Having pronounced these parting words, the officer walked out of the hut; and, returning to his horse, leaped lightly into the saddle, and rode off—followed by his attendant Withers.
He did not communicate to the latter aught of what had transpired between him and the woodman. The muttered words that escaped him, as he trotted off among the trees, were spoken in a slow, measured soliloquy.
“No doubt one of the very meetings of which his Majesty has spoken so opportunely in his despatch? Richard Scarthe shall make one at this midnight assembly—uninvited though he be. Ah! if I can only find a fair opportunity to play eavesdropper, I promise Master Holtspur a more substantial dwelling than he now inhabits! Ho! have no fear, kind King Carolus! Right willingly shall I play the spy! Ha! ha! ha!”
Elated by the high hope with which his new-gained knowledge had inspired him, he gave the spur to his grey, while Wapsey’s Wood gave back the echoes of his joyous laughter.
Volume Two—Chapter Nine.
It was Michaelmas night over merry England; but at that late hour when the rustic—weary with the revels incidental to the day—had retired to rest and dream. In other words, it was midnight.
Though at a season of the year when a clear sky might be expected, the night in question chanced to be an exception. The canopy of bright blue, usually smiling over the Chiltern Hills, was obscured by black cumulus clouds, that hung in motionless masses—completely shrouding the firmament. Not a ray of light, from either moon or stars, was shed upon the earth; and the narrow bridle-path, as well as the wider highway, could with difficulty be discerned under the hoof of the traveller’s horse.
Notwithstanding the almost complete opacity of the darkness, it was not continuous. Gleams of lightning at intervals flashed over the sward; or, in fitful coruscation, illumined the deep arcades of the forest—the beeches, for a moment, appearing burnished by the blaze. Though not a breath of air stirred among the trees, nor a drop of rain had as yet fallen upon their leaves, those three sure foretellers of the storm—clouds, lightning, and thunder—betokened its proximity. It was such a night as a traveller would have sought shelter at the nearest inn, and stayed under its roof, unless urged upon an errand of more than ordinary importance. Despite the darkness of the paths, and the lateness of the hour—despite the tempest surely threatening in the sky—some such errand had tempted forth at least two travellers on that very night.