“Nay, lady,” said the earl, “Tyldesley must first become coward, ere a shriek escape him, though tortured beyond endurance. He would express triumph even in death. But let us hasten. Fair lady, you may be safer under our protection than in the hall. Lean on Harry’s arm, it is the arm of a soldier—come;” and they hastened to the place whence the noise proceeded. The moon shone full on their faces, and gave them, to the gaze of each other, a strange mystery. A step was heard in the distance, and soon Sir Thomas Tyldesley stood before them, with his naked sword in his hand. He bade them follow. He halted at the distance of a hundred yards, and raising up an object which lay motionless, revealed the lifeless body of Seaton. He tossed it down; and there it lay, with ghastly features, all marked with blood, turned upon the spectators. A sword was beside the body: the knight grasped it, and said,—
“The traitor fell by his own weapon. Thrice through the heart I stabbed him with it, for I would not wound him with a sword which I received from our late master.”
“He richly deserved a thousand deaths,” ejaculated the governor.
“Richly indeed,” replied Tyldesley, “had all his villainy been comprehended in this night’s treachery. He lowered the drawbridge, and while we stood astonished and motionless with anger, attempted to retreat. I followed him. He muttered to himself, ‘Cromwell is safe, and now for the mutiny in the garrison.’ He reached the highest battlements. Rushing past him, I presented myself full on his path, and ordered him to stand on his defence, or die. He hesitated; entreated me for his life; wished to be thought a coward; and yet all the time was cautiously, and, as he thought, secretly, drawing his sword. He knelt, and then, imagining that I was bending over him, he made a furious thrust, which I foiled, and struck his weapon from his hand. Ha! it seems to pollute my hand as I now grasp it.” The knight approached the walls, and tossed it over. In its descent it glimmered in the moonshine, and the bloodstains were seen, until it fell into the river.
He returned, and taking up the body of Seaton, said, “let its master share the same fate,” and instantly hurled it over, and a heavy splash was heard.
“So much for a traitor,” said Derby, “but did not the young lady say that all the garrison were traitors also? What then is to be done? Let us leave the tower, for if they knew of the murder of their leader, all our lives would be sacrificed, and my troops could not advance to the assistance of Charles. What dost thou advise, Sir Governor?”
“I cannot leave Houghton Tower,” was the reply. “I am its owner, and must either live or die in it.”
“Perhaps,” interrupted his daughter, “the garrison, since Seaton is dead, and all other supporters are at a distance, may not openly rebel for some time.”
“Maiden,” said Derby, “thy counsel is good. Let them, moreover, be informed of Seaton’s just death, and should they revolt, it would be at the moment, and then Sir Richard might hang out a signal from the walls, and in a short time my troops would advance to the rescue. Meanwhile, Sir Thomas, it is necessary that we should instantly be at the head of our men, prepared for every emergency. Let us to horse!”
This proposal met the sanction of the warrior. Our young hero, however, turned pale; he was to be torn from the object of his fondest love, never, perhaps, to meet again. He committed his mistress to the care of her attendant, who now appeared.