"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.