To this menace Matthew made no reply, and Peveril presently heard him leave the apartment, after a few earnest words betwixt him and his mistress.
Impatient at this delay, and at the evil omen implied in these people’s conversation and deportment, Peveril, after some vain spurring of his horse, which positively refused to move a step farther, dismounted once more, and was about to pursue his journey on foot, notwithstanding the extreme disadvantage under which the high riding-boots of the period laid those who attempted to walk with such encumbrances, when he was stopped by a gentle call from the window.
Her counsellor was no sooner gone, than the good-nature and habitual veneration of the dame for the house of Peveril, and perhaps some fear for her counsellor’s bones, induced her to open the casement, and cry, but in a low and timid tone, “Hist! hist! Master Julian—be you gone?”
“Not yet, dame,” said Julian; “though it seems my stay is unwelcome.”
“Nay, but good young master, it is because men counsel so differently; for here was my poor old Roger Raine would have thought the chimney corner too cold for you; and here is Matt Chamberlain thinks the cold courtyard is warm enough.”
“Never mind that, dame,” said Julian; “do but only tell me what has happened at Martindale Castle? I see the beacon is extinguished.”
“Is it in troth?—ay, like enough—then good Sir Geoffrey has gone to heaven with my old Roger Raine!”
“Sacred Heaven!” exclaimed Peveril; “when was my father taken ill?”
“Never as I knows of,” said the dame; “but, about three hours since, arrived a party at the Castle, with buff-coats and bandoleers, and one of the Parliament’s folks, like in Oliver’s time. My old Roger Raine would have shut the gates of the inn against them, but he is in the churchyard, and Matt says it is against law; and so they came in and refreshed men and horses, and sent for Master Bridgenorth, that is at Moultrassie Hall even now; and so they went up to the Castle, and there was a fray, it is like, as the old Knight was no man to take napping, as poor Roger Raine used to say. Always the officers had the best on’t; and reason there is, since they had the law of their side, as our Matthew says. But since the pole-star of the Castle is out, as your honour says, why, doubtless, the old gentleman is dead.”
“Gracious Heaven!—Dear dame, for love or gold, let me have a horse to make for the Castle!”