“I should tell you, my good man,” said Edmund, “that I have nothing to repay you with for all the trouble and danger to which you may be exposing yourself on my behalf. Nothing but my horse, which would only be bringing suspicion on you.”
“As to that, your honour,” replied Harry, “I’d never think of waiting for pay in a matter of life and death. I am glad if I can help off a gentleman that has been on the King’s side.”
So the plan was arranged. Edmund was to be disguised in the fisherman’s clothes, spend the day at his hut, and at night, if the weather served, Fletcher would row him out to sea, assisted by the little boy, in hopes of falling in with a French vessel; or, if not, they must pull across to Havre or Dieppe. The doctor promised to bring Rose at ten o’clock to meet him on the beach and bid him farewell. As to the horse, Fletcher sent the little boy to turn it out on the neighbouring down, and hide the saddle.
All this arranged, Dr. Bathurst returned to his school; and Rose, dressed in Anne’s plainest clothes, rested on her bed as long as her anxiety would allow her, then came down and helped in her household work. It was well that Rose was thus employed, for in the afternoon they had a great fright. Two soldiers came knocking violently at the door, exhibiting an order to search for the escaped prisoner. Rose recognised two of the party who had been at Forest Lea; but happily they had not seen enough of her to know her in the coarse blue stuff petticoat that she now wore. One of them asked who she was, and Anne readily replied, “Oh, a friend who is helping me;” after which they paid her no further attention.
Her anxiety for Edmund was of course at its height during this search, and it was not till the evening that she could gain any intelligence. Edmund’s danger had indeed been great. Harry Fletcher saw the rebels coming in time to prepare. He advised his guest not to remain in the house, as if he wished to avoid observation, but to come out, as if afraid of nothing. His cavalier dress had been carefully destroyed or concealed; he wore the fisherman’s rough clothes, and had even sacrificed his long dark hair, covering his head with one of Harry’s red woollen caps. He was altogether so different in appearance from what he had been yesterday, that he ventured forward, and leant whistling against the side of the boat, while Harry parleyed with the soldiers. Perhaps they suspected Harry a little, for they insisted on searching his hut, and as they were coming out, one of them began to tell him of the penalties that fishermen would incur by favouring the escape of the Royalists. Harry did not lose countenance, but went on hammering at his boat as if he cared not at all, till observing that one of the soldiers was looking hard at Edmund, he called out, “I say, Ned, what’s the use of loitering there, listening to what’s no concern of yours? Fetch the oar out of yon shed. I never lit on such a lazy comrade in my life.”
This seemed to turn away all suspicion, the soldiers left them, and no further mischance occurred. At night, just as the young moon was setting, the boat was brought out, and Harry, with little Dick and a comrade whom he engaged could be trusted, prepared their oars. At the same time, Dr. Bathurst and Rose came silently to meet them along the shingly beach. Rose hardly knew her brother in his fisherman’s garb. The time was short, and their hearts were too full for many words, as that little party stood together in the light of the crescent moon, the sea sounding with a low constant ripple, spread out in the grey hazy blue distance, and here and there the crests of the nearer waves swelling up and catching the moonlight.
Edmund and his sister held their hands tightly clasped, loving each other, if possible, better than ever. He now and then repeated some loving greeting which she was to bear home; and she tried to restrain her tears, at the separation she was forced to rejoice in, a parting which gave no augury of meeting again, the renewal of an exile from which there was no present hope of return. Harry looked at Dr. Bathurst to intimate it was time to be gone. The clergyman came close to the brother and sister, and instead of speaking his own words, used these:—
“Turn our captivity, O Lord, as the rivers in the south.”
“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”
“He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed, shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him.”