"'Ar—arma vorumque cani,'
"'Ar—arma vorumque cani,'
"'Ar—arma vorumque cani,'
it goes, don't it?" He opened the volume idly. In so doing his eye fell upon the title-page.
He read the name written there with an exclamation of surprise. Then holding the Virgil he came back to his chair, puzzling over the fly-leaf. Next he smote his hand upon the board with an impetuous, "By the sword of Claver'se! 'Jonas Lockett, His Book.' Can it be the man? What Jonas, except our long-legged Jonas, wrote that cramped fist? Tell me, friend Boyd, was Jonas Lockett, an Edinboro' pedagogue, ever inyourhouse, here, a certain winter?"
"One of my son's instructors, years ago, was so named," replied Boyd, cautiously. He did not like to give these interlopers the least significant bit of information upon his family or its history.
"Was he from Edinboro'? Tell me of him. Well, well, well—Jonas Lockett! Ha!"
"There is little to tell, sir. I understood that he was from Edinboro'. His health suffered there and he travelled into Perthshire and Inverness to recruit it. He was poor and somehow came to me for help. Andrew's ignorance enabled me to give it him. But he only stayed with us a season. I have scarce thought of him since. Did you know him also?"
"Know him! Truly I did. I recollect that he came from Scotland directly before he entered my father's employ. A tall, lean, quick-spoken fellow, with a sly eye and many odd stories at his tongue's end."
"The same, I dare say," Boyd assented, indifferently; "an odd coincidence. But the world is a narrow place, Captain."
Andrew glanced uneasily from one face to the other. Was even this trivial discovery likely to breed the seed of any fresh danger? Danger lurked in every turn of thought or speech.
Jermain continued turning over the leaves of the Virgil absently.
"Upon my honor!" he suddenly cried, throwing down the book; "of what have I been thinking? This, too, must be the very old Scotch house that Lockett told me all about one evening at the Parsonage! I declare—I have heard of you and it before this night, friend Boyd. I remembered it not until now."
"Ah!" came Gilbert's dry monosyllable. Boyd's whole being was at once wholly on the alert. Andrew thought it best not to make for that outer door quite yet.
"Nor is that all," continued the young officer, draining his glass. "I dare wager that through Lockett's describing his life here that winter, besides his being a famous hand to poke and pry about and meddle with other people's concerns, I know a rare little secret of you and your Manor House, friend Boyd."
"Captain Jermain! How—what?—I do not understand you, sir!" exclaimed Gilbert, growing pale and turning sharply upon the young soldier. Andrew grasped the arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. Peril, relentless peril—could it be possible?—and from so remote a chance! Dawkin and Roxley looked around from their discussion, surprised at the excited turn the talk behind them had taken.
"What's all this in the wind now?" asked Dawkin.
"Nothing, except that I am in possession of a family mystery of friend Boyd's here," returned Jermain gayly, "or I think I am. Forgive me, Boyd, but the jest is too good! Let me explain. You must know that Lockett slept sometimes in a room in your old house called—what the mischief was it called?—the Green—the Red—no, the Purple Chamber! That's it, the Purple Chamber; and opening out of this Purple Chamber is a secret room, to be got at by a spring-panel in the wall; a most curious old place altogether—and, by the by, perhaps just the sort of strong room that Tracey and Saville have been wishing for to shut that slippery rascal into to-night. Ha! ha! ha! Boyd, I'm sorry for you, for you see that I did know this little family secret after all, did I not? Oh, man, don't look so tragic over it. See his face, Roxley! By all that is hospitable to mad wags like ourselves here, you shall make amends for your soberness by taking us all upstairs and helping us to find out this wonderful hole. Up, Roxley! Up, Dawkin!" continued the domineering young trooper, already excited by the usquebaugh and full of a boyish delight at having someone to tease who was quite in his power; "you, too, my blue-eyed Andrew! Your father must pilot us upstairs at once, or he is no honest host. Huzzah!"
"Huzzah! huzzah!" chimed in Roxley and Dawkin. Jermain seized the candles, and, laughing boisterously, forced one of them into the terrified Boyd's hand. Roxley caught hold of the master's arm. Boyd stood between them, the color of the wall, rigid, his eyes conveying to Andrew a despairing signal. Through the crack of the door were peering Mistress Annan and some women-servants, with blanched cheeks.
Ruin had stalked in a few seconds into their midst.
Terrible was the temptation to Gilbert Boyd as he was held there in the half-sportive, half-brutal grasp of the dragoons. Yet might one bold falsehood save everything! How easy to cry out, "That wing of my house was burnt to the ground years ago!" or to declare that the Mouse's Nest itself had been opened up and its secrecy destroyed—one of a half-dozen other excuses, proffered with the dignity of a man in his own house might avert the calamity precipitating. Hospitality—the saving of a guest's life—did not these cry out for a lie?
But he did not utter it. Not he, Gilbert Boyd, of Windlestrae. It was not because with the thought of falsehood he remembered that those beside him would probably exact proof. It was because too keenly upon his conscience pressed the acted-out departures from strict truth of which this bitter evening had already made him guilty. These must be none worse henceforth. He would obey his God; and God would sustain him and his. Nevertheless he was mortal man enough to protest, as he wrested his wrist from the familiar grasp of the leering Dawkin and stood commandingly before the trio: "Gentlemen—Captain Jermain—you have forgotten yourselves! It—it is impossible! The room—the room is all in unreadiness. Mistress Annan hath charge of it—I cannot take you into it to-night. Let me go, I beg, Captain! You carry your wild humors too far."
"Oh, no, Boyd, not a step too far," retorted Roxley, "provided you carry us upstairs with you."
"But—but—I assure you, gentlemen, the—the Nest is wholly unfit for the purposes of a prison. Listen to me, Captain Jermain, I pray. Only be reasonable, Mr. Roxley! It is not in repair; and we have under our roof another, a much securer place of the sort, if you insist on one——"
"Hardly, Mr. Boyd, I dare wager," interrupted Captain Jermain, laughing afresh at what he counted Gilbert's absurd annoyance over the "family secret."
"A strong, well-barred room in the East Wing, overhead, that was fitted up for a gaol, and hath been so employed before now. I will send and have it made ready to show you, gentlemen. Release my arm, Captain, I insist! I willnotconsent."
Jermain, Dawkin, and Roxley seemed the more amused at his annoyance. It was plain that only forcible resistance would check their folly, and forcible resistance was not to be, for an instant, considered.
Had Lord Armitage been listening? Ought not he to be within the Mouse's Nest—out of earshot? He must be warned and extricated. Andrew responded to that intense look from his father's eyes by a quick step toward the hall-door, frantic to dash headlong up the dark stairs and transmit an alarm through the panel in the Purple Chamber. Ah, by his own pledge he had made more certain the doom of his friend! By his own pledge!
But the captain interrupted him by a single stride. "Hold there, friend Andrew, my bonny Highland chiel! No dodging upward to warn any pretty faces that have shut themselves into this same old room. They shall be gallantly surprised by a serenade before their portal. Here!" continued Jermain, snatching a candle from the elder Boyd, and bestowing it in Andrew's unwilling grasp; "you shall head the exploring party! Huzzah!"
With one arm about Boyd's neck, and holding Andrew between Roxley and himself, Jermain set the unsteady procession on the march from the dining-parlor and out into the hall, the three shouting boisterously: "Above-stairs, all of us! Huzzah!" and singing, like the caricature of a death-hymn, as they approached the first step, that roystering refrain:
"King George, God bless him forever!And down with theWhite Cockades!"
"King George, God bless him forever!And down with theWhite Cockades!"
"King George, God bless him forever!
And down with theWhite Cockades!"
In the meantime Lord Armitage had been sitting on one of the two stools in the Mouse's Nest. That retreat was quite too dark for him to see his hand before his face, except precisely in the corner where he was resting. Into this the high opening in the wall, alluded to, seemed to filter a gray gleam.
The young refugee realized that his present insecurity was great; but he had been in deeper danger before it, and that self-control which had rather disconcerted Andrew during that moment they had been standing at the stair-top was not much assumed.
"Bless the boy!" he muttered; "it is something to have won such a stout young heart! Ah, if ever I get away from this accursed land, where death dogs my footsteps to trip me up, Andrew, you shall not be forgotten, depend upon it. But, gadzooks! it looks now very little like my conferring care or honor upon any man, young or old!"
He rose and peered curiously up at the aperture in the blank, black wall, with his hands clasped behind his back.
"A strong draught from that, I note. I wonder with what it communicates? Some sort of an air shaft probably. Faugh, what a den is this! A day or so within it would go far to bring a gay fellow like me to suicide—provided he could lay hand on aught here to take himself away with. When can Andrew get back here to bring me word of the prisoner below? Would to God I knew! My mind misgives me. If it be from them, after all—! Still, still, there are so many of our gallant fellows hiding in thickets and caves. If itwereCameron or Lochiel it would break my heart. That peasant-woman last week told me that she had given shelter to a gentleman of the Prince's army only the day before! Oh, Andrew, Andrew, my lad! make haste, for I am in worse dread for others than for myself until you ease me."
He went softly—though there was no need, for the floor was stone and only the under-arching thickness of the partition was below—down the length of the Nest in the darkness, feeling his way along the wall until he perceived that he stood alongside the sliding panel. A narrow, almost undistinguishable crevice marked it out. He put his ear to this, as he had done a score of times since his entrance; but he could not catch the slightest sound, so impervious and exactly adjusted was the barrier.
"I cannot stand it!" he ejaculated, feeling for the iron lever, a simple turn of which, followed by a prolonged and equable pressure, would slide back the panel. "It is a risk. Andrew is right. Any one of those miscreants may take it into his head to go prowling about the halls or chambers while the rest are at supper. But Imustget some inkling of what is going on in that dining-parlor! Andrew may be on his way to me, too."
He moved the lever. A slight tremor—a widening of the crevice—in an instant he perceived that the massive jamb had retreated.
All was dark. He thrust forth his arm and touched the under-side of the thick hangings along the wall of the Purple Chamber. Then he slipped out beneath their folds, like a cat, and stood again in the great room itself—alone. Apparently no one, friendly or hostile, was on that second story as yet. Tiptoe he ventured toward the closed door, the outline of which he could trace.
But he caught his breath as he came to it and set it ajar with trembling caution. He had stolen forth from the Nest exactly as the bustle below, the voices, laughter, and singing culminated in the audacious demand by Captain Jermain that the mysterious secret-chamber be laid open for the diversion of himself and his companions. Boyd's protests he could not hear—nor see the scene at the table—nor guess how it had come about. He heard only the pushing aside of the chairs, the drunken march into the broad hall, the hoarse—
"King George, God bless him forever!And down with theWhite Cockades!"
"King George, God bless him forever!And down with theWhite Cockades!"
"King George, God bless him forever!
And down with theWhite Cockades!"
the reiterated cry: "Above-stairs, all of us! huzzah!"
The tone in which that drinking song was sung, those words uttered, assured him that it was not betrayal, but some new train of concurrent circumstances, that was bringing about a startling move. He dared not lock the door. He leaped back, stumbled headlong toward the chimney-piece, tossed aside the arras and threw himself within the Mouse's Nest, with the pant of a hunted stag. To seize the lever was the gesture of a half-second. He could bolt the panel to all outsiders as soon as it shut. Excitement guided his hand truly in the dark. He pushed and pressed. The panel slid obediently back toward its deceptive resting-place. In doing so it creaked slightly—an ominous occurrence that had not accompanied its previous passage. He tugged harder at the lever as, with the creak, something seemed to resist his hand.
Up the stairway was coming the tramp of the soldiers and the two Boyds. He could overhear more merriment. He pushed with all his might. It was useless labor. Within some three inches of closure, for its bolting, the mechanism operating from the within-side of the panel suddenly had refused to act. Everything stood still—perfectly, terribly still. A wide black crack must inevitably be visible to any person who should draw aside the arras of the chamber wall!
"I am lost if the villains have lighted on the secret of the Nest!" the endangered nobleman exclaimed, in sudden realization and despair. "Oh why, why did I not bethink me that I might not be able to close it—through some weakness of the old apparatus? The chase is up!"
The next moment the shine of candles below the folds of the arras—the loud banter and laughter of Jermain—broken sentences from Boyd—came all within a few yards' length, as the quintet stood within the Purple Chamber.
The young man crouched down. His teeth were set to meet the extreme of his peril. The perspiration oozed from his forehead.
"Once for all, gentlemen," came the angry tones of Gilbert Boyd, amid the scuffling of feet, "I swear to you that no hand but mine shall ever, with my consent, disclose this secret place, however near it may lie to us—and, as I live, it shall not be so disclosed this night!"
"Oh, but it must be, and shall be!" retorted Jermain, more delighted than ever at prolonging and enjoying the old Master's concern; "away with your silly family pride, Boyd! You have too much sense for it."
"We'll never tell, Boyd," said Dawkin; "will we, Roxley? Oh, 'tis rare sport!"
"Never," assented Roxley; "hold up the candles, Andrew, that we may all guess at the very spot."
"Beware, gentlemen, how you tempt my patience further! Surely, you see that I am past the humor for such folly! Leave the room with me, Captain Jermain! I command it—I adjure you all, by the laws of hospitality and courtesy——"
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the three tormentors. Had they been less influenced by the excellent cheer at the table just quitted, one or all of them must have by this suspected a deeper motive for Boyd's recusancy. But, as it was, it all was taken with the other details of the scene—an obstinate and proud Scotch householder, unwilling to share a petty secret with some gay guests.
"And I—I adjure you," mimicked Jermain, "by the laws of hospitality and courtesy, not to cross my pleasure so peevishly. Ay, there is the chimney! Lockett particularized the chimney. Behind the corner of the arras, just about where that figure of the Prodigal Son is worked, must lie the plate set in the angle of the stone——"
Lord Armitage stiffened his muscles. "If I had only caught up one of those stools yonder, the battle should begin frommyside!" he grimly reflected. "Stay—I must not give them one extra inch of vantage. I will creep into yonder farthest corner—lay hand on a stool, crouch—and wait for them!"
"Oh, merciful God!" thought, or rather prayed Andrew, on the other side, clutching the candles and white as one who swoons. "Does he hear? What can he do? Save him, save him, O Lord—for only thou canst preserve him or us now."
Dawkin made for the chimney-jamb, exclaiming: "Come, I'll draw back the Prodigal from his husks!"
Before he could reach it, Gilbert, desperate, careless of any further pacific measures, seeing in mind nothing but imminent bloodshed, leaped between him and the chimney. Indignation had altered the very fashion of his countenance.
"Hear me, sirs, for the last time!" he cried; "by the God of my fathers, who hath preserved me and mine within this house until these hairs are white, not one step further into its secrets or secret chambers shall you take, nor dare any longer to indulge this unsoldierly curiosity and insolence! I mean what I say. No, I will give no reasons except what I have given, what common decency might prompt to you. This impudent business stops at once. Take away your hand, sir! Put down your arm, fellow! Call it over-respect to my family and its trusts, or call it what you may, I swear that I will strike down the man who sets a finger upon this arras! Must I call up my servants to protect us from you?" [Four or five of these last were already waiting wherever a man could lurk in the hall or adjoining rooms, trembling for their master's safety, and only restrained by Neil from running into the Purple Chamber to chastise the insolent troopers.]
Half-intoxicated though he was, this vehement speech and the gestures accompanying it were enough to change the mood of Captain Jermain to irritation. He turned red, gave a short, hard laugh of contempt, and uttered an oath—with which he darted forward to seize the arras. He slipped, laughing triumphantly, beneath Boyd's extended arm. He clutched the tapestry with a violent pull. The rusty nails above yielded. Down fell the Prodigal and his Swine, partly overturning both disputants. A cloud of dust rose; and, as it cleared away, a cry of surprise broke from the lips of all the group. There, exposed to full sight, rose the broad crack! The panel was unmistakable, because partially open! "O Almighty Protector!" thought Gilbert, a thrill of hope entering his heart, "he overheard—he had time to escape from it."
"Yes, he has escaped—he has escaped!" ejaculated Andrew to himself; "not yet in their power, not yet!"
"Open?" cried Jermain. "Yes, by the sword of Claverhouse, it is open! The easier for us to take our look at it, but a bad sign for its safety as a prison to-night. Let's see—will the doorway widen if we push at the old panel."
There was no sound from the cell. Captain Jermain approached the opening. Boyd could make no further resistance—he wondered whether he might not have undone the success of some defence on his guest's part, as it was; for as Roxley and Dawkin stepped toward the wall Gilbert gave a sigh of exhaustion, and then sank back upon an arm-chair in a half-faint.
Mistress Annan darted into the room unobtrusively, but looking like an elderly Scotch ghost in cap and spectacles, and began chafing her master's cold hands. Andrew would see it out to the end. "If he be there, and if they seize him, I will strike one of them down for him," thought the lad. The end, the end was at hand—life or death in it!
"Works like a charm!" cried Jermain, now quite forgetting his fit of passion in the indulgence of curiosity. "There, we can pass! Ugh! What a stinking hole!" The lever, to outside persuasion, offered no reluctance to move. The door, truly, was wide open. Blackness of darkness—a rush of chill, malodorous wind. But no outrushing or defiant figure!
"Give me one candle, boy," said Jermain—"hold the other before us. So. Watch well your feet, lads. These odd nooks often have holes and traps in their floors." With these words he stepped inside the Nest.
Face the worst, within that pit of gloom, Andrew must. But he contrived, in obeying the command to accompany the three, audaciously to stumble against the captain on the very sill. The latter's taper was thereby cleverly dashed from the candlestick. It rolled to some dusty nook quite beyond their feet.
"Awkward lout!" exclaimed Jermain; "but never mind; one candle shall serve."
Making even it waver as much as he could (a process very easy in the state of his nerves) they advanced well within the Nest, Jermain and the others more awed each step by the dismalness of the retreat, but all talking loudly. No Lord Armitage at bay, desperate, yet faced them. And they moved on—on—now to the very end of the narrow apartment, where were placed the mothy stag-skins and the two stools. Everything seemed undisturbed, as if during the lapse of decades.
"Well, 'tis a dull discovery after all, so far, I admit," said Jermain, peering now to the right, now to the left, or glancing toward the cornice, all a black void some twenty-five feet overhead, in such wretched illumination. "Not worth while to have so hot a question with—ha, ha—friend Boyd, over it! Yes, here we are at its end, I declare. Nothing beyond this dead wall, of course. Look, Roxley, how rough the courses are—how strong."
"There seems to be a glim of light somewhere there," Dawkin remarked, pointing up to the square aperture previously mentioned. "But 'tis a vile den for any poor wretch to be shut into. Plenty snug enough for that Highland dog, though."
"Ay," replied Jermain, frowning, "provided it be secure. Let's back to look. Steady—beware of this uncertain floor. Dawkin, thou wilt need all Andrew's candle-light for thine own share, thanks to the last two glasses I filled thee."
Could it be possible? Andrew was dumb with gratitude. For he realized that, tired of their own rudeness and curiosity, Jermain, Roxley, and Dawkin were retracing their steps to the open panel, and that for all the harm that had been done him by Jermain's acquaintance with the place of his concealment and this visit to it, Lord Geoffry Armitage might as well have been a thousand miles away!
But far more inexplicable was the mystery than he divined; until, on the heels of Dawkin and the other two, he was crossing the threshold. He saw his father standing a few paces outside, himself unable to solve the riddle, but full of thankfulness for that which he felt was the veritable overruling of God's power. He saw Captain Jermain offer his hand with a stammered apology. He heard Roxley call to him, "Come forth, youngster, we must shut up this panel and try what kind of a lock it hath upon it, and then back to the merry board, my friends. Halloa, look, look you at this, Captain. Here, Boyd, don't bear malice, man, but give us your counsel a moment."
And then—and then—just as Andrew hastened to obey Roxley, a voice spoke his name: "Andrew—Andrew." That was all; uttered in a startling, almost magical, whisper. It came from somewhere over his head, like speech evoked from the dense shadow itself.
He had presence of mind not to exclaim or start. He dared not stand still there. With difficulty Roxley and the young captain closed the panel once more. Like one in a dream he heard them exclaim in disappointment and surprise on discovering that there was absolutely no way of securing the door on the outside, and thus rendering it fit for the special use desired. Still like one in a dream the boy watched them, already wearied of their whim, force the panel back and forth in its grooves, and with more boisterous raillery declare the place no more a prison than a parlor. He heard Roxley ask his father to exhibit to them the strong room in the East Wing, of which he had spoken, and Captain Jermain interpose, laughing, "Oh, later, later, Roxley. One dungeon is surely enough until we have forgot our quarrel over it in a fresh glass together! Let the strong-room in the East Wing wait an hour." And next he and they were all descending the staircase together, the ordeal over, and he on fire to be rushing back to the Purple Chamber! For he understood it all now.
At the moment in which Lord Armitage partially rose to make his way toward the sole weapon of defence at hand—one of the three-legged stools—an inspiration came to him. He recollected the void above him; the uncertainty of candle-light—the inaccuracy of eyes dulled with wine. He drew off, in the twinkling of an eye, the brogues Gilbert Boyd had loaned him. Holding these between his teeth, he stepped a yard or so beyond the panel, so dangerously ajar for the success of the daring plan he had suddenly devised. He thrust his feet into the crevices of the rude masonry, searching noiselessly with fingers and toes for the numberless rough projections. In a few seconds he had readily gained a height of eight or ten feet. Clinging to the stones, he raised his hand to feel for some further coign of vantage. His hand struck an object that he had little suspected, but instantly bethought him was almost certain to be there, discoverable in any room so constructed in such a house—a strong iron brace traversing the Nest at a height considerably above the low entrance and running from wall to wall. He laid hold of it. Would it break? He had no time to test it. He took his fate in his hands.
With rigid muscles, and jaws aching from the strain of holding the shoes, he drew himself up, got astride of it, and at last stood with both feet upon it!
It was rusted, but it did not even bend. He balanced himself. Before climbing he had knotted the latchets of the brogues together; he now hung them across the bar, close to the black wall. So far so good!
Again must he attempt the dangerous, but far from impracticable, feat, that he began to feel convinced was his succor. Could those outside hear him as he climbed? No—it would seem not. He could have cried aloud for joy as he felt, at arm's length above his head, a second iron brace, evidently another essential in the support of the wall, to which he clove like a human fly. To this second aid he pulled himself up, and stood upright on it, with palms pressing the stones. At that height, perhaps twenty feet from the floor he could, he dared hope, defy the candle-light the intruders might introduce. It proved that he could. Motionless, afraid to breathe, he presently saw their entrance, and blessed Andrew for the additional security the fallen candle brought about; and it was from up there, exhausted but safe from capture, if not death, that he marked the troopers' departure from beneath his very feet. Then was it that, wishing to enlighten Andrew as to his resource and its merciful success, he ventured to send down to the boy's quick ears that repeated name—"Andrew—Andrew."*
*The escape of Lord Geoffry Armitage has its foundation in the experience of a Jacobite refugee, of inferior extraction, who participated in the Insurrection of 1715.Back
"It was a miracle—a miracle!" repeated Gilbert Boyd, lost in wonder and gratitude, some twenty minutes after the return of Captain Jermain and his friends to their glasses down in the dining-parlor, whither Boyd, in a state of utter bewilderment, had escorted them. The sound of their laughter and raillery penetrated to the place where the fugitive with Andrew and Gilbert now sat—a small lumber-room, windowless and unceiled, in the attic of the rambling Manor, partitioned off in one of its gables. Lord Armitage's self-extrication from the Nest had been dangerously prompt. Andrew hurried up the staircase and came upon Lord Geoffry creeping about in the dark hall; through the boy's suggestion this uppermost retreat had been gained, and hither, too, hastened Gilbert from the festivities recommenced in the dining-parlor.
"Miracle? Ay—it seems a trifle like one," responded Lord Armitage, laughing already; "what's the verse of Holy Writ about they who shall bear up the righteous in their arms? Surely, I may count myself a better man than I dared, and take courage forever."
"Blessed be the hasty fingers that left those walls so rude within!" ejaculated Gilbert. "And a second brace above the first! I shall go and see it for myself when those villains have spurred away to-morrow. But I dare leave them no longer to themselves, my lord. I must below. Andrew shall be our messenger—the comings and goings of the boy will not be noticed. I will return at the next possible chance—say within half an hour. But such a place for you! Mistress Annan shall see that it is made as comfortable for you until morning as it can be. Little dreamed I you were safer here than inthatmost hidden corner of my house. Come, Andrew; this greatest of perils is over; go you and see if you can learn more of this prisoner or how we can help him. Farewell, my lord, you are not likely to be endangered again. I must keep my noisy guests in good humor till they be ready for bed."
Lord Armitage bolted the door behind them. He sank upon a pile of dried hides, in the middle of his musty sanctuary, feeling completely exhausted. He closed his eyes. Perhaps the reaction from such present peril was all at once something like a swoon. In any case he lay motionless and with eyelids closed for quite an indefinite time, until he was startled by Andrew's knock, and his whisper from without.
"You are soon back," he said, collecting his faculties.
"Soon? Yes, yes—I have had an adventure myself, and I bring you tidings thereby," began the lad, quickly. "Oh, I thought I was never coming up."
He drew Lord Geoffry to the improvised seat. "All is well below. They are drinking—laughing. But I have spoken with the prisoner! My lord, despite his tattered clothes and sorry look, I truly believe him, like yourself, a gentleman, a——"
The boy was startled at the effect of these few words. Lord Armitage uttered a low cry, as of assurance made sure. His eyes flashed, and he caught at Andrew's arm: "I feared it! I hoped it! Tell me what you did, what happened! Tell me all, at once!"
In a few words Andrew related his slipping into the improvised guard-room under pretence of offering to the willing Tracey and Saville another flagon. Thereupon he boldly asked leave to give the prisoner a glass of water, for which the man suddenly began faintly moaning. What with their refreshments and the absence of anyone to remind them of discipline, both dragoons were in a vastly better humor than before their meal.
"So I leaned over him," Andrew continued, excitedly, "and I raised his head and held him the cup. The man they call Saville had his back to me. 'You are with friends, but we cannot help you,' said I, in his ear. I could scarcely catch what he dared whisper as I laid down his head, but I surely heard him say in English: 'Your father—warn him—Danforth.'"
"Your father? Danforth?" interrupted Lord Armitage. "Good heavens! What can he desire to say? Danforth? Oh, my God!"
"I know not," pursued Andrew, "for just as I bent to listen again the two soldiers turned around. 'Are you not through yet with your fetching a drink, boy?' called out Saville to me; 'come, come, enough of such folly! He is not worth it. Out with you. This is not your place.' So I had to hasten forth trembling. I dare not try again yet awhile. They have set a chair against the door."
"Danforth? He spoke of him—and of your father, and of a warning?" repeated Lord Geoffry, with clenched fist and a knit forehead. "Oh, Andrew, what may those words mean? Why, why could you not gather more? Moremustbe gained in some way. There has been, is, fresh danger brewing, I fear, and before we are out of the shadow of this. But stay here no longer. Hasten, tell your father what has chanced, that he, too, may ponder over it. Return when you may—be cautious—but especially come to me if you discover anything, ay, anything more about this mysterious prisoner or from him." The knight hesitated an instant, and then added:
"I will confess to you, dear lad, that for weeks before I came to Windlestrae I lived in daily hope of hearing certain special intelligence that very possibly can be trusted only to me. Moreover, it will come to me from—I know not whom! It concerns a friend—the nearest friend I have, and one pursued and miserable as I am. I wait for it, I hope for it, without the least knowledge of who shall bring it me. Alas, look not so surprised and perplexed! I cannot tell thee more, my boy. But so it is—and in every stranger I may pass by my messenger unless I am ever-watchful. On such a hard riddle hangs perhaps all my future. Leave me; while you are gone I must plan how it may be possible for me, in spite of Jermain or Tracey or Saville, to speak with this man myself."
These last declarations left Andrew aghast; but he quitted the attic and sped down-stairs, just as Mistress Annan and a maid-servant were seeking the gable-room with a mattress, a pitcher of water, and some other articles. He once more attempted the outer kitchen; but it was hopeless, Neil informing him that the door had again been denied all comers by the two on its inside. Andrew listened, and heard enough to convince him that Tracey and Saville, well supplied with liquor at their own angry demands, were setting in for private saturnalia of their own; a course, which, however loathed by the temperate Manor House family, the Master saw might be of great help, if the prisoner they guarded was really to be addressed.
The little dining-parlor was still bright with a dozen of Mistress Annan's best candles; and the liquors that Boyd dared not withhold, when fresh supplies were called for, seemed in active circulation.
"Come in, Andrew," called Jermain, as Andrew slipped back to a seat, "you are too young to be gay, but you can sit down and let your bonny face smile on us. May you never grow up as wild a fellow as I! Here's to your health, Boyd, prince of solemn-faced Highland hosts! Now, gentlemen, I'm going to sing you all a capital song." Which he proceeded to do.
Andrew, during it, whispered over his father's shoulder. Gilbert's heart sank like lead again. Yes, there must be a communication with the prisoner, whoever he really was, as soon as possible. A prospect of Danforth! That meant fresh peril. Had there not been enough? He sat and affected to listen to Jermain's frivolous chat until he could remain no longer. He rose as if to get something.
"No, friend Boyd, no more budging," protested Jermain, "you can sit as long as we, and sit you must. You have been an uneasy host all the evening, ever since the secret-chamber affair was broached, and now you shall make amends. Fill up your glass."
Boyd dared not persist. Twice after this did he attempt to get away, that he might try to hold a conversation with the captive in the outer apartment, or compare his alarmed surmises with Lord Geoffry. But the captain seemed good-humoredly wary. By this time, however, the hilarity of the two other soldiers had passed into, first, a disputatious, then a maudlin, mood. The familiarity between Roxley and the captain was decidedly more apparent, Jermain laughing immoderately at all his stories, and applying himself quite as liberally to the cup, though with what seemed a stronger head for it. Andrew disappeared a little earlier, which the lateness of the hour entirely warranted the boy's doing.
"I must speak with my son before he sleeps," Gilbert said abruptly. He left the table, this time without exciting comment.
When he reached the kitchen he was not a little disturbed to find Mistress Annan, the two maid-servants, Angus and Neil, and two others of the household, all sitting in partial darkness and silence, evidently each too apprehensive of further trouble to be willing to go to sleep. "Nay, to your beds, all of you!" he ordered quickly. "I hope that the night will pass without new disquiet. You can do no good by watchfulness here—rather harm. Stay! Neil and Angus, you two had best sit awhile until I speak with you again. The rest of you go cautiously hence at once."
Gilbert passed swiftly on and listened at the outer kitchen. He could hear Saville humming a tune and Tracey talking. "Do you lack anything, gentlemen?" he inquired, pushing against the barrier on its inner side and opening the door, "or are you disposed to seek your rest?"
"No," growled Tracey; "we'll go to bed when we please, and not before. Shut the door!" Boyd obeyed; but the glance he had cast within the place showed that the prisoner lay wide awake in his corner, and that his two guards seemed further advanced in drunkenness than their superiors at the other end of the house. For once the upright master of Windlestrae thanked God that beings made in his own image could so readily turn themselves into beasts. He hastened to the attic. Andrew was there also, as he had fancied.
"Ah, you are come!" exclaimed Lord Armitage, as he entered; "you are just in time, for I was about bidding Andrew go down to you and tell you what I have decided must be done as to this prisoner and his message to you or me. First of all, are Tracey and Saville yet enough off their guard to allow you speech with him? No? Very well, then, my chance is desperate. I shall speak with him myself."
"You?" ejaculated Boyd, in consternation.
"Yes, I! Listen. I more safely than anyone else. These villains propose to shut the poor man into the Nest, do they not?"
"Not so, my lord. They have given that over."
"Why?"
"The panel cannot be fastened on the outside. It was never intended to be made a bridewell. There is no lock, and besides that the mechanism of the door is rusted and uncertain; you found that out to your cost."
"Where, then, will they stow the unfortunate fellow?"
"In the East Wing. There is a strong room there which I have offered them."
"Has it a window?"
"Yes, but a window useless to you if you attempt parley from without the house. It is the oldest part of the Manor; a dead-wall has been built up flat in front of the window-bars."
"Is the cell upon a passage, then?"
"No; it opens from a larger chamber, my lord—the East Room we call it—and that East Room is the only access to it; and the captain has already said that one or two of his party must sleep in the East Room, if only for the sake of form——"
Lord Geoffry interrupted Gilbert decisively. "I want, then, a suit of Neil's or Angus' clothes—their worst. When you return below offer Jermain a servant to relieve his men of this same formal guard-duty. 'Tis ten to one that this thoughtless, half-drunken young soldier jumps at your proposal. If I am once stationed before the door of that strong-room, depend upon it I can find a way to learn all that its inmate has to tell. Those brutes will not waken, once sound asleep, though I blew a trumpet over them."
Boyd stared, bewildered, at this audacious scheme. "He will lock the cell's door, my lord; keep the key himself or give it to one of his men. Such a plan is folly."
"He mustnotkeep the key; or, if he do, it must be got again. It can be, if you do not spare your whiskey."
"And do you, then, suppose," asked Gilbert impatiently, and staggered by such persistency, "do you suppose that Jermain will say 'yes' to this offer? He is innocent of suspicions, my lord. But he is not a fool."
"If he say 'no,' well and good. Then will I go down to the room as I am dressed this minute, and while they sleep; or we will devise other means to do what must be done. Bring first the suit—the clothes—I beg. Boyd, be not so fearful."
In spite of his determination not to assist his guest in such an extraordinary attempt, the arguments of Sir Geoffry faced the bewildered Master quite down. Particularly was Boyd impressed with Sir Geoffry's strange insistence that "the prisoner might have that to utter which could be said best or only to him."
"So be it, my lord," he said; "your blood be upon your own head; and yet, good sooth, I know not what else to attempt. Danforth! Danforth! The name makes me tremble for you. I will go and await the fittest moment to proffer your services to Jermain, and, if he accept it, I will do my best to apprise the prisoner that something is in store for him. Andrew, my son, this is no hour for you to be awake. You aid us at your own cost. Go you to your bed when you have helped my lord into yonder frieze-coat and leather breeches."
"If I do go I shall not shut my eyes; I shall but lie there and suffer death each moment," cried the boy pleadingly. "No, let me stay near my lord until all these new dangers are over. Ah, how can I sleep until he and you sleep?"
Gilbert had not the heart to command.
"Well, well, be it as you will; but keep above-stairs," returned his father. "God knows the end of this night's business. Pray each moment for us all. Hark! I hear Roxley singing and the rest shouting. How vile, how vile a crew to be harbored in this honest abode! What goodly lessons for thy youth to be taught!"
Gilbert had been absent quite a considerable period this time, although the fact aroused no interest in the dissolute trio he would willingly have driven from his threshold. He saw at once, as he entered the dining-parlor, that a change had taken place. Good Scotch whiskey had done disgusting work. Roxley had ceased singing and telling anecdotes and lounged with one arm on the table, supporting his drowsy head, which lolled back stupidly. Dawkin was sprawled half-across the board, his hand clutching an empty bottle. Jermain was arguing some point of military etiquette in an aimless fashion and without waiting for replies from Roxley. The young captain's gallant bearing was gone: his eyes were dull and bloodshot, his dignity and vigilance vanished, and his whole appearance that of a half-intoxicated and quite commonplace young soldier.
"At this rate," thought Boyd, "your fine Surrey friends will not know you when you go back southward. The king's army is an ill school indeed, for you young men!"
"Well, Boyd—do your clocks—sing bedtime for all honest people," he inquired, sluggishly; "your face betokens your thinking that it is an hour when all men and most brutes should be asleep—and under either name I am ready enough to stretch myself. Halloa there, Dawkin! wake up, man, and go out to the kitchen and tell Saville and Tracey to fetch that rascal hither. I must see him securely bound before we fasten him into that strong-room upstairs, that Boyd talks about. Pity the secret chamber is of no use. Boyd, I'll go up with you now and inspect this other place at once."
Dawkin stirred, looked vacantly at his superior, and burlesqued a salute with his hand and the bottle. He rose staggeringly, but fell back in his chair, apologetically murmuring something.
"The man is drunk!" commented Jermain, angrily, relinquishing his grasp of him. "Roxley—no, wait here until I come back."
He took Gilbert's arm. The latter led him up through the second-story hall again.
"Down this way," said Boyd, descending abruptly a couple of steps into a side passage, very low-ceiled and evidently little used. He opened the door of a large chamber tolerably furnished, and put in order for the night by Mistress Annan, but plainly seldom tenanted. Directly opposite them Jermain saw a solid oak-door studded with nails—a grim-looking little portal that admitted them into a stone-floored and certainly dismal enough apartment, with a grated window.
"Fetters even, I declare!" exclaimed Jermain, stooping to examine some rusted chains, which proved past service. "Come along, Boyd; this is just the place. That's the key? So. Tight as Newgate! We'll get our fellow here in a trice and Tracey and Saville shall lie in the outside chamber."
But when they and Roxley presently stood before the door of the outer kitchen, it resisted Roxley's efforts, until his violent push overturned the chair-barricade within—and with no audible protest from the prudent architects thereof.
"Well, well—this is a pretty sight!" ejaculated the captain.
It was, indeed. A candle was guttering on the table amid empty flagons and spilled wine. Motionless in a corner lay the prisoner, just where Gilbert last saw him, apparently asleep now, in spite of his pain and the stifling air. At full length, opposite, stretched Saville, a brawny Irishman of middle years, sound asleep. Tracey, similarly oblivious to all responsibilities, snored beside Saville.
"More brutishness!" thought Boyd, in disgust at such a spectacle; "and yet I would they had but dropped off an hour earlier!"
Jermain and Roxley began trying to rouse the derelict pair. It was no use. Each relapsed into a stupidity more hopelessly complete at each attempt.
The captain suddenly gave up the task with a spasm of profanity that horrified Boyd, and drew from him a stern rebuke.
"They both deserve to be court-martialled and shot," declared Jermain. "Wait until we get to Neith! No, I don't care how informal their service is, Roxley. They shall be hung up by the thumbs for this—Dawkin, too."
"What—what's to be done, captain?" demanded Roxley, in a sudden attempt to hide his own dubious condition that was ludicrous to behold.
"To be done? Why, those fellows must be let lie where they are—no use trying to stir them. We must get him above-stairs ourselves. By Jove, Boyd, I'm glad of your strong-room, with a vengeance! Look at those two; look at Roxley—and," he added, with a laugh, "look at me! Strong-room be praised! I am too tired to play watchman, and I seem to be the only one fit—were it my place—which it certainly is not! But—by the sword of Claverhouse!—somebody ought to have an open ear to what goes on inside or outside this house, between now and morning. A surprise might be undertaken by the Jacobite farmers hereabouts. What's that? You can ask one of your hinds to mount guard upstairs with Roxley?"
Boyd reiterated his proposal. "H'm—I don't know. Yet why not? Yes, let it be so. If I should have to report such a thing, I would have to be mum about Roxley's status. Here, pray lend a hand. Be lively, Roxley. Up, you varlet!"
The prisoner struggled sullenly to his feet. Boyd dared not yet speak to him. Roxley was close on the other side. But his eyes met the captive's with a meaning look. Just as they came to the stairs Roxley stumbled. Jermain leaned to his aid. It was Boyd's opportunity, albeit one of seconds only.
"The sentinel is a friend," he whispered—"he will speak with you. Expect him."
There was time for no more; but he felt the man's hobbled foot pressed upon his own. He had been understood, at least in part. They reached the East Room.
"In with you, sirrah!" said Roxley, urging on their charge with a thrust past the iron-studded door of the cell. He made no resistance while they bound his legs more tightly.
Then came a crucial moment. Jermain pulled the key from the lock. Boyd held in his hand another key of Andrew's searching out, one closely like it. Only a sober and sharp eye would detect imposture. To make the change was a matter of adroitness, but its success involved the discovery of the trick before morning, unless cunning could accomplish a second change. Luckily, Boyd did not have to effect the first one.
"Take the key, Roxley," said Jermain, yawning, "put it in your pocket, and don't open the door, no matter what you hear, without calling me. Boyd has stowed me not far off—I'll show you."
In his heart the derelict young captain was glad to throw any responsibilities of the night upon his favorite's shoulders.
"Dawkin and I lie here?" inquired Roxley, disposing of the key.
"Ay. Keep on your clothes, of course—I shall. There's a bed, and that great sofa—you can give Dawkin that. You'd best go and help him up now." Roxley departed with an uncertain step.
"Fetch your trusty henchman now, if you will, Boyd," assented Jermain, wearily. "I—I'll pay him for it to-morrow. I ought to have looked sharper after these soldiers of mine."
The die was cast. If he still were resolved Lord Armitage might come. And Roxley held the key.
Boyd vanished. Jermain gaped tremendously, sank into a seat, and leaned his spinning head upon his palm. Roxley came in with Dawkin and succeeded in getting him, still somnolent, upon the sofa, Jermain dozing in his chair while this performance was got through with. "Push up his long legs, Roxley," he advised—"that's it! I shall be glad to push up mine, I'm sure. My report must be—a—well, a loose affair, if I have to draw out one. Whe-e-w!" and the captain groaned. "How fagged I am! Here's Boyd, at last."
Behind Gilbert slouched an ill-kempt peasant, whose age was undistinguishable, armed with a pair of pistols and a cutlass. His hair hung low over his forehead.
"Found somebody, did you?" inquired Jermain, rousing himself and bestowing a single glance on Sir Geoffry. "Well, my man, we rely upon your eyes and ears for at least the forepart of the night; until Mr. Roxley relieves you—if he does. Call him, call me, if you hear or see aught amiss, within or without. Do you understand?"
A clumsy nod was the supposed servant's reply. Boyd, unwilling to open his lips in this danger-fraught moment, lighted Captain Jermain away, and beneath his grim brows looked at the three thus face to face. It seemed incredible that the men whose meeting, an hour or so earlier, seemed such an accident of dread, could, in this moment, be contrived with but a fraction of risk to one of them!
"Good-night, Roxley!" said the Captain. "Lock the door after us." But he drew the soldier aside. "Look here, Roxley, we start early; sleep soundly, but not too soundly. We ain't setting an example of discipline to the service to-night! Boyd's hand might be tempted to do—one knows not exactly what. Another time, when we have prisoners, we had best rest earlier—and drink less. Mum's the word, though, Roxley."
With a parting glance at the supposed Highlander, who sat on a stool by the chimney-piece, the very model of a steadfast, awkward Scotch farm-servant, expecting to be well-feed for an irksome duty, the Captain allowed Boyd to conduct him from the East Room.
Roxley made a remark or two to his mute aid, while pulling off his boots. "Rouse me, if aught goes amiss," he said, with a hiccough, "but not unless—and I don't promise this—you can wake me any easier than Dawkin over there. You and I'll call it our night off duty—eh?—now that Captain's gone." Whereupon Roxley sighed and hiccoughed again, and laid himself at full length across one of Mistress Annan's best coverlets; and, in a trice, could not have been roused by the incoming of his own horse at a trot.
So it is. Stillness, stillness, all through the Manor House. Dull comes the sound of one o'clock. Jermain sleeps; Roxley and Dawkin sleep; Saville and Tracey sleep. Boyd and Andrew are hidden in the garret until an appointed signal; the lad's eyes shut involuntarily from pure fatigue. Geoffry, Lord Armitage, in what of peril thou must yet meet before this wonderful night shall give place to dawn, may the Lord of the defenceless be thy helper!
Again came the muffled chime of the antique clock down-stairs; the quarter-hour.
Strange sight—the sentinel in the East Room moves. He cautiously lays aside his cutlass; his brogans he had taken off, as if to ease his feet, when he sat down.
Like a thief, he walks from his stool to the bed, then to the sofa. The sleepers are as those dead. He goes to the old door of the strong-room and lays his ear to each crevice.
"Too well-joinered yet," he says to himself, "for me to try opening my lips from here, were he close beside it. Will he hear this, I wonder!"
Gradually augmenting the sound, he imitates with his nails the scratch of a rat in the wall. But no responsive signal traverses the barrier. Nevertheless, when he repeats it he fancies that there filters to his ear, from the stillness within, a faint, prolonged whistle.
"It is the only way," he decides, raising himself from the floor.
The bolt is on the hall-door, as Captain Jermain directed. Our disguised knight need dread no interruption thence. He advances again, on tiptoe, to the motionless figure on the bed.
Drunken Roxley! Shake off your stupor, for one instant! Turn over, man! Murmur; do something that will startle this robber who is picking your pocket with the caution and address of one who realizes that his life is between his thumb and finger. But no; you merely snore, Roxley, and you do not start at the hand that by quarters of inches draws the key from its hiding-place. It is too late now; for he has glided from your side with it.
"Harmless sot!" thought Lord Geoffry, contemptuously. "Had my Lady Macbeth drugged his posset he could not be safer! Now, pray Heaven, Andrew left the lock as well-oiled as Boyd thought!"
The candle stood so that it had lighted him in his attempt, though screened from the eyelids of Roxley and Dawkin.
Once more he made his former signal. Then he inserted the key. It moved readily in the wards. He softly pushed open the door. There was no sound yet from the occupant. He stole back to the candle, returned with it, sheltering the flame with his palm, and, after a parting glance backward around the shadowy East Room, entered the cell, tiptoe.
The object of his scrutiny lay in a corner, where he had been secured to a staple, by a rope, in addition to his pinioned legs and arms. He had started into a semi-upright attitude and was maintaining it, despite his cords, leaning forward with a most miserably eager and despairing expression upon his wild countenance.
Lord Geoffry partially closed the door as he came in. He advanced with one hand raised, to remind the other of those so near them.
The prisoner showed that he appreciated the perilous situation by a nod. Another step or two brought the knight to his side.
"Do they sleep, out there?" whispered the captive, hoarsely.
"As if they were dead. Two in that room; the rest elsewhere. Did you hear my scratching? You expected me?"
"Yes, but I could make no louder answer. I caught Boyd's warning. Where is he?"
"Waiting until the half-hour strikes; with that he comes to the door of that outer room, and I can tell him whatsoever be these tidings you bring. What are you—a refugee? Ah, so I supposed. Trust me, then, with what you have to say. In a moment I will tell you why you may. We are all friends here."
"Great God!" interrupted the prisoner, in a bewilderment increasing each instant, despite the many emotions of the situation. "You are no servant of Boyd's! Are you his kinsman? I have heard your voice, seen you before! For the love of Heaven lean forward where I can see your countenance clearly. I am called Hugh Chisholm."
Lord Armitage complied. He must have expected, indeed, some special recognition; for at the sound of that low-spoken name, "Hugh Chisholm," he bent toward the other man, and in a distinct tone and with a piercingly anxious glance he repeated it—"Hugh Chisholm? Can it be the same Chisholm? And if you be from the Braes of Glenmoriston, and are sent to find in high-road or hedge one Lord Geoffry Armitage, and answer to his challenge of the Lost Cause"—and he whispered it—"I am he whom you seek, he who has despaired of meeting you or your fellows since he left Sheilar."
The self-control of the other seemed for an instant nearly overthrown. He murmured some words in a foreign tongue, with so passionate an inflection that Lord Armitage checked him.
"'Tis as I scarcely dared hope!" said the latter, continuing in the fluent French which his overjoyed interlocutor seemed entirely to understand. "Yes, you find me here. And that it should be you, and I, I not recognize you at sight! Did Patrick Grant send to Sheilar? I see; I had left the house before the message could get thither. Here, let me cut those thongs—the hounds, to so tighten them!"
Lord Armitage severed them; and he who had endured them was with difficulty prevented from kneeling at his feet, in what may have been a thrill of delight and gratitude—or another feeling. But there was only too much employment for the few moments, any one of which was liable to fatal interruption. As it was, some outside sound made their hearts stop beating; but all remained calm again, and they spoke on in lower and quicker voices.
"I would have been here early this afternoon but for this luckless meeting with Jermain and his men on the road, and their capture of me. I had a companion with me, Rab Kaims, but he escaped in the forest. I was in despair when they bound me; but scarcely could I believe my senses when I found that they had turned to Windlestrae, the very place where Grant expected us to find you! I was able to breathe part of my tidings in the ear of that lad—Boyd's son, I fancy—awhile since. He told you? So! My security rested in my feigning to be more wretched and wounded than I am. But, oh, Heaven! your daring, my gracious lord, bewilders me. Suppose that——"
"Suppose nothing, Chisholm! Long ago in Paris I used to tell you that destiny would support me through any peril. But what brings Danforth here so unlooked for?"
"In Neith, the garrison and he have suddenly suspected Boyd's politics to be quite mistaken hereabouts. Danforth gathered that a refugee had taken flight from Sheilar Manse in this direction. Yesterday Patrick Grant had word from Neith that Danforth was for riding over here after sunrise, examining Boyd and formally searching this manor. He comes; and you must be far away!"
"I far away, Chisholm? Truly. But where? Surely you cannot convey me to—to the place of which you and I know, in the short time between now and day-break?"
"I can! Why not? Morning must find us both there, in safety and among loyal hearts. Naught prevents. It is more than likely that Grant has provided for our being met on the way. The man Kaims is fleet. They will all rely on my escaping, be sure."
"Hark! No; that was not the half-hour. Concerning Boyd, one word." And Lord Geoffry spoke a sentence that made Chisholm open his wild eyes still wider and exclaim, "Impossible! But, for the love of Heaven, why?"
"Because I so chose—I scarce know why myself," answered Sir Geoffry. "And Istill choose;it must not be otherwise yet. But come; be it as you say! We will get away from this den of peril. God help Boyd and his household, when Jermain awakes and Danforth rides up to join him; for it will be found that two birds instead of one have flown."
"Aha!" returned the other, with a diabolic glitter flashing in his eyes that at once revealed the savage nature below, "but why must they wake, my liege? Are not these in our hand? One knife does their business before we quit this roof—saves Boyd—eh?"
Lord Armitage recoiled at the bloody suggestion.
"Mort de Dieu!Would you slay the sleeping?" he cried. "Never—never. It were as foul murder as a Virginian savage could bring himself to do. Speak of it again, and I will cry out and we both shall perish! You chill the blood in my veins."
Chisholm looked at him curiously. But he recognized the determination in Lord Geoffry's attitude and accent and yielded, murmuring, "So be it. But because it is thy will. They would serve us thus, be sure."
"Chisholm, what will become of Boyd and his people when we are sought for? Oh, the thought is intolerable to me. Go you alone. I cannot leave them."
"If we stayed, it were no aid to Boyd," responded Chisholm, rising after him and taking his shoes in his hand; "and think of what your death"—the rest of the sentence he finished in Lord Armitage's ear, plucking the young nobleman imperatively onward. The outlaw locked the low door behind them with a cool and cautious hand and put the key into his own pocket, with a scornful smile.
Cautious of the candle's flickering light in the sleepers' eyelids, they emerged into the East Room. Boyd came in view as Sir Geoffry permitted his companion to pass through into the hall, where a lantern swung. The startled Master clasped his strong hands in consternation at beholding, not only the expected knight, but with him the prisoner, released from his fetters and walking upright, with so altered a mien. Evidently some new move had been found necessary. Boyd's cheek paled as he realized what would occur if Roxley should spring from his bed and cry out. He beckoned the fugitives away.
In a few low-uttered sentences Armitage described his successful attempt; and in the same breath disclosed the necessity for his instant flight from the Manor, along with the mysterious messenger. But more than that he had a private knowledge of Chisholm, and was positive that he could rely upon his efficient help, the fugitive seemed not to think it proper to disclose. However, Boyd had heard often enough of that singular brotherhood of loyalty and marauding, whose names and exploits have since become part of the history of the troubled time, and whose cruelty and courage in skirmish and raid terrified even the Tory troopers in relating—the Seven Men of Glen Moriston! Who, in turning over the pages of the chronicle of the "Forty-five," has not paused to admire the daring with which a handful of desperate spirits maintained themselves in a mountain fastness, defied pursuit, and, at last, their country restored to peace, died in their beds?*
With the Men of Glen Moriston, two of them acquaintances, Boyd had already had dealings; and he needed not now to be informed as to their fidelity and strength.
"There is but one course! You must be off without delay!" he exclaimed to Lord Geoffry. "The great God holds thee in his hand, that he suffers this warning to reach thee and still leaves open the way of escape. There must be no stopping for food or better clothing, or what not—though all that I have, my lord, you know, were at your service. Those to whom you go will supply you. Downstairs at once! I know the door best for your passage out. Come!"
Bewildered still, by want of preparation for this flight, which it was more than probable he would never retrace, Sir Geoffry obeyed. Boyd, who was barefooted, went stealthily to the lantern and took it from its hook. Step by step they descended the staircase after him, the lantern flashing fitfully upon the wall. Opposite the lowest step there chanced to be driven a row of wooden pegs for the hanging up of outside garments.
"It is chilly. We had best not go without better protection," suggested Chisholm, in French; and his eye falling on the pile of damp wraps that Captain Jermain and his men had cast there, the outlaw detained Boyd until he had coolly laid hands upon a couple of fine military cloaks, belonging to the dragoons, and, in spite of Boyd's dumb-show protest, also helped himself to a small leathern pouch which his deft examination showed him contained a purse and sundry trifling matters.
"It makes your false servant who releases me a genuine varlet," the outlaw argued. "Let us spoil the Egyptians."
But Boyd only thought, indignantly: "There shines the real thief-spirit, with a vengeance!" Gilbert gave them his own and Andrew's hats, and, turning through a short passage, led them into a kind of "lean-to" opening into the garden. A rude door, fastened with a stout timber-bar, was all that now interposed between the fugitives and the outside world of liberty.
The solemnity and regret of the instant entered deeply into the spirits of both the young and the elderly man, in spite of the awful possibility of an alarm ringing through the silent house, now, before the confident hands of the outlaw, already on the bolt, should lift it. The generous and grateful soul of the refugee was distressed with the reflection of the tempest sure to descend upon his protector and his household; if not from the negligent Jermain, who for his own sake would hardly dare to make too great a matter of Chisholm's escape, yet from the untimely visitation of the suspicious Danforth.
"We must not be shod until we reach the very end of the garden," cautioned Hugh Chisholm.
Lord Armitage scarcely heard the words. "Would to Heaven I did not thus leave you, Boyd!" said he to Gilbert. "Had I believed that such was to be our parting, I doubt if I had suffered our meeting. After all that you have done, all that I owe to you—Boyd, forgive me!"
"I have nothing to forgive, my lord. You came welcomed; whatever service I have offered has been welcomely tendered—you go to save your life when I cannot. Farewell!"
"But how shall I learn of your fortune after this morning's alarm and search? I cannot turn my back now, thinking that days may pass ere I do."
"Those who receive you will bear us tidings; you from me, I from you, if I live. Fear not for me and mine. The Lord is the Keeper of Windlestrae; we will not fear what man can do unto us. There will hardly be more than rough words and impudent questions."
Ah, self-sacrificing Master of Windlestrae! Even your guest feels that you are generously glozing over other pictures seen in your mind, as you thus encourage him.
"But when shall I see you? Cannot you assure me of that?" implored Lord Geoffry.
"I cannot, in truth. In better times, we must both pray; and better times are not likely soon to break. Come, no more of this! Farewell, my lord—each second is precious." He held the door open. "Go, go!"
The outlaw, indeed, beckoned in impatience. A puff of the chill morning air fluttered out the lantern. In the distance a cock crew shrilly. Lord Geoffry grasped Boyd's hand, and turned away.
"God protect you both!" murmured Gilbert, shivering in the wind. It was clear and cold; the fog in which Jermain had arrived had blown away, stars glittering overhead, and the bright dawn glimmering already in the East, in that region so early aglow. But as Armitage stepped from the stone threshold a sudden, last remembrance rushed over him. How could it have come so tardily?
"Boyd, Boyd!" he exclaimed, softly, in a tone that expressed the pang of remorse and regret assailing him. "Andrew! Where is Andrew? Good God! can I have so nearly forgotten him?"
The idea of departing thus, without a syllable to the lad who had devoted himself to him and exhibited such courage in his protection amid the environment of danger, was unendurable.
"He sleeps," replied Gilbert, chafing at further delay; "sheer weariness all at once overcame him. When I came down he lay on the floor of the attic chamber."
Lord Armitage pulled a ring from his finger. "It is better so. That to him, I beg; that, with my last adieux and my love. Say to him that it must remind him of the hour when we met, of that hour when we shall meet again. Heaven bless your boy! I hold him very dear."
Boyd took the ring. Lord Geoffry vanished after Chisholm in the cold and darkness.
*See Jesse's Lives of the Pretenders, vol. ii., pp. 136-142.Back