My imagination, such as it was, completely got the better of what reasoning faculty I possessed as Copeland concluded, and, having accompanied him to Westminster with a brain on fire, I never slept that night. I persuaded myself, in the absence of all evidence, that I was the victim of a monstrous piece of injustice; I walked about my chamber like an enraged lion pacing its cage, and I grew feverish with impatience for the break of day. Early next morning, while the palace was still hushed in repose, I was on horseback, and on the way to my grandsire's homestead.
As I rode along I strove to collect my thoughts and to prepare myself for the anticipated interview with those whose faces I had of late so often and so earnestly longed to behold. But my efforts to recover calmness were in vain. Within twelve short hours my whole ideas had undergone a change. Copeland's Northern voice still rang in my ears; his tragic story occupied my mind; my imagination ever and anon conjured up the probability of its being a matter in which I had both part and lot, and rapidly converted probability into certainty; and all sentiments of tenderness for home and kindred gave way before my intense desire to penetrate the mystery which I fancied was now illumined by a ray of light.
"Ere sunset," I exclaimed to myself in a tone of exultation, "I shall learn all that concerns me, or know the reason why."
A long journey, as I must have felt, lay before me. But no consideration of the kind influenced me even so far as to make me spare the good steed I bestrode. On I spurred, as if the Furies had been behind, and Paradise before. But, fast as went my steed, faster still flew my thoughts, and faster than either rushed the warm blood through my veins. I scarce noted anything by the way; and the herdsman driving out his cattle, the waggoner with his team of oxen, the charcoal-burner with his cart, the chapman with his pack-horses, the pilgrim leaning on his staff, and carrying the palm branch to deposit on the altar of his church, made way for me, and stared in silent amaze as I passed, probably fancying me one of those spectre huntsmen of whom legends tell.
As I sped on my way, and entered the great forest of Windsor, a hare crossed my path. Of evil omen such a circumstance is generally regarded, and at another time I might have felt some slight alarm. Now, however, one idea possessed my whole heart and mind; I was in a mood to laugh at omens; and, spurring on and on with hot speed, rousing the deer and the wild cattle, I pursued my way, indifferent to the belling of deer and the bellowing of cattle. At length as the day was speeding on towards noon, I reined up my jaded and exhausted horse as I approached the home of my childhood.
But now, for the first time, my heart misgave me. No longer did the homestead seem to present to my eye the same cheerful aspect as of old—all was silent and melancholy. An instinctive feeling that something was wrong flashed through me, and filled me with sudden fear. I sprang from my steed and rushed to the door, shouting loudly, and, as I did so, Thomelin of Winchester appeared with a face which confirmed all my fears.
"Alas!" said he, shaking his head, "you have come too late."
I had already guessed all, and was at no loss to interpret his words. The Great Destroyer had visited the homestead, as he was ere long to visit almost every house in the kingdom, and demanded his prey, and both the grey-haired warrior and the melancholy widow had fallen victims to his rapacity.
"What mean you, Thomelin?" asked I wildly, for I scarce knew what I said. "Can it be that my grandsire and my mother are no more?"
"Both," replied Thomelin solemnly. "Both have gone to their long home. May God have mercy on their souls!"