there every morning at six.”

“Mean it, sir?”

“Yes, of course; and now I must be off. I was to be with Master Pawson in half an hour.”

“Off you go, then, my lad. Always keep to your time.”

Roy ran off, and was going straight to Master Pawson’s room in the corner tower, but on the way he met Lady Royland, who took his arm and walked with him out into the square garden.

“Why, mother, you’ve been crying,” said the boy, tenderly.

“Can you see that, my dear?”

“Yes; what is the matter? I know, though. You’re fretting about not hearing from father.”

“Well, is it not enough to make me fret, my boy?” she said, reproachfully.

“Of course! And I’m so thoughtless.”

“Yes, Roy,” said Lady Royland, with a sad smile; “I am afraid you are.”

“I try not to be, mother; I do indeed,” cried Roy; “but tell me—is there anything fresh? Yes; you’ve had some bad news! Then you’ve heard from father.”

“No, my boy, no; the bad news comes through Master Pawson. He has heard again from his friends in London.”

“Look here, mother,” cried the boy, hotly, “I want to know why he should get letters easily, and we get none.”

Lady Royland sighed.

“Father must be too busy to write.”

“I am afraid so, my dear.”

“But what is the bad news he has told you this morning?”

They were close up to the foot of the corner tower as Roy asked this question; and, as Lady Royland replied, a few notes of some air being played upon the violoncello high up came floating down to their ears.

“He tells me that there is no doubt about a terrible revolution having broken out, my boy; that the Parliament is raising an army to fight against the king, and that his friends feel sure that his majesty’s cause is lost.”

“Then he doesn’t know anything about it, mother,” cried the boy, indignantly. “The king has too many brave officers like father who will fight for him, and take care that his cause is not lost. Oh, I say, hark to that!”

“That” was another strain floating down to them.

“Yes,” said Lady Royland, sadly; “it is Master Pawson playing. He is waiting for you, Roy.”

“Yes, playing,” said the boy, hotly. “It makes me think of what I read with him one day about that Roman emperor—what was his name?—playing while Rome was burning. But don’t you fret, mother; London won’t be burnt while father’s there.”

“You do not realise what it may mean, my boy.”

“Oh, yes, I think I do, mother; but you don’t think fairly. You are too anxious. But there! I must go up to him now.”

“Yes, go, my boy; and you will not cause me any more anxiety than you can help?”

“Why, of course I won’t, mother. But if it is going to be a war, don’t you think I ought to learn all I can about being a soldier?”

“Roy! No, no!” cried Lady Royland, wildly. “Do I not suffer enough on your father’s account?”

“There, I won’t say any more, mother dear,” said Roy, clinging to her arm; “and now I’ll confess something.”

“You have something to confess?” said Lady Royland, excitedly, as she stopped where they were, just beneath the corner tower, and quite unconscious of the fact that a head was cautiously thrust out of one of the upper windows and then drawn back, so that only the tip of an ear and a few curls were left visible. “Then, tell me quickly, Roy; you have been keeping back some news.”

“No, no, mother, not a bit; just as if I would when I know how anxious you are! It was only this. Old Ben is always grumbling about the place going to ruin, as he calls it, and I told him, to please him, that he might clean up some of the big guns.”

“But you should not have done this, my dear.”

“No; I’ll tell him not to, mother. And I’d made an arrangement with him to meet him every morning out in the primrose dell to practise sword-cutting. I was going to-morrow morning, but I won’t go now.”

Lady Royland pressed her lips to the boy’s forehead, and smiled in his face.

“Thank you, my dear,” she said, softly. “Recollect you are everything to me now! And I want your help and comfort now I am so terribly alone. Master Pawson is profuse in his offers of assistance to relieve me of the management here, but I want that assistance to come from my son.”

“Of course!” said Roy, haughtily. “He’s only the secretary, and if any one is to take father’s place, it ought to be me.”

“Yes; and you shall, Roy, my dear. You are very young, but now this trouble has come upon us, you must try to be a man and my counsellor so that when your father returns—”

She ceased speaking, and Roy pressed her hands encouragingly as he saw her lips trembling and that she had turned ghastly white.

“When your father returns,” she said, now firmly, “we must let him see that we have managed everything well.”

“Then why not, as it’s war time, let Ben do what he wanted, and we’ll put the place in a regular state of defence?”

“No, no, no, my dear,” said Lady Royland, with a shudder. “Why should you give our peaceful happy home even the faintest semblance of war, when it can by no possibility come into this calm, quiet, retired nook. No, my boy, not that, please.”

“Very well, mother. Then I’ll go riding round to see the tenants, and look after the things at home just as you wish me to. Will that do?”

Lady Royland smiled, and then pressed her son’s arm.

“Go up now, then, to Master Pawson’s room,” she said; “and recollect that one of the things I wish you to do is to be more studious than you would be if your father were at home.”

Roy nodded and hurried up into the corridor, thinking to himself that Master Pawson would not like his being so much in his mother’s confidence.

“Then he’ll have to dislike it. He has been a bit too forward lately, speaking to the servants as if he were master here. I heard him quite bully poor old Jenk one day. But, of course, I don’t want to quarrel with him.”

Roy ascended the staircase and entered the room, to find the secretary bending over a big volume in the Greek character; and, as he looked up smiling, the boy felt that his tutor was about the least quarrelsome-looking personage he had ever seen.

“Rather a long half-hour, Roy, is it not?” he said.

“Yes, sir; I’m very sorry. My mother met me as I was coming across the garden, and talked to me, and I could not leave her in such trouble.”

“Trouble? Trouble?” said the secretary, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course, sir, about the bad news you told her this morning.”

“Indeed! And did Lady Royland confide in you?”

“Why, of course!” said Roy, quickly.

“Oh, yes,—of course! Her ladyship would do what is for the best. Well, let us to our reading. We have lost half an hour, and I am going to make it a little shorter this morning, for I thought of going across as far as the vicarage.”

“To see Master Meldew, sir?”

“Yes; of course. He has not been here lately. Now, then, where we left off,—it was about the Punic War, was it not?”

“Yes, sir; but don’t let’s have anything about war this morning.”

“Very well,” said the secretary; “let it be something about peace.”

It was something about peace, but what Roy did not know half an hour later, for his head was in a whirl, and his reading became quite mechanical. For there was the trouble his mother was in, her wishes as to his conduct, and his secret interview with Ben, to keep on buzzing in his brain, so that it was with a sigh of relief that he heard the secretary’s command to close his book, and he gazed at him wonderingly, asking himself whether the words were sarcastic, for Master Pawson said—

“I compliment you, Roy; you have done remarkably well, and been very attentive this morning. By the way, if her ladyship makes any remark about my absence, you can say that you expect Master Meldew has asked me to stay and partake of dinner with him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Not unless she asks,” continued the secretary. “In all probability she will not notice my absence.”

Roy descended with his books; then felt that he should like to be alone and think, and to this end he made his way to the gloomy old guard-room on the right of the great gate-way, ran up the winding stair, and soon reached the roof, where he lay down on the breastwork over the machicolations, and had not been there long before he heard steps, and, looking over, saw Master Pawson cross the drawbridge and go out of the farther gate-way, watching him unseen till he turned off by the pathway leading through the village and entering the main road.

Then it occurred to Roy that, as he had an unpleasant communication to make, he could not do better than get it over at once. So he descended, and began to search for the old soldier; but it was some time before he could find him out.

Yet it seemed to be quite soon enough, for the old fellow looked very grim and sour as he listened to the communication.

“Very well, Master Roy,” he said; “the mistress is master now, and it’s your dooty to obey her; but it do seem like playing at fast and loose with a man. There, I’ve got no more to say,—only that I was beginning to feel a bit bright and chirpy; but now I’m all going back’ard again, and feel as rusty as everything else about the place.”

“I’m very sorry, Ben, for I really did want to learn,” said Roy, apologetically.

“Yes, sir, I s’pose you did; and this here’s a world o’ trouble, and the longer you lives in it the more you finds out as you can’t do what you like, so you grins and bears it; but the grinning’s about the hardest part o’ the job. You’re ’bliged to bear it, but you aren’t ’bliged to grin; and, when the grins do come, you never has a looking-glass afore you, but you allus feels as if you never looked so ugly afore in your life.”

“But you’ll have to help me in other things, Ben.”

“Shall I, sir? Don’t seem to me as there’s anything else as I can help you over.”

“Oh, but there is,—while the war keeps my father away.”

“War, sir? Nonsense! You don’t call a bit of a riot got up by some ragged Jacks war.”

“No; but this is getting to be a very serious affair, according to what Master Pawson told my mother this morning.”

“Master Pawson, sir! Why, what does he know about it?”

“A good deal, it seems. Some friends of his in London send him news, and they said it is going to be a terrible civil war.”

“And me not up there with Sir Granby!” groaned the man. “Oh, dear! oh, dear! it’s a wicked, rusty old world!”

“But I’ve promised to help my mother all I can, Ben, and you must promise to help me.”

“Of course, sir; that you know. But say, sir, war breaking out, and we all rusted up like this! We ought to be ready for anything.”

“So I thought, Ben; but my mother says there’s not likely to be trouble in this out-of-the-way place.”

“Then bless my dear lady’s innocence! says Ben Martlet, and that’s me, sir. Why, you never knows where a spark may drop and the fire begin to run.”

“No, Ben.”

“And if this is sure to be such a peaceful spot, why did the old Roylands build the castle and make a moat and drawbridge, and all the rest of it? They didn’t mean the moat for nothing else, sir, but carp, tench, and eels.”

“And pike, Ben.”

“No, sir. They thought of very different kind of pikes, sir, I can tell you,—same as they I’ve got on the walls yonder in sheaves. But there; her ladyship gives the word to you, and you gives it to me, and I shouldn’t be worth calling a soldier if I didn’t do as I was ordered, and directly, too, and—Hark!”

The old soldier held up his hand.

“Horses!” cried Roy, excitedly. “Why, who’s coming here?”

Chapter Seven.News from the War.Roy and the old soldier hurried to a slit which gave on the road, and the latter began to breathe hard with excitement as his eyes rested upon three dusty-looking horsemen, well-mounted, and from whose round-topped, spiked steel caps the sun flashed from time to time.“Why, they’re dragoons!” cried the old fellow, excitedly. “Enemies, perhaps, and we’re without a drawbridge as’ll pull up. Here, quick, take a sword, Master Roy. Here’s mine. Let’s make a show. They won’t know but what there’s dozens of us.”Roy followed the old soldier’s commands, and, buckling on the sword, hurried with him down to the outer gate, just as the venerable old retainer slammed it to with a heavy, jarring sound, and challenged the horsemen, whom he could hardly see, to halt.“Well done, old man!” muttered Ben. “The right stuff, Master Roy, though he is ninety-four.”“What is it?” cried Roy, as he reached the gate, where the men were dismounting and patting their weary troop-horses.“Despatches for Lady Royland,” said one, who seemed to be the leader. “Are you Master Roy, Sir Granby’s son?”“Yes. Have you come from my father?”“Yes, sir, and made all the haste we could; but we’ve left two brave lads on the road.”“What! their horses broke down?”“No, sir,” said the man, significantly; “but they did.”He took off his cap as he spoke, and displayed a bandage round his forehead.“My mate there’s got his shoulder ploughed, too, by a bullet.”“Open the gates, Jenks,” cried Roy.“One moment, sir,” whispered Ben. “Get the despatches and see if they’re in your father’s writing.”“Right,” whispered back Roy. “Here!—your despatches.”“No, sir,” said the man, firmly. “That’s what they asked who barred the way. Sir Granby’s orders were to place ’em in his lady’s hands.”“Quite right,” said Roy. “But show them to me and let me see my father’s hand and seal.”“Yes, that’s right enough, sir,” said the man. “We might be enemies;” and he unstrapped a wallet slung from his right shoulder, took out a great letter tied with silk and sealed, and held it out, first on one side, then upon the other, for the boy to see.“Yes,” cried Roy, eagerly, “that’s my father’s writing, and it is his seal. Open the gate, Jenkin, and let them in. Why, my lads, you look worn-out.”“Not quite, sir; but we’ve had a rough time of it. The country’s full of crop-ears, and we’ve had our work cut out to get here safe.”“Full of what?” said Roy, staring, as the troopers led in their horses, and he walked beside the man who bore the despatches.“Crop-ears, sir,—Parliamentary men.”“Is it so bad as that?”“Bad? Yes, sir.”“But my father—how is he?”“Well and hearty when he sent us off, sir.”“Come quickly then,” cried Roy, hurrying the men along to the great drawbridge, over which the horses’ hoofs began to rattle loudly. But they had not gone half-way across the moat before there was the rustle of a dress in front, and, looking ghastly pale and her eyes wild with excitement, Lady Royland came hurrying to meet them.Roy sprang to her, crying—“Letters from father, and he is quite well!”He caught his mother in his arms, for her eyes closed and she reeled and would have fallen; but the next minute she had recovered her composure, and held out her hand for the packet the trooper had taken from his wallet.“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Martlet, take these poor tired fellows into the hall at once, and see that they have every attention. Set some one to feed their horses.”“Thank you, my lady,” said the man, with rough courtesy, as he took off his steel cap.“Ah, you are wounded,” cried Lady Royland, with a look of horror.“Only a scratch, my lady. My comrade here is worse than I.”“Your wounds shall be seen to at once.”“If I might speak, my lady, a place to sit down for an hour or two, and something to eat and drink, would do us more good than a doctor. We haven’t had a good meal since we rode away from Whitehall and along the western road a week ago.”“Eight days and a harf, comrad’,” growled one of his companions.“Is it? Well, I haven’t kept count.”“See to them at once, Martlet,” said Lady Royland; and the horses were led off, while, clinging to her son’s arm, the anxious wife and mother hurried into the library, threw herself into a chair, tore open the great letter, and began, wild-eyed and excited, to read, while Roy walked up and down the room with his eyes fixed longingly upon the despatch till he could bear it no longer.“Oh, mother!” he cried, “do, do, do pray give me a little bit of the news.”“My poor boy! yes. How selfish of me. Roy, dear, there is something terribly wrong! Your dear father says he has been half-mad with anxiety, for he has sent letter after letter, and has had no news from us. So at last he determined to send his own messengers, and despatched five men to guard this letter to us—but I saw only three.”“No,” said Roy, solemnly; “the roads are in the hands of the enemy, mother, and two of the poor fellows were killed on the way. Two of these three are wounded.”“Yes, yes! Horrible! I could not have thought matters were so bad as this.”“But father is quite well?”“Yes, yes, my dear; but he says the king’s state is getting desperate, and that he will have to take the field at once. But the letters I sent—that he sent, my boy?”“They must have all fallen into the enemy’s hands, mother. How bad everything must be! But pray, pray, go on. What does he say?”Lady Royland read on in silence for a few moments, and, as she read, the pallor in her face gave way to a warm flush of excitement, while Roy, in spite of his eagerness to hear more, could not help wondering at the firmness and decision his mother displayed, an aspect which was supported by her words as she turned to her son.“Roy,” she cried, “I was obliged to read first, but you shall know everything. While we have been here in peace, it seems that a terrible revolution has broken out, and your father says that it will only be by desperate efforts on the part of his friends that the king’s position can be preserved. He says that these efforts will be made, and that the king shall be saved.”“Hurrah!” shouted the boy, wildly. “God save the king!”“God save the king!” murmured Lady Royland, softly, with her eyes closed; and her words sounded like a prayerful echo of her son’s utterance.There was a pause for a few moments, and then Lady Royland went on.“Your father says that we lie right out of the track of the trouble here, and that he prays that nothing may disturb us; but as the country grows more unsettled with the war, evil men will arise everywhere, ready to treat the laws of the country with contempt, and that it is our duty in his absence to be prepared.”“Prepared! Yes, mother,” cried Roy, excitedly; and he flung himself upon his knees, rested his elbows on his mother’s lap, and seized her hands. “Go on, go on!”“He says that you have grown a great fellow now, and that the time has come for you to play the man, and fill his place in helping me in every way possible.”“Father says that, mother?” cried the boy, flushing scarlet.“Yes; and that he looks to you to be my counsellor, and, with the help of his faithful old servant Martlet, to do everything you can to put the place in a state of defence.”“Why, mother,” said Roy, “old Ben will go mad with delight.”Lady Royland suppressed a sigh, and went on firmly.“He bids me use my discretion to decide whom among the tenants and people of the village I can—we can—trust, Roy, and to call upon them to be ready, in case of an emergency, to come in here and help to protect the place and their own belongings; but to be very careful whom I do trust, for an enemy within the gates is a terrible danger.”“Yes, of course,” cried Roy, whose head seemed once more in a whirl.“He goes on to say that there may not be the slightest necessity for all this, but the very fact of our being prepared will overawe people who might be likely to prove disaffected, and will keep wandering bands of marauders at a distance.”“Of course—yes; I see,” cried Roy, eagerly. “Yes, mother, I’ll go to work at once.”“You will do nothing foolish, I know, my boy,” said the mother, laying one hand upon his head and gazing proudly in his eyes.“Nothing if I can help it,” he cried; “and I’ll consult you in everything, but—but—”“Yes, my boy, speak out.”“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, dear, and yet if I speak of a sword or a gun—”Lady Royland shivered slightly, but she drew a long, deep breath, and raised herself up proudly.“Roy,” she said, “that was in times of peace, before this terrible emergency had arisen. As a woman, I shrink from bloodshed and everything that suggests it. It has been my constant dread that you, my boy, should follow your father’s profession. ‘My boy a soldier!’ I said, as I lay sleepless of a night, and I felt that I could not bear the thought. But Heaven’s will be done, my son. The time has come when my weak, womanly fears must be crushed down, and I must fulfil my duty as your dear father’s wife. We cannot question his wisdom. A terrible crisis has come upon our land, and we must protect ourselves and those who will look to us for help. Then, too, your father calls upon us to try to save his estate here from pillage and the ruthless wrecking of wicked men. Roy, my boy, I hope I shall not be such a weak woman now, but your help and strengthener, as you will be mine. You will not hurt my feelings, dear, in what you do. You see,” she continued, smiling, as she laid her hand upon the hilt of the sword the lad had so hastily buckled on, “I do not wince and shudder now. Fate has decided upon your career, Roy, young as you are, and I know that my son’s sword, like his father’s, will never be drawn unless it is to protect the weak and maintain the right.”“Never, mother,” cried the boy, enthusiastically; and as Lady Royland tried to raise him, he sprang to his feet. “Oh,” he cried, “I wish I were not such a boy!”“I do not,” said his mother, smiling. “You are young, and I am only a woman, but our cause will make us strong, Roy. There,” she continued, embracing him lovingly, “the time has come to act. You will consult with Martlet what to do about the defences at once, while I write back to your father. When do you think the men will be fit to go back?”“They’d go to-night, mother; they seem to be just the fellows; but their horses want two or three days’ rest.”“Roy!”“Yes, mother. It’s a long journey, and they’ll have to go by out-of-the-way roads to avoid attack.”“But we have horses.”“Yes, mother, but they would sooner trust their own.”Lady Royland bowed her head.“The letters must go back by them,” she said, “and they must start at the earliest minute they can. But there is another thing. It is right that Master Pawson should be taken into our counsels.”“Master Pawson, mother?”“Yes, my boy. He is your father’s trusted servant, and I must not slight any friends. Go and ask him to come here.”“Can’t,” said Roy, shortly. “He went out this morning, and said he didn’t think he would be back to dinner.”“Indeed!”“Gone over to see the vicar.”“Gone to Mr Meldew,” said Lady Royland, whose face looked very grave. “Then it must be deferred till his return. Now, Roy, what will you do first?”“See to the gates, mother, and that no one goes out or comes in without leave.”“Quite right, Captain Roy,” said Lady Royland, smiling.The boy looked at her wonderingly.“My heart is more at rest, dear,” she said, gently, “and that aching anxiety is at an end. Roy, we know the worst, and we must act for the best.”

Roy and the old soldier hurried to a slit which gave on the road, and the latter began to breathe hard with excitement as his eyes rested upon three dusty-looking horsemen, well-mounted, and from whose round-topped, spiked steel caps the sun flashed from time to time.

“Why, they’re dragoons!” cried the old fellow, excitedly. “Enemies, perhaps, and we’re without a drawbridge as’ll pull up. Here, quick, take a sword, Master Roy. Here’s mine. Let’s make a show. They won’t know but what there’s dozens of us.”

Roy followed the old soldier’s commands, and, buckling on the sword, hurried with him down to the outer gate, just as the venerable old retainer slammed it to with a heavy, jarring sound, and challenged the horsemen, whom he could hardly see, to halt.

“Well done, old man!” muttered Ben. “The right stuff, Master Roy, though he is ninety-four.”

“What is it?” cried Roy, as he reached the gate, where the men were dismounting and patting their weary troop-horses.

“Despatches for Lady Royland,” said one, who seemed to be the leader. “Are you Master Roy, Sir Granby’s son?”

“Yes. Have you come from my father?”

“Yes, sir, and made all the haste we could; but we’ve left two brave lads on the road.”

“What! their horses broke down?”

“No, sir,” said the man, significantly; “but they did.”

He took off his cap as he spoke, and displayed a bandage round his forehead.

“My mate there’s got his shoulder ploughed, too, by a bullet.”

“Open the gates, Jenks,” cried Roy.

“One moment, sir,” whispered Ben. “Get the despatches and see if they’re in your father’s writing.”

“Right,” whispered back Roy. “Here!—your despatches.”

“No, sir,” said the man, firmly. “That’s what they asked who barred the way. Sir Granby’s orders were to place ’em in his lady’s hands.”

“Quite right,” said Roy. “But show them to me and let me see my father’s hand and seal.”

“Yes, that’s right enough, sir,” said the man. “We might be enemies;” and he unstrapped a wallet slung from his right shoulder, took out a great letter tied with silk and sealed, and held it out, first on one side, then upon the other, for the boy to see.

“Yes,” cried Roy, eagerly, “that’s my father’s writing, and it is his seal. Open the gate, Jenkin, and let them in. Why, my lads, you look worn-out.”

“Not quite, sir; but we’ve had a rough time of it. The country’s full of crop-ears, and we’ve had our work cut out to get here safe.”

“Full of what?” said Roy, staring, as the troopers led in their horses, and he walked beside the man who bore the despatches.

“Crop-ears, sir,—Parliamentary men.”

“Is it so bad as that?”

“Bad? Yes, sir.”

“But my father—how is he?”

“Well and hearty when he sent us off, sir.”

“Come quickly then,” cried Roy, hurrying the men along to the great drawbridge, over which the horses’ hoofs began to rattle loudly. But they had not gone half-way across the moat before there was the rustle of a dress in front, and, looking ghastly pale and her eyes wild with excitement, Lady Royland came hurrying to meet them.

Roy sprang to her, crying—

“Letters from father, and he is quite well!”

He caught his mother in his arms, for her eyes closed and she reeled and would have fallen; but the next minute she had recovered her composure, and held out her hand for the packet the trooper had taken from his wallet.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “Martlet, take these poor tired fellows into the hall at once, and see that they have every attention. Set some one to feed their horses.”

“Thank you, my lady,” said the man, with rough courtesy, as he took off his steel cap.

“Ah, you are wounded,” cried Lady Royland, with a look of horror.

“Only a scratch, my lady. My comrade here is worse than I.”

“Your wounds shall be seen to at once.”

“If I might speak, my lady, a place to sit down for an hour or two, and something to eat and drink, would do us more good than a doctor. We haven’t had a good meal since we rode away from Whitehall and along the western road a week ago.”

“Eight days and a harf, comrad’,” growled one of his companions.

“Is it? Well, I haven’t kept count.”

“See to them at once, Martlet,” said Lady Royland; and the horses were led off, while, clinging to her son’s arm, the anxious wife and mother hurried into the library, threw herself into a chair, tore open the great letter, and began, wild-eyed and excited, to read, while Roy walked up and down the room with his eyes fixed longingly upon the despatch till he could bear it no longer.

“Oh, mother!” he cried, “do, do, do pray give me a little bit of the news.”

“My poor boy! yes. How selfish of me. Roy, dear, there is something terribly wrong! Your dear father says he has been half-mad with anxiety, for he has sent letter after letter, and has had no news from us. So at last he determined to send his own messengers, and despatched five men to guard this letter to us—but I saw only three.”

“No,” said Roy, solemnly; “the roads are in the hands of the enemy, mother, and two of the poor fellows were killed on the way. Two of these three are wounded.”

“Yes, yes! Horrible! I could not have thought matters were so bad as this.”

“But father is quite well?”

“Yes, yes, my dear; but he says the king’s state is getting desperate, and that he will have to take the field at once. But the letters I sent—that he sent, my boy?”

“They must have all fallen into the enemy’s hands, mother. How bad everything must be! But pray, pray, go on. What does he say?”

Lady Royland read on in silence for a few moments, and, as she read, the pallor in her face gave way to a warm flush of excitement, while Roy, in spite of his eagerness to hear more, could not help wondering at the firmness and decision his mother displayed, an aspect which was supported by her words as she turned to her son.

“Roy,” she cried, “I was obliged to read first, but you shall know everything. While we have been here in peace, it seems that a terrible revolution has broken out, and your father says that it will only be by desperate efforts on the part of his friends that the king’s position can be preserved. He says that these efforts will be made, and that the king shall be saved.”

“Hurrah!” shouted the boy, wildly. “God save the king!”

“God save the king!” murmured Lady Royland, softly, with her eyes closed; and her words sounded like a prayerful echo of her son’s utterance.

There was a pause for a few moments, and then Lady Royland went on.

“Your father says that we lie right out of the track of the trouble here, and that he prays that nothing may disturb us; but as the country grows more unsettled with the war, evil men will arise everywhere, ready to treat the laws of the country with contempt, and that it is our duty in his absence to be prepared.”

“Prepared! Yes, mother,” cried Roy, excitedly; and he flung himself upon his knees, rested his elbows on his mother’s lap, and seized her hands. “Go on, go on!”

“He says that you have grown a great fellow now, and that the time has come for you to play the man, and fill his place in helping me in every way possible.”

“Father says that, mother?” cried the boy, flushing scarlet.

“Yes; and that he looks to you to be my counsellor, and, with the help of his faithful old servant Martlet, to do everything you can to put the place in a state of defence.”

“Why, mother,” said Roy, “old Ben will go mad with delight.”

Lady Royland suppressed a sigh, and went on firmly.

“He bids me use my discretion to decide whom among the tenants and people of the village I can—we can—trust, Roy, and to call upon them to be ready, in case of an emergency, to come in here and help to protect the place and their own belongings; but to be very careful whom I do trust, for an enemy within the gates is a terrible danger.”

“Yes, of course,” cried Roy, whose head seemed once more in a whirl.

“He goes on to say that there may not be the slightest necessity for all this, but the very fact of our being prepared will overawe people who might be likely to prove disaffected, and will keep wandering bands of marauders at a distance.”

“Of course—yes; I see,” cried Roy, eagerly. “Yes, mother, I’ll go to work at once.”

“You will do nothing foolish, I know, my boy,” said the mother, laying one hand upon his head and gazing proudly in his eyes.

“Nothing if I can help it,” he cried; “and I’ll consult you in everything, but—but—”

“Yes, my boy, speak out.”

“I don’t want to hurt your feelings, dear, and yet if I speak of a sword or a gun—”

Lady Royland shivered slightly, but she drew a long, deep breath, and raised herself up proudly.

“Roy,” she said, “that was in times of peace, before this terrible emergency had arisen. As a woman, I shrink from bloodshed and everything that suggests it. It has been my constant dread that you, my boy, should follow your father’s profession. ‘My boy a soldier!’ I said, as I lay sleepless of a night, and I felt that I could not bear the thought. But Heaven’s will be done, my son. The time has come when my weak, womanly fears must be crushed down, and I must fulfil my duty as your dear father’s wife. We cannot question his wisdom. A terrible crisis has come upon our land, and we must protect ourselves and those who will look to us for help. Then, too, your father calls upon us to try to save his estate here from pillage and the ruthless wrecking of wicked men. Roy, my boy, I hope I shall not be such a weak woman now, but your help and strengthener, as you will be mine. You will not hurt my feelings, dear, in what you do. You see,” she continued, smiling, as she laid her hand upon the hilt of the sword the lad had so hastily buckled on, “I do not wince and shudder now. Fate has decided upon your career, Roy, young as you are, and I know that my son’s sword, like his father’s, will never be drawn unless it is to protect the weak and maintain the right.”

“Never, mother,” cried the boy, enthusiastically; and as Lady Royland tried to raise him, he sprang to his feet. “Oh,” he cried, “I wish I were not such a boy!”

“I do not,” said his mother, smiling. “You are young, and I am only a woman, but our cause will make us strong, Roy. There,” she continued, embracing him lovingly, “the time has come to act. You will consult with Martlet what to do about the defences at once, while I write back to your father. When do you think the men will be fit to go back?”

“They’d go to-night, mother; they seem to be just the fellows; but their horses want two or three days’ rest.”

“Roy!”

“Yes, mother. It’s a long journey, and they’ll have to go by out-of-the-way roads to avoid attack.”

“But we have horses.”

“Yes, mother, but they would sooner trust their own.”

Lady Royland bowed her head.

“The letters must go back by them,” she said, “and they must start at the earliest minute they can. But there is another thing. It is right that Master Pawson should be taken into our counsels.”

“Master Pawson, mother?”

“Yes, my boy. He is your father’s trusted servant, and I must not slight any friends. Go and ask him to come here.”

“Can’t,” said Roy, shortly. “He went out this morning, and said he didn’t think he would be back to dinner.”

“Indeed!”

“Gone over to see the vicar.”

“Gone to Mr Meldew,” said Lady Royland, whose face looked very grave. “Then it must be deferred till his return. Now, Roy, what will you do first?”

“See to the gates, mother, and that no one goes out or comes in without leave.”

“Quite right, Captain Roy,” said Lady Royland, smiling.

The boy looked at her wonderingly.

“My heart is more at rest, dear,” she said, gently, “and that aching anxiety is at an end. Roy, we know the worst, and we must act for the best.”

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