"Lord, Sirs!" he took me up; "what does it matter? I had yet left to me a small estate in St. Teath parish, which they have twice pillaged. My son they slew on outpost duty, before the first Braddock fight." He turned to me again. "What says the Mohun motto, Sir? Generis revocamus honores, is it not? Well, there is no chance of that for the Carminowes. Let the Mohuns paint up their ancestral hand clutching the Pope's golden flower: I have held a fairer in mine, and seen it wither. I have lived through the bitterness of death; I have seen the end of things. The last Carminowe goes down the blind way of fate—goes out in obloquy to-morrow, hanged for a spy by mistake. I have finished my quarrel with the gods: they are strong, and I make no complaint that they choose to wind up with a jest. I do assure you, Sirs, that I neither fear death nor disdain any way of it."
But here Jack Trecarrel, that had been staring gloomily at the wall opposite, suddenly rubbed his eyes and sat up with a laugh.
"By the Lord, Master Carminowe! and if that be how you take it, you may yet turn the jest against the gods."
We stared at him all, trying to read his meaning.
"Nay," he went on, "I have a slow wit, and you must give me time. The notion in my head may be worth much or little. Only you must tell me, Master Carminowe, on what ground you promised us that our liberty was nigh at hand: for something will depend on that."
"'Tis that fortunate knowledge unfortunately brings me here," answered the old man with a grave smile. "You know the narrow road that passes for a space along the left bank above the bridge, and so strikes away to the north-east over the downs? It has deep hedges, you will remember, and at the bend stands a mean cottage. For days we have heard talk that the enemy would try to break away by this road; and a week ago Goring moved down a body of horse to the fields hard by and posted a strong picket in and about the cottage, to counter this design. Well, then, I, to-night, taking my ramble after sunset (as my custom is, and known to our sentries), came down to this cottage, supposing myself to be well within our lines. To my concern no one challenged me, and, creeping a little closer, I found the place empty. But while I stood, puzzling this out, a man called softly from a little way down the lane, where between the hedges all was dark to my eyesight, whom I approached without fear, supposing him to be one of our sergeants in command of a picquet, and that maybe he had a message for me to take back to Goring. 'Give the password, friend, and tell us, What time did he say?' this man demanded of me. I, taken aback by these words, stood still: and, with that, I saw beyond the hedge the faint light of the stars shining on many scores of morions and breastplates. 'Twas a whole troop of horse drawn up and standing silent in the field below. At once I knew that these must be rebels; that the pass had been sold by some traitor; and that I had tumbled by mistake into the part of his messenger. Heaven knows if, using my wit and naming an hour boldly, I might yet have escaped and carried back warning to camp. I think not: for they would have pressed me for the password. As it was, being dumbfoundered, I broke away and tried to run: but the fellow was after me in a trice, and my old legs carried me but a dozen yards before he had me down and flung on my back. You can guess, Sirs, what remains to tell. They marched me down here; and to-morrow—supposing me to know what would implicate, no doubt, several men of standing in both armies—they will close my mouth for ever. For 'tis certain the King's interests have been betrayed, and the rogues will break through to-night, no one hindering. They have a river-fog, too, to help them. Now, whether or not the infantry will make a dash for it after the horse I cannot tell you: but to-morrow his Majesty will march down into Lestithiel and you will be free."
"Then a few hours would suffice to save you, Master Carminowe?" said Trecarrel, still pondering.
The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "They will get my business done early," said he. "I pray you, feel no more concern about it." He turned to me and asked if I had amused myself with sketching the monuments of this church as well as of Boconnoc. The windows being dark against the lantern-light, we could see no more than the outlines of their blazonries: but he seemed to know them by heart. I told him how that among them I had found his own coat twice depicted—azure, a bend or, but this time without the three-pointed label of difference.
He nodded. "And that is right," said he; "we have no business with the label." He went on to tell that in Edward the Third's time, in the English camp before Paris, Carminowe of Cornwall had challenged Sir Richard Scrope with wrongfully bearing his arms; and that six knights appointed to decide the controversy had found Carminowe to be descended of a lineage armed azure, a bend or, since the time of King Arthur. This led us into converse on the Scrope and Grosvenor dispute. "'Tis curious," said he after a while, "that we may be the last men in England to sit awake talking over these old tales. For when the rebels have dispossessed his Majesty—as they surely will—and have destroyed the fountain of honour, who would light his pipe with such-like straws?"