Arrah Neil; or, Times of Old

by G. P. R. James

THE SONG.

Hope sung a song of future years,

Replete with sunny hours,

When present sorrow's dew-like tears

Should all be hid in flowers.

But Memory backward turned her eyes,

And taught the heart to fear

More stormy clouds, more angry skies,

With each succeeding year.

But still Hope sung, as by that voice

Such warnings sad were given,

In louder strains bade Youth rejoice,

And Age look on to heaven.

Each kept silence for a minute or two after the song was done, and each gave a sigh; but then the cavalier would fain have persuaded Miss Walton to sing again, for her voice was one of those full of native music, which the ear longs for when once heard, as the weary heart of manhood thirsts to taste again the fearless joys of infancy. But she declined, saying she was somewhat weary; and shortly after the little party separated for the night.

Charles Walton shook his friend's hand warmly as they parted, at a yet early hour, and adding to the good-night, "We will speak more before you go to-morrow," he himself retired to his chamber, to pass several hours in meditation ere he lay down to rest.

As soon as he was alone, the young lord sent away a servant who was waiting for him, and then leaned his head upon his hand for some ten minutes without moving. At length he raised his eyes to a heavy sword that hung above the old carved mantel-piece, rose, took it down, drew it from the sheath, and gazed upon the blade. There were some dents and notches in the edge; and saying in a low tone, "It has done good service--it may do more," he thrust it back again, and hung it up as before.

"I will go to my cabinet and write two lines to the king," he added, after a short pause; but then again he stopped and meditated, murmuring, "No, it were better not to write: such documents are dangerous. I will send a message. I see they suspect me already. It were as well to destroy the commission and those other papers, and, if at all, at once. I will do it now. What is the matter?" he continued, as some one knocked at the door.

"Charles, Charles!" cried his sister, coming into the room; and as he sprang to meet her, he saw that her face was very pale.

"There is a terrible smoke," she exclaimed, "and a rushing sound like fire."

"Where? where?" asked her brother, eagerly hurrying towards the door.

"In the corridor, beyond my room," answered Annie, "towards the west wing. Oh, bid them ring the alarum-bell!"

"On no account! on no account!" cried her brother, darting out. "Call all the servants, Annie! Run, Alice!" he continued, to one of his sister's maids, who had followed her, pale and trembling; "send Hugh and Roger here, and then call the rest. Smoke, indeed! There is fire somewhere! Quick, girl! quick! Go back, my Annie, and dress yourself again. I will soon tell you more." And thus saying, he hurried on through the wide gallery, upon which the door of his bed-room opened, and then along the corridor beyond.

The smoke grew thicker at each step he took; the crackling and rushing sound of fire soon became audible, and then a fitful flash broke across the obscurity, like that of a signal-gun seen through a heavy mist.

In a minute he was at a large door which closed the end of the corridor, and, through the neighbouring window he could see the projection of one of the flanking towers, with a small loophole showing a red glare within.

"Here is the fire," he cried, "in my own cabinet! How can this have happened?" and he laid his hand upon the latch. The door was locked. He tried to turn the key, but it was embarrassed. "Bring me an axe!" he exclaimed, hearing several of the servants following him rapidly. "Bring me an axe directly--quick--quick!--all the papers will be burned," and again he tried to turn the key.

"The charter chests were removed, my lord, to the next room," said the good servant Langan. "I moved them myself by your own order, just before we went, that the floor might be repaired."

The young lord laid his hand upon his brow for an instant, and then said, "Let the rest perish then! It is no matter; and just as he spoke, the alarum-bell rang loud and long.

"What fool has done that?" exclaimed Charles Walton. "Ah, Francis! is that you?" he continued, speaking to Sir Francis Clare, who was up and following him fully dressed. "A word in your ear: mount your horse quickly and begone," he whispered. "We shall have all the country on us in half-an-hour. See, there are some twenty on the terrace already. Langan, here--go the round with this gentleman to the stables by the back way, then through the wood with him till he is beyond the grounds. Francis, say I am determined!" he added again, lowering his voice. "You shall see me soon. Away, away, good friend! You know not the people here."

By this time servants were hurrying up with buckets of water, and with axes to break down the door; but before he suffered that to be done, Lord Walton turned to one of those behind, saying, "See to poor Arrah Neil; she is in the chamber just beneath us. Take her to your lady's room. Now, Roger, you and Dick move out the chests from the place where Langan says he put them. Take them down to the terrace; but set some one to watch them. Hark! there is something fallen within."

"The great case of books, my lord, by the sound," said one of the men.

"Now give me an axe," cried the young nobleman, and with a few blows he dashed the lock off the door, and pushed it open, bidding the men throw in the water as he did so.

Out burst the flames and smoke, however, as soon as the obstruction was removed, with such fury, that all were forced to run back; and as it somewhat cleared away, the frightful scene of destruction that the interior of the tower displayed, too plainly showed that there was no possibility left of saving that part of the building.

"Now, my good men," cried the young lord, "let as many as can find buckets keep pouring on the water. The others help me to cut away the woodwork between the tower and the rest. Some of you run up to the corridor above, break down the panelling, and throw it back away from the flames. Fear not, but at all risks cut off the tower from the rest of the house. Call some of those men up from below. Why do they stand idle there?"

The scene of hurry and confusion that succeeded can be imagined by those who have witnessed the consternation produced by a fire in a rural district, where few of those means and appliances which in great towns exist in plenty, but often are found ineffectual even there, are to be met with at all. To prevent the flames from extending to the rest of that wing was found impossible, notwithstanding all the efforts of the noble master of the mansion, and the strenuous exertions of his servants, who speedily recovered from the first confusion of surprise, and recollected the old military habits which they had acquired in former days. The tenantry, too, who flocked up at the sound of the alarum-bell, gave eager but not very efficient help, as well as a number of the townsfolk; but still the fire gained ground, extended from the tower to the rooms in the wing, ran along the cornices, caught the beams, and threatened the whole building with destruction, when a tall, grave stranger in a black cloak and hat walked calmly up to Lord Walton, who had come down to the terrace to give directions to the people below, and said in a low tone--

"A few pounds of gunpowder, my lord, and a linen bag laid above that doorway, and under the coping-stone, will separate the fire from the building. The stone passage cuts it off below; there is but a narrow gallery above, and if you can but break up the corridor----"

"I see! I see!" cried Lord Walton. "Thanks, sir, thanks. Run, Hugh, to the armoury; you will find some powder there."

"I beg, sir, that I may be permitted to make the saucisson," cried a tall man in flaunting apparel. "At the celebrated siege of Rochelle I constructed the famous petard wherewith we blew in the----"

"I thank you, sir," replied the master of the mansion, looking at the person who addressed him from head to foot with a quick but marking gaze; "I will make it myself;" and without further notice he proceeded to give the necessary orders, and to take precautions both to ensure the safety of all persons near, and to guard the building as much as possible from damage by the explosion.

When all was ready, he went into the house to bring his sister forth, lest by any chance the rooms in which she had hitherto remained should be shaken more than he expected; and then, after having placed her at a distance, he himself fired the train, which, being unconfined, except at one part, carried the flame in an instant to the bag of powder, causing it to explode with a tremendous roar. A quantity of brickwork was thrown into the air; the gallery above fell in the moment after; and then, after a short pause, a tall neighbouring tower between the place where the powder had taken effect, and that where the fire was raging, bulged out about half-way up, and then crashed down, strewing the terrace with a mass of broken ruins.

In the anxiety and excitement of the moment, Lord Walton had observed little but what was passing immediately before him; but as he marked the effect and was turning round to look for his sister, in order to tell her that the rest of the mansion was saved, the stranger in black who had spoken to him before, once more addressed him in a low voice, saying--

"You had better look to those chests, my lord; Colonel Thistleton is eyeing them somewhat curiously. As for me, I will wish you good-night; I love not the neighbourhood of parliamentary commissioners; but if you want good help at need, which perhaps may be the case soon, you have only to send a trusty servant to inquire for Martin Randal at Waterbourne, ten miles hence, and you will have fifty troopers with you in two hours."

"I understand, I understand, major!" replied Lord Walton. "God speed you with my best thanks Colonel Thistleton! What came he here for?"

"No good," replied Randal, walking away and beckoning to his tall companion, who followed him with a pompous stride, while Lord Walton turned towards the spot to which he had directed his attention. He there perceived for the first time, three men on horseback, and one who had dismounted and was speaking with a servant who had been placed to watch the two large chests of papers which had been removed from the wing of the building.

As Lord Walton gazed at him, he stooped down once more to look at the chests with a curious and inquiring eye; and striding up to him at once, the young nobleman demanded, in a stern tone--

"Who are you, sir? and what do you want with those cases?"

"My name, my lord, is Thistleton," replied the other; "a poor colonel, by the permission of Providence, in the service of the parliament of England; and when matters are a little more composed I will inform your lordship, as my errand is with you, what excited my curiosity in regard to these cumbrous packages."

"Oh, Colonel Thistleton! That is a different affair," answered Lord Walton. "As soon as I have ascertained that all further danger of the fire spreading is past, I will have the honour of entertaining you as far as my poor house, half destroyed as it is, will admit."

The parliamentary colonel bowed gravely, and the young nobleman then proceeded to give further directions to his people, mingling with commands respecting the fire and the security of the rest of the mansion, sundry orders spoken in a low tone to those servants on whom he could most rely, and to some of his principal tenants.

When he had assured himself that all was safe, and had set a watch, he returned to his sister's side, and led her back to the house, whispering as he went--

"Keep two of your maids with you in your chamber tonight, Annie. See to poor Arrah Neil; and at dawn tomorrow, dear girl, make preparations for a journey. Ask no questions, sweet sister, but pack up all that you most value--all trinkets, jewels, gold and silver, for we may, perhaps, have to go far."

Annie Walton gazed at him with a look of sorrowful, half-bewildered inquiry; but he added, "I cannot explain now, dear one; I will tell you more to-morrow;" and she followed him silently into the house, where he left her, and at once went back to show as much courtesy to Colonel Thistleton and his companions as the feelings of his heart would permit.

[CHAPTER V.]

"This is a lamentable and very sad visitation, my lord," said Colonel Thistleton, as soon as he was seated with two companions in the large room we have before described.

"It is indeed, colonel," replied Lord Walton, "and will cost me at least ten thousand pounds to repair; so that I hope you have not come for anything like a benevolence, such as our kings of old used sometimes to levy upon their subjects, for I could ill spare one to the honourable house just now.----Langan," he continued to the servant who appeared at the door, "have wine and meat set out in the hall. We shall all want refreshment."

"No, my lord," replied Colonel Thistleton, with some degree of hesitation; "the houses of parliament resort to no illegal and unjustifiable acts of taxation. Labouring but for the defence of themselves, of the king's person, and the liberty and laws of the kingdom, they take care to abide by the true rights and customs of the country; but at the same time, my lord, they think it but proper and necessary, as well for the safety of the state as for the exculpation of persons unjustly accused, to inquire into and examine, either by the judges appointed by law, or by a committee of their own body, where any highly honourable and devout person is subjected to calumny, into all charges of resistance to the authority of the two houses, or of conspiracy for the purpose of levying war and further endangering the condition of the poor distracted realm."

The colour somewhat increased in Lord Walton's cheek, but without pause he replied, gravely--

"They are quite right, sir; and if, as I gather from what you say, you are come into this part of the country upon such an errand, you will find me very ready and willing to give you every assistance in my power."

Now, the commission Colonel Thistleton had to perform was of a nature somewhat delicate; for the demeanour of the Walton family, at the first resistance shown to the arbitrary proceedings of the court, had been favourable to the views of general freedom, which were then alone apparent on the side of the parliament; and though it had become evident that the young lord had grown cold as they stretched their pretensions, and had even remonstrated against several of their proceedings, yet his course had not been so decided as to cut off all hope of attaching him to the party favourable to resistance of the royal authority by arms, while the task that the worthy committee-man was charged to execute was one likely to alienate him for ever, if the grounds for suspicion were found unreasonable. However, he was a skilful man, ever ready to take advantage of opportunity, and he therefore replied--

"I was quite sure, my lord, that we should find every readiness in your lordship. We have, indeed, the unpleasant duty to perform (which I trust we shall do discreetly) of investigating charges against a number of persons in this country; but as it is advisable that those in whose affection and loyalty we have the utmost confidence should set an example to others against whom there is just cause of suspicion, it is as well that I should inform your lordship that not long since, at Chippenham, a false and calumnious accusation was made against you to our worthy brother, Dr. Bastwick, here present----"

"Of which I do not credit a word," added the doctor.

"Charging you with countenancing the cruel preparations for war made by the king against his loyal subjects, and with having entered into correspondence with his majesty, and received a commission under his hand to levy horse against the honourable houses."

He paused, as if for a reply, and Lord Walton, with a frowning brow and flushed cheek, answered--

"So, sir, I am to suppose, in short, that you have come hither to examine my house, and search for the correspondence you speak of?"

"Exactly, sir," replied a less prudent member of the committee, named Batten; but Thistleton cut him short by adding, "We are perfectly sure that your lordship, whose family have always been godly and well-disposed, would rejoice at an opportunity of showing the world how readily you would submit to the authority of parliament, and clear yourself of all false and unjust reproaches."

"Should such reproaches against a person of such a character be listened to for a moment?" asked the young nobleman; "and on my word, gentlemen," he added, "you are somewhat bold men to venture on the task."

"Not so bold as you give us credit for, my lord," replied Batten, taking once more the reply out of Thistleton's mouth: "there is a troop of horse under your park wall."

"Then it seems," rejoined Lord Walton, "that you did not really calculate upon such unresisting submission as you affected to expect at first. I must, of course, yield to force. However," he continued with a smile, "I am certainly not prepared to resist, even if I were willing."

"That want of preparation shows your lordship to be innocent," answered the cautious Thistleton--"a point upon which I have no doubt. It was judged necessary to institute inquiries into all cases of malignant resistance to the authority of parliament in this country; and it was to meet any opposition in such instances that the troop of horse was sent, not against your lordship, of whose conduct we are quite sure, though we thought it would show unrighteous partiality if we did not in some way notice the charges made against you----"

"Charges made upon oath, be it remarked," said Dr. Bastwick.

"Well, gentlemen," rejoined Lord Walton, "it is useless to discuss this question further. I will even take it for granted that you have due warrant for your proceeding, and merely ask what you intend to do next."

"Why, the fact is this, my very good lord," replied Thistleton: "the information stated that we should find the papers in question in the west tower, in a chamber used by your lordship as a cabinet or writing-room, on the first floor from the ground. Now, I was informed but now, that two large chests which I saw on the terrace without contained writings of value, which had just been removed from the fire. It would be satisfactory to us to look into those cases."

"Surely not to-night," said the young nobleman.

"I think it would be expedient," said Thistleton.

"It would prevent evil surmises," added Bastwick.

"No time like the present," cried Batten. "The king's commission might be gone before to-morrow."

"The keys, I fear, have been lost in the fire," answered Lord Walton, giving him a look of contempt.

"They will easily be broken open," replied Batten.

"I may not exactly like to have all my papers left open to the world," said the young nobleman, gravely; "but having now clearly ascertained how far the suspicions of the parliament really go, I will make no further objection. But I give you all notice, that I protest against this act; and that when next I take my place amongst the peers of England, I will move for an inquiry into the whole proceeding.----Without there! bring in those cases of papers, and some instrument for forcing open the locks." Thus saying, he rose, and, turning to the window, looked out upon the terrace, which was still partially illuminated by the fitful glare of the decaying fire in the tower.

In a few minutes four stout servants appeared, carrying in the chests, and having received orders to break them open, soon laid the contents bare before the eager eyes of the parliamentary commissioners. Great, however, was their disappointment to perceive nothing on the top but old deeds and parchments, with many a waxen seal pendent from its broad ribbon. They were not so easily satisfied, however, and proceeded to turn out the whole contents, strewing the floor of the saloon with yellow papers, while Lord Walton spoke a few words to Langan, who left the room.

"Well, gentlemen, are you satisfied?" asked the young nobleman at length, when the bottom of each case was laid bare. "If so, the servants shall replace the papers, and we will to supper."

The committee whispered together for a moment ere they replied, but Lord Walton could catch the words "No, no! not now. To-morrow at daybreak. There has evidently been no preparation. Have up the troop by that time," and other broken sentences, which evidently showed him that further proceedings were in contemplation.

"We will, my lord, put off any further perquisitions till to-morrow," Colonel Thistleton replied at length, "upon your lordship pledging us your word of honour that you will not leave the house, nor send out of it any paper of any kind or sort whatever."

"I shall most assuredly leave the house," replied Lord Walton, "for I am going in five minutes to assure myself that the fire will spread no farther. But if you mean that I am not to absent myself, I have no intention of so doing, and will promise to stay and entertain my unexpected guests as befits their quality and commission: nor will I send hence or make away with any paper, from the warrant of array directed by Henry II. to my ancestor, down to the cellar-book of the old butler. So now, sirs, to supper; and let us forget for the time all that is unpleasant in our meeting. The day will come, and that before the world is a week older, when I will deal with this matter in the proper place and in the proper manner."

"Be that as you please, my lord," replied Thistleton; "we doubt not we shall be justified. Myself and Dr. Bastwick will in the mean time gladly accept your hospitality. Captain Batten, however, may be wanted with his troop."

"Nay," cried the young lord, "it were a pity to deprive yourselves of one of your most able and active members. If Captain Batten have any orders to give, he can send them in writing. There lie paper and pens, and I remarked that he had a trooper without. My wine is good, gentlemen, and venison is yet in season."

"It will do as well to write," said Batten, who, always ready to take his part in all that was unpleasant, was not without inclination to share in things more agreeable; and proceeding to the writing-table in the window, he had soon concocted a hasty note, which he carried out himself; while the rest, with the owner of the mansion, proceeded to the eating-hall.

When the meal was over--and the commissioners did not spare it--Lord Walton ordered them to be conducted to the rooms prepared for them, and took leave, saying, "Tomorrow, gentlemen, at five, if you please, we will proceed to further business. In the mean while, good night."

The beds were soft and downy, the guests of Lord Walton tired with the fatigues of the preceding day, and it was somewhat later than the hour appointed when the members of the committee rose; and then, on looking forth from his window, Captain Batten was surprised and disappointed not to see his troop of horse drawn up in the park, as he had ordered them to muster there by half-past four. His two companions were down before him, and he found them, with the noble owner of the mansion, in the hall. Lord Walton immediately signified in a grave tone that it would be better to proceed on their search; but the task was sooner begun than ended, for Bishop's Merton House, even in its dismembered state, was not easily examined from one end to the other. Room after room was ransacked, every article of furniture which could be supposed to conceal papers was subjected to the perquisitions of the three commissioners; and it must be recollected that, in those days, people had not multiplied the luxuries and conveniences of life to such a degree as scarcely to be able to turn amidst the crowd of superfluities. Still nothing was discovered; for Lord Walton, though young, was a man of regular habits, and his papers were not all scattered over his dwelling, but gathered regularly into one repository.

At length Colonel Thistleton, after having twice passed through the corridor and gallery, pointed to a door in the former, saying, "We have omitted that room several times, my lord. It may be necessary that we examine there, merely for the sake of making our task complete. You will understand me clearly, my most honourable friend, that I am perfectly satisfied, and indeed was so from the first; but we must be enabled to say that we have not left any part of the mansion unseen."

The young nobleman heard him to the end, and then replied gravely--

"Those are my sister's apartments, sir."

"Nevertheless, my lord," answered Dr. Bastwick.

But Lord Walton cut him short, with a frowning brow and a flushed cheek.

"There is no 'nevertheless,' sir," he said. "Those are my sister's apartments--that is enough. Let me see the man that dares wag a foot towards them."

"Nay, my good lord," cried Thistleton, in a mild and deprecating tone, "we mean no offence. If the lady sleep, we can wait her awaking. We need not go in now."

"Neither now nor ever, sir," answered the young nobleman, sternly. "There are no papers of mine there; of that I pledge my honour. If that satisfies you, well."

"But it does not, sir," cried Batten.

"Then that is well also," answered Lord Walton, turning away with a look of scorn.

Thistleton spoke a word to his two companions, and then followed the young nobleman, exclaiming--

"My lord, my lord!"

"You speak loud, sir," rejoined Charles Walton, walking on. "I will hear you in the hall. Remember there are people who can sleep despite of parliamentary committees."

"This is too insolent," whispered Batten. "If you arrest him not, Master Thistleton, I will."

"Leave him to me," answered the colonel, gravely. "A committee of the house must not be bearded by the best man in the realm. Leave him to me;" and thus saying, he followed the young lord down the stairs.

When they were in the hall, in which were several servants, Lord Walton paused in the midst.

"Now, gentlemen," he said, "what are your further commands?"

"I have but to ask, my lord," demanded Thistleton, "whether you are disposed to resist the lawful authority of parliament?"

"The unlawful exercise of authority it does not possess, you mean," replied the peer. "But, not to cavil at words, sir--if I say I am, what then?"

"Why, then I should be obliged to do that which would be most unpleasant to me," replied Colonel Thistleton.

"I rather think, however, that such must be the result, sir," rejoined Charles Walton, with a cold and indifferent air.

"I mean, sir, that I shall be compelled to put you under some restraint," said Thistleton, with an angry brow, "which must certainly be done if----"

"If I permit you," added Lord Walton, seeing that he paused. "Colonel Thistleton, you are mistaken," he continued, advancing towards him. "I arrest you, sir, for high treason, in the king's name! Give up your sword!" and he laid his hand firmly on his shoulder.

Dr. Bastwick shrank back, and looked towards the door; and while the colour died away in Batten's cheek, Thistleton shook off the young lord's grasp, exclaiming--

"Call up the horse from the window, Batten!" and as he spoke he drew his blade.

"They are not there," answered Batten, with shaking knees.

"No, sir, they are not there," rejoined the master of the mansion; "those that are left of them are now galloping hard to escape Major Randal's keen riders. You may have heard of his name, sir; and it would be well to put up your weapon and submit to what cannot be avoided. Call in a party, Langan!"

"Well, my lord," cried Thistleton, thrusting back his sword into the scabbard, "this is a most shameless breach of----"

"Of what, sir?" demanded Lord Walton. "You came hither upon an unsavoury errand. You have attempted to cozen me from the beginning. Without lawful power or authority you have infringed upon the rights of an Englishman; and I told you that I would stay here to deal with my unexpected guests as befitted their quality and commission. But mark me, Colonel Thistleton: had you been moderate and wise--had you carried on your search with decency--you should have gone from this house without hindrance or molestation. I would have remembered that I had given the parliament no greater intimation of my intentions than they have given me, and treated you with civility and respect; but you have exceeded all propriety: you have pried where no likelihood existed of finding what you sought; you have even expressed the purpose of intruding on the privicy of my sister's chamber. The measure is full, gentlemen, and it is now too late. You are all three prisoners under arrest; and it will be for his majesty to determine the full extent of your deserts. You see it is in vain to resist," he added, pointing to the door, where stood a party of soldiers fully armed. "Take them back to their chambers, Langan; suffer no communication between them; place a sentry at each door, and then return to me."

The members of the committee looked dolefully in each other's faces; but they well saw that what the young nobleman said was but too true, regarding the uselessness of remonstrance or opposition, and with bent heads and dejected countenances they were led away.

[CHAPTER VI.]

"Now, Roger Hartup," said the young lord, as soon as the deputies were gone, "tell me more of this news. You were with the party, it seems."

"Why, yes, my lord," replied a tall, long-boned Wiltshire man, dressed in the full colours of the house of Walton, with broadsword by his side and pistols in his belt; "Langan took me with him without saying a word of where he was going. He told me afterwards that he was obliged to come back for fear your lordship should need him, and that I was to stay with the major and his troop, because I knew all the lanes and byways, and, moreover, loved playing with hand and arm."

"It was well bethought," said his master; "they might need a guide."

"I don't know, my lord," replied the servant; "but the captain of the troop seemed to know all the hedgerows as if he had been born among them. But as soon as Major Randal had heard Langan's message, he gave the order to muster and be ready in an hour. That was about half-past one, my lord, for we had scattered the pebbles about as we went, I warrant, and before half-past two the troop were in their saddles, and moving down at a brisk trot by Lumley Lane, and then at a canter over the common. That brought us to Hill Down, where all the folks were asleep, and then we had three miles of high-road to Rushford. As we were crossing the brook, or rather letting the horses drink, for the major had a care to the beasts' mouths, it being a hot night, we heard a trumpet sound Bishop's Merton way; so then he gave the order to trot, and taking the cart-road we came upon the edge of the meadows, where we could see the road up to the house and yet have shelter of the alders; and there we sat quite still till we saw the Roundhead rascals coming up at a walk, with a sort of animal at their head more like a chandler than a soldier, and beside him, Dry, of Longsoaken, on his grey mare When they got out clear upon the meadow, old Dry pointed along towards the bottom and said something--we could not hear what he said, but it was like as if he told them, 'If you keep down that way, you'll get up to the house without being seen from the windows.' The major spoke never a word. Indeed, he spoke very little all the time, but let them go on till----"

"Was Dry still with them?" asked his master, interrupting his discourse.

"Lord bless your lordship! no," answered the servant; "he left them as soon as he had pointed out the way, and trotted back. But when they were half-across the meadows, about half a gun-shot from the alders, a trumpeter's horse of ours smelt them out, and like an undrilled beast, thinking his master was somewhat long in sounding the charge, he began and neighed as loud as he could. Thereupon they halted, and began to look about, as if a horse neighing was somewhat wonderful; then the major gave the word, and we were out from the alders in a minute, and down upon them. Your lordship has seen a plump of teal rise up from a pond and whirl away all in a sweep. Well, four-fifths of them were round in a minute, and longest legs won the day. About twenty old fellows, with copper noses and steel caps, stood their ground, however, and fired their pistols at us, keeping all together, and showing broadsword. But we took to steel too, and they could not bide it, but broke; and though they fought better than I ever thought to see such crop-eared hounds fight, they were forced to follow their fellows, though not before some seven had tasted green turf, and had as much of it as will serve them till the world's end. Then we wheeled and followed the rest, cutting them off from the town; and, though they rode hard, yet more than nine or ten had cause to wish their spurs were better, till at length, after having chased them back to Rushford, the major sent our captain, Barecolt, with thirty men, to keep them going while he halted, and gave me ten to bring here, saying your lordship might need them."

"Then, did Dry, of Longsoaken, fly with them?" demanded his lord; "or did he run back to the town?"

"I doubt that he knew of the affair at all, my lord," replied the man; "he was far down the lane before we charged. No trumpet was blown for fear of bringing the militia men from Bishop's Merton upon us, and the banks would prevent him from seeing or hearing either."

"Then we will strike a blow at him," said Lord Walton.

The servant rubbed his hands and laughed. "That will rejoice the cockles of many a poor man's heart in Bishop's Merton," he cried. "The old sanctified sinner is hated as much as he is feared. Why he was the cause of poor old Sergeant Neil being dragged away, and killed with bad usage; and I do believe the boys would stone him on the green if they knew it, for he--the old man--used to gather the lads about him on the green and tell them stories of the old wars, when Tyrone was a rebel in Ireland and he fought under Blount, Earl of Devon, till their little eyes almost came out of their heads."

"Dry was the cause, did you say?" asked the young nobleman. "I thought the only cause was found in the words he spoke--that the king, if he were well counselled, would call William of Orange to his aid, would raise his standard at once, march to London, proclaim martial law, and hang the two ringleaders of the parliament before the door of the house."

"Ay, my lord, that was the pretence," replied the servant, "though he never said all that; and they pretended, too, he knew more of what was going on in the north, if he chose to speak. But the real reason was, that the old man, one day last year, when he was stronger than he was afterwards, heard the sneaking villain saying things to poor little Arrah that were not comely, and broke his head with his staff. Dry stomached the affront till the time came for his revenge, and then brought the men over from Devizes to take old Neil away; so I am right glad your lordship is going to punish him on that account."

"'Tis not on that account, Roger Hartup," replied his master, gravely, "for of that I know nothing; but first, the man is a rank traitor, as there is proof enough; and secondly, I am convinced that this fire last night was not kindled without help. There were men seen about the place just after dark. Dry was up here upon a false pretence in the morning; and no one was near the west tower with a light. Bring me the paper and ink, and call the lance prisade of the troop who came with the men."

He wrote a few hasty lines while the servant was gone; and on his return with a stout, broad-set soldier, the young nobleman said: "Now, sir, do you think that Major Randal will object to your executing a warrant, under my hand, for the arrest of a rank traitor in the neighbourhood?"

"I was ordered to receive your commands, my lord, and obey them," replied the soldier. "But the major told me to beg your lordship to let him know early what you intended to do, for that he did not hold it safe to remain here much after noon, for fear of being cut off."

"I will send to him directly," replied Lord Walton; "but you, in the mean time, take this warrant, and go round by the back of the town to a place called Longsoaken, where you will apprehend one Ezekiel Dry. Bring him hither without giving him time to speak with any one in private."

"But if he resists?" asked the man.

"Use force," answered Lord Walton, and then added, "but there will be no resistance. Take all your men with you but those who are guarding the committee-men, and five of my people besides. You, Roger, go with him, with Hugh, and three others. Leave Langan, for I shall want him; and now," he continued, as soon as they had retired, "to examine into the business of this fire."

Thus saying, he rose, took his hat, which lay beside him, and passing through the neighbouring hall, went out upon the terrace. Then circling round the ruins of the tower which had fallen he made his way to the end, where, black and still reeking, stood the part of the building in which the fire had commenced.

No one was near, and Lord Walton stood and gazed at the ruin for several minutes with sad and solemn feelings. It looked to him like the corpse of one untimely slain; all was grey and desolate where lately had been life and cheerfulness. The room in which he used to sit was gone, and all that marked the spot where he had passed many an hour of calm and pleasant contemplation were the charred ends of the rafters, and one stout beam, which, not quite destroyed, hung black and crumbling from side to side, bending down half broken in the midst. Part of the wall had fallen in, and part still stood, rugged and ruined, while in the chamber below some tattered fragments of rich damask furniture and old tapestry hung fluttering in the wind. The smoke still rose up from the pile of rubbish beneath; but on one of the chimneys a bird had already ventured to perch, as if claiming it thenceforth for the inheritance of the wild things of the earth.

After a few minutes' sad contemplation the young lord turned and looked around over the fair scene he was about to leave perhaps for ever, as it lay calm and smiling in the sunshine of the early morning, notwithstanding all the destruction of the preceding night, and the gloomy prospects of the future, with the same peaceful indifference wherewith some have supposed the disembodied spirit to look upon the wild passions and contentions of the world.

As he gazed, however, he saw the figure of a girl seated upon the trunk of a felled beech-tree, which lay close beneath the terrace, and instantly perceiving that it was that of Arrah Neil, he beckoned to her to come up to him. The girl did so without hesitation: and as she climbed the stone steps which led from the park he watched her countenance, to see if the moody and abstracted fit to which she was frequently subject was still upon her, or had passed away.

There was no trace of it left. Her beautiful eyes were clear and bright, and full of intelligence, though her brow was grave and even sad, and her look was raised towards him with a gentle, imploring, deprecating expression, as it she had in some way offended and sought forgiveness.

"Well, my poor Arrah," said the young nobleman, in a kind tone, "I fear you were much frightened last night."

"I was frightened, my lord," she answered, bending down her eyes, "but not much; I knew it was for the best, and hoped that it would soon be extinguished."

"All things are for the best," replied Lord Walton. "God forbid that I should doubt it, Arrah. Yet this has been a severe loss and a great grief to me; for I cannot see the house of my fathers so injured without regret. It is not that many invaluable and rare things have been destroyed, but that mementos of the past are gone with them--things the sight of which recalled the days of boyhood--places stored with a thousand memories, ay, and a thousand associations with times before my own. I can no longer sit in that room, Arrah, and think of those who tenanted it in former years, or of all the many scenes that have there taken place."

"I am very sorry for it indeed," replied Arrah Neil; "but yet----" and she paused, leaving her sentence unconcluded.

"Tell me, Arrah," continued Lord Walton, not heeding her broken reply, "when you had retired to rest last night, which they tell me was about nine, did you hear any noise in the tower, or any one going up the stairs which pass close behind the room where you slept?"

She gazed at him for a moment in silence, with her large bright eyes fixed somewhat sadly upon his countenance, then shook her head and answered, "No one."

The young lord remarked the peculiarity of her look, and added, "I am sure you would answer truly, Arrah, for your poor grandfather, who gave you an education so much above that which persons far higher in rank bestow upon their children, taught you I know always to adhere to truth. Yet hear me, Arrah; I have always tried to be kind to you and yours; I have been fond of you from your childhood. Now I suspect that this fire was not the work of accident, I cannot find that the door at the foot of the tower was closed last night. That enemies were abroad I have too good reason to know; and you, too, warned me yourself that danger was at hand----"

"Oh, but it was not that!--it was not that!" cried Arrah Neil; "the danger I feared for you was not of fire, Charles Walton. Ask me not to tell you, for they made me swear I would not before they would let me go."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the young nobleman, gazing at her thoughtfully. "Well, I will not ask you then."

"Do not! do not!" she cried, "for I could not refuse you anything; and that would be wrong after I have sworn: I would lay down my life for you, indeed I would; but you would not wish me to break my word."

"No, no!" replied Lord Walton; "but to return. I suspect, as I have said, that this destruction has not been committed by accident."

"Not entirely," said Arrah Neil, looking down.

"Not entirely!" exclaimed the peer. "Then you know how it happened--you know who did it--Arrah, speak, who was it? That, at least, I may ask."

The poor girl trembled terribly, but then, in a low sad voice she answered, "It was I."

"You?--you?" cried Lord Walton, gazing at her sternly, while his lip quivered in the attempt to suppress the emotions within him. The girl answered nothing, and after a struggle with himself he waved his hand, saying, "I forgive you, my poor girl, you did it when you were not yourself. Tell no one else, Arrah--the secret is safe with me;" and he turned away, lest one harsh word should mingle with the kinder ones he had spoken.

When he had gone some ten or twelve paces, however, Arrah Neil darted after him, caught his hand, and pressed her beautiful lips upon it.

"Do not abandon me, Charles Walton," she said. "Do not cast me off and hate me. Tell me, would you rather see all those ruins, and lose all you have lost, or be tomorrow a prisoner in the dark Tower of London, perhaps never to ride the green fields again while you live?"

Lord Walton paused with a look of bewildered inquiry; but then suddenly a light rose up in his eyes, and laying his hand upon Arrah Neil's shoulder, he said, "Thank you, Arrah! thank you. 'Tis a wild way of deliverance. Yet thank you, dear child. You meant it well, and it has succeeded. But here are people coming. Go back to Annie; we must not leave you behind us."

[CHAPTER VII.]

The seasons of the year seemed to take their tone from the spirit of the times and the discord that was raging throughout the land. The summer was gloomy and full of storms. Instead of bright sunshine and smiling skies, heavy clouds had been gathering over the heavens from the beginning of the year; and although every now and then a warm and splendid day, such as that which we have described in the beginning of this tale, broke in upon the heavy aspect of the summer, as if to remind man of fairer and happier times, yet week after week passed in tempests, rain, and gloom; and signs and portents, such as might have alarmed nations in more superstitious days, were seen in the sky, and filled the hearts of the more timid with apprehension.

It was upon the morning of one of these sad and frowning days that a troop of horse, consisting of about a hundred and fifty men, well armed and mounted, took its way across a wide and somewhat barren plain about forty miles to the north-east of Bishop's Merton, encumbered with a good deal of baggage, and escorting two or three of the heavy carriages of the times, in which were some six or seven women. The prospect was wide and dreary, extending in a number of grey lines which afforded the eye no pleasing object to rest upon, except here and there a little mound or tumulus bearing on its top a clump of black-looking trees. In the distance was a range of low wood, apparently stunted and withered by the chilling blasts which swept over the plain; and a piece of water of some extent was seen glistening on the right, with the sandy road, along which the cavalcade took its way, winding between the mere and the wood. No hedgerows broke the wide extent, and the ground appeared to be somewhat marshy, for numerous ditches intersected it in every direction, and a large trench ran along on either side of the path, with here and there a small wooden bridge to cross from the sandy highway to the green turf of the plain.

The progress of the party was not very quick, for, as we have said, the carriages were heavy, and their wheels, as well as those of the two or three carts and waggons, sank deep in the loose and shifting soil of the road. By the side of the foremost of the carriages generally rode a cavalier, with whom the reader is already acquainted under the name of Lord Walton, and ever and anon he laid his hand upon the heavy door, and spoke in at the window to his sister or to Arrah Neil, the latter seldom replying except by a monosyllable or a look. Annie Walton, however, conversed with him gaily and lightly; not that her heart was by any means at ease, or her bosom without its apprehensions; but she was well aware that her brother was grieved for all the inconvenience that she suffered, and for the danger to which she was exposed; and, with kindly and generous feeling towards him, she made as little as possible of every annoyance on the march, concealed all the fears that she might experience, and seemed unconscious of the perils of the way. She might not, it is true, deceive her brother as to her own sensations, for he knew her well, and understood her kindness and devotion; but still it made the burden lighter to him to hear no murmur, and to witness no terror.

From time to time, during the march of the two preceding days, some of the rumours which, true and false alike, always run through a country in a state of agitation, had reached Lord Walton's party, speaking of troops marching hither and thither in the neighbourhood. Now it was a detachment from Lord Essex's army; now it was a body of men crossing the country, to reinforce Waller; now it was a body of militia called out by parliamentary commissioners from the district or the county through which they were passing. But Lord Walton paid little attention to these reports, having taken every necessary precaution, by throwing out several small parties in front, at the distance of about two or three miles, to guard against surprise, and secure his onward course towards Coventry.

When any rumour reached him, indeed, which bore more strongly the semblance of truth than the rest, and was corroborated by his own knowledge of the position and designs of the various persons to whom it referred, he would ride forward to the head of the line, and converse for a few minutes with a thin, bony, grave-looking personage in black, who bore few signs of being a military man, except his large boots of untanned leather, his heavy steel-mounted sword, and the pistols at his saddle-bow. Thus, when they had got about half way across the plain, and a horseman galloped up from the right, leaping one or two narrow ditches by which it was intersected, and then, not able to cross the wider trench which separated the road from the turf, riding along by the side of the troop, and making signs to Charles Walton that he had something to communicate, the young nobleman accordingly reined in his horse, and suffering his party to pass on, lingered behind till they were out of ear-shot.

"Well, Master Hurst," he then asked, "what is your news? I was sorry you would not join us; but I am glad to see you here."

"I told Langan I would follow you, my lord," replied the new-comer; "but I had to put my house in order, and sell some hay, for it does not do to go soldiering in these times without money in one's pocket, and I had but short notice. However, my lord, you had better be on your guard; for, as I came over the moor, I found a boy keeping sheep out there between the wood and the water, and, wishing to know whereabouts you were, for I could not see you at that time----"

"You did not mention my name, I hope," said Lord Walton.

"Oh, no, my lord," answered the horseman; "I took care not to do that: I only asked if he had seen a body of soldiers, without saying horse or foot. So the boy said, 'Oh, yes; that there were five hundred and fifty lying behind the wood,' for he had counted them, seemingly--like a flock of sheep. Then I asked him how many horse there were; to which he replied by saying, 'Two,' and that all the rest had guns and bandoliers and steel caps, except a few, who had long pikes in their hands."

"This seems serious," replied Lord Walton; "we must look to this intelligence."

"There is more serious work behind, my lord," replied Hurst; "for this news gave me the key to what I saw myself in the morning. These musketeers are not alone. They have got cavalry for their support, my lord, or I am much mistaken: not two hours ago I saw the tail of a troop going into the little village, the spire of which you can just see rising up there. I should have taken them for your men but that they were coming the contrary road; so I avoided the village for fear of worse."

"Well, Hurst, ride on to the next bridge," said Lord Walton, "and then join me on the road with Major Randal, whom I must consult on our proceedings."

Thus saying, he spurred on his horse, and galloped forward to the head of the line, where, pulling up by the side of our spare friend in black, he communicated to him all that he had just heard.

"Ah!" said Randal, in his usual dry and deliberate tone, "ah! Five hundred and fifty musketeers--rather better, than three to one. That would not matter if the ground were fair; but these ditches, these ditches! they are awkward things in the way of cavalry; if our horses could leap them as easily as their shot, the matter would soon be settled. Does any one know what the ground is like there? They will gall us sadly if we have to expose our flank to the wood."

"I fear so, indeed," replied Lord Walton; "but perhaps, if I were to pass the next bridge, take a circuit round and dislodge them, while you pursue your way along the road, we might contrive to get into better fighting ground."

"Let us see what it is like first," said Randal: "here comes your newsmonger, my lord; we shall learn more from him. Now, master yeoman, how does the land lie about the wood? is there good room for a charge, or is it cut up like this?"

"Between the wood and the road," answered Hurst, "it is just like a gridiron, with ditches enough to drain the sea."

"And behind the wood, do you know anything of that?" continued Randal.

"It is good enough there," said the horseman, divining the object of his question, "but you cannot get at it for the river.

"They have some good soldiers amongst them," said Randal. "Such ground was not chosen by one of the old bottle-nosed serving-men of London."

"They must have good intelligence, too," said Lord Walton, "to fix so exactly on a point where they can best attack us. If it were not for my sister and the women, we might take their fire in passing, and get into the good ground beyond; but the carriages and baggage would prove a sad encumbrance."

"Ah, women, women!" cried Randal, "they are the causes of all the mischief in the world. However, we must dispose of them, and must take our resolution quickly; there is no going back now, my lord, and we must make our way forward at whatever risk. Luckily, you have brought all the spare horses and the women's saddles; they must quit the carriages and mount. As for the baggage, it must take its chance and belong to the winners."

"But I cannot expose my sister," exclaimed Lord Walton, "to such an affair as this--she can go back to the village."

"No, no," said Randal, quickly; "there is no need of that; this good yeoman can guide her round with the rest of the women, while we make our way forward, and do the best that we can with these gentry in front. They will not chase her if we keep on our way; but if we quit the road, they will of course draw to their left and cut us off between the causeway and the water. Now, my lord, be quick; get them out and away: I will send a dozen of my men to escort them, with Barecolt at their head. 'Tis the best task for him; for, though he does not want courage, with women he will have room to talk, and that is his chief occupation. He may lie, too, there, as much as he likes, and nobody will find him out. Now, master yeoman, you be guide--lead these ladies over the moor, round by the back of that great pond, and into the open ground above it. When you get to that mound with the trees on it, you may halt a bit, and watch what we are about on the road. If you see that we get the worst, put to the spur, and gallop on till you rejoin the Coventry road, then on as fast as may be to the king, who will be in Coventry by noon to-morrow. If you see we make good our ground, come back and join us."

"But there are horse in that village, sir," answered Hurst.

"That can't be helped," replied Randal; "we have no other chance. Besides, they may be our people as well as the enemy's.--Stay; it may be as well to see: I will send on Barecolt, while you halt on the hill. He can play either part--swear and swagger like the most licentious Cavalier, or cant and pule like the most starched Puritan."

While this conversation had been taking place, the party had not ceased to advance slowly along the road; but the order to halt was now given, and preparations were made for carrying into execution the plan decided upon. The carriages were stopped, Miss Walton and her attendants were placed hastily upon the spare horses which had been brought from Bishop's Merton, and the small body under Captain Barecolt were drawn out, and commanded to fall into the rear. Annie Walton did all that she was told to do without a word; but she looked in her brother's face, as he placed her on horseback, and, bending down her beautiful head, kissed his cheek, while a silent, irrepressible tear rose in her eye.

"Do not fear, Annie--do not, fear," said Charles Walton; "we will soon put these fellows to the rout."

But it is vain, in moments of danger and difficulty, to commend courage to those who, by fate or situation, are doomed to inactivity; for they must still feel for those that they love, if not for themselves; and though Miss Walton considered not for one moment the personal peril which she encountered, her heart beat with apprehensions for her brother, which no words could quiet or remove. Lord Walton then turned to Arrah Neil, who was already mounted, and leaning his hand on the horse's neck, he asked--"Can you manage the horse, my poor Arrah? had you not better ride behind a trooper?"

"Oh, no," she said; "no, I can ride quite well--I remember now;" and, indeed, the manner in which she held her rein, the ease and grace with which she sat the horse, and the command which she had over it, though a powerful and spirited animal, clearly showed that at some time she must have been well accustomed to such exercise.

Lord Walton looked down with a thoughtful expression of countenance, as if there were something that puzzled him. But just at that moment Major Randal rode up, exclaiming.--"We must lose no more time, my lord; if we halt any longer here, they may see what we are about, and act accordingly. I shall order the troop to advance, for women are always slow, and they must come after us as they can, till they reach the little bridge up yonder. Let the carts and carriages come first, and the women can bring up the rear. Now, mark ye, Barecolt, follow this good yeoman, with the ladies under your charge, till you reach that little mound with the trees on the right. You can deliver your stomach by the way of any of the wild imaginations that may fret you; but when you get to the mound you must give up talking, and, riding on to the village alone, make use of your wits, if you have any left, to ascertain whether there be a troop of horse in it, and of what side."

"Alone?" said Barecolt.

"To be sure," answered Randal, with a laugh; "the man who preached in the morning at Rochelle, and defeated the Papists in the evening, who defended the pass in the Cevennes single-handed against a whole army, may well go on alone to reconnoitre a handful of cavalry. Besides, it will make you careful, Master Barecolt, when you know that your own life depends on your own tongue."

"It has often done that," answered Barecolt. "I remember, when I was in Spain, being attacked by some twenty banditti, and putting my back against a rock----"

"March!" cried Randal, interrupting him; "tell that to the girls. It will do to pass the time as well as any other lie;" and riding on, he led the way, while Lord Walton continued by his sister's side, till, reaching the little bridge, the good farmer, Hurst, turned off from the road into the meadows, followed by the young lady, her servants, and the escort.

With anxious eyes Annie Walton and Arrah Neil watched the advance of the larger party of horse towards the wood before them, although neither of them had heard the exact cause of alarm, or was aware of where the danger was to be apprehended, or what was its nature. All they knew was, that peril lay upon the onward road; and, notwithstanding all the assiduities of Captain Barecolt, who, riding by their side wherever the space admitted it, endeavoured to entertain them with some of the monstrous fictions in which his imagination was accustomed to indulge, they listened not to his tales, they scarcely even heard his words, but, their eyes turned constantly to the road they had just quitted, pursued a path, forming with it an acute angle, which led round the back of a large piece of water that lay gleaming before them.

Once or twice they had to dismount, and lead their horses over the little wooden bridges which crossed the ditches intersecting the plain; and more than once, where these were so insecure as to give way under the horses' feet, they were forced to quit their direct line, and take a circuit. Nevertheless, as they cantered quickly over the turf between, they had reached the little tree-covered knoll which had been pointed out as their halting-place, before the troop which was pursuing the high-road had arrived at the spot where the low wood we have mentioned skirted the way.

That wood did not, indeed, approach close to the road, but lay at the distance of from a hundred to a hundred and fifty yards on the left, extending parallel with it for nearly a quarter of a mile, and having a green meadow, and the continuation of the broad trench we have mentioned between. A river of some width, flowing from the right, crossed the highway under a bridge of two arches, at a short distance from the wood; and at the moment that Miss Walton and her companions reached the mound, the head of her brother's troop was about three hundred yards from this bridge.

Knowing well that Major Randal was not a man to be trifled with, Captain Barecolt, as soon as they had arrived at the appointed place, took a flowery and ceremonious leave of Miss Walton, and rode on towards the village of which they had now a better view than before. The young lady's eyes, however, were still fixed upon her brother's troop, as she remained half-way up the little mound, with her horse turned towards the road and her maids behind, Arrah Neil upon her left hand, and the small party of troopers a little in advance.

They had continued this for some four or five minutes in breathless expectation of what was to come next, when they perceived the troop brought to a sudden halt, and an apparent consultation take place at the head of the little column. At that moment Annie Walton heard one of the troopers just before her say aloud--"They have barricaded the bridge, that's clear enough."

"Good God!" she exclaimed; "what will they do?"

But the man, although he heard her words, only turned his head over his shoulder to give her a look, without making any reply.

"There is a little path, lady," said one of the maids, who, placed higher up the hill, saw more distinctly the ground beneath--"there is a little path down from the side of the bridge into the meadows below: if they were to take that they could get out of the way of the wood, and I should think could cross the river, for it spreads out there so wide it must be shallow."

"They do not see it," said Annie Walton; "they do not see it for the bank."

Almost as she spoke a considerable body of foot drew out from the wood, and a party of about a hundred men running forward, drew up in line close to the bridge, and opened a fire of musketry upon the small troop of cavalry which occupied the road. Several horses at the head of the line were seen to plunge violently, and one fell with its rider. The next instant the whole were in motion, a charge was made upon the bridge, and for a few moments all was confusion and disarray, in which they could only see that the Cavaliers had recourse to their pistols, and were endeavouring apparently to force the barricade.

"Oh! the path, the path!" cried Annie Walton. "If any man will ride and tell them of the path, and that they can ford the river below, I will give him a hundred crowns."

One of the troopers was instantly dashing forward, but the man who had been left in command called him back, saying that they had been ordered to remain there, and must obey. By this time the charge had been repulsed, and the Cavaliers were retreating under a heavy fire in some disarray. They formed again with great rapidity, however, behind the waggons and carriages.

Miss Walton remonstrated against the recal of her messenger; but without waiting to hear the reply, Arrah Neil exclaimed--"I will go, dear lady; I will go! and shaking her rein, she put the horse to its speed, and darted forward before any one could stop her.

"I will go, too!" cried Annie Walton. "Why should she risk her life, and a sister fear?" and thus saying, she struck her horse with a whip and followed. In a moment, without uttering a word, the stout yeoman, Hurst, was by the lady's side; but Arrah Neil outsped them both, and and rode direct for the path she had observed. Without fear, without pause, the devoted girl rode on, although as soon as ever she was perceived from the bridge the shots began to drop around her, for her object was instantly divined, and no consideration for her sex restrained the soldiery.

"This way, lady, this way!" cried Hurst, turning to the left; "we can speak to them over the dike, and we shall be farther from the fire."

They were now within a few hundred yards of Lord Walton's party, and he was seen at the head of the troop gesticulating vehemently to his sister to keep back.

"Ride away, my dear! ride away!" cried Hurst, "I will go on!" but at that moment a shot struck his charger, and horse and rider went down together. Miss Walton, however, rode forward, seeing the good yeoman struggling up; and Arrah Neil, too, pursued her way, reached the bridge, dashed up the path, entered the road, and, in the midst of all the fire, galloped on till, within ten yards of the carriages, a ball struck the animal in the haunches, and he reared violently with the pain. She still kept her seat, however, till Lord Walton, spurring forward, seized the bridle and caught her in his arms, just as the horse fell, and, struggling in the agonies of death, rolled over into the dike.

"Good God! what is it?" exclaimed Charles Walton, bearing her back behind the waggons. "Annie, Annie, ride away!" he shouted to his sister; "if you love me, ride away!"

"There is a path down by the bridge; the river is fordable below!" exclaimed Arrah Neil; "there are no dykes beyond the stream. All is clear on that side."

"Look, look, Charles!" cried Miss Walton, pointing with her hand, "there is a body of cavalry drawing out from the village, and some one riding at full speed towards our people on the hill."

"Friends, on my life!" cried Major Randal. "Now, fair aid-de-camp, gallop round there to the right, and keep out of fire. Tell your people to charge the Roundheads in the front, while those from the village take them on the flank, and we do the best we can on the right. What was that you said, pretty maid?" he continued, addressing Arrah Neil; "a path down by the bridge--the stream fordable?"

"Ride-away, Annie! ride away!" cried Lord Walton; "more to the right! more to the right!"

"We must push forward the carriages and carts," said Major Randal; "they will give us some shelter. Where this girl came up, there can we go down."

"I saw the path quite clear," said one of the men.

But without more words the new plan proposed was immediately followed; the carts, drawn up two abreast, were pushed forward towards the bridge by the main strength of the dismounted troopers, for the horses had become unmanageable, and the traces had been cut; and under shelter of these and of the carriages, which formed a line on the left, the troop advanced in good order to the bridge, notwithstanding all the efforts of the musketeers.

In the mean while, Annie Walton took her way back towards the hill, beckoning to the yeoman, Hurst, who had by this time freed himself from his horse; but he, with that sort of passive bravery which is so characteristic of the English peasant, continued deliberately to unbuckle the girths of his saddle (about which, it appeared afterwards, all his stock was stowed away in various bags and contrivances), and made not the slightest effort to get out of musket-shot till he got the whole upon his back, after which he trudged away towards the hill, only injured by one ball which grazed his arm.

Losing no time by the way, Miss Walton soon rejoined the party of troopers at the knoll, and was giving them the order of Major Randal, when Barecolt himself came up at full speed, exclaiming--

"Great news! great news! There is the Earl of Beverley with two hundred horse, ready to charge the Roundheads in the flank."

"We have Major Randal's orders to charge them in front," said the sergeant.

"Stay, stay!" cried Barecolt; "wait a minute, wait a minute and then the man who does not kill his five of the enemy should never sit down with a gentleman to dinner again. Steady, my men, steady; look to your pistols; have ready your spurs. As soon as the earl has crossed the road I give the word."

"See, see!" cried Annie Walton, "they have got down into the meadow--they are fording the stream--see what a fire the enemy are keeping up upon them. Oh! charge, charge, for God's sake, and help them!"

"Madam, I always obey a lady," said Barecolt with a low bow, at the same time raising the blade of his sword to his lips and kissing it. "She is the best commanding officer in the world. Now!--upon them! charge and at them!" and with these words he led his little troop forward with an air of gallantry and determination which went far to justify the gasconades in which he indulged.

The ford, though somewhat deep, was smooth and easy, but still it exposed the troop of Cavaliers to a terrible fire of musketry from the bridge; and Annie Walton, left alone with her women on the hill, saw with a sinking heart flash after flash run along the road, whilst the thick white smoke was wafted by the wind over her brother's party, rendering the figures indistinct, and concealing their movements in some degree from her eyes. A moment after, however, she saw two or three horsemen break out of the clouds and gallop on for several hundred yards into the meadows, then followed a greater number, and she could hear shouts and calls, in the midst of which she thought she distinguished her brother's voice; and then she saw the troopers halt and form again in line, while Barecolt, with his little party, bore steadily on at a quick pace somewhat to the right; and a much larger body of cavalry, which seemed to have taken a circuit from the village behind some hedgerows that skirted the edge of the plain appeared advancing rapidly on the left of the musketeers, and occupying the whole space between the wood and the high-road.

There was now a momentary pause, the firing ceased, the troop of Lord Walton and Major Randal remained still, the smoke cleared in some degree away, and Annie asked herself, "What next?"

The moment, however, that Barecolt came on a line with the rest, the shrill blast of a trumpet was heard from the two larger bodies of horse; all were again in movement; and, galloping forward towards the point occupied by the musketeers, the three parties of royalists charged headlong down upon them, while once more the bright flash of the fire-arms ran along the line of the road, and the cloud of smoke again rolled over the combatants.

It was no longer to be repulsed that the Cavaliers now charged. For full ten minutes, the eyes of the watchers on the hill could perceive nothing but one struggling and confused mass in the midst of the dim white cloud, with the frequent flashes of the guns, and every now and then a party of two or three becoming more apparent, and then plunging again into the midst of the mêlée. At the same time the frequent reports of the musketry and the long-continued blasts of the trumpet, mingled with shouts and cries, were borne by the wind to the ear, showing that the fight was continued with desperate determination on each side; and Annie Walton could restrain her anxiety no longer, but moved slowly forward towards the scene of combat.

Before she had advanced many yards, a horse without a rider rushed across the road and galloped over the meadows towards her--paused, turned round, and with elevated head and expanded nostrils gazed towards the place from which he came--then with a wild neigh broke away again, and rushed across the plain. In another instant, three or four men on foot, with muskets in their hands, were seen running at full speed, and Miss Walton checked her horse, fearing that they might come near her; but they made direct for one of the ditches we have mentioned, and jumping in, seemed to couch down for concealment.

"They have won the day," cried Annie Walton, and turning to her women, who had followed somewhat slowly, she repeated, "The Cavaliers have won the day. God grant it may be without great loss!" and at the thought of what might be her brother's fate in that fierce fight, her heart sank with that dread which we all feel when the veil which always hangs more or less over the future, is brought nearer to our eyes, so as to render our contemplation even of the present dim and indistinct.

A larger party of foot, consisting of perhaps twenty or thirty men, was then seen hurrying along the road; but close upon them came a body of cavalry, and in a moment they were dispersed and flying over the plain. Almost at the same time, the heavy mass of horse and infantry which had so long remained mingled together near the bridge, seemed to explode like a shell, parties of foot and horsemen scattering here and there in every direction; and the terrible scene of a rout and pursuit now took place--the musketeers in general casting down their arms and dying, while the Cavaliers followed them here and there over the plain, and put them to the sword on the least show of resistance.

In the midst of all this disarray and confusion, a group of some twenty or thirty horsemen were seen gathered round a small flag upon the highest part of the road near the bridge; and after a brief pause, during which they remained perfectly still and motionless, the loud and peculiar trumpet-call--known in those days as the recal to the standard--came shrill but musical upon the air; and the next instant four or five horsemen separated themselves from the party, and rode up at an easy canter towards the wooded knoll.

Annie Walton gazed eagerly, and recognising her brother's form, after one moment of brief anxiety rode on to meet him with her heart at ease. Lord Walton pushed forward his horse before the rest, and wheeling it by her side, pressed her hand in his, murmuring, "My dearest Annie! my sweet sister! you have been sadly terrified, I fear, but yet you have shown yourself a soldier's child."

"Oh, Charles, Charles! you are wounded!" cried Annie, looking in his face, which was bleeding, and at a gory scarf which was round his left arm.

"Nothing, nothing!" replied her brother. "Men will have scratches when they fight with wild beasts, Annie; and these Roundheads have shown themselves as fierce and intractable as wolves or lions. They fought gallantly, however, it must be owned, and have made us pay dearly for our success."

"I fear so, indeed, Charles," cried Miss Walton. "I am sure it must be so. But poor Arrah Neil--is she safe?"

"Oh yes, thank God!" replied Lord Walton. "I sent just now to the coach in which I had placed her, to make sure she was uninjured. I must not blame her rashness, my Annie, nor yours either, for it has been the means of saving us; but it was a terrible risk, my dear girl, and your escape is a miracle."

"And good Major Randal?" asked Annie, willing to change the subject.

"He is safe too," replied Lord Walton, "and without a scratch, though never man exposed himself more. But here comes another friend whom you will be glad to see, and to whom we owe all our success."

"Oh, Sir Francis Clare!" exclaimed Miss Walton, a glow of pleasure rising in her cheek; "I am most happy to see you."

"Nay, not Sir Francis Clare either," cried her brother, "but my oldest and truest friend, the Earl of Beverley."

"Nay," said Annie, with a smile, "it was not fair of you, my lord, to give me a false name the other day. I half intend to punish you by treating you as a stranger still. Had you told me it was Lord Beverley, I should not have said that I never heard my brother mention you, for I can assure you, in former days, his letters were full of no one else. However, there is my hand--I forgive you, trusting with all a woman's foolish confidence that you had some good reason for cheating me."

"I will never cheat you more, dear lady," replied Lord Beverley, taking her hand and raising it to his lips; "but in such times as these it is sometimes needful to seem not what we are, and these noms-de-guerre when once assumed should be kept up to every one. I had to ride near two hundred miles across a disturbed country where the name of Francis Clare might pass unquestioned, when that of Beverley might have soon found me a lodging in the Tower. Walton said it was a rash act of mine to risk such an expedition at all; but I have just heard from him that I am not the only rash person where there is a good cause and a great object to be gained."

"Nay, will you scold me too?" rejoined Miss Walton, laughing; "if so, I will hold no further conversation with you. Yet, my good lord, to say truth, I take less blame to myself for what I did than for not doing it at once. To see the poor girl, Arrah Neil, willing to risk her life to serve my brother, shamed me, to think that she should encounter danger alone."

"But you might have sent one of the men, dear Annie," said Lord Walton: "it was a soldier's, not a lady's task to carry such intelligence."

"But they would not go," replied Annie Walton; and as they rode back towards the high-road, she explained to her brother and his friend the circumstances under which she had acted.

For a minute or two the conversation was as gay and cheerful as a great success just obtained, a great deliverance just achieved, could render it. Lord Beverley explained to his fair companion, that having learned that morning on entering the neighbouring village with a body of two hundred horse, which he had raised for the service of the king, that a regiment of parliamentary musketeers were lying concealed at the back of the wood, and supposing that their ambush was directed against himself, he had determined to remain in the place, and defend it, should need be, against them; but that when he found the passage of Lord Walton's troop was opposed, and his friend in danger, he had instantly called his men to the saddle, and advanced to support him. Lord Walton, too, related many of those actions which in such scenes of strife are always crowded into the space of a few minutes; and much praise did he bestow upon the gallant determination of Major Randal and his troop, and also upon the steadiness and courage displayed by his own tenantry and adherents. Captain Barecolt himself had his full share of commendation.

"I had thought," said Charles Walton, "from his ridiculous bravadoes during the last two days, that the man must be at least a coward, although Randal is not one to suffer such an animal near him; but it proved quite the contrary; for I saw his long body constantly in the thick of the mêlée, and his heavy sword cutting right and left at the steel caps of the musketeers, over the very muzzles of their guns."

As they approached nearer to the scene of conflict, however, the sights which Miss Walton witnessed--the dead, the dying, the wounded, the road stained with deep pools of blood, and the sounds that met her ear--the groan of anguish, the sad complaint, the cry for water and for help--blotted out all memory of their success; and with a shuddering frame and a sad heart she followed her brother to the spot where Major Randal was sitting by his cornet, on the parapet of the bridge, receiving accounts from the different troopers as they came in, of the prisoners taken from the enemy, and the killed and wounded on their own part, while ever and anon a mounted trumpeter by his side blew a loud, long blast, to call the parties from the pursuit.

"Ah, Miss Walton!" cried the old officer, starting up and addressing her in his usual bluff tone; "I am glad to see you safe and well. I will never say that women are of no use any more; for, by my faith, you and that little girl got us out of a pretty predicament. I was blind enough or stupid enough, and so were all the rest, not to mark the little path, for we passed it in charging up to the bridge; but even if we had seen it, we should not have known that the stream was fordable below. However, get you into the carriage again, and shut your eyes or draw the curtains, for I see you look white and sickish, and these sights are not fit for women. The men will soon have pulled down that barricade, and then you can go on, while we get up the wounded and follow. We must do ten miles more to-night."

"I should prefer to ride," replied Miss Walton; "you had better put the wounded people in the carriages."

"True, true; well bethought," answered the old soldier. "You are a good girl after all."

Lord Walton smiled at this somewhat ambiguous compliment to his sister; but, as no time was to be lost, he left her under the care of Lord Beverly, and proceeded to give orders, and make those arrangements which the circumstances required. The barricade, which had been constructed hastily of felled trees, stone, and turf, was speedily removed, and the foremost of the carriages was being brought forward to receive some of the men severely wounded, who were lying about within the very narrow circle to which the strife had been confined, when Lord Walton's servant, Langan, rode up, exclaiming--"My lord! my lord! the prisoners have made their escape."

"What prisoners?" demanded Lord Walton, forgetting those he had brought from Bishop's Merton.

"Why, that Roundhead rascal and canting hypocrite, Dry, of Longsoaken, with Thistleton, and the rest."

"No," rejoined Roger Hartup, who was standing near, with a severe wound in his shoulder; "I shot Thistleton through the head after the first charge. He had picked up a sword, I don't know how, and got out of the carriage, and was just making a plunge at Jackson the forester when I blew his brains out with my pistol; you will find him lying behind the waggons. Of the rest I know nothing."

"They are all gone," answered Langan.

"And Arrah Neil?" exclaimed Lord Walton, advancing towards the carriages. But Arrah Neil was not there.

[CHAPTER VIII.]

Inquiries were made on every side, but in vain. No one had seen poor Arrah Neil since she had been placed in the coach by Lord Walton; and, indeed, in the haste and confusion of the strife that had ensued after the troop had forded the river and attacked the enemy in front, no one had had an opportunity of witnessing what had taken place amongst the carriages, except two wounded men who had been left behind upon the road, one of whom had died before the struggle was over, while the other had crept for security under one of the waggons, which hid everything that was passing from his sight.

The agitation and alarm of Miss Walton and her brother seemed somewhat beyond measure in the eyes of good Major Randal, who was anxious to hasten forward with all speed. He waited somewhat impatiently while parties were sent over the plain, to seek for the poor girl who had disappeared; but at length he broke forth in a sharp tone, exclaiming, "We cannot remain here till night, my lord, waiting for this lost sheep; we have got all the wounded men into the coaches and on the waggons, and on my life we must be marching; we have prisoners enough to embarrass us sadly if we be attacked, and who can tell that we may not meet with another party of these worthies?"

"I think not," said the Earl of Beverly, who had shown a good deal of interest in the event which seemed to move his friend so much. "I have heard of no other Roundheads than these in this neighbourhood; but if you will march on, Walton, and take one half of my troop with you, I will remain behind with the rest, for they are fresher than your men, and we can overtake you after we have done all that is possible to discover this poor girl."

"No," answered Lord Walton, "I will not leave her behind, Francis, as long as there is a chance. You had better march on, major; I will stay with my own people, and follow you to Henley. Annie, you had better go on; your staying, dear sister, would but embarrass me. Lord Beverley will give you the advantage of his escort, and I will overtake you before night."

It was accordingly arranged as he proposed; and, to say the truth, Lord Beverly was by no means displeased with the task of protecting his friend's sister on the way. In the course of a quarter of an hour the whole troop was put in motion; and Annie Walton, though somewhat unwilling to leave her brother behind, followed on horseback, with the earl by her side, and some fourteen or fifteen horse bringing up the rear, at a short distance behind. She had been rendered sad and desponding by all the events that had taken place; for the first joy of success and deliverance had by this time passed away, and the impression that remained was of that dark and gloomy character which her first entrance upon scenes of strife, bloodshed, and danger, might naturally produce upon a gentle and kindly heart, however firm might be the mind, however strong the resolution.

Her companion well understood the feelings of a girl nurtured with tenderness and luxury, accustomed to deal only with the peaceful and the graceful things of life, when suddenly forced to witness and take part in the fierce and turbulent acts of civil war, to follow marching men, and be a spectator of battle and slaughter. He knew right well that no gay and lively subject would be pleasant to her ear at such a moment, though the soldier himself might cast off all memory of the strife the instant it was over, and give way to joy and triumph in the hour of success. The cavalier shaped his conversation accordingly, and, in a grave, though not sad tone, spoke of deeper and more solemn things than had formed the matter of their discourse when last they met. Nevertheless, seeking to win her from her gloom, there came from time, across the course of all he said, flashes of bright and brilliant eloquence, rich and imaginative illustrations, sparkling and almost gay allusions to other things and times and scenes, which, without producing the discord that anything like merriment would have occasioned to her ear, stole her thoughts away from gloomier subjects of contemplation, and, calling the blessed power of fancy to her aid, enabled her to bear up against the first weight of the dark present.

To Annie Walton there was an extraordinary charm in the conversation of the cavalier; it was like the current of a stream flowing on between deep and shady banks, profound, yet rapid and various, while ever and anon the sunshine breaks upon it through the trees, and lights it up for a space in all the sparkling lustre of the day. At first her replies were brief and few, but gradually she took a greater part in the discourse, answered at large, gave him her own thoughts in return for his, inquired as well as listened, and was often won to a smile. Thus they rode on for about two hours, the cavalier gaining more and more upon her and, to speak the truth, the high qualities of her heart and mind, winning from him as much admiration as her beauty and her grace commanded at the first sight.

Their progress, as before, was very slow, and once they had to pause for a quarter of an hour, while the baggage of Lord Beverley's troop was brought forth from the village where he had left it and added to that of the other party. At length, however, they came in sight of a small town, lying on the slope of a hill, with higher up towards the right a detached house and some tall trees about it, standing in the midst of a park or very large meadow, surrounded by ancient brick walls.

At this point of their march Major Randal rode back and spoke a few words to the earl, who replied, "Exactly as you like, major; I am under your command."

"Nay, my lord," replied the old officer, "I am under yours, you hold a higher commission."

"But with less experience, my good friend," answered the cavalier; "at all events, Major Randal, I will act by your advice; if you think we can reach Henley, well, if not we will halt here."

"We might, if it were not for this lumbering baggage," answered the old soldier. "I cannot think what has made Lord Walton, who knows well what service is, cumber us with such stuff as this. A trooper should never have any baggage but his arms, a dozen crowns, and a clean shirt."

"You must not grumble, my good friend," replied the earl, dropping his voice. "If I understand Charles Walton rightly, there is that in those waggons which will be more serviceable to the king than all our broadswords."

"Ah, Ah! I understand," said Major Randal. "If that be so, we must take care of it, otherwise I think I should be inclined to pitch the whole into the first river. Well, then, my lord, we will stop here, and, as that is your house, I believe, you may sleep in your own sheets for one night. We will quarter the men in the village, and I will send out to see that the road is clear for our march to-morrow."

"I shall expect you to supper, however, major," said the earl, "although I cannot tell whether there is any meat in the house, yet I know there is good old wine in the cellar, unless the Roundheads may have got into it since I was there."

"If they have, you will not find a bottle." replied Randal; "for, notwithstanding all their hypocrisy, they drink as deep as Cavaliers; the only difference is, that they cant where the others swagger. But as for your wine, my lord, you must drink it yourself for me. I am an old campaigner, and my saloon is the parlour of the ale-house; I am more at home there, than amongst gilt chairs and sideboards of plate."

"Good faith you will find little of those in my house," replied the earl; "so come if you will; but in the meantime I will guide this fair lady up, and take some of the men with me to guard the house; for there is but a young girl and an old butler of seventy, who recollects Queen Elizabeth, left to take care of it. All the rest of my people are in the saddle."

"That's where they should be, my lord," replied Randal, "I will make your cornet quarter the men, as the place is yours, and will see you before I sleep to plan our arrangements for to-morrow."

Thus saying, he rode on again; and the Earl of Beverley after having given a few orders to his officers for the disposal of the force in the village, the guarding of the house, and the sending back of a small detachment to meet Lord Walton, rode up with his fair companion and her women by a narrow, wood-covered lane, to the house upon the hill.

The building was not very large, being one of the old fortified houses which were common in England at that time, and many of which during the civil wars stood regular siege by the parliamentary forces. Strong towers and buttresses, heavy walls, narrow windows, and one or two irregular outworks, gave it a peculiar character, which is only to be met with now in some of the old mansions which have come down from those times to the present, falling rapidly into decay, and generally applied to viler uses. As was then customary, and as was the case at Bishop's Merton, a wide terrace spread before the house, upon which the earl and his companions drew in their horses; and before she dismounted, Miss Walton turned to gaze over the view, while the cavalier sprang to the ground, and, casting his rein to one of the troopers who had followed him, approached to aid her.

"The prospect is not so wide as at Bishop's Merton, fair lady," said he; "but there is one object in it which will be as pleasant to your eye as any you could see at home. There comes your brother."

"I see a party of horse," said Annie Walton, "by the wood under the hill, but I cannot distinguish any of the figures."

"Oh, it is he, it is he!" cried her companion; "but I see no woman amongst them."

"Alas!" said Annie Walton, "what can have become of that poor girl?"

"It is strange indeed," said the cavalier; "but yet, Miss Walton, she may have been alarmed, and fled while the fight was going on. If any injury had happened to her, had she been wounded or killed by a chance shot, she must have been found by this time."

"Oh, no; fear had nothing to do with it," replied Miss Walton; "she went through the midst of the fire to tell my brother of the path."

"Why, he said it was yourself," rejoined Lord Beverley.

"We both went," replied Annie Walton; "but she seemed to have no fear, and I confess my heart beat like a very coward's."

"It is indeed strange," said the earl; "but yet, perhaps your brother may have tidings. Let me assist you to alight;" and lifting her gently from the horse, he led her into the wide, ancient hall, at the door of which stood the old butler, his head shaking with age, but a glad look upon his countenance to see his lord once more returned.

From the hall, which felt chilly and damp, as if the door of the house had seldom been opened to the sunshine and free air, the earl conducted his companion up a flight of stone steps, and through some wide, unfurnished corridors, to a part of the house which presented a more cheerful and habitable appearance, giving a glance from time to time at the countenance of Miss Walton, as if to see what effect the desolate aspect of the place would have upon her. Absorbed in other contemplations, however, she took no notice, and at length the cavalier called her attention to it himself, saying with a faint and somewhat sad smile--

"You see, Miss Walton, what effect neglect can have. During my long absence from England everything has fallen into decay--more indeed in this house than in my dwelling in the north; but yet I reproach myself for having given way to the very mingled feelings that kept me from residing on my own land and amongst my own people. It is not indeed the ruin and desolation that falls upon one's property which a man ought to mind under such circumstances; but when a wealthy family dwell in the midst of their own tenantry, they build up a better mansion than any that is raised with hands, a nobler home than the lordly castle or the splendid palace--I mean that which is founded in the love and affection of friends and dependants, ornamented with kindly feelings and mutual benefits, obligations, gratitude, and esteem. And this is the house which falls into more horrible decay during a long absence than any of these things of brick or stone."

"I fear indeed it is so," said Miss Walton, walking on beside him into a large and handsome room, not only well furnished, but presenting some most beautiful pictures of the Italian school hanging upon the walls, while objects of vertù and instruments of music lay scattered over numerous tables, many of which were in themselves excessively costly.

"But it seems to me, my lord," she continued, "that in some respects your house and yourself are very much alike, though perhaps it is bold of me to say so; but now that I know whom you really are, I feel as much inclined to look upon you as an old friend as you did in regard to me when first we met."

"Thanks, thanks, sweet lady," answered the earl. "Oh, regard me ever so! But if you mean that in my house and in myself there are desolate and ruined corners, you are mistaken. I am not one of those who have either some real and deep grief overshadowing the heart for ever, or one of those who nourish a sentimental sorrow for nothing at all. There may be things in my own life that I regret; I may have lost dear friends and relations whom I mourn; but as the common course of events runs in this world, my life has been a very happy one, chequered indeed only by one terrible catastrophe, and by a great injury inflicted on my family by the king whom now I serve, which made me resolve, like a foolish boy as I then was, never to set foot in my native land while he remained in power. When I found that he was fallen, dispossessed, and in need, I came back in haste to serve him, with that loyalty which I trust will long be the distinction of a British gentleman."

"I did not exactly mean what you think," replied Miss Walton; "I merely wished to remark that you seem sometimes as gay and cheerful as this room in which we now are, sometimes as sad and gloomy as the hall through which we lately passed." She coloured a little as she spoke, from an indefinite consciousness that the woman who remarks so closely the demeanour of a young and handsome man, may well be suspected of taking a deeper interest in him than she wished to believe she did in her companion.

The cavalier replied at once, however, without remarking the blush, "It must ever be so, Miss Walton, with those who feel and think. Is it not so with yourself? The spirit that God gives us is made for happiness, full of high aspirations and bright capabilities of enjoyment; but it is placed in a world of trial and of difficulty, prisoned in a corporeal frame that checks and limits its exertions, chained down by cares and circumstances that burden its free energies. Whenever the load is not felt, whenever the walls of the dungeon are not seen, the captive gladly casts off the remembrance that such things exist, and rejoices in their absence. But ever and anon they present themselves to his eyes, or press upon his limbs, and he mourns under the weight that he cannot wholly cast off. But here comes your brother; and I will only add, that you shall see me sad no more, if you will bargain with me that you will be cheerful."

In a few minutes Lord Walton himself entered the room; but his countenance bespoke no good tidings of her he had been in search of. He had been unable to gain any information whatever, though he left no effort unmade; and he was evidently deeply mortified and grieved, so that the next two hours passed in sadness upon all parts.

While the necessary arrangements were made for lodging the party in the house for the night, some occupation of a less sad character than the loss of poor Arrah Neil was given to the thoughts of Miss Walton, by all the little inconveniences and difficulties attendant upon the sudden arrival of a large party in a mansion unprepared for their reception. Though accustomed through life to every sort of comfort, Annie Walton was not one to make much of trifles; and she was amused rather than otherwise at all the small annoyances, and at the dismay and embarrassment of her maids. When she returned from the rooms which had been assigned to her and her female companions, to that which was called in the house the picture-room, she found her brother conversing in the window with his friend, with a bright and cheerful countenance, which surprised her. The change was explained in a moment, however, by Charles Walton holding out a dirty strip of paper to her, and saying, "Here is news of our poor Arrah, Annie. She is safe, although I cannot tell where."

Annie took the scrap of paper, and read, merely observing as she did so, "This is not Arrah's hand: she writes beautifully."

The note ran as follows:--

My Lorde,--This is to tell you, as I heer that you have been a-running after pretty Arrah Neil all the evening, that she is saif in this place, and as well as may be. I can't come just at present, for reasons; but I will be over with you by cock-crow to-morrow morning, and either bring her, if I can, or take you to her.--I subscribe myself; my lorde, your obedient servant to command,

John Hurst.

"Francis here," said Lord Walton, when his sister had done reading, "has been laughing at me for the reputation which I have acquired of running after pretty Arrah Neil during the whole evening; but I think I may set laughs at defiance regarding her, Annie."

"I think so too," answered Miss Walton, with a smile; "but I wish we knew where she is."

As often happens, however, when, in the midst of many cares and anxieties, one subject of alarm and grief is removed, all the rest are forgotten for the time, the news of poor Arrah's safety restored the cheerfulness of all the party. We draw an augury of future happiness from each blessing that befals us, from each relief that is afforded; and it is not till new difficulties press upon us that apprehension resumes its sway.

Cheerfulness then returned to the party assembled in Lord Beverley's house; they sat down to the pleasant evening meal, which closed a day of strife and danger, with hearts lightened and expectations raised; the merry voices of the troopers who were supping in the hall below gave them warning how best to treat the cares of the time; and if an anxiety or thought of the future did break in for a moment upon them, it was but to teach them to enjoy the present hour, inasmuch as no forethought or grave contemplation could affect the coming events. Lord Beverley exerted himself, without any apparent effort, to keep the conversation in its cheerful tone; and when Miss Walton made some inquiries as to any danger or difficulty which might lie upon the march of the following day, he exclaimed gaily, "Away with such thoughts, fair lady! we have taken every precaution; we have done all that we can to guard against evil; we have true hearts and a good cause; and in trust of God's protection let us enjoy these hours of tranquillity. They are treasures, believe me, that are not often met with; let us gather them whilst we can. The best of husbandry, depend upon it, is to sift the corn from the chaff, to separate the gold from the dross, in the portion of time that is allotted to us, and not to mingle the sorrow of tomorrow with the enjoyment of to-day. Come, Miss Walton," he added, "you must add to our present happiness by letting us hear once more that sweet voice in song, such as delighted me at Bishop's Merton."

"Nay, not to-night," said Annie Walton. "It is your turn now, my lord. By all these instruments of music, I am sure you sing yourself. Is it not so, Charles?"

"Beautifully!" replied Lord Walton; "and what is better than all, Annie, he requires no pressing."

"I will, with all my heart," replied the cavalier, "but upon one condition--that I am called no more 'my lord.' Charles Walton and Francis Beverley have been too long brothers for the sister of either to use so cold a term. What shall I sing? It must be of love in a lady's presence, otherwise were I no true knight;" and taking a large Venetian mandolin from the table behind him, he put it in tune, and sang--

Light of my heart! my heart's intense desire!

Soul of my soul thou blossom and thou beam?

Thou kindlest day with more than summer's fire,

Thou bright'nest night like some celestial dream.

The sight of thee gives sunshine to my way,

Thy music breath brings rapture to my ear;

My thoughts thy thoughts, like willing slaves, obey,

Oh thou most beautiful! oh thou most dear!

One look of thine is worth a monarch's throne,

One smile from thee would raise the dying head;

One tear of thine would melt the heart of stone;

One kiss, one kiss, would vivify the dead.

Near thee the hours like moments fleet away;

Absent, they linger heavy on the view:

In life, in death, oh, let me with thee stay!

Oh thou most beautiful, most good, most true!

The voice was rich and mellow, with all the cultivation which the art of Italy could at that time bestow. There was no effort, there was nothing forced; every note seemed as much a part of the expression of the thought as the words in which it was clothed. But there was a fire, a warmth, an enthusiasm in the singer, which gave full depth and power to the whole. It was impossible to see him and to hear him without forgetting that he was singing a song composed probably long before, and without believing that he was giving voice, in the only way his feelings would permit, to the sensations of the moment.

Annie Walton knew not why, but her heart beat quickly as she sat and listened; the long black eyelashes of her beautiful eyes remained sunk towards the ground, and her fair cheek became pale as marble. She would fain have looked up when the song was done--she would fain have thanked the cavalier, and expressed her admiration of his music, but she could do neither, and remained perfectly silent, while her brother remarked the emotion which she felt, and turned his eyes with a smile from her countenance to that of his friend.

But the earl, too, had fallen into thought, and with his hand leaning upon the mandolin, which he had suffered to drop by his knee till it reached the floor, seemed gazing upon the frets, as if the straight lines of ivory contained some matter of serious contemplation. Miss Walton coloured as she marked the silence, and looking suddenly up said one or two commonplace words, which at once betrayed an effort. They served, however, to renew the conversation again.

Another and another song succeeded, and, after about an hour spent in this manner, the party separated and retired to rest, while Annie Walton asked herself, with an agitated breast, "What is the meaning of this?" The sensations were new to her, and for more than an hour they banished sleep from her pillow.

[CHAPTER IX.]

We must now change the scene, and without much consideration of the "pathos and bathos delightful to see," must remove the reader from the higher and more refined society of Lord Walton, his sister, and the Earl of Beverley, to the small sanded parlour of the little alehouse in the village. We must also advance in point of time for about three hours, and put the hour-hand of the clock midway between the figures one and two, while the minute-hand is quietly passing over the six. All was still in the place; the soldiery were taking their brief repose, except a sentinel who walked up and down, pistol in hand, at each entrance of the village; and the villagers themselves, having recovered from the excitement caused by the arrival of the party, and the drinking and merriment which followed it, had taken possession of such beds as the troopers left them, and were enjoying the sweet but hard-earned slumber of daily labour.

Two living creatures occupied the parlour of the alehouse: a large tabby cat, which--as if afraid that the mice upon which she waged such interminable and strategetic war might take advantage of her own slumbers to surprise her--had mounted upon a three-legged stool, and was enjoying her dreams in peace, curled up in a comfortable ball; and Captain Barecolt, who, seated in a wooden arm-chair, with his long leg-bones, still in their immemorial boots, stretched upon another, kept watch, if such it could be called, with a large jug of ale beside him, from which he took every now and then deep draughts, for the purpose, as he mentally declared, of "keeping himself awake."

The effect was not exactly such as he expected, for from time to time he fell into a doze, from which a sort of drowsy consciousness of the proximity of the ale roused him up every quarter of an hour, to make a new application to the tankard. At length, feeling that these naps were becoming longer, he drew his legs off the chair, muttering--

"This won't do! I shall have that dried herring, Randal, upon me; I must take a pipe and smoke it out."

And thereupon he moved hither and thither in the parlour, looking for the implements necessary in the operation to which he was about to apply himself. These were speedily found, and a few whiffs soon enveloped him in a cloud as thick as that in which Homer's Jove was accustomed to enshrine himself on solemn occasions; and in the midst of this, the worthy captain continued ruminating upon the mighty deeds he had done and was to do.

He thought over the past, and congratulated himself upon his vast renown; for Captain Barecolt was one of those happy men who have a facility of believing their own fictions. He was convinced that, if he could but count them up, he had performed more feats of valour and slaughtered more bloody enemies than Amadis de Gaul, Launcelot of the Lake, the Admiral de Coligni, or the Duke of Alva. It was true he thought such events soon passed from the minds of great men, being common occurrences with them, so that he could not remember one-half of what he had done, which he only regretted for the sake of society; but he was quite sure that whenever opportunities served he should be found superior to any of the great captains of the age, and that merit and time must lead him to the highest distinction. This led him on to futurity, and he made up his mind that the first thing he would do should be to save the king's life when attacked on every side by fifteen or sixteen horsemen. For this, of course, he would be knighted on the spot, and receive the command of a regiment of horse, with which he proposed to march at once to London, depose the lord mayor, and, proceeding to the Parliament-house, dissolve the Parliament, seize the speaker and twelve of the principal members, and hang Sir Harry Vane. This, he thought, would be work enough for one day; but the next morning he would march out with all the cavaliers he could collect, defeat the Earl of Essex on one side, rout Waller on the other, and then, with his prisoners, proceed to head-quarters, where, of course, he would be appointed general-in-chief, and in that capacity would bring the king to London.

What he would do next was a matter of serious consideration, for, the war being at an end, Othello's occupation was gone; and as, during all this time he had made sundry applications to his friend the tankard, his imagination was becoming somewhat heavy on the wing, so that, in a minute or two after he fell sound asleep, while the pipe dropped unnoticed from his hand, and fractured its collar-bone upon the floor.

He had scarcely been asleep ten minutes when the door of the room slowly opened, and a round head covered with short curls was thrust in, with part of a burly pair of shoulders. The door was then pushed partly open, and in walked a stout man in a good brown coat, who, advancing quietly to the side of Captain Deciduous Barecolt, laid his hand upon his arm. Now, what Captain Barecolt was dreaming of at that moment it is impossible for the author of these pages to tell; but his vision would appear to have been pugnacious, for the instant the intruder's grasp touched his left arm he started up, and, stretching out his right hand to a pistol which lay between the tankard and himself on the table, snatched it up, levelled it at the head of his visiter, and pulled the trigger.

Luckily for the brains, such as they were, of poor John Hurst (for he was the person who had entered), in the last unsteady potations of the bellicose captain, a few drops of ale had been spilt upon the pan of the deadly weapon; and though the flint struck fire, no flash succeeded, much to the astonishment of Barecolt, and the relief of his companion.

"D--n the man!" cried Hurst, reeling back in terror; "what art thou about? Dost thou go to shoot a man without asking, 'with your leave, or by your leave?'"

"Never wake a sleeping tiger!" exclaimed Barecolt, with a graceful wave of his hand. "You may think yourself profoundly lucky, master yeoman, that you have got as much brains left in that round box of yours as will serve to till your farm, for this hand never yet missed anything within shot of a pistol or reach of a sword. I remember very well once, in the island of Sardinia, a Corsican thought fit to compare his nose to mine, upon which I told him that the first time we met I would leave him no nose to boast of. He, being a wise man, kept ever after out of reach of my hands; but one day, when he thought himself in security upon a high bank, he called out to me, 'Ha! ha! capitaine, I have got my nose still!' upon which, drawing out my pistol, I aimed at his face, and, though the distance was full a hundred yards, with the first shot I cut off his proboscis at the root, so that it dropped down upon the road, and I picked it up and put it in my pocket."

"It must have been somewhat thin in the stalk," said Hurst; "no good stout English nose, I warrant you. But come, captain, you must take me up to my lord. The sentry passed me on to you, and I want help directly, for there is a nest of Roundheads not five miles from here, who have got that poor little girl in their hands, and are brewing mischief against us to-morrow. Half-a-dozen men may take them to-night, but we may have hard work of it if we wait till daylight."

Captain Barecolt paused and meditated; a glorious opportunity of buying distinction cheaply seemed now before him, and the only difficulty was how to keep it all in his own hands.

"I cannot disturb the commander," he said, in a solemn tone, after a few minutes' consideration; "that's quite impossible, my friend. Faith, if you want help, you must be content with mine and half-a-dozen soldiers of my troop. I am a poor creature, it is true," he continued, in a tone of affected modesty, "and not able to do so much service as some men. I never killed above seventeen enemies in a day; and the best thing I have to boast of is, having blown up a fort containing three hundred men with my own unassisted hand. However, what poor aid I can give you may command. We will take six picked men with us, if that be enough; you and I will make eight; and if there be not more than a hundred and fifty of the enemy, I think we could manage."

"A hundred and fifty!" cried Hurst. "Why, there are but seven, and one of them is not a fighting man."

"Who may they be?" asked Barecolt, in a solemn tone; "If there be but seven we shall have no need of any men; I will go alone. Who may they be?"

"Why, there's that Captain Batten, whom my lord took away prisoner, I hear," replied Hurst; "then there's a Dr. Bostwick, a parliamentary committee man; then there's old Dry, of Longsoaken, who dragged away the girl while you were all fighting at the bridge; the other four are, I hear, common councilmen of Coventry, though they are all decked out in buff and bandolier, as if they were fire-eating soldiers just come from the wars. They were laying a plan before they went to bed for bringing troops from Coventry round about my lord and his men, while two regiments of Essex's, that are marching into the north, were to have warning, and cut off the retreat."

"Ha! ha! ha!" cried Captain Barecolt, "we will cut off theirs. Have you got a horse, master yeoman? I think yours was killed in the field."

"Ay, that it was," answered Hurst, "to my loss and sorrow; as good a beast as ever was crossed, and cost me twenty pound."

"We will mount you, we will mount you," said the captain; "there are a dozen and more good horses which forgot their riders yesterday, and left them lying by the bridge. We may as well have half-a-dozen men with us, however, just to tie the prisoners, for that is not work for gentlemen; so you sit down and take a glass of ale, and I will get all things ready."

In the course of about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, Captain Barecolt had called to his aid eight men of the troop whom he could most depend upon; and after having brought down Major Randal's cornet to take his post during his absence, and mounted good John Hurst on the horse of a trooper who had been killed the day before, he led the way out of the little town, and, guided by the yeoman across the country, advanced slowly towards another village situated in the plain, about five or six miles from that in which they had taken up their quarters. The country was open, without woods or hedges, but the night was profoundly dark, and the wind sighing in long gusts over the open fields. Nothing was to be seen except the glimmer of a piece of water here and there, till they approached the village to which their steps were bent, when one or two lights became visible amongst the houses, as if, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, all the inhabitants had not yet retired to rest. One of these lights, too, as if proceeding from a lantern, appeared moving about in the gardens; and Captain Barecolt, turning to Hurst, asked him, in a low voice--

"What is the meaning of those lights?"

"I don't know," answered the yeoman. "It was all dark when I crept away."

"We shall soon see," rejoined Barecolt. "You are sure there are no troops in the place?"

"There were none when I left it," replied Hurst; but, almost as he spoke, a loud voice exclaimed--

"Stand! Who goes there?"

"A friend," answered Barecolt.

"Stand, and give the word!" repeated the voice, and at the same moment, a small red spot of fire, as if produced by a man blowing a match, appeared immediately before them; and Barecolt, spurring on his horse, found himself in the presence of a matchlock-man, at whose head he aimed a cut with his heavy sword, which rang sharply upon a steel cap, and brought the man upon his knee.

He fired his piece, however, but he missed his mark, and threw down the gun, while Barecolt, catching him by the shoulder, put his sword to his throat, exclaiming--

"Yield, or you are a dead man!"

The sentinel had no hesitation on the subject, having already received a sharp wound on the head, which left him little inclination to court more.

"Now tell me who is in the village," exclaimed Barecolt; "and see that you tell truth, for your life depends upon it."

"Three companies of Colonel Harris's regiment," answered the soldier, "and a troop of Lord Essex's own horse."

"The number?" demanded Barecolt.

"Four hundred foot and a hundred troopers," replied the man; and having a little recovered from his first apprehension, he demanded--"Who may you be?"

"My name is Johnson," answered Barecolt, readily, "first captain of Sir Nicholas Jarvis's regiment of horse, marching up to join the Earl of Beverley and Lord Walton at Hendon, near Coventry. We thought they were quartered in this village: whereabout do they lie?"

"Oh, no," answered the man, "they are five miles to the east, we hear, and we were to attack them on the march tomorrow."

"Are you telling me the truth?" said Barecolt, in a stern tone; "but I will make sure of that, for I will take you with me to Sir Nicholas Jarvis, and if we find you have cheated us as to where they lie, you shall be shot to-morrow at daybreak. Tie his hands, some of you---- Hark! there is a drum! There, curse him, let him go; we have no time to spare; I must get back to Sir Nicholas, and let him know we are on the wrong road."

Thus saying, he turned his horse and rode away, followed by the rest of his party; while the tramp of men coming down fast from the village was heard behind them.

The reader need not be told that Captain Barecolt never had the slightest intention of carrying off the wounded sentinel with him; for, having filled him with false intelligence regarding the march of his imaginary regiment, he was very glad to leave him behind to communicate it to his fellows in the place. In the meanwhile, he himself gave orders for putting the horses into a quick trot, and returning with all speed to the village, where, without communicating any tidings he had gained to any one, he left his men, and hurried up with Hurst to the mansion on the hill.

The earl and Lord Walton were immediately called up, and Barecolt, being admitted to their presence, made his statement. We are by no means so rash as to assert that the account he gave was altogether true; for Captain Deciduous Barecolt, much more skilful than the writer of this tale, never lost sight of his hero, and his hero was always himself; but, at all events, the intelligence he brought of the enemy was accurate enough, and the stratagem he had used to deceive the foe was also told correctly, and received great commendation. He was sent down immediately, however, to call Major Randal to the council, and, in the mean time, the two young noblemen eagerly questioned Hurst as to what he had seen and heard amongst the adverse party.

The good yeoman's tale was told briefly and simply, and showed the following facts:--After his horse had been killed, he had carried off his saddle and the other worldly goods which he possessed; and finding that, without being of any service to his party, he was in imminent danger of losing his own life from the stray shots that were flying about in different directions, he made the best of his way to the back of the little mound we have mentioned, and thence peeped out to see the progress of the fight. Perceiving at one time, as he imagined, the small force of Royalists wavering in their attack upon the musketeers, he judged it expedient, lest his friends should be defeated, to put a greater distance between himself and the enemy; and taking all the articles that were most valuable to him out of the saddle, he left it behind him, and hurried on for about a mile farther, where he took up his position in a ditch. While thus ensconced, he saw the well-known form of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, together with that of another gentleman, whom he afterwards found to be Captain Batten. Between these two appeared poor Arrah Neil, of whose arm Dry retained a firm grasp, while he held a pistol in his right hand, under the authority of which he seemed to be hurrying her on unresistingly.

In about a quarter of an hour more, some fugitive musketeers ran by as fast as they could go, and shortly after, several of Major Randal's troopers appeared in pursuit; but as Hurst was unacquainted with the soldiers, he prudently resolved to lie concealed where he was till some of his lord's followers should come up, which he calculated would be shortly the case, fearing he might be taken for one of the enemy, or at all events that he might be plundered by a friend--an operation as common in those days as in the present, though then it was done with pistol and broadsword, and now, in general, with pen and ink.

Towards the end of the day some of Lord Walton's men did appear, and spoke a word to him in passing, from which he gathered that they were searching for Arrah Neil; but, with the usual acuteness of persons sent upon a search, they rode on without waiting for any information he could give. Having marked the road which Dry and his companions had taken, Hurst then determined to follow them, and made his way to the village, in which they halted for the night. His plan had proved successful, he said; he had found the two parliamentary committee men, together with Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, lodged in a house in the village, and, boldly seeking out Dry, he gave him to understand that he had been taken by Lord Walton to join the king against his will, and was now making the best of his way home. He affected some fear of being overtaken; and in order to reassure him, Dry and Dr. Bastwick communicated to him the intelligence they received in the course of the evening from the men of Coventry, in regard to the movement of parliamentary forces. This took place some hours subsequently, however, to the despatch of his note to Lord Walton, and he could not make his escape from the village, in order to carry more accurate tidings to his young landlord, till Dry and the rest had retired to bed.

As soon as Major Randal arrived, a hasty consultation was held, to ascertain the course of proceedings which it would be expedient to follow. It was determined, notwithstanding great reluctance on the part of Lord Walton, to leave poor Arrah Neil in the hands of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, that the march should be immediately commenced; and orders were given to that effect, which at once produced all the bustle and confusion of hasty departure. Miss Walton was called up, and, dressing herself hastily, was soon placed upon horseback once more, for it was determined to leave the carriages behind; and in about an hour the two noblemen and their followers, with Major Randal's troop, were marching on, in the grey of the dawn, directing their steps towards Coventry. A small guard was left over the prisoners, with orders to remain behind about an hour, and then to leave them and follow with all speed, in order that the departure of the troops might be accomplished as secretly as possible. No trumpet was sounded; and if it had been possible to carry out King Lear's plan, and shoe a troop of horse with felt, it would have been upon the present occasion.

Though that could not be accomplished, all their proceedings were conducted with as much silence as possible; and Miss Walton, riding between her brother and the Earl of Beverley, had plenty of time for thought. The sky had changed from grey to purple and gold; the expanse of the heavens had lost its glorious hues, as the sun rose up above the horizon; and the morning of a somewhat dull and heavy day had fully dawned ere any one spoke, except, indeed, when the few short words of command and direction were necessary. The countenance of Lord Walton was grave, and even sad; and his sister, who watched it with some anxiety, at length inquired--

"Do you anticipate any great danger, Charles? You look very gloomy."

"Oh, no, dearest Annie," he answered; "I think we are so far before our enemies that we shall without doubt be able to join the king before they are aware of our departure. But I cannot think of being obliged to leave that poor girl in the hands of that old hypocrite Dry, without feeling very sad. If he treat her ill, woe be to him should he and I ever meet again! but I trust he will be afraid to endanger his sanctified reputation. That is my only hope."

The earl now joined in, with that tone of calm cheerfulness which is the most persuasive of hope; and with the peculiar charms of his conversation, and the continued and brilliant variety which it displayed, led the thoughts of his companions to happier themes, and almost made them believe that brighter days were before them. Since the preceding night his manner had much changed towards Miss Walton: there was a tenderness in it, a tone which can only be called the tone of love; and though both were more silent than they previously had been, yet each, in that silence, was thinking of the other, and it is very dangerous so to do, unless we are disposed to yield to feelings which in the end may master us altogether. Coquetry may talk, may carry on uninterrupted observation and reply; indifference may pursue the calm and easy current of conversation; and avowed and satisfied love may hold unbroken communion upon all the many subjects of thought and imagination; but in its early day true passion is fitful in its eloquence, full of silence and interruptions, for it is full of thought; and the voice of feeling is often the strongest when the lips are motionless and the tongue is mute.

But we will dwell no more upon such matters, for we have action before us instead of thought, deeds rather than sensations. After a march of about four hours, and a short pause for refreshment, the advanced party of the troop was seen to halt upon a small eminence, while one of the troopers rode back at full speed, bringing the intelligence that they descried a considerable body of men drawn up at a short distance from Coventry.

"Are we so near?" said Miss Walton.

"Within three miles," replied the earl. "That is the spire of St. Michael's Church rising over the slope. You will see the city as soon as we pass the rise. Think you these are the king's troops, Major Randal?"

"Ay, such troops as they are," answered the old officer; "we must have more and better before we do much service."

"It will be as well to despatch some one to see," said Lord Walton. "I will send two of my servants, major. Here, Langan and Hartup, ride on with all speed, and bring me back news of the people who are before Coventry. I cannot divine why the king should halt before the gates."

"There may be rogues within," said Major Randal. And so it proved; for, on their arrival at the top of the slope, where Coventry, with its wide walls and beautiful spires, rose fair before them, they saw a fire of musketry opened from the city upon a small party of royalist troops, which approached too near the gates.

Marching rapidly on, as soon as it was ascertained that the force they saw was that of Charles himself, they soon reached the monarch's army, if so it could be called, and Annie Walton found herself in the midst of a new and animated scene.

The king's face expressed much grief and vexation, as, sitting upon a powerful horse, he consulted with some of his principal officers as to what was to be done on the rebellious refusal of Coventry, to give him admission. But when he turned to receive the little reinforcement which now joined him, his countenance assumed a glad and cheerful look; and as Lord Walton, dismounting, approached his stirrup, he held out his hand to him graciously, saying--

"Those are kind friends and loyal subjects, indeed, my lord, who rally round their sovereign when more favoured men forsake him. Your own presence, my good sir, is the best answer you could give to my letters. We must retreat, I fear, however, from before these inhospitable walls; for we have no cannon to blow open their gates, and even if I had, I could wish to spare my subjects."

"Ah, sire!" said Major Randal, who had also advanced to the king's side, "when subjects draw the sword against their king, both parties should throw away the scabbard, for it is the blade must decide all."

"Too rough, and yet too true," said his majesty; and after a few more words addressed to Lord Beverley and Miss Walton, the king turned his horse, and rode off with his attendants towards Stonely, leaving the small force by which he was accompanied to follow.

[CHAPTER X.]

Three or four days had elapsed, and the party in whose fate we have interested ourselves had reached the town of Nottingham in safety; but gloom and despondency hung over the court of the king, over the small force at his command, and over the whole city. Proclamation had been made for all loyal subjects to join the monarch in Nottingham; and it had been announced on that day, the 25th of August, 1642, that Charles would set up his royal standard against his rebellious parliament. Few persons, however, joined him; not a single regiment of foot had been raised; the body of horse which he had led to Coventry had been little increased since he had retreated from that city; the artillery and ammunition from York had not yet arrived; and sadness was upon every brow, and apprehension in every heart.

The evening was dark and gloomy, the wind rising in sharp and howling gusts; large drops of rain were borne upon the blast, and everything promised a night of tempest, when the king, accompanied by all the noblemen and gentlemen who had joined him, set out on horseback for the hill on which stands the old castle of Nottingham, with the knight-marshal before him bearing the royal standard, and a small body of the train-bands accompanying it as a guard. On reaching the spot destined for the ceremony, the standard-pole was fixed with great difficulty, amidst the roll of the drum and the loud blasts of the trumpet. But neither the war-stirring sound of the drum nor the inspiring voice of the trumpet could cheer the hearts of those around, or give them confidence even in the success of a good cause; and, with the same sadness with which they had gone thither, the royal party returned from the castle hill just as the evening was growing grey with night.

Some four or five hours after, Lord Walton, who had participated fully in the gloomy feelings which pervaded the whole court, rose from the supper-table at which he had been seated with his sister, the Earl of Beverley, and one or two friends who had joined them in Nottingham; and said--

"My head aches, dearest Annie; I will walk up to the castle hill and take a look at the standard. The air will do me good."

"I will go with you, Charles," said Miss Walton, rising. "I will not keep you a minute."

"Nay, not in such a night as this, Annie," answered her brother. "Do you not hear how the wind blows, as if it would force in those rattling casements?"

"Oh, I mind not the wind," replied Annie Walton: "you shall lend me your arm, Charles; it will always be strong enough to steady your sister's steps."

"God grant it, dear one!" replied Lord Walton. "Well, come! I do wish to talk with you, Annie, upon many things;" and in a few minutes they were in the streets of Nottingham.

The wind was even more violent than they had expected; but the tall houses of the good old town, though exposed by its position to the blasts, gave them some shelter; and as they walked along, Lord Walton, after a few minutes' silence, put his right hand upon his sister's, which grasped his arm, and said, "I wish to speak to you of the future, dear one. Danger and strife are before me. It is impossible for you to follow the movements of an army, and therefore I wish, before I march hence, to take you to the house of our good old cousin, Lady Margaret Langley, where you may rest in safety."

"I will go, Charles, if you wish it," replied Miss Walton; "but it must be only upon the condition that no restraint be put upon my movements, and that whenever there is a pause in the war, I may be allowed to follow and be near you."

"Of course, dear sister," replied her brother; "I don't pretend to restrain you in anything, Annie. You are old enough, and wise enough, and good enough, to decide entirely upon your own actions. You must keep several of the servants with you to guard you and protect you wherever you go. You must also have a sufficient sum to put you above any circumstances of difficulty, whatever you may think fit to do."

"Oh! I have the jewels, you know, Charles," said Miss Walton, "and more money of my own with me than will be needful."

"Well, we will see to that hereafter." said Lord Walton; "but there is another subject on which I would speak to you. No one can tell what may be the chance of war. I may go safely through the whole of this sad strife, and see the end of it. I may fall the first shot that is fired. But if I do, Annie, you will need some strong arm and powerful mind to protect and support you. In that case, I would leave you, as a legacy, as a trust, as a charge, to the best friend I have on earth--the oldest, the dearest. Francis Beverley loves you, Annie."

"Hush! oh, hush, Charles!" cried Miss Walton, and he felt her hand tremble upon his arm.

"Nay, sweet sister!" continued her brother; "I asked you for no confessions. Your tale is told already, dear girl. All I ask is, will you, when I am gone, without reserve or woman's vain reluctance, trust in him, rely on him, as you do on me?"

His sister was silent for a moment, and he repeated--"Will you, Annie, forget all coyness, all unkind and ungenerous diffidence, and, recollecting he has been a brother to your brother, confide in him as such?"

Annie Walton paused again for a single instant, and then, with her face bent down, though no one could see her glowing cheek in the darkness, she murmured, "I will."

Lord Walton pressed her hand in his, and then in silence led the way up to the hill.

It was with difficulty that they ascended, so fierce were the gusts of wind; but the very violence of the blast scattered from time to time the drifting clouds, and the moon occasionally looked forth and cast a wavering light upon their path. Not a soul, however, did they meet in their way; all was still and silent but the howling of the tempest, till at length, when they reached the top, the voice of a sentinel exclaimed as usual--"Stand! Who goes there?"

"A friend," replied Lord Walton; and before the man could demand it, he gave the word for the night, saying, "The crown."

"Pass!" replied the sentinel; and he walked on with his sister clinging to his arm.

The moon shone out again; and Miss Walton and her brother both gazed forward towards the spot where the standard had stood. They could not see it; and hurrying on their steps, they found four or five of the train-band standing round the place. The standard itself was lying fiat upon the ground.

In answer to Lord Walton's questions, the men informed him that the wind had blown it down, and that they found it was impossible to raise it again; and turning sadly away, the young nobleman murmured in a low voice to his sister, "God send this be not an omen of our royal master's fate!"

[CHAPTER XI.]

In a small tavern at Nottingham was a large but low-roofed room, with the heavy beams, blackened by smoke, almost touching the heads of some of the taller guests; in which, on the night after that of which we have just spoken, were assembled as many persons as it could well contain; and a strange scene of confusion it presented. Hats and feathers, swords and daggers, pipes and glasses, bottles and plates, big men and little, men of war and men of peace; an atmosphere composed of smoke, of the fumes of wine, the smell of strong waters and of beer, and the odour of several large pieces of roast meat, together with sounds of innumerable kinds, oaths, cries for the tapster and the boy, loud laughter, low murmurs, the hoarse accusation, the fierce rejoinder, the sustained discussion, the prosy tale, and the dull snore, as well as the half-drunken song, had all their place in the apartment, which might well have been supposed the tap-room of the tower of Babel. The house was, in short, a place of resort for the lower order of Cavaliers, and the hour that at which the greater part having supped, were betaking themselves to their drink with the laudable determination, then but too common, of leaving themselves as little wit as possible till the next morning.

"Basta, basta! It sufficeth!" cried a tall man with a peculiarly constructed nose. "I would find the good youth if he were in a hundred Hulls. What's Hull to me? or I to Hull? as the poet says. I know, if I can bring the girl back out of his clutches, where a hundred crowns are to be got. We have open hands amongst us; but mark me, master, if you are deceiving me, I will cut your ears off."

The man whom he addressed was a small, sharp-eyed man, reddish in the hair and pale about the gills; but he answered stoutly, "That's what you dare not, Master Barecolt."

"Dare not!" cried Barecolt, seizing a knife that lay upon the table, and starting up with an ominous look--"Dare not! What is it that I dare not? Now, look you, repeat that word again, and you shall go forth from this room with no more ears than a grinder's cur. Dare not! thou small chandler, I could break you across my knee like a piece of rotten wood."

There was some truth in what he said, and the small man felt the force of that truth, so that he thought it expedient to lower his tone.

"I meant I would take the law of you if you did," he said; "so no more of cutting off ears, Master Barecolt, for we have sharp justices in Nottingham. But what I said is very true. I know old Dry very well; have known him, indeed, these twelve years. When first he used to come to Hull to buy goods of the Hamburghers, I had a shop there, where he used to stop and take a glass of cinnamon now and then. But he has grown a great man now, and would hardly notice an old acquaintance, especially as he was riding with men of war."

"And you are sure he had a woman with him?" asked Barecolt, resuming his seat and filling his glass.

"A sort of girl, mayhap some sixteen years of age," answered his companion. "She looked somewhat rueful too, with her eyes cast down upon the ground as she rode along."

"That's she," replied Barecolt; "'tis beyond all doubt. What does the dried herring at Hull, I wonder? Let me see. It would take some threescore men to capture Hull, I doubt?"

"Threescore!" exclaimed the other; "some thirty thousand, you mean."

Barecolt gave him a look of unutterable contempt. "Four petards," he said, continuing his own calculations in an under tone, "for the outer gate, the bridge, the inner gate, and one to spare, ha! threescore men--half must be musketeers. Well, there is Hughes's company. I will do it."

"You had better not try," answered his companion. "I could tell you a much better plan, if you would strike a bargain in an honest way, and give me half the reward for finding this young woman, as you say there are great folks looking after her."

"Half the reward, thou little Carthagenian!" exclaimed Barecolt. "By my faith! if you have half the reward, you shall have the danger too; and a quarter of it would turn your liver as white as a hen pigeon's."

"Why, I will save you all danger, if you will listen to me," answered the small gentleman. "I will tell you my plan, and you shall judge, and whatever risk there is, I will share readily enough. I know all the houses that Dry frequents in Hull; all his haunts, from the store where he used to buy dried beef and neats' tongues salted, to the shop where he used to take the fourth glass of strong waters. If you will put off your swagger and your feathers, clothe yourself like a Puritan, and walk demurely, we will take two companions, slip into Hull with a couple of horse-loads of drapery, find out where Master Dry lodges, and while I busy him with a little speculation in his own way, by which I can easily make him believe that he will fill his pockets, you can deal with the girl, and get her out of the city."

"Clothe myself like a puritan!" said Barecolt, thoughtfully, "that is the only difficult part of the affair; for unless I steal old Major Randal's suit of black, where I am to get a pious doublet I know not. The fifty crowns Lord Walton gave me have been spent on this new bravery, and sundry pottle pots, together with things that shall be nameless, friend Tibbets; but, by my faith! I will go and ask the good lord for more. He will not grudge the pistoles if we can get Mistress Arrah back again to him. He's as fond of her as a hen of her chickens, yet all in honour, Master Tibbets, all in honour, upon my life. I will go this minute, as soon as I have finished this pint;" and again he filled his glass, and drained it at a draught.

He then rose from his seat, and was in the act of saying, "Wait here for me, and I will be back in a minute," when an officer was seen dimly through the smoke, entering by the door on the other side of the room. After gazing round for a moment, from table to table, he exclaimed aloud, "Is one Captain Barecolt here? He is wanted by the king."

"I knew it?" cried Barecolt, giving a towering look at Master Tibbets. "I was sure of it--my great services, sir, my name is Barecolt, and your very humble servant."

The officer gazed at him with a look of some consideration and surprise. "My good friend," he said, "you seem scarcely fit to obey the king's summons. You have been drinking."

"So does his majesty, I wot, when he thirsty," replied Barecolt, nothing abashed; "but if it be of proportions you speak, if it be quantity which makes the difference, I will soon remedy the amount of wine within, by the application of water without. I am not drunk, sir; I never was drunk in my life. No, sir, nor was I ever the worse for liquor, as it is termed, though often much the better for it. But whenever I find my eyes a little misty, and see a fringe round the candles, or feel the floor move in an unusual manner, or the cups dance without any one touching them, I have a secret for remedying such irregularities, which secret lies, like truth, in the bottom of a well. Hold, Tapster! I have drunk wine enough to-night to justify me in calling for water, even in a tavern. Tapster, I say, get me a bucket of cold water from the pump, and put it down before the door, then bring a napkin to take off the superfluous. I remember when I was in the Palatinate going to see the great tun----"

"Sir, we have no time for tales," said the officer drily; "the king waits. Make yourself as sober as you can, and as speedily as possible."

"Sir, I am with you in an instant," rejoined Barecolt. "Master Tibbets, wait here till I come back. You can finish the tankard for me; it is paid for."

Thus saying, he went forth, and returned in a few minutes, buttoning up his collar, with his scattered hair somewhat dishevelled and dripping; and, saying he was ready, he followed the officer, making another sign to Tibbets to wait for his return.

"Who is that fellow?"

"What the devil can the king want with him?"

"Why, it's Captain Barecolt, of Randal's."

"I think the king might have chosen a better man."

"That's a lie. There is not a better man in the service."

"He's a bragging fool."

"I dare say a coward too."

"No, no, no coward, for all his brags."

Such were some of the observations which followed Barecolt's departure with the officer, while they wended on their way through the streets of Nottingham to the king's lodging, whither we shall take leave to follow them. The style and semblance of a court was kept up long after the royal authority was gone; and in the first room which Barecolt entered were a number of servants and attendants. Beyond that was a vacant chamber, and then a small anteroom, in which a pale boy, in a page's dress, sat reading by a lamp. He looked up, as the captain and his conductor appeared, but did not offer to move till the officer told him to go in, and say to his majesty, that Captain Barecolt was in attendance; on which he rose, opened a door opposite, and knocked at a second, which appeared within. Voices were heard speaking; and, after a moment's pause, the boy repeated the signal, when the door was opened, and he made the announcement.

"Let him wait," was the reply; and for about twenty minutes the worthy captain remained, his head getting each moment cooler, and freer from the fumes of the wine; but his fancy only became the more active and rampant, and running away with him over the open plain of possibility, without the slightest heed of whither she was carrying her rider. Having already given the reader a sample of her doings with Captain Barecolt in a preceding chapter, we will spare him on the present occasion, especially as it would take much more time to recount her vagaries in the good gentleman's brain that it did for her to enact them.

At length the door opened, and a voice pronounced the words, "Captain Barecolt!" at which sound the captain advanced and entered, not without some trepidation, for there is something in majesty, even when shorn of its beams, that is not to be lightlied by common men.

The king was seated at a table in a small room, with lights and papers before him, and three or four gentlemen were standing round, of whom Barecolt knew but one, even by sight. That one was the Earl of Beverley, who, with a packet of letters in his hand, stood a little behind and on the right of the king. The monarch wore his hat and plume, and the full light was shining on his fine melancholy features, which looked more sad rather than more cheerful for a faint smile that was passing over his lip. His fair right hand lay upon the table, with the fingers clasped round a roll of papers, upon which they closed and opened more than once, while Barecolt advanced to the end of the table with a low bow; and the monarch gazed at him attentively for a few moments.

"Your name is Barecolt?" asked the king at length.

"It is, may it please your majesty," replied the captain. "You have been much in France, I think?" continued Charles.

"Many years, sire," answered the soldier, "and speak the language as my own."

"Good!" said the king. "With what parts of the country are you most acquainted?"

"With all parts, your majesty," rejoined the captain, who was beginning to recover his loquacity, which had been somewhat checked by the first effect of the king's presence. "I have been in the north, sire, where I fought against Fuentez; and I have travelled all over the ground round Paris. I know every part of Picardy and the Isle of France. Normandy, too, I have run through in every direction, and could find my way from Caudabec to Alençon with my eyes blindfolded. Poitou and Maine I am thoroughly conversant with; and know all the towns on the Loire and in the Orleannois, the passes of the Cevennes, the Forez, and the Vivarais."

But Charles waved his hand, saying, "Enough! enough! Now, tell me, if you were landed on the coast of Normandy, say at Pont au-de-Mer, and had to make your way secretly to Paris, what course would you take?"

"Please your majesty, Pont au-de-Mer is not a seaport," replied Barecolt. The king smiled, and Barecolt continued, "I know it well, and a pretty little town it is, upon the Rille."

"Well, well," said the king; "suppose you were landed at Harfleur, then, I did but wish to try you, sir, how would you direct your course for Paris from Harfleur?"

"If I were to go secretly, may it please your majesty," was the reply, "I do not think I should go near Pont au-de-Mer at all, for then I must pass through Rouen, where they are cute and cunning, ask all sorts of questions, and look to passes sharply. No; I would rather take a little round by Lisieux, Evreux, and Pacy, or perhaps, keep still farther out from the Seine, and come upon Paris by Dreux, Pontchartrain, and Versailles. Then they would never suspect one came from the sea-side."

The king slowly nodded his head with a satisfied air, saying, "I see you know what you speak of, my friend. My Lord of Beverley, this will do. If you wish to ask him any more questions before you trust yourself to his guidance, pray do so."

"Oh no, sire," replied the earl; "I satisfied myself by my conversation with Major Randal, before I spoke with your majesty on the subject. He assures me that Captain Barecolt knows France well, and I have had cause to be aware that he is a serviceable companion in moments of danger. There is but one bad habit, which I trust Captain Barecolt will lay aside for the time: that is, too much talking. I am going, sir, to Paris, on business of importance. The road that I know is not now open to me, and I have need of one to accompany me who is well acquainted with the country through which I have to pass. By his majesty's permission, and on Major Randal's recommendation, I have chosen you, sir, for a service which will be rewarded as according as it is well performed. But you must recollect that the least whisper that I am not what I seem may prove my ruin, though it can benefit no other party, as it is to avoid sending despatches that I go myself."

"You need not be afraid, my lord," replied Barecolt; "for, though I am a soldier of fortune, yet it has ways been my rule to stick to the cause I first espouse till my engagement be up. If I do sell myself to the best bidder, as soon as I have touched a crown the market is over. I am no more for sale. The goods are disposed of; and if I were to go over to the enemy even for an hour, I should look upon it that I was stealing myself a sort of felo de se in the code of honour, which I never did, and never will be guilty of. Then, as for discretion, my lord, I declare upon my word, that all the time I am with you I will not utter one syllable of truth. I will be all one tall lie, saving his majesty's presence. You shan't have to accuse me of speaking truth indiscreetly, depend upon it."

"But speaking too much at all, Master Barecolt, may do as much harm," replied Lord Beverley: "a lie is a difficult thing to manage."

"For those who are not accustomed to it, my lord," replied Barecolt, with a low bow; "but I am experienced, sir and owe my life some twenty times over to a well-managed fiction. Oh a clumsy lie is a hateful thing, not to be tolerated amongst gentlemen; and a timid lie is still worse, for it shows cowardice; but a good bold falsehood, well supported and dexterously planted, is as good as a battery at any time."

"Not a very creditable sort of weapon," said the king, with a grave brow. "But enough of this, sir. Where to deceive an enemy in open strife, to gain a mighty object, such as security, or conceal one's needful proceedings from the eyes of those who have no right to pry, is the end proposed, some palliation may be found, perhaps, for a deviation from the strict truth. Would it were not sometimes necessary!" he added, looking round, as if doubtful of the approval of all present; "but, at all events, to speak unnecessary untruths is as dangerous as it is foolish, and as foolish as it is wicked."

"May it please your majesty," answered Barecolt, whose self-confidence had now fully returned, "what your majesty says is quite just; but some of these necessary lies I suppose we must tell from the beginning. Neither I nor my lord the earl, I take it, must pass for an Englishman, or there will be no more secrecy. We must both say we are Frenchmen, or Dutchmen, or Italians--a good big falsehood to commence with."

Lord Beverley laughed. "I am afraid, sire," he observed, "we must say no more upon the subject, or we shall have a strange treatise upon ethics; but, however, as we go across the country to embark, I will endeavour to drill my friend here to use his tongue as little as may be, so that we shall be spared more fraud than is needful. I will now take my leave of your majesty, having received my instructions, and by daybreak to-morrow I will be on my way. May God graciously speed your majesty's cause during my absence!" Thus saying, he bent one knee, and kissed Charles's hand, and then, making a sign to Barecolt to follow, he quitted the presence.

"Now, Master Barecolt," said the earl, as soon as they were in the street, "I know you are a man of action. Be with me by four to-morrow. There is something for your preparations;" and he put a small but heavy leathern bag in his hand, adding, "That is all that is needed for a soldier, I know."

"Good faith! I must speak with Lord Walton before I go," answered Barecolt, "though it be somewhat late."

"Well, then, come quick," replied the earl; and he led the way to the lodging of his friend, where, while Barecolt entertained the young nobleman for near an hour in the room below, Lord Beverley passed some sweet, though parting moments with bright Annie Walton; and when he left her, her cheek was glowing and her eyelids moist with tears.

[CHAPTER XII.]

In a remote part of the country--for England had then remote parts and lonely, which are now broad and open to the busy world--rode along, a little before nightfall, a small party of about ten persons. The weather was clear and mild; but there was in the evening light and in the autumnal hues that touch of melancholy which always accompanies the passing away of anything that is bright, whether it be a summer's day or a fair season, a joy or a hope.

The country was flat and unbroken; but, nevertheless, the eye had no scope to roam, for tall, gloomy-looking rows of trees flanked the narrow road on either side, and many similar lines divided the plain into small fields, which they shaded from the sun, except when he towered at his highest noon. A river some five or six yards across, slow almost to stagnation, crept along at the side of the lane, with the current just perceptible in the middle, where the water seemed bright and limpid enough; but farther towards the side, the thick weeds were seen rising from the bottom and spreading over the surface, till at the very edge they became tangled into an impenetrable green mass, fringed with flags and rushes. Over the clearer part of the stream darted the busy water-spider, and whirling in the air above were myriads of gnats, rising with their irritating hum in tall columns, like the sands of the desert when lifted up by the whirlwind. The light was grey and solemn, and one needed to look to the sky to see that the sun had not actually set.

After riding along this road for the distance of about a mile, a large stone, somewhat like a gravestone, appeared on the side opposite to the water; and one of the horsemen, having dismounted to examine what inscription it bore deciphered, amongst the moss and lichens that covered it, the following agreeable intelligence:--"Here, in the year of grace 1613, and on the 19th day of the month of November, Matthew Peters was murdered by his eldest son, Thomas, who was executed for the same on the 10th of the month of December next ensuing, in the town of Hull, the worshipful John Slackman, mayor. Reader, take warning by his fate. Go and do not likewise."

If the party was sad before, this mememto of crime and suffering did not tend to make it merrier: the horseman mounted his horse again, and they rode on in silence for another mile and a half, when, at the distance of about a hundred yards from the road, which, though it was still seen proceeding in a straight line till it lost itself in the shadows, seemed to lead nowhere, so dull and desolate did it look, there appeared a large shady building, to the stone-paved fore-court, of which the river formed a sort of moat.

First came a square tower of red brick, edged with stone which had once been white, but now was green; then followed a dull, low wall, probably that of some long corridor, for a slated roof hung over it, and two narrow windows gave the interior a certain portion of light. This was succeeded by a large centre, or corps de logis, flat and formal, solemn and unresponding, with similar small windows, and a vast deep doorway. Another long low line of brickwork came after, and then another square tower, and then another mass of brickwork, differing from the former in size and shape, but retaining the same style, and displaying the same melancholy aspect. No ivy grew up around it to break the lines and angles. Not a tree was before it to take off its dull formality. All was heavy, and vast, and grave; and to look upon it one could hardly convince one's self, not that it was inhabited, but that it had been cheered by the warm presence of human life for years. No sound was heard, no moving thing was seen, except when one raised one's eyes in search of chimneys, and there one or two tall columns of smoke rose slowly and seriously towards the sky, as if they had made a covenant with the wind not to disturb their quiet and upright course.

Over the water from the stone court that we have mentioned swung a drawbridge, which was half elevated, being hooked up by one of the links of the thick chain that suspended it to the posts on the other side; and here one of the men of the party, for it consisted of both men and women, pulled in his horse, saying--

"This is Langley Hall, my lord."

"I know," answered Lord Walton, with a sigh. "It is long since I have been here, but I remember it. We see it at an unfavourable hour, dear Annie, It looks more cheerful the full light."

"Oh! that matters not, Charles," answered Miss Walton, in a gentle tone; "sunshine and shade are within the heart more than without; and I shall find it gay or sad as those I love fare well or ill."

"How shall we get in?" asked Lord Walton; "the drawbridge is half up."

"Oh! there is the bell behind the posts," replied the man who had first spoken; and, dismounting, he pulled a rope, which produced a loud but heavy sound, more like the great bell of a church than that of an ordinary mansion.

Some three or four minutes elapsed without any one appearing to answer this noisy summons; but at length an old white-headed man came out, and asked cautiously, before he let down the bridge, Who was there?

"It is Lord Walton and his sister," answered the young nobleman; "let down the bridge, good man. Lady Margaret expects us."

"Oh! I know that, I know that," rejoined the old servant; but still, instead of obeying the directions he received, he retrod his steps slowly towards the house. His conduct was soon explained by his calling aloud--"William! William! come and help here! The bridge is too much for one, and here is the young lord and a whole host of people, men, women, and children. Perhaps it is not the young lord after all. He was a curly-pated boy when last I saw him, and this looks like a colonel of horse."

"Time! time! Master Dixon; time may make us all Colonels of horse," answered a brisk-looking youth in a tight doublet, which set off his sturdy limbs to good advantage, as he strode forward to the old man's assistance.

"Time is a strange changer of curly hair. Doubtless your good dame patted your head some years agone, and tailed you her pretty boy; and now, if she were to see you, the mother would not know her son, but would call you uncle or grandpapa."

"And so I was a pretty boy--that is very true," answered the old man, coming forward again towards the bridge, well pleased with ancient memories; "and my mother did often pat my head--Lord! I remember it as if it were but yesterday."

"Ah! but you have seen a good many yesterdays since then, Master Dixon," rejoined the young man, following to the edge of the river, with the wise air of self-satisfied youth. "Now, Master Dixon, you unhook while I pull;" and, as the bridge was slowly let down, he added, "Give you good even, my lord. You are welcome to Langley. Good even, lady. You are welcome, too, and so are all these pretty dames. My lady will be right glad to see you all."

His words were cheerful, and there is something very reassuring in the gay tones of the human voice. They seem, in the hour of despondency and gloom, to assure us that all is not sadness in the world; that there is truly such a thing as hope; that there are moments of enjoyment, and that the heart is not altogether forbidden to be happy--all matters of which we entertain many doubts when the cloud of sorrow first falls upon us, and hides the brighter things of life from our eyes.

How often is it that the reality belies the outside appearance--if not always, at least generally. In dealing with all things, moral and physical, man deceives himself and is deceived, and never can tell the core by the rind. These are truisms, reader; very trite, very often repeated. I know it; I write them as such: but do you act upon them? or you? or you? Where is the man that does? And if there be a man, where is the woman? The demagogue is judged by his words, the preacher by his sermon, the statesman by his eloquence, the lover by his looks. All seeming--nothing but seeming; and it is not till we come to taste the fruit that we learn the real flavour.

All had seemed dark and gloomy in Langley Hall; and the sadness which Annie Walton had felt in parting with her brother, when strife and danger were before him, had, it is true, though she would not own it, been deepened by the cold aspect of her future habitation. But the man's cheerful tone first raised the corner of the curtain; and when on entering the wide old hall, she saw the mellow light of the setting sun pouring over a wide Champaign country, through a tall window on the other side, and covering the marble floor as if with a network of light and shade, while here a bright suit of armour, and there a cluster of well-arranged arms, and there a large picture of some ancient lord of the place, caught the rays and glowed with a look of peaceful comfort, she felt revived and relieved.

The next moment, from a door at the far end on the right, came forth an old lady, somewhat tall and upright, in her long stays, with a coif upon her head in token of widowhood, and her silver-white hair glistening beneath it, but withal a bland and pleasant smile upon her wrinkled face, and fire, almost as bright as that of youth, in her undimmed eye.

She embraced her nephew and niece with all the affection and tenderness of a parent, and taking Annie by the hand, gazed on and kissed her again, saying--

"Not like thy mother, Annie; not like thy mother; and yet the eyes--ay, too, and the lips; now you look grave. But, come; Charles, come. See where I sit, with my sole companion for the last five years, except when good Dr. Blunt comes over from Hull to tell me news, or the vicar sits with me for an hour on Friday."

As she spoke she led them into a large room, wainscotted with dark chesnut-wood; and from out of the recess of the window, where the sunshine fell, rose a tall shaggy deerhound, and, with steps majestical and slow, walked up to the young lord and lady, examined first the one and then the other with close attention, stretched himself out with a weary yawn, and taking it for granted all was right, laid himself down again to doze where he had been before.

"See, Charles, see what a shrewd dog he is," cried the old lady: "he knows whom he may trust and whom he may not, in a moment. I had old Colonel Northcote here the other day. What he came for I know not, though I do know him to be a rogue; for Basto there did nought but growl and show his white teeth close to the good man's legs, till he was glad to get away unbitten."

"I sometimes wish we had their instinct, dear Aunt Margaret, rather than our sense," replied her nephew; "for one is often much more serviceable than the other."

"Much keener, Charles, at all events," answered the old lady. "And so you are here at length. Well, I got all the letters, and Annie shall be another in the hall when you are gone; and, when she is tired of the old woman, she has a sunny chamber where the robins sing, for her own thoughts; and she shall be free to come and go according to all stipulations, and no question asked, were it to meet a gallant in the wood."

"Nay, Charles, nay," cried Miss Walton, "why did you write my aunt such tales of me? My only stipulation was, indeed, that I might join him whenever a pause came in these sad doings, my dear aunt."

"Oh, you shall be as free as air, sweet nun," replied Lady Margaret. "I never could abide to see a poor bird in a cage, or a dog tied by a chain; and when I was young I was as wild and wilful as my poor sister Ann was staid and good. I have now lived to well-nigh seventy years, still loving all freedom but that which God forbids--still hating all thraldom but that which love imposes. I was long happy, too, in shaping my own course, and I would see others happy in the self-same way. Come, dear child: while Charles disposes of his men, I will show you your bower, where you may reign, queen of yourself and all within it."

Annie followed her aunt from the room, passed through another behind it, and entered a little sort of stone hall or vestibule, lighted from the top. Four doors were in the walls, and a small staircase at the further end, up which Lady Margaret led the way to the first floor above, where two doors appeared on either hand, with a gallery, fenced with an oaken balustrade running round the hall, at about twelve feet from the ground. Along this gallery the old lady led her young niece, and then through a long and somewhat tortuous passage, which was crossed by another some twenty yards down, that branched off to more rooms and corridors beyond. Then came a turn, and then another passage, and at the end three broad low steps led up to a large door.

"Dear aunt," said Miss Walton, who had thought their journey would never end, "your house is a perfect labyrinth. I shall never find my way back."

"It is somewhat crooked in its ways, child," answered Lady Margaret; "but you will make it out in time, never fear; that is to say, as far as you need to know it. Now, here is your bower;" and, opening the door, she led Miss Walton into a large roam looking to the south-west. The sun had just gone down, and the whole western sky was on fire with his parting look, so that a rosy light filled the wide chamber, from a large bay window, where, raised a step above the rest of the room, was a little platform with two seats, and a small table of inlaid wood.

"There I have sat and worked many a day," said the old lady, pointing to the window, "when my poor knight was at the siege of Ostend. We lived together happily for many years, Annie, and it was very wrong of him to go away at last without taking me with him. However, we shall soon meet again, that is some comfort; but I have never dwelt in this room since."

As she spoke, a slow pattering sound was heard along the passage, and then a scratch at the door. "It is Basto," said Lady Margaret; "he has come to see that I am not moping myself in my old rooms. Come in, Basto;" and, opening the door, the dog stalked in, first looking up in his mistress's face and wagging his tail deliberately, and then in that of her fair niece with a similar gratulation.

"Ah, thou art a wise man," said Lady Margaret, patting him on the head. "We are growing old, Basto; we are growing old. My husband brought him from Ireland ten years ago, Annie, and he was then some two years old; so according to dogs' lives he is about fifty, and yet see what teeth he has!" and she opened with her thin, fair, shrivelled hands the beast's powerful jaws.

Miss Walton had in the mean time been taking a review of her chamber, which her kind aunt had certainly made as comfortable and gay as might be. The colours of all that it contained were light and sparkling, contrasting pleasantly with the dark panelling which lined the whole house. There were chairs and low seats covered with yellow silk, and curtains of the same stuff to draw across the bay window. There were sundry pieces of tapestry for the feet, covered with roses and lilies, and on either side of the vast oaken mantel-piece hung brushes of many-coloured feathers. But there was no bed; and the next minute, after some further admiration of the dog's teeth, Lady Margaret opened a door on the right of the fireplace, which led into another room beyond, fitted up as a sleeping-chamber, with the same air of comfort as the other. Everything was pointed out to Annie as long as any light lasted, and then the old lady, showing her a third door, observed, "There is a closet for your maids to sleep in; but we must get back, sweet niece, for it is growing dark, and you will fancy goblins in the passage."

Miss Walton laughed, assuring her that she feared nothing but losing her way, and the old lady answered, "Oh! you must learn, you must learn, Annie. 'Tis often good to have a place like this, where one may set search at defiance. In the last reign we had conspiracies enow, God wot! and one poor man, whose head they wanted, was here three days while his enemies were in the house; but they never found him, and yet he walked about at ease."'

"Indeed!" said Miss Walton, as they made their way back; "how might that be, my dear aunt? If they searched well in the daylight, I should think there would be little chance of escape."

"More than you know, Annie," answered her aunt drily; "but I will tell you all about it some day; and now I will send up William, who is a clever lad, with your maids, to show them the way, and bring your goods and chattels up. But what is all this loud speaking, I wonder?"

"I know the voice, I think," answered Miss Walton; "but if I am right as to the person, he should have been over the seas long ago."

[CHAPTER XIII.]

For England's war revered the claim
Of every unprotected name;
And spared, amidst its fiercest rage,
Childhood, and womanhood, and age.

So sung a great poet and excellent man, but begging the master's pardon, if War herself spared them, the consequences of war reached them sadly. It never has been, and never will be, that in times of civil contention, when anarchy has dissolved the bonds of law, the fierce passions, which in the breasts of too many are only fettered by fear, will not break forth to ravage and destroy. There never was yet strife without crime, and never will be. Certainly, such was not the case in the civil wars of the great rebellion, and many an act was committed with impunity under cover of the disorders of the time, of the most black and horrible character. True, the justice still held his seat upon the bench, to take cognizance of all crimes but rebellion; true, mayors and corporations existed in cities, and exercised municipal authority; but the power thus possessed was not unfrequently used for the gratification of the person who held it on the side of the parliament, and if not held by one of that party, was utterly disregarded by those who were.

Of this fact, Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, was very well aware; and after making his escape from the carriages during the skirmish at the bridge, he had, with the assistance of his companion, dragged poor Arrah Neil along with him, assuring the parliamentary committee-man who accompanied him, that he did it solely to deliver the poor girl from the men of Belial with whom she was consorting, and to place her in the hands of a chosen vessel, a devout woman of his neighbourhood, whom he likened, in an irreverent strain, to Anna the prophetess.

Whether his companion put full faith in his sincerity and singleness of purpose or not, does not much matter. Captain Batten was not one to quarrel with any one's hypocrisy; and indeed it seemed that a sort of agreement had been made amongst the Roundheads--like that by which men take paper money instead of gold and silver--to let each man's religious pretences pass current as genuine coin, however flimsy might be the materials of which they were made. The real purpose of Mr. Dry was, to take poor Arrah Neil back to Bishop's Merton for his own views; and his motives were, as the reader will learn hereafter, of a very mixed character. But, after having wandered about with Batten and Dr. Bastwick for two days, during the course of which he was more than once seen studying a packet of old letters, he expressed a strong desire to go under the escort of some body of parliamentary troops into Yorkshire, where he declared he had just recollected having some business of importance to transact.

No opportunity occurred for several days, during which time the whole party who had escaped from the Cavaliers, at the invitation of the worthy common councilmen of Coventry, took up their abode for a time in that ancient city, Mr. Dry watching poor Arrah Neil with the closest care, and giving out to the landlady of the inn at which he lodged that she was a poor ward of his, of weak understanding, over whom it was necessary to keep a strict guard.

The pious landlady of Coventry believed every word that Mr. Dry thought fit to tell her. How could she do otherwise, indeed, with so very devout a person? and to say the truth, the demeanour and appearance of Arrah Neil did not serve to belie the assertions of the old hypocrite who had her in his power. She remained the greater part of each day plunged in deep and melancholy musings; and though she more than once attempted to escape, and said she was wrongfully detained, yet she entered into no long explanations, notwithstanding sundry opportunities afforded her by the hostess, who was not without her share of curiosity. The fit, or, as she called it, the cloud of gloom, had come upon her again. It had passed away, indeed, during the active and bustling time of the march from Bishop's Merton, and so indeed it always did, either in moments when all went clear and smoothly, or in times of great difficulty and danger; but still it returned when any of the bitter sorrows and pangs of which every life has some, and hers had too many, crossed her way, and darkened the prospect of the future.

It was not sullenness, reader; it was no gloomy bitterness of spirit; it was no impatience of the ills that are the lot of all; it was no rebellions murmuring against the will of God: neither was it madness, nor anything like it, though she acted sometimes strangely, and sometimes wildly, as it seemed to the common eyes of the world, from a strong and energetic determination of accomplishing her object at the time, joined with the utter want of that experience of the world which would have taught her how to accomplish it by ordinary means. What was it then? you will ask, and may think it strange when I say--memory. But so it was: memory, confused and vague, of things long gone before, which formed so strong a contrast with the present, that whenever sorrow or disappointment fell upon her, some former time, some distant scenes of which she knew not the when nor the where, rose up before her eyes, and made even herself believe that she was mad. She recollected bright looks and kind words, and days of happiness and nights of peace and repose, to which she could not give "a local habitation and a name." Were they visions? she asked herself; were they dreams? where could they have occurred? what could they have been? Was it from some book which she had read, she often inquired, that such fanciful pictures had been gleaned, and had then fixed themselves as realities in her mind?

She could not tell; but when such memories rose up, they took possession of her wholly--bewildered, confused, overpowered her. For a time she was a creature of the past; she scarcely believed in the present; she knew not which was the reality--the things gone by, or the things that surrounded her.

During the whole time that she remained at Coventry, this cloud was upon her, and she paid little attention to anything but the continual questioning of her own heart and mind. She attempted, as we have said, to escape--indeed, more than once; but it was by impulse rather than by thought; and when frustrated, she fell at once back again into meditation. She did not remark that Dry treated her in a very different manner from that which he had ever displayed towards her before; that he called her "Mistress Arrah;" that he tried to soothe and to amuse her. She noticed, but without much attention, that different clothing had been provided for her from that which she had been accustomed to wear; but whenever her mind turned from the past towards the present again, her thoughts busied themselves with Charles Walton and his sister, and she would have given worlds to know how it fared with those she loved.

That the victory had been won by the Cavaliers she was aware, but at what price it had been bought she could not tell, and she trembled to think of it. No one, indeed, spoke to her upon the subject; for Dry was silent, and for reasons of his own, he took care that she should be visited by none but the landlady of the inn.

At length two pieces of intelligence reached him on the third day after their arrival in Coventry, which made him resolute to pursue his journey into Yorkshire immediately.

The first of these was communicated to him by one of his own servants, to whom he had sent shortly after the skirmish, and was to the effect that the great majority of the people of Bishop's Merton had espoused the royalist cause, and that messengers had arrived from Lord Walton, ordering him to be apprehended immediately, if he made his appearance in the place. With this news, however, came the money he had sent for; and on the evening of the same day, Dr. Bastwick brought him the second piece of information, which was merely that a troop of the parliamentary horse would pass through Coventry the following day, on their road to Hull, where Sir John Hotham was in command for the parliament. It was added that Master Dry might march safely under their escort, and he accordingly spent the rest of the evening in buying horses and equipage for himself and Arrah Neil, and set out the following day on his journey.

The tedious march towards Hull need not be related; during the whole of the way the old man rode beside his charge, plying her with soft and somewhat amorous words, mingled strangely and horribly with texts from Scripture, perverted and misapplied, and graced with airs of piety and devotion, which those who knew him well were quite aware had no share in his dealings or in his heart.

Arrah Neil paid little attention to him, answered seldom, and then but by monosyllables. To escape was impossible, for he had now too many abettors with him, and she was never left alone for a moment, except when locked into a room during a halt. Yet she looked anxiously for the opportunity; and whenever any objects were seen moving through the country as they passed, her heart beat with the hope of some party of Cavaliers being nigh, and giving her relief. Such, however, did not prove the case, and about noon of an autumnal day, they entered the town of Hull.

Here Mr. Ezekiel Dry separated himself from the troop, with thanks for their escort, and made his way towards the centre of the town, where stood the house of a friend with whom he had often transacted business of different kinds. The friend, however, had since he saw him married a wife, and was absent from the town; and though Mr. Dry assured a demure-looking maid-servant, who opened the door, that his friend Jeremiah had always told him he might use his house as his own, the maid knew Jeremiah better than Mr. Dry, and demurred to receiving any guest during her master's absence.

When the worthy gentleman had finished his conversation, and made up his mind that he must seek an inn, he turned round to remount his horse, and was somewhat surprised to see Arrah Neil gazing round her with a degree of light and even wonder in her look, for which he perceived no apparent cause. The street was a dull and dingy one; most of the houses were of wood, with the gables turned towards the road; and from the opposite side projected a long pole, from which swung a square piece of wood representing, in very rough and rude style, the figure of a swan the size of life. Yet over the dark and time-stained face of the buildings, up the line of narrow street, round the windows and doors carved with quaint figures, ran the beautiful eyes of Arrah Neil, with a look of eager satisfaction which Ezekiel Dry could in no degree account for. They rested principally upon the figure of the swan, however, and as that emblem showed that it was a house of public entertainment, thither Mr. Dry turned the horses' heads, and bade her alight at the door.

Arrah sprang to the ground in a moment, and entered the house with an alacrity which Mr. Dry had never seen her before display. Something appeared to have enchanted her, for she almost outran the hostess, who led the way, saying, "This way, pretty lady--this way, sir." But when she stopped at a door in a long open corridor, Arrah Neil actually passed her, exclaiming--

"No, not that room; I should prefer this;" and, without waiting for an answer, she opened the door and went in.

"Dear lady, you seem to know the house quite well," said the hostess; "but yet I do not recollect having seen your pretty face before."

"Talk not of such vanities," said Mr. Dry, with a solemn tone; "what is beauty but the dust, and fair flesh but as a clod of clay?"

"Well, I am sure!" said the landlady, who was what Mr. Dry would have called a carnal and self-seeking person, but a very good woman notwithstanding. "Ah, sir! what you say is very true; we are all nothing but clods of earth; there can be no doubt of it: it's very true indeed."

Finding her so far docile, Mr. Dry determined to make a still greater impression, in order to ensure that his object of keeping Arrah Neil within his grasp should not be frustrated by the collusion of the landlady. He therefore set to work, and held forth to her upon godliness, and grace, and self-denyingness, and other Christian virtues; touching a little upon original sin, predestination, election, and other simple and easy subjects, with a degree of clearness and perspicuity such as might be expected from his original station and means of information. The landlady was confounded and puzzled; but it was utterly impossible to tell what he really meant by the unconnected images, quotations, and dogmas which he pronounced; she was unconvinced of anything but of his being a vehement Puritan, which she herself was not.

However, as it did not do to offend a customer, she shook her head and looked sad, and cried from time to time, "Ah, very true! God help us, poor sinners that we are!" with sundry other exclamations, which, though they did not convince Mr. Dry that she had not a strong hankering for the fleshpots of Egypt and the abominations of the Amorites, yet showed him that she was very well inclined to please him, and made him believe that she would fulfil his bidding to the letter.

He accordingly called her out of the room as soon as he thought he had produced his effect, and explaining to her what he pleased to call the situation of his poor ward, he warned her particularly to keep the door locked upon her, to suffer no one to hold communication with her, and especially to prevent her from getting out, for fear she should throw herself into the water or make away with herself, which he represented to be not at all unlikely.

The hostess assured him that she was deeply grieved to hear the young lady's case. She could not have believed it, she said, she looked so sensible and cheerful.

"Ah!" replied Mr. Dry, "you will see her dull enough soon. It comes upon her by fits: but you must attend very punctually to my orders, or something may take place for which you will weep in sackcloth and ashes."

"Oh, sir, I will attend to them most particularly," said the landlady. "What will you please to order for dinner, sir? Had not I better put the lady down a round-pointed knife? Is she dangerous with her hands?"

"Oh, no," answered Mr. Dry. "It is to herself, not to others, she is dangerous. And as for dinner, send up anything you have got, especially if it be high-flavoured and relishing, for I have but a poor appetite. I will be back in about an hour; and, in the mean time, can you tell me where in this town lives one Hugh O'Donnell, an Irishman, I believe?"

The landlady paused and considered, and then replied that she really could not tell; she knew of such a person being in the place, and believed he lived somewhere at the west of the town, but she was not by any means sure.

The moment Mr. Dry was gone, the good woman called to the cook, and ordered a very substantial dinner for the party which had just arrived; but then, putting her hand before her eyes, she stood for the space of a minute and a half in the centre of the tap-room, as if in consideration; then said, "I won't tell him anything about it: there is something strange in this affair; I am not a woman if I don't find it out." She then hurried up to the room where she had left Arrah Neil, unlocked the door, and went in.

The poor girl was leaning on the sill of the open window, gazing up and down the street. Her face was clear and bright; her beautiful blue eyes were full of intellect and fire; the look of doubt and inward thought was gone; a change had come over her, complete and extraordinary. It seemed as if she had awakened from a dream.

When the landlady entered, Arrah immediately turned from the window and advanced towards her. Then, laying her hand upon her arm, she gazed in her face for a moment so intently that the poor woman began to be alarmed.

"I am sure I recollect you," said Arrah Neil. "Have you not been here long?"

"For twenty years," replied the hostess; "and for five-and-twenty before that in the house next door, from which I married into this."

"And don't you recollect me?" asked Arrah Neil.

"No," replied the landlady, "I do not; though I think I have seen some one very like you before, but then it was a taller lady--much taller."

"So she was," cried Arrah Neil. "What was her name?"

"Nay, I can't tell, if you can't," replied the landlady.

"I know what I called her, but I know nothing more," answered Arrah Neil. "I called her mother--and perhaps she was my mother. I called her mother as I lay in that bed, with my head aching, my eyes burning, and my lips parched; and then I fell into a long deep sleep, from which I awoke forgetting all that went before, and she was gone."

"Ay!" cried the landlady; "and are you that poor little thing?" and she gazed upon her for a moment with a look of sad, deep interest. The next instant she cast her arms round her and kissed her tenderly. "Ah, poor child!" she said at length, with tears in her eyes, "those were sad times--sad times, indeed! 'Twas when the fever was raging the country. Sad work in such days for those who lodged strangers! It cost me my only one. A man came and slept in that bed; he looked ill when he came, and worse when he went. Then came a lady and a child, and an old man, their servant, and the house was full, all but this room and another; and ere they had been here long, my own dear child was taken with the fever. She was near your own age, perhaps a year older; and I told the lady overnight, so she said she would go on the morrow, for she was afraid for her darling. But before the morning came, you too were shaking like a willow in the wind, and then came on the burning fit, and the third day you began to rave, and knew no one. The fifth day my poor girl died, and for a whole day I did not see you; I saw nothing but my dead child. On the next, however, they came to tell me the lady had fallen ill, and I came to watch you, for it seemed to me as if there was something between you and my poor Lucy--I knew not what; you had been sisters in sickness, and I thought you might be sisters in the grave. I cannot help crying when I think of it. Oh, those were terrible days!" And the poor woman wiped her eyes.

"But my mother?" cried Arrah Neil--"my mother?"

"Some day I will show you where she lies," answered the hostess; and Arrah wept bitterly, for a hope was crushed out to its last spark.

"She got worse and worse," continued the landlady; "and she too lost her senses; but just as you were slowly getting a little better she suddenly regained her mind; and I was so glad, for I thought she would recover too; but the first words she spoke were to ask after you. So I told her you were much better, and all she said was, 'I should wish to see her once more before I die, if it may be done without harming her;' and then I knew that she was going. I and the old servant carried you, just as you were, and laid you on her bed, and she kissed you, and prayed God to bless and keep you; but you were weak and dozy, and she would not have you wakened, but made us take you back; and then she spoke long with the old man in a whisper; but all I heard was, 'You promise, Neil?--you promise on your salvation?' He did promise--though I did not know what it was. Then she said, 'Recollect, you must never tell her unless it be recovered.' Recovered she said, or reversed, I remember not well which; but from that moment she said nothing more but to ask for some water, and so she went on till the next morning, just as the day was dawning, and then she departed."

A short space passed in silent tears on the part of Arrah Neil, while the good woman who told the tale remained gazing forth from the window; but at length she continued: "Before you could run across the floor again, nay husband died, but with him it was very quick. He was but three days between health and death; and when I had a little recovered I used foolishly to wish that you could stay with me, and be like my poor Lucy; but you were a lady and I was a poor woman, so that could not be; and in about six weeks the old man paid all that was owing, and took you away. It is strange to think that you should be the same pretty child that lay there sick near ten years ago."

"It is as strange to me as to you," said Arrah Neil; "for, as I tell you, I seemed to fall into a deep sleep, and for a time I forgot all; but since then all the things which occurred before that time have troubled me sadly. It seemed as if I had had a dream, and I recollect a castle on a hill, and riding with a tall gentleman, who was on a great black horse, while I had a tiny thing, milk-white; and I remember many servants and maids--oh! and many things I have never seen since; but I could not tell whether it was real or a mere fancy, till I came into this town and saw the street which I used to look at from the window, and the sign of the house that I used to watch as it swung to and fro in the wind. Then I was sure it was real; and your face, too, brought a thousand things back to me; and when I saw the room where I had been, I felt inclined to weep, I knew not why. Well, well may I weep!"

"But who is this old man who is with you?" asked the landlady, suddenly. "He is not the old servant, who was as aged then as he is now; and what is this tale he tells of your being his ward, and mad?"

"Mad!" cried Arrah Neil--"mad! Oh, no! 'Tis he that is wicked, not I that am mad. He and another dragged me away from those who protected me and were good to me--kind Annie Walton, and that noble lord her brother--while they were fighting on the moors beyond Coventry. I his ward! He has no more right to keep me from my friends than the merest stranger. He is a base, bad man--a hypocrite--a cheat. What he wants, what he wishes, I know not; but he had my poor old grandfather dragged away to prison, and he died by the road."

"Your grandfather!" said the widow; "What was his name?"

"Neil," answered the poor girl; "that was the name he always went by."

"Why, that was the old servant," said the hostess. "He had been a soldier, and fought in many battles. I have heard him tell it often. But this man--this man has some object, young lady. He knows more of you than perhaps you think. He told me that you were mad, and his ward; but he knew not that you had a friend so near at hand, who, though she be a poor, humble woman--Hark! there are people speaking at the door. 'Tis he, I dare say. Say not a word to him, and we will talk more by-and-by. Do not be afraid--he shall not take you away again so easily, if there be yet law in the land. But he must not find me with you;" and, thus saying, she opened the door, and lei the room.

[CHAPTER XIV.]

The landlady paused for a moment at the door, laid her finger upon her brow, thought for a minute or two, and then, having settled her whole plan to her own satisfaction, descended to the door, at which Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, was making sundry inquiries regarding the personage for whose address he had, in the first place, applied to herself, and whom he evidently had not found out in his perambulations through the town. A part of what he said was heard by the hostess as she descended, so that she had a clue to what was going on, and, advancing towards him with a low, smart curtsey, she said--

"The dinner's quite ready, sir; and I have been thinking since you were gone, that I shall be able to-morrow morning to get you the address of the gentleman you wanted, for a man will be here with eggs who used to supply him, I know."

Mr. Dry looked up with a well-satisfied air, saying, "That is providential, Mistress Green."

"White, sir, White," said the landlady, dropping another curtsey; "my name is White, not Green--a different colour, sir; but it all comes to the same thing. Shall I call the young lady to dinner? It is in this room, sir."

"I will go myself, Mistress White," said Dry; and he was advancing towards the stairs, when the landlady, in; low and confidential whisper, added--

"Poor thing! she is very wild indeed. I went up just now to see if she wanted anything; and she is quite astray, thinking that she was here not long ago, and fancying that she knows all about the place. It's a sad thing to see; poor creature in such a state."

"Alack! alack! and so it is," rejoined Mr. Dry; "but it's God's will, Mrs. White, and so we must submit."

"Ah, sir! that's very true," answered the good hostess; "but yet one can't help pitying the poor girl. You are sure she is not dangerous, sir?"

"Quite sure," answered Mr. Dry: "It is only to herself. But if she were left alone to do what she will, I would not answer for it that you would not very soon find her in the Humber."

"Oh she must be looked to, sir--she must be looked to," replied the landlady. "Those are sad, dangerous cases. I remember right well when Jonathan Birkett, at Burton--he was my husband's second cousin, poor dear man--went mad, and hanged himself----"

"I will hear that story after dinner," said Dry in return, pushing past her, and opening the door of the room in which Arrah Neil was seated. But the good landlady had gained her point, having fully convinced Mr. Dry that she believed the poor girl whom he had brought thither to be perfectly insane; and her manner during the meal, which followed immediately after, served to confirm the worthy gentleman in that supposition, without at all inducing Arrah herself to imagine that her new friend had any doubt of her sanity.

Though the days had gone by when, as a universal custom, the landlord and his guest sat down together at the same table, and when, if the traveller presented himself at any other hours than those of the host's own meals, he was likely to remain hungry till the master of the house chose to eat, yet in all cases he who supplied the fare, and he who received it, were still much more intimately mixed up at meal times than in the present day, when the duties of the hostly office are done by deputy; and the landlord is intent upon any other cares than hospitable ones.

In the present instance, good Mrs. White remained in the room with her maid, who acted the important part of waiter, and ever and anon she meddled busily with the dishes, commended the viands to her guests, vaunted the excellence of the ale, strong waters, and wine, which her house afforded, and when not thus employed upon matters connected with her own immediate vocation, took part in the conversation of those who sat at table, with great freedom and satisfaction.

Towards Arrah Neil her tone was of that tender and kindly character, which might well be attributed by Mr. Dry to compassion for the mental affliction under which he had declared her to be suffering, and by the poor girl herself to interest in her fate and situation. But the good landlady was all the time busily engaged in watching eagerly the whole conduct of her male guest, and endeavouring, with all the skill which is afforded by long dealings with many of our fellow-creatures, to extract some information from all she saw regarding his intentions and objects. She perceived that the worthy man of Longsoaken was as tender upon her whom he called his ward as was consistent with his sanctified exterior, that he often whispered a word to her with a smile which contorted his harsh and weazened features into anything but a pleasant expression, and that he made a point of helping her himself to everything which he thought dainty; and from these and various other indications, Mrs. White was led to ask herself, "Does the old hypocrite seek her for a wife or a paramour?" and she internally added, "I'll spoil the game for him, that I will."

But, notwithstanding her secret resolutions, the good landlady remained perfectly civil and attentive to Mr. Dry; and guided by tokens, which were not to be mistaken by one of her experience, as to his fondness for certain creature comforts of existence, she at length produced some clear and brilliant liquid, the produce of the Dutch still, in a large flat-sided black bottle, and persuaded him to drink what she called a small glass thereof, though, to say the truth, the measure was very capacious. When he had drunk it, he set down the glass again; and looking up in Mrs. White's face, observed--

"It is very good indeed, madam, and may be permitted for the support of our poor, weak bodies after a long ride in such bleak and disconsolate weather."

"Take another glass, sir," said the hostess, who stood at the end of the table with the bottle still in her hand.

"On no account--on no account, Mistress White," replied her guest; "We may use such things discreetly, but by no means go into excess. I would not for the world--don't talk of it."

There are two ways, however, of understanding that same injunction, "don't talk of it," which those who have been accustomed to read the book of human nature find no great difficulty in applying properly; and in this instance, as in manner others, Mrs. White saw that it meant "Don't talk of it; but do it without talking," and therefore replying, "Oh, sir, it's very weak: it's so old, 'tis scarcely stronger than water," she poured the glass full, as it stood at Mr. Dry's elbow, while he turned round to say something to Arrah Neil on his other side.

The worthy gentleman took not the slightest notice of this proceeding; but looking up in Mrs. White's face, he said--

"And so you think, ma'am, that you will be able to get me Master Hugh O'Donnell's right address by to-morrow morning?"

"I am certain of it," replied the landlady, who thought there was no great harm in a little confidence, whatever might be the result.

Arrah Neil looked down in silent thought, and then raised her large, bright eyes with an inquiring look in the landlady's face; while Mr. Dry, as if in a fit of absentness, took up the glass, and sipped nearly one half of the contents before he recollected what he was about. He then, however, set it down suddenly, and inquired--

"Pray, can you tell me if Mr. Twigg the drysalter is now in Hull? A God-fearing and saintly man, Mrs. White, who used to hold forth to the edification of a flock that was wont to assemble at the tabernacle in Backwater alley."

"Oh, dear! yes, sir, he is in Hull," replied Mrs. White. "I saw the good gentleman only yesterday."

"Then I will go and visit him presently," answered Mr. Dry. "Humble-minded folks may always profit much of godly conversation; and to do him but justice, he is always ready to use his spiritual gifts for the benefit of others."

Thus speaking, Mr. Dry, after contemplating the glass for a moment, seemed to come to the conclusion that there was no use of leaving in it the little that remained. He accordingly tossed it off with a sudden motion of the hand, and then set it resolutely down upon the table again, as if defying the landlady, the Hollands, or the devil, to tempt him to take another drop.

The fiend and women, however have generally more than one way of accomplishing their object, and consequently Mrs. White, after having pronounced a eulogium on the graces of Mr. Twigg, and his friend Master Theophilus Longbone, the hemp-merchant, who was likewise an acquaintance of her guest's, she set down the bottle carelessly by Mr. Dry's side, and retired into a little room, with a glass window towards the passage, so constructed as to afford a view of the door of the house, with those of the chambers on the ground floor, and also of the foot of the stairs.

Here she remained for about half-an-hour, while sundry persons came in and out, spoke to her or to some of her attendant satellites, paid money, received change, brought in goods for sale, amongst which it may be as well to record six pairs of very fine pigeons in a basket, or applied for small quantities of cordials, which sometimes they drank upon the spot, sometimes carried away in phials.

At length the door of the room in which Mr. Dry had eaten his dinner opened, and that worthy gentleman appeared, holding Arrah Neil by the arm, and looking at her with a somewhat inflamed and angry countenance, from which Mrs. White augured that he was about to say something harsh and bitter to his fair companion. She prepared accordingly to interfere, fully resolved to protect the poor girl at all risks, even if she were obliged to call in the aid of the magistrates, town-council, and governor himself; although, to say the truth, she had no great love or reverence for any of the party now dominant in Hull.

Dr. Dry, however, uttered not a word, but led his poor victim up to her chamber--made her go in--and, locking the door, took out the key. Mrs. White smiled, as with quick ears she heard the various steps of this process, but sat quite still at what we should now call the bar, and marked the movements of Mr. Dry, as he descended and stood for a moment in the passage--those movements being somewhat peculiar, and indicating an internal perturbation of some sort. His back, indeed, was turned towards the worthy hostess, as he looked out of the door leading into the street; but she perceived that, with his feet somewhat apart, he first rested on his heels, then upon the soles, then upon his heels again, his body gently swaying backwards and forwards, and his hands in his breeches-pockets. Mrs. White had seen such oscillations before in other men; and, when Mr. Dry made up his mind to the course he was to pursue, and walked straight out into the street, she herself hastened into the eating-room, where the first object that she examined was the black bottle, which being held up to the light, exhibited a deficiency of at least one-half.

"Ay, the beast is well nigh drunk," said Mrs. White, speaking to herself; "but that's a small matter, if he does no more than get tipsy now and then. I'll warrant he'll be in a fine state when he comes home from Master Twigg's. He's just such another as himself; and they sit there, and drink, and cant, till they all go home crying or quarrelling, as if they were the most unhappy men in the world. Well, religion is a good thing in its way, and drink is a good thing; but they don't do mixed, any how."

Thus saying, she carried off the black bottle, placed it in its own peculiar receptacle, and then calling a girl whom she named Nancy to take her place in the bar, she walked quietly up to the room of Arrah Neil. It maybe recollected by the reader that Mr. Dry had carefully locked the door, and put the key in his pocket; but Mrs. White was not a person to be frustrated by such a simple proceeding, for putting her hand to her girdle, from which hung a ponderous bunch of variously formed pieces of iron, she selected one from the rest, which being insinuated into the key-hole, instantly turned the lock, and gave her admission to the chamber without the slightest difficulty.

Arrah Neil started up with a look of joy, brushing away some drops that had gathered in her eyes, and exclaiming, "Oh, I am so glad!"

"What, poor soul," cried Mrs. White! "you thought he had shut you up so that nobody could get to you. But I am not such a fool as to be without a master-key in my own house, so that if any other be lost I can always open a door. What has the old man been saying to you, my dear, and what made him look so cross?"

"Oh!" cried Arrah Neil, "he has been saying things I do not understand; and then he asked if I would marry him, and said, that if I would, I should have all his money at his death; but I told him, that if he had all the wealth in the world, I would sooner die."

"Ay, that's what made him cross," cried the landlady. "Men do not like such words as that, my dear. However, you did very right, for the sooner you let the old hypocrite know your mind, the better. He's a deep old villain, though, or I am mistaken. I saw you looked at me when he mentioned Hugh O'Donnell. Do you know any thing about him? Do you recollect the name?"

"Yes, I do," replied Arrah Neil. "I am sure I have heard it often; but it must be long ago.--Who is he?--What is he?"

"Nay, that I can't tell," answered Mrs. White. "I recollect him here, I think, in my husband's time; and I have seen him once or twice about, since then, in the streets of the town, and in the market. But I know nothing of him, except that he is a good sort of man, I believe. One sees such a number of people in a town like this! He's got a ship, I believe, and trades to Ireland."

"To Ireland," said Arrah Neil. And then suddenly breaking off, she added, "I wish I could get away. Cannot you let me out while he's gone?"

"Oh, that I can, my pretty lady," answered the hostess; "and you shall go away whenever you like. I won't stop you. But, I think, it will be a great deal better for you to stay a while, and see what all this comes to. We may find out something that may clear up the whole business; and, besides, what would you do if you were away? Without money you would be in a sad plight, and, I dare say, he does not let you have any in your pocket?"

"I have two crown-pieces," replied Arrah Neil; "and with that I am sure I could get to Annie Walton and her brother."

The widow shook her head with a sad smile. "'Tis a small sum to begin the world with," she said, "and all alone. Besides, they might overtake you. No, no, poor thing, leave it to me to settle some plan for you. I will answer for it, he shall not take you away from here, let him do what he will; and in the mean time I will set my wits to work to find out the whole of this story. But now let me hear who is this Annie Walton and her brother? Come, sit down by me, and tell me all you can recollect since the times we were talking of this morning. It may help me to find out the rest, and that's the great point."

Arrah Neil mused; not that she had any hesitation in relating to her companion all that her own memory served to recall, for it is not those who have had few friends that are suspicious, but those who have had friends that have proved false. She had too rarely met with the voice of kindness and sympathy not to yield her ear to it willingly, especially when it came from one who was linked to the sad, but sweet recollections of the past. She had lived so long in a dream, however--a dream from which nothing but the most important scenes and figures had stood forth in full light--that much was confused and indistinct; and she felt that she could but relate it as it presented itself to remembrance, might afford but a faint and misty image to a stranger. It was with the good widow's first question, then, that she commenced making her reply. "Annie Walton!" she said; "I wonder you have never heard of her, she is so kind and so good; every one knows her by her bounties."

"Ay, but if I understand right, my poor young lady, she lives a long way off on the other side of Coventry," replied the hostess; "and while wicked doings travel on horseback, the report of good ones trudges afoot. Like the waggoner's cart, it may be richly loaded, but is long a-coming."

"Well, then," answered Arrah Neil, "she is Lord Walton's daughter, sister of kind Charles Walton, who is now lord. The old man died two years ago, and the lady long before that. However, they have always been good to me, and to my poor old grandfather, ever since we went to live at Bishop's Merton. 'Tis a long while ago now; and between the time when I was here and the days I first recollect there, there seems a sort of gap, as if we had lived somewhere else. But I remember well our first arriving there, and going with my grandfather to look at two or three cottages, till at length he chose one just out of the town, upon the green, by the old church."

"Were you then quite alone with him as you went from Hull?" asked the landlady.

"Quite," answered Arrah Neil. "There was no one with us, and we lived there quite alone; and all the morning my grandfather used to teach me all he knew, and to make me read and write many an hour, and copy things out of books, and explain to me about different countries. I often thought it wearisome, for it used to keep me from thinking of things that were past, and from trying to bring back to mind people and places that seemed to cross my sight in haste, and disappear again like the motes that we see in the sunshine, which are lost as soon as they get into the shade. But he was a good, kind old man, and everybody loved him. The boys used to gather round him on the green at evening close, and listen to the stories he used to tell of the wars in Ireland; and Lord Walton, from whom he hired the cottage, was very kind too, and often used to stop and talk with him as he went by; and Charles, the young lord, and Miss Walton did the same. I used very often to go up to the house, too, and spent many a happy day there, though I sometimes fancy that, on account of my strange ways, and because I often fell into fits of thought, they believed I was somewhat weak in mind; but, if I could have seen this house, it would have soon brought my brain right. But, as I was saying, they were always very kind to me; and Charles Walton would spend many an hour at the cottage and listen to my grandfather's tales."

"Ay," said the hostess, "he was an old soldier, but he did not understand all the arts of war."

Arrah Neil looked up in her face with an inquiring air, but good Mrs. White only shook her head, and the poor girl proceeded. "Charles Walton was away in strange countries for a long time, and then again he went to the wars; but whenever he came back he used to visit us, though he grew graver and more thoughtful as he became older than he was when he was a youth and I was a child; and I began to feel somewhat afraid of him--no, not afraid, for he was always kind Charles Walton to me, but I felt timid when he spoke to me. However, his father died, and he became lord of all the country round, and he had much to do and was often away. About that time, this man, who is now here in Hull, began to come sometimes to the house, but my grandfather could not bear him; and though he treated him civilly, because he was now in great power in the little town, and every one seemed to do just as he bade him, and all were afraid of him, yet he was always cold and distant to him. One day, however, this Ezekiel Dry came in while he was out, and he took me by the hand and began to say things I did not understand, as he did to-night, and I tried to go away, but he would not let me. Just then my grandfather came in, and immediately there were high and threatening words; and my grandfather struck him with the staff he carried, and knocked him down upon the ground; then, taking him by the arms, he cast him out of the cottage like a dog. After that he did not come again for many months; and in the winter my poor old grandfather was taken ill, and remained ever after feeble and sickly; and when he used to hear of the doings of the parliament against the king it always made him worse, and he used to speak rash words, I fear. Once or twice he wrote letters, and sent them off by a man that sometimes came to see him, and he received answers too, which he burned as soon as he had read them. So it went on, till one day this summer the man Dry came with a number of soldiers, when my grandfather was very ill in bed, and said they had a warrant against him as a malignant who was plotting treason against the parliament, and they dragged him away in spite of all I could say, though I told them it would kill him. Lord Walton was absent then, and Dry would fain have prevented me from going with my grandfather; but one of the soldiers was kinder than the rest, and said I should go to tend the poor old man. They put us in a cart and carried us along, and day by day he grew weaker, till at length at Devizes he died. Before his death, however, just when his eyes were turning dim, he whispered to me, 'Go back quick to the cottage, Arrah, and in the back room behind the bed, you will find a bundle of letters and other things, which will tell you all about yourself--I cannot;' and he said no more."

"Did you find them? did you find them?" cried the landlady, eagerly.

"No," answered Arrah Neil, "for when I got back to the cottage it had been stripped of everything, and I, too, had been robbed of all I had taken with me by the soldiers on the road. One of them said that my gown was pretty, and he would have it for his wife; so I gave it to him for fear he should take it by force."

The good hostess had mused, paying little attention to the last few words, but at length she exclaimed, "He has got them, young lady. He has got those letters, depend upon it; ay, and he knows more of you than any of us. You must find means to get them back again; that is the only thing to be done."

"Alas! how can I?" cried poor Arrah Neil. "I am a mere prisoner, and unable to do anything for myself. Oh, if I could but escape, I should be content!"

"Nay, nay, be not so impatient!" said Mrs. White; "you shall escape in good time--I give you my word for that; but let us first find out all that we can, for I have a notion that your fortunes are better than they look, or else this man would not be so eager to keep you in his hands. You were no grand-daughter of old Sergeant Neil's--that I can tell you, and you may turn out a great lady after all. I am sure your poor mother looked and spoke like one of the best of the land, and I do not see why you should not have your rights as well as another."

"A great lady!" said Arrah Neil, in a musing tone, and with a melancholy shake of the head: "there is but one reason why I should like to be a great lady, and that is--to show my gratitude to those who have been kind to me."

"And a good reason, too," replied the landlady. "So you must not miss your chance, my dear."

"Dame White! Dame White!" cried a voice from below.

"Hark! they are calling me," said the hostess; and opening the door, she exclaimed, "Here am I; what do you want with me, Nancy?"

"Here are a heap of folks want to see you directly," screamed Nancy from the bottom of the stairs.

"I must go, my dear," said the widow, turning to Arrah Neil, "but I will be back with you directly;" and thus saying she left her.

But poor Arrah was disappointed in regard to the length of her absence, for more than an hour passed, and the door gave admission to no friendly face.

[CHAPTER XV.]

We must now, dear reader, turn to other scenes and personages, and pause, somewhat long perhaps, ere we resume the actual history Of poor Arrah Neil; for those voices that were heard below, as we mentioned at the end of the first volume, and the long absence of the landlady, though they may seem simple enough, yet require some longer comment than appears necessary at first sight, and are not unconnected either with the past or future portions of this history.

There is upon the Yorkshire coast, somewhat to the south of Flamborough Head, a small, retired bay, not above a quarter of a mile broad, but deep in relation to the width; for the distance from each of the projecting headlands by which it is formed, to the innermost part of the bay, is nearly three-quarters of a mile. This little natural haven is furnished with a sandy shore, and surrounded by steep rocks at all points but that where it is united with the ocean and at the mouth of a short narrow valley, which leads with a rapid ascent to the tops of the cliff's above. Were it not that it is so difficult of access from the land side, and that the water therein is somewhat shallow, it might form an excellent port, sheltered from almost all winds. But these circumstances have rendered it less frequented than it might be; and though a few boatmen's cottages are now built upon the shore, it is but little known, and at the time I speak of, was without any vestige of human habitation, and rarely trodden by the foot of man.

At about three o'clock, however, of an autumnal night, a boat might be dimly discovered lying on the sandy shore, the tide being then at ebb. In it were four men apparently sailors, two of whom were stretched sound asleep in the stern, whilst two sat talking together in low tones on the gunwale of the boat, supplying the intervals of conversation by manifold potent whiffs of the meditative pipe.

As neither the topics they discussed, nor the language that they used, would be either pleasant or edifying to the reader, we shall not pause upon their discourse, but leave them smoking and talking on, to follow two horsemen down from the entrance of the valley, as, at a slow and cautious pace, they were guided on by a youth some fifteen or sixteen years of age, who, in the hope of a proportionate recompense, took care to point out to them the various obstacles that lay in the way. Now it was a mass of rock, now a large fissure, now a sudden descent. now the course of the little brawling stream, somewhat swelled by the rain which had fallen in the early part of the night.

But all these difficulties were at length overcome, though the one said to the other, that it put him in mind of the Pass of Roncesvalles, and the other replied, "As much like Roncesvalles, my good friend, as a Cheshire cheese is to the Peak of Derby. But, pray recollect your taciturnity. It will not do to break out now. There is the boat, I see;" and advancing over the sand, he spoke a few words to one of the men who was awake, and who replied with the common and significant answer made by Englishmen on so many different occasions of "All's right, sir."

The other man, in the meanwhile, roused up their two companions; and the horsemen dismounted from their beasts, and put the bridles into the hand of the youth who had served them as a guide. The one who appeared to be the principal personage of the party, seemed to add a piece of money to that which he placed in the lad's palm, saying, "Mind you lead them back carefully, and he will give you the same when you deliver the horses to him in good condition."

The young man thanked him warmly, and promised all manner of care. The two cavaliers having placed themselves in the stern of the boat, it was easily pushed off into the sea, which was there calm and tranquil; and the sailors springing in, took to their oars, and pulled away towards the mouth of the bay.

Speedily the little boat began to show that all was not quite so smooth beyond the point; tossing up and down as they approached the open sea, and labouring with the eddies produced by the contending wind and tide amongst the scattered rocks which stood out from the headland. When they had once issued forth upon the bosom of the wide ocean, they found a heavy sea running, and the wind directly contrary to the course they wished to steer, so that but little way was made, notwithstanding the sturdy strokes of the rowers, and day began to dawn before they were a mile from the bay.

The first light of the morning showed them, what they had not before perceived, a small cutter lying at anchor, still at the distance of a mile and a half or two miles; and as they appeared likely to be some hours before they reached her, the one gentleman whispered to the other, "Let us give these poor fellows some relief, Barecolt. You take one oar, and I can take another, and then those who rest can relieve the other two after a while."

"With all my heart, mon colonel," replied Captain Barecolt, "though this water work is neither your trade nor mine."

The proposal of Lord Beverley was soon propounded to the men, and gladly enough adopted; but still a considerable time elapsed before they reached the little cutter, which hoisted sail and put to sea as soon as they were on board.

The morning was fair, with a strong wind blowing, not the most favourable that could be conceived for the course which they were destined to pursue, but still not directly contrary, and they made their way slowly on through the dashing billows, at the rate of some or three or four miles in the hour. Lord Beverley and his companion, Barecolt, walked the deck, speaking little to each other, or to the rest, and the peer keeping a watchful eye upon the loquacious captain, to make sure that he did not give way to his talkative propensities in favour of the skipper, or any of the mariners of the ship.

It was evident that the two passengers were perfectly unknown to their shipmates, both from the manner in which the latter examined them when they came on board, and from the fact of Lord Beverley, whenever he did speak, conversing with Barecolt in French, and addressing the master of the vessel in broken English. The persons of the two gentlemen also were disguised, as far as mere clothing went. Barecolt, for his part, was dressed in a sober-coloured grey suit, with a buff belt, and a black hat and feather. The whole was in very good keeping, except in respect of certain red ribbons, which his taste or finery could not forbear from applying to various parts of his dress; and he might have well passed for a respectable French citizen, somewhat given to the juice of the grape, and not very affluent in his circumstances.

Tire earl was habited more richly, but in a very different style from that of an English cavalier; and although the pointed beard was still in fashion in England, he had sacrificed that ornament of the human countenance to bring himself to the likeness of certain young French nobles, who, at that time, were labouring zealously to exclude beards from fashionable society; and who had so far succeeded, that not long after, one of the old French court, who adhered to the custom of nature and his ancestors, was known by the name of "the man with the beard." This change had made a very great difference in his appearance, which he had increased by dyeing his hair and moustache of a darker hue, so that none but those who knew him intimately would have recognised him without very close inspection.

After sailing on for about two hours, making their way slowly from the English coast, which, however, was still seen rising in long lines above the waters, a large vessel was perceived bearing direct towards them, with all sails set, while a fleet, apparently of fishing-boats, were coming upon the other tack.

The master of the schooner seemed to pay but little attention to either; but Lord Beverley felt some anxiety, and not a little impatience, to ascertain the character of the large vessel, as a ship named the "Good Hope," laden with ammunition, money, and stores, had been daily expected on the coast for the last fortnight, and he had been directed by the king to instruct the officers on board, if he met her on his passage, on no account to trust themselves in Hull, the governor of which had openly declared for the parliament. The master, however, continued to walk up and down the opposite side of the deck, merely giving a casual glance to the other vessel, till the earl crossed over and inquired if he knew the ship that was approaching.

"She is a king's ship," replied the man, with a sort of dull taciturnity, which sailors sometimes affect towards landsmen, especially if they are of a different nation.

"But is it the Good Hope?" demanded the earl. "If so, I am commanded to board her."

"It looks like her," replied the captain, continuing his walk; "but we shall soon know, and then you can do as you like."

Ere many minutes were over the captain pronounced the vessel to be the "Good Hope;" and as they approached somewhat nearer, a signal was made, upon which the cutter brought to, and the boat being lowered--the only one which she possessed--the earl proceeded to the other ship, taking with him our good friend Captain Barecolt, rather (to use a familiar expression) to keep him out of harm's way than for the pleasure of his society.

Although signals had been made and answered, it was evident that the people on board the large vessel viewed the approach of the little boat with some suspicion, believing, as the earl found, that the object was but to detain them till some larger force arrived. There were several persons at the gangway, watching eagerly the approach of the visiters, and not a little puzzled did they appear by the appearance of the earl and his companion, when the boat ran alongside. The earl looked up and smiled, for he recognised not a few of those who stood upon the deck above as personal acquaintances of his own, and faithful servants of the king.

With a slow step, however, and a grave face, he climbed the vessel's side; but when once he stood upon the deck, removed from the eyes and ears of the boatmen, he stretched out a hand to two gentlemen, who stood on either side, saying--

"Welcome, Pollard!--welcome, Berkeley! You have been long looked for."

"By my life, the Earl of Beverley!" cried Colonel Ashburnham, who stood beyond. "Why, oons, man! who would have known you in that black wig?"

"My own hair, I assure you," replied the earl. "Do not libel it, Ashburnham; there is not a hair on my head that is false. But I can stay only a moment, for I am bound for France on the king's service; and I have it in command to tell you on no account to venture into Hull. Sir John Hotham holds with the parliament, and, as a new convert to treason, is likely to make a merit of any violent act. You must give me your news, however. Tell me what succour you bring to the king, and what support you find in Holland."

"To France!" said Ashburnham, thoughtfully. "I wish to heaven you would give me a passage, Beverley; for his majesty can do without me for a time, and I can serve him better there than here. I was but now casting about in my mind which way I should get across as soon as I landed."

"That is easily done," answered the earl. "But you must make haste; I can stay for no packing; for, to say truth, I love not the look of all this fleet of boats, some of them well-nigh as big as our cutter there; and, mark you, there are two large vessels just appearing round the point."

"Well! I am with you in a moment," replied Colonel Ashburnham; "and as for news, I will tell you all as we sail along."

Thus saying, he descended for what he called a moment to the cabin, while the earl remained upon deck, and gathered from the gentlemen who stood round the tidings that they brought from Holland. The colonel, however, was somewhat longer than Lord Beverley could have desired, as he watched with no unreasonable apprehensions the nearer approach of the boats, and the growing distinctness of three large vessels, as they came scudding along with a fair wind from the side of Hull.

"Ashburnham! Ashburnham!" he cried at length, approaching the cabin-stairs, "on my life I can stay no longer. Every minute is full of danger."

"Here I am!" cried Colonel Ashburnham. "I have been only securing my papers;" and the moment after he appeared on the deck, with two large leathern bags in his hand, which were cast into the boat; and, with a brief farewell to those on board, and a recommendation to make all sail, the earl descended the ship's side, followed by his friend. The sailors were ordered to pull back as fast as possible to the ship; and, whispering to his new companion to forget him as Lord Beverley, and merely to know him as a French officer with whom he had casually become acquainted, the earl introduced Barecolt to him as Captain Jersval, an officer from Brittany.

Whatever conversation they might have had, if time and opportunity had served, was cut short by the evident signs of an enemy's approach, displayed both by the boats and the ships which they had seen. Signals that the cutter did not understand, and could not answer, were made by the larger ships; and before the earl and his companion were half-way from the "Good Hope" to his own vessel, the former was in full sail away, and a shot was fired across the bows of the latter, as a notification to lie-to.

The rowers plied their oars with all the vigour and activity which the necessity of the case required, but it was in vain. Ere they had reached the ship's side, the master had quietly hauled down his colours as sign of surrender.

"This is infamous!" cried Ashburnham. "The cowardly vagabond! What's to become of us now?"

"Faith, we must take our chance," replied the earl; "perhaps we may prevail upon him yet to make sail. At all events, I must destroy some letters I have on board; and perchance I may escape unknown, even if I be taken into Hull; for I do not think that Hotham and I ever met more than once."

"I have no such luck," answered Ashburnham, "he knows me as an old enemy--a thing not so easily forgotten as an old friend. But I will not spoil your fortune, Beverley. Remember, we never met before, mon colonel, and if this good gentleman would take my advice," he added, turning to Barecolt, "he would follow the same plan, which is the only way for safety, depend upon it."

"Oh! I will be strangely ignorant," replied Barecolt; "but I thought I heard you talk of papers in those bags, sir. The sea is a more quiet place at the bottom than at the top."

"Right! right!" cried Colonel Ashburnham. "Hand me that grappling-iron, my man," he continued, speaking to one of the sailors.

The man obeyed; and fastening one of the leathern bags he had brought with him to the hook of the iron, Colonel Ashburnham pitched them both into the sea together, just as the boat ran alongside the cutter.

[CHAPTER XVI.]

"In the name of fury, you scoundrel!" exclaimed Colonel Ashburnham, addressing the captain of the cutter, as soon as they reached the deck, "what made you strike and reef the sails?"

"Because I couldn't help it," replied the man. "They are to windward of us, and will be alongside of us in no time. If you come to that, what made that gentleman stay so long? and who the devil are you who come to give orders here?"

He added a number of oaths, which are not necessary to be repeated. But Colonel Ashburnham waved his hand, saying, "Silence, sir! I thought I was known by everybody who even pretends to serve the king. I am Colonel Ashburnham, an officer in his service, and I order you, if there be a chance of getting away, to make sail instantly."

"There is no chance," answered the man.

"No, sir; not now," said a seaman, who stood near; "for nothing is ready. If we had not reefed the sails indeed----"

"Well, well," said Colonel Ashburnham, "what must be must be. Where are the Frenchmen?"

"There stands one," said the captain, sullenly, "and the other has gone down below."

"If you have anything to destroy, sir," said the colonel, addressing Barecolt in French, "you had better go and do it at once."

"I have nothing on earth, sir," replied Barecolt, "but a score or two of crowns, a grey doublet, and two shirts--all of which I would sooner destroy on shore than on the water at any time. I have a grand objection to that element in every shape and in every quantity, from a jugful to the Atlantic."

"Your nose vouches for your truth," replied Ashburnham, with a low bow; for he was a man who, notwithstanding the sterner and more devoted points of his character, could understand and appreciate a joke.

"You are right, colonel," replied Barecolt, laying his hand upon his proboscis. "An honest man never fears to bear a witness of his actions about with him."

"Had you not better," said Ashburnham, in a lower tone, "go down and see if you can help your companion?"

"With all my heart," answered Barecolt, "though I think what he is about he can do without help; but I will go and tell him that the big black monster there is coming up more like a swallow than a whale, and that may hasten his proceedings."

Thus saying, he descended into the cabin, but speedily returned, laughing, and saying in broken English, "He is mortally sea-sick, poor miserable! I thought he would be so in the boat."

"Ay, it is the motion of the ship lying-to," replied Ashburnham, aloud; "but on my life, this is a bad affair for me. You two gentlemen, I dare say, they will let go as strangers, but I am unfortunately too well known. Here they come, however, and we shall soon know the worst."

A moment after the headmost ship of the enemy brought-to, and while the others sailed on after the "Good Hope," a boat was immediately despatched to take possession of the cutter, and the deck was crowded in a few minutes with seamen from Hull.

The leader of the party recognised Colonel Ashburnham at once, and laughed when he saw him, exclaiming, "Ha! ha! we have got something for our chase, however. Who is there on board besides, colonel?"

"I really cannot tell, sir," answered Colonel Ashburnham, gravely; "I have just got into this unfortunate vessel from the other ship, and know nothing of anybody on board but that fellow," and he pointed to the captain, "who is evidently one of three things."

"What, sir?" exclaimed the captain, looking at him fiercely.

"Fool, coward, or traitor," exclaimed Colonel Ashburnham, calmly.

The man sprang towards him; but the officer of the boat interposed, exclaiming, "Peace, peace! No quarrelling amongst prisoners. Run down, run down, some of you, and see who is below. Bring up all the papers, too, and then put about the ship for Hull."

The men bustled about for a minute or two, executing these orders, till at length one of them returned up the ladder, carrying some papers in his hand; and another followed, bearing the portmanteau of Lord Beverley, and a small leathern pouch or wallet, containing the worldly goods and chattels of worthy Captain Barecolt. Colonel Ashburnham's baggage was upon the deck; and with very summary haste the crew of the parliamentary ship proceeded to examine the contents of the whole, while Barecolt poured forth a multitude of French lamentations over what he appeared to think was preliminary to the plunder of his property.

"There, hold your howling!" cried the officer of the boat. "Nobody is going to take anything, unless it be the papers."

"I have no papers," cried Barecolt, in broken English, "except that brown paper round about my crowns; give me the silver, and take the brown paper if you like."

"There, monsieur! take your crowns, paper, and all," cried the officer, handing them to him. "We are no robbers in this country. Did you find any one below?" he continued, addressing the man who brought the portmanteau.

"Nobody but another poor French lubber, lying upon the floor as sick as a cat," answered the sailor. "I shook him by the shoulder, and told him to come up, but I believe he would let me throw him overboard sooner than budge."

"Ay, let him stay, let him stay!" answered the officer. "I will go down and see him in a minute. What's in that leather case?"

"Nothing but my clothes, writing materials, and a trifle of money," replied Colonel Ashburnham; "and if you wish to examine it, I will beg you to use the key rather than that marlin-spike, for I don't know whether the smiths are good in Hull. Here is the key."

While all these operations were going on, the boat's crew had been busily engaged in navigating the ship towards Hull; and the vessel to which she had struck, seeing the prize secure, made sail to assist in the chase of the "Good Hope."

Although the wind was not very favourable, it was sufficiently so to bring them into the port of Hull just as night was beginning to fall, and in a few minutes the deck was crowded with officers of the garrison, and a party of the train-bands of the city--the only force, indeed, which the parliament had prepared for its defence, the cavalry which had arrived a short time before having been marched out to other quarters almost as soon as they entered. Colonel Ashburnham, whose name was soon noised about, became an object of general attention, and much lees notice was taken of good Captain Barecolt than that worthy gentleman imagined he deserved. He consoled himself, however, with the reflection that the rabble of Hull neither knew him nor the many wonderful achievements which he had performed, and that it was as well occasionally to divest one's self of a portion of one's glory, in order to escape from too close observation.

Lord Beverley passed with as little attention; and an officer who was sent to state the case to the governor reported, first, that the famous Colonel Ashburnham was amongst the prisoners, but the other two were Frenchmen, apparently of no great importance, and one of them so sick that he could scarcely stand.

"Bring Colonel Ashburnham before me immediately," replied the governor, "and the Frenchman who is well. He can give us tidings of himself, and of his companion, too, most likely. Put the other one in the block-house we strengthened yesterday, till he is well enough to speak for himself. Let him have whatever is necessary for him, and mind to keep a sure guard over him."

These orders were immediately obeyed; and while Lord Beverley, pretending to be still very ill from the effects of his voyage, was suffered to lie on the cabin-floor till he could be led to a block-house which had been fortified, near the water-gate of the city, Colonel Ashburnham and the magnanimous Captain Barecolt were marched up to the residence of the governor, and speedily introduced to his presence.

Of Sir John Hotham himself we cannot give a better account, and in all probability should give a much worse one, than that which has been furnished by the celebrated historian of the great rebellion:--

"Hotham," says Lord Clarendon, with those remarkable powers of delineating human character which probably Theophrastus himself possessed in a very inferior degree, "was by his nature and education a rough and rude man, of great covetousness, of great pride, and great ambition, without any bowels of good nature, or the least sense or touch of generosity. His parts were not quick and sharp, but composed, and he judged well. He was a man of craft, and more like to deceive than to be cozened."

Such was the man, according to Lord Clarendon's account, before whom Colonel Ashburnham was now brought; and there being, as he had said to the Earl of Beverley, some enmity existing between the family of Hotham and himself, he might well expect to be treated with very scanty ceremony and kindness. Nevertheless, to his surprise, he was received with a good-natured air, and a shake of the hand, Hotham exclaiming--

"Welcome, colonel! welcome!--though, to say the truth, I wish to heaven you had not put yourself in the way of our ships, or that the people had let you go."

"The latter unfortunate case can soon be remedied, Sir John," said Colonel Ashburnham, "by your doing what they left undone, and letting me go yourself."

"I fear not, colonel; I fear not," replied Hotham. "We have got some great rogues here," he added in a lower tone, "who look after me more sharply than I look after them, otherwise I would let you go at once, upon my honour, and will do it yet if I can."

"Well, I thank you, Sir John, for the intention, at all events," answered Ashburnham; "and it is the more gratifying to me, as I always had a regard for you, notwithstanding my quarrel with your son, which you took up so warmly at one time."

"Ah, the knave!" said Hotham; "I have found him out since that time; and now he has come down here to act as spy and controller against his own father. But who have you got there? Is he one of your people?"

"Oh, no," answered Ashburnham; "some poor devil of a Frenchman, seeking service, I believe. I found him and another in that cursed cutter, when I was fool enough to go aboard. The other has been dead sick all the way; but I know nothing of them, for we were taken almost immediately after I got into her;" and he proceeded to explain that he had been returning to England in the "Good Hope," but judging from what he heard that the time was not yet quite propitious for his reappearance, he had sought to make his way back to France or Holland in the vessel in which he was taken.

"Well, well," said Hotham; "I will lodge you as well as I can, and get you out of the scrape as soon as I can; but keep out of my son's way, for he is a vast rogue, and very ill affected to the king. Now, I'll see what this fellow has to say for himself. Come hither, sir!"

By a rapid and dexterous change of look, Barecolt contrived to make it appear that he did not at first understand the governor's words, but comprehended the sign to approach by which they were followed, and, advancing with a low bow, laid his hand upon his heart, and then stood upright before Hotham, in what he considered a graceful attitude.

"A tall fellow," said Hotham, turning to Colonel Ashburnham. "Pray, who may you be, sir?"

"I be von Capitaine Jersval," replied Barecolt, with a low bow; "von French gentleman who seek to distinguish herself by serving anybody."

"A laudable and elastic ambition," said Ashburnham, turning away.

"By serving anybody?" said Hotham; "pray, Captain Jersval, whom would you like to serve best?"

"It be to me von matter of de grandest indifference," replied Barecolt, "so dat de pay and de glory be de same on both sides."

"That's as it may be," answered Hotham; "but the truth is, I want some good, serviceable officers to help in strengthening the fortifications."

"I am de man dat can do it," was Barecolt's reply. "I have strengthen many fortification in my time, amongst de rest Rochelle. But I must know, monsieur, if dat de pay and de glory be equal; for I came here to offer service to de king, and not finding her majesty where I tought, and my money going very fast in dis sacre dear land of England, where de vine and de meat is all sold at de weight of gold, and vat you call d--n tough too, I tink to go back again, when your black sheep catch me, and bring me here, pardieu!"

Ashburnham could not stand it any longer, but turned to a window and laughed outright. Hotham, however, continued gravely to interrogate Captain Barecolt in regard to the plans and purposes which brought him to England; and having satisfied himself completely that he was one of those adventurous soldiers of whom great numbers were at that time wandering about Europe, taking service wherever they could find it, he determined to put his skill to the test before he tried his honesty. Sending for pen, ink, and paper, together with compasses and a ruler, he directed Captain Barecolt to draw him out a plan of any little fortification he thought fit; but Barecolt, who, to tell the truth, had not altogether misused his advantages, and might have become almost as great a man as he fancied himself, if it had not been for his swaggering, drinking, drabbing, and lying propensities, instantly exclaimed--

"Ah! ça vous verrez--you must see in von meenute;" and taking the compasses dexterously in hand, he portioned off curtains, and bastions, and half-moons, and horn-works, and redoubts, and glacis, and ditches, and salient angles, and every sort of defence that could be applied to the protection of a town, with a rapidity that somewhat astounded the slow comprehension of Hotham who soon became convinced that he had got one of the first engineers in Europe within the walls of Hull. His exclamation of surprise called Ashburnham to the table, who, looking over his shoulder, and very willing to do Barecolt a good turn, exclaimed--

"Upon my soul, the Frenchman seems to understand what he's about!"

"Monsieur, you do flatter me," replied Barecolt, with another low bow. "I be von poor insignificant man, who have certainly been employed in de great enterprise, and have pick up some leetle vat you call spattering of de science, but I cannot be compared to many man."

Hotham, however, was completely taken in; and although he puzzled his head in vain to recal the name of Captain Jersval amongst the great men of Europe, yet he thought that, at the least, it was worth his while to engage him in strengthening the defences of Hull, and withholding him from the service of the king, till such time as the parliament should determine whether they would take him regularly into their employment or not.

I must not be understood, however, to imply that Hotham was in any degree sincerely attached to the parliamentary party, or wished, or even expected, that it would be ultimately successful against the king. But in all troublous times there are a multitude of waverers--some from weakness, some from ambition--hanging on the outskirts of a party, lending it inefficient help, and generally falling in the end, as he did, by their own indecision. Those who are moved by ambition, like Hotham, ordinarily hope to wring from the party to which they wish success, that advancement which they could not otherwise obtain, by giving some countenance to the enemy, and not unfrequently meet with the just reward of such conduct by being neglected or punished, when those whom they have aided against their conscience, for their own purposes, have obtained, a preponderance by the support of themselves and others like them. Hotham, however, wishing to make himself of importance, and sell his services dear to the king, was very much inclined to gather round him men that might make him formidable; and consequently, after some little deliberation, he turned to Barecolt, saying--

"Well, Captain Jersval, I think I can get you good service, if you like; but before I can say anything positive, I must apply to the higher powers. In the mean time, however, if you like it, I will employ you upon the fortifications here, at fifteen shillings a day."

"And my victual?" said Barecolt.

"Well," replied Hotham, "I can't exactly give you a place at my own table, but you shall have a billet upon any victualler in the town you like, and an order for your supply, chargeable upon the government."

Barecolt again bowed low, saying--

"Monsieur, I am your most devoted. You vill inspect de vork every day, and vat you say shall not bind you, unless you like vat be done. I am quite sure of de great success. Den, if de higher power say, ye vill not have Captain Jeraval, goot; you can pull off your hat and say, Mon capitaine, goot morning; and I shall be free to go vere I like. Dat is but all fair, I tink."

"Quite--quite," answered Hotham, "and so we will leave it, captain. I will go into the ante-room for a moment, to direct the order to be made out, and to-morrow morning, if you will be with me by six, we will walk round the ramparts."

"Sir, you treat me very polished," answered Barecolt, with another profound bow; and Hotham retired for an instant into the next room.

Ashburnham immediately advanced a step towards Barecolt, fixing his eyes keenly upon him.

"And pray, sir," he demanded, "do you really intend to go over to the parliament, after having, as I understand, served his majesty?"

"I have taken the king's money, colonel," answered Barecolt; "but every one has a right to get out of a scrape as he can."

"I think I understand you," answered Ashburnham; "and if so, God speed you: if not, one day you will repent it."

"There are laws amongst soldiers, colonel," answered Barecolt, "which are never violated by men of honour; but there is no law against cozening a captor. It be quite true," he continued, at once resuming his jargon on the reappearance of Hotham at the door, "I know noting about de parties here; it make no difference to me vich be right and vich be wrong: all I know is, dat party pay me be right, and very right too, as dey vill find ven dey see vat I vill do."

The conference did not last much longer: Hotham gave the billet and the order to Barecolt, and then placed him in the hands of a captain of the train-bands, to guide him about the town, as he said, and to see that he had everything he needed, but as much to keep a certain degree of watchfulness over his proceedings as anything else, and this being done, he let him go. Colonel Ashburnham was placed under stricter guard, but yet treated courteously and well; and orders were given to let the governor know as soon as the other Frenchman should be sufficiently recovered to be brought before him.

[CHAPTER XVII.]

Captain Barecolt and his guide now issued forth into the streets of Hull, and sauntered on for a few steps without speaking. An English town, in those days, especially after the sun was set, presented a very different aspect from that which it offers to the night wanderer at present. All was darkness and gloom, except where, from an open door or unshuttered window, the lights which the people within were using for their own advantage served also for the benefit of the passenger; and indeed every one who had occasion to traverse the streets generally furnished himself with a lantern or link, to prevent him from running his head against a post, or breaking his neck down some of the steep flights of steps by which the even course of progression was not unfrequently interrupted.

"Now, master captain," said Barecolt's companion, "what inn do you want to go to? for it won't be pleasant roaming about Hull after dark."

"Dat is de ting vich I don't know," answered Barecolt; "I never have be in Hull before."

"Then one inn is as good as another to you, Captain Chairsfall?" replied the officer of the train-bands.

"No, no, no!" replied Barecolt; "dat be not just, monsieur: all inn be not de same--it depend on vat be in dem. I must have de good vine, de good bed, de good meat."

"Well, you can have all those at the 'Lion,' or at the 'Rose' either," replied his companion.

"Ah, no! I like to see," answered Barecolt; "ve vill just valk trough de town, take a leetle peep at dis inn, and leetle peep at dat, and perhaps I take a glass of vine here, and a glass of vine dere, and give you anoder, mon ami, just to try vich be de best. You see my nose, have you not? Vell, it know vat good vine be."

"It looks it," answered the other; for that nose was one which few men could let alone, such were its attractions. "However, if we are to have this long walk, I must get a lantern at my house," and on he went down the street before him, till, turning to the left, he entered another, in which not only was his own house situated, but also the identical inn called the "Swan." The door was open, a light was shining within, the swan in all its glory was swinging from a pole over the door, and Barecolt insinuated a desire to begin their perquisitions there.

The captain of the train-bands, there is every reason to suspect, had a friend at the "Lion," and another at the "Rose," for he certainly did not do justice to Mrs. White, in the account he gave of the accommodations of her house. But Barecolt, who thought that, good or bad, he never could have a gill of wine too much, and who had not tasted anything stronger than water for a greater length of time than was at all convenient to his stomach, was resolute to try what the "Swan" could produce, and consequently led the way up the steps and into the house, notwithstanding the remonstrances of the worthy predecessor of John Gilpin.

Advancing with an easy and self-satisfied air to the little room which we have spoken of, the window of which commanded the passage and the staircase, he found the worthy landlady herself; seated with a tall, powerful man, considerably above the middle age, but still hale and hearty, with white hair, indeed, but thick eyebrows, still jet-black, and long dark eyelashes shading an eye of that peculiar blue which is seldom found without a rich stream of the Milesian blood flowing in the veins of the owner. A jug of ale and some cold ham were between the two, and Mrs. White seemed to be doing the honours of her house to the stranger with great courtesy and attention.

"Vould you have bounty, madame," said Barecolt, "just to let me have von leetle gill, as you call it, of de very best vine, and anoder of de same for my friend here?"

"Certainly, sir," said Mrs. White. "Ah! Captain Jenkins, is that you? Well, I am very glad to see you in the house at last. A dull night, sir. Nancy, Nancy! give these gentlemen two gills of the best wine. White or red, air?"

"Oh, vite, vite!" replied Captain Barecolt; "De red vine in England be vort noting."

"White, Nancy, white!" cried the landlady. "Won't you come in and take a seat, Mr. Jenkins? Here's Mr. O'Donnell with me, whom you know, I think."

Captain Jenkins, however, of the train-bands of the city of Hull, grumbled something about not being able to stay long; but the more gallant Barecolt, instantly accepting the lady's invitation, walked in, and the other followed.

The two measures of wine were speedily set before them; and Barecolt, tossing off his in a moment, seemed to like it so well that he called for another. But Captain Jenkins shrugged his shoulders, and whispered that there was very much better at the "Lion;" "very much better indeed."

What effect this insinuation would have had upon the determination of Barecolt I cannot take upon myself to say; but an event occurred at that moment which at once decided his conduct.

Just as Nancy was placing the second gill before him, a loud noise of people speaking, and apparently scuffling in the street, was heard. It gradually grew louder, and at length seemed to reach the steps leading up to the house.

There was something in the tone of one of the voices which, though raised into accents such as Barecolt had never heard it use, seemed familiar to his ear, and he instantly started up to look out.

"It's nothing but some drunken men, sir," said Mrs. White: "If they don't mind, the watch will get hold of them."

But the watch had already done its function; and the moment after, the voice of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, was distinctly heard exclaiming, "Get hence, ye men of Belial! ye false witnesses, raised up by Jezebel, whose blood the dogs licked, to testify falsely of the just Naboth! Drunk! It is you are drunk! I never was so sober in my life. Get hence, I say!" he continued with a loud hiccup; "I lodge here, I tell you;" and shaking off the grasp of two of the watch who had him in custody, he rushed into the "Swan," and had nearly reached the foot of the stairs when he fell prone upon the well-washed floor, and lay there, unable to raise himself.

Mrs. White instantly rushed out, followed close by Nancy, to the rescue of her guest; for the watch had by this time entered, and were about to lay hands once more upon the person of Mr. Ezekiel Dry. The good landlady, however, easily satisfied them that Mr. Dry would be taken care of, and not suffered further to disturb the peace of the town; and as he was by no means in a comfortable or convenient position on the floor, which, from the undulatory motion he perceived in it, he asserted loudly was affected by an earthquake, the two men who had followed him were employed to raise him, and conveyed him struggling violently to his bed.

By no means unaccustomed to the treatment of such maladies, Mrs. White remained for a few minutes with her reverend and respectable guest, and then leaving him, as we shall do for the present, returned to her little parlour.

"Madame," said Barecolt, as soon as she entered, "your vine be so very good dat I shall remain here vile I stay in de town. Here is von leetle billet from de gouverneur, and as I know dat it is not pleasant to lodge de soldier, or de officer eider, here be von order for my provision and maintenance, vich vill be paid at de good rate, and as I like de good vine, it may be someting in your vay."

Mrs. White could only curtsey and submit; but Captain Jenkins, who had hoped to put a good thing in the paws of the "Lion," or in the bosom of the "Rose," flung out of the house in a fit of disgust, saying he would come for Captain Chairsfall early the next morning. Before he went, however, he called Mrs. White aside, and whispered to her, to keep a sharp eye upon her new guest.

"If you find him inquiring his way out of the town, or going out late at night or early in the morning," he said, with an important air, "you must send word either to me or the governor, it's all the same which; for he is a Frenchman, who has come over to serve the king, in rebellion to the parliament, and has been taken prisoner. He pretends now to be willing to go with us; but I have doubts, many doubts, Mrs. White; so look to him, look to him well, if you would merit favour."

Mrs. White promised to look to him, but inwardly proposed to have a due regard for her own pocket, by obtaining speedy payment for everything she supplied; and as for the rest, "to let the man take his chance," as she termed it.

I cannot, however, aver that Mrs. White was either prepossessed by the appearance of the worthy Captain Barecolt or by the account given of him by Captain Jenkins; though, to say truth, she did not put much faith in the assurance of the officer of the trained bands.

That her new lodger had come to serve the king, however, and then showed a good will to serve his enemies, seemed clear; so that when she returned to her parlour, after her conference with Jenkins, though she was perfectly civil to the apparent Frenchman, as indeed she was to every one, hers was that quick and sharp-set civility which can be better felt than described. She answered all his questions in as few words as possible, interspersing them with numerous curtsies and very civil epithets; but it was very evident to Captain Barecolt that Mrs. White wished for as little of his company as possible.

He was not a man, as may be imagined, who would attribute this distaste to his society to any want of personal attractions; and he settled it in his own mind that it must be his assumed quality of Frenchman that prejudiced the landlady against him, and that evil he determined to remedy as soon as he was sure of his ground; for Captain Barecolt, at that moment, had as strong a desire for the private company of Mrs. White as she had for his absence.

Mr. Hugh O'Donnell still kept his seat at the table, too; and he looked at Mrs. White, and Mrs. White at Mr. O'Donnell, with very significant glances, and no less significant silence, till at length Captain Barecolt's impudence fairly gave way, and saying to himself; "Hang the fellow! I must wait till he chooses to go," he rose, inquiring, "Can anybody show me de room dat I am to sleep in? for I like very great to see de bed vere I lie."

"Oh yes, sir!" said Mrs. White; "you shall have as good a bed as any in Hull. Here, Nancy, Nancy!" and, preceded by the girl, the worthy captain was led up-stairs, and shown into a bed-room just opposite to that of Arrah Neil.

[CHAPTER XVIII.]

At the door of Captain Barecolt's room Nancy put the candle in his hand, and made him a low curtsey, which might be partly in answer to various civil speeches which the worthy and respectable gentleman had addressed to her as they went up-stairs, partly as a hint that she did not intend to go any farther in his company; for to say the truth, the nose of the tall captain was not at all prepossessing in Nancy's eyes.

"I want to speak de leetle vord vid you, my dear," said Captain Barecolt, taking the candle.

The girl, however, only dropped him another curtsey, replying, "Well, sir, what is it? Pray be quick, for missis will want me."

"Tell me, my dear," said Barecolt, lowering his voice, "vat be dat gentleman dat I see come in just now?--he who were vat you call teepsy?"

"Oh, he is a lodger, sir," replied Nancy, turning round to go away.

"Stop, stop!" said Barecolt: "answer me de oder leetle vord. Have he got von young lady vid him?"

"Yes, sir; no more," replied Nancy.

"And in dis house?" asked Captain Barecolt.

"Yes, sir," rejoined the girl again; "just in there: he locks the door upon her, the old vermin!" she added, not at all approving such an abridgment of female liberty, and looking upon Mr. Dry as little better than a Turk in the garb of a Calvinist.

"Ah! he be de monstrous big rogue!" replied Barecolt. "I tought I see him before; I know him, Nancee; I know him vell for one extravagant great tief."

"He is not very extravagant here," answered the maid; "but I must go, sir, upon my word;" and, whisking round, she descended the stairs, at the foot of which her mistress called her into the little parlour, and inquired what that man had been saying to her.

"Oh, he was asking about the gentleman in the chamber, ma'am," was Nancy's reply; "and he says that he is an extravagant thief, that he has seen him before, and knows him."

Mrs. White looked at Mr. O'Donnell, and Mr. O'Donnell at Mrs. White, and then the landlady murmured, "He is not far wrong, I fancy;" to which Mr. O'Donnell assented by a nod.

In the mean while Captain Barecolt entered his bedchamber, set down the candle, and stretched his long limbs upon a chair, after which he fell into a fit of thought, not gloomy, but profound. He was a man who loved adventures, as the reader is aware, and he saw a wonderful provision of them before him, in which he hoped and expected to have an opportunity of developing many of those vast and important qualities which he attributed to himself.

Wit, courage, cunning, presence of mind, dexterity of action, together with his wonderful powers of strategy, were all likely to have full means of displaying themselves in the twofold enterprise of delivering Arrah Neil from the hands of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, and Lord Beverley from the clutches of Sir John Hotham. He was well contented with what he had done already. To have cheated a governor of Hull, to have obtained his liberty in five minutes, to have passed for a Frenchman, to have cast off the companionship of the embarrassing Mr. Jenkins, were feats of no light merit in his eyes; and he now proposed to go on, step by step, till he had reached the climax of accomplishment; first using art, then daring, and crowning the whole by some brilliant display of courage, which would immortalize him in the eyes of the royalist party.

After he had thus continued to think for about a quarter of an hour, and had arrived at the point of doubting whether he was in fact Julius Cæsar or Alexander the Great, with some slight suspicion that he might be neither, but Henry IV. of France instead, he opened the door quietly, and, without taking the candle, advanced to the head of the stairs, where, bending down his head, he listened for a moment. There was a dull, heavy sound of people talking, however; and a man's voice was heard, though the words he used could not be made out.

"Ay, that d--d fellow is there still!" murmured Captain Barecolt: "if he does not go soon, I'll walk down and cut his throat." But, just as he was turning to go back to his own room, he heard the door of the little parlour--which, as it closed with a pulley and weight, announced its movements by a prodigious rattle--give indications of its being opened, and the voice of Mr. O'Donnell could be distinguished, as he marched out, saying--

"The first thing to be done, however, Mrs. White, is to get her out of this man's hands."

Captain Barecolt waited till the Irishman's footsteps sounded no longer in the hall, and then, walking downstairs, proceeded straight into the little parlour, and, much to the astonishment of Mrs. White, seated himself before her, saying in good plain English--

"I think so too, Mrs. White."

"Lord, sir! what do you mean?" asked the worthy landlady.

"I mean, the first thing is, to get her out of this man's hands, Mrs. White. So now let me have some supper, and I will tell you all about it."

"Dear me, sir! Why, this is very funny," replied the landlady, with an agitated smoothing of the table-cloth, and a tremulous arranging of the jugs and plates; "I didn't know that any one heard what the gentleman said."

"But I did, though, Mrs. White," replied Barecolt, "loud words will always catch long ears."

"Why, Lord, sir, you speak as good English as I do!" said Mrs. White.

"To be sure I do," answered Barecolt; "I should be a fool if I didn't. But now, my good lady, tell me if I can trust you; for, although my own life is a thing that I care nothing about, and is risked every day wherever it can be risked by shot and steel, in the breach and in the field, there is much more to be perilled by anything like rashness than such a trifle as that. There's this young lady's safety and liberty, and I can tell you that there are a great many very high people who would give no light reward to those who would set her free from this base caitiff who has got her."

"Dear me!" cried Mrs. White; "I wish I had known that before, for here have we been talking of nothing else for the last hour, Mr. O'Donnell and I. Do you know who she is, sir?"

"I know more than I choose to say, Mrs. White," replied Barecolt, who had made it the first principle of his life, from soft childhood to rubicund maturity, never to confess ignorance of anything, and who had frequently made a significant nod or a wise look pass for a whole volume of information; "but what I ask you is, can I trust you, Mrs. White? can I trust to your zeal, fidelity, and discretion? as the Duke of Montmorenci asked me, when he was about So take arms for the deliverance of France from the tyranny of Richelieu. I made him a low bow, Mrs. White, laid my hand upon my heart, and said, 'Perfectly, monseigneur;' rind if he had taken my advice, he would now have had a head upon his shoulders."

"Lord have mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. White, overpowered with the grand and tragic ideas which her strange guest presented to her imagination. "Oh, dear me! yes, sir; you can trust to me perfectly, I assure you. I would risk my house and everything rather than not set the poor dear girl free from that nasty old puritanical creature. Why, this was the very first house she came to after she came over from Ireland, though Mr. O'Donnell says they went to Holland first to escape suspicion. Ay, and here her poor mother died."

"Indeed!" said Captain Barecolt, drinking in all the tidings that he heard; "I did not know that this was the house, Mrs. White. However, I am glad to hear it. A very good house it is, and capital wine. You must know, then, Mrs. White, since I can trust you fully, that I came into Hull for the express purpose of setting this young lady free, and restoring her to her friends, Lord Walton and his sister."

The worthy captain, as the reader will perceive, was never at a loss for a lie, and indeed the habit of telling the exact truth had been so long abandoned, if ever it was possessed, that the worthy professor of the sword might have found no slight difficulty in avoiding every shade of falsehood which his fertile imagination was continually offering him to embellish his various narratives withal. He had no particular object in deceiving Mrs. White, in regard to the real mode, manner, and object of his visit to Hull; but it was his general practice to begin by telling the lie first, and leaving the truth as a sort of strong corps of reserve to fall back upon in case of need.

"Dear me, sir!" cried Mrs. White; "why, Mr. Jenkins told me that you were a Frenchman who had come over to serve our poor good king against these parliamentary folks; that you had been taken prisoner, and now offer to serve the parliament."

"All a lie, all a lie, Mrs. White," replied Captain Barecolt; "it is wonderful what lies people will tell when it is quite as easy to speak the truth. However, in saying I was a Frenchman, he knew no better, poor silly man, for I pretended to be so in order to carry on my schemes the better. But as I see you are true to the royal cause, I will let you know I am an officer in the king's service, and have no intention whatever of being anything else. Neither must you suppose, Mrs. White, that I come here as a spy; for, although I hold that upon certain occasions the office of spy may become honourable, yet it is not one that I would willingly fill. So now, Mrs. White, as I said before, let me have some supper, and then tell me what is to be done for the deliverance of this young lady."

Captain Barecolt had risen wonderfully in the estimation of Mrs. White during the last five minutes; and, such is the effect of our mental affections upon our corporeal faculties, that she began to think him by no means so ugly a man as he had at first appeared: his nose reduced itself into very tolerable and seemly proportions in her eyes, the redness thereof became nothing more than a pleasant glow, and his tall figure and somewhat long, ungainly limbs acquired an air of dignity and command which Mrs. White thought very striking.

Bustling about, then, she prepared to supply him with the comfortable things of this life with great good-will, and was struck with considerable admiration at the vigour and pertinacity with which he assailed the viands placed before him. She was obliged, indeed, to call to Nancy to bring a fresh supply; but Captain Barecolt made a significant sign, by laying his finger on the side of his nose, which organ might be considered indeed as a sort of telegraph erected by nature with a view to such signals; and he afterwards reminded her, in a low voice, that his incognito must be kept up with all others but herself.

"You are the only confidante I shall make in the town of Hull," he added: "one confederate is quite sufficient for a man of genius, and to everybody else I am de same Capitaine Jereval dat came over from France to help de king, but be now villing to help de parliament."

"Lawk, sir, how well you do it!" said the landlady; "but I think you are very right not to tell any one but me; for they are a sad, prying, gossiping race in the town of Hull, and you might soon have your secret blown over the place. But as to poor Miss Arrah, sir, I really do not know what is to be done. I can see very well that Mr. O'Donnell knows more about her than he chooses to say; and I can find that it was through him that the poor lady, her mother, held her communications with Ireland. He won't tell me who she is, though, nor what was her father's name, nor her mother's either, though I tried to pump him as hard as I could. Perhaps you, sir, may be able to tell me."

"There Is such a thing as discretion, Mrs. White," said Captain Barecolt, with a sagacious air; but, suspecting that Mrs. White had some doubts regarding him and his knowledge of Arrah, and was only trying to ascertain how far his information respecting her really extended, he added, "I suppose the young lady is in bed by this time; but I should be glad, Mrs. White, if you would take the first opportunity of telling her, that one of the gentlemen who accompanied Lord Walton from Bishop's Merton is now in Hull, and will not quit the place without setting her free."

"Oh, bless you, sir! I dare say she is not in bed," answered Mrs. White; "and if she be, I should not mind waking her to tell her such good news as that. I'll go directly," she continued, shaking her bunch of keys significantly. "The old hunx locks the door and takes away the key, and then gets as drunk as a beast, so that she might starve for that matter, but I can always get in notwithstanding."

"Ay, ay!" answered Barecolt; "a landlady is nothing without her pass-key, so run and make use of it, there's a dear woman; and if the young lady is up I will go and see her now. If she is not, it must be to-morrow morning."

Mrs. White was absent for about five minutes, during which time Captain Barecolt continued his attack upon the cold beef, so that, by the time the worthy landlady returned, the vast sirloin looked as if a mammoth had been feeding on it.

"Oh, dear sir!" said Mrs. White, "she is so glad to hear that you are here! and she would fain get up and go away with you this very night, but I told her that couldn't be, for the gates are closed and locked."

"Locks are nothing to me, Mrs. White," replied the captain, with a sublime look; "and gates disappear before my hand as if they were made of pasteboard. Did I not, with a single petard, blow open the Porte Nantoise of Ancenis, which weighed three tons weight, and took two men to move it on its hinges?"

"Lord ha' mercy, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. White; "why, you are as bad as Samson."

"A great deal worse," replied the captain; "but, however, I could not go to-night, for there's other business to be done first."

"Oh ay, yes, sir," she said: "to get the papers; for I do not know whether you are aware that that old puritanical wretch has got all the papers and things out of poor Sergeant Neil's cottage--at least we think so; and I don't doubt in the least that all about poor Miss Arrah is to be found there."

"Nor I either, Mrs. White," answered Barecolt; "but can I see the young lady to-night, or must I wait till tomorrow?"

"She will be up in a few minutes, sir," replied the worthy landlady. "She would not hear of waiting, though I told her I could easily get the old man out of the way tomorrow by sending him a wild-goose chase after Hugh O'Donnell."

"Well, then," said Barecolt, "you go and see when she is ready, and in the mean time I'll finish my supper."

[CHAPTER XIX.]

"Come, sir, you must get up!" said an officer of the garrison, standing beside the Earl of Beverley, to whom we must now return, as he lay on the floor of the little cabin, affecting to be still suffering from sickness: "you must get up and come with me, for we've got a lodging prepared for you hard by here."

The earl pretended scarcely to understand him, and made some answer in broken English, which, though it was not quite so well assumed as the jargon of Captain Barecolt, was sufficiently like the language of a foreigner to keep up the character he had taken upon himself.

"Come, come; you must get up!" reiterated the officer, taking him by the arm; and slowly, and apparently feebly, the earl arose and suffered the other to lead him upon deck.

It was by this time dark, but several persons with lanterns in their hands were waiting at the top of the hatchway; and, guarded and lighted by them, the earl was led from the vessel into the town, and thence to a small building near the city wall, pierced for musketry, and having a little platform at the top, on which was mounted a single cannon. On the side next to the town appeared a door and three windows, and before the block-house, as it was termed, a sentinel was already marching up and down in expectation of the arrival of the prisoner; but it was with some difficulty that the door was opened to give entrance to the party which now approached.

The aspect of the place to which the earl was to be consigned was certainly not very inviting, especially seen by the light of lanterns in a dark night; and the inner room to which the guard led him afforded but little means of rendering himself comfortable within those damp and narrow walls. A bed was there, a table, and a chair, but nothing else; and Lord Beverley, still maintaining his character, made various exclamations in French upon the treatment to which the people of Hull thought fit to subject an officer and a gentleman.

"You shall have some meat and beer presently," replied the officer, who understood a few words only of the language the prisoner spoke; "but as to a fire, mounseer, that you can't have, because there is no fireplace, you see."

The earl shrugged his shoulders with a look of discontent, but prepared to make the best of his situation; and as soon as the meat and beer which they had promised was brought, the key turned in the lock, and he was left alone, he sat down by the light of the lantern, which they had provided him, to meditate over his present condition and his future plans, with the peculiar turn of mind which we have attempted to depict in some of the preceding pages.

"This is not a pleasant consummation," he said to himself, "either as regards the king's service or my safety. However, out of the cloud comes lightning--from the depths of night bursts forth the sun; all bright things are preceded by darkness; and the shadow that is upon me may give place to light. Even here, perhaps, I may be enabled to do more for the cause I have undertaken than if I had reached France. It must be tried, at all events. There is nothing like boldness, though one cannot well be bold within these walls;" and he glanced his eyes over the narrow space in which he was confined, thinking, with a somewhat sad smile, that there was but little room for the exercise of any of those energies which may be called the life of life.

"It is a sad thing imprisonment," he thought. "Here the active being lies dead, and it is but the clay that lives. Vain every great design, fruitless every intention and every effort, idle all speculation, empty every aspiration here! Cut off from all objects on which to exercise the powers of mind or body, the patriot and the traitor, the philosopher and the fool are equal. No," he continued, after a moment's pause--"no, not so! Truth and honour are happiness even in a dungeon, and the grasp of intellect and imagination can reach beyond these walls, and bring within the narrow limits of the prison materials to build mighty fabrics, that the power of tyrants or enemies cannot overthrow. Did not Galileo leave upon the stones that surrounded him bright traces of the immortal spirit? Did he not in the cold cell wander by the powers of mind through all the glorious works of the Almighty, and triumph, even in chains, over the impotent malice of mankind? So may I too; but my first consideration must be of things more immediate. How shall I deal with this man Hotham? I do not think he would know me, disguised as I am now: shall I attempt still to pass for a Frenchman? If I do, perhaps I doom myself to long imprisonment. I wonder where my companion can be, and Ashburnham. 'Tis strange they are not placed in the same prison with myself. Pray heaven they have fared better; for, though men say, 'The more the merrier,' yet I could not much wish any one to share such a lodging as this. I hope and trust that fellow Barecolt will put a guard upon big tongue. Well said the Hebrew king, that it was an unruly member, and never did I know head in which it was less easily governed. He would not betray me, I do believe; but yet in his babble he may do more mischief than a less faithful man. Well, things must take their course--I cannot rule them; and I may as well supply the body's wants, since they have afforded me the means."

Thus thinking, he drew his chair to the table, and took some of the provisions which had been brought him, after which he again fell into a deep fit of thought, and then starting up, exclaimed aloud, "There is no use in calculating in such circumstances as these. None can tell what the next minute will bring forth, and the only plan is to be prepared to take advantage of whatever may happen; for circumstances must be hard indeed that will not permit a wise and quick-witted man to abate their evil or to augment their good. So I will even go sleep as soon as I can; but methinks the moon is rising," and, approaching the window, which was strongly barred, he looked out for a few minutes, as the orb of night rose red and large through the dull and heavy air of Hull.

"Where is sweet Annie Walton now?" he thought; "and whither is her dear bright mind wandering? Perhaps she is even now looking at the planet, and thinking of him whom she believes far away. Yes, surely she will think of me. God's blessing on her sweet heart! and may she soon know brighter days again, for these are sad ones. However, it is some consolation to know that she is not aware of this misadventure. Well, I will go and try to sleep."

He then, after offering his prayers to God--for he was not one to forget such homage--cast himself down upon his bed without taking off his clothes, and in a few minutes was sound asleep. During the two preceding days he had undergone much fatigue, and had not closed an eye for eight-and-forty hours, so that at first his slumber was as profound as that of a peasant; but towards morning Imagination reasserted her power, and took possession of his senses even in sleep.

He fancied that he was in Italy again, and that Charles Walton, looking as he had done in early youth, was walking beside him along a terrace, where cypresses and urns of sculptured stone flanked the broad gravel-walk, which overhung a steep precipice. What possessed him he knew not, but it seemed as if some demon kept whispering in his ear to dare his loved companion to leap down, and, though reluctant, he did so, knowing all the while that if his friend attempted it he would infallibly perish. "Charles," he said, in the wild perversity of his dreaming brain, "dare you stand with me on the top of that low wall, and jump down into the dell below?"

"Whatever you do I will do, Francis," the young nobleman seemed to reply; and, without waiting for further discussion, they both approached the edge, mounted the low wall, and then leaped off together. The earl's brain seemed to turn as he fell, and everything reeled before his dizzy sight, till at length he suddenly found himself upon his feet at the bottom, unhurt, and, instead of his friend, Annie Walton standing, beside him, in deep mourning, inquiring, "How could you be so rash, Francis?"

Before he could reply he awoke; and gazing wildly round him, saw the sunshine of the early morning streaming through the window, and cheering even the gloomy aspect of the prison.

"This is a strange dream," he thought, seating himself upon the edge of the bed, and leaning his head upon his hand--"a mighty strange dream indeed! Have I really tempted Charles Walton to take such a dangerous leap, in persuading him to draw the sword for his king? No, no! He could not avoid it--he was already prepared; and, besides, the voice of duty spoke by my lips. Whatever be the result to him or to me, I cannot blame myself for doing that which was right. Weak men judge even their own actions by the results, when in fact they should forget all but the motives, and when satisfied that they are just and sufficient, should leave all the rest in the hands of God. I will think of this no more. It is but folly;" and rising, he advanced to the window, before which he heard the sound of people's voices speaking.

The surprise of Lord Beverley was not small at beholding straight before him the long person and never-to-be mistaken nose of Captain Deciduous Barecolt, standing side by side with Sir John Hotham, governor of Hull, and apparently upon terms of gracious intimacy with that officer.

Barecolt was at that moment drawing, with the point of a cane upon the ground, a number of lines and angles, which seemed to the eyes of Lord Beverley very much like the plan of a fortification, while three stout soldiers, apparently in attendance upon the governor, stood at a little distance, and looked on in grave and respectful silence. Every now and then the worthy captain seized Sir John by the breast of his coat with all the exaggerated gesticulation of a Frenchman, pointed to the lines he had drawn, held out his stick towards other parts of Hull, shrugged, grinned, and chattered, and then flew back to his demonstration again, with the utmost appearance of zeal and good-will.

"What in the name of fortune can the fellow be about?" murmured the earl. "He is surely not going to fortify Hull against the king! Well, I suppose if he do it will be taken. That is one comfort. But, on my word, he seems to have made great progress in Hotham's good graces. I trust it is not at my expense. No, no! He is not one of that sort of men. Folly and vice enough, but not dishonour.

"I have no small mind to try my eloquence on Hotham too," continued the earl, after watching them for a moment longer; "I do not think he is so far committed with the parliament as to be beyond recal to a sense of duty. He used to be a vain as well as an ambitious man; and perhaps, if one could but hold out to his vanity and ambition the prospect of great honour and advancement, as the reward for taking the first step towards healing the breaches in his country's peace, by making submission to the king, he might be gained. It is worth the trial, and if it cost me my head it shall be made."

As he thus pondered, the governor and Captain Barecolt walked slowly on, followed by the three soldiers; and the sentinel before the door of the block-house recommenced his perambulations.

"Holloa, monsieur!" cried Lord Beverley from the window; and on the approach of the soldier he explained to him, in a mixed jargon of French and English, that he much wished to have an interview with the governor, adding that, if it were granted, he might communicate something to Sir John Hotham which he would find of great importance.

"Why, there he stands," cried the soldier, "talking with the other Frenchman," and he pointed with his hand to a spot which the earl could not see, but where the governor had again paused to listen to Captain Barecolt's plans and devices.

"Allez, allez! tell him," cried Lord Beverley; and the man immediately hastened to give the message.

In about three minutes he returned, saying, "He will send for you in an hour or two, monsieur; and in the mean time here comes your breakfast piping hot."

[CHAPTER XX.]

More than an hour went by without Lord Beverley hearing anything further from the governor; and he was sitting at the table, meditating over his scheme, when his ear caught the sound of voices without.

"Ah! here comes the messenger," he thought, "to summon me to Hotham's presence;" but the moment after he distinguished the tones of his worthy companion, Barecolt, who exclaimed, apparently addressing the sentinel, "But I must see the block-house, I tell you, sair; it be part of my dutee to see de block-house, and here be de wordy Capitaine Jenkin, one man of de big respectability, who tell you de same ting."

Captain Jenkins grumbled a word or two in confirmation of Barecolt's assertion; but the sentinel adhered steadfastly to his point, and said that the mounseer might do what he pleased with the outside of the place, but should not set his foot within the doors without a special order from the governor, under his own hand.

Of this permission, limited as it was, Barecolt hastened to take advantage; and having previously ascertained that his companion, Jenkins, did not understand one word of the French language, he approached the window at which he had caught sight of the face of Lord Beverley in the morning, and which was still open, declaring that he must look into the inside at all events.

The moment he was near, however, he said to the prisoner rapidly, but in a low tone, "What can be done to get you out?"

He spoke in French, and the earl answered in the same tongue, "Nothing that I know; but be ready to help me at a moment's notice. Where are you to be found?"

"At the 'Swan' inn," replied Barecolt; "but I will be with you in the course of this night--I have a plan in my head;" and seeing that Captain Jenkins, who had been speaking a word or two to the sentinel, was now approaching, he walked on, and busied himself with closely examining the rest of the building.

Not long after he was gone, the earl was summoned before the governor; and with one of the train-bands on each side--for at this time Hull could boast of no other garrison--he was led from the block-house to Sir John Hotham's residence. After being conducted up a wide flight of stairs, he was shown into the same large room in which the examination of Barecolt had taken place. On the present occasion, however, to the surprise and somewhat to the dismay of the earl, he found the room half-filled with people, many of whom he knew; and, for an instant forgetting how completely he was disguised, he thought that all his scheme must now fall to the ground, and his immediate discovery take place.

The cold and strange looks, however, that were turned upon him, both by Hotham himself and several of the officers with whose persons the earl was acquainted, soon restored his confidence, and showed him that his person was far better concealed than he had imagined. Never losing his presence of mind for a single instant, he advanced at once to Sir John Hotham, and made him a low bow, asking if he were the governor.

The answer, of course, was in the affirmative, and Hotham proceeded to question him in French, which he spoke with tolerable fluency. With never-failing readiness the earl answered all his questions, giving a most probable account of himself, and stating that he had come over from France with recommendations for the king, in the hope of getting some important command, as it was expected every day at the French court that Charles would be obliged to have recourse to arms against his parliament.

Several of the gentlemen present, who had either been really at the court of France very lately, or pretended to have been so, stepped forward to ask a good number of questions of the prisoner, which were not very convenient for him to answer. He continued to parry them, however, with great dexterity for some time; but at length, finding that this sort of cross-examination could not go on much longer without leading to his detection, he turned suddenly to Sir John Hotham, and asked him in a low voice if the guard had given him the message which he had sent.

"Yes," replied the governor, "I received the message; what is it you have to communicate?"

"Something, sir, for your private ear," continued the earl, still speaking in French; "a matter which you will find of much importance, and which you will not regret to have known; but I can only discover it to you if you grant me an interview with yourself alone."

"Faith, I must hear more about you, sir, before I can do that," replied Hotham. "Come hither with me, and I will speak to you for a moment in the window."

Thus saying, he led the way to the further end of the room, where a deep bay-window looked out over the town. The distance from the rest of the company was considerable, and the angle of the wall ensured that no distinct sound could reach the other part of the hall; but still Lord Beverley determined, if possible, to obtain a greater degree of privacy, for he knew not what might be the effect of the sudden disclosure he was about to make upon the governor himself.

"Can I not speak with you in another room, sir?" he asked, still using the French tongue.

"That is quite impossible," answered Sir John Hotham; "you can say what you have to say here. Speak low, and no ears but mine will hear you."

The earl looked down, and then, raising his eyes suddenly to the governor's face, he asked in English--

"Do you know me, Sir John Hotham?"

The governor started, and looked at him attentively for a moment or two, but then replied in a decided tone--

"No, I do not, sir. How should I?"

"Well, then," replied the earl, "I will try whether I know Sir John Hotham, and whether he be the same man of honour I have always taken him to be. You see before you, sir, the Earl of Beverley; and you are well aware that the activity I have displayed in the service of the king, and the number of persons whom I have brought over to his interest, by showing them that, whatever might be the case in times past, their duty to their king and their country is now the same--you are aware, I say, that these causes have rendered the parliament my implacable enemies; and I do believe, that in confiding as I do this day to you, instead of keeping up the disguise that I have maintained hitherto, I place myself in the hands of one who is too much a gentleman to use that information to my disadvantage, and give me up to the fury of my adversaries."

The astonishment which appeared on Sir John Hotham's face, while the earl was making this communication, might have attracted the attention of his son and the rest of the company, had not his back been fortunately turned towards them. He gazed earnestly on the earl's countenance, however, and then, recollecting his features, wondered that he had not discovered him at once. So transparent did the disguise seem as soon as he knew the secret, that he could scarcely persuade himself that the other gentlemen present would be long deceived, and he was now only anxious to get the earl out of the room as soon as possible; for many of those curious little motives which influence all human actions made him determine in an instant to justify the honourable character attributed to him.

"Say no more, say no more, sir!" he replied in a low tone, smoothing down his countenance as best he might; "We cannot talk upon this subject now. Rest satisfied, however, that you will not be sorry for the trust you have reposed in me, and will find me the same man as you supposed. I will see you again in private whenever I may meet with a convenient opportunity; but in the mean time I am afraid you must content yourself with the poor accommodation which you have, for any change in it would beget suspicion, and I have shrewd and evil eyes upon me here; so I must now send you away at once. Here, guard," he continued, "take the prisoner back. Let him be well used, and provided with all things necessary, but at the same time have a strict eye upon him, and suffer no one to communicate with him but myself."

Lord Beverley bowed and withdrew, and Hotham, with strong signs of agitation still in his countenance, returned to his companions, saying--

"That Frenchman is a shrewd fellow, and knows more of the king's councils than I could have imagined; but I must go and write a despatch to the parliament, for he has told me things that they will be glad to know, and I trust that in a few days I shall learn more from him still."

Thus speaking, he retired from the hall, and one of the gentlemen present inquired of another who was standing near--

"Did you not think that what they were saying just now in the window sounded very like English?"

"Oh," replied Colonel Hotham, with a sneer, "my father's French has quite an English tone. He changes the words, it is true, but not the accent."

In the mean while the earl was carried back to the block-house, and towards evening he received a few words, written on a scrap of paper, telling him that the governor would be with him about ten o'clock that night.

This was a mark of favour and consideration which Lord Beverley scarcely expected, notwithstanding the difference of rank between himself and Sir John Hotham, and the promises of honourable dealing which the latter had made. There were also signs of a willingness to attend to his comfort, which were even more consolatory in the conclusions he drew from them than in the acts themselves. Poor Sinbad the sailor, when he fell into the hands of the cannibal blacks, looked upon all the good cheer that they placed before him as merely the means employed to fatten him previous to killing and eating him; but, as we never had such anthropophagous habits in Great Britain, even during the great rebellion itself, the earl, when he saw sundry much more savoury dishes provided for his dinner than he had hitherto been favoured with, and a bottle of very good wine to wash them down withal, received them as a mark of the governor's good intentions, and an indication that there was some probability of his imprisonment coming to an end by a more pleasant process than a walk to the scaffold.

He ate and drank then with renewed hope, and saw the sun go down with pleasure, totally forgetting Captain Barecolt's promise to see him at night, which, if he had remembered it, might have somewhat disturbed his serenity.

I know not whether the people of Hull are still a tribe early in their habits, but certainly such was the case in those days; and towards nine o'clock, or a little after, the noises of the great town began to die away, and Silence to resume her reign through the place. The watch, who had a great horror of everything like merriment, as the reader may have in some degree perceived, took care to suffer neither shouting nor brawling in the streets of the good city after dark; and though, from the windows of the room in which he was confined, the noble earl saw many a lantern pass along, it was still with a sober and steady pace; and with his usual imaginative activity of mind, he amused himself with fancying the character and occupations of the various persons who thus flitted before his eyes, drawing many a comment and meditative reflection upon everything in man's fate and nature.

The lanterns, however, like the sounds, grew less and less frequent; and near a quarter of an hour had passed without his seeing one, when at length the clock of the neighbouring church slowly struck the hour of ten, pausing long upon every dull tone, which seemed like the voice of Time regretting the moments that had flown.

In about ten minutes more, the sentry before the blockhouse challenged some one who approached rather nearer than he thought proper to his post. A signal word was given in reply, and the next moment the sounds of bolts being withdrawn and keys turned in the lock were heard, announcing the approach of a visiter. The opening door, as the earl expected, showed the stout and somewhat heavy person of Sir John Hotham, who entered with a sort of furtive look behind him, as if he were afraid of being watched.

"Keep at some distance in front," he said, turning to the guard; "and do not let any one, coming from the side of my house, approach within a hundred yards." Thus saying, he shut the door of the room, locked it, and put the key in his pocket; then turning to the prisoner he observed, "It is a terrible thing, my lord, to have nothing but spies about one; and yet such is my case here. I do not know what I have done to deserve this."

"It is the most natural thing in the world, Sir John," said the earl, shaking him warmly by the hand: "when perverse, rash, and rebellious men know that they have to deal with a gentleman of honour, who, however much he may be attached to liberty, is well disposed towards his sovereign, they naturally suspect and spy upon him."

"You judge me rightly, my lord; you judge me rightly," replied Sir John Hotham. "I have always been a friend equally to my country and my king; and deeply do I lament the discord which has arisen between his majesty and the parliament. But I see you understand my conduct well, my lord, and need not be told that I entertain very different principles from the men who have driven things to this strait. I vow to God I have always entertained the highest affection and sense of duty towards his majesty, and lament deeply to think that my refusing to open the gates of Hull, when the king sent to require reception for his forces, will always be considered as the beginning, and perhaps the cause, of this civil war, whereas I did it in my own defence."

"Indeed!" exclaimed the earl. "The king is not aware that such is the case; for, when many people assured his majesty that there must have been some error in the business, he has replied often, 'God grant it be so; for I always held Sir John Hotham to be a man of singular uprightness, and well affected towards myself, until he ventured to shut his gates in the king's face.'"

"Ay, air," exclaimed the governor; "both the king and myself have been greatly deceived; and I will now tell you what I never told to any one, which I will beseech you, when we find means to set you free, to report to his majesty, that he may judge favourably of me. There were certain men, whom I have since discovered to be arrant knaves, and employed by the more furious persons of the parliament to deceive me, who assured me, with every protestation of concern for my safety, that it was the king's intention, as soon as he got into Hull, to hang me without form of trial further than a mere summary court-martial."

"It was false, sir! it was false, altogether, I assure you!" replied the earl. "Nothing was ever farther from the king's intention."

"I know it--I know it now," answered Sir John Hotham: "but I believed it at the time. However, to speak of what more nearly concerns you, my lord, I came hither to tell you, that, as you have so frankly put yourself in in hands, I will in no degree betray your trust; and I much wish you to consider in what way, and upon what pretext, I can set you at liberty, so that you may safely go whithersoever you will. But there is one thing you must remember, that the secret of who and what you are, and of my wish to treat you kindly, must be kept inviolably between you and me; for there is not a man here whom I can trust, and especially my own son, who is one of the worst and most evil-intentioned men towards the king and his own father in all the realm."

"The only way that I can see," replied the earl, "will be for me to pass for a Frenchman still, and for you to make it appear that I am willing to purchase my liberty by giving you at once some information regarding his majesty's designs, and obtaining more for you hereafter. But so sure am I of your good intentions towards me, that I fear not to remain here several days, if I may but hope that, through my poor mediation, you and the king may be reconciled to each other. It is, indeed, a sad and terrible thing, that a handful of ill-disposed men, such as those who now rule in the parliament, should be able to overwhelm this country with bloodshed and devastation, when the king himself is willing to grant his people everything that they can rightly and justly demand; and, moreover, that they should have the power, when their intention is clearly, not alone to overthrow this or that monarch, but to destroy and abolish monarchy itself, to involve gentlemen of high esteem, such as yourself, in acts which they abhor, and which must first prove disastrous to the country, and ultimately destructive to themselves."

"Do not let them deceive you, Sir John," he continued: "this struggle can have but one termination, as you will plainly see if you consider a few points. You cannot for a moment doubt, that the turbulence and exactions of these men have already alienated from them the affections of the great body of the people. The king is now at the head of a powerful force, which is daily increasing. A great supply of ammunition and arms has just been received. The fleet is entirely at his majesty's disposal, and ready to appear before any place against which he may direct it. And, although he is unwilling to employ foreign troops against his rebellious subjects till the last extremity, yet you must evidently perceive that every prince in Christendom is personally interested in supporting him, and will do it as soon as asked. Nay, more: I will tell you, what is not generally known, that the Prince of Orange is now preparing to come over, at the head of his army; and you may well suppose that his first stroke will be at Hull, which cannot resist him three days."

Sir John Hotham looked somewhat bewildered and confounded by all these arguments, and exclaimed in a musing tone, "How is it to be done? that is the only question: how is it to be done?"

"If you mean, Sir John," continued Lord Beverley, "how is peace to be restored to the country? methinks it may be easily done; but first I would have you consider, what glory and renown would accrue to that man who should ward off all these terrible events; who, by his sole power and authority, and by setting a noble example to his countrymen, should pave the way to a reconciliation between King Charles and his parliament; and at the same time secure the rights and liberties of the people and the stability of the throne. I will ask you, if you are not sure that both monarch and people, seeing themselves delivered from the horrors of a civil war, would not join in overwhelming him with honours and rewards of all kinds, and whether his name would not descend to posterity as the preserver of his country. You are the man, Sir John Hotham, who can do all this. You are the man who can obtain this glorious name. The surrender of Hull to the king would at once remedy the mistakes committed on both parts, would crush the civil war in the germ, would strengthen the good intentions of all the wise and better men in the parliament, would make the whole country rise as one man to cast off the treason in which it has unwillingly taken part; and for my own self I can only say, that men attribute to me some influence both with the king and queen, and that all which I do possess should be employed to obtain for you due recompense for the services you have rendered your country."

Hotham was evidently touched and moved; for so skilfully had the earl introduced every subject that could affect the various passions of which he was susceptible, that at every word some new pleader had, risen up in the bosom of the governor, to advocate the same course upon which Lord Beverley was urging him. Now it was fear that spoke; now hope; now anger at the suspicions entertained by the parliament; now expectations from the king. Pride, vanity, ambition--all had their word; and good Sir John's face betrayed the agitation of his mind, so that the earl was in no slight hope of speedily gaining one of the most important converts that could be made to the royal cause, when, to the surprise of both, the door of the chamber in which they were was violently shaken from without, and a voice was heard muttering, with a tremendous oath--

"They have taken the key out: curse me if I don't force the lock off with my dagger!"

Sir John Hotham started, and looked towards the door with fear and trepidation; for he expected nothing less than to see the face of his son or some other of the violent men who had been sent down by the parliament; and to say truth, not the countenance of a personage whose appearance in his own proper person is generally deprecated by even those who have the closest connexion with him sub rosa could have been more unpleasant to the governor of Hull. The Earl of Beverley started, too, with no very comfortable feelings; for not only was he unwilling to have his conversation at that moment interrupted, but moreover, dear reader, he recognised at once the tones of the magnanimous Captain Barecolt.

"It is my son, on my life?" cried Hotham, in a low tone.

"What, in the fiend's name, is to be done? This insolence is insufferable; and yet I would give my right hand not to be found here! Hark! On my life, he is forcing the lock!"

"Stay, stay!" whispered the earl. "Get behind the bed; but first give me the key. I pledge you my word, Sir John, not even to attempt an escape; and, moreover, to send this person away without discovering you. Leave him to me--leave him to me. You may trust me!"

"Oh! willingly--willingly," cried Sir John, giving him the key, and drawing back behind the bed. "For heaven's sake, do not let him find me!"

The earl took the key, and approached the door; but before we relate what followed, we must turn for a moment to explain the sudden appearance of Captain Barecolt.

[CHAPTER XXI.]

Captain Barecolt was not, according to the old proverb, like a garden full of weeds; for, although he was undoubtedly a man of words, he was also a man of deeds, as the reader may have already remarked, and the deeds which he had performed since we last left him sitting in the parlour of Mrs. White were manifold and various. His first expedition was to the chamber of Arrah Neil, where the worthy landlady's sense of decorum, as well as her privilege of curiosity, kept her present during the conference.

Poor Arrah--although at one time she certainly had not been impressed with the deepest sense of the personal merits of Captain Deciduous Barecolt--had seen enough of his conduct in the skirmish which took place at the bridge, to entertain a much higher respect for him than before; and even had not such been the case, there is something in the very sight of persons whom we have beheld in companionship with those we love, which, by awakening sweet associations--those pleasant door-keepers of the heart--renders their presence cheering to us in the hour of misfortune and distress.

Mrs. White, too, upon Captain Barecolt's own statement, had assured Arrah, that he came expressly to deliver her; and she looked upon her escape from the clutches of Mr. Dry as now quite certain, with the aid of the good landlady, and the more vigorous assistance of Barecolt's long arm and long sword. She greeted him gladly, then, and with a bright smile; but Barecolt, when he now saw her, could scarcely believe that she was the same person with whom he had marched two days during the absence from Bishop's Merton, not alone from the change in her dress, though that of course made a very great difference, but from the look of intelligence and mind which her whole countenance displayed, and from the total absence of that lost and bewildered expression which had been before so frequently present on her face. Her great beauty, which had then been often clouded by that strange shadow that we have so frequently mentioned, was now lighted up--like a fair landscape first seen in the dim twilight of the morning, when the sun rises upon it in all the majesty of light.

"Do not be the least afraid, my dear young lady," said Captain Barecolt, after the first congratulations of their meeting were over, and he had quieted down his surprise and admiration. "Do not be at all afraid. I will deliver you, if the gates should be guarded by fiery dragons. Not only have I a thousand times accomplished enterprises to which this, of circumventing the dull burgesses of Hull, is no more than eating the mites of a cheese off the point of a knife; but here we have to assist us good Mrs. White, one of the most excellent women that ever lived upon the face of this earth. It is true I have but had the pleasure and honour of her acquaintance for the space of one hour and three-quarters; but when you come to consider that I have been called upon to converse and deal with, and investigate and examine, in the most perilous circumstances, and in the most awful situations, many millions of my fellow-creatures, of every different shade, variety, and complexion of mind, you will easily understand that it needs but a glance for me to estimate and appreciate the excellence of a person so well disposed as Mrs. White."

"Oh, yes!" cried Arrah, interrupting him; "I know that she is kind and good, and will do everything she can to help and deliver me. She was kind to me long ago, and one can never forget kindness. But when shall we go, Captain Barecolt? Cannot we go to-night?"

"That is impossible, my dear young lady," replied Barecolt; "for there are many things to be done. In the first instance, these papers, which Mrs. White talks of--they must be obtained, if possible. Has this man got them about him, do you think?"

"I cannot tell," replied Arrah; "I do not even know that he has got them at all. I only know that the cottage was stripped when I came back, and that they, with everything else, were gone."

"Oh, he has got them! he has got them, my dear child!" cried Mrs. White; "for depend upon it, that if he did not know you were a very different person from Sergeant Neil's grand-daughter, just as well as I do, he would never be so anxious about marrying you--a weazened old red herring! I dare say he has got them safe in his trunk-mail."

"I will go," said Barecolt, "and cut them out of his heart;" and at the same moment he rose, laid his hand upon his dagger, and strode towards the door.

"Don't do him any mischief--don't do him any mischief in my house!" cried Mrs. White, laying her hand upon the captain's arm. "Pray, remember, captain, there will be inquiry made, as sure as you are alive. You had better not take them till you are quite ready to go."

"Thou art a wise woman, Mrs. White," replied Captain Barecolt; "thou art a wise woman, and I will forbear. I will but ascertain whether he has these papers, while he yet lies in the mud of drunkenness, and leave the appropriation of them till an after period."

Thus saying, he quitted the room; and having marked, with all his shrewd perception, the door which had been opened and shut when the reverend and respectable Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, was carried tipsy to his bed, he walked straight into his room with a candle in his hand, and approaching the drunken man, gazed on his face, to see that he was still in that state of insensibility to what was passing round him which was necessary to his present purposes. Mr. Dry was happily snoring unconsciously, almost in a state of apoplexy; and approaching a large pair of saddlebags, Barecolt took them up, laid them on a chair, and opened them without either ceremony or scruple. The wardrobe of Mr. Dry was soon exposed to view: a short cloak, a black coat, a clean stiff band, well starched and ironed, in case he should be called upon to hold forth; a pair of brown breeches and grey stockings; three shirts of delicately fine linen, and sundry other articles: these were soon cast upon the ground, and the arm of the valorous captain plunged up to the elbow in the heart of the begs, searching about for anything having the feel of paper.

For some minutes his perquisition was vain; but at length, in drawing out his hand suddenly, the knuckles struck against the lining of the bag, at a spot where something like a button made itself apparent; and feeling more closely, the worthy captain discovered an inside pocket.

Into that his fingers were soon dipped; and with an air of triumph he drew forth some three sheets of written paper, and carrying them to the candle, examined them minutely. What was his disappointment, however, when the first words that struck his eyes were--"Habakkuk ii. 5; 2 Chronicles ii. 7, 9; Micah vi.; Lamentations iii. 7; Amos ii. 4.--For three transgressions of Judah, and for four, I will not turn away the punishment thereof."

"The hypocritical old swine!" cried Barecolt; "what have we got next?" and turning over the page, he looked at the paper which was enclosed in the other, which he found to be something a little more important, namely, a letter from the parliamentary Colonel Thistleton to Mr. Dry, informing him that he would be at Bishop's Merton on the day after the date thereof, and begging him to keep a watchful eye upon the malignant lord, that no changes might take place till he arrived; thus establishing beyond all manner of doubt worthy Mr. Dry's collusion in the visit of the parliamentary commission to the house of Lord Walton.

The next paper, which was the only one now remaining, seemed to puzzle Captain Barecolt more than even Mr. Dry's list of texts. It was evidently a paper of memoranda, in his own handwriting, but so brief that, without some clue, little could be made of it. At the top stood the name of Hugh O'Donnell; then came the words, "Whose daughter was her mother?" Below that was written, "Are there any of them living? What's the county? Ulster, it would seem? Sequestrated? or attainted? Where did the money come from? How much a-year? What will he take?"

Bearing this away, after having made another search in the bag, and thrown it down upon the scattered articles of clothing which remained upon the floor, worthy Captain Barecolt retrod his steps to the room of Arrah Neil, and there, with the fair girl herself, and the worthy landlady, he pored over the paper, and endeavoured to gain some further insight into its meaning.

Conjectures enough were formed, but with them we will not trouble the reader. Suffice it that Captain Barecolt determined to copy the paper, which being done, he replaced it with Mr. Dry's apparel in that worthy gentleman's bags, and then left him to sleep off his drunkenness, wishing him heartily that sort of sickening headache which is the usual consequence of such intemperance as he had indulged in that night.

To Arrah Neil he subsequently explained, that his various avocations in the town of Hull would give him enough to do during the following day, but that he did hope and trust, about midnight, or very early the next morning, to be able to guide her safely forth from the gates of the town, together with a friend of his who, he explained to her, was still a captive in the hands of the governor.

After bidding her adieu, he descended once more to the little parlour of Mrs. White, and there held a long and confidential conference with her regarding his proceedings on the following day. He found the good lady all that he could have desired, a staunch royalist at heart, and thoroughly acquainted with the character, views, and principles of a multitude of the officers and soldiers of the train-bands. She told him whom he could depend upon, and whom he could not; where, when, and how they were to be found, and what were the best means of rendering them accessible to his solicitations. She also furnished him with the address of Mr. Hugh O'Donnell, and having gained all this information, the worthy captain retired to bed to rise prepared for action on the following day.

Profound were his slumbers. No dream shook the long and cumbrous body that lay there, like some colossal column fallen on the sands of the desert, and he scarcely moved or stirred a finger till the young Morning peeped with her grey eye in at the window, when up he started, rubbing his head, and exclaiming--"There's the trumpet, by----!"

It was the first vision he had had; but in a moment or two he was wide awake again, and, remembering his appointment with the governor of Hull, he plunged his head into cold water, wiped it with the towels provided, drew, his beard into a neat point, and, putting on his clothes, again descended to seek for some breakfast before he set out.

He had not got through half the flagon of beer, however, nor demolished above a pound of beef, when Captain Jenkins arrived, and found him speaking execrable English to Nancy, in order to hurry her with some fried eggs, which she was preparing as an addition to the meal.

"Begar, I never vas see such voman as de English cooks! Dem can no more make de omlet dan dey can fly. Vait but von leetle meenute, my dear Captain Jenkin, and I go vid you."

"I can't wait," said Captain Jenkins, in a rough tone; "it's time to be there now. If you had lodged at the 'Rose,' we should not have had half so far to go."

"Ah, dat is very true! dat is very true!" cried Barecolt. "I lodge dere anoder time; but if ye must go, vy den here goes," and putting the tankard to his mouth, with one long and prodigious draught he brought the liquor within to the bottom.

Being then once more conducted to the presence of the governor, he was detained some little time, while Sir John gave various orders and directions, and then set out with him upon a tour of the fortifications, followed, as we have represented the party, by three soldiers, Captain Jenkins having been dismissed for the time. If Barecolt, however, had won upon the governor during their first interview, on this second occasion he ingratiated himself still further with the worthy officer. Nor, indeed, was it without cause that Barecolt rose high in the opinion of Sir John, for he had his own sense of what was honest and right, though it was a somewhat twisted and perverted one, and he would not, on any account, so long as his advice was asked, and likely to be taken, have given wrong and dangerous counsel upon the pretence of friendship and service.

He pointed out, then, to the governor, with great shrewdness and discrimination, numerous weak points in the defences, gave him various hints for strengthening them without the loss of much time; and, while pausing before the block-house in which he knew Lord Beverley was confined, he drew upon the ground the plan of a small fort, which he showed the governor might be very serviceable in the defence of the town upon the river side.

Having now gone nearly half round the walls, and being pressed by hunger as much as business, Sir John returned to break his fast, and once more placed Captain Barecolt under the guidance of Jenkins; adding a hint, however, to the latter, that his suspicions of the Frenchman were removed, and that every assistance was to be given him in carrying into execution the suggestions he had made.

Barecolt's difficulty now was, how to get rid of his companion; but as the citizen-soldier was somewhat pursy and heavy in his temperament, our worthy friend contrived, in the space of a few hours, to cast him into such a state of perspiration and fatigue, by rapid motion from one part of the town to the other, that he was ready to drop. In the course of these perambulations, he led him, as we have seen, once more past the block-house, in order to confer for a moment with Lord Beverley; after which he brought him dexterously into the neighbourhood of his own dwelling, and then told him if he would go and get his dinner, while he did the same, they would meet again in two hours at a spot which he named.

The proposal was a blessed relief to the captain of the train-bands, who internally promised himself to take very good care to give the long-legged Frenchman as little of his company as possible.

Barecolt, however, though his appetite, as the reader knows, was of a capacious and ever-ready kind, sacrificed inclination to what he considered duty, and hastened, without breaking bread, to seek two of those persons whom Mrs. White had pointed out to him as worthy of all confidence, and likely to engage in the adventure which he had in hand.

He had some difficulty, however, in making the first of these, who was an ancient of the train-bands, and well affected to the king, repose any trust in him--for the man was prudent, and somewhat suspicious by nature, and he entertained shrewd doubts as to the honesty, of Captain Barecolt's purpose towards him. He shook his head, assumed a blank and somewhat unmeaning countenance, vowed he did not understand, and when the worthy captain spoke more plainly, told him that he had better take care how he talked such stuff in Hull.

On this hint Barecolt withdrew, suspecting that the information he had received from his landlady was not the most accurate in the world. He resolved, however, to make another effort, and try to gain assistance from the second person she had mentioned, though he, having displayed his loyalty somewhat too openly, was not one to be placed in a situation of confidence by the officers of the parliament.

The abode of this man, who was a sign-painter by trade, named Falgate, was with much difficulty discovered up two pair of stairs in a back street; but when Captain Barecolt had climbed to his high dwelling, he found a personage of a frank and joyful countenance hewing away at the remain of a leg of mutton on a large wooden trencher, and washing his food down with copious draughts of very good beer. His propensity towards these creature-comforts was a favourable omen in the eyes of our worthy captain; but he was joyfully surprised when good Diggory Falgate started up, with his mouth all shining with mutton fat, and embraced him heartily, exclaiming, "Welcome, my noble captain! I have been expecting you this last hour."

He proceeded, however, speedily to explain that he had looked in at the "Swan" a short time before to take his morning draught, and that the good landlady had given him information of Captain Barecolt's character and objects.

With him all arrangements were very easy. Diggory Falgate was ready for any enterprise that might present itself; and, with the gay and dashing spirit which reigned amongst Cavaliers of high and low degree, he was just as willing to walk up to a cannon's mouth in the service of the king as to a tankard of strong waters on his own behalf, to cut down a Roundhead, to make love to a pretty maiden, to spend his money, or to sing his song.

"Ha! ha! ha!" he exclaimed, as Barecolt intimated to him the rebuff that he met with from the ancient of the train-bands; "Billy Hazard is a cunning rogue. I'll bet you a pint of sack that he thought you some Roundhead come to take him in. Stay here, stay here, and finish my tankard for me. I'll run and fetch him, and you will soon see a difference."

Barecolt willingly agreed to play the part his companion proposed, and before he had made free more than twice with the large black jug that graced his new friend's table, Falgate had himself returned, followed by his more sedate and cautious acquaintance.

"Here he is, here he is! as wise as a whipping-post," exclaimed the sign-painter, "which receives all the lashes, and never says a word. There sits Captain Barecolt, ancient Hazard; so to him, and tell him what you would do to serve the king."

"A great deal," replied Hazard. "I beg your pardon, sir, for giving you such a rough answer just now, but I did not know you."

"Always be cautious, always be cautious, mine ancient," replied Barecolt; "so will you be a general in time, and a good one; but now let us to business as fast as possible. You must know that there's a prisoner----"

"Ay, I know, in the block-house," cried Diggory Falgate, "and he is to be taken out to-night. Isn't it so, noble captain? Now, I'll bet you three radishes to a dozen of crowns that this is some man of great consequence."

Barecolt nodded his head.

"Is it the king?" asked Falgate, in a whisper.

"Phoo, nonsense!" cried Barecolt. "The king's at the head of his army, and, before ten days are over, will march into Hull with drum and colours, will hang the governor, disband the garrison, and overthrow the walls. Why, the place can no more hold out against the power that the king has, than a fresh egg can resist the side of a frying-pan. No; this gentleman is a man of the greatest consequence, in whom the king places vast reliance, and he must be got out at all risks. If you can but get rid of that cursed guard, if it be but for ten minutes, I will do all the rest."

"That will be no difficult matter," replied Hazard, after thinking for a moment. "Here, Diggory and I will manage all that; but how will you get him out of the town when you've done?"

"That's all arranged already," replied Barecolt: "I have a pass for visiting the walls and gates at any hour between sunrise and sunset, to inspect and repair the fortifications, forsooth I will manage the whole of that matter; but how will you contrive to get away the guard?"

Diggory and his companion consulted for a moment together, and at length the former clapped his hands, exclaiming, "That will do! that will do! Hark ye, Captain Barecolt! we are not particularly strict soldiers here, and I will get the fellow away to drink with me."

"He won't do it!" exclaimed Barecolt. "It's death by the law."

"Then I'll quarrel with him," replied Diggory; "and in either case up comes mine ancient here, rates him soundly, relieves him of his guard, sends him back to the guardhouse, and bids him order down the next upon the roll. In the mean while you get your man out, and away with him, locking the door behind you; and no one knows anything of the matter."

"It will do! it will do!" cried Barecolt; and after some further conversation, in which all the particulars of their plan were arranged, Barecolt took his leave, appointing them to meet him at the "Swan" that night towards ten o'clock, and proceeded on his way to seek out the house of Mr. Hugh O'Donnell.

[CHAPTER XXII.]

There was a long row of sheds at the far end of the town of Hull, open towards the Humber, and enclosed on three sides towards the town. A little patch of green lay on one side the city wall; on the other, between the sheds and the river, ran a small footpath, and behind rose a good-looking dwelling of two stories high. With a quick but quiet step--unusually quiet, indeed, for he generally displayed his high opinion of himself in the elasticity of his toes--Captain Barecolt pursued the little path till he came in front of the sheds, and then paused to reconnoitre the ground.

He first looked into the open side of the buildings; but nothing did he see only sundry stockfish hanging up in rows by the tails, together with a heap of coals in one corner, and two large bales or packages covered with canvass in another. He then looked over the Humber, where the sun was struggling with some misty clouds, gilding the sky, and glittering on the calm, unruffled waters. There was nothing of great importance to be discovered on that side either, and the only object that seemed to attract the attention of the worthy captain was the top of a boat's mast, which rose over the bank between him and the river.

As soon as he perceived it, he turned an ear in that direction, and thought he heard people speaking, upon which he advanced quietly to the top of the bank and looked down. There was a man in the boat, apparently about to push off, and another standing on the shore, giving him some directions; and the first sight of the latter showed our friend that he had not mistaken his way; for there he beheld the stout, tall, good-looking elderly man whom he had seen with Mrs. White on the preceding evening.

His back was turned to Captain Barecolt, and, as the latter stood waiting till the boat had pushed off, he heard him say, "Well, don't make a noise about it. Do everything easily and quietly."

The man in the boat, however, at once caught a sight of the intruder upon their conversation, and pointed towards him with his hand, upon which Mr. Hugh O'Donnell turned quickly round, with an inquiring and somewhat stern expression, and then advanced straight up to Captain Barecolt, while the boat rowed away.

"Pray, sir, are you wanting me?" demanded Mr. O'Donnell, with a strong touch of that peculiar percussion of the breath which has acquired--why or wherefore who can tell?--the name of "brogue," regarding the captain, at the same time, with not the most amicable glance in the world.

"Yes, Master O'Donnell," replied Barecolt, in good plain English, "I am wanting you; and by your leave we must have a little conversation together."

Hugh O'Donnell gazed at him with some surprise, for he recollected him well as the French officer who had visited the sign of the "Swan" on the preceding evening; but he was a cautious man, notwithstanding his Milesian blood, long accustomed to deal with somewhat dangerous affairs, and well aware that the most indiscreet of all passions is surprise; and therefore, without appearing to recognise his visiter, he said, "If our conversation is to be at all long, sir, it had better be within doors than without."

"It may be long," replied Barecolt, drily; "and yet it cannot be very long, for I have not too much time to spare; but, whether long or short, it had better be where we can have no eaves-droppers, Mr. O'Donnell; and so we will walk in."

Barecolt followed him to the house, where a clean and respectable old woman-servant was seen sanding the floor of a parlour, the boards of which were scrubbed to a marvellous whiteness, though the walls, to say the truth, were somewhat dingy, and a strong flavour of tobacco smoke rather detracted from the purity of the air. That odour, however, was no objection to the nose of Captain Barecolt, who cast himself into a chair, while the master of the mansion sent away the servant and closed the door.

As soon as this process was complete, the worthy captain fixed his eyes upon Mr. O'Donnell, and demanded, "You recollect me, of course, sir?"

"I think I have seen your face somewhere," replied the Irishman; "but, Lord love you! I never recollect anything after it is over. It's better not, sir. I make life a ready-money business, and keep neither receipts nor bills."

"Quite right, Mr. O'Donnell," replied Captain Barecolt; "but yet I think I must get you to draw a draft upon the past. That word or two from Mrs. White will tell you what it is about;" and he handed his companion across the little round oaken table a small bit of paper.

O'Donnell took it, read the contents, and then mused for a minute or two, tapping the table with his fingers.

"Well, sir," he said, at length, "what is it you want to know?"

"All that you can tell me about the young lady whom they call Arrah Neil."

"Oh, sir, I will tell you all I know about her in a minute," replied the other; "he is now at the 'Swan,' Mrs. White's own house, under the care--or, if you like it better, in the hands of a very reverend gentleman called Master Dry of Longsoaken."

"That won't do, Mr. O'Donnell--that won't do," exclaimed Barecolt. "What I want to know is about the past--not the present--of which I know more than you do, Mr. O'Donnell."

"I never seek to know anything of other people's business," replied O'Donnell, drily. "I have enough to do to attend to my own."

"Which is the supplying Roman Catholic gentry with salt fish for fast days, together with beads, missals, crucifixes, and other little trinkets for private use," answered Barecolt, who had been using his eyes and forming his own conclusions from numerous indications apparently trifling.

O'Donnell, without any change of expression, gazed at him gravely, and the captain continued--"But that is nothing to the purpose, my good friend. I see you are a prudent man, and I dare say you have cause to be so. However, I will tell you why I inquire; and then we will see whether you will not be kind enough to a poor young lady to give her some information concerning her own affairs, of which, from the death of poor old Sergeant Neil, and his papers having been carried off by this old puritanical hunks Dry, she has been kept in ignorance. You must know that this young lady has found great and powerful friends in the Lord Walton and his sister."

"Then why did they suffer her to fall into this man's hands?" demanded O'Donnell.

"Because they could not prevent it," replied Barecolt; and he went on to give a full account of the march from Bishop's Merton and the skirmish which had taken place upon the road, with all of which we need not trouble the reader, whose imagination can supply or not, as it pleases, Captain Barecolt's account of his own deeds of arms. From those deeds, after due commemoration, he went on to speak of Lord Walton's anxiety for poor Arrah Neil's safety; and though we cannot presume to say his tale was plain or unvarnished either, yet there was enough of truth about it to make some change in Mr. O'Donnell's views.

"Where is Lord Walton to be found?" demanded the latter.

"He is with the king at Nottingham," answered Barecolt. "Well then, he shall hear from me before long," replied O'Donnell.

"You had better let me bear him your message, my good sir," said the captain. "You may judge, from my being entrusted here with such important business, that I am one in whom you may place the most unlimited confidence."

"Perhaps so, sir," answered O'Donnell; "but if I were such a fool or such a scoundrel as to betray other people's secrets, how should I expect that you would keep them?"

"That is very true," rejoined Barecolt; "but if you do not tell them to me, and help me too to get the young lady out of this town of Hull, you will be compelled to tell them to her enemies, and may make her situation a great deal worse than it is now."

"They can't compel me; I defy them!" cried O'Donnell, sharply; "and help you to get her out of Hull I will with all my heart, but how is that to be done?" The next moment he asked, in a meditative tone, "What makes you think they will ask me any questions?"

"I not only think they will ask you questions, Mr. O'Donnell, but I will tell you what those questions will be," replied the captain; and taking a paper from his pocket he went on: "Before many hours are over you will have Mr. Dry himself here, and perhaps the justices, if not the governor, and you will be asked, 'Whose daughter was her mother?--are any of her family living?--in what county?--in Ulster?--whether the estates were sequestrated or the blood attainted?--where the money came from you used to send to poor Neil, and how much it was a-year?'"

"Oh, by----, they must have got hold of a good clue!" exclaimed O'Donnell, with more agitation than he had hitherto displayed.

"That they have, Master O'Donnell," replied Barecolt; "but if Dry comes alone, as he will most likely do at first, he will ask you one other question before he tries to force you, and that is: how much you will take to tell him the whole story, that he may possess himself of the property and force the poor child into marrying him."

"Ay, he's a reasonable man, I dare say, Master Dry," replied the Irishman, with a sarcastic smile; "but he will find himself mistaken: and, as to forcing me, they can't! Moreover, for your own questions, good sir, all I shall say; is this: that you may tell Lord Walton that he must take care of this poor young lady."

"That he is willing enough to do without my telling," answered Barecolt.

"Ay, but he must take care of her like the apple of his eye," replied O'Donnell; "for if any harm happen to her he will never forgive himself. He is a kind, good man--is he not?"

"As gallant a cavalier as ever lived," said Barecolt.

"And young?" demanded O'Donnell.

"Some seven or eight-and-twenty, I should guess," was the answer.

The master of the house mused.

"That may be fortunate or unfortunate, as it happens," he said at length; "at all events he ought to have intimation of what he is doing. Tell him that he shall hear more from me very shortly--as soon as possible--as soon as I can get leave: and now to speak of how to get her out of Hull."

"But will you not let me tell Lord Walton who she is?" demanded Barecolt.

"If Sergeant Neil has told him anything already--well," replied O'Donnell; "if not, he shall hear more soon; but at all events tell him to cherish and protect her as he would one of his own kindred; for if he do not, and have any more heart than a stone, he will repent it bitterly. No more on that head, master: now for your plans."

"Why, Master O'Donnell," replied Captain Barecolt, "my plans, like your secrets, are my own; and I do not tell them easily, especially when I get nothing in return."

"But you said you wished me to help you to get the young lady out of Hull," rejoined O'Donnell. "How am I to do so without knowing what you intend to do?"

"I will show you in a minute, Master O'Donnell," replied Barecolt. "What I need is horse flesh; and as far as I can see, very little of it is to be found in Hull. The governor walks afoot; the officers of the garrison, such as it is, trudge upon their own legs; and I have seen nothing with four feet but sundry cats, half-a-dozen dogs, and every now and then a fat horse in a coal-cart. I want beasts to carry us, Master O'Donnell; that is my need: and if you can find means to furnish us with them, I will contrive to get the young lady out."

"Oh, there are plenty of horses in Hull," answered O'Donnell; "but how did you come hither?"

"By sea," replied his companion; "but that matters not. If you can bring or send three good horses, one with a woman's saddle, to the first village on the road to York--I forget the name of the place--you will do me a service, aid poor Arrah Neil, and be well paid for your pains."

"To Newlands, you mean," said O'Donnell; "but Newlands is a long way for you to go on foot. 'Tis more than two miles, and if you are caught you are lost. Stay--there is a little low ale-house by the green side, just a mile from the town gates. The horses shall be there; but at what time?"

"Some time before daybreak to-morrow," replied Barecolt; "for as soon as I see the first ray of the sun, I am off with my companions."

"Have you more than one?" demanded the Irishman.

"The lady--and a gentleman, a friend of mine," answered the worthy captain; "otherwise I should not have wanted three horses."

"But how will you pass the gates?" inquired the other; "they are very strict at that side, for they fear enterprises from York."

"There's my key," replied Barecolt, producing the governor's pass; "but, for fear it should not fit the lock, Master O'Donnell, I shall try it five or six times before nightfall. What I mean is, that I will go out and in several times, that the people may know my face."

His companion gazed at the pass, and then at Captain Barecolt for several moments, wondering not a little what might be the real character of his visiter, and what were the means by which he had contrived to obtain the document which he spread before him. There it was, however, not to be doubted--a genuine order under Sir John Hotham's own hand, for the sentries, guards, warders, and officers of all kinds of the town of Hull, to give free passage, at any hour between daybreak and nightfall, to Captain François Jersval, and the workmen employed by him to inspect and repair the fortifications of the city, and to offer him no let or hindrance, but rather afford him every aid and assistance.

"And now, Master O'Donnell," continued Barecolt, observing with a certain degree of pride that he had succeeded in puzzling his companion, "let us speak about the price of these horses."

"That I cannot tell till I buy them," replied O'Donnell, "but I shall see you to-night at the 'Swan,' and we can settle that matter then."

"Perhaps I shall be out," answered Barecolt, recollecting his engagement with Hazard and Falgate.

"Well, then, I will wait till you return," replied O'Donnell; "but in the mean time I must get the horses out before the gates close to-night. To what price would you like to go for the two?"

"I said three, Master O'Donnell," exclaimed Barecolt; "pray, do not be short of the number."

"No, no," replied the other; "there shall be three; but I will pay for the young lady's horse. I have money in hand that should have gone to poor old Neil; but when I wrote about it he did not answer."

"Dead men seldom do," said Barecolt; "but as to the price--there is no use of buying anything very beautiful for me. My own chargers are of the finest breed in Europe, between a Turkish courser and a powerful Norman mare; but as I don't want these horses that I now bespeak for battle, all that is needful will be to see that they be good strong beasts, willing to work for a day or two. But one thing that is to be remembered, Mr. O'Donnell, is, that if you do come up to the 'Swan' seeking me, you are only to know me as 'de Capitaine Jersval, one French officier, who be come to help de governeur to put de fortification in de repair.'"

"And pray, sir, what is your real name?" asked O'Donnell, with an air of simplicity.

"What is Arrah Neil's?" rejoined Barecolt; and, both laughing, they separated for the time, without affording each other any further information.

[CHAPTER XXIII.]

Poor Arrah Neil had passed an anxious and uneasy day, for, though the knowledge that she had a friend so near, ready to aid her in her escape, had proved no slight consolation, and though hope, of course, magnified Captain Barecolt's powers, and elevated his qualities far beyond their real extent, yet suspense is always full of terrors, and Fear usually treads close upon the steps of Hope. Ezekiel Dry had also suffered all those blessed results which intemperance is sure to entail; and having lain in his bed for several hours after the whole town was up and stirring, with sick stomach and aching head, he rose, declaring that something he had eaten at dinner had disagreed with him, and that he must have a small portion of strong waters to promote digestion. He was as morose, too, through the whole day, as a sick tiger, and would not stir beyond the doors till after he had dined. He was angry with the maid, rude to the landlady, assuring her that she was "a vessel of wrath;" and above all, irritable and even fierce with Arrah Neil.

Though it is probable that he had no cause of any kind for suspicion, yet his mind was in that state of sullen discontent from bodily suffering that gives rise to incessant jealousy. He prowled about the door of her room; sent for her twice down to the little parlour, between breakfast and dinner; looked out whenever he heard a door open; and twice stopped Mrs. White when she was going upstairs, upon the pretence of asking some question. The last time this occurred, his inquiry once more was after Mr. Hugh O'Donnell.

"Really, sir, I have not been able to hear," replied Mrs. White; "but I dare say the governor, Sir John, could tell you."

"That will not do, woman," replied Mr. Dry, pettishly: "I only seek to hold communion with the godly of the land. How can I tell that Sir John Hotham is any better than an uncircumcised Philistine? Though he have taken a part with the righteous in behalf of this poor country, peradventure it may be but with an eye to the spoil."

"Goodness, sir! think of what you are saying in Hull!" exclaimed Mrs. White, giving a glance to some of the bystanders: "you may get yourself into trouble if you speak so of the governor."

"Nay, woman; am I not called to lift up my voice and spare not?" rejoined Mr. Dry. "Is this a time for showing a respect to persons? Verily, I will take up a word against them."

"Well, then, I am sure I will not stay to hear it," replied the landlady; and away she went, leaving Mr. Dry to finish his exhortation to the maid, the ostler, and two townsmen, if he chose.

Shortly after, however, the dinner of the guest was served up to him, and gradually, under its influence, he was restored to a more placable state of mind, having sought the aid of sundry somewhat potent libations, which he termed supporting the inner man, but which Mrs. White denominated taking "a hair of the dog that had bit him."

As soon as he had satisfied both hunger and thirst, Mr. Dry took Arrah Neil back to her chamber again, and having locked the door, and sought his hat and cloak in his own room, he walked slowly down the stairs, resolved to pursue his perquisitions for Mr. Hugh O'Donnell in person; but, before he reached the door of the "Swan," his tranquillity was much overset by the entrance of a bold, swaggering, joyous-looking person, whose very cheerfulness of face was offensive in the sight of the sour and sober Mr. Dry. He looked at him, then, with a glance of amazement and reprobation, and then, while our good friend Diggory Falgate brushed past, raised his eyes towards heaven, as if inquiring whether such things as a blithe heart and cheerful countenance could be tolerated on earth.

Falgate immediately caught the look, and, as it unfortunately happened for Mr. Dry, recollected in him a personage whom he had seen in no very respectable plight in the streets of Hull the night before. He instantly paused, then, and bursting into a laugh, began to sing the well-known old words--older than they are generally supposed to be--

My wife Joan's a Presbyterian;

She won't swear, but she will lie;

I to the ale-home, she to the tavern;

She'll get drunk as well as I.

.

and, ending with another laugh, he walked on to Mrs. White's little room.

The wrath of Mr. Dry, of Longsoaken, was overpowering; but it could not find vent in words, and after once more lifting up his eyes, and his hands also, he hurried out of the house, resolved that, if he staid beyond the following day in Hull, he would quit an inn where such godless people were permitted to pass the door.

We will not pursue him on his track through the town, but return to poor Arrah Neil, whose day, as we have said, had passed in anxiety and pain; and who now sat with her hand beating time upon the table to some fancied tune, as the sun sank lower and lower, and the hues of evening began to spread over the sky.

As she thus sat, she saw Mr. Dry walk away from the door, cross over the street, and enter a house opposite. He turned before he went in, and looked up at the windows of the "Swan," but Arrah Neil was in one of those meditative moods, when the spirit seems to be separate from the body, or scarcely conscious of a connection between the two. She saw the man she so much hated and despised gaze up to where she was sitting; but in thinking of him and his baseness, of the power he had obtained over her, of his perseverance in maintaining that power, of how she could escape from him, and whither he could now be going--she seemed to forget altogether that it was upon her his eyes were turned, and, without moving her place, she remained watching him as if he were a mere piece of mechanism, whose springs and whose wheels were worthy of observation, but incapable of observation in return.

It was the best course she could have pursued, though she did so unconsciously; for, after Mr. Dry had been a minute or two in the house which he entered, he came out again, and seeing her still sitting there immoveable, with her eyes fixed upon the same spot, he muttered, "The girl is a fool, that's clear!" and went on about his business.

Other eyes had been watching him as well as those of Arrah Neil, and before he had actually quitted the street the step of Mrs. White was heard upon the stairs. But ere the good landlady could reach the top, the voice of Nancy from below, exclaimed, "Here's a gentleman, ma'am, wants to speak to you!"

Arrah waited for a moment or two, in the hope that the new guest would depart, and that the hostess would pay her her accustomed visit; for, in those moments of anxious expectation and suspense, she felt the presence of any sympathising human creature a benefit and a relief. But after a while, she turned to gaze from the window again, and murmured--for she did not sing--some lines of an old song which she had learned in her infancy. As she thus sat, she heard another step upon the stairs, slower and more heavy than that of the landlady, and without giving it a second thought, she returned to sport with her own fancies, when a key was put into the lock and the door opened.

Arrah Neil started and turned round, and not a little was her surprise to see a tall, powerful, elderly man, with white hair, and deep blue eyes, the lashes of which, as well as the eyebrows, were still black, enter her chamber, fasten the door behind him, and advance towards her. She was a little frightened, and would have been more so, but there was a kindly and gentle air in the visiter's countenance which was not calculated to produce alarm; and as he came nearer, he said, "I beg your pardon, young lady, but I much wished to see you. I have not seen you for many a long year, not since you were quite a little thing."

"Then you knew me in my childhood, sir!" exclaimed Arrah, eagerly, "and----"

"You may well say that, lady," replied Hugh O'Donnell, before she could proceed. "These arms were the first that received you when you set foot upon this shore. Oh! a sorrowful landing it was, and sorrowful was the fate that followed, and sorrowful were the days that went before; and there has been little but sorrow since. But good luck to-morrow, it may bring something brighter, and the sky won't be overcast for ever, that's impossible."

"Then you are the Mr. O'Donnell of whom Mrs. White has told me." said Arrah. "Oh, sir! I beseech you, tell me more about myself and my kindred. Whosoever's child I am, let me know it. If a peasant's, say so without fear. I would rather cast away the vain but bright dreams that have haunted me so long, and fix my best affections on the memory of some good plain people, than have this wild doubt and uncertainty any longer. Tell me--tell me anything, if it be not disgraceful to the living or the dead."

"Disgraceful!" cried Hugh O'Donnell; "I should like to hear any man say that! No, no; there's nothing disgraceful, my darling; but I cannot and I must not tell you all that I could wish, young lady--not just at present, that is to say. By-and-by you will hear all."

"And in the mean time what misfortunes may befal me!" said Arrah Neil, in an earnest tone; "what misfortunes have already befallen me, which perhaps might have been averted!"

"Why, that is true, too," replied O'Donnell, after a moment's thought; "and yet it could not be helped. What to do now I cannot rightly tell; for, from what the good woman below says, old Neil, when he was dying, wished you to know all."

"I am sure he did," answered the poor girl; "but they had swept the cottage of everything, and I much fear that the papers he wished me to have fell into the hands of this old man."

"Ay, you must be got out of his clutches; that's the first thing," said O'Donnell. "On my life! if there were anything like law in the land, we would make him prove before the justices what right he has to meddle with you. His ward indeed! But, alas! young lady, there is neither law nor justice left in England, and the simple word of that crop-eared knave would weigh down a host of what they call malignants. The only way to follow is, for you to get away secretly, and put yourself under the care of those who have already been kind to you. You are very willing to go back to Lord Walton and his sister, I suppose?"

"Oh, that I am!" exclaimed Arrah Neil, with the warm colour mounting in her fair cheek; but the next moment she cast her eyes thoughtfully down, and murmured, "And yet, and yet----"

"Yet what, young lady?" asked O'Donnell, seeing that she did not conclude the sentence.

"Nothing," replied Arrah Neil: "'tis but a vain regret. When I was in poverty and beggary they were generous and kind to me; and at times when I schooled myself to think that such must have been my original situation, notwithstanding the idle dreams of brighter days that came back to trouble me, I used to fancy that I could be well content to be their lowest servant, so that I might follow and be with them always. But since I came hither, and the memories of the past grew clear, and the mistress of this house confirmed them, I have been thinking that, perhaps, before I returned to those two kind and noble friends, I might learn all my own fate and history, and be able to tell them that, when they condescended to notice and protect a being so lowly and humble as I was when they found me, they were unknowingly showing a kindness to one not so far inferior in blood to themselves as they imagined."

"And, by the Lord, you shall be able to tell them so!" replied O'Donnell; "for, proud as they may be, I can tell them----"

"Oh, no!" said Arrah, interrupting him: "they are not proud; neither was it from any pride that I wished to tell them that poor Arrah Neil was not the lowly being they had thought; for they were so gentle and so kind, that dependence on them was sweet; but I wished them to understand how it was and why that I have been so strange and wild at times--so thoughtful. And yet there may have been pride," she added, after a moment's pause, fixing her eyes upon the ground, and speaking as if to herself. "I would not have him think me so low, so very low. But you said I should be able to tell them. Speak, speak! let me hear what it is."

"Well, then," replied Hugh O'Donnell, "you may tell them there is----"

But ere he could go on, Mrs. White ran into the room, exclaiming, "He is coming! he is coming! Nancy sees him at the end of the street. Quick! quick! Master O'Donnell!"

"Oh! speak, speak!" cried Arrah.

"I will see you again, dear lady," cried O'Donnell, quickly; "I will come with the horses myself. But in the meantime this money belongs to you; it may be needful; it may be serviceable; do not let him see it;" and, laying a small leathern purse on the table, he hurried towards the door. Before he quitted the room, however, he turned, and seeing the poor girl's beautiful eyes filled with tears, he added, "Do not be afraid; I will see you again before this time to-morrow."

The landlady of the "Swan" and her visiter hurried down to the little parlour, but, as so often happens when people are taken by surprise, they made more haste than was necessary; for, whether Mr. Dry of Longsoaken met with something to detain him, or whether he walked slowly as he came down the street, he did not make his appearance on the steps leading up to the inn for several minutes after they had descended.

"I will speak with this man, Mistress White," said O'Donnel, after a moment's thought. "Tell him that I have come to see him, that you sent for me by some one who knew where to find me."

"Are you sure that is a good plan?" asked the landlady. "We want time to get the young lady away."

"Never fear! never fear!" replied her companion. "I will keep him in play for a week, if need be."

"Well, well," said Mrs. White; and while O'Donnell took a seat and leaned his cheek upon his arm as if waiting patiently for some one's coming, the good landlady bustled about, making a noise amongst bottles and measures with as unconcerned an air as she could assume.

The next minute Mr. Dry walked solemnly up the four steps which led from the street to a little flat landing-place of stone, encircled with an iron railing, which lay without the door; and as soon as he thus became apparent, Mrs. White ran out of her parlour, exclaiming, "Sir, Sir! the gentleman you wished to see is come. The man who brings the eggs called a few minutes ago, and as he knew where to find him, I bade him tell Mr. O'Donnell to come and see you."

"That was right! that was right!" cried Mr. Dry, his small red eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Where is he, Mrs. White?"

"Here, sir, in the bar," answered the landlady; and with a slow and solemn step, calculating how he was to proceed, and smoothing his face down to his usual gravity, Mr. Dry walked deliberately into the little room where Hugh O'Donnell was seated.

"Here is Master Dry, sir," said the hostess, opening the door for him, but Mr. Dry waved his hand pompously for silence, and then considered Mr. O'Donnell attentively.

"This good lady tells me you wish to speak with me, sir," said O'Donnell, after giving the new-comer quite sufficient time to inspect his countenance; "pray what may be your business with me?"

"It is of a private nature, Master O'Donnell," replied Mr. Dry, "and may perhaps be better explained at your own house than here, if you will tell me where that is."

O'Donnell smiled and shook his head. "I am not fond of private business at my own house, sir," he answered drily. "These are suspicious times; people will be for calling me a malignant or something of that kind. I am a plain man, sir; an honest, open merchant, and not fond of secrets. If you have anything to say, I can hear it here."

"Well, then, come into this neighbouring room, my good friend," replied Dry; "to that you can have no objection; and as to being charged with malignancy, methinks the conversation of Ezekiel Dry of Longsoaken would never bring such an accusation upon any man's head."

"I beg your pardon, sir; I did not know you," replied O'Donnell, following towards the little room where Mr. Dry had dined after his first arrival. "I have heard of you from the people of Bishop's Merton, whom I occasionally supply with dry beef and neats' tongues from Hamburgh."

"Pray be seated, Master O'Donnell," said Mr. Dry closing the door carefully after they had entered; and then, taking a chair opposite to his companion, he went on to speak as follows, interrupting his discourse with sundry hems and haws, which gave him time both to think of what he was next to say, and to examine the countenance of O'Donnell as he proceeded.

"You must know, Mr. O'Donnell," he said, "that, after the death of a certain old man--a clear and undoubted malignant--named Sergeant Neil--hum!--with whom I think you have had a good deal to do--ha!"

"Very little, sir," replied O'Donnell, as he paused: "I had to pay him some money every year sent to me by my correspondents beyond sea. I should think the man was somewhat of a malignant from some of his letters on the receipt."

"Verily was he, and a most ferocious one too," replied Mr. Dry; "but after the death of this person, I, with the consent and appointment of the authorities--hum!--took upon me the care and protection of the girl supposed to be his grand-daughter--hum!--his grand-daughter, as she was called--I say, Master O'Donnell--ha!"

"Very kind of you indeed, sir," answered O'Donnell--"especially as old Neil could not die rich."

"As poor as a rat," replied Mr. Dry, emphatically. "Pray what was it you paid him per annum, Master O'Donnell?"

"About fifty pounds a-year, as far as I recollect," said O'Donnell; "but I cannot tell till I look in my books."

"That was but a small sum," rejoined Dry, "for taking care of this girl, when her family are so wealthy and the estates so great--ha!"

"Are they, sir?" asked O'Donnell in an indifferent tone, "Pray, whereabouts do they lie?"

"Come, come, Master O'Donnell," said Mr. Dry, with a significant nod; "you know more than you pretend to know--hum! We have found letters and papers--hum!--which show that you have full information--ha!--and it is necessary that you should speak openly with me--hum! Do you understand me?--ha!"

"Oh! I understand quite well, sir," replied O'Donnell, not in the least discomposed: "my letters were all upon business. I sent the money--I announced the sending--I asked for my receipts; and, whenever there was a word or two sent over for us to forward, such as, 'All is well,' 'Things going on better,' or anything of that sort, I wrote them down just as I received them, without troubling my head about what they referred to."

Mr. Dry was somewhat puzzled how to proceed--whether to take the high and domineering tone that he had often found very successful at Bishop's Merton, or to cajole and bribe, as he had had occasion to do at other times; but, after a little reflection, he determined that the latter would be the best course at first, as he could always have recourse to the former, which, if employed too soon and without due caution, might lead to more publicity than was at all desirable.

"Now listen to me, Master O'Donnell," he said at length: "you are a wise man and prudent, not to confide your secrets to strangers, but it is of vast importance that the true rank, station, fortune, family, and connections of this young woman should be clearly ascertained; and though, perhaps, you may not like to say at once, 'I know this,' or 'I know that,' yet I ask you, can you not secretly and quietly, get me information upon all these matters, if I make it worth your while to take the trouble--well worth your while--very well worth your while?"

"That is another matter," answered O'Donnell; "quite another matter, sir; but the question is, what would make it worth my while? I'm a merchant, sir; and we must make it a matter of trade."

Mr. Dry pondered; but, before he could answer, Mr. O'Donnell added, "Come, Master Dry; let me hear distinctly what it is you want to know, and then I can better judge how much it is worth."

"That I will tell you immediately," rejoined Mr. Dry, feeling in his pocket; and at length drawing forth the bundle of papers which Captain Barecolt had examined the night before, he began to read. "'Habakkuk ii. 5. Yea, also, because he transgresseth by wine'--no, that is not it; and, besides, it was not wine but strong waters. Ah! here it is;" and he proceeded to address to his companion the series of questions which the worthy captain above-named had warned Mr. O'Donnell would be propounded to him.

"A goodly list!" said the Irishman, in a tone that Mr. Dry did not think very promising; but he went on immediately to add: "Well, I think all this information I could obtain if it were made worth my while, and a great deal more too; but you see, Mr. Dry, this is purely a mercantile transaction: you come to me for information as for goods."

"Certainly, certainly," replied he of Longsoaken; "It is all a matter of trade."

"Well, then," continued O'Donnell, "I must know to what market you intend to take the goods."

"I do not understand," said Mr. Dry.

"I'll I'll explain it to you in a moment," replied the other; "I mean, what is your object? If it should be shown that the girl is different from what she seems--if fair and probable prospects of money and such good things should spring up--what do you intend to do with her?"

"That is a question I have not yet considered with due deliberation and counsel," replied Mr. Dry.

"But it is one well worth consideration," answered his companion. "In a word, Master Dry, do you intend to put the girl and her property under the protection, as it is called, of the law, or to give her another protector--your son, or yourself perhaps?"

"What if I say to put her under the protection of the law?"

"Then I say you're a great goose for your pains," replied O'Donnell, rising; "and I'm afraid we can't deal. The law is a bad paymaster, and does not make it worth men's while to do it service, or take trouble for it, and this would cost me a great deal of pains and work. Now, if you had made up your mind to marry her quietly and secretly to your son, or any near relation, it would be a different affair, and you would not mind giving a good per-centage."

"I have no son--I have no relations," replied Dry, somewhat pettishly; "but I shall not mind giving a good per-centage notwithstanding."

"Then of course you intend to marry her yourself," said O'Donnell. "Well, that being the case, I will go home and consider between this and this hour to-morrow what I will take. I must make my calculations, for I am a man of my word, and like to know exactly what a thing is worth before I put a price upon it; but by this time to-morrow I will tell you; so good-morning, Mr. Dry: it is getting late."

"But where shall I find you? where shall I find you?" asked Mr. Dry, as the other moved towards the door.

"Oh, Mrs. White will send a boy with you," replied O'Donnell; "she knows where it is now: good afternoon;" and issuing forth, he spoke a word or two to the landlady, and then quitted the house, murmuring, "The old snake! I know them, those canting vipers--I know them!"

[CHAPTER XXIV.]

It was ten o'clock at night; the town was dark and silent; the streets empty, and the windows generally closed, when Diggory Falgate advanced with a light gay step through various narrow ways towards the block-house where the Earl of Beverley was confined. He was followed at the distance of about a hundred yards by Ancient Hazard of the train-bands, and a short distance behind him came Captain Barecolt, with the silent step but wide stride of one well accustomed to dangerous enterprises.

The foremost of the party, we have said, advanced lightly and gaily, with that sort of braggadocio air which characterized the Cavaliers in almost all their undertakings, and which, or rather the foolish self-confidence of which it was the mere outward expression, ruined so many of their best concerted plans. Ancient Hazard, however, as he walked along, displayed a very different aspect. He was somewhat afraid of the business in hand; and, though resolved to carry it through, his head turned almost involuntarily to the right or left at every step, thinking that some one must be watching him, though the only suspicions that existed anywhere regarding his conduct were those in his own heart. Barecolt, on the contrary, though as likely as any man, from natural disposition, to make as much noise about whatever he did as was necessary, was too much habituated to enterprises of this kind to be particularly excited on the occasion, and his vanity took the direction of affecting to look upon it as a matter of course, so commonplace and easy that it allowed him to think of anything else; and he therefore followed with his eyes bent upon the ground, noticing, apparently, nothing that passed around him.

The first, and indeed only, obstruction that presented itself to their progress towards the block-house was offered by the watch, who, encountering good Diggory Falgate, carrying, it must be remarked, a small bundle under his arm, and not particularly approving of the jaunty air with which he gave them good-night, thought fit to stop him, and, in Shakspere's words, "prate of his whereabout."

Falgate was always ready to cry clubs, and strongly disposed to resist the watch when it could be done with the slightest probability of success; so that a very pretty quarrel was commencing, which might soon have conveyed him to prison, or the cage, had not Hazard come to his support, and informed the worthy guardians of the night that the captive in their hands was his poor neighbour Falgate the painter, who was not an ill-disposed man, though somewhat inclined to moisten his clay with more than a sufficient quantity of strong beer; and he moreover hinted that such might be the case on that very night.

This assurance proved so far satisfactory that the watch thought fit to let him go with a suitable admonition, and Hazard, acting his part better when he grew warm in the matter, bade Diggory, in a rough tone, go on about his business and not make broils in the streets, or he would get himself into mischief.

This said, the whole party proceeded on their way, resuming as soon as possible the same order of march as before, Captain Barecolt, with his grave and serious demeanour, passing the watch without question.

About five minutes after, Diggory emerged into the open space by the river side, and advancing straight towards the block-house, entered into conversation with the guard. What was said at first was in a low tone, but presently the sound of the voices grew louder and louder; angry words reached the corner of the street behind which Ancient Hazard had concealed himself; and, running across, he came up just in time to prevent the sentinel from knocking down the painter with the butt-end of his piece.

The plan agreed upon was now fully carried out: the ancient of the train-bands, while threatening Falgate sharply with the stocks and the prison, was still more severe upon the sentinel, and commanded him immediately to march back to the guard-house and send down the next man upon the roll. He would keep guard while the other was gone, he said, and the man, giving up his musket, walked away proceeding about fifty yards towards the opposite buildings before he recollected the orders of the governor, to keep all persons at a distance from the spot where he was in conference with the prisoner. He accordingly paused, and Hazard, who had been watching him closely, walked up, asking why he stopped when he had orders to go straight to the guard-house. The man excused himself, and transmitted the commands he had received from the governor, upon which his ancient desired him to go on, returning slowly towards the block-house.

"By this time, however, Barecolt had run across in the darkness from the mouth of the opposite street, and, with Falgate behind him, was groping over the door for the key which he had seen in the lock on the preceding morning. He found the keyhole, however, untenanted, and at that moment the exclamation burst from his lips which had so much alarmed Sir John Hotham.

"They have taken the key out," he cried; "curse me if I don't force the lock off with my dagger!" and he was proceeding to act accordingly, when, to his surprise, the door was opened, the light broke forth from within, and Lord Beverley suddenly clapped his hand upon his mouth, whispering, "Not a word of recognition!" Then, in a louder tone, he demanded, "Whom and what do you seek here, sir!"

Barecolt for a single instant was puzzled as to whether he should speak French or English; but Lord Beverley had used nothing but the latter tongue, and he replied in the same, while with open eyes he seemed to demand further explanation, "I was seeking some one whom it seems I am not likely to find."

"You may look in, sir; you will see no one here," answered the earl; and Barecolt gave a hurried look around, saw the curtain of the bed on the opposite side drawn forward, and with a wink of the eye gave the royal officer to understand that he began to comprehend.

"That is enough," continued the earl, assuming somewhat suddenly a foreign accent; "you are now satisfied; go away."

Barecolt instantly withdrew a step; but the earl followed him, and added, in a whisper, "You seem at liberty--I shall be so soon--out of the town as fast as you can, and either wait for me on the road to York, as near as is safe, or tell the king all that has happened, and that I will rejoin him speedily, I trust, with good news."

Thus saying, he drew back, shut the door, and locked it, as before, in the inside.

Captain Barecolt laid his finger on the side of his nose. "Here is something going on here," he said to himself. "Well, I will obey orders: it is not my fault if his lordship will not get out of the mousetrap. Now, Master Falgate, now, Master Hazard, let us be off as fast as we can to the 'Swan.'"

"I must stay here till the guard comes," answered Hazard, in a low tone. "Why, what is all this? The sentry said something about the governor. Will not the prisoner come out?"

"No," replied Barecolt; "he would rather stay in: nevertheless, as he is a wise man, Master Hazard, doubtless he has his reasons. Well, follow us to the 'Swan' as quickly as you can, and we will talk more."

"I will--I will," answered Hazard; "away with you, quick! if any one were to come and find you here with me, I were ruined."

Barecolt and Falgate hurried on, and in about five minutes reached the "Swan," the door of which was partly shut; but the moment they approached, the servant-girl, Nancy, put forth her head, saying, "Go up to your room, sir, quick; the old man is below--Dame White told me to say so."

"Thanks, Nancy!" replied Barecolt; and, contriving to conceal his face with his cloak, he crossed the passage, and, followed by Falgate, walked up the stairs. In the room of the worthy captain they found a light burning, and Falgate, laying down his bundle upon the table, asked, "Well, sir, what is the matter? Where does the pulley hitch? When men have the door open, why won't they walk out?"

"Good faith! I cannot tell, any more than I can what is in that bundle," observed Barecolt.

"That you shall soon be able to tell," replied Falgate. "It is all my worldly goods and chattels, sir. I am going with you to join the king."

"A good resolution," answered Barecolt, abruptly.--"Pray, Master Falgate, have you money to buy a horse? A man is nothing without a horse, you know."

"Ay, that I have," replied the painter; "but where to get one is the question."

"Let not that embarrass you," rejoined Barecolt, with a well-satisfied and patronizing air. "A man of action and experience, like myself, is never unprovided. I will find you one between this and Newlands."

Falgate admired with such evident admiration that Barecolt treated him to a story of his adventures once in the Carpathian Mountains, where the safety of himself and his whole company was secured by his having taken the precaution to put a thimble in his pocket. Before this was concluded they were joined by Hazard, whose watch had passed undisturbed till he was relieved by another of the train-bands; and the three remained near an hour together, and partook of some of the landlady's good wine. Hazard then issued forth, and consultations manifold took place between Mrs. White and Barecolt, after which the good lady paid a furtive visit to poor Arrah Neil; for by this time Master Dry, of Longsoaken, had retired to rest. There were then further conferences in the room of Barecolt, and at length the inn sank into repose.

About half-an-hour before daybreak, however, four persons silently assembled in the hall: few words were spoken; but good Mrs. White, with a tear in her eye at the thoughts of other days, kissed the cheek of the fair girl, who leaned trembling on the arm of Barecolt. The door was quietly unbolted and opened; three of the party went out, and the fourth, retiring, closed it after them. The others walked slowly on towards the gate of the town, and just as they approached, the faint dawn of day began to give light to the streets.

"Give the young lady your arm, Master Painter," said Barecolt, "and answer to whatever I say to you, that you will set about it whenever you have seen the young woman to Newlands."

Falgate, who was now in his working dress, nodded his head, and gave his arm for Arrah's support, while Barecolt advanced to the gate, and, giving the word with which he had been furnished, ordered the wicket to be opened, in an authoritative tone. It had not the full success he could have wished, however; for the man would do nothing further than call his officer, so that some five minutes were lost. At length, however, the officer appeared, and as he had seen our worthy captain on the day before, and examined his pass, no further difficulties were made in his case. In regard to Falgate, however, the matter was different, and he was asked, in a surly and somewhat suspicious tone, whither he was going so early in the morning.

"He be coming vid me to see one ting dere be to do at de nort end of de curtain," said Barecolt; "but all you English have too much to do vid de girl, and he say he cannot do it till he be come back from Newlands; but you remember, sair," he added, turning to Falgate, "if I find you not about it by seven of de clock, I turn you off."

"I will set about it, sir, as soon as I have seen the young woman to Newlands," replied Falgate, bobbing his head; and the whole party passed out of the gates, which were closed behind them.

[CHAPTER XXV.]

"Now go on, and wait for me at the first little public-house you come to," whispered Captain Barecolt, as soon as he and his companions had passed the gates of Hull. "I will not be a minute;" and, turning away underneath the wall which surrounded the city, he appeared with a shrewd eye to be examining the fortifications. Lucky it was for him that he did so; for, the moment after, the officer of the guard, having been roused somewhat early from his slumber, and thinking it unnecessary to go to bed again, sauntered forth to enjoy the breeze of the morning, and to observe what the strange captain was about. No sooner did our worthy friend, giving a backward glance towards the gates, perceive that he was watched, than, without a moment's deliberation, he beckoned the officer up to him, and addressed him when he approached with a torrent of engineering terms, some in French, some in English, some in a language compounded of the two.

"Begar," he cried, after having vented a great deal of learning upon the incomprehensive ears of his auditor, "I not able to tell what de gouverneur vill have do here. Look, sair; look, my good friend: if I be not much mistake, dat hill dare, not above one half-mile off, command de bastion all along. Let me beseech you, have de bounty to take von leetle valk up to de top of de hill. Den vid one stick making a level--so; see if de line do not cover de top of de curtain--c'est à dire, if it do not dominé it. You understand?"

"Oh, yes; I understand quite well," replied the officer of the train-bands; "but I'll tell you what, captain: you must go yourself, for I cannot leave the guard."

"Sapristi! dat be true," said Barecolt, turning away and walking towards the slight elevation he had pointed out. The officer of the guard watched him for a moment, as with his usual dignified stride he walked on towards the hill, and then turning back again to the gates, entered, causing them once more to be closed behind him.

Barecolt paused when he reached the top of the rise, and turning round, examined the town of Hull, but more especially the gate from which he had issued forth, making sundry gesticulations as if he were endeavouring to ascertain the relative height of the hill and the fortifications, suspecting that some one might be observing him still. In doing so, however, he scanned every nook and corner with a curious eye, and having satisfied himself that he was not watched, he turned sharply to the left, regained the road along which Falgate and Arrah Neil had taken their way; and, covered by a small clump of trees which grew near at that time, he hurried on with long steps towards the little public-house which Hugh O'Donnell had mentioned.

The pace at which he went was so rapid that, notwithstanding the interruption he had met with, he came in sight of the little solitary house just at the moment that Arrah Neil and her companion reached it. There was a tall man standing at the door; and the next instant, before Captain Barecolt came up, three horses were led out by a man and a boy, and the worthy captain could see his Irish acquaintance, Mr. O'Donnell, lift the fair girl upon one of the beasts, and then, approaching his head close to her ear, appear to whisper to her eagerly for several minutes.

Whatever was the nature of his communication, it was just over when Captain Barecolt laid his hand upon the Irishman's shoulder; and Mr. O'Donnell only added the words, "Remember, to none but himself, or her."

He then turned to Captain Barecolt, exclaiming, "Quick, quick! upon your horse's back, and away!"

"Oh, there's no such haste, Master O'Donnell!" replied Barecolt, who loved not to receive the word of command from a merchant. "Nothing but cowardice is ever in a hurry; so what is to pay for the horses, my friend?"

"Seventeen pounds for that," replied O'Donnell, pointing to one, "and two-and-twenty pounds for the other, which you had better mount yourself, lest your long legs touch the ground. They are cheap."

"Cheap or dear, they must be paid for," replied Barecolt; "and they don't seem bad beasts either. Come, Master Falgate, bring forth the crowns; you see, having short legs saves you five pounds;" and while the worthy painter unfolded his bundle, in which, besides his own apparel, were now contained such parts of Barecolt's goods and chattels as he thought it absolutely necessary to take with him, the captain drew forth a leathern purse and disbursed the sum required for his own beast, which operation, to say the truth, left his pocket but scantily garnished.

"Now, mount, mount, Master Falgate!" continued Barecolt. "T'other side of your horse, man, and t'other foot in the stirrup, or we shall have you with your face to the tail. Now, Mistress Arrah, are you ready?"

But when he turned to look at her, Arrah Neil had fallen into one of her deep fits of abstraction, and he had to repeat the question before she roused herself.

"Yes, yes," she answered with a start, "I am ready;" and then turning to O'Donnell, added, "I remember it all now. That name, like the sudden drawing of a curtain, has let in the light upon memory, and I see the past."

"God speed you, young lady!" replied O'Donnell; "but now hasten upon your way, and I will take mine; for it will not be long ere your flight is discovered, and before that I hope I shall be in my house, and you many miles hence."

Thus saying he waved his hand, and Barecolt, striking his horse with his heel, led the way along the road at a quick pace. Arrah Neil followed, and was at his side in a moment; but good Diggory Falgate, who seemed less accustomed to equestrian exercise than either of his companions, was not a little inconvenienced by the trotting of his horse. Merciless Captain Barecolt, however, though, to tell the truth, he saw the difficulty with which their companion followed them at a still increasing distance, kept up the same rapid rate of progression for some six or seven miles, speaking now and then a word to his fair companion, but showing, upon the whole, wonderful abstinence from his usual frailty. At length they reached the top of a long sloping hill which commanded a view over a wide extent of country behind them, and along at least one-half of the road they had followed from Hull; and turning his horse for a moment or two, Captain Barecolt paused and examined the track beneath his eyes, to see if he could discover any signs of pursuit. All was clear, however. The sun, now risen a degree or two above the horizon, but still red and large from the horizontal mist through which it shone, cast long shadows from tree, and house, and village spire, over the ground in some places, and in others, bright gleams of rosy light; but almost all the world seemed still slumbering, for no moving object was to be seen on the road, and nothing even in the fields around but where team of horses driven slowly by a whistling ploughman, at about a hundred yards upon the left of the party on the hill, wended slowly onward to commence their labours for the day.

"You may go a little slower now, young lady," said Barecolt, after he had concluded his examination; "we have a good start of them, and I do not think they would venture to send out far in pursuit."

"Thank God!" answered Arrah Neil, not in the common tone of satisfaction with which those words are usually pronounced, but with the voice of heartfelt gratitude to Him from whom all deliverance comes. "But do you think we are really safe?" continued Arrah, after a moment's thought. "Perhaps it would be better to go on quickly for a time; but that good man who came with us seems hardly able to make his horse keep up with us."

"Then we will make him lead as soon as he comes up," answered Barecolt; "we can follow at his pace, for I think we are secure enough just now. The truth is, he is evidently unaccustomed to a horse's back, and sits his beast like a London tapster in a city pageant. 'Tis a lamentable thing, Mistress Arrah, that so few people in this country ever learn to ride. Now, before I was twelve years old, there was not a pas of the manége that I could not make the wildest horse perform; and serviceable indeed have I found it in my day; for I remember well when the small town of Alais was taken, which I had aided to defend, with twenty other gentlemen of different nations, we determined that we would have nothing to do with the capitulation; and on the morning when the king's troops were just about to march into the town, we issued forth to cut our way out, or to find it through them in some manner. We had not gone above three hundred yards from the gate when we found a line of pikemen drawn up across the road and in a meadow. There were no other troops on that side of the town, for the chief attack was at another point; but as soon as they saw us, down went their pikes, when, crying 'Now, gentlemen, follow me!' I dashed up to them as if to charge. I was mounted on a swift and powerful horse--I called him Drake, in memory of the great Sir Francis; but, just as I was at the point of their pikes, I lifted him on his haunches, struck my spurs into his flanks, and with one spring over the line we went."

"And what became of the rest?" asked Arrah Neil.

"You shall hear," replied Barecolt. "The horse as he came over lashed out behind, and striking one of the pikemen on the head, dashed in his steel cap and his skull together, so that down he went, and my friends charging on, cut a way for a part of themselves before the confusion was over. Five got through and joined me; but the rest had to eat cold steel."

"They were killed?" asked Arrah Neil. "Alas! war is a sad thing."

"Very true," replied Barecolt; "but one comes to think of it as nothing. It is the occupation of brave men and gentlemen; and when one makes up one's mind every day to lose one's life if need be, he does not think much of seeing others go a few hours before us. If I could call up again all the men I have seen killed, since I first smelt powder when I was about fifteen, I should have a pretty strong army of ghosts to fight the Roundheads with.----Well, Master Falgate," he continued, as the painter came up, "you seem red in the face and out of breath."

"Ugh! there never was such a beast!" exclaimed Falgate. "It is like riding a rhinoceros. He has as many hard knobs in him as a cow, and his pace is like a galloping earthquake. Oons, captain! you go so fast, too!"

"Well, my good friend, tell me," said Barecolt, "did you ever take a journey on a horse before?"

"No," replied Falgate boldly, "else I do not think I should ever have got on one again. But, in pity, good Captain Barecolt, don't go at such a rate, or faith you must leave me behind, which would not be like a good camarado."

"No, no; we won't leave you behind, Falgate," replied Barecolt, "and for that reason we will make you go first. So shall we be ready to pick you up if you fall off; and you can go at your own pace, though it must be the quickest you can manage."

"Oh, butter and eggs for ever!" cried Falgate, putting himself in the van, and going on at a jog-trot: "if an old market-woman can keep her seat and not break her eggs, I do not see why one of the lords of the creation should tumble off and crack his bones."

"Nor I either," replied Barecolt; "and if he do, he deserves to break his head. But get on a little faster, Master Falgate, or we shall have the fat citizens of Hull at our heels."

"Oh, no fear! no fear!" rejoined Falgate; "they are all miraculous horsemen, and ride as well as I do; so, unless the governor pursue you in person, and bring all the horses out of his own stable, you may ride to York and back before any of them will stir. Would that the man who sold me this horse were in as sore a skin as he who bought it," he continued, after a short pause; "I am sure he must have had an ill-will at my poor bones--plague light upon him!"

"Ah, no!" cried Arrah Neil. "He is a good and a kind man."

"He is a very close one," replied Barecolt; "for I know, young lady, I tried my best yesterday to worm out of him all the secrets that we wanted to know; but he held his mouth as tight shut as the shell of an oyster."

"He had a reason, doubtless," answered Arrah Neil, falling into thought again.

"Well, if he have told you all about it," rejoined Barecolt, assuming an indifferent air, "it does not matter. I have no curiosity. Only when we wish to send despatches securely, we give a copy to two separate messengers, and if, as I understood him, you are to tell Lord Walton or the young lady, it might have been better to inform me too, as then I could have carried them the intelligence in case of our being separated and of my seeing them first."

"Perhaps it might have been better," said Arrah Neil; "but all promises are sacred things, and, methinks, more especially, promises to the dead."

"Ay, that they are," answered Barecolt, who saw that he was not likely to learn from his fair companion what had been the substance of her conversation with O'Donnell. "Ay, that they are. I remember a very curious and entertaining story about that, which happened at the siege of a certain town, when I was serving in the north. I will tell it to you as we go; it will serve to while away the time."