For my loving friend Major-General Harrison, these.
SIR,—As touching the question of the marriage whereof we have more than once held discourse, and whereof you as at this present write to me, my mind being as yours in the matter, I see not wherefor we should not come to a speedy settlement. Seeing that I am now a very old man, I do only desire, if it be God's will, to see my beloved child given happily in marriage, before I say my Nunc Dimittis. Your young kinsman, Richard Harrison, is but now departed from me, and as I judge, he doth in all respects uphold the report you have made me of him. He seemeth a godly and a gallant young gentleman, and a modest, and if it please God to dispose his heart and that of my granddaughter to an understanding, I doubt not but that you and I shall agree concerning the money to be settled. My desire being, to find for this child, who is my chief earthly joy and blessing, not so much a wealthy husband as an entrance into a godly family and one whereto I am so much bound in love as with yours. I desire not to defraud your good wife of any fortune you have gathered, neither any children whom it may yet please the Lord to bless you with, but as my granddaughter will have all that I possess, I do desire that it should be settled upon her and her children. It's no bad division that the man should bear the sword and the woman the purse, so she be one in whom her husband's heart may safely trust. When Captain Harrison is on his return to Scotland, if you will make him your messenger concerning your resolution as to settlements, he can then have speech of my granddaughter and shall understand her mind in the matter, for I do purpose she shall only be joined in marriage there where she is likewise joined in godly affection. I speak not of my son, as in the disposal and ordering of all such matters he doth dutifully submit himself unto me, and I doubt not he will be of my mind in this matter."
Audrey's face grew whiter and whiter as she spelt out the painfully written words, and, as she ended, she staggered back against the wall and covered her face with her hands. Any thought of marriage, save as a vague sort of fairy tale, was so remote from her mind, that this formal negotiating of her destiny struck her like a blow, and she felt absolutely sick with the shock. To her proud and virginal mind it mattered nothing that this was an old story, forgotten for two years past. It was nothing to her that marriages at that time were almost invariably a matter of family arrangement. She had been brought up with so much more personal liberty and independence than most girls of her day, that the idea that she had been talked over, bargained for, was unendurable! And gradually, as the whole plan came home to her, a burning flush crept over her face. She felt outraged, insulted. Wild indignation with every one filled her heart. Her grandfather, General Harrison, Richard, every one was detestable. No one was to be trusted! They had dared to talk of her, to dispose of her, as if she were a mere chattel! Better poverty, neglect, anything, than such an insult. But then there rushed back on her with a sudden revulsion of feeling, all that might have been, all she had once possessed, and she dashed the letter on the ground and burst into a passion of tears. Alone, friendless, she realized her position—she was brought face to face with all she had lost. While she looked on her grandfather as a feeble old man depending on her young strength, he had foreseen how helpless she would be one day, he had known what a woman needed, he had been planning her future for her. A future of wealth and dignity, a gallant and handsome young husband, loving kins-folk, all as gay as a fairy tale, and all vanished like a fairy dream!
Her tears were partly remorseful—that she could have been angered at any thought of his, shamed her! But she could not but give some sorrow to all that was gone—her grandfather dead and forgotten, her father in exile, she herself a prisoner, General Harrison—she shuddered to remember his fate, Richard Harrison—"Alas, I had not thought Captain Harrison was one of those summer friends who forsook us when our wealth was lost! 'Tis pity I should have discovered what he hath made such good speed to forget!" She stood a while sunk in thought, then she shook herself. "Fie, what a peevish maid I grow! This was but talk between grandfather and the poor general; and then grandfather died and the general ran mad on the Fifth Monarchy, and was put in prison, and, most like, Captain Harrison never heard a word of the matter! 'Tis midsummer madness to dwell on it now. Fie! Audrey Perrient, a modest maiden should not waste thoughts on such matters! But 'tis lucky I knew not of this when I found him fainting in the woods, or I protest I should have been too shamefaced a fool to have succoured him?"
CHAPTER X.
ESCAPE.
"Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the forelock,
And if she 'scapes my grasp, the fault is mine."
SCOTT, Old Play.
"Fie! Fie! Have I nothing more pressing to attend to than to weep over these old tales?" cried Audrey, as she looked round the crowded shelves of the closet. "It were more to the point to decide what I am to do with all these treasures. Are they best here, or can I carry the papers at least with me? So much hangs on what awaits me to-morrow. If they let me go free I can tell Mistress Joyce of my discovery, and she will let me have a cart to carry off my plunder! But if they clap me into jail? Good faith, I'll give them some trouble first! Who knows but I might make shift to escape on the road! For that matter, why do I sit mewed up here without making an offer to escape? This dear house is no prison that I should find no way out of it! How did distressed damsels do in the tale books? Methinks the favourite fashion was to make ropes out of the bed sheets. But I should be loath to tear up Mistress Joyce's best linen, and I am not well assured that I could climb down a rope even could I make it. That plan is naught! But I warrant some of these keys will undo the chamber door, and then it is but a small matter to slip downstairs and out of the hall door. But, good lack! if the bolts are as stiff as they used to be, the mighty creaking of them would awake the seven sleepers, and I should look a pretty fool, caught like a schoolboy breaking bounds! Yet forth I must, and will go! I may at least see if the chamber door can be fitted with a key. I suppose there are no more secret doors in this room to match this closet? After so many wonders, I am fit to believe Tom Tit Tot will unlock another panel and let me out! Stay. If this were indeed a priest's hole, surely they would have some fashion of escape if they were close pressed? I am sure grandfather has told me these chambers often led into a very maze of secret ways. Oh, you fool," she almost screamed, "to stand in the very draught of a sliding door and not see the chink! Down on your knees and thank the Lord who hath delivered you from prison as truly as He did Peter!"
It was true. In the back of the closet was a sliding panel that was actually partly open, only in the hurry and excitement of so many discoveries she had not paused to look for the origin of the draught that made her candle flicker. She pushed the panel cautiously, fearing that some dismal creak might awaken the house, but the woodwork was carefully fitted and the door slid back without a sound. Before her a corkscrew staircase wound down in the thickness of the wall. Carefully she stepped through the door, but the stair was of solid stone, and her light foot made no sound on it as she ran down. The bottom of the stair was guarded by a narrow door, locked and barred.
"Now, which of all those keys will help me here?" she wondered as she sped up again to fetch the great bunches that lay on the closet shelf.